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thecharacterchronicler · 3 days

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District Girl (Pt.2) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader (+18)

Outline: Coriolanus doesn’t like how friendly you are to other men and how much you ignore him on his evening out at the Hob. So he decides to leave you with a lasting impression of him.

Word count: 4’189

Warnings: possessive and obsessive behavior, power imbalance, unprotected s*x and explicit smut.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on making this a series, District Girl was just an attempt to get me out of my writer’s block to finally finish my other Coriolanus Snow series but since a few people requested more, here’s a part 2. Thanks for being so supportive of my writing, it truly means a lot. 🖤

They had been running for half an hour in the heavy heat, circling the barracks as their commander yelled orders at them. Coriolanus knew the man was trying to motivate his troops by insulting them, barking at them that they were worthless and useless, that even his grandma would do better at running in such a humid climate but this kind of tactical psychology didn’t seem to work on the young man. The more he heard his superior taunting them, the less he wanted to comply to his orders. He simply hated authority.

When he still was a student at the academy, he only had to show the due respect to his professors and - although the dean was an idiot - none of them had power over his every action and thoughts. Now as a peacekeeper, he was supposed to mindlessly follow orders from people regarded as better than him, even though some of them came from districts that were almost as poor as district 12. It was an aberration. One that Coriolanus would immediately fix if he had his say on how Panem was ruled.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, his pale eyes were burning with such intense sunlight. He felt uneasy. He dropped to his knees, his shirt so wet it was glued to his frame.

“Get up or get out, Snow!” The commander yelled, bringing everyone else’s attention on him. He felt embarrassed. He didn’t want the others to think that he was weaker than them. Especially not when Smiley seemed close to fainting too and Junius was paler than he had ever seen him before.

Coriolanus stood back up, wiping his face with his humid hand. He needed water. He needed to be dry. He needed a lot of things but running wasn’t one of them. So he left, heading back to the barracks under his superior’s disappointed glare.

He immediately went under the shower, letting the cold water wash the sweat and filth from his body. He knew he’d be sweating again the moment he’d step out from under the water and his dry spare uniform wouldn’t stay in this state for more than an hour or two so he took his time, closing his eyes and leaning against the cold bathroom tiles.

His heart was hammering in his chest, from the effort most likely but maybe also because, for the past few days, he hadn’t been able to look at his cock without thinking about your lips closed around it. He didn’t even know your name, you were just a district girl, and yet, you had invaded his every thoughts. Day and night, he kept replaying the events in his head, remembering how good it felt to fuck your mouth and what a lovely sight you were, on your knees in front of him.

He had been taking care of the erection such images gave him as well as he could. Most times, he was able to see you again when he closed his eyes and focused hard enough on recalling your features. He clearly remembered the color of your eyes because he had been mesmerized by them and the way they watered when he was mercilessly thrusting his cock down your throat. But, to his utter despair, he couldn’t quite picture what your body looked like anymore. He knew it was perfect, tailored exactly to his taste, but the images were vanishing from his mind the more days went by.

He turned the shower off, his cock hard and begging for relief again. Fortunately, his bunkmates were still busy being tortured by the commander so his dorm was empty.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning to retrieve a piece of colorful fabric from underneath his pillow. He kept it neatly folded, ready to be used if he needed it. That piece of your skirt proved to be pretty useful in times such as this, when his cock was begging to fill you up again.

He ran the fabric through his fingers, remembering how that skirt hugged your hips. By the time he removed the towel from his waist, his erection was rock hard, practically throbbing with desire.

He closed his hand over it, the soft fabric of your skirt enveloping his sensitive skin as he slowly started to pump. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

A shudder shook his body, his need for relief becoming almost unbearable. The cool textile of your clothing felt nothing like the warmth and wetness he had found in your mouth. He was certain that your pussy wouldn’t be cold either, it probably would feel as unbearably hot and humid as the weather did. He tightened his fingers around his shaft, trying to mimic how tight he imagined you’d feel with his dick buried deep inside you. He increased the speed of his movements, imagining your perfect body bouncing in reaction, your eyes watering again from how brutally he was ramming inside of you and then, he’d spill his release in you. There would be so much that it would stain your panties afterwards. It would drip from your tight cunt. It would be a reminder that he had marked you as his.

Unfortunately, the image of you completely spent and dizzy with pleasure under him faded from his mind, replaced by the cruel reality. An important amount of cum was coating the piece of your skirt, wasted instead of filling you up.

He thought about trying to clean it up, wanting to make this keepsake of you last forever, and in pristine condition if possible. But the noise of the returning peacekeepers forced him to abandon the idea, at least for now. He quickly put his spare uniform on as footsteps were approaching and, just as the door of his dorm opened, he discreetly slipped the fabric stained by his seed inside his pocket.

“Man, training beat my ass today. I think it calls for a beer or two.” Junius told him, as he gathered his towel and soap for the shower. “Let’s go to the hob tonight.”

Music was playing, people were happily chatting and laughing, good spirits filling the old warehouse. Coriolanus only agreed to accompany his colleagues because he was in desperate need of a strong drink to numb his mind, but he didn’t like how the Hob still smelled like coal and sweat, even though it had been abandoned for a while.

The good mood of the residents of district 12, enjoying the music and a drink after a hard day at work, and the apparent excitement of his bunkmates did very little to help lift up his spirits. He had heard better music in the Capitol and clearly, alcohol was far more raffined and tasteful there than here. If anything, the drink he had been served tasted like fermented potatoes. But well, at least it did the job and helped him relax a bit.

But his calmness didn’t last long. His whole body shot up straight and alert when he saw your familiar face among the crowd, smiling at a peacekeeper that wasn’t him. It made sense that, sooner or later, he was going to see you again but he wasn’t expecting you to be the kind to hang out at the Hob late a night. But then, what did he know ? It wasn’t like he had any idea of what kind of person you were. All he really knew was that you were amazing at sucking his dick… It should have been enough. He should move on and stop thinking about it. About you. But he couldn’t.

“Hey boys, do you need a refill ?” You asked them, startling Coriolanus. He had been lost in his thoughts about you again, so deeply that he hadn’t noticed you approaching him and his cock slowly came alive at the sound of your voice.

Junius handed you his empty cup and you winked at him. Then, you turned around to take a look at Coriolanus’s glass, still fairly full.

“I’ll be right back with a cold beer.” You told Junius, smiling at him but barely acknowledging the other peacekeepers’ presence. Including his.

Coriolanus watched you make your way through the dancing crowd all the way to the bar set up in the corner of the warehouse. You slipped behind the counter, filling up Junius’ cup at the same time as you engaged in another conversation, with another peacekeeper.

“I think she was flirting with me.” Junius said, smugly. Smiley agreed, even clapping a hand on his back as a congratulating gesture but his enthusiasm died down once he noticed the way their friend was glaring at both of them.

He didn’t like you smiling so carelessly at everyone. Surely, many other men were as dumb as Junius and would believe that you were openly flirting with them. They’d probably attempt to flirt back. What if that bothered you ? Or worse, what if you liked it ?

And why were you ignoring him ? Out of everyone else here, he should have been the only one worthy of your smiles, and yet, you had barely even glanced at him. Could you have forgotten him ? Impossible. Not when you were obsessing him day and night, surely you must have felt the same. You probably touched yourself at night while thinking about him just like he did when he thought about you. Right ?

You walked back to their little group, handing a cup overflowing with foam to Junius. He paid for his drink, and you slipped the coin he gave you in the pocket of your apron with an enthusiastic thank you. That was when Coriolanus finally noticed what you were wearing today, the same kind of basic shirt you were wearing the other day and the same skirt, still torn and shorter than what he remembered, covered by a stained beige apron.

“Do you work here ?” Coriolanus asked you, finally managing to catch your attention.

“Yes, do you need anything?”

He stared at you for a moment, trying to figure out if you really didn’t remember him or if you were simply pretending, maybe out of politeness in front of his colleagues. But since he couldn’t interpret the fake smile plastered on your face, he shook his head to answer you and you nodded back at him, leaving his group without another glance at him.

He watched as you talked to other men, smiling and even laughing at one peacekeeper’s joke. His friends didn’t notice, thanks to the alcohol they kept gulping down, but he was growing incredibly irritated by your behavior. You didn’t pay him any attention, doing your job and, even when someone needed you to refill their glass nearby where he was standing, you still wouldn’t look at him.

Was he that forgettable ? Maybe. He could understand that you wouldn’t have cared about pleasuring him that much since you got nothing out of it after all, apart from getting out of trouble. He hadn’t exactly blown you away with his skills so how could you know what you missed ? Perhaps you needed him to show you what he was capable of too. Then you’d obsess over him just as much as he did over you.

Yeah, it was a good plan. He’d be a gentleman, approach you politely and sway you with his charm so that you’ll give him a chance to show you how lucky you were to be the center of his attention.

But there you were again, smiling at Junius as you brought him another cup of foaming beer and, judging by how Smiley clapped his bunkmate’s back again, he was about to make a move on you. How stupid could he be ? As if he could ever be your type.

“You know, I was wondering if you’d like to go somewhere more… Quiet ? With me ? You know why.” Junius told you, his wobbly voice betraying how many drinks he had had already. Coriolanus rolled his eyes at his friend’s pathetic attempt to flirt. It was even sadder that he knew Junius would have never dared to even look at you if he hadn’t drank four cups of liquid courage beforehand.

“Maybe later ?” You shrugged, with a smile that made Junius’s eyes go wide in shock. Smiley cheered for his friend because it wasn’t as bad as the refusal they were all expecting, which caused Coriolanus’ blood to boil. What the hell was wrong with you ? “I still have a few hours left in my shift.”

You walked away, leaving both peacekeepers staring in excitement and slight disbelief. Was it a yes ? A promise ? Even Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to make of it but he knew it definitely wasn’t the answer he had hope you’d give his friend.

He downed his cup in frustration - he too in need of a dose of liquid courage after all - and took off after you, following you all the way back to the counter. You didn’t notice him right away, busy filling up a glass for a patron but, when you walked away, he grabbed you by the arm, making you spill the beer over your shirt.

“I need to talk to you.” He said, very aware of a few pairs of eyes staring at him, an array of saviors ready to fly to your rescue if you showed any sign that he was bothering you.

“Crap.” You breathed, trying to clean up the drops that would surely be making your skin sticky later. Coriolanus took the glass out of your hand, placing it on the counter with a thud. You still were ignoring him and he was done being patient.

He dragged you to the door behind the makeshift bar, not knowing where it led but satisfied when he stepped into a supply room, filled with barrels of -most likely illegal - alcohol and a few crates of old bread. He closed the door, feeling instant relief as the music suddenly felt miles away instead of blasting in his ears. You stared at him, crossing your arms over your chest with an expression that made it clear that you weren’t happy with him.

Good, that made two of you.

“Did you suck off every peacekeeper in this District to not even remember me ?”

“I do remember you but I didn’t know we were supposed to be best friends now ?” You replied, your tone impatient. “And what if I did suck everyone off anyway ? Could you really blame me ? Sometimes you’ve got to do what you can to ensure your survival. I’m sure you know what it’s like if you ever knew poverty. Maybe someone in your family had to do the exact same thing. Maybe they’re still doing it, who knows ? That’s just how the world works.”

He had to repress a grimace. He didn’t like to think about what his cousin may have done for their survival… And he liked it even less thinking about you, giving yourself away to all these men for the same reason.

“What do you want ? Another round in exchange of your silence ?” You asked him. It was exactly what he wanted. But now that he knew he was just one out of many others, it didn’t seem that appealing anymore. Not if it meant you’d be able to go on with your life afterwards, without thinking about him while he would stay completely captive of the idea of meeting you again. You looked at him and your eyes suddenly softened, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. “Did you… Did you just want to bring this back to me ? I’m so sorry, I’m so used to other men wanting to take advantage, I assumed you would too.”

Coriolanus was a bit confused by such a change in your behavior, you went from upset with him to relaxed in a matter of seconds and he wasn’t even sure he understood why, until he followed your gaze to the pocket of his uniform, from which the torn piece of your skirt was peeking out. He couldn’t give it back to you. He needed it. And after what he had done to it, he couldn’t even let you touch it. If you did see the dry cum covering the fabric, you’d know how he had lost his mind thinking about you.

“I’m nothing like the others.” Coriolanus stated, a bit vexed that you thought he was.

“I see that now.” You assured him, approaching him with a smile. You were waiting for him to pull the piece of fabric out of his pocket and hand it back to you but he couldn’t. He stayed still, internally panicking and trying to find a way out of it. In front of his silence, your eyes grew weary. “Unless you wanted to ask me something in exchange of it ?”

Dammit. If he didn’t react quickly, you’ll think he’s like the others again. You’ll think he wanted to take advantage of you and now he knew you were far more compliant and friendly when you trusted him to not do that.

“No, of course not.” He said, managing to keep his voice calm and low enough to not betray his panic. “In fact, I came to make sure that we’d be even.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, curious to hear what he had to say. He smiled, glad that he had managed to catch your attention. Adapting his behavior and words in order to seduce the person in front of him was something he usually was good at, even though he didn’t have that many opportunities to practice his talents anymore.

“What do you mean ?”

Instead of answering, he closed the gap between your bodies and pressed his lips on yours for a passionate kiss he had often dreamed about. He hoped it would be good enough to change your mind, make you forget about the piece of your skirt he had discreetly tugged back into his pocket. But, as much as he wanted to make you lose your mind, his own thoughts grew hazy at how badly he wanted you. That kiss, as hungry and wet as it was, got rid of the last of his restraints. His body surged with desire, drawn to yours like a magnet, hungry like you were the only thing that could save him from starvation.

He reached low and cupped your ass in his large hands, hoisting you up in his arms. A surprised sound escaped your lips but you didn’t protest, circling his waist with your legs to steady yourself in his arms. He took a few steps until you felt the wooden table on which a few crates were stacked and you jumped when you heard the noise of them tumbling to the floor, making room for you instead.

Coriolanus sat you on the now empty table, his gaze wandering to your thighs, your skirt pulled almost all the way up. Both of you watched his hand tentatively reach between your legs, bringing your skirt and apron out of the way and revealing your panties. He trailed a finger over the fabric, feeling the warmth and humidity collecting between your folds. It reminded him of how it felt when his cock slided in your mouth, and the thought of what it might feel like to bury himself in your pussy this time almost made him dizzy with desire.

Every time he had thought about you, he had imagined fucking you sensless. Taking your pussy, shooting his release deep inside you and eventually letting you suck his cock clean afterwards. But, after what you had told him and now that he knew that what you wanted was someone who wouldn’t be egoistic enough to take and never give back, he had no choice but to fight against the almost painful strain of his cock aching for you.

It took all of his willpower to not give in when he slowly brought your panties down your legs. You were so ripe and ready to be fucked already. Was it the effect he had on you ? If he could get you this wet with just a kiss on the lips, he had no doubt that you wouldn’t ignore him ever again. Not after what he was about to do to you. To show you just how different he was from the others. And how he should be the only one allowed to touch you from now on.

He fell to his knees in front of you and parted your wet folds with his tongue. You gasped and his cock painfully twitched at the sound. He held your thighs apart with a strong grip on them. His tongue taking a few licks before pausing to fully taste you.

Delicious.

He licked a few more times, without any pattern in mind, just for the pleasure of tasting you on his tongue over and over again but, from the ragged breaths coming out of your mouth, it seemed that you liked it anyway.

When he felt your bud, right there under the tip of his tongue, he brought himself closer so that he could suck on it, causing you to throw your head back with a moan.

Then, his tongue wandered to the hole he so desperately dreamed about filling with his cock. He brought it past your tight entrance, making his nose press against your sensitive clit which got another moan out of you. Your hand found his head, dragging him even closer to you, as if you wanted him to get even deeper. So he did his best, continuing to gently fuck you with his tongue while the friction of his nose between your folds made your body tremble.

He gasped for air, moving away and instantly regretted it. You were leaning back on the table, one hand squeezing your boob, teeth biting down on your lower lip to keep yourself from being too loud. Your thighs were wide open for him, your pussy glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. Your clit was red, almost swollen from his rough sucking and it took every damn inch of himself to not instantly get up and shove his dick inside you. Your body was practically begging for it, so perfect and ready for him, as if you existed solely to be fucked by him.

But no, he wouldn’t give in. As painful as the perspective of taking care of his erection on his own, under the covers of his bed while his friends would be sleeping was, he was determined to leave an everlasting impression on you this time.

He took a deep breath and shoved his face to your pussy once more, making you whine and beg for release. Once his jaw couldn’t quite follow the rythym you needed anymore, he decided to use his fingers instead, pinching your mistreated bud while his other finger passed the tight ring of your entrance, exploring you deeper than his tongue could. He pushed it as far inside you as he could before he started his back and forth motions, mimicking what he would do if it was his cock filling you up.

He went faster. Faster. Faster. Until you gasped in pleasure, your walls tightening and pulsating around his finger. Your whole body contracted, your thighs closing in around his neck. Your mouth opened to let out a cry and once again, Coriolanus had to fight against his very primitive instincts to keep himself from shoving his hard cock in your mouth to silence your cries.

Once finally your body relaxed, he stood back up, a smug grin on his face. Of course, he would have liked being the one to get a bit of relief - he was still so hard and ready for you - but he felt oddly proud at how strongly you had orgasmed because of him. Surely, if his fingers and mouth could do that, you’d be obsessing and fantasizing about his cock for the rest of the week.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and adjusted your hair and skirt, a lovely crimson blush on your face. You noticed the impressive buldge in Coriolanus’s pants and pressed a hand against it, wanting to thank him properly for the intense pleasure he had given you but he moved your hand away, shaking his head and kissing you instead.

“You’ve got to work and I have some friends to walk back to the barracks before they do something stupid.” He explained, his body violently protesting and wanting to let you give him some relief too but he was determined to follow his plan. “But maybe we could meet again sometime ?”

You nodded, still seeming a bit struck by the intensity of your orgasm. With a grin, he planted one last kiss on your lips before leaving the supply room, the torn piece of your skirt still securely tugged in his pocket.

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laurorne · 3 days

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༊*·˚ HE MADE A SLAVE OF ME | daemon targaryen x targtower!reader, minor aegon ii targaryen x twin wife!reader

summary: confined to the sullen walls of the red keep, there isn’t far you’re afforded to wander. entertained only by the people you silently watch, you find excitement in the visit of your older sister and uncle. though the latter is far more appealing to spend the night with, and more willing.

warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest (uncle x niece), porn with plot, p in v, rough sex, slapping, degradation, masochism, blood play?, praise kink, breath play/choking, breeding kink, a lil’ stomach bulge, cheating on both halves, swearing, possibly inaccurate high valyian (i tried?), weird pure bloodline shit, fiending for that valyrian d, hightowerphobic daemon, bastardphobic reader, they’re haters, first time writing full fic of smut how'd i do?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: daemon is so ugly but he’s so hot it’s so bad, i literally felt compelled to write this is and i did?? 😭 there’s no reason for matt smith to have made him that sexy. (this was my inspo for this entire fic, bless tiktok editors 🙏🏼🙏🏼)

As a daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, you'd found that most people bent to your will regarding requests. The lords would bend over twice fold if it meant a chance at earning your hand, and the girls at court dared not step a foot before you in the case you'd remove them from your entourage of highborn ladies.

With eyes so doe-like and lips like honey, one would mistake you for just that, a doe, not the dragon draped beneath green silk that shifted like flames in a hearth.

That's how you'd created yourself. How you'd curated each step and each titter of laughter, every slow blink at every lord and all those tight lipped smiles at ladies of court who came too close to your family.

People at court had said that you were the best half of your twin brother, that he had taken all the bad traits so you could shine as the darling of the realm. Poor, sweet Aegon. Ever the scapegoat and always the perpetrator.

So as you sit across from your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, you find yourself rather... without.

He sits beside your half-sister. A beautiful glow on her skin as she laughs along with something your father had said. She's stunning, Valyrian in every sense of the word. With her pale hair and aquiline nose, you can see why she was adored.

Other than the Realm's utter Delight, dinner is less than… familial.

Everyone can clearly see the divide between both sides of House Targaryen. The Hightowers sat to the right of the King, the mix of Targaryen and brown-haired Velaryon to his left. You find no warmth in this arrangement, other than false pretenses of civility and feigned love for each other, the entire affair is only for show of the poor old King.

Though there is an affair that consumes your thoughts, a tryst that would no doubt end messily. So you opt to speak with your family, with a spare glance thrown his way just to divulge yourself after all these years of self-control.

Daemon understands the weight of your gaze on him. Even from across the table he can feel the way your eyes trace his features, the way you're devouring him without lifting your fork or grinding your teeth or even touching him. Your supposed indifference to the sides that the house of the dragons has taken makes his fingers twitch around his goblet. You're speaking with Baela and Rhaena as if you've sat beside them in court for years, doting on their new dresses and telling them snippets of what they've missed at the Red Keep.

Jacaerys' gaze is flittering over to your figure every couple of seconds, eyes dipping to your dangerously low neckline of your green dress, every time you laugh and your chest heaves he looks away like a wide-eyed virgin. Red at the ears as he scolds Lucerys for holding a fork wrong, Daemon guesses, with the way the older boy points to another utensil.

And your family, gods.

Your twin brother, Aegon, is attempting to drink away his sorrows but you're always quick to scoop the cup out of his grasp and palm it off to a servant. The fool simply allows you, resigning to watch everyone speak as you have him by the balls practically. And to still have him fawning over you, his pretty little twin-wife, is absurdity.

Aemond is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra's boys and Helaena is off in an entire world of her own.

When he looks back to you and finds those lilac-coloured iris' already poised on him, his jaw clenches and he takes another pass at his Dornish wine. The way your hair falls in pure white curls around your face and frames the heavy gorget necklace that adorns your neck, inlaid with moonstone and rubies that look eerily similar to the ones from the Conquerors crown. Spoiled Hightower brat.

Daemon is far from naïve. He's been apart of how many wars?

He's a seasoned veteran to these types of women, to their greedy plans and treacherous thoughts.

Though... that colouring that she has, so clearly a staple of House Targaryen, he's not so convinced that he's entirely immune. He's sure that his nephew is beyond stupid to not have made you a mother sooner. With tits like that and eyes so sweet? He'd have you swollen with babe two moons after your last birth.

He watches the way you lick a droplet of wine from the corner of your mouth, watches the way your eyes flicker from Jacaerys to him, and he can see it then. Something so wanton in your gaze.

Perhaps paying a visit to his dear, sweet niece tonight would not be such a bad thought.

You arch up into the touch —his touch— as shivers run along the length of your spine. His hand smooths over the swell of your breast in response, easing your ache as you squirm for more. It travels over the fat of it until his fingers pinch roughly at your nipple. A stuttering breath punches its way from your throat as he stares down at your face.

“So eager, aren’t we?” He admires the way your lips part, the way your eyes dance back into focus and meet his heated gaze. The way you seek out the eye contact. Want to know he’s watching the show you’re putting on.

Just as you’re forming the vowels on the tip of your tongue, he’s grabbing a fistful of your thigh and pushing his hips impossibly closer to yours. It makes you shudder, makes you want all the more. But there is no give to his press, he’s seated far too deeply inside you to move any further in. He’s pulling his hips back just the smallest fraction before he starts inching back in, heavy and hot and oh-so deep it burns.

Your tongue swipes over your lips, your hand moving to clutch onto the arm that props him up above you. The thickly corded muscle makes holding onto him all the easier, makes your cunt flutter and your chest heave and your eyes water. He’s so large, far different from your husband, this pure-blooded Valyrian —this man— he’s encompassing your body and stuffing you all at the same time, filling, holding and folding you how he wants.

You move to weave your fingers into the loose strands of his hair but the hand that was cradling your thigh is quick to grasp your wrist, tugging the appendage away as he begins dragging his hips back. “Where did all your words go, dōna riña?” (sweet girl)

You swallow thickly, fingers balling up as he oh-so slowly pulls out til’ just the tip rests in you. It’s agonising, having been so full not even moments ago, you feel empty. It’s involuntary, the way your hips lift towards him, cunt greedily taking him as you stifle the way your breath hitches. His thighs tense up as he groans, fingers tightening around your wrist as his hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit.

“Daemon, please.” It’s breathy, spoken from someplace in your chest that you feel with every inch of your body. “I want you.”

Your eyes only just catch the tic in his jaw as he drops your wrist, immediately grabbing a fistful of your tit and pushing back into you. Hips meeting flush as he glares down at you. The grip he’s got on your fit fucking hurts, but you’d be damned if it doesn’t set all your nerves on fire.

“Ilībio,” He all but snarls. (whore)

You don’t even register the next thrust before he’s pulling out again. He leans forward, large hand coming to press down onto your throat. His fingers curl around your neck —encompassing it entirely as he presses down onto you— using you for leverage as he fucks into you.

You moan, mouth falling open as he uses your body and paws at your tit messily. You can feel the flesh spill from between his fingers, feel the sensitive peak rubbing against his rough palm.

It’s driving you insane.

The hand leaves your tit, moving to the next and grabbing on just as roughly. He hits a particularly forceful thrust that has you jolting up the bed, back arching up as you whine. Your legs curl around his hips, thighs bouncing with each stroke, making a distinct slapping as he fucks you into the plush sheets of your bed. You roll your pelvis to the rhythm he sets, it’s practised, timed and purely filth.

“You belong in the,” He pauses as he sneers down at you, watching his cock sink deep into your tight little cunt. “Street of Silk.”

You can only sigh out a breath as his hand clamps down on your throat, your air coming in short bursts only when he pulls out to thrust back in.

“Your husband mustn’t have fucked you well enough.” He thrusts violently on husband, heavy cock bullying its way back into you as your cunt clenches.

His words are driving you closer to the edge, making you feel all the slicker as he fucks you, uses you like he’s your husband. Like you belong to him. Like you’re the sister he married in the ways of Old Valyria —in the ways of your house— in blood and fire.

The thick drag of his dick brings you back from your cock drunk haze, his words ringing in your brain as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Tight like a Lyseni virgin,” He buries himself into you until oxygen evades you entirely, all his weight resting on your throat as he leans in, licking a stripe up your throat and biting at your pulse point. “Wet like a pillow house whore.”

You writhe beneath him, fingers curling into the thickly corded forearm that presses you down into the bed, he teasingly slows to a stop only to rocks forwards. Watching your eyes turn hazy as your hips twitch up onto him. Jerkily grinding onto him as you struggle to take a breath.

“Struggling to breathe and you still want me to fill you, tala.” He smiles down at you, lifting a hand from your throat to caress the bone of your cheek. “So desperate for it.”

Oh, how badly you want to spit an insult at him. How badly you want to punch him and pull on his hair and suck marks into the muscled line of his shoulder.

He lifts the heel of his palm slightly, just when the edge of your vision was beginning to cloud. A quick respite of air before he’s pressing a bruising kiss to your pouty lips. Teeth digging into your bottom lip as he fully cups the side of your face. Tongue pressing into your mouth intrusively as he overwhelms you. Full of cock, his tongue, and being pinned to the bed by the entire weight of him.

The red hot coil in your stomach is cooling quickly, fading away into nothing as he devours you in the most deliciously possessive kiss you’ve ever had. His thumb presses roughly into the bone of your cheek as he thrusts gently into you. There’s a bloom of pain in your lip as he begins pulling away, teeth biting your bottom lip as he lifts himself back up. Blood smears your pearly white teeth, and you can taste it on your tongue.

Your chest heaves as you grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his face back down so you can kiss him roughly. You practically consume him with this kiss, wanting and needy as you fight to gain control. He pants out a chuckle, thumb pulling on your chin as he licks over the cut and your teeth. Your fingers tangle in his white strands and you give a sharp tug, the rasp that escapes him sends a needy throb through your cunt. But you take his unfocus as a chance to lick into his mouth, cunt throbbing as his lower half folds you over, sinking into you so deeply it makes your hips twitch and writhe in pain.

You fight against the pain, neck aching as you crane up against his weight, biting his lip harshly until you feel the break of his skin between your teeth. Blood mixing in your mouths as he pants into your mouth, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth as he looks down at you with something akin to satisfaction.

“Smile, tala.” (niece)

You breath in shallowly, greedily taking in air that you neglected yourself of.

“Uh-uh,” He squeezes your cheeks together, until your lips pout and he presses down onto your jaw hard. “Smile.”

And you do, lips pulling up as best they can with his fingers holding your jaws apart. He lets his fingers loosen so he can watch your teeth peak out from beneath your abused and bloody lips. You can guess that you both look the same, blood staining your teeth a burning carmine. The colour of House Targaryen.

“Good girl.” His voice is condescending as he pats your cheek roughly, pushing himself back up, and sitting back on his knees as he stares down at you through wispy strands of platinum hair. Dick sitting heavy inside you, fill to the point of it being a bit hard to breathe. Your sheets reeks of sweat and sex, and the iron tang of blood sits in the air and on your tongues.

His hands smooth over your thighs, thumb running along a pink scar nestled closely to your knee.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tits on full display while you look up at him through those pretty lashes, admiring the scars that mar the pale skin of his torso and the blood the runs a rivulet down his chin. “What are yo-“

He unwraps your legs from his waist, grabbing at the back of your thighs and pushing them towards you. You whine at the sudden movement, the blunt tip of him nudging against what the deepest parts of you. Pressing you in half with ease until he can hold your legs against his chest with one arm. The other coming to rest against the soft spot of your stomach as he hovers over you.

“Fucking an heir into you,” He presses a quick kiss to your calf before he’s snapping his hip forward and pressing down on your stomach. And that’s when you feel him. You let out a breathy moan as he fucks you, with your back arched toward him as you let him take you.

Like a virgin during her bedding ceremony.

His fingers leave pale prints in your skin as he grips onto the meat of your thighs so tightly. His thighs slapping against the backs of your legs while he fucks his length into you. With his arm wound tightly around your knees, there’s no way you can move or adjust or even move with him, you’re practically in his lap as he uses your hipbone for leverage.

Choked-out pants and whiny breaths are the only noise you can make as the hand that was holding your legs together drifts to your soaked pussy. Thumb slipping through until he bumps into your clit —he can tell by the way your tits heave and your cunt clenches impossibly tighter— and he can’t help but snicker as he presses down onto the poor thing. Hands used for more than just sword fighting, skilled in pleasing wives long gone that were no doubtingly three times older than you, are so deliciously textured.

“Hightower votrītsos nȳmagon wal morghūljagon.” Your maternal house is spat with hatred, he punctuates it with thrusts that grow more violent as he claims you. (hightower cunt calls men to die.)

“Iksā kempa isse nyke, issi ao daor, kepa?” You heave the sentence, attempting to speak without falter as he continues his selfish pleasure seeking manhandling. (you are heavy in me, are you not uncle?)

He grunts, nose scrunching up for a moment as a strand of hair dangles between his eyes. Silver locks messy. His thumb flicks over your clit again —a full-bodies shudder follows— so he can stare intently at your bouncing tits without the chatter.

“Aōha Valyrio Eglie jorrāelagon mirre.” (your High Valyrian needs work)

You admire the way his hair falls to his shoulders, undone from its hairstyle tonight at dinner, the slope of his shoulders to the plains of his front. A battlefield of cut muscle and scars that create ridges and valleys. Your eyes dart up as his nails cut into the skin of your calf, his lip curls up as his eyes finally drift from the harsh jerk of your pliable body beneath him, to your lilac eyes.

His eyes are dark, ringed by what little purple you can see in the darkness of your lonely chambers. The way he looks down at you, the look of curiosity, of lust, of hatred, it burns in your throat and makes your thighs quiver as he just stares.

You could nearly compare it to the way Aegon admires his cups, the way he drinks in every hitch of your breath, the way he huffs your scent, the stutter in his hips at every flutter of your cunt around him.

(Akin to Aegon’s lust for Dornish import wine, he drinks you in and savours the way your body begs for the extra inch.)

Your fingers tangle up in the silken sheets of your bed as you stutter, stomach quivering as he keeps his hips in motion, brining you oh-so close to your peak. Though it’s barely enough, used to the drunken fumble of your twin, you need a rougher edge, a little more pain. He’d just need a push.

“Iksā iā buzdari naejot kasta orvorta. Hae se dārys.” (you are a slave to green cunt. like the king)

He hums, brows pinching together as his thrusts grow sloppy and unpractised, like the green boy your husband had been on your wedding day.

“Kostilus ziry ūndan mirros hae bisa,” He circles your clit roughly, pad of his thumb rubbing deliciously against your slick cunt. “gōvilagon aōha muña grēza.” (perhaps he saw something like this, beneath your mothers dress.)

You let out a strangled moan, hips rocking up to meet his every thrust. The coil in your stomach is tightening and heating and making your thighs twitch and tense, and he doesn’t seem to take the movement kindly. The rhythm stutters when he forces one of your legs to his side as he surges forward to capture your mouth in a crushing kiss. Your other leg is caught over his shoulder as he moves in and it stretches muscles you hadn’t know existed in your legs as he bullies his way deeper and deeper, like he owns you, like your his to ruin.

“I would have loved taking your maidenhead.” He breaths the word into your mouth as the cuts on your lips open anew, smearing blood across your mouths, cheeks and noses. The kiss he pulls you into next is careless and messy, all knocking teeth and hot breathes.

“I- I’m,” He cuts you off by wrapping his hand back around your throat, pinning you down as his nose buries itself in the hair on the side of your head.

A blinding heat curls in your stomach and your cunt flutters around the abusive cock he fucks you with. The one leg that wasn’t pinned between you both is quick to pull his hips flush to you as you moan wantonly, though it’s smothered by his hand. Chest heaving and pale baby hairs sticking to your forehead as your lashes flutter closed. Taking the last few cants of Daemon’s hips as he finishes inside you, spilling deep inside you with heavy panting accompanied by a groan.

Everything is all warm, floating in your soft bed as the heavy man above you lets his weight onto you fully. Cock keeping you stuffed with his seed.

The hand on your throat drifts to your hair —you gulp down air as you feel an ache begin to form— deft fingers stroking at the loose strands behind your ear as he breathes in the perfume oil of the Dragons Breath flowers you'd chosen for tonight.

“I may take you to wife, with a cunt like that.” He murmurs, fingers tightening around those stray strands of hair as he lifts his face to meet yours. Pupils blown wide as he rolls his hips to nestle nicely between yours. That leg wedged between you both falling loose, and landing on the bed softly.

Oh?

That sentence shouldn't have made you so giddy, nor should it make a delighted grin pull across your bruised lips.

A plan well curated, is always fruitful.

TAGS: @avalyaaa

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #targaryen incest

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zhonglism · 2 days

Text

EIGHTEEN THOUSAND KILOMETRES

— oikawa tōru x f! reader

syn: your high school lover suddenly breaks up with you to chase his career in another continent. ten years later, you unexpectedly bump into him, and feelings that were once buried with time resurface once again but you know better than to let it consume you.

18+ MDNI; timeskip!oikawa, angst, hurt/no comfort (gets a bit better towards the end, trust), light smut, implied sex, brief mention of oral (f receiving), not-so-happy ending (sorry lol), iwaizumi being a good friend. divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 4.9k

notes: sorry i suck at writing the synopsis lmaoo pls trust me on this one. i may or may not have cried while writing this aaaaa i live for oikawa angst sm. feedback is more than welcome!

A few hours.

It took 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa a few hours to intricately gather his thoughts and tell you his plans regarding his future. His future. You always took that with a grain of salt because deep down there’s an impending fear that you weren’t always going to be a part of that, especially with how passionate Tōru was with volleyball—you just didn’t think it would come this soon.

Standing at the doorway to your boyfriend’s room, your clouded gaze followed each hesitant step taken as he quietly packed his clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, Tōru grabbed a handful of clothes from his closet and tossed it into an opened suitcase that lay on the floor. The tension in the room grew heavy with each passing second as his suitcase became evidently packed; your solemn gaze locked on his figure, his back remained facing you.

The silence was deafening, your neck burned with a searing blaze, all the things you wanted to scream at him were stuck in your throat. You’ve been standing on the same spot for more than half an hour now, you couldn’t feel the soles of your feet at all but that didn’t compare to the unbearable pain that weaved its way into your heart. Occasional sniffles and sighs escaped you both but nothing more, no one dared to address the elephant in the room right now. That in less than a day, Tōru was going to be eighteen thousand kilometres away from you. For good.

”We can make it work. .” A shaky sigh left your lips, voice hoarse despite not having the heart to yell and argue with him. Tōru gripped the fabrics in his hand, nails digging into the softness of the textiles, he mirrored your sigh and finally faced you. Eyes slightly red from holding his tears back, Tōru’s brows furrowed, “We’re going to be in two different continents. The time zone would be too much of a difference.”

You don’t have to remind me.

Biting your tongue in frustration, you stared at him. His eyes, his nose, his lips, anything and everything that would help you sear his appearance in your mind. “So you’re just going to let all this go? As easy as that?” Nothing in this is easy for me. For the first time in a few hours, Tōru inched closer to your unmoving figure. He’s been keeping a clear distance as if holding you tight against him would cause you to disappear in a flash despite his heart practically aching to be near you at this very moment.

It took all of Tōru’s willpower not to wrap his arms around you, and whisper into your ear over and over again how much he loves you; how scared he was that in less than a day, you weren’t going to be by his side anymore. He was a coward. He knew that doing so would only worsen the situation at hand.

“You and I have futures to pursue, you of all people should know that.” The wooden frame of his bed creaked as he plopped down with another sigh. “B-but you don’t have to end our relationship like this . . ! Maybe I can go to Argentina with you and—” Your boyfriend waved a dismissive hand and let out an empty chuckle, “Don’t be so irrational.” “You’re the irrational one here, Oikawa!” You raised your voice at him, tone trembling with anger and fear as your nails painfully dug into the plushness of your palms.

Your chest rapidly rose and fell with each heavy breath taken, unshed tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Why did he have to do this? Ever since entering a relationship with Tōru, you’ve always known that you only came second to volleyball but you didn’t know it’d hurt this much. Despite having no intentions of holding him back from the future he has worked hard to carve, you couldn’t help but become a little selfish on your end. Why did Tōru have the need to feel that breaking up with you was the best solution?

As mentioned earlier, you’d do anything and everything to make it work. You were hoping. Hoping that your boyfriend would at least reconsider breaking off the relationship but knowing him, once he had set his mind straight, there was no turning back.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You whispered into the silent room. Tōru looked away as he caught a glimpse of your deflated expression, shutting his eyes as he tried not to think of that specific expression in his mind. All he could muster was a weak rebuttal but he dared not to explain further, even if he wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when the situation was already taking a toll on both of you. He spoke again, voice threatening to waver,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

You didn’t go despite Iwaizumi’s pleas to see Tōru off with him. You couldn’t. The least you could give yourself right now was space, and seeing your boyfriend off to another country would do more harm than good, especially knowing that he wasn’t yours anymore nor you were his. It took Iwaizumi more than thirty texts to finally give up, it was a rare occurrence as it wasn’t in your friend’s nature to be persistent like that.

You’re thankful that he cares for you a lot because for the first few weeks without Tōru’s presence, both of you confided in each other. There were occurrences where you had to turn down his requests on joining him for a weekly video call with Tōru who still had a hard time settling down in a foreign country; in your mind, you had no business communicating with your ex-boyfriend anymore—he broke off the relationship and that was that.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. As you moved on with life and focused on your career ahead, naturally, you found yourself burying the painful past behind. Not to mention how you deleted Tōru’s number—after painfully reminiscing old texts with him—and blocked him from all your social media accounts. It’s been ten years now and Oikawa was the least of your concern, he was just a person from the past that you’re thankful to have met.

After all, if it wasn’t for what he did, you wouldn’t have learned to grow as an individual and truly seek what you wanted. During the course of your relationship with Oikawa, you were more than content supporting him in his volleyball career, standing at the sidelines and cheering him on but you didn’t know what you wanted for yourself then, and maybe Oikawa saw that earlier on. That breaking up was a way for you to flourish as your own person, not someone who stood amongst the crowd.

It was a peaceful weekend afternoon, passing time at the local convenience store to buy whatever snack you felt like eating before heading home to retire for the day and possibly binge a series you’ve been meaning to watch. Walking down the bread aisle, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sight. Milk bread. Chuckling, you found yourself reminiscing about the old high school days where you and Oikawa would stop by to buy a pack of milk bread whenever he ran out. You haven’t eaten one since the day he left you.

It wouldn’t hurt to try one now, you thought to yourself. Reaching for the closest pack, another hand suddenly reached out to the one you had set your eyes onto. Both yours and the stranger’s arms retracted back in embarrassment, “S-sorry! You can go ahead and grab it.” You profusely apologised, not noticing the expression the stranger wore. Upon their silence, you drew your attention to the man standing beside you and blinked twice.

It seemed like the only option when the stranger before you was not just any shopper, it was none other than Tōru Oikawa. If you were to tell your 18-year-old self that ten years later, you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed it. Everything felt strange—from the way the ambience of the store faded into white nothingness, to the way Oikawa felt painfully familiar yet different; he wore the same genuine shock plastered on your face—eyes wide, brows sky high, and lips slightly parted. You wondered if his ears were ringing too or if his heart threatened to leap from his chest. Oikawa was the first to break his trance, searching his mind high and low to find something, anything to say to you.

He was speaking yet nothing was heard on your end, only your own storm of thoughts. All you could muster was to really take him in. His hazel eyes shone beneath the harsh ivory lights of the store—everything about him was the same but unfamiliar; his hair was styled the same way ten years ago but a little shorter, his evident athletic build, his sun kissed skin, his aura. It was your turn to finally return to reality as Oikawa warily waved a slender hand inches from your face, “O-Oikawa. . ?” was all you could come up with, tone airy yet just above a whisper for him to hear. Oikawa greeted your unreadable expression with a familiar warm smile as if the two of you were ten years back in time, hearts beating for one another.

“It’s been a while, huh?” He hummed.

Everything was a blur—from the painfully awkward start of the conversation, to brazenly inviting him back to your apartment to prolong the spontaneous catch up. You were surprised because you both managed to flow into a smooth conversation where no one had to think of anything and everything just to keep the impending silence away. It was weird, you’ve always imagined that seeing Oikawa once again would reel you back in the most unpleasant way; the deepest memories you’ve sworn to reject resurfacing.

But the whole situation before you was a damn far cry from the scenarios in your mind—Oikawa had no hesitations telling you about his life for the past ten years, even going out of his way to inform you of his favourite local meals back in Argentina and how he applied for his citizenship, so you did the same thing. It was like being a teenager all over again, gushing to one another about your interests, and whatever else there was to talk about. You caught a glint in Oikawa’s hazel eyes as he spoke endlessly, almost as if he had been waiting ten whole years just to tell you everything that’s been going on in his life, like he knew the two of you were bound to meet again one way or another.

A solemn smile made its way to his face, the atmosphere in your apartment shifting with it. You held a breath, heart violently pounding against your chest possibly knowing where the conversation was going. “You were the only one I wanted to see, you know? Before I. .” Oikawa trailed off, looking down at his fingers. You nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

It pained you to even imagine it: 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa restlessly scanning the bustling airport for your familiar figure, eyes darting between the ocean of people coming in and out of the terminal, heart sinking down to his stomach as each second passed without your presence. Despite the countless times Iwaizumi reminded him you weren’t coming, he waited. Oikawa waited and waited until he needed to proceed to the airport security, each heavy step further into the airport, he’d hoped you’d call out his name and give him one last hug before he left for Argentina but you never came. That night, Oikawa realised he’d left a piece of his heart back home.

”I’m sorry. .” Was all you could muster. In your defence, he wasn’t the only one hurting—you were torn between saving what’s left of your broken heart and giving in to your desires. Of course, you picked the former. That time, it seemed like the best idea, though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said there weren’t restless nights where you wish you’d gone to see Oikawa off. It plagued you for as long as your cruel mind wanted, scenarios of what could have been a proper goodbye seared into your brain—a one last hug before letting Oikawa chase his dreams, uncertain when you’d be able to see him again.

Oikawa let out a sigh, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, “I missed you.” He took a small sip of his drink, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue before nervously swallowing. It took all his willpower to avoid your gaze, staring at the ivory walls ahead, hoping you’d say something sooner or later instead of letting the small confession awkwardly linger in the air. You chuckled, a humourless one,

“You know, I’d be more upset if you didn’t.”

The man whipped his head to your direction, meeting that meaningful gaze of yours; he looked like a deer caught in the headlights—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. For the first time in a while, Tōru Oikawa felt his heart race; it wasn’t like any other, not like the adrenaline rush that took over his body before a match, not like the nervousness he felt when he boarded the plane to Argentina for the first time. It was unique. Uniquely yours. Only you made him feel this way. In the blink of an eye, Oikawa felt like he was pulled back in time, a teenager all over again, brimming with such emotions. If it weren’t for his quick senses, he wouldn’t have noticed the way your gaze subtly shifted downwards—to his lips—and then back up to his eyes.

Have you been on edge all this time, too? Filled with overwhelming emotions? He thought. Yes, it’s been ten long years but that doesn’t mean his heart did not beat for you anymore; it doesn’t mean that he has stopped thinking about you; it doesn’t mean that he did not want to kiss you the moment he laid his eyes on you back at the convenience store. Surely, you didn’t feel the same, right? But then again, it’s been a decade and Oikawa’s feelings remained indifferent to when he left.

A brush of gentle fingers against your cheek caused your eyes to instinctively close, knowing fully well what was about to happen next. A single click from the white clock that hung on your wall. A second. And then Oikawa’s lips were on yours. The kiss was anything but foreign—sure, it felt stiff at first, suddenly not knowing how to match your lips with his but it has been ten years. The kiss was meek but after a heartbeat, you and Oikawa moved in complete unison, falling into that specific pattern you both knew—how he moved his lips, how he let out gasps in between, how he eagerly prodded his tongue. Your head spun, hands exploring Oikawa’s built torso while his own focused on your head, tugging at the strands and gently rubbing your nape.

The atmosphere shifted with the newly found desire, small moans and gasps filled the walls of your apartment as Oikawa kissed you with hunger—as if he was a starved man. He didn’t hesitate to explore you with his tongue, groaning into your mouth before pulling away to take a breather—chests heaving as you both gasped for air, faces mere centimetres from each other, hot breaths intertwining. He looked at you with hooded eyes, gaze filled with carnal desire as he gave your swollen lips a small peck. “I want you so bad . .” Oikawa breathed out, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your features.

Cupping his crimson red cheeks, you gave him a small smile, “I’m all yours.” Always have been and always will be, you wanted to add but already you had an idea Oikawa knew that more than anyone else.

The short journey from the living room to your bedroom was a blur—it was messy, eager hands exploring each other’s body, hungry lips inseparable from one another, articles of clothing swiftly discarded along the path to your bedroom. Lying atop the sheets, your eyes wandered along Oikawa’s bare sun kissed torso—his physique was much bigger than you last remembered, muscles flexing with every movement that had you painfully clenching around nothing.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chestnut hair tousled from the work of your fingers, bare chest heaving from the kiss, and fingers working at the zip of his pants. You took the time to really drink him in—the entirety of him; reality settling on you how much he had grown as a man. Oikawa was no longer that naïve 18-year-old who swallowed all his fears and insecurities with a flirtatious façade.

He eagerly pulled down the remaining clothes he had on, swiftly crawling up the bed towards you, not giving any time to revel at the sight of his bare cock before kissing you again, his fingers intertwining with your own.

It felt surreal, from the way the heat of Oikawa’s naked body felt against your own to the way his kisses explored parts of you that he’s never seen before. He took his time, admiring every inch of your bare body, not hesitating to blurt out praises that came to his mind first thing. “You’re beautiful.” Oikawa whispers against the warmth of your skin followed by an open-mouthed kiss.

He held you gently, caressing and massaging every bit of skin he could get his hands on. He knew better than to rush such an intimate moment with you, especially when he’s been fantasizing about this for the past decade—fantasizing about how your skin would feel beneath his searing touch; how you’d sound when he stimulates the most sensitive parts of your body, how you’d look when pleasure is all you can think about. It drove him absolutely impatient but for you, he’s willing to slow down if it meant he could savour these moments with you—Oikawa has patiently waited for ten years, full of uncertainty. What more was a few minutes to bask in your beauty?

Attentive as ever, he scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, focusing on the way you moaned and scrunched your face in pleasure as he tasted you. God, you tasted like pure heaven—divine. Oikawa could get lost between your legs forever, everything about you drove him crazy. Not to mention how your scent had him completely whipped.

The night continued on like this, Oikawa eagerly exploring your body, pleasuring you in ways you didn’t know even existed—it was almost like he had a list of things at the back of his mind, neatly tucked away for when this specific moment comes. There was never a moment of uncertainty, his body swiftly moving into the next act, bringing you with him. Despite your own pleas to return the pleasure, Oikawa refused, even as his cock leaked with pre-cum, begging to be touched by you. He didn’t have to do all the work but he did, only because he wanted to. He wanted to show you how much his body yearned and desired to be close to yours; ten years was no easy wait. Sure, Oikawa had a fair share of mere hookups with other women but they weren’t you. They will never be you.

As the moon shone amongst the ebony skies, moonlight seeped through the window, casting a faint ethereal glow upon your sweat-coated bodies—skin shining like the stars above. You held onto Oikawa’s shoulders for dear life, ribbons of moans and curses tumbled past your lips and into the thick air of the room, travelling to the ceiling above.

He moved with fervour, hips relentlessly driving into your own as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Back and forth, back and forth, the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s hips, jolting your body along each forceful thrust. It was heaven on earth, naked bodies tangled amongst the ivory sheets as you lost yourselves in each other, one thing in mind. You both cared about nothing at this point, not even the fact that he still had to go back home—to Argentina; not even the fact that your hearts beat as one, interlacing with one another as buried feelings blossomed out in the open—the unsaid, the desire, everything came beautifully crashing down upon the two of you, unsure about what the future holds. That was a conversation for tomorrow, anyway.

Amidst the overwhelming pleasure, the creaking of the bed, and the lewd moans that filled your room, Oikawa found your hand once again, interlacing his damp fingers with yours. He gave it a small squeeze, moaning right into your ear before slipping out a confession, “I love you so much.” It caught you off guard, eyes fluttering open, returning his lustful gaze. “I—” “It’s okay. .” Oikawa cut you off, steadying his breath. He knew exactly what you’d say—that you love him, too—but somehow hearing those words from you after all these years was even more painful than rejecting him because at the end of the day he had to go home.

The night carried on with more and more pleasure, each orgasm becoming more intense than the previous, the movements of your bodies showed signs of exhaustion but none dared to stop—as if stopping was somewhat going to take one away from the other. You’ve never felt anything like this before, waves of pleasure rolling out and crashing into you repeatedly; all you could really do was hold Oikawa tightly, whispering sweet nothings against his neck. God, you could only wish for this to last forever.

As the morning rolled around, the sun shone brightly through your window, slowly burning your skin the longer you stayed in one position. Groaning, you stretched your naked body, muscles painfully crying out from overuse. Normally, you would have cared about it but the spot beside you was cold and empty, no sign of Oikawa. The realisation hit you, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. Did he leave already? And not even saying goodbye? The loud sound coming from the kitchen pulled you out of the storm of unpleasant thoughts. Ignoring the weakness of your legs, you did your best to slip into a fresh pair of underwear before grabbing Oikawa’s shirt that lay at the entrance of your room to head to the kitchen.

You sucked in a breath. There he stood, only wearing pants from last night while navigating through the small space of your kitchen. He hummed a familiar tune, the saccharine sound of his voice mixing with the sizzling of the eggs he cooked. “Oikawa.” The man before you turned at the sound of your voice, pleasantly shocked, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He greeted in a singsong voice. You would’ve called him ‘cute’ if it weren’t for the evident lovebites, hues of dark purple and red peppering his torso—it immediately reminded you of last night, cheeks heating up at the lewd memories. “Take a seat. This is done.” Oikawa skilfully plated the eggs, grabbing the freshly toasted bread before heading to the table where you now sat. It was weird yet nice to see him so domestic, something you never really experienced back then.

“Thank you.” You look up at him, a faint smile dancing upon your lips. Oikawa shook his head, “It’s nothing. Just a simple breakfast.” You weren’t talking about the breakfast, though, and he knew that as well but dared not to bring it up. It was bittersweet, really, how the two of you acted right now felt so right but so wrong at the same time—you both acted like a normal couple during a normal morning, as if there wasn’t a return ticket neatly tucked inside Oikawa’s passport that weighed his heart heavy with each passing second in your presence.

Thank you for showing me what could have been.

That was what you meant earlier. Getting the pleasure to look into the life of what could have been with Tōru Oikawa wasn’t much but it put your yearning heart at ease—that in another life, he’d be cooking eggs for you again without having to think about flying back home; that in another life, you ended up together. Maybe if you were still eighteen, you would have cried, screamed at him for getting your hopes up, for leaving you once again, for breaking your heart a second time, you weren’t a teenager anymore but that didn’t mean you were immune to seeing him leave you again—you just got older, and became better at swallowing unwanted emotions.

That’s right. You weren’t a teenager anymore. “You’re leaving tomorrow.” You bit the inside of your cheek, addressing the elephant in the room; you swore Oikawa flinched a little at your straightforwardness. It wasn’t pretty to hear but it also wasn’t a lie. He took a small bite, carefully swallowing the piece before meeting your gaze, “Yeah, Iwa is dropping me off at the airport in the afternoon. .” His sentence lingered in the air, it didn’t dissipate, it stayed there waiting to be finished. You remained silent despite having an idea of what was to come next, you wanted him to say it, just like he did ten years ago. Oikawa nervously cleared his throat,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

Much to Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s surprise, you came to see the former off—a little breathless from jogging around the terminal but at least you were in one piece. You didn’t notice the way Iwaizumi’s eyes widened at the love bites on your neck matching his best friend’s one; he was well aware of what happened between you and Oikawa the other day but just didn’t expect the intensity of it, especially with the situation now, nonetheless, he remained silent. Iwaizumi figured he’d talk to you about it later.

Everything slowed down as Oikawa set his hazel eyes on you—the bustling of the airport, the time displayed on the large digital clock, his racing heart. What he felt right now was a far cry from that day when he left for the first time; ten years ago, everything felt like it was slipping past his fingers. Oikawa remembers pacing back and forth just outside the men’s toilet, Iwaizumi’s attempts to calm him down fell deaf on his ears—all the former could hear was the uncomfortable beat of his heart, and the buzz around him. He tried his best to calm down, he really did but to no avail because at the back of his mind, you were the remedy. If Oikawa told his 18-year-old self that he wouldn’t have to stress so much about flying back to Argentina anymore, his younger self would most likely not believe him—having permanently associated the airport with the dreadful feeling of missing something. Missing someone.

Ten years later, he knows not to worry anymore. “Tōru.” You called out, giving Iwaizumi a quick wave before walking towards the taller man. “You came.” He replied, breathless, not knowing whether to scream at the fact that you came to see him off or called him by his first name. Oh, how Oikawa endlessly prayed to the universe for the day his name rolls off your tongue once again. It was sweet—meant to be voiced by you and only you. The three of you exchanged casual conversation like it was back in high school all over again—small banters here and there between the two men, a little teasing on the side, and most importantly, the unsaid thoughts.

You didn’t want this to end, you didn’t want to let him go but you knew better. Oikawa gave his best friend a firm hug and turned to you, arms spread wide, a sad smile etched on his face. “I’ll miss you so so much.” You let out a sigh, inhaling his scent for one last time as he tightened his hold around you. Oikawa rested his chin on the crown of your head, a light chuckle escaping his lips, “I’d be more upset if you didn’t.” He pulled away, cupping your face and resting his forehead against your own,

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” “I love you too, Tōru.”

Who knew that ten years later you’d be watching the back of your ex lover’s figure walk away from you as he leaves the country—it was silly how the universe worked but you never once doubted it. Despite how cruel it was, you’d already come to terms with it; finally letting go of Tōru Oikawa. You both had different paths in life to pursue, and that was that. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Iwaizumi gave you a friendly pat on the back, noticing the way tears quickly formed as Oikawa faced the other way. Yes, you were older now, more mature but that meant nothing as the love of your life walked away from you once again. You didn’t want to admit it back then but ever since Oikawa left for Argentina, he had taken a piece of your heart with him. And maybe you’ll just have to live with the fact that your heart will stay incomplete—a piece of it remaining eighteen thousand kilometres away from you.

#zhonglism ༄#oikawa tooru #haikyuu #oikawa angst #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu angst #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #smut #mdni

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icyg4l · 3 days

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PAC: How to Improve Your Relationship With Your Mother Figure

Hello beautiful people. Today is Mother’s Day and I want to wish all of the mothers out there a Happy Mother’s Day. Whether your mother is alive, dead or far away, I want to dedicate this reading to those who wish to have better relationships with their mothers. You don’t have to have a strained relationship with your mother to relate to this topic. You could simply just want to keep the bond that you have already. And lastly, I want to dedicate this Mother’s Day to the mothers in Haiti, Congo, Palestine, Sudan, Tigray and unfortunately many more. If you have any crowdfunding links that need to be boosted/donated to regarding mothers/families in these countries, please do not hesitate to direct me to them. Without further ado, please select the photo that resonates with you.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (Pile 1-6)

Pile One: I feel like this pile has a close relationship with their mother overall. You seem to be at peace with where you are with her, but things could get even better. I feel like something that could help you and your mother get along even more is helping her around the house. She likes for the floors to be swept and mopped, towels to be folded, dishes to be washed. Your mother may be a neat freak but it’s nothing that can’t be taken care of. I also feel like buying your mother things that she would use on a daily basis could be something that improves your relationship. For example, if your mother really likes makeup, get her a lip gloss set. If she likes flowers, buy her a vase and some flowers so that she can smell the roses. It’s the thought that counts. And lastly, I feel like making your mom look good is going to improve your relationship. Not only does being a good representation of her name make her look good, but actually adding onto her beauty will strengthen your relationship. If you’re into makeup, do your mom’s makeup. If you’re into hair, do her hair. If she wants a new pair of shoes, get her that pair of shoes. This is only if you’re able to though. Don’t break the bank trying to please your mama.

If your mother is not here on this Earth, then please go all out with her grave. She wants you to decorate her grave/headstone with flowers. Clean the headstone. Wear her necklaces, bracelets and adornments. She wants you to talk about her highly. She wants you to not forget where you came from. You are wise and positive, so please continue to do what you do. Just because she is gone does not mean anything should change. She wants you to listen to your gut. If you have a little sibling, please don’t let them do anything stupid even though they can be prideful. I feel like she’s very big on morals and discipline so don’t think she isn’t clocking you from the afterlife because she is. Lastly, please speak of yourself highly. You have half of her genes and she does not appreciate it when you disrespect the physical features that you two share. Have some respect for those who have come before you.

Cards Used: Queen of Cups, Justice, The Star, 6 of Wands, The Magician, Ace of Discs.

extras: joanne the scammer. 2016 era of youtube. mother-daughter days. only child. donuts.

Pile Two: I feel like you all have a tumultuous relationship with your mother. It feels like you’re a rebel and you do not like to follow the rules. You and your mother could never see eye-to-eye once you turned a certain age. Perhaps, it was around age 12? I feel like you and your mother need to consider counseling. It would help a lot to have a mediator with the two of you. This energy is like an episode of Maury or Steve Wilkos. I think that you may be LGBTQ+ as well. Your mother may not completely accept this part of you. Now usually, I am against the whole “They’re from a different time stance” but your mom feels out of reach to you. I am literally seeing two people on opposite sides of a grassy land. One person is reaching for the other but the other person is minding their business. She wants to understand you but her bossiness can get in the way. I say to just be patient with her. I feel like one thing that you can do is invite her to a place that you frequent often for fun just so she can get a taste of what you do everyday. I am channeling this movie called ‘The Aggressives’. One of the mascs’ mother was so convinced that she would end up with a man but that obviously wasn’t the case. By the end, she just ended up accepting her daughter for who she is. You two are definitely on opposite sides of the spectrum. I feel like another thing that you could do is play video games with her, which is weird? This can help build teamwork amongst you two, thus forming a better bond in the end.

If your mother is deceased, I feel like you should be taking more risks. Stop giving a fuck about the rules and just live your life. There is nothing wrong with changing up your routine. Your mother could have been a rebel or even someone who led a revolution. Your mother wants you to walk away from what you once knew. Deep inside, you are someone who is capable of making great changes just as she did. I feel like your mother just wants you to embrace the inner youth inside of you. You’re too rigid. It’s affecting the way that you live. You have too much couth. It’s okay to play and let loose a little bit. She will still love you just the same as she did when she was alive if you change. Overall, embrace change babe! Dye your hair a different color. Take a spontaneous trip. Go to that concert. Please just do something! Get out of freeze mode!

Cards Used: The Fool, 6 of Swords, The Hermit (RX), 5 of Swords, Queen of Swords, 7 of Discs, Wheel of Fortune, The Hierophant (RX).

extras: minor headaches. igor (2019). odd future fan. beast. the bear (2022). absent father.

Pile Three: I feel like you have this certain image of your mother in your head. You think that she is perfect but she is not, my dear. There are certain things that she has been through/experienced that she hasn’t even told you about. You do not know her the way you think you do. She has stories for days. She is not an angel. I feel like you need to get to know your mother. She is an interesting character. Ask her about her life story. Ask her about the experiences that have shaped her into the woman that she is today. You need to take her off of the pedestal that you have put her on. Take a step into reality, boo. I think that doing stuff like going out by the water or going fishing will help you guys bond to understand each other better. Yes, she used to change your diapers but if someone walked up to you and asked what your mother figure’s favorite color was, would you be able to answer it? It’s time to change that. I feel like traveling with your mother, whether it’s a road trip or by plane will help as well. I am channeling the movie Tammy (2014) with Melissa McCarthy. I recommend you watch this movie. Don’t underestimate your mother anymore!

If your mother is deceased, I feel like she wants you to know that she looks back on memories between the two of you fondly. I think she may have passed when you were too young to remember or it was before you hit puberty. You should ask the people who knew her best about what she was like, how she felt about motherhood, how she felt about you, etc. She does not regret anything in her lifetime. That says a lot about how she lived her life. If you have access to these, find any diaries, photos, old clothes, etc and put them in a place where no one can find them. If you find some old clothes, wear them and don’t let anyone else do that. Your mother wants you to be on the straight and narrow path though. Even though you may not know her like the back of your hand, she’s been watching you grow into the person that you are today from a place that you cannot see. But she will not judge if you stray away from this path, she understands what it’s like to be young and dumb. Overall, your mother just wants what is best for you.

Cards Used: 6 of Swords, Temperance, 3 of Wands, 7 of Swords (RX), King of Cups.

extras: beaver. morehouse college. air out your grievances. gummy bear song. sepia filter.

Pile Four: Stop hanging out with your significant other so much! You need to learn how to balance between familial obligations and romantic obligations. I feel like this is really the only thing that is getting in between you and your mother’s relationship. I feel like this pile listens to Jhene Aiko a lot. I am channeling Never Call Me. I think your mom would show up to your s/o’s house unannounced with a bunch of people behind her if you don’t keep in contact with her regularly. She does not play about you at all. It’s not really an overbearing thing. I think she just doesn’t want you to go down the path that she went down with your father. So speak up or face the consequences, love. I also think that you should hear her out when it comes to certain advice especially if it has something to do with a car. Maybe you let your s/o borrow your car too much or you let your car battery almost die or something? In this case, mother knows best. She’s not a chip on your shoulder. Just listen!

If your mother is deceased, I feel like she may have died around the same time as your father figure. She also could have died at the same time as your father figure. Your father could have been the reason she died. She wants you to be independent. Learn how to change your own tires. Take up some gym classes/self-defense classes. Don’t be willfully clueless. She also wants you to not be anyone’s ride or die. This may be the reason why she passed away. I feel like you’ve heard countless versions of how your mother chose to live her life, it isn’t completely true. Don’t believe the hype. One day, you will come across the full story. Definitely be single until you are ready to marry. Your mother could have been rushed to marry. She does not want to see you get taken advantage of like she was. Don’t hesitate to dedicate an altar to her. She wants to talk to you. She may have even popped up in your dreams before.

Cards Used: 6 of Discs (RX), Ace of Swords, 2 of Wands, The High Priestess, The Devil, Two of Cups, Queen of Wands.

extras: gang culture. setup. grooming. pirates. shoddy apartment. purple bandana.

Pile Five: Have you ever considered getting plastic surgery so that you would look different from your mother? I am specifically getting an eyelift, nose job, butt implants, etc. I am channeling the energy of Blac Chyna and Tokyo Toni. I think that you and your mom have a toxic relationship. One day you’re good. The next day you’re fighting to be heard by her. You two could have physically fought before. What I am hearing is “Everyone has a story”. I feel like your guides want you to take into consideration her backstory. Get a little psychological here. Why does she act the way that she acts? Was she abandoned as a child? How does this play into how she treats you now? I am seeing a therapist writing in their notebook as we speak. I feel like she operates out of a lack mindset and you have outgrown that. I think that there was some type of falling out between her and your father figure. Maybe she was the side chick? Maybe she was taken advantage of at a young age? Maybe it was both. Honestly, this pile is very different from the others. You are being asked to pour into yourself. You need to put your foot down and let her know that you will be choosing the higher road. She will respect you more if you do that. I also think that you just simply need to start taking more time for yourself. You do not exist to be your mother’s punching bag. You are a human being. This pile is very different. You need to protect your peace babe.

If your mother is deceased, I feel like you guys could have argued before she died. I think that she was warning you about a particular behavior. Maybe she was telling you not to follow in your father’s footsteps and you chose not to listen. Maybe you snuck off somewhere you weren’t supposed to? Your mother did not want to control you. She just had some feelings about the choices you were making. But you make the bed that you lay in so there’s nothing that she could have done about it. I feel like you need to forgive yourself. Free yourself of the burden of your mother’s death. You cannot control fate. You need to learn how to accept certain circumstances for what they are. You can change the present moment and make things right today! It’s all about what you choose to do. No matter what though, your mother still has love for you. She forgave you a long time ago, almost as soon as she transitioned. It’s time for you to make peace with yourself, love. Take control of your future and accountability for your actions (or lack thereof).

Cards Used: The Emperor, 9 of Cups, Prince of Discs, The Moon, 5 of Wands, Ace of Cups, 7 of Swords, Judgment, The High Priestess.

extras: living vicariously. narcissist. getting high. sobbing uncontrollably. asthma attack. ambush.

Pile Six: You are not a child anymore, Pile Six. Your mother is willing to talk to you about uncomfortable topics now. You’re an adult. Treat yourself as such. I think that drinking wine with your mother and having a conversation will help you guys get along better. Day drinking, wine tasting, etc will help you guys bond in a more mature way. I feel like you and your mom could be friends if you were not mother and child. You have to see the world through an adult’s eyes now. I feel like gossiping with your mom can be beneficial for your relationship, especially if it’s about old family tea. You can be in the know now, lol. I also think that paying for dinner/lunch could be a great way to prove your maturity. Honestly, your mom just wants you to grow up. You’re there but not quite. Be the butterfly that you’re meant to be. Lowkey, you might want to start saving to move out. She’s not going to kick you out or anything but you’re going to start feeling differently about the environment that you’re in.

If your mother is deceased, please keep her updated on the latest family/friend drama lol. I feel like your mother may have had a boyfriend before she passed. I don’t know if he moved on or not but she approves of the lady he’s with now. Your mother could have had problems with conceiving/conceived at a young age. This plays into why she treated you like gold. You guys could have acted more like siblings rather than mother and child. It’s also possible that your mother could have passed at a young age (you could actually be older than your mother right now). Whatever the case may be, I feel like she wants you to finish the path that she was set to be on. Continue to honor her legacy. She could have been on the way to pursuing a degree, you should do the same but actually complete the journey. I am channeling the energy of Whitney Houston. Your mother is very animated to be honest. She wants you to embrace that energy/side of yourself. It’s in you, lol. And lastly, don’t try to hide being your mother’s child. You don’t have to be exactly like her but you are her partially. You are your own person but you just so happen to take after her mannerisms, looks, etc lol. There is nothing wrong with that. Don’t fight it.

Cards Used: Queen of Discs, The Sun, 6 of Cups (RX), Princess of Discs (RX), 3 of Cups, The Lovers.

extras: esperanza/hope. j. cole. popeye spinach. t-boz. slow jamz. 2004-2005. senior in college.

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faetreides · 3 days

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you nailed how i imagined modern!feyd to be (batshit crazy) but you think he‘d let cute hello kitty reader put like stickers and bows on his motorcycle and stuff lmao? would he be an ass and be mean about it or would he allow it because reader is all sad and mopey otherwise 😔🎀 (maybe brat reader? like how would mans handle that in the modern au because in the canon verse pissing him off is a bit too scary) and alsoooo i laughed my ass off when you wrote he would debone coryo like a fish because yuh that twink (he could do bad things to me) wouldn’t stand a chance fr

he would actually make coryo so concerned, like they’re both from well off families (feyd just does underground fighting bc for the #love of the game) but coryo will be like “these poor people are CRAZY.” coryo gives off the vibes of he’d tell someone to kill for him (especially when he gets older, or he wouldn’t get his hands dirty if he does it himself & he’s methodical), feyd is tearing out throats with his teeth. he’d tackle his uncle and start stabbing, he’d gnaw his own arm off just for fun like you can’t compete where you don’t compare tbh. (coryo’s still my bf tho <3)

anyway,

cw: 18+ mdni, typical feyd warnings, spanking/pain play type stuff

modern!feyd would only let you put stickers on his bike if they’re the ones that are like hello kitty holding a gun or something. it’s not like he’s afraid that the softer ones will undermine his masculinity or anything, feyd’s ripping into other men with no real regard for keeping their bodies intact, it’s just that the cutesy stickers go on his helmet. he’ll let you tie a ribbon around his bicep and film videos of him flexing and making it pop off. he would wear matching pjs with you, but he doesn’t want to get blood on them so he sticks to his trusty sweats. he’s the kind of person to wear black in the hot summer sun because he’s spiteful enough to not give a fuck about heatstroke, like it’s something he could fight lmao. gets a matching dear daniel x hello kitty tattoo with you i fear, or a my melody x kuromi one since that’s more your dynamic.

brat!reader with canon era feyd does scare me to death, but with modern!feyd it’s fun to think about…. to a degree. like if you keep it up, he’s pausing the match and dragging you inside the ring to spank you in front of everyone. open palm strikes with half of his strength, if he used all of it your ass might fall off. his rings add even more sting. you learn quickly to know when to pack it up and throw in the towel, because he will NEVER be the one to test out your devious little ideas and macinations out on. he’ll shove a vibrator up your pussy and take you for a long ride on his bike, ignoring the way you try to hump him as he points out the sights he thinks you’d be interest in. weirdly punishes you by fucking nice and slow when you want your shit rocked, he doesn’t even edge you or anything, he just gives it you so soft and sweet and holds your hips down so you can’t try to buck them.

in some ways, you being at his matches has helped his abilities. (you do have to come to his fights btw, if you’re not there expect the rumble of his engine to be heard outside of wherever you’re at. feyd will get his unlce to cancle the match if you’re not there, he’s ultimately a certain kind of performer and if the key audience member isn’t there??? what’s the point.) he has to keep an eye on you, which helps him multitask. he’ll be punching some fuckin’ loser into an unrecognizable pulp while, out of the corner of his eye, making sure that no one’s trying to drag you into any wagers or into their cars. he’s curious if you could cum just from watching one of his fights, from hearing the agonized whimpers of his opponent as feyd effortlessly conquers them. something about you must be sick, because the more ruthless he is in a fight, the higher you’re jumping on him and the more marks you’re sucking into his neck.

you’re so clumsy with it, always putting too much teeth into your hickeys. but that’s just the way he likes it, because you know he’s actively holding back from biting you so hard that’s nearly cannibalizing you. (side note: loves gorey horror, nothing too funny or artsy, he likes shit that cares more about the pure carnage than quips or wide camera shots. hannibal is too “fancy” for him, he always asks you to explain what the fuck they’re talking about.) definition of mauling you like a bear, fucking him is like meeting God if they were an eldritch horror and you were on the brink of death. it is NOT for the weak, his thick arms holding you in a headlock as he pistons his gigantic cock into your cervix. he makes you cum until pass out, then he makes you do it again to wake you up. really good at resetting your brain if you need him too.

modern!feyd who gives you the ultimate scary guard dog priviledge. you’re going about your business in a store and he’s practically vibrating behind you, foaming at the mouth and waiting for some mf to try it with you so he can berserk. but no one ever takes the bait, just one look at his deranged ass and they’re swiftly turning on their heels and high tailing it out of the apple store (you’re taking too long to pick what color imac you want.) copies whatever pictures you saw on pinterest, acting as your little prop. wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat, mirror selfies where he’s holding you over his shoulder by your ass, gross close ups of his long tongue wrapped around yours, insta stories directed at paul specficially bc he won’t stay out of your dms. asks his opponents for date ideas while he’s beating their ass 💀, made his uncle organize a remartch (even though feyd won) with the guy who limped over to your adorably clad in pink form and asked you to get boba (because he noticed feyd giving you your favorite before his fights).

pierced dick, would sharpen his teeth and make his tongue forked. face tattoos + whatever piercing’s more painful. big in body mods overalls like he sees himself as an extension of his motorcycle that he’s always illeggaly modding, fast and furious type specs that no court of law would deem road safe. but he always devotes part of his brain to making sure you’re safe when you ride along with him, reaching behind him and his black painted nails rubbing comforting little circles into your plush thighs. ambidextrous by choice and practice, for sure has a cauliflower ear. whenever you’re sad and pouting, he’s grabbing your chin in between his thumb an pointer finger and lifting your head up so he lovingly teases you about being a crybaby and so he can lick your tears away. (and he doesn’t even do it with sexual intent, feyd’s genuinely just trying to consume your sadness directly since word’s aren’t his strong suit.) could fall asleep in an ice bath, has done it before, dad type snoring like you wouldn’t believe.

loves it when you ride him in any kind of water, you have to pack extra strength sun screen if you’re going to be out in the sun though bc he WILL burn more often than not. still has your pussy gorilla glue gripping his length though, there’s no pain on earth that would put him out of comission & that’s a promise.

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pippin-katz · 2 days

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Thoughts About Potential Sex Scenes In RWRB 2

I have seen some comments about this, as well as comments from before, specifically relating to Taylor and Nicholas kissing "with tongue" and being more explicit in the sequel. I thought I would share what has been going through my head in regards to that.

If I am being entirely honest, I do not want them to put heavily explicit sex scenes in the sequel. I do not want them to do a bunch of unnecessary, raunchy sex scenes simply because they can. I do not want them shoving tongues down each others' throats.

I am aware that I am likely in the minority here. To me, the way they kissed whenever they were kissing with intensity was practically perfect. I personally do not find it in any way appealing to see two people practically eating each other's mouths.

Their lips were the focus, which considering what kissing is, makes sense. And I do not mean that they should only kiss with closed mouths, because those are different things, at least to me. Here is how I describe difference between the two.

Compare the kiss Henry gives Alex on the couch in Alex's bedroom to the kisses they have while having sex in Paris.

The first is a closed mouth kiss where their lips are pressing against each other. The seconds are an open mouth kiss where their lips connect.

It is not how it looks that determines the type of kiss. It is how they kiss, specifically how it is initiated. The lack of tongue does not make it a closed mouth kiss. Closed mouth kisses lead with puckered lips to touch lips. Open mouth kisses lead with open lips to touch open lips. Close mouth kisses are still, while open mouth kisses change.

Notice how their mouths their lips in these kisses in the Red Room stay connected at the same angle at first, but then they both break/breathe for a second before connecting at a different angle grows/closes.

To phrase it differently, open mouth kisses involve starting with open mouths and trying to close their lips around the other person's. That's why they move, if that makes sense.

The close mouth kiss pulls away with no almost no change in their lip shapes, because they are pulling directly apart. The open mouth kisses are closing in, so the point of contact has to be reconnected when they run out of space.

It has to be an open mouth kiss to be able to involve tongues. They both have to have open mouths when they meet, or open them while they are connected.

Does that make sense?

I really like their open mouth kisses, and you could probably add a small amount of tongue movement to them without changing anything. It is when a couples' mouths are both wide open against each other that I, personally, become disenchanted.

Not using this as an example out of spite, but purely because it visually showcases what I mean. Nicholas and Anne in The Idea Of You:

The second kiss in particular; that to me is barely "kissing" anymore, even though it is technically still a kiss by society's definition. I am super particular about the use of the term "making out" because that second kiss is what "making out" is in my head.

Like Christ, their lips are almost completely perpendicular to each other; to be clearer, the corners of their lips are where the center of the other's lips meet.

Pro Tip: If you ever read a fanfiction of mine, I will specifically avoid using the term "making out" unless there is explicitly stated use of tongues. All of these would count as "lips moving against each other", but only the one from TIOY is "making out".

This is absolutely a personal preference, but that amount of mouth opening and tongue is really unattractive to me. I really love the way the open mouth kisses are in RWRB because they do not do that. I am not opposed to the use of tongue entirely, but god, I do not want that.

As for the sex scenes, the level of explicit they had for the Paris scene was perfect. It showed you everything that was happening, without actually showing you anything, and maintaining the emotional intimacy.

There is something so fucking pure about Alex and Henry’s attraction to each other, even in the sexual nature. Their emotional connection is present the entire time.

In the Red Room/Alex’s bedroom/tack room, there is a hunger and lust between them, yet you can feel that they are not doing it purely for the actual physical pleasure sex brings. They do it because it is fun and makes them genuinely happy, emotionally.

Compare that to the way George pursues sex in Mary & George, and how almost every sexual encounter is driven purely by unsatiable lust for pleasure and power. That is felt in every scene through the acting and cinematography.

In Alex's bedroom and the tack room, before feelings are being recognized, there is still this sense of emotional connection. They are all over each other and want sex.

Examples:

That is not up for debate, but there feels like more. I do not know how they did it, but it is there. I hope above all else that no matter what they do in terms of sexual content in the sequel that it does not lose that feeling.

That is all I wanted to say. Hopefully this made sense!

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb sequel #rwrb thoughts #alex claremont-diaz #taylor zakhar perez #henry hanover-stuart fox #nicholas galitzine #firstprince

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dragon-kazansky · 2 days

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Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Four - Pocket full of sand

☆☆☆

You had been locked away in that house for so long that you had no idea just how much the world had changed. You had never really been to London before, but you were sure even then it had been much different to the London you are in today.

You turn around to see Dream composing himself. He looked a little... tired, dare you say. He looks at you silently.

"You alright?" You ask.

He nods and then turns around. It's dark out, not many people around. He would know Constantine when he saw her. She had his sand.

You stand a good few steps away from him, holding yourself. You didn't bring a coat. You didn't exactly have time to bring anything. You were in a city you couldn't navigate, and your only companion was a strange man who had told you you were his soulmate.

It was a lot to take in one night.

"Constantine."

You turn around to see Dream looking at a woman in a long coat. She doesn't exactly hang about. The conversation is short as she directs his attention to a raven that has landed on the bench behind you. You find yourself confused at its sudden appearance. It seemed to be watching Dream.

"I do not need a raven."

You look at Dream, confused. The man was talking to a bird. Of all the crazy things you've seen so far in regards to this man, this was the craziest.

"Lucienne said you'd say that," the raven spoke.

You stare at the bird with wide eyes. "It's talking?"

"Uh, I'm Matthew," the raven replies.

"It's talking!"

Dream stands beside you and looks down at the raven. He doesn't act like he heard what you were saying. His attention was fully on the bird. "I do not need a raven," he repeats.

"Respectively, sir, you do." Matthew caws.

"Go back to the Dreaming."

"Look, she's got away!" Matthew exclaims, looking behind Dream.

Morpheus turns and finds Constantine has completely vanished from sight. She's made sure to put distance between them.

Dream turns to you. "Fine. You stay here with him. Don't move."

"What?" You look at him with slight panic. He can see it in your eyes.

"Just wait for me."

Dream walks off, and you scoff in disbelief. This man, who is supposedly your soulmate, has the audacity to "rescue" you from your family home and then abandon you in an unfamiliar city? The universe could have chosen someone with more dignity at least to tie you with.

You sit on the bench with a huff. Matthew cocks his head to the side, looking at you intently. You turn and glare at him, causing him to take a few steps away from you along the back of the bench.

"So, uh..." He snaps his beak gently, making a clicking sound, "who are you?"

"No one important," you sigh.

"That can't be true. Wait, are you the woman Lucienne mentioned? She said he had gone off to rescue someone."

"Does everyone know about this?" You ask.

"No? Not that I know of."

"I'm sorry, but how are you talking? You're a bird!" You look at him.

"I don't know. I just... am. I wasn't always a bird, mind you. I was like you once."

"Like me?"

"A human." He cocks his head again.

"Oh... What happened?"

"I, uh... I died."

"Oh... I'm sorry." You frown.

"It's fine. This is my life now." He ruffles his feathers a little. "So, uh... Are you just gonna sit here?"

☆☆☆!!!!!!!

Morpheus finds Constantine within her nightmare. He'd standing there when she woke. She states at him for a good few moments and then speaks. "For fuck's sake." She sighs. "How did you find me?"

"You were dreaming. But it wasn't only a dream, was it? It's a memory. No wonder you do not sleep."

"Maybe I don't deserve to."

"Perhaps not." He says to Constantine. "But I could make it go away."

"Only if I help you find your sand."

"Though finding anything in this place may require more magic than even you can muster."

Joanna falls silent for a moment and then gets up. "I'll look in the office. Try not to clean up while I'm gone."

"I'm coming with you," he says. "You have a gift for disappearing."

"All right. But if the mess in here offends you, wait till you see my office."

The office was so much worse.

Constantine started going through her things, hoping the pouch would pop up somewhere and she could get this over with. She didn't particularly want him hanging around.

"Why do humans love objects so much?" Dream asks.

"They do come in handy sometimes." Constantine tells him. "You seem pretty attached to your sand."

"It's not just an object. It's a part of me."

"If that's true, how'd you happen to lose it?" She asks, looking at him.

"It was stolen by a magic user called Burgess."

"Wait, not Rodrick Burgess? The old demon king himself, eh? Everyone used to say he was a fake. Said he had the Devil locked up in his basement. How the fuck did you..."

She looks up.

"Shit." She walks over to him. "Were you down there? All this time?"

His lack of response was in itself an answer.

Morpheus plucks a set of photos from a box and looks down at them. They picture Constantine and another woman in them.

"Is this you?" He asks.

"Why? Do I look that different?"

"No. Happy."

A moment of silence passes.

"Shit." Constantine whispers. "I know where your sand is."

☆☆☆

Dream had gone all the way to Rachel's apartment. He had first gone to Constantine's, assuming she had the sand there, but it became rather complicated quickly.

Turns out the sand was at her exes. An ex she hadn't seen in quite some time. He was ready to go inside with her, but she told him to wait outside.

She needed to do this alone, apparently. However, he was reluctant to let her out of his sight. She had a tendency to disappear.

While he waited outside, he turned to see you walking around the corner.

"I told you to wait," he scolded. Though you wouldn't say you felt overly threatened by him.

"We got bored."

"We?"

In that moment, Matthew flew down and landed by your feet. Dream was far from pleased. "I told you to wait for me."

"If we're soulmates or whatever, shouldn't I help?" You ask, looking at him just as unimpressed.

"No."

You scoff softly. "You're hard work, you know that?"

Dream says nothing as he stares at you, hands in his pockets. It's Matthew who breaks the awkward atmosphere between you both. He really doesn't know what's going on, and there was very little time to ask about it.

"You know you can't trust her, right? You should really go in there."

Dream shifts his eyes away from you. Matthew had a point.

"Wait here."

This time he was wanting you both. You cross your arms and watch him go inside. You stand there for a moment before slumping down onto the ground.

"That bad, huh?"

"I've known him less than a day, kind of. Well, I've known of him a while. It's complicated. Soulmates or whatever. I don't care about some stupid divine bond." You sigh.

"So, it's legit? The soulmate thing, I mean."

You lower your wrist to his level and show him the scar. "I got this the day I first set eys on him. Sometimes, it burns. Though it hasn't for a bit. It's what binds me to him, I think."

"Hm. So, why do I sense so much anger toward him?" Matthew caws.

"He's insufferable. We have this weird bond, and he has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. He rescued me less than an hour ago, and now we're off on some strange quest to get... sand?"

"Well, yeah. Lucienne told me about that. He's getting his tools back," Matthew says.

"His tools?"

"His sand, his helmet, and his ruby."

"I'm so lost."

"How do I put this? Lord Morpheus is the dream lord. He is king and creator of the Dreaming, his realm. His tools include a pouch of sand, a helmet, and a ruby. Without them, he doesn't have much of anything."

You listen to Matthew speak. "I see."

"It's important he gets them back."

"I've gathered that much. I just... I don't see why I have to be part of any of this. Fine, I'm not going to grow old and die, but do I have to stay with him?"

"I don't think he's going to just let you go," Matthew caws.

"Why not? He doesn't need me."

Matthew goes quiet.

Constantine leaves the apartment and walks off, looking not so perky anymore. Not long after, Dream comes out and follows the direction she went in slowly.

You rise from the ground and watch them. He hadn't even glanced your way. Matthew goes on ahead to join the two. You keep your distance, watching them talk.

Constantine says something to Matthew, and then she looks up at you. She stares at you for a while and then turns and walks away under her umbrella.

Dream looks at the pouch in his hand and then looks up at you. "You're still here."

"You told me to wait."

"You could have run," he says flatly.

You glance at Matthew, who looks up at you. What he said earlier flashes before your mind. Dream probably wouldn't really let you go. "Yeah, well... whatever."

Dream stares at you in heavy silence. You hate it. You hate the way he looks at you. You hate the way he doesn't say anything. You can't say you're all too fond of him either.

"Stop looking at me."

Dream turns his eyes back to the pouch. "Come here."

You sighed and walked over to him, standing where Constantine had been standing just moments before.

"So, where are we going next?" You ask.

"Hell."

"Hell? Like metaphorical Hell or... Hell Hell?" Matthew caws.

Dream stares at you silently, and you swallow nervously. "Hey, I didn't agree to... that!"

"My helm is in Hell."

"I don't care. Hell? That's crazy." You yell at him quietly.

He just stares. He slowly raises his pouch and opens his other hands. He gives you time enough to walk away, but you don't. You know what he's doing. He pours the sand into his waiting palm, and it flows around the three of you in a blanket.

There really was no going back now.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi -

#heart of the Dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #female reader #dragon writes

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fiapple · 2 days

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i'm getting towards the end of the skypeia arc, & i'd like to say just how much i adore the way the female strawhats have been treated.

just... every aspect of how the way their characters have been previously contextualized influences the story-line is treated with a masterful amount of consideration. we're given so many layers to both of them that enrich not only their characters specifically, but the arc, and the one piece world as a whole. without nami & robin having their specific skills, and their specific values, without those being built upon, the story would have come to a halt.

you could not have skypeia without nami & robin being who they are as individuals. not just because they never would've gotten there without nami, but also because the way these women think is itself foundational to the machinations of the arc as a whole.

to be totally upfront, if you think any other strawhats were more central to the skypeia arc than nami & robin were you are full-on fucking lying to yourself.

#obligatory disclaimer that i’m aware luffy is the protagonist & a lot of interesting stuff is explored w him. this isn’t abt him though.#part of me wonders if this is an aspect of why people will write off this arc sometimes tbh... like that & the political themes.#but yeah anyway i get why people say that for all there are 100% misogynistic tendencies in oda's writing & character design #it is very very hard to say that he as an individual is an ideological misogynist. like the level of care he puts into his female cast mem #-ers generally speaking & how he approaches what existing as a multi-dimensional individual would look like in their specific contexts is #like... in a lot of ways still something that is unprecedented across all forms of media.#but also not the point but anyone who says nami in particular doesnt get real fights/is unskilled um... no you're wrong read her fight in #alabasta & then all of skypeia.#like in alabasta she takes on arguably a stronger opponent than sanji when considering the structuring of BW. not only that but she does s #with a weapon she has never used before while actively reading the instruction manual. and she WINS. she wins based on sheer intellect &#the ability to utilize skills the audience already knows she has. the pre-existing basic fighting skills she's introduced with are elabora #-ed upon by incorporating her skill w navigation. same with the way her cunning is used in skypeia to cover her lack of sheer brute. &#the best part about it is she's fucking tough in a way that makes sense! she isn't strong/weak just for the sake of positioning her as such #it is thoughtful & it strengthens her as a character rather than just like giving the power-scaler types smth to mindlessly chew on.#like do i wish nami got to fight more & take a more active role in that regard even if i don't think she needs to be a fighter in the same #sense as the monster trio? yes absolutely. i'm guessing this is going to be smth that bothers me potentially even more with robin.#but that does not mean her fights are not masterfully written when she gets them or that she isn't tough as a bag of nails.#respect my darling woman or die.#skypeia #nico robin #nami #grey's one piece tag

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moodymisty · 2 days

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AAAAAA COULD YOU PLEASE MAYBE WRITE SOME CONTENT OF DAD! ROBOUTE WITH HIS S/O AFTER THEY HAVE KIDS? I WOULD BE SUPER MEGA ULTRA GRATEFUL!! THANK YOU!!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘��𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Here you go, enjoy some cute dadboute content :3

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really other than the implication of a dangerous pregnancy

“So, where is the little lady?”

Sanguinus crosses his arms casually over his chest, ignoring the sound of weapons clanking against each other. Guilliman does much the same.

“She is in our quarters resting still. The medicae insisted bedrest after he was born.” Sanguinus takes his words seriously, he was one of the only people Guilliman confided his worried about you in. However he also smiles, which Guilliman finds odd until he speaks.

“I imagine it must be a bit frustrating, having to be away from them.” Many of the Primarchs have struggled to contain their jealousy regarding Guilliman’s love, but Sanguinus is kind; He doesn’t doubt he’ll find someone soon.

“Believe me, I would much rather be there than here with you lot.”

Sanguinus smiles wider.

“Horus and Russ both have wandered off, I’ll keep a secret if you want to go see her.”

Guilliman doesn’t need it to be kept a secret, but knowing that Sanguinus will keep the other Primarchs at bay so he can enjoy a moment with his new son is more than appreciated. He gives Sanguinus a nod and takes his leave, the angel's eyes lingering on him for a few moments before looking away.

Each step closer to his quarters makes Guilliman just that bit more relieved, until he sees you in bed. Your child rests in your arms, asleep while you work on something on a dataslate. The medicae had specified plenty of bedrest for you as your body recovered, and he’s relived you’re taking it to heart.

He had also specifically said not to sleep with you for a while, nor get you pregnant until you were completely healed, which had embarrassed Guilliman greatly.

Hearing him enter the massive room you look up, setting the dataslate aside to give him your full attention. You do so gently to avoid shaking the baby in your arms, who does little more than make a few grumbles as you shift.

“You’re back soon, did things end early?” He comes closer and shakes his head, after kneeling at the side of the bed.

“I left for a moment to see you.” You smile, but it's coated in over-exaggerated suspicion.

“The Guilliman I know would never miss or skip out on a meeting. You must be an imposter.”

You seem in bright spirits joking and teasing him, but Guilliman knows well that the child of a primarch nearly killed you- and that you’re still more than likely in pain. He leans down to gently press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Perhaps I have been. And the others were none the wiser.”

Guilliman looks down at his child in your arms and gently moves his hand close, brushing a knuckle across his cheek.

"You should come back in an hour or two when he’s up to eat and put him back to sleep,” You say, and Guilliman gives you a sour look that makes you giggle.

Quite quickly you’ve learned that Guilliman’s voice seems to put your child right to sleep, something you’ve endlessly teased him about. While his voice is something you'll never tire of in its deep and dulcet tone, he can quickly become drone and monotonous depending on subject matter.

“Let me get a copy of this months expenditure for the Ultramarines and I’ll return to read it.” You would ask him to hold his child, but you know he’s still nervous about it. He’s still so small; Guilliman worries about his strength. You don’t push it, but you know he’s showing his love in other ways.

“Quite the bedtime story,” You look up at him as he cups his hand around your child’s side.

“You jest, but in my youth my father or mother would tell me about old Macraggian wars before bed.” Guilliman's eyes look away from his child for only a moment to see you scoff.

“Old battle tales are a bit different than a spending document, Roboute.”

Guilliman can’t help but soften his face. He’s so used to hearing his family name or titles; Guilliman, Lord Guilliman, Lord Primarch. He enjoys when he hears you say his name with such softness.

A knock on the door startles you, but you know Guilliman had heard whoever it was coming well before.

“Lord Guilliman? I apologize for the disturbance Lord Dorn is asking for you.” Guilliman sighs.

“I will be there momentarily.”

He looks to you and reaches a hand up to cup your face. You lean into it, smiling and enjoying the warmth of his palm against your skin. Leaning in he presses a kiss to your lips, and stays perhaps longer than he should have. He can hear you contently sigh until he pulls away, and leans to give a kiss to the top of his sleeping son’s head.

“You keep resting. Both of you.”

He looks harshly at you, almost scolding you preemptively. He glares at you as you roll your eyes, but there’s no true discontent behind his expression.

“Love you too, Roboute.”

#Roboute Guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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sardonic-the-writer · 3 days

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐗-𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: charles xavier, erik lehnsherr, logan howlett, marie lebeau, and peter maximoff

↳ warnings: x-man type violence maybe? nothing much

↳ notes: just some self indulgent headcanons about how the gang would deal with someone who hates skin on skin contact. this is based on my own personal experiences, so it might not cater to everyone. charles and erik are written to be more of themselves around the first class era, peter is himself as seen in apocalypse, and marie & logan are more set in the first movie's portrayal of them

↳ song: heavy metal lover—lady gaga

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 [𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐗]

• Oh this is not one bit of a problem for Charles

• He's never needed physical contact to connect with people. Whether that's because of his powers, or his 'natural charm' as he calls it, you aren't sure, but your strange request for no contact never seemed to put him off his friendship with you

• Charles has his own ways of bonding with you, no hugs or handshakes required. Instead of nudges used to alert the other of a particularly funny joke, he'd just send you flashes in your mind regarding the situation. The end result was always the same; with the both of you grinning at each other while the rest of the room was left to make their own assumptions as to what you were thinking about

• "Seriously, it's creepy when they do that. They could be talking about anything." Alex whispered to Hank one day as you and Charles stood across the room from each other, not caring if the Professor was able to hear him or not. The only sign that you were even talking was the occasional huff of laughter Charles would let out as you scrunched your nose up in a toothy grin

• "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Hanks eyes gleam from behind his glasses as he watches the two of his friends. "Charles tells me most of it is just really bad jokes, if you want to know."

• As if on cue, the spell between you and Charles breaks as you delve into a laughing fit, and Alex and Hank can't help but shake their heads at each other in slight amusement as they watch

• He does an excellent job at speaking for you when you can't quite explain to new people why you are the way you are—as long as you'll let him, of course

• Maybe it's because he's been in your head, or just because he knows you so well that he can say exactly what you're thinking before you even know it. And sometimes, he doesn't even need to explain much at all. One carefully worded sentence backed with that steady tone of his is enough to make even the most ignorant of people understand

• "No handshakes for them, please." Charles had found himself saying that sentence more times than he could count since getting to know you, but he never found himself growing tired of it; even when you eventually found the awkward courage to start speaking on your behalf. Especially when you started speaking on your behalf

• Charles is a very patient man, and he couldn't be happier than to wait for you to open up to the world like you had done for him, even if it does take a while

𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 [𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐨]

• I'm going to be completely honest with you. At first, Erik finds your habit of avoiding touch annoying

• It's a weakness in his eyes that you have every opportunity to avoid acquiring. He doesn't see the point in being afraid of something so miniscule

• When he first meets you, he's probably an asshole about it. Erik doesn't go out of his way to touch you on purpose, but he won't take extra steps to stop himself from doing so. If the back of his hand brushes against yours as he storms away from another one of Charles' annoying lectures? Then so be it. Who cares if you pull back from him like you've been burned, clutching your skin tightly as you glare at his retreating form

• It will take a while for Erik to begin to understand you, much like it does for him to understand a lot of things about the rest of the world. I won't say that he ever officially apologizes for his past behavior toward you, but he definitely drops hints that he does regret it

• "Never thought I'd live to hear the Erik Lehnsherr himself say sorry for something he did. Next you'll be telling me you've always liked humans." Your eyes were wide in faux surprise as you stared at him one day, looking like you had just heard the best news of your life. It was a good thing you and Erik had a much better relationship than when you had first met, otherwise he wouldn't have had a second thought about shutting you up

• "All I said was that maybe I maybe could have been a bit nicer to you." He sighed, already regretting this entire interaction

• "Oh, you're not getting off that easy." You were already scrambling for the door, completely missing the way Erik rolled his eyes and flicked his hand up in preparation. "Charles! Charles, you'll never believe what just happened—"

• He ended up using your belt buckle to drag you across the room before you could embarrass him any further

• Once he's warmed up to you, I'd like to think that he's definitely used the fact that lots of people wear rings and bracelets to his advantage to stop people from touching you at bars or in crowds

• He swears up and down he doesn't get attached to anyone, and especially not someone that associates with the X-Men of all groups, but you've definitely have had a few people look at their hands around you in confusion while he's around. Almost as if someone else had a say in their actions

• "Big softie."

• "You do know I could kill you if I wanted to."

• "I'd like to retract my last statement, please and thank you."

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 [𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

• Logan doesn't give two shits about your strange request

• Not in the way that he ignores it like Erik, but rather in the way that he literally doesn't give a fuck if you want to be touched or not. He wasn't planning on touching you anyways, so it's not like he really has to think about it

• If anything, Logan is one of the only people who can even begin to understand your mindset. He's never been too fond of people just outright touching him without a warning first, especially if they were strangers, but that's what you get after being experimented on for years

• He'll have to get to both know and like you before he starts taking your words more seriously. Otherwise, all you're getting from him is a gruff noise of disinterest and a roll of his shoulders as he blows past you

• Or ar least that's what he'd like you to think

• "Watch it, pal." You barely had time to process what that noise was next to your ear before Logan was standing dangerously close to you. You were about to ask him to back away before you saw his hand up, and when you looked at his hand you saw it was closed around a strangers wrist; the likes of which was outreached in your direction and just about to make contact with you

• Logans rough tone and sharp glare had sent the fellow stumbling away with an apology, and left you standing there with a bewildered look on your face. It only grew larger when he refused to look at you afterward

• "Don't let it get to your head." Was all he huffed out in your general direction before walking off to continue the mission the both of you were on. Through the com's in your ears, you could hear the rest of the team asking you what was going on, and with a slow upward tick of your lip you finally answered

• "I think Wolverine here has gone a bit soft on my end guys."

• You were given the cold shoulder for the rest of the week by Logan, and every time he glared at you, you couldn't help but try to hold in laughter

• "See, this is why I'm not nice."

"No no no I take it all back, I swear. You're so mean. You're the meanest, toughest person here, never done a good deed in your life—"

• "Shut the fuck up."

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮 [𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

• She doesn't understand why you'd choose to have people not touch you

• For Marie, not being able to hug someone— to even so much as hold hands with the people she loved —is a curse. She wasn't such a fool to think that her mutation itself was the curse, Charles had managed to drill that thought out of her head a long while ago, but the side-effect that came with it would forever haunt her

• So when she found out that you actively took strides to make sure no one ever touched you (if possible), she was in disbelief

• "I just don't get it." She'd confessed to you out of the blue once. "How can you stand it? If I were you—"

• "But you're not." You cut her off and shrugged, voice devoid of any meanness or annoyance at the turn of conversation. "I get it. I must seem crazy to you. I'd imagine that you'd jump at the chance to be able to touch someone again. But that just isn't me. I can't stand the feeling of being touched. Makes me feel gross; inside and out. I don't ask you to understand it, just that you respect it. Yeah?"

• She had nodded slowly at you, not expecting the sudden explanation. It wasn't unwelcome, however. Quite the contrary. She'd rather understand you than stew in quiet confusion

• From that moment on, even if Marie thinks you're a little crazy in the head, she does her best to make sure that both herself and others take your wishes to heart

• You have to admit, it's nice having her look out for you. And it helps that she's one of the most powerful mutants on campus; one sideways look from her, and she could send anyone in the opposite direction from you if you need

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 [𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫]

• You're constantly having to remind him that you don't like people touching you

• It's not Peter's fault he forgets sometime. His brain is always going going going from one thing to the next. Thinking about the next mission, the quickest way to get from one end of the country to the other, how to beat that stupid kid at the arcade that keeps leaving him and his high scores in the dust—

• Okay so maybe he could do a bit of a better job of trying to listen

• "Peter, reach for the back of my neck again and I'm gonna break both of your legs." You didn't even have to turn around to know that he was itching to latch onto your neck, most likely to take you on a surprise trip a few states over. Or maybe just to the mall. He was spontaneous like that

• When you did manage to look up from your notebook and back at him, you found that Peter was already a good few feet away from you, holding up his hands with a deceivingly innocent smile; but respecting your wishes all the same

• "You sure you're not a secret nun or something?" He poked fun at the way you refused to let anyone touch you, even going as far to squint at you in an unconvinced manner. You ignored his clear misunderstanding of nuns to snort in amusement

• "No."

"Could have fooled me, babe."

• He sped away before you had the chance to throw your papers at his head

• Peter's probably the kind of guy to constantly tease you to your face, but the moment you're not in sight and someone's ragging on you, he'll shut them down. He's done it many times to stray students in the hallways of the school who talk just a little too loud about your personal boundaries

• "I'm just saying, man, they're a little weird. The other day, I asked to borrow a pencil, and they threw it at me. While standing less than a foot away. It's just strange—"

• Less than a second later, the student was sent falling to the floor over his shoelaces, which were suspiciously tied together in contrast to moments ago when they had been placed in neat little bows

• The only sign that this hadn't been a freak accident was the telltale burst of wind that sped by the student and their friend, a faint laugh following in its wake

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azen13 · 2 days

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The Lives and Losses of Lovers

Description: This is actually inspired by a post by @lum1nesc3nce, which you can find here! TLDR: Zhongli x God!Reader, where Zhongli kills his lover but they stay alive. This does have a bit more of a Yandere!Zhongli flavor, though, so be warned!

CW: Yandere Themes, Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Murder, Mild Gore,

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The patio is warm, blessed with the touch of the sun’s earliest rays. Already you and Zhongli sit in two comfortable chairs; he sips on tea, you on coffee. It is a scene that has played out a thousand times, yet one Zhongli never tires of. He never tires of seeing your face aglow, of feeling your body leaning against his, of knowing you are here, miraculously breathing life through your bones and skin.

“My dear, I was wondering,” Zhongli starts, his soft contemplative voice shattering the flimsy silence blanketing the porch. “Would you like to accompany me to Liyue Harbor to purchase some groceries?” It is a reward–he thinks as he revels in your surprised reaction–for how understanding you have been in these turbulent times. With the whole mess regarding the Fatui cleared up and a mundane mortal life ahead of him, Zhongli can afford to spend more moments with you in sweet, blissful love.

Perhaps one day it will make up for that vile scene years ago, the moment his heart became stone: your body splayed stunningly on the ground, looking like the most gilded, horrific masterpiece he had ever seen. Painted in sunlit hues, his spearhead sticking from your chest splattered with blood made of molten gold.

Even nearly dying you looked breathtaking.

He is still suffering from regret for the decision. At the time, the situation was looking grim; Guizhong and Azhdaha were both gone, leaving you his only close friend. He spent many moonlit nights sharing tea and hushed conversation, as well as tears and heartfelt confessions with you. Zhongli is not the god of words, but just the sight of your iridescent eyes made him want to tell you every trouble and every worry had. You were his most valuable treasure, his lover through and through. Your contract with him, to always stand by side, loyal to one another, made him so weak, so soft, so human.

But that was the issue. Everyone knew of his love, his tender affection; unbecoming of a god who wielded earth and stone as weapons. His life was plagued by phantoms day and night. When he dreamed he envisioned you being kidnapped by some evil god like Osial and being tortured. Killed. Doomed to a fate worse than death, even. In the day, every action you did reminded him of a delicate tree weathering a deluge. Your branches swayed in the intense winds and even the earth couldn’t anchor you.

So he pleaded. He begged you to stay tucked away in his private domain where no great evil could stalk after you, promising to love you for an eternity of eternities. He would love you until every mountain had become a valley. But you refused, saying you wanted to live every facet of life, turning the world like a kaleidoscope in your hands.

The mirrors shifted and the skies turned red.

Those prophecies he had dreamt, uttered to him by ghosts haunting his mind, came true. You were taken away by some pesky, lowly god, and confessed all that you knew. That was fine. Zhongli was made of stone and Cor Lapis, and even if this insignificant insect of a god knew his weaknesses–few as they were–Zhongli eviscerated them.

But the contract.

When the god was sealed away beneath the sea, Zhongli fell to his knees, mouth opened but unable to utter any words.

Zhongli is not the god of words.

It is horribly tragic, he mourns as he stares at your hollow expression, that you must face the wrath of the rock because of a ridiculous choice of words. “To always stand by his side.” You have technically betrayed him.

The earth shakes for weeks afterwards. The sudden freak earthquake is talked about for weeks on end before people move on, as life does. Zhongli does not. His memory of you remains petrified, his new specter. He will never truly love again for thousands of years. Every time he is reminded of you, a piece of his heart chips away

But then you came back.

That day is amber, crystallized in his mind. Seeing you in the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, so lost after centuries away from home. At that moment, Zhongli decides he will not make the same mistake twice. He would have preferred more time to draw you in carefully, but he is afraid now. Afraid that some hideous twist of fate will rip you from him again. So he whisks you away to his private domain, and drafts up a new contract, binding you to him in matrimony forever.

Please forgive him, he begs after you sign the contract in gold, tears dripping down your cheeks. He only wishes to protect you; he has always wished to protect you. But the world is cruel to lovers, and not even the strong can uphold such a delicate thing.

In Zhongli’s private domain, wicked things like time and fate are nonexistent. Zhongli is the only god that rules these lands. He is a benevolent god, if a little possessive. After being deprived of you for so long, he craves your presence, he claims. Day and night, he tries to spend every living moment with you. When he cannot, you are ever-present in his mind–a living, breathing thing instead of the dead spirits that once terrorized it for all those years.

Some days you seem despondent, craving room to spread your branches far and wide. But Zhongli simply chuckles and kisses the top of your head; he smells the gentle scent of your shampoo, knowing this is what is best for you. He whispers it quietly, lacing sweet nothings and honeyed words into his voice as he pulls you into his arms. You haven’t tried to fight him on this in years, either. It’s part of the reason why he has proposed going on a little trip to Liyue Harbor. Perhaps if all goes well, he’ll allow more trips out of the private domain. All supervised by his watchful eye, of course. After a few moments of stunned surprise, you finally have the courage to speak. “I-I’d love to. Thank you, Zhongli,” you say quietly. Zhongli smiles, leaning to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

“You are very welcome, my treasure,” he whispers, a hand reaching to cup your face; his thumb reaches to brush your lips tenderly.

He can tell that you are still afraid of him, fearful that he will hurt you again. No matter. One day, Zhongli hopes, you will shed your fear like a caterpillar in chrysalis, and emerge into a glittering world full of Zhongli’s love for you.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #cries in sleep deprivation #i have a calc test tomorrow sobs #this is also probably not a slay but we live #why was the title the hardest thing to write like #still not happy with it tbh #will probably change it #well besides the dialogue #dialogue is my enemy fr #im going to sleep

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azzibuckets · 2 days

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For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 7]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige starts to realize what being in love with azzi is like

a/n: some fluff to prepare for the angst that is the next chapter

word count: 1.6k

masterlist w/ all parts

Paige hadn’t known why she’d called Azzi’s name. Why her first instinct when the fiery hot pain had ricocheted up her left leg and spread to every cell in her body, when she’d crumpled to the floor, was Azzi. But when the dark haired girl had come running, had held her head in her hands, had tried to look brave despite the fear swimming in her eyes, Paige had realized why.

—————-

Trying to balance the two cups of coffee and the bag of donuts, Azzi kicked the door to Paige’s hospital room open. To her surprise, when she looked up, there was a throng of people surrounding the bed. Some she recognized as Paige’s family; her little brother, Drew, was playing on a Nintendo in the corner of the room. There were some girls her age, too, holding flowers and cards, repeating their sympathies to a tired Paige in bed.

Azzi suddenly felt out of place. What was she doing here? She chastised herself for not texting or calling Paige before she’d come. Of course Paige’s closest family and friends would be here to support her, and she’d stupidly shown up. They weren’t even actually dating, or friends at that. It probably didn’t mean anything that she’d comforted Paige last night, whispering reassurances into her ear until she’d gone to the hospital. Azzi had been the only one there, so of course Paige had accepted her presence. And now she probably wanted to be alone with the people she actually cared about.

So Azzi quietly set the donuts and the coffee on one of the side tables, hoping no one would see her as she slowly retreated out.

But just her luck, she heard a deep voice call out her name. “Azzi!” Biting her lip, she turned around slowly. She steeled herself for Paige to question her for coming, to laugh at her for even thinking that her presence was wanted. But Paige smiled, that bright smile with the crinkle in her eyes, and Azzi felt warm all over.

“Everyone, this is Azzi, my girlfriend. She plays for UConn, too.”

This was not how she’d imagined meeting Paige’s parents, but a tall man stepped forth and grabbed her hand, shaking it profusely. “Azzi! I’ve heard so much about you.” Azzi glanced at Paige, wondering what possibly the blonde could’ve said about her. But Paige blushed, avoiding her gaze.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bueckers,” Azzi said politely. Soon Paige’s entire family swarmed to meet her, greeting her with warm hugs and smiles.

“Drew,” Paige called. “Don’t be rude. Come over here.” Drew sighed, but obediently put his Nintendo down and ambled over.

“Hey, buddy.” Azzi bent down and ruffled his hair. “I’m Azzi.”

Drew regarded her suspiciously. “Are you good at basketball?”

“She’s great,” Paige immediately answered for her. Azzi looked up at Paige in surprise, but once again, the blonde looked away before their eyes could meet.

The younger girl focused her attention back on Drew. “Hey, you hungry?” she asked. “I brought some donuts and they’re all yours if you want ‘em.”

Drew’s eyes brightened, and he squealed. Azzi chuckled, grabbing his hand and leading him to the corner of the room. “Don’t be greedy, Drew!” Paige yelled. “Leave some for me!”

For the next hour, Azzi kept Drew entertained while Paige talked in hushed tones to her parents. All the other people slowly filtered out, leaving their gifts scattered throughout the room. Finally, Paige’s parents left the room in order to go grab lunch.

Drew begged to stay, so soon it was only Paige, Azzi, and Drew left in the room. The little boy, hyper from the sugary donuts, went back to play Nintendo, totally absorbed in the little screen.

Azzi suddenly felt awkward, and she swung her hands, not knowing what to say.

“C’mere.” Paige patted the spot on the bed next to her, looking at her with soft eyes.

At first, Azzi carefully sat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to jostle Paige. “I brought coffee, too.” She raised the cups. “But I think they might be cold now.” Paige grinned affectionately, taking the cup from Azzi’s hands and setting it to the side before pulling her in. Azzi rested her head on the older girl’s chest, feeling her heart beat steadily.

“You came,” the older girl said softly so that Drew couldn’t hear.

“Well, it’s basic decency. I’d be a shit teammate if I didn’t visit my captain after an injury like that.”

Paige rested her chin on Azzi’s head. “It’s 7 AM. All the girls are visiting me together at 2 later. They said in the group chat.”

Azzi felt her cheeks flush with pink. “Well, I had to get some food and coffee in you beforehand. Didn’t want you all grumpy and hangry for when the girls came.”

“Okayyy.” Paige teased amusedlt, clearly not believing her. She gently pressed a kiss on Azzi’s hairline, and the younger girl’s heart almost burst with how domestic the whole thing was.

Azzi shifted so that she was now facing the blonde. “What’s the news?” she asked softly.

Paige closed her eyes, leaning her head forward so that their foreheads now touched. “Do we have to talk about that?”

Azzi cupped her cheek with her hand. “Paige.”

The blonde blinked rapidly, trying to fight off her tears. “The results from the MRI haven’t come back yet, but based on the x-ray alone, they’re pretty sure I tore my ACL.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Paige pressed her thumb against her lips. “I’ve already heard enough sorries today,” she breathed. “Can we just stay like this?”

Azzi reluctantly nodded, leaning back. Paige buried her nose in her hair, breathing in her scent. If she weren’t in the hospital right now, she’d be in bliss. But there was a weight between them, a heavy cloud of things unsaid - both about Paige’s injury, and about their relationship. They knew that this didn’t count as fake dating when the cameras weren’t rolling and no one but Drew was with them in the hospital room. Yet for now they allowed themselves this little moment.

———————

“I brought orange juice, cereal, mac and cheese, and some bread, as requested.” Azzi plopped down the groceries on the counter, before making her way to where Paige was lying on the couch.

“What?” Paige tried to lift herself up from the cushions, but the throbbing pain in her leg forced her back down. “Azzi, are you joking?”

“Hmm?” Azzi played dumb, even though she knew exactly what Paige was talking about. But a little bit of fun messing with the blonde couldn’t hurt, right?

“Az, please don’t tell me you forgot the Tru Fu.” Paige’s voice came out desperate and whiny, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Her whole body ached as if all had ligaments, not just her ACL, had torn, and all she wanted was her favorite snack.

“Oh my god, you wanted Tru Fu?” Azzi gasped with faux horror.

“Azzi!” Paige whined again, and this time the dark haired girl couldn’t keep it in. She burst out laughing, unzipping her jacket to reveal the multiple bags of Tru Fu hidden in the interior of her pockets.

Paige crossed her arms, glaring at her. “That wasn’t fucking funny. You know I don’t play about my Tru Fu.”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I knew you’d get all mad and you’re just so cute when you’re mad.” Paige froze, Azzi’s term of affection spreading heat throughout her body. She suddenly felt a yearning in her heart, a deep desire for Azzi to hold her and call her baby over and over again. But the younger girl seemed oblivious to the effect she was having on Paige, tossing bags upon bags of Tru Fu to the blonde in the couch.

When Paige remained silent, Azzi interpreted it as her still being mad, and she bent down, hovering over her, the ends of her hair brushing Paige’s cheeks.

“Please forgive me, Paige Madison Bueckers.” Azzi’s voice came out all raspy and throaty, and in that moment Paige would’ve forgiven her for anything in the world, even if she’d just committed vehicular manslaughter.

But Paige tamped down the fluttery feeling in her chest. She rolled her eyes and ripped open a bag of the white and milk chocolate strawberries. “You’re not getting any of this,” she grumbled, stuffing her mouth.

“You’re a dork.” Azzi lightly flicked the side of Paige’s head and scampered off to the kitchen to put away the groceries before she could retaliate.

Paige watched Azzi hum as she opened the cabinets and fridge with a familiar ease from having regularly brought Paige her groceries over the last several weeks. At first, Paige had objected, saying that she had Instacart and Ubereats. But Azzi in turn had firmly protested, saying that that was much too expensive. Paige quickly started agreeing when she realized how lonely she got, pent up in her apartment. Azzi dropping off groceries soon became the highlight of her week, especially when she’d started lingering and Paige had worked up the courage to ask her to watch a movie together, and now whenever Azzi came by it became an affair lasting several hours.

Paige knew that she didn’t need this many groceries. By this point, her kitchen was overflowing with goods that the younger girl brought. But she didn’t know how to tell Azzi that she loved hanging out with her, loved the hours they spent, alone in Paige’s apartment, binge watching romcoms and talking about anything and everything. So she continued to send her grocery lists, and Azzi had continued to drop everything she was doing whenever she got a new list from Paige in order to hurry to Target then hurry to her apartment.

When Azzi finished up and plopped down on the couch besides Paige, asking her where they’d last left off in Modern Family, Paige wondered how she’d ever felt anything but love towards a girl like Azzi, who had the brightest smile she’d ever seen.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #wcbb #wbb #enemies to lovers

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