#or they downright are trying to kill each other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlestarlightseverywhere · 4 months

Text

Do Your Worst

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s lover is having a hard time, but no amount of acting out can push him away

Warnings: mentions of violence (torture)

Notes: Sorry for the silence, I’ve been having terrible writer’s block but I think I did okay with this one!

Image Credit: Pinterest

Today was rubbish. Probably one of her worst days yet.

It had been exactly two months since Hybern captured her from Azriel’s post and took her to their war camp deep in the Spring Court’s woods. Exactly two months since she’d been tortured for information she’d die before giving up. Exactly two months since she’d made peace with her death. Rhys couldn’t track her immediately, Mor and Feyre’s searches came up empty each time, and even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up a clue. Azriel had driven himself mad, downright insane, trying to find her. Each day he spent every waking hour looking for clues, scouring the forests for her scent, and each day he returned to bed with nothing to show for it. It took Amren and Nesta a month to finally locate her. In that month she laid cut and bruised, chained to a wooden post like an animal, struck, cut, and burnt for every question she refused to answer. They left her in the middle of that camp, exposed to the heat of the day, the cold of the night, the rain, the wind, and the thunder. They made her into a spectacle.

She only thought of her family, her Azriel, the entire time. My Azriel, she’d think each time they brutalized her. My Azriel, my Azriel, my Azriel. Rhys collapsed when she allowed him into her mind after they brought her home. He would never forgive himself for sending her on that mission, nor would he ever show his brother what she’d shown him, for Azriel very well would have sent Prythian to immediate war.

And while the cuts, bruises, burns, and broken bones would heal completely, the skin of her back would forever be changed, marred with angry, raised scars from a heavy leather whip. She could barely walk.

The first time Azriel saw the lashes on her back, he was helping her undress the night she returned home. Each movement caused her to cry out in pain. She tried to bite her lip, clench her fist, grip Azriel’s arm, tried anything to keep from crying, but nothing helped– the pain was too much. It would’ve been a mercy from the Mother to fall apart, limb by limb, bone by bone, instead.

Azriel had seen all the other scars when Madja was working on her; those alone made him sick and wild with a hideous rage, potent enough to crumble the mountains surrounding the city into nothing more than powder on the ground. The lashes on her back– the thought of some wretched male stripping her and lashing a whip over her soft, warm skin in the mud and rocks– filled him with a fury so intense, so horrid, he could’ve wrapped his bare arms around the sun and pulled it down to earth. Set everything on fire.

That very night, with names in his ear courtesy of the shadows and Cassian and Rhys positioned at her door, Azriel made each of those names pay. He was back by sunrise, tucked into bed beside her, wing draped over her restless body, and she was none the wiser.

“You’re killing it,” Madja’s appointed physical therapist, Jarrah, encouraged as he watched her do her exercises. He was tall and muscled with glittering, golden-brown skin, looking ever the Summer Court high fae that he was.

“It’s killing me,” she ground the words out, mincing each syllable as they passed through her teeth. Pain gripped her legs, lower back, and upper arms like a vise as she fought to complete a rep, the movements squeezing every last bit of energy out of her and collecting on the mat below in puddles of sweat. “I can’t do it, Jarrah.”

“You can and you will,” he squared his shoulders at her, smile fading as he willed her to find her strength again. In recovery, he’d taught her, there were good days and there bad days– healing was not a linear process.

Some days she did well in physical therapy and pushed herself– the pain only meant she was getting stronger. Azriel would be absolutely beside himself with pride and their friends echoed as much.

Other days, her body seemed to give out in protest, the pain too unbearable, and she’d wonder if she’d ever be the same again. Azriel would encourage her– she knew it wasn’t pity– but she couldn’t stand it all the same. She’d collapse onto the floor against her will during physical therapy, shoving Jarrah away with shame when he’d tried to help her up each time. Sometimes, she’d wake up in the dead of night, clammy, and nauseous from a nightmare that felt more and more real each time she had one. Azriel held her to his body whenever she’d jostle awake, heaving and shaking, stroking his warm hands up and down her arms. Other nights he held her hair back as she retched her dinner into the toilet, panting and crying silent tears.

“To expect linearity is to set yourself up for failure,” Jarrah lectured during their very first session when all she wanted to do was get to the hard stuff, to prove that she was alright– that she was still whole. Jarrah did not mind her bad days, but something died within her every time she left training without making any notable progress– every time her body failed her when her mind seemed to be giving its all.

From the moment they started their session this morning, Jarrah noted her body was fatigued and her mind was somewhere else. Oh dear.

“We can take a break–”

“No!” She buckled down and held her position, determined to prove to herself that even on her worst days she could succeed. It was the most enthusiastic response Jarrah had gotten all session from her so he allowed it. He watched her body tremble from the strain, the sweat bead at her temples, the fatigue in her eyes as she fought the pain in her spine.

Her body could not bear it anymore. She felt her traitorous legs give out beneath her and the ground came up faster than she could register, faster than Jarrah could react. A strangled cry crawled from her throat as she collapsed and her body trembled in a pain her mind could barely process.

“Fuck,” a familiar voice rang out from the gym’s entrance and Azriel ran in. Just great. What was he even doing here? After the first training appointment in which Azriel could barely keep himself from choking out Jarrah and coddling her, he agreed to not interrupt her sessions thereafter. His disregard for their agreement made her feel so small.

“Fuck,” Jarrah echoed. He was at her side in two steps, arms outstretched to help her up, but she scooted away as fast as her leadened arms would allow, turning her face away in shame.

“Don’t touch me!” She croaked.

Jarrah stopped himself by the time Azriel was at her side, crouching beside her and taking up what felt like all of the oxygen in her space. Breathe, she tried to remind herself but with Azriel hovering and Jarrah a foot away, both watching her crumpled pathetically on the mats, she couldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

“Get her some water!”

“That’s enough for today, let’s get you some food.”

“... My love?”

Azriel’s soft voice pierced through her terrible thoughts. She felt his strong hands reach under her armpits to help her up but she pushed against his biceps, swatting him off in a desperate attempt to move away. But the pain made her so dizzy, it was difficult to create any real distance.

“Don’t!” she cried out, for it was all she could do, and Azriel dropped his hands immediately. “I can get up on my own.”

Azriel didn’t move. Jarrah placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We should give her some space.”

Azriel clenched his jaw but it didn’t stop the twitching of his upper lip. He stood abruptly, swiveling on his heels so his face was only mere inches from Jarrah’s, who’d since quickly retracted his hand to himself. To his credit, he kept his shoulders square, but even he wasn’t immune to the pure threat in the Shadowsinger’s glare.

“My mate is in pain, she can’t even stand up, and you want to leave her like this?” He growled.

Anger grappled her lungs, stealing whatever air she’d managed to collect. That was the problem. “I can stand up, Azriel. I’m not made of glass.”

It took her a few minutes, but she did it. She first rotated her hips so she was on her hands and knees. With one foot underneath her, she pushed herself up, trembling, sighing, moaning as her body resisted the upward movement, but she finally stood.

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides to anchor himself back, to resist from helping her. He knew she was capable of doing anything, that she didn’t really need him. Part of the reason he was so hesitant to pursue her all those years ago was because she was so independent that it intimidated him. Azriel wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, what he could do better that she already did for herself, how he would fit into the life she’d built for herself.

But that didn’t change the fact that he would still do anything for her. It didn’t take away that primal need to protect her. He tried his best not to suffocate her but sometimes he couldn’t help his instincts when his love for her outweighed everything else.

She allowed Azriel to link his arm with hers as she waved goodbye to Jarrah, silently apologizing for Azriel’s outburst.

“Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?” His voice was soft as he led her out of the gym and to the townhouse’s sunlit sitting room. “You did so good today, love.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was all she replied. She couldn’t stomach anything after such a rubbish session. Fear that she would never be the same ever again set in, but nobody would understand. No one could even fathom what it would do to her if she couldn’t keep doing her job, going on these missions, protecting this city. If she was relegated to a desk for the rest of her life, she’d have lost everything she’s ever worked for.

“Sure you are. At least something small to keep the medicine down.”

Madja had her on a cocktail of herbs and elixirs– something for the pain, something for the scars, probably something for how fucked her mind had become– she couldn’t keep track. Azriel kept track for her. She swallowed the pills and the bitters he gave her and allowed him to rub the salve into her scars before bed. Whatever. This was life now– being shoddily held together by some combination of antibiotics, gauze, and ointments.

She shook her head in defiance and Azriel sighed, stopping her just before the doorway to the living room where the rest of their friends sat. She was so stubborn– if she didn’t want to do something, no one could get her to do it. It was a quality he admired but also a quality that drove him downright mad at times like this.

“What’s bothering you?”

“You mean besides healing at a snail’s pace and sitting on my ass all day in this house while everyone else goes to work– fulfills some sort of purpose? I’m doing just great.” The smile did not reach her eyes.

Azriel tilted his head as if to say No, really. I know there’s something else. He could read her like a damn book– it had always been that way.

She hesitated for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know if I’ll be the same ever again.”

Azriel’s face softened at the anxiety that weighed on her shoulders so heavily they sagged.

“Of course you will, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s been two months and I can’t even climb the stairs without needing a break. My body hurts by the time I go to bed. I can still feel my back– the scars–” the words caught in her throat and she quickly cut herself off before she choked on them, unable to talk too much about it without feeling her body and mind repulse.

“Come here,” Azriel wrapped his strong arms around her frame and pulled her into his body so close their hearts beat in sync before each other as if in private conversation. “The physical training, the medicines, the therapist, you’ve got it all going on. No one here is working harder than you right now.”

“But what if it isn’t enough,” she mumbled into his chest, a single hot tear catching on the fabric of his sweater. She turned her face into his chest to wipe the tear away completely and Azriel’s heart broke for her. He wished he could reach into her chest and pull out the pain with his bare hands, fly with it to Ramiel and drop it at the peaks where it could never find its way back to her ever again. “You know better than anyone, you could do everything right and it still wouldn’t matter. I just need to get better. Be myself again.”

“I will love you no matter what happens. Even if you are never the same, I will still love you. This changes nothing.”

She pushed him away abruptly, hastily wiping away tears as if Azriel couldn’t see them. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t about him, about him loving her. This was her life. If she couldn’t get back to who she was, fill the roles she’d spent her whole life caring about, where would she stand among her family? Where would she stand in this life? In this world?

“But it changes everything for me,” her eyebrows furrowed incredulously. “I want my body back, my mind back. Thanks for letting me know you’d still love me if I were to be this fucked up forever, but that’s literally the last thing on my mind right now, Azriel. I don’t want to be fucked up forever, I want to get better, and I need you to want that for me too.”

Azriel tried to find the right words, stuttering in his search to say the right thing. He didn’t mean it like that. He only ever wanted the best for her– would kill for her to have what’s best for her. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She huffed, storming past him into the sitting room. Instant guilt flooded her as soon as she left him. Azriel helped however he could. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t put himself in her shoes in this very situation, but he’d gone through something traumatic too, and Azriel definitely knew a thing or two about helplessness. Still, she felt so alone. Azriel tried, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a woman tortured in a camp full of males. What that took from her. She wouldn’t explain it.

Azriel watched her storm off, feeling as if he was failing her all over again. Every night, he watched the dullness in her eyes grow as he handed her the medicines. When she laid down in their bed with practiced monotony so he could rub the salve into the scars stretched across her back, he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying. They were nasty things, raised and swollen with blood and she flinched every time he touched them, as if he were delivering the lashings all over again. She was hurting and he felt so helpless. He vowed to always protect her and take away her pains but he could do neither of those things and the thought of it ate him alive everyday. Only the Mother knew the true lengths he’d go to for her. That man would do anything.

In the sitting room, Azriel brought her a sandwich that he put together in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that would make it, but he politely refused. He wanted to be the one to do it.

“Az, I told you I’m not hungry,” She murmured as he handed her the plate.

“You need to eat something if you want to keep the medicines down,” He reasoned again.

“I know what Madja said, I was there,” She snarked, crossing her arms. She was so tired of people telling her what to do. Jarrah telling her what exercises to do, Madja telling her what medicines to take, Rhys telling her that she shouldn’t try to work again so soon, Feyre telling her she should take more walks, Cassian telling her to drink less wine, Azriel forcing her to eat more food.

“Okay, darling,” He placed the plate on the table when she wouldn’t take it from him.

“Turkey and swiss, okay!” Cassian peeked at the sandwich, nudging her arm. “And he cut it in half too.”

“Just the way she likes it. In half though, not diagonal– too much crust in one bite if it's cut diagonal,” Azriel smiled from where he sat across the table from them. She could have cried at the sight of him, at the love in his eyes, in his voice. Words were never his strong suit but Azriel more than made up for it in acts of service. This was how he showed his love. This was him reaching his hand out, begging for her to take it, to let him in. To let him help.

And she didn’t know why she had such a hard time letting him in. She didn’t want to seem incapable of anything, and letting herself fall apart the way Azriel would allow her to terrified her. She’d never fallen apart before. She didn’t know how she could do it without completely tearing herself and every past wound open again. It broke her heart to watch his smile falter when she didn’t reach for the plate.

“I’m going to bed,” she stood up as quickly as her body would allow and left the room. It was too much. Azriel’s disappointment, everyone’s expectations, watching her, studying her, readying themselves to be there for her if she did explode. She never needed this much attention in the past– to receive so much of it all of a sudden made her feel like she was made of porcelain and everyone was expecting her to shatter at any moment. She could hardly breathe in that room and needed to get out before something within her cracked further.

The stairs loomed before her, mocking with how many there were. Grabbing the bannister until her knuckles paled, she hoisted herself up one step at a time, maneuvering her body so that her entire weight wouldn’t be on one leg for too long.

Nesta appeared behind her, climbing the steps she’d taken over the course of minutes in just mere seconds, with a stack of books in one arm and a handful of her gown in the other. Nesta stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around and looking down at her through long eyelashes.

“Well this is pathetic,” Nesta snorted.

“Fuck off,” she meant to sneer, but it came out in a breathless huff instead. Pathetic indeed.

Nesta let her skirts fall from her right arm as she extended it toward her.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You definitely do.”

“Don’t you have those smutty little novels to get back to?”

“Shut the fuck up and take my arm, or bust your ass on these stairs, I don’t care.”

Begrudgingly, she took Nesta’s arm. Neither of them spoke, but Nesta patiently guided her up the stairs, supporting her where she needed it. Out of the entire Inner Circle, she got along the most with Nesta. Their conversations usually followed a very similar pattern as this one did, but only because they each saw a little piece of themselves in the other, even if they never mentioned it.

“Heard you being a bitch downstairs,” Nesta finally spoke when they cleared the last stair and stood at the landing so she could catch her breath.

She couldn’t find it within herself to take offense. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I don’t know why I do this,” she confessed. She didn’t need to explain further. Nesta automatically understood. When they locked eyes, that silent comprehension flowed between them again and for the first time since arriving back home from the war camp, she felt relief. The kind of relief that made your heart beat out of your chest and go a little dizzy. The kind of relief that came from being completely understood without having to spend the energy trying to put the thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words.

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The words fell softly from Nesta’s lips. It was the last thing she said before she led her to the library. They sat in arm chairs across the fireplace and read for hours in each others’ company. No one came looking for her. No one tried to force a plate of food down her throat. No one wanted her to do those stupid mobility stretches. Nobody was asking her if she was okay. It was everything she needed. So why did she still feel restless, like something was missing?

Azriel.

She left the library after she’d calmed down. In the quiet, amongst the books, when she thought that was all she needed, she felt misery instead. She needed Azriel. She wanted to lay in bed with him forever, feel his skin on hers forever, stay in his warmth forever, feel their heartbeats sing side by side forever. Azriel forever. Nothing else would compare.

When she reached their room, it was empty. Disappointment flooded her chest, but she knew Azriel was giving her space. As she moved closer to the bed, she found a new plate of food waiting beside a note. A remade sandwich, cut down the middle as always.

Your favorite. Was all the note said.

Indeed it was. She polished off the sandwich in a matter of minutes, as ravenous as she was. Actually, she was hungry when Azriel first offered one to her in the sitting room, but she was too stubborn to take it then.

The bath towel beside the note on the bed was warm to the touch. From the soft sound of trickling water in the bathing room, she knew he’d run her a bath. The air above the tub smelled of sandalwood– his scent. As she stripped off her clothes and lowered herself into the warm water, the scent encompassed her as if he was in the room with her right then, waiting to join her.

Surely, an hour or two must have passed. Her eyes pried open, the water and soap around her body in the tub still warm and feathery like a winter duvet. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, only that it was the best sleep she’d gotten these past two months. For the first time since coming home, she slept with no nightmares and no nausea to rouse her from rest. She didn’t even dream. She simply passed out.

When she finally left the bathroom, her body wrapped in the towel he’d warmed for her, she found Azriel sitting on the bed with a book nestled in his large hands. As she stepped through the doorway of the bathing room, he looked up, smiling softly. Pure love shone in his eyes like a beacon, flashing and blinking in the darkness that war camp left her in.

At the sight of his soft smile, the gentleness of his features, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, she felt something break.

Sensing a shift in her demeanor, he lowered the book, eyebrows knitting together.

"What's wrong?"

Those two damned words. She bit the inside of her cheek, walking weakly to Azriel's side of the bed. He placed his book on the nightstand and sat up straighter, anticipating her next move.

She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and laid her upper body against his torso, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his body tightly, breathing him in like he was the oxygen she lived off of. Anything else, anything that was not Azriel, and she could just die right there.

He brought his arms around her tightly, heart sinking when he felt her hot tears on his neck. She did not shake. She did not sob. He only felt the wetness on his skin and the erratic heaving of her chest against his as she fought to regulate her breathing.

He did not say anything else. He held her, unmoving except to rub her back or run his hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. His other hand held the back of one of her thighs to keep her in place as she grew increasingly limp in his arms.

"I've been such a wretch." Her voice was heavy and filled with sorrow. "I've been such a wretch to you. I'm sorry Az."

"Oh my love," He held her as close as he could, willing her to feel the love he held for her in his chest. His love for her ran everywhere his blood did, from his toes to the top of his head, every day and every second, his astonishment of her coursed his body like an electrical current keeping him alive. Without her, there was no pulse.

"How do you put up with me?" He felt her wipe her nose on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"Because I love you, and I know your anger has nothing to do with me."

"But you should not have to put up with it."

"I will put up with anything when it comes to you. You don’t ever have to worry about that when it’s you and I,” He pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. “You went through something horrible. You’re going to need time to work through it all, but I will be here for every moment of it. I’m sorry if I’ve been suffocating you, darling. I only do it because I can’t help it. When I see you hurting I wish I could take all of it from you and put it in me.”

“I never want you to hurt,” she told him earnestly. The thought of him going through what she did filled her with rage so sudden and consuming she couldn’t begin to imagine what Azriel felt when they finally found her at the camp.

“I could never when I have you looking out for me,” He smiled that cheeky, boyish smile that came out so rarely.

“I’ve just been having so many bad days. I should be happy that I’m back home, that I’m safe now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, and it comes out at the wrong times in the wrong ways. But I don’t know what I’d do without you, Az.”

“Even on your worst days, you’re the best of us. So do your worst. I can handle it."

The disbelief in her eyes melted away when he cradled her head, smiling earnestly– and gods, she wished she could commission Feyre to paint him like this– a man smitten. With all the tonics and creams Madja had forced on her, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of them would truly heal her. They helped the symptoms, but never the cause. She’d accepted that it would take a damn miracle to heal the cause. And here Azriel was, pleading and lovely, looking like her damn miracle.

She let him undo the towel from around her body and lay her into the soft covers, warm from where he sat while she was in the bath. Turning over, Azriel smoothed the salve over her scars as he did every night. But for the first time in months, she finally replied to his attempts at starting conversation as he worked. For the first time in months, she laughed genuine laughs that felt only slightly foreign– much like old friends– in her throat. For the first time in months, as he tenderly slicked Madja’s balm over her scars, praying to the Mother for her health over each one he touched, she did not flinch.

670 notes · View notes

zvtara-was-never-canon · 4 months

Note

Can you give examples of Aang showing Empathy? Oh wait, you can't.

Actually, I can - because unlike you, I base my opinion of the characters on the actual stuff that happened in the story, not the bad faith takes dumb people on the internet come up with.

Zuko literally only survived past book 1 because Aang was the ONLY person amongst the heroes that gave a single fuck about his well-being. Aang offered to be FRIENDS with him as early as episode 13, even though this dude is trying to kidnap him.

In the first damn episode we see him realize and try to remedy Katara's struggle with no longer being able to act like a kid and have fun. He wants to travel with her so SHE gets to learn waterbending. He willingly lets Zuko take him into his ship because he understood that a conflict could lead to the people of the water tribe getting hurt or killed.

In Warriors of Kyoshi he apologizes to Katara for letting all the praise and admiration go to this head. He makes sure to put out the fires Zuko and his crew started in Suki's village.

He tries to help remedy the Hei-Bai situation, even though he is unsure of himself and even scared, because he knows he is the only one that has any chance of helping - and the thing that allows him to connect with Hei-Bai is the fact that he is ALSO upset about the destruction the Fire Nation has caused AND hopeful that the world would eventually heal.

He thinks Jet is awesome because he wants to help people that are being oppressed by the Fire Nation - and then is horrified when he finds out his intension is to "free" them by killing everyone

He wants to help the two rival groups not only safely cross the Great Divide, but also stop hating each other.

He confesses that he hid the map to Hakoda because Bato, Katara and Sokka are showing how much they appreciate and trust him and he feels unworthy of it after what he did because he knows it'd hurt him if the roles were reversed.

He is so devastated by the fact that he ACCIDENTALLY hurt Katara that he swears to never firebend again. He is also able to recognize the same principle behind his mistake in Zhao's fighting style, allowing him to win the battle against the bastard.

He accepts the fact that the Northern Air Temple is now occupied by people who not only don't belong to his culture but also don't understand it and unknowingly destroyed something sacred to him (and that one of them had been forced to make weapons for the Fire Nation) because these people have nowhere else to go and he doesn't want them to suffer.

He is furious at Pakku for refusing to teach Katara waterbending, because he knows how much it'd mean to her and how unfair it is that she can't learn it just because of her gender.

He is so devastated by the death of the Moon Spirit that the Ocean Spirit latches onto him to avenge it and save the day - and the leve of destruction it causes haunts Aang, even though the violence was against his enemies. And still, he tries to go into the Avatar state again because people are dying and he can't accept that.

After the fall of Omashu, he wants to rescue Bumi, not because he needs a teacher, but because they're friends.

He felt empathy for Toph when she was explaining to her parents how lonely and unappriacted their over-protection made her feel.

He and Katara both feel bad for snapping at Toph during "The Chase" and wanted to apologize for not understanding that being part of a group was a radical change to her, even though she had refused to even try. He also didn't have a problem with fighting alongside Zuko and Iroh against Azula, AND he looked concerned when Iroh was injured.

After Katara comments on the fact he called Toph Sifu but not her, he calls her Sifu while bowing, to show that he respects her both as his master and friend.

The hopelessness and downright depression he was feeling after Appa was stolen only starts healing because he saw a couple being happy with their newborn baby - the same couple he decided to help cross the Serpent's Pass, even though he and his friends had just been allowed to take a much safer route to Ba Sing Se.

His understanding and sympathy towards Jet, even after everything the guy did, was so strong that it freed him from literal brainwashing.

He doesn't want to push his love for Katara aside to gain power because he cares about her too much - and then does it anyway because, even though not making her his main focus 24/7 offers the risk of her being hurt, him neglecting his mission guarantees she'll get hurt.

He is devastated to learn that the world thinks he is dead because he knows he was everyone's last hope - and yet in the end he still accepts the burden of failure because he understood that, at that moment, everyone would be safer if no one else knew he was still alive.

He goes to a Fire Nation school and bonds with the kids, wanting to give them a taste of freedom and joy, as well as trying to understand what the war is like from their perspective. The same episode also has him pull Katara for a dance because he noticed she was feeling left out.

The boy felt empathy for, and understood the mistakes of, both Ruko and Sozin. SOZIN. Aang could see the humanity in the monster that is responsible for him losing his entire culture and everyone he loved.

When Zuko spoke about wanting to control his impulses so he wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone, Aang explicitly connected with that struggle and saw them being teacher and student as fate, and Zuko agreed because that's how deep their connection was.

Aang is not happy about Katara wanting to murder a man, but he still lets her take Appa on her mission and is not disapproving when she ultimately spares the guy but does not forgive him and makes it clear she never will.

He feels empathy for freaking Ozai, to the point that refuses to kill the guy - even as he has the balls to say that Aang's family, his people, deserved to die. He spared that guy - but only after he had a way to do that without it meaning the death of more innocents. Aang, the pacifist, was going to turn his back on everything he believed in just to avoid more human suffering.

So yeah, miss me with your bullshit and don't come back until your brain is developed enough to understand a cartoon aimed at kindergarterners.

#anti zutara #pro aang

514 notes · View notes

skylarsblue · 1 year

Text

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes Nine✦

(Sexual Implication) Ghost, trying to be sexy by whispering: Gaggin’ for it, aren’t ya, love? Soap: Nope. Ghost: No? Soap: I don’t gag on anything. Ghost: *404 Error* Soap: …Ghost? Si? Simon, are you alright?

-- Y/N: Let’s play a word association game! Ghost: Why? Y/N: Because I saved your ass last mission and I’m bored, so you owe me. Ghost: *sigh* Fine. Y/N: P e r f e c t . Gaz: ?? Y/N: Cold. Ghost: Winter. Y/N: Spring. Ghost: Mattress. Y/N: Soft. Ghost: Comfortable. Y/N: Pleasant. Ghost: Sunset. Y/N, With a shit eating grin: Beautiful. Ghost, unconsciously: Johnny- Y/N: YES Gaz: OHHHHHH Ghost: Soap: *gasp* Simon!~ Ghost: I’m going to go crash in a heli. Y/N: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT-

-- Alex: Bitch do you want me to jump across this table? Because I don’t have all day for this. Norris: You feeling froggy? Leap. Alex: Okay, well here I come- Farah: Alex no, no- hOLD OFF

-- (NSFW Joke) Y/N: Oh sorry. I almost drank out of your cup. Soap: Wh-Just go ahead, it won’t matter! Y/N: Well I- Yeah no, you’re right. I’ve drank out of your cups dozens of times. Soap: We’ve sucked the same dick- Y/N: That’s a good point! Ghost: ….*sigh*

-- Gaz: What kind of girl do you like? Soap: My wife. Gaz: And you? Ghost: Johnny’s wife. Gaz: OH- Price, knowing they recently started a poly situation: Pfft-

-- (Use of the word pussy because haha) Gaz, filming: Pffft- Soap: Shhshh- Y/N in the hallway: FORTY THREE FUCKING CENTS! AHHHHH Soap: *wheeze* Y/N: I NEED A SUGAR DADDY!! Gaz: PFFFT- Soap: I can’t breathe- Y/N: At this rate I’m ready to plaster my fuckin’ pussy on the sidewalk for some sPARE CHANGE! Gaz & Soap: *doing that silent cackle thing and smack each other in the arm* Ghost, leaning into the room: What the f- Y/N: SPAARE CHANGE, SPARE CHANGE! ANYONE GOT ANY SPARE CHAAANGE?! Gaz: *coughing* Soap: Steamin’ Jesus I’m fucking crying- Y/N, passing by the room: 🎵Walkin’ in a winter wonderlaaaand🎶

-- Y/N: Would you love me? Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Would I love you if…? Y/N: nO ThAt wAs tHE QuesTiOn-

-- Y/N: Pretty boy! With me I said! Rudy: Rudy: Rudy: Oh I’m pretty boy! Y/N: Yes! Oo that came out a bit quick- (Also works with Soap & Gaz, honestly)

-- (THIS IS A CONCEPT IM TOO WHIMPY TO WRITE, SO HAVE IT HERE! THIS COULD WORK WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS Also, NSFW warning) Ghost: I don’t miss. Y/N, on his ear piece: Never? Even with distractions? Ghost: *turns his scope* Not ever. *just about to take a shot* Y/N: Hmm…what if I went… Mm Simon~ Ghost: *misses* Y/N: Ya missed. Ghost: Cheeky bitch…

-- Gaz: Alright, so, since we’re now in America and we have some time to kill, I went and I got you something. Y/N: Aww Gaz, you really didn’t have to- Gaz: *puts down their Whataburger order* Y/N: OH MY GOD Price: Really? Gaz: *shrug* Soap: *snickering as Y/N Fucking demolishes some fries* Y/N, having the time of their life: Garrick you ever need your dick sucked, a dead body buried, a beer or whatever, you call me. I got’chu Gaz: BAHA- Soap: *wheeze* Ghost: Are you fucking crying? Y/N with their mouth full: I missed it so much.

-- (Team bonding exercises) Soap: You’re a football player, it’s in ya blood! Gaz: That’s racist. Soap: Your soul? Gaz: That’s racist! Soap: …your eyes? Gaz: That’s gay- Soap: That’s homophobic. Gaz: That’s black. Soap: That’s racist!! Gaz: Damn- (this one is extra funny since Gaz is now confirmed LGBT)

-- Gaz: You overrated little twink! Soap: Hey I am a TWUNK, alright?! That is a combination, twink, and HUNK, get it?? Hunk-

-- Soap: Hey~ Fem!Y/N: You’re Gay. Soap: …oh yeah. Soap: *looks at Ghost* Soap: Hey.~ Ghost: *sigh*

-- Soap: I’m gonna have to meet men lying down. Y/N: …I thought’cha did?? Soap: OI!

-- Soap: Everyone says what a giving person I am! Y/N: He’s talking about when you’re in an upright position.

-- Graves: What if there’s a connection? Y/N: I think there’s a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.

-- Shepard: Now you’re always ornery, rude, unpleasant, and sometimes downright mean. That’s part of your charm. Y/N: Thank you, you colluding-county-hopping-idiotic-relic. Price: *pride*

-- Alex: Oh my god, how are you such a good driver? Soap: Because there’s illegal shit in here. Alex: Soap: Because if I don’t use my turn signal, we’re both gonna do fifteen. Because I am going to lie and say yours. Alex: ….. Soap: Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart. Alex: *clicks it in places* Soap: You are not safe!

-- (Sucking dick joke) Kidnapper: You’re gonna do as I say or I will make you regret ever being born. Y/N: Oh please, I’ve sucked dicks more intimidating than you. Soap: Oh this is why Simon was the way he was after we rescued you both last time.

-- Soap, shoving marshmallows in his mouth: This isn’t very ha-*chokes* MILF!Y/N, across the fucking base: ….*mom instinct* Price: ??? Ghost: Uh- Y/N: Something just happened. Kyle: PFFT-

-- MILF!Y/N: *letting Soap & Gaz lean on her while Price and Ghost stand close behind* Untrue. I’m a mother now. It’s really changed my perspective. Graves: And do you find it hard juggling life and a career? Y/N: You can juggle these nuts.

-- Soap: *rambling* Soap: Agh, sorry, I’m just goin’ on and on- Ghost: Oi, keep talking before I kick your ass. Soap: ….. Gaz: See? This is exactly what I m-where the fuck are these flower petals coming from?? ARE THOSE SPARKLES??

#call of duty mwii #call of duty x reader #cod headcanons #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #phillip graves #rodolfo rudy parra #incorrect cod quotes

2K notes · View notes

flowers-of-buffoonery · 7 months

Text

there's something to be said about the way soukoku act around each other normally – about the endless childish banter that has been accompanying them from when they were 15 to the present day.

dazai and chuuya met when they were teenagers; they started off on two opposing sides, then chuuya was made to join the mafia, to partner with a boy he detested (and reasonably so). a lot has been said about the fact that soukoku are, for each other, the only way of experiencing the childhood and teenagehood they never got to have – not in the mafia, not in the sheep. they hated each other, were forced to work together by both circumstances and mori, and instead of seriously trying to kill each other they just... started insulting each other. and they never stopped.

here's the thing. 15yo dazai and chuuya, being insufferable to each other, is standard teenager behaviour. we're glad for it. go soukoku!

22yo dazai and chuuya, still being insufferable to each other... now, that's different.

part of it is, of course, that they genuinely find each other irritating – that much has not changed. and for chuuya, who's still in the mafia and has responsibilities and hordes of subordinates, dazai is likely the only person he can behave like that with. that much hasn't changed.

dazai, though. we see him acting like a downright brat with most members of the ADA – chief among them kunikida (much could be said about dazai attempting to replicate the dynamic he had with his ex-partner with his new partner. a post for another time). the reactions he gets range depending on the person. most members act as if nothing is out of the norm or like they're indulging him; atsushi is puzzled but just goes with it; kunikida gets angry and starts lecturing him. but nobody matches him blow for blow – nobody jokes back, nobody trades insults with him as a peer.

chuuya, on the other hand, doesn't just let dazai be his bratty, insufferable self like the ADA does; he actively joins him, rises up to the challenge.

at 22, dazai and chuuya can still act like that exclusively around each other. it can be falling back on old habits. but also – isn't it a choice, at this point?

having someone you don't have to be deferent to, someone that doesn't need to be manipulated – someone you can get mad at without thinking of consequences. isn't it a relief, having someone you can just hate? to dazai and chuuya, their relationship must be the easiest, most uncomplicated one they have.

I know you, and you know me. I don't have to be pleasant with you. let us not care, and be unpleasant together.

#*banging pots and pans* WAKE UP IT'S SOUKOKU HOURS #i refuse to be normal about them #rereading the manga is doing Things to me #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd #soukoku #dark era soukoku #dazai #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #chuuya #bsd chuuya #nakahara chuuya

666 notes · View notes

ja3hwa · 7 months

Text

♡ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 | 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 ♡

【Synopsis】 : The aftermath of Seonghwa ravishing, you had left your thirsty. Good thing whole you wander through the large easte, a grumpy vampire is more than happy to help show you the kitchen. After all, he, too, is thirsty.

『Word count』 : 1.89k

-> Genre: Fantasy. Gore. Suggestive. Mafia au.

Pairing: Vampire!Yeosang x Reader | Vampire!Seonghwa x Reader [Eventual Poly]

[Warnings] : Mention of sex. Blood drinking. Kissing. Seonghwa is already whipped for the reader. Nakedness. Pet names. Swearing. Mention of death. Mention of gore scenes involving flesh being ripped from bone by teeth. (whoops) Blood drinking. Yeosang is a grumpy boy. Modern meets medieval

Part One | Masterlist | Mini Series Materlist | Navigation

564 years later

Music infected the brain making it hard to hear your own thoughts. Liquor was everywhere. From the mouths of the drunk to the floor of the poor bar. Night clubs were where singles could find a chance to walk home with another and takens to hide their love affairs. It was sickening, to say the least. People throwing themselves at each other, hands falling to parts of the body only the private eye should take advantage of. Guess the saying "think with your dick" was invented at a club because all everyone does here is just that.

Yeosang sat quietly in the VIP lounge, sipping his drink while closely watching his entertainment for the evening. A piss poor excuse for humanity. He regrets agreeing to this ordeal now. Why couldn't San be the watchman or even Wooyoung? They love to spend time around humans. Especially when they get to drink off them. Yeosang was not the same. The idea of partying or drinking from a filthy human's neck, it scream disease in this era...

The thought makes Yeosang cringe. Have you ever tasted the flavour of a sexual disease in blood? It’s not pleasant. Bitter, tangy, and downright vial. Like tasting death. But alas no matter how much Yeosang pleaded his pain to the older males, they declined saying ‘We need you there tonight. Everyone else has their duties, now do yours’. Yeosang huffs reminding himself he needs to kill San and Wooyoung the next time he sees them.

His eyes wandered aimlessly at the passing face. One of his jobs here was not just to see who entered the club but to also do some side deals, moving drugs, importing expensive alcohol. You name it. So of course that means he had to deal with humans. Typical drunk humans. Typical horny drunk humans. Typical…. “Wait….” Yeosang cut off the cowardly man in front of him with the raise of his finger. His eyes locked on to a young woman dressed in black sitting at his bar. She was nursing a drink while another woman in a tight skimpy dress had caught her attention. They seemed to be chatting about something. More like yelling at one another but that was beside the point. The girl in black looked so familiar like he had met her before, a long time ago.

—

You shifted slightly, feeling an ache on your upper thighs. Your eyes were hazy, trying to look around the dim room. You felt a weight on your waist, making it hard to move. Your head turned to the side seeing Seonghwa’s peaceful face. You could still see some of your blood stained on his bottom lip. A tingle surged against your neck, reminding you about the small wound on it. Hwa hadn’t full-on bit you like vampires would normally do to their prey but the idea still lingered on your mind. He was a beast that had fed from you, slept with you and you like it? Something must be wrong with you.

“I can feel you staring at me.” His voice was deeper, more gravelled. It sent shivers down your spine. But you didn’t know how to answer, so instead, you leaned in closer, sealing your lips on his. He gladly took them, deepening the sensual yet passionate kiss. It didn’t last as long as Seonghwa would have liked though, as you pulled away you spoke softly.

“I’m going to go get a drink.” You shifted once again but this time, pulling away from Hwa’s bare body. He whined in the loss of your warmth but you just giggled reassuring him you wouldn’t be long.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go with you? It’s still sunny out. No one will be awake other than our workers.” He yawned clearly still in rest mode. Once again you eased his mind by saying if you needed help you’re sure one of the workers would help. And as you finished chatting to a sleepy Seonghwa while putting on your sleepwear, you left, slowly making your way down the hall. It might been dim inside but the sun was slinking its way in through some of the curtains as you passed them. One by one, until you reached the end of the seemingly never-ending hallway. It dawned on you that maybe you should have taken Seonghwa’s advice about him going with you or maybe just asked him which direction was the kitchen.

Huffing out, you place your hands on either side of your hips, trying to think about where it could possibly be but your thoughts don’t last long as a tall man with thick biceps and slicked back hair that seemed to have a slight tinge of green in it appeared suddenly. He was very handsome, just like the others and the minute he closed the door behind him he knew you were in the all with him. A low grumble surged through him, making the vibrations disturb the ground, shocking its way up your legs. H was intimidating but you weren’t scared. If anything you felt safer with the idea of creatures like him roaming around, making you aware no human from your village and by that you mean your mother, would have no second thought in coming to the ruined castle.

“Wooyoung was right, you do have a staring problem.” His sharp voice made your heart sting a little. He seemed uninterested in you compared to the others. Which you didn’t mind but part of you wanted to know why? What made him feel different?

“I uh…” He had caught you so suddenly, that you probably looked like a deer in headlights from his perspective which made a sly smile paint his god-like features.

“Cat got your tongue, human?” He made it painfully aware to you that he was no mortal like you, showing off his fangs in the smile. His eyes were glowing and he was clearly not in the mood for small talk. Taking a few steps, he was suddenly in front of you. You could finally take in some details noting he was still wearing outing clothes instead of sleepwear. It only then dawned on you, that he was either Hongjoong or Yeosang. The vampires you hadn’t met yet. his smirk faded quickly, huffing out a shallow breath. He took one last step in front of you, chest to chest to him. Letting you feel his breath on your cheek, your heart started racing. You could smell death around him as if he had been hunting recently. His eyes staring at you harshly, such a familiar gaze. And then you realized as you noticed some of the blood stains sticking out from his undershirt who he was…

“Y-You are the one I saw last night. The one that bit…” Your voice was slacked and shaky, with your eyes wide. His pupils were blown out, with his iris’s changing from a brown to a deep red. His fingers dance along your exposed collarbone, dragging up over the already healed where Seonghwa had pricked you a couple of hours ago.

“Oh no, Pet…” His chuckle was dark, seductive. “I ripped his jugular out.” His words made your breath hitch, imagining long teeth shredding flesh down to the bone against Lucas’s neck. His face tilted down towards your neck, rubbing his nose against your skin. “He tasted fowl, tainted. I’m surprised if he lasts the day.” his tongue licked a stripe up your hot neck, taking in your scent.

“He’s still alive?” Again with the stupid questions. Did you even care about knowing? Why would you want to know about the life of a guy who could have done such terrible things to you?

“For now…” He pulled away with a groan, his hands holding your waist. “Sadly Hongjoong had patched him enough so if he is…'strong', then I guess he’ll live.” It fell silent for a moment, you had no idea how to respond. So he was Yeosang and from what you’ve heard, he was known for having a temper. “Enough about him. I’m more interested in why Hwa didn’t bite you properly. Hmm? All that talk about being your first for everything and oh I mean everything. Yet he didn’t drink from you?”

Your face was flustered at his words. Seonghwa wanted to be your first in everything. How long have these men been watching you? You gulped, not breaking eye contact with the vampire. His lip was sucking in tightly between his teeth, taking in yet another deep breath, as if he needed to get your scent in his system to live. “I guess he wouldn’t mind if I took the offer.”

Your eyes widened, feeling his grip tighten on your hips. One hand freed itself, snaking out to the back of your neck, pulling your head to the side sharply. You hissed at his forcefulness but did not dare to voice any such uncomfortableness, not wanting him to push away from your aching body. He didn’t waste another breath, not caring whether you even wanted this or not, licking a strip along your main vein before his long sharp fangs sank into your soft flesh.

“Y-Yeo…” You squirmed against him, the pain was nothing like you experienced before. It wasn’t a burning pain like a broken bone or a sprained ligament but a dizzy pain. One that is mixed with pleasure, or euphoric notions. You felt like your brain was in the clouds, untouched, protected. His grip got tighter, the hand that held your hip was now wrapped around your middle, caging you in his tight grasp. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling at his tunic. His groans rumbled in your ears, making your core wet.

He finally pulled back, blood pouring down his chin, staining his button-up and neck. His groans were music to your ears, the velvet vocals melting your brain. “Fuck pet, if I’d kept going I’d drink you dry. I’ve never tasted such sweetness.” He lapped at your wounds, cleaning any blood that had spilled out down your collarbone. The air seemed thinner to you, while your heart was racing, trying to pump more blood in you from the large amount you had just lost. “I wonder if other parts of you hold such palatableness.”

You had no clue the meaning behind his rambles, but if they meant anything like Seonghwa’s charming words, you soon realized where it makes you end up. He finally lets go of your head, your neck completely clean to the best of his abilities. Sadly he couldn’t say the same about your pj’s. one a nice baby blue, now covered in crimson. Your head was dizzy but no longer just from the loss of blood but more so from the intoxicating undead beast holding your caringly. Your body was yearning for him, like some sickness, wanting nothing other than these vampiric men. Not one, not two, but all of them.

—

Yeosang couldn’t control his feet, weaving quickly through the crowd, trying to get to the hypnotic woman sitting at the bar, but as he finally pushed the last drunk pig of a human past him, the woman was gone. He stood there for a moment, in disbelief. Was he dreaming? Was he losing his mind? Becoming unattached from the world? Raking his fingers through his hair he sighed out a frustrating growl, needing to contact someone. Holding his finger in his ear and the phone to the other, he searched through his contacts, but no one seemed to answer not until one did, “Jongho I think I just saw her…”

-♡

583 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THREE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: quick question - would you guys like me to include chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter? is that a thing we'd like lol? lemme know! quick edit: totally forgot to thank @boomhauer for the genius idea of the flip phone!!

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

3:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

HOUR THREE - 6:00 PM

The pounding on the door is frenetic, nonstop as you stand and make no move to unlock it. It doesn’t take long before Eddie starts to beg.

He tries to repeatedly say your name at first, over and over, voice pathetic and cracking by the seventh time.

“Just open the door!” he finally shouts in frustration, “I- It’s- Those are private!”

You look down at the open spread once more, shaking your head, the deviant smile never once leaving your face. “What’s the magic word?”

“Magic word? I- Jesus Christ, you’re fucking impossible!”

“Sorry,” you say, taking a few steps closer to the door, “‘Fraid it’s none of those.”

The same thumping from before sounds as Eddie sighs deeply enough for you to hear, and you realize he’s lightly banging his forehead against the door now.

You start to feel bad, honestly. It was an invasion of his privacy, and if the roles were reversed, you’d be fuming. Kindness wasn’t something you offered to the likes of Eddie, and if he had ever locked you out of your own bedroom and raided your own stash of personal porn, you’d be downright hateful.

But then you remember his words.

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.”

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves all the hatefulness and spitefulness you can manage.

The two sides of your brain bicker, and Eddie continues to thump his head against the door. It’s a losing battle as the kinder part of you wins over.

You take a step closer to the door, until the wood is all that separates the two of you, “Try again.”

Your voice is softer and gentler, and not quite as teasing.

The banging ceases.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments and you begin to worry that he walked away. That this latest game of cat and mouse has ended, that he’s decided you aren’t worth the trouble. You don’t understand the pang in your chest at the idea – it’s not like this was supposed to be fun. Arguing with Eddie was something that ruined your day, that always strung out your last nerves and led to you grinding your teeth in your sleep. He had just shot to kill with his words to you; you shouldn’t be on the other side of a wooden door with a fickle spark of hope that he’s still waiting for you.

“Please,” he says in monotone, almost a hint of pain as if to spit the word out was like pulling blood from stone.

The spark of hope vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Already forgotten.

You open the door reluctantly, still gripping the open and curled magazine in your fist, “The magic word was sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to give up so quickly, clear as his head snaps up and he looks over you with genuine shock.

“Sorry?” he echoes, “You’re the one who stormed my room and stole my… magazine.”

“And I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an asshole.”

His eyebrows disappear behind his disheveled bangs. “Because I said that I… I wouldn’t care if you disappeared?”

It’s more than that. You both know it. He says it with restraint, he pauses because he knows that that wasn’t the comment that struck you hardest.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows his pride with surprising ease, straightening up, “I assumed the feeling was mutual.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“You wouldn’t celebrate my death?”

There it was. You’re surprised he’s even willing to repeat the words. Acknowledging them is the first step, you suppose.

You want to say no, but instead settle on, “I wouldn’t tell you to your face.”

You wouldn’t even think it to begin with. Because while Eddie was awful to you, he wasn’t a bad person. You’d seen his ability to play nice with others, to treat others with the respect that they deserved. For some odd reason, you were the only exception when it came to him. Even the strangers that he’d keep up a brooding act with had never met the sharpness of his tongue when he was within proximity to you.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t think you can stomach an insincere apology, so you lift the magazine into both your views instead, “Whatever. It’s water under the bridge. I’m far more intrigued by this now.”

The moment he catches sight of the laminated photo, his expression goes from something similar to remorse to a full-fledged blush. Eddie Munson is blushing because you’re holding his Playboy magazine.

His hand shoots out for it, but you’re faster than him, pulling it out of his reach with ease, “Nope! Not so fast, Munson.”

“Give that bac-” he starts with ardent desperation, following you with each step back you take.

You shake your head and hide the magazine behind your back, “Over my dead body.”

He goes rigid, as if it reminds him of his cruel words, before his efforts double. There’s no hesitation in occupying your space as he begins to reach behind you to snatch back the private item.

You’re not quite sure how it happens. It’s a quick succession of mistakes made on both of your parts; he’s grown too determined to get the Playboy back in his grasp, and your mind is solely focused on keeping it away from him. You don’t notice the way your two bodies shuffle farther into the room as you struggle with him. You don’t notice when your knees hit the edge of his mattress. Neither of you do.

Not until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re standing upright and Eddie’s arms are wrapping around you. The next, your back is connecting with soft sheets that erupt in the scent of boy upon impact, the entirety of Eddie’s weight now on top of you with a hand trapped beneath your lower back.

He lets out a soft oof directly into your chest.

Directly into your boobs.

Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. The magazine has fallen to your side, opening to a different marked page, but you can’t even turn your head to properly see it.

The warmth of him suffocates you, twisting your gut as it sinks into your skin. You can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ribcage against your own. Racing, racing, racing. Just like your own.

“Get off me,” you grunt, shoving at his shoulders to roll him off of you, the closeness suddenly too much. If you two stay this way a second long, you’re sure you may die.

As he does lift off of you, still looking aghast, his hand remains pinned against your back. Your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly, a sliver of skin exposed that his palm brushes. It sends shockwaves up your spine.

Without his weight caging you in, you’re quick to leap back onto your feet, away from him and away from his touch. Your movement must break whatever spell of embarrassment he had been lost in, because Eddie is just as quick as he searches for the Playboy and grabs it so roughly the pages might rip.

You catch a glimpse of the second marked page. The similarities remain. It could have been the same model, for all you know.

You tell yourself that that’s what it is. It’s not a matter of the model looking like you. Eddie just has a thing for that specific model. It’s all left to chance that you share similar features, that the plush of her thighs resemble yours and that your hips follow the same curve as hers. It’s a coincidence.

“I can’t believe yo-” you begin to chastise him, chest heaving still as you glare down at him. It must be a residual symptom of anger, of shock. The way your heart hammers is out of contempt. It has to be.

He cuts you off, “That was not my fault.”

“You were being an…. a….” you falter. You can’t think straight.

“An asshole?” he supplies, sitting up now and looking at you with expectancy.

Why was it so hard to find your words? This was a dance you’d done a thousand times before with Eddie – the fighting, the bickering, the hurting of feelings and the absence of genuine apologies. What changed?

His body against yours. The brush of his breath on your chest. His weight firm between your-

You cut off the ridiculous thoughts and focus on him, “Yes. You were an asshole.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, well, you’ve already mentioned that. Next time, don’t go through my shit.”

If you weren’t still recovering, you’d bring up the model looking like you. If you were in your right mind, you’d take that gift from the Universe and put it to good use, sending the dagger straight into his back.

But your mind has gone hazy for the time being. It swirls with hesitancy and confusion and why the fuck weren’t you laying it into him right now? Where the fuck were you usual words of viciousness?

“If you’re done staring me down with evil eyes,” he sighs and nods to the clock, “Nancy said we have to send a picture this hour. Or no cash, bet’s off.”

At first, you’re beyond belief he can brush past it all so easily. It’s damning that it’s only affecting you so vehemently. But then you take a moment to glance over him, to really look at the boy sat on the bed before you.

He’s still blushing, violently so. Rosey cheeks and red nose, his neck aflame with the evidence that he’s not brushing it off. He’s avoiding it. He’s avoiding talking about the magazine, just as he’s avoiding talking about the position the two of you had just been in, just as he avoided apologizing for cruel words spoken so casually. Eddie Munson is avoidant to a dangerous degree.

“Okay,” you finally supply in defeat. Even if he wasn’t avoiding the topics, what is there to say?

Oh, hey. I can’t fucking think straight because that’s the closest we’ve ever been after a year of hating each other, and I have no idea why. Care to explain?

He stands and moves out of the room, down the hallway, to the living room. He doesn’t even check to make sure you follow. You have to pause to grab your phone off of the ground before you’re speedwalking to catch up with him.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid and ridiculous.

“So how are we doing this?” he asks once you’re both in the living room. He’s already sitting down on the end of the couch that he’d taken to the first few hours, looking everywhere but you. “Do we just, like, send a photo? Do we take separate photos?”

“They want a selfie,” you inform him as if he hadn’t been in the room during all of the discussions of the limitations of this bet. As if he hadn’t encouraged it, even.

He nods to your phone clutched in your sweaty palm, “Let’s get it over with, then.”

“Remind me again why it has to be my phone?” you question, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the couch. As long as you both were visible in the photo, it should be fine. “You have a phone, too. I know you do - Nancy called you.”

“I do have a phone,” he nods, watching as you unlock your cell and tap until you’ve opened the camera app, “It’s just not a smart phone.”

You stop all actions, looking up from where you’d just flipped to the front camera setting, “What?”

“I don’t have a smart ph-”

“I heard what you said. What the fuck do you have then? Do you just communicate with two tin cans and a string?”

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is still moving to his pocket, tugging out a small flip phone, “No, I just have a phone.”

It’s black and shiny, downright tiny as it sits carefully in the palm of his hand on show for you. You have to bite back your laughter.

“Oh my God. Why do you have a flip phone? Jesus Christ, what year is it?”

“Fuck off,” he quips, fingers curling around the phone protectively, “I just… I don’t like all the technology and shit. It can get overwhelming, but this?” he holds up the phone for emphasis, gripping it loosely between his pointer finger and thumb as he waves it around, “This is simple. This doesn’t need a new update every week, or to be replaced every year for the shiniest model, or-”

You reach over and snatch the phone from him, and his hand is still frozen in midair, fingers still pinched from where they’d held the phone, “Oh, what’s this? I think it’s ringing. Let me get that for you,” you dramatically flip the phone open, taking some glee in the nostalgic action before bringing the phone up to your ear and humming tauntingly. Eddie still makes no move to stop you, face contorting in bitter amusement at your unexpected antics, “Yeah? Uh huh, okay. I’ll tell him,” it’s even more fun than you remember to snap the phone shut with one hand. It almost has you reconsidering joining Eddie’s anti-technology cause. You face him and try to pull a straight face, but you can’t help laughing at your own joke before you even finish it, “It was the early 2000’s. They’re calling because they want their prehistoric technology back.”

You’re giggling at yourself as Eddie sucks in a deep breath. He’s about to break, you know he is. The corners of his mouth are twitching terribly, so you go in for the kill. Not the type of kill you had expected to be delivering tonight, but a kill all the same.

“Also, I had to put the 80’s on hold. I think they’re calling to ask for their hair back,” you nod towards his dark curls, wild and frizzy around his face.

That’s all it takes for him to break. Right before your eyes, the stoic and cold front that Eddie Munson had put up crumbles. A smile breaks out across his lips, slowly spreading as he shakes his head and his shoulders shake with the effort to withhold any actual laughs from escaping him.

He has dimples. You’d never noticed that before.

“Fuck off,” he says with a voice still wavering from unheard laughter. You can’t recall a single time before in which he’d said those words to you in such a lighthearted tone.

“I’m serious,” you press on, still caught up on his dimples, “I think it might be Jon Bon Jovi himself!”

He snorts. The battle against the laughter is lost as the apartment fills with your childish giggles.

“My hair is way better than that old assh-” he’s cut off by the sudden buzzing from your phone on the couch. It effectively shatters whatever resemblance of a moment the two of you were having, and you push back the disappointment at that.

If it hadn’t been the phone, it would have been something else: jokes taken too far, insults tossed out carelessly, one of you remembering that you shouldn’t be joking around this way. You shouldn’t be joking around friends.

You glance down at your screen and the notifications that have begun to roll in.

STEVE-O: you guys have a minute before you both owe me $500

ROBIN 🐦: and me!

STEVE-O: and robin

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, leaning over to grab at your phone. Similar to how you had done to him with the magazine, you throw your hand out of his reach, narrowing your eyes in his direction. Unlike with the magazine, he doesn’t make a move to grab it. He keeps as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Excuse you,” you huff, glancing back down at the group message, preparing to take the quick photo and send it off.

“What? You can steal my phone but I can’t steal yours?” he questions, almost whines.

You glance at him, thumbs still hovering over the keyboard, “It was Steve. There, now you don’t need to steal my phone.”

“Let me respond to him,” he simply makes grabby hands this time, not reaching into your personal space.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Maybe you should have a smart phone like the rest of us so you could be part of the group chat.”

“You guys have a fucking group chat?”

“Yeah, without you.”

If it hurts his feelings, he doesn’t let it show. He simply pouts in his corner of the couch.

You’re about to swipe up, hit the camera icon and get the photo over with, but Eddie interrupts again.

“C’mon, just real quick. I just have something to say to Steve.”

He’s holding out his palm again. Another buzz of your phone, surely another text from Steve.

You don’t know why you do it. But you succumb. You take a leap of faith, and you reach out to drop your phone into Eddie Munson’s waiting hand.

Once it’s in his grasp, he wastes no time to bring it in close to him. For someone who has a goddamn flip phone, he’s quick with his thumbs, typing out whatever message he had been so desperate to send with ease. You don’t notice that you’ve scooted closer to watch him over his shoulder until he’s hitting send.

Patience, Harrington. We’re just trying to find my good angle. - E

“E?” you snort, “God, first the flip phone, now the cryptic messages. You’re either a serial killer or a drug dealer.”

He only flips you off as he hands back the phone.

Finally, finally, you’re able to open the camera app without interruption, stretching your arm out as you turn your back to Eddie and move your hand until you’re both in frame. Eddie keeps his middle finger held high and forces a scowl onto his face. You huff out, trying to not appear entertained before you flash a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

If the two of you were friends, it’d be a cute photo.

But you’re not, and as you hit send in the groupchat, providing them with the proof they so desperately crave, you consider deleting the photo. What use will it serve you after tonight?

You should probably delete the photo, but you don’t.

“Don’t look so overjoyed over there,” you comment as you finally lock your phone upon seeing the photo successfully sent, “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.”

“You weren’t, like, ten seconds ago,” you’re quick to point out, discarding the smartphone onto his coffee table and facing him once more. You’re closer than before, “You were actually laughing at my jokes. It’s okay to admit I’m funny, y’know?”

You should probably scoot back over and put the distance back between the two of you, but you don’t.

“You were funny once,” he puts severe emphasis on the once, “That’s a rare occasion for you, sweetheart.”

There’s something different in the way he enunciated the nickname this time. He doesn’t sound out each syllable with the purpose of annoying you, and instead it seems to slip effortlessly off his tongue. You try to not think too much of it.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head and refuse to believe, only because you have proof to back your words up, “I’ve seen you laugh at my jokes when we’re out with everyone. You do this stupid thing when you start to laugh, and then you cough into your fist like you’re trying to cover it up. And everyone knows it’s not a real cough because when you really cough, you cover it with your elbow like a normal person.”

You probably shouldn’t take so much notice of his mannerisms, but you do.

To emphasize your point, you bring your arm to wrap around your head as if you were coughing, “Like this. Like… Like Dracula or something.”

He simply stares, one eyebrow slightly raised as he watches you. Normally, you’d interpret look as unimpressed. But something tugs in your chest, and you nearly convince yourself that he’s watching you with mirth.

“Oh, come on! Stop staring at me like I’m the giant nerd here for referencing a vampire everyone knows,” you complain, finally scooting under the burn of his gaze.

“You’re not a giant nerd,” he corrects, and it almost seems as if his mouth is working faster than his brain as he continues, “You’re a fucking dork.”

He lets the word hang heavy between the two of you. Dork. A stranger might find it to be dripping in adorement, all because they don’t know better. But you know better, and you know it can’t possibly be dripping of anything. It’s dry. It’s nothing.

“I’m a dork?” you counter, “You’re the one with an action figure of Gandalf the Great in your living room.”

“Oh, so you know who Gandalf is? Maybe you are a nerd.”

The dimples are back. This time, you try to not stare at them, to now acknowledge their existence. Because every time you do, you think of his hand passing over that sliver of skin on your lower back. Because every time you do, you remember the time when you thought there was hope for you and Eddie to be friends.

For a moment, it’s been easy. The banter has been friendly between the two of you, and if you close your eyes, you could pretend you’re having just another night in with Steve or Robin. Another day of sitting in Nancy’s living room as she asks for your opinions on her latest articles or another afternoon of smoking with Argyle. If you close your eyes, it’s not Eddie you’re here with, it’s a friend.

The realization seems to hit the two of you at the exact same time. All the merriment of the banter drains out of both of you. Eddie clears his throat, and you scoot back to your original placement on the couch.

You’re not here with a friend. You’re here with Eddie, the boy who has gone out of his way to make you miserable at every chance he’s offered. Eddie, the boy who’s made you cry twice now.

You probably shouldn’t still cling to the what-could-have-beens of a friendship with Eddie that had long since been buried, but you do.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #i learned a lot about taglists this time around lol #didn't double check formatting bear with me

2K notes · View notes

yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

Note

How about high tension between a male yautja and human. Where one gets drunk and finally yells that they want to fuck them already.

Tensions Run High

Pairing: Icheall-Dua (male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2555

Summary: It was at a gathering for Yautjas and humans alike on a different planet than Yautja Prime. You had been constantly trying to hit up Icheall-Dua and he couldn’t get the idea! So, one night, during a feast of celebration that Icheall-Dua was going to become leader of the clan, you get drunk. A very bad thing. You have loose lips. When you tried again with Icheall-Dua and he doesn’t get it again, you straight up yell it in front of the clan.

Author Note: I realized this has taken me two months to get to. Sorry that production has slowed down. I've been grinding away at my game. Also, I didn't know if you wanted spicy or not, so I decided to leave it out just encase. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Ao3

Sonorous voices that boomed across the clearing filled the air. Joyous in nature. Prideful for the years to come. Every rise and fall of the suns to bring a life and challenges to the clan. You held up a cup of a drink that was considered alcohol. Between a Yautja and human mixture of potent alcohol, deluded for yourself.

It reminded you of whiskey with the slight burn with each sip you took. A drink not meant for shots. Rather just to take sips here and there. It’ll still knock you on your ass three drinks later. So, you took your time to consume the interesting taste of the smokey concoction.

Despite living among the predators of the universe and showing we are equals rather than enemies, the two species have come together. Some clans as you’ve heard are more reluctant, or rather downright say no, to allowing humans into their ranks.

Others, like the one you live in, are more accepting if you pull your own. You will not be babied. If you die, you die. A kill or be killed world on this planet. This isn’t even Yautja Prime. Yet, its dangers rival Yautja Prime.

You breathed in the marshes stagnant air. Though the division is still evident; Yautjas with Yautjas and humans with humans, you couldn’t help but find yourself drawn to Icheall-Dua. Marsh green and cream bellied. His scales are basic compared to those you’ve seen throughout your time through a few clans.

What Icheall-Dua lacks in different physical aspects, he makes up in his skills. From the words whispered amongst the clan, he’s a prodigy. He’s the next best thing. A male anyone would kill to be but could never get to his level. Yet, no matter how many times you try to send the right signals in Icheall-Dua’s direction, he doesn’t see it! The skulls, the meat, the Yautja way of courting!

Weeks of research were put into this before you attempted the first time. It should’ve been clear as a peacock spreading its tail feathers. No though. He accepted the gifts but never said anything after that.

At first, you drew back to ensure what you read was correct. Skulls of creatures are the first step. You did just that. Yeah, it wasn’t the dangerous creature on this planet but it nearly killed you! His obliviousness didn’t deter you though. You took a slow sip of your drink again, eyes sliding over to the beast that filled your thoughts.

A large cup filled with a similar concoction to your own was cupped in one of his large hands. Two of three fingers missing on that hand. You knew there was harrowing story to explain what happened. A story you would love to listen to with his deep, grating voice. The sound crunchy like stepping on a gravel road. Another sip downed the rest of the liquid.

With a sigh, you stepped around the larger species that filled the space to the bar tender. A night like this was to be celebrated with alcohol always being included.

After living around these guys for a quarter of your life time, you have learned it’s best to slip between them. Some will shift their weight allow you easier access around them. Yet, many have the mindset not to move for anything. You’ve learned to be slippery rather than it becoming a dick measuring contest. Not submission but avoiding unnecessary fighting. Why get wounded if it all could be avoided? Somethings in this culture you’ll never come to understand.

Once you reached the bar tender again, you set your empty glass on the counter and tapped twice. Ci’tha grunted and immediately got to work. Your drink was set in front of you with a tangy tasting fruit on the rim. You thanked the yellow based Yautja with a dip of your head then leaned against the count with your back to it. People watching.

Other humans were amongst the crowd, mingling with mainly other humans. Only a select few were chatting away with the friendlier Yautjas in the clan. None of them dared to go close to Icheall-Dua nor his father who had a permanent scowl etched into his worn features. A life lived through the ways of a Yautja of hunting and gaining scars along the way.

Icheall-Dua went to sip at his cup only to find it empty and shook his cup. You instantly noticed and spun around to face Ci’tha. “Do you remember what Icheall-Dua is having?” you rushed out and jerked your head over towards Icheall-Dua direction. The poor yellow Yautja jolted at the sudden move then glared at you. You sheepishly smiled an apology at him.

Ci’tha rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I do. Why?” he grunted and raised a brow at you.

“Can you make it? Yautja sized?” you sweetly asked the lanky Yautja who stood in your way of impressing Icheall-Dua some more. Though, the two of you didn’t talk on the regular, he could see what was happening. He rolled his blue eyes again before got to work.

The large mug was set before you. You threw a thanks towards Ci’tha before snatching it racing through the sea of bodies. At points, you nearly shoved your way through but reframed from starting a fight. All you had was a mug and a small knife not long enough to hit anything important on a Yautja.

After breeching the main crowd of people, you were able to make your way up to Icheall-Dua standing in all of his glory. His father only a couple of steps away from him, speaking to another Yautja. Icheall-Dua, himself, was crowd watching until you stopped before him.

“Hello… I saw your cup was empty and retrieved one for you,” you spoke up and presented the cup to him. His sky blue eyes looked down upon over the jut of his small snout. Icheall-Dua blinked slowly in boredom, gaze glancing to the cup in your hand.

He reached out and took it. A critical eye peered and inspected the contents. You gnawed on your bottom lip, in hopes he would accept the drink but nothing else was working. Maybe a drink would win him over.

The Yautja raised his shoulders in a shrug and gulped from the cup. You silently cheered to yourself, praying this was him finally noticing your advances towards him.

Next to him, Zutouh, his father, leaned over and scoffed at you. It didn’t deter you though. Through his one good eye, he analyzed you. Not all Yautjas still accept humans into their ranks. The older generations such as Zutouh are part of that. You’re used to it at this point, even dealing with clans who would kill you on sight.

“Great party,” you tried to start small talk in hopes to get Icheall-Dua to open up a little more. “What’s it for?” A closed mouth smile was directed towards Icheall-Dua.

Icheall-Dua kept his nonchalant expression plastered to his face. “I’m becoming the clan leader,” he stated as if it was an everyday thing. You tensed up mid sip of your drink, eyes darting over to his marsh green hide.

Well yeah. Zutouh is his father and the clan leader. Yet, each Yautja usually has a bunch of children. You didn’t know Icheall-Dua was next in line to ascend the throne. By Paya’s grace, you truly didn’t stand a chance against any of the females who would flock to him. Clan leader got you lots of perks. A title Icheall-Dua had to have earned out of all of his siblings.

“That’s amazing! Are you excited?” you kept up with the small talk, using questions to get answers from him. You gulped down a mouthful of your drink again as it started to affect your mind and rational thinking. “Of course, a male such as yourself with that physique definitely deserves that position.”

Drunk words were sober thoughts.

Alcohol gave you loose lips.

Zutouh snorted and shook his massive head in disbelief. You didn’t care though. What you said was true. Icheall-Dua was built well, the prodigy everyone saw him as.

One of his upper manibles quirked up for less than a second yet you caught it. “This is my destiny.” His answer short, barely even sweet. You nearly deflated at that but an idea came to him.

“Well, does your destiny have me included in it?” you flirted with him again like all the times before. You hoped he would finally get the big picture you were waving in front of him.

This caught Icheall-Dua off guard. The Yautja nearly choked on his drink you graciously provided for him and snapped his gaze to you. Hope flickered in your eyes as you noticed you had more of his attention on you. His hand tightened on his cup, claws slightly scraping across the glass wear.

Except, it all faded away when he pulled back that nonchalant expression and shrugged again. You could almost scream at him for that. Your nose flared with a snort, lips pressed tightly into a line. The alcohol in your system not helping one bit. A near glare was settled on the stupid marsh colored Yautja who you’ve pinned for the last few months.

Like a volcano, there’s only so much you could hold in.

“For the love of everything unholy, I want to fuck you!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, fire blazing in your veins while you stared this male down. “I’ve been trying for months the Yautja way to get your attention. And-and nothing! You hadn’t acknowledge my attempts or even told me to stop! I don’t know what I can do anymore.”

It all came out. Ranitng out your horrible experience trying to court a Yautja their way. All this research was false, wrong. It led you on for months and left you to feel this angry… in front of a crowd.

Your shoulders heaved with each lungful breath. The crowd around you had gone silence due to your shouting. The realization struck you, dosing you in freezing cold water. Your shoulders tensed up, eyes wide, glued to the spot. Nothing could make you move until Icheall-Dua took a step towards you.

Then, you spun on your tail and darted between humans and Yautja alike, a stumbling, drunk mess. They didn’t part for you, even when you ran into them but when a shadow gave chase, they instantly let him through. Your arm was snatched in a vice grip that would bruise tomorrow. Heat slammed into your chest, forcing you to pressed to his torso. Tears pooled the lips of your eyes as you looked everywhere but him. You couldn’t see the rage of you interrupting his celebration, of you ruining the night with this silly crush.

Your entire jaw was swallowed up by a hand and forcefully tilted your head back. Through blurry tears, you find his blue eyes on you.

“Say that again,” he demanded with a voice he used to lead. You tried to struggle against him, nearly turning your head enough to bite his fingers. Nothing worked to get him off of you. Icheall-Dua easily far stronger in close quarters… yet, you didn’t want to hurt him anyhow.

“Why? So you can embarrass me in front of everyone. Show everyone how much of a fool I was? To think I had a chance with you?” you snarled then paused for a pregnant moment. He squeezed his hand tighter on your jaw in a short warning. Icheall-Dua wasn’t one to be around humans often, he didn’t understand their fragileness. “Should’ve brushed me off the first time I gifted you a skull.”

None of this would be happening if he had.

“And why would I do that? I was following the advice given to me by your fellow humans for your courting rituals.” If he didn’t have such a tight grip, you would’ve jerked your head back. Instead, you raised your brows instead.

He was following dating advice… What had they told him? Also, dating?! Your heart started to thump loudly in your ears, like war drums. He had gone out of his way to ask for advice.

A lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “What, what was the advice?” you questioned and untensed your muscles. The Yautja responded by easing up his grasp on your jaw and wrist. Icheall-Dua didn’t let you go fully though. Not that you could outrun a Yautja in the first place.

His gaze deviated over to a group of humans who were staring the two of you down. Everyone part of the party was. “Samual said to ‘play hard to get’. It get’s people needy.” Oh, you were going to kill Samual when you had the chance. All these months of torture because that dumbass told him horrible advice.

You couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped your lungs. Then, you began to laugh and shook in his hold. “That’s the worst advice anyone could give you. No, ‘playing hard to get’ is the worst way to show someone you’re into them.” Your laughter died down. “And I thought my research was a fraud when you didn’t react to any of the gifts I gave you.”

Icheall-Dua growled lowly in his chest and spread his mandibles in a display towards the humans. The group jolted and instantly scrambled away to be hidden away in the crowd. With them gone, he returned his attention back on you. “You did well and everything right. I apologize I wasn’t properly conveying my feelings towards you. Will you forgive me?”

All that tension in your shoulders you’ve been holding for months finally fell off. “Yes, yes. I forgive you and whatever stupid advice Samual gave you. I would say to do research but… that has also bad information as well.” His hand on your wrist released you to cup your waist. Goosebumps immediately rose on your arms. A tingle running down your spine.

“And what were you saying early? If my memory serves correct: you want to fuck me?” Oh god, he just had to bring that up! Heat instantly rushed your cheeks.

“That’s-that’s just the alcohol talking. I’m drunk. Had some drinks… I don’t know what you mean,” you did everything in your power to get him off of that.

“Daring little thing,” he mused and ran his thumb claw across your lips. Just a little more pressure and he could slice the feeble skin apart. “Taking more than they can chew.” You knew you had chosen right. He was still going to fuck with you though.

He leaned down so only the next words were spoken directly at you. “Once this party ends, would you like to start the night back in my tent?” he whispered. Your brain blanked. Not a single thought entered your mind for a long, unknown amount of time.

When some of the fog cleared, you rapidly nodded your head, eager. “My naughty little ooman.” He returned to his full towering height and offered his hand to you. “Come along, I know of seat you wouldn’t want to leave.”

Curses filled your head, the only thing to make sense in your fray of mental words to yourself. The things you could do to him.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #predator x reader #alien vs predator #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

229 notes · View notes

ferris-the-wheel · 3 months

Text

Posted 3/8/24

Fyodor Dostoevsky Relationship Headcanons

: ̗̀➛ Fyodor x gn!reader

A/N: This was pretty fun to make and I kinda wanna do this with more BSD characters. Who am I kidding- I'm totally doing this with other BSD characters.

: ̗̀➛ Not proofread, may be some mistakes.

TW: Semi-controlling behavior (but not super overbearing???)

⁂ Pretty much no one knows you exist, not even anyone in the Decay of Angels.

⁂ That's because he doesn't want to risk you getting taken hostage or killed by his enemies (which he has a lot of, obviously). He also doesn't trust the DOA members not to try to use you to get the upper hand against him.

⁂ You're one of his two weaknesses and he doesn't want anyone to exploit that fact.

⁂ One of his plans for preventing anyone from finding out about you is that he would buy a comfortable house for you to live in in a less populated area outside of the city, but you declined. You insisted that since no one even knew that you were connected to each other, you could live in the city.

⁂ He reluctantly agreed but made sure to install a bunch of security cameras to the place you were living at in the city, as well as teaching you how to use a variety of types of guns.

⁂ Whenever he's just sitting around (usually while his plans are unfolding and causing chaos), he'll just be eager to get back home to you. He would also plan out the whole evening in his head, knowing how it would go before it was even past noon.

⁂ While normally, the only side of himself that he let's people see is that he's soulless and doesn't care about anything. However, you know that this isn't exactly the case. While yes, he does act like that, he shows a different side, only around you.

⁂ He still has a certain coldness to him (personality wise as well as being ice cold to the touch lol), but he's nicer toward you than he is to anyone else. Of course, that's not to say that he's a complete angel. He's very protective of you if you couldn't tell so he tends to ask where you're going when you go out and may follow you to make sure that you're safe.

⁂ He can be a bit of a control freak, but that's kind of something that you have to put up with. For example, if he wants something from you, such as a kiss, he will do pretty much anything to get it (in cases where you don't want to or aren't in the mood). He would be a bit manipulative/deceptive with his methods, but nothing like downright abusive or anything. He tries to dial it down when something really bothers you, though.

⁂ He can be... just a bit jealous (let's be real, he can be pretty damn jealous). He doesn't see why you waste your attention on other less competent, boring people, but he doesn't force you not to hang out with anyone.

⁂ He does let you have friends and connections, he just warns you not to tell them about him. He does very extensive background checks on the people you hang out with, just to make sure they aren't governments agents or members of the Port Mafia. Yeah, no one knows that you and Fyodor are connected at all, but he's just covering all his bases.

⁂ If someone tries to hit on you or anything like that, good luck to them. Fyodor would probably find out immediately and either one of two scenarios would occur:

1. He would ask that you not hang out with said person anymore and would convince you to completely cut that person out of your life.

Or the more dramatic option.....

2. He would simply make that person disappear. It would just happen. Of course, he had nothing to do with their disappearance. Feel free to interpret that how you will.

⁂ Sometimes he'll offer to let you have his ushanka for a while since he likes seeing you wear it. In fact, it soon became a routine: when he came home, he'd take off his coat and hang it up, then he'd locate you and place the ushanka on your head. He didn't always give it up easily though. He'd sometimes demand something in return.

⁂ When Fyodor wants to relax, he'll lay his head down in your lap and have you mess around with his hair. It doesn't matter if you're just mussing it up or if you're just combing it, he loves the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.

BSD taglist: @edith-is-a-cat @twst-om-lover @l7k-a @lyle-my-beloved @xen-blank @cookiesandbiscuits @mermaidfanficlibrary

Reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♥︎

#fyodor dostoevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #gn!reader

186 notes · View notes

pedritomosquito · 1 year

Text

All Choked Up (Ch 2)

MINORS DNI

Summary: After your post-rehearsal hook-up, how will shoot day with Pedro go?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Content: SMUT, Minors DNI Blog, choking, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected P in V, Daddy kink, enthusiastic consent, Pedro is a consent king, soft dom, praise, degradation

Chapter 1 Here

“Action!”

You dart forward, knife raised as Pedro advances toward you. His large hands grip your forearms and you try to tear your way out of his grasp. He twists your wrist just enough for the knife to fall from your hand. His fist flies toward your face and you throw your head to the side to sell the punch. You allow him to easily push you the two steps back until you feel your back hit the wall.

He’s stepped right up into your space, your bodies nearly pressed together, both of his hands around your throat. You can feel him panting on your cheek, eyes locked on yours. You put all your efforts into struggling against him. You claw at his hands with the pads of your fingers so you don’t scratch him and writhe in his grasp. The feral glint in his eyes is only growing the more you fight and you know it’s Joel, not Pedro, but your mind is absolutely running away with the primal display.

Once you lose consciousness, Pedro lets go and you drop as heavily as you can to the floor. He walks out the door which leads to dead space between set walls, out of view.

“Cut!”

You open your eyes and Pedro reappears above you with his usual soft expression. He helps you back to your feet and can’t seem to stop himself from reaching out and fixing one of your rogue hairs this time.

“Thank you,” You smile and he shoots back a wry one of his own.

“Okay,” Craig says, a bit slowly, like he’s interrupting something, “That was… great, but I need you to act like you hate each other this time.”

Oops. Guess you were having a bit too much fun.

“Let’s reset,” He directs, then looks at you and Pedro and reminds you both, “You want to kill each other.”

You and Pedro are both nodding. Pedro looks a little embarrassed, which you find some glory in.

Jess starts straightening you back out for the next take. She has a shadow of a smirk on her face.

“What?” You question her.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jess maintains her innocence.

“Jess.”

“Y’all just look like you’re having fun out there, that’s all,” She shrugs with a knowing tone.

“Alright, let’s go again!” Craig called.

You shoot another take and after calling cut, Craig waves you and Pedro over to the monitor.

“Come see what we’re seeing,” he says.

They play back the take as you and Pedro watch. The sequence does seem a bit… heated, in more ways than one.

“Pedro, I need you further back from the wall for the choking—and your faces are too close. It’s not creating the right kind of tension,” Craig instructed.

Exactly what kind of tension it is creating goes unmentioned.

“And I need more fear from you,” Craig tells you. “Your character is fierce and brave, but towards the end you’re realizing you’re about to die. I need that terror. Sound good?”

You and Pedro are both nodding like bobble heads, desperate to try again and undo the impression you’ve given everyone. You’re both people pleasers, for better or worse.

The next take finally reads like a murder instead of a porno, but it’s turning you on without fail. You have to do two more takes after that before Craig deems them ready to move on to the next angle.

“Just a minute to set up the next camera angle, please,” Craig says.

You’ve soaked your underwear to the point of discomfort. In a fit of equal parts pettiness and arousal, a downright evil idea springs to life in your mind.

You walk the few steps over to Pedro, casually pulling him through the set’s fake doorway. The space it leads to is hardly bigger than a closet but it’s out of sight of the crew. He looks at you curiously and is about to say something when you stop him, crowding him against the wall.

“You,” You say, hand slipping under your waistband to dip two fingers into yourself, “Made a mess.”

You withdraw your hand and bring it up to his lips.

“Clean it up,” you whisper.

His mouth parts silently and you slide your fingers in. His tongue drags along them, sucking them clean.

As quickly as you’d pulled him aside, you exit back onto the main set, leaving him behind without another word. You make your way over to Jess who starts fixing your hair.

It’s a long moment before you see Pedro emerging from the doorway from the corner of your eye.

“You good, Pedro?” Craig asks with a touch of concern.

Everyone within earshot turns to look at him, including you. His face is a little flushed and his eyes look wild. He schools his expression, even though the blush is continuing to spread down his neck.

“Yep!” He says with an easy grin.

You walk past him to your starting mark, twirling the knife in your hand.

“Someone needs to work on their acting,” You tease quietly with a smug smile, “Can see it all over your face, querido.”

--------

“Alright, that’s a wrap for today,” Craig called, “We have cupcakes here for Tina’s birthday, don’t forget to grab one on your way out!”

Cupcakes? Hell yeah, thank you Tina!

After you change back into your clothes, you find a small group crowded around a table with the birthday treats. You shuffle through and pick up a vanilla cupcake. You see Pedro across the small room and you catch his eye.

You decide you’re not done playing games with him today.

You take your finger and swipe it through the soft, white frosting. You stare at him as you lick at the sweet icing before sliding your entire finger into your mouth.

The intense look in Pedro’s eyes sparks a fire of anticipation as he swiftly makes his way over to you. He stands a little close, seeming to tower over you. You look up at him innocently.

“Need a ride home?” You ask.

“Yes, I do,” he answers through gritted teeth.

You sit in silence as you drive down the dark road. You sneak glances at him, catching his profile in sliding strips of streetlights. You can feel his eyes on you too. He shifts in his seat and you can tell he’s trying to subtly adjust his pants.

You pull into his driveway and throw your car into park.

You look over at him and he simply leans over the center console, pulling your keys out of the ignition.

“Come inside.”

Your breathing is shallow. You just nod and climb out of your car, following him up the front steps.

As soon as the door is closed behind you, he has your back pressed up against it, one hand on your throat, another on your waist, and a knee pressed between your legs.

“Do you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into?” He asks, lips nearly against your cheek, “Do you know what’s going to happen now that you made me want you so fucking bad?”

You shake your head minutely, holding your breath.

“I’m going to make you fall apart with my mouth,” He explains slowly, “And then on my fingers. And then I’m going to fuck you good and deep.”

He’s nodding as he speaks and you mirror him mindlessly, clutching onto his shirt.

“How does that sound, querida?” He asks. You nod more emphatically but he interrupts and says, “Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“S-sounds good,” you manage to whisper.

He lets out a soft laugh and a genuine grin tugs on his lips. His touch lightens. “You really are just a sweet little thing, aren’t you?

“All bark and no bite,” You confess quietly with a sheepish grin.

“You like it when I’m rough with you?” He asks sincerely.

“God yes,” you answer instantly.

He chuckles again, the darkness flowing back into his eyes. His hand from your waist travels down and palms over the crotch of your pants.

“The safe word is cupcake, okay?” He whispers in your ear, a precious secret just for you and him.

“Okay,” you nod, your eyes falling shut.

“Try it,” he directs you softly.

“C-Cupcake,” you repeat it hesitantly.

The weight of his body against yours disappears and his hands withdraw. You open your eyes to see him standing in front of you.

“Good girl,” he praises softly. He then snatches up your wrist and tugs you into him. “Fuck I can’t wait to see you cum again,” he says before his lips lock onto yours.

He’s soon dragging you down a hallway and into his bedroom. You pull off your pants and he does the same. He starts undoing his shirt but you take over, making him sit on the edge of the bed. You straddle him as you undo the buttons.

“Missed being in your lap,” you sigh, hands working down his shirt. He hums in agreement as you push the fabric off his shoulders and his mouth finds yours. His hands find the hem of your top. He pushes it up your stomach. You take hold of it and break the kiss to pull it off. You reach back and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms.

He drags a hand down your chest, too tempted by the expanse of soft skin not to touch it. You roll forward and both of you let out contented noises at the sweet friction. He wraps an arm around your back to pull your bare chest flush against his, feeling his heartbeat against your own.

You rake your fingers through his hair and he grabs your ass, pressing you down tight onto him. You’ve soaked through the thong you’re wearing and you’re already leaving a wet spot on Pedro’s briefs.

He stands up with you still wrapped around him, turns around, and tosses you down onto the bed.

He crawls up beside you, licking over one of your nipples on his way to your lips. His hand travels down between your legs.

“God, are you always this wet?” He asks reverently, rubbing slow circles over underwear.

“Siempre estoy mojada pensando en ti,” You reply. I’m always wet thinking about you.

He groans deep in his throat and you feel him push his hard-on against the side of your hip. “Didn’t know you could speak Spanish, querida,” He says breathlessly.

“Sip,” You nod, squirming under his touch. Yep.

“You’re just full of goddamn surprises, aren’t you?” He teases, rolling his fingers tortuously slow.

“Pedro–please,” You say, trying to circle your hips.

“What?” He asks innocently, “You want me to slip my fingers underneath these and touch your wet pussy, play with it til you cum?”

The vulgar words coming from his sweet mouth sends a rush of heat over you.

“Mhm,” You nod fiercely.

He pulls his hand away instead and a wounded noise leaves your mouth.

“I don’t think I will,” he says defiantly, “I think I need to taste you again.”

“Oh my god, yes,” You murmur. He moves down your body, placing himself between your legs. You watch as his teeth scrape over the skin of your left hip and capture the waistband of your underwear. He hooks a finger under the other side and drags the fabric down. You help him slide it all the way down and off.

A broad hand settles on each of your thighs and he pushes your legs apart. You can feel his breath rolling over your wet cunt before his tongue glides over you, bottom to top, gathering up the taste of you. You gasp and sound rumbles deep in Pedro’s chest, vibrating against you.

He covers all of you with his mouth, overwhelming you with heat. He runs the underside of his tongue over you and he feels so soft, like a ribbon of silk.

His tongue strokes and circles your clit.

Your hands weave into his hair.

“Fuck, yeah,” you breathe.

He begins sucking gently, alternating with flicks of his tongue. The more he works you over, the faster your breathing becomes.

He moves his tongue down, pressing it into your entrance. You grind into his face, your clit pressing to his nose.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re getting me so close,” you pant.

He can feel the way you’re clenching around nothing, trying to grip his tongue.

He pulls away and you whimper.

“All fours. Elbows and knees.”

You comply instantly, rolling onto your stomach and dragging your knees up underneath you. You expect to feel his mouth or cock press against you, but instead you feel the mattress shift. Pedro lays on his back, his head underneath your hips between your legs.

“Oh fuck,” You breathe, taking in his position.

He yanks your hips back and pulls your cunt down to his mouth. He starts by flicking his tongue over your clit, making you jump. His hands grip tighter, keeping you pressed to him. One of his thick fingers begins to circle your hole before dipping inside.

You push back against him, gliding your clit over his tongue and taking his finger deep inside you.

“Oh fuck yes,” You moan. You’ve never done this before, not in this position, and it’s simply divine. You rock back again and are met with a second finger slipping inside you. “Fuck!” You tilt your hips to hit Pedro’s tongue just right.

Pedro turns his head to the side, kissing your thigh.

“That’s it, querida, use my mouth,” he says, “Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

“Holy shit Pedro,” You breathe as he returns his mouth to your clit, “feels s-so good.”

He just groans in agreement. He sucks your clit until you can’t keep still, pushing back into his fingers. He opens his mouth, allowing you to grind on his tongue. Your thrusts devolve from polite to needy.

His fingers begin to press down harder, rubbing over a sensitive spot inside you.

“Fuck, just like that!” You tell him. You start to lose control over the rhythm of your hips. He stays steadfast in his movements, making the pressure inside you grow and twist.

“Oh fuck, Pedro! Faster! You’re gonna make me cum!”

He hums against your clit, sending a vibrating jolt into the depths of your stomach. His fingers start hooking faster.

You feel a new kind of pressure rushing into the base of your hips and realize what is about to happen.

You wonder if you should tell him to stop, if you might die of embarrassment, but it doesn’t matter either way because your orgasm is bursting from you before you can act.

“FUCK—” You cry with a choked off sound, squirting on Pedro’s face.

You’d only ever accomplished this on your own twice and never at all with a partner. Dear god, you’re praying that he’s into this. Your hips jerk away from his mouth at the oversensitivity but he keeps up with his fingers.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he praises, “Soak my face.”

His words alone earn him another gasped “fuck” and more wetness on his cheeks. You look underneath yourself and find him with his mouth open, trying to drink in as much as he can get. You drop your head and cry out into the bedding.

When you come back to your senses and unbury your face from the sheets, your thighs are trembling and Pedro is firmly kneading them in his grip with grounding strokes.

You lift up your knee to un-straddle him and clamor down the bed to be beside him. You take his face in your hands and get a good look at how his skin shines with your cum. Before he can speak, you bring your tongue to his jaw, licking away the wetness.

“That’s it,” He says lowly, “My perfect little slut, cleaning up her mess.”

Your eyes become hooded at the new name as you continue to lap at his face. Pedro doesn’t miss it.

“Aw, you like being called a slut, don’t you?” He smirks, “My sweet girl isn’t so innocent after all, huh?”

You groan and start pawing at the waistband of his briefs. He takes your hand in his and guides you to palm over his cock.

“That what you want, querida?” He teases.

You nuzzle your nose into his cheek and nod with a whimper.

“Say it,” He demands.

“I—I want your cock,” You reply.

“And where do you want it?”

“Want it inside me,” You reply, groping him through his underwear, “Want you to cum while you fuck me.”

He sits up and slides off his boxers. He leans over and grabs a condom from the night table, tearing it open. He places it on the tip of his cock.

“You’re going to put this on me with your mouth, okay?” He directs with a condescending tone that makes your brain whir.

You nod, moving so you can place your mouth on him. You wrap a hand around the base of him and start working your lips down his shaft, unrolling the latex. Pedro’s hand winds itself into your hair as he groans.

“Next time, you’re going to fuck me with that beautiful mouth of yours,” he decides in a strained voice, “But right now I have to have your pussy wrapped around me.”

“Mhm,” You agree with your lips wrapped around his dick. With the help of your fingers, you unravel the condom all the way down his thick cock. Pedro gives a tug on your hair, pulling you off of him and guiding you up the bed. He climbs on top of you and lays his body over yours. His left hand strokes over your throat as he speaks in your ear.

“You had fun today, didn’t you? Teasing me at work,” he chides, mouthing at your neck, “You wanted me to know that you’re a dirty little slut, huh? So I’d know to treat you like one?”

You nod with a little whimper escaping.

He rolls his hips and his hard length slides over your clit and back, notching at your hole. You try to push against him but he pins your hips with his own.

“You know what I think you want more than anything?” He teases, “I think you want my hand around your throat while I fuck you.”

“God, Please, Pedro,” You nod, your hips attempting to buck up into his again.

The fingers stroking over your throat stop and his hand spreads across the fragile skin.

His hardened facade falls away for a moment.“Tap twice if you want me to lighten up, three times for cupcake, okay?” He whispers.

“Okay,” you whisper back. “I’ve—I’ve never done this before,” You admit, placing your hand over his.

“I’ll be gentle,” He assures you softly, “And we can stop whenever you want. Does that sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Two taps for looser, three taps for stop,” he reminds you. “Show me.”

You tap twice on his wrist and he nods in approval, then you tap three times.

“Good girl,” he tells you quietly and your muscles tense up with a shiver. He captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips over yours. One of your hands moves to his hip and the other trails into his hair.

The head of his cock keeps grinding over your clit as he moves. You try to pull on his hip to get more friction but he stops.

“So needy,” he says, “be patient.”

You whine in protest, squirming under him.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” Pedro asks, pressing a little on your throat.

“Ohmygod, I need you inside me,” You reply, “Please!”

“Okay querida, I’ll give you what you need,” he allows. He reaches down and guides the tip into your hole. He pushes forward slowly, giving you the first couple of inches.

The way Pedro gasps and moans into your ear makes you dizzy. He’s barely even a third of the way in and you already feel stretched. You grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin like teeth. He pushes in farther and you try to keep still and take it.

“Relax,” Pedro says quietly, the hand on your throat sliding off and resting on your collarbone, “Breathe.”

You open your eyes and exhale.

“That’s it,” he says, waiting a moment before continuing, “I’m going to give you more, okay?”

You nod and he places kisses over your cheeks as he pushes forward. Your hands regrip, pawing at his shoulders absently, looking for something to ground you. He’s a lightning rod in your storm of adrenaline.

“I’ve got you,” he says, “You can take it, querida. Doing so good for me.”

His praise loosens the aching stretch inside you. He eases in the rest of the way until you can feel the base of his stomach pressed to your clit.

“Good girl,” His head drops to your shoulder as he groans.

“S-So full, fuck,” you gasp.

“You like being full of me, sweetheart?” His voice strains.

You nod, reaching down to grab his ass cheek, keeping him close to you as you grind up against him.

His breath hitches and you catch what nearly sounds like a whine. He pulls back and pushes into you experimentally, fed by your delicate sounds and breathing.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” he sighs heavily as he thrusts again, “Taking me so well.”

“Wanna be good for you,” You replies desperately.

“Oh yeah?” He asks menacingly.

You feel his hand slipping back up to your throat.

You nod.

“After being such a bad little slut all day,” He says, “Now you wanna be good for me?”

“Yes,” you squeak as he picks up a slow rhythm to his thrusts.

“Okay sweet girl,” He replies, leaning down to feed you scorching, messy kisses as he fucks you. You wrap your legs around him, forcing his hips closer to yours. You move a hand to the one he has on your throat and grip onto his wrist, pushing it.

He breaks his mouth from yours, easily clued in on what you want.

“If I knew all I had to do to get you under me was put my hands on this pretty little neck, I woulda done it ages ago,” He says, “You look so pretty with your bullseye necklace.”

You imagine his view, the bullseye tattoo between his thumb and first finger framed perfectly in the center of your throat. The thought makes you moan. Your grip on his wrist becomes more insistent.

“Okay,” he acquiesces to your silent plea. “Gonna start real gentle, okay?” He says softly, looking at you for permission.

You marvel at the way he drops in and out of his dominant character, rough all over yet smooth around the edges. Knowing that you get both sides of him—all of him—is intoxicating.

You give a small nod and he slows the rhythm of his thrusts, focusing in on his grip.

It’s not exactly the sensation you expected when he begins to squeeze his hand. He’s pressing in on both sides of your throat and pulses the amount of pressure he applies. It amplifies the feeling of his cock sliding inside you and you catch just the echoes of a misty, heady feeling. You want more.

He lets go and you moan at the loss.

“That feel good?” He asks. It’s dirty talk as much as it is an honest question.

“Yes,” You reply instantly, feeling the desperation setting in, “Yes.” Your hand returns to his wrist, already pleading for more.

“Easy, querida,” He hushes, “I’m taking my time with you.” He gives you a particularly slow, deep thrust.

“Oh god, love when you give it to me deep,” You admit breathlessly.

His hand leaves your throat and hooks your thigh, pulling your knee up higher to give him more access.

“You take it so well, sweetheart,” He praises, rewarding you with more.

He reaches new depths in this position, fucking you in places you swear were previously untouched. You cry out and your hands scrabble for purchase in his hair to his back to his shoulders.

“Fuck, please, please!” You beg.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

You just whine in response, grabbing at his wrist.

“Tell me,” he commands.

“Choke me!” You finally manage to blurt out, “Please, I want you to choke me!”

“There you go,” He smirks.

“H-Harder, please,” you quietly add.

“So good, telling me what you need,” he replies, somewhere between sweet and wicked, “I’ve got you.”

His hand travels to your throat and he skims his fingertips over your skin before finding his grip, starting to press. As promised, it’s tighter than before.

It’s perfect.

The mist begins to blur everything but the feeling of Pedro fucking you, the sensation crystal clear and torrid. You would scream if you could. Instead, the pleasure stays locked inside you, building and swirling.

You distantly hear Pedro moan and it makes your cunt flush with a new wave of wetness.

He lets go of you and air rushes into your lungs.

“Yes, Pedro!” You exhale.

“Can tell you love it,” He replies with a strained voice, “Getting me all wet while your pussy grips me so fucking tight.”

Your inhibitions fall away with the way he reads your body like a book. There’s no hiding from him.

“Fuck me,” You plead.

He’s happy to obey, picking up speed. It’s hard and fast, slamming your hips with a tightening, growing heat. You know that you’re whimpering out little yes’s and fuck’s but it’s dulled against the lightness in your head.

“Already close again, querida?” That smirk returning to his lips, “You going to come on my cock?”

You let out a choked sob and can only nod in reply.

“Give it to me,” he says, fucking you impossibly harder.

The heat filling you to the brim climbs higher than you can stand.

“Da-Pedro!

Pedro immediately slows to a near stop and his eyes bore into yours. Your hand flies to your mouth.

“Oh,” He says dangerously low, amusement pulling at his lips and dancing in his eyes, “Now what do we have here?”

“Sorry,” You barely whisper. Humiliation rushes to your cheeks. He rolls his hips hard and presses even deeper into you, making a messy whimper tumble from you.

“No, you’re not sorry,” he replies steadily, withdrawing back, “Go ahead. Say it.”

His grip on your throat tightens as he buries his cock inside you.

“Daddy!”

“That’s my girl,” He nearly laughs, beginning to fuck you in a steady rhythm again, “Shoulda known. Such a good little slut, course you wanted Daddy to fuck you, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically.

“Deep breath, querida.”

You inhale and feel his hand squeeze tighter. Blood rushes in your ears and you watch him watch you. Four thrusts more and he releases you, leaving you gasping.

“There you go,” he says, “You love that, don’t you?”

“Yes Daddy,” You reply reflexively.

His hips stutter as he groans.

“Jesus Christ,” He breathes.

He suddenly hooks his arms under yours, pulling you up to sit chest to chest. He wraps one arm around your back to keep you up and his free hand is at your throat again.

“Oh fuck!” You helplessly cry as he fucks up into you, “Daddy!”

He tightens his grip on your throat and everything but Pedro leaves your head. There’s nothing but him, inside you, all around you.

“Make a mess in my lap, baby,” He demands, nosing against your jaw, “Come for me.”

He releases his grip and everything floods through you, burning hot and bursting. You come with your mouth falling open, unable to say a word.

“That’s it, I’ve got you,” he encourages as he fucks you through it, “Give it to me.”

Your soundless scream finally turns into a flurry of gasping sobs as you tremble in his lap, cumming hard.

“Good girl. Fuck, that’s my good girl.”

You’re drawn into the mist that hums quietly in your head. You feel Pedro’s hips slow underneath you and hear him swearing as he unloads into the condom inside you.

Every inch of your body is ringing with dizziness and sunlight and Pedro. You float in the blissful glow.

You’re drifting back down like a leaf falling from a gentle breeze when you realize there are soft sheets and a pillow underneath you. Your face is tucked into Pedro’s neck as he holds you, his quiet voice in your ear.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m right here, I got you. Such a good girl,” he murmurs.

You pick your head up a bit to look at him.

“There you are,” he says with a small smile, a hand brushing over your cheek, “Are you okay?”

“Um, yes,” you reply with an incredulous look. Duh. Thought I made that pretty clear when my soul left my goddamn body.

“Alright,” he laughed gently, “No need for the sass. I’m going to get you cleaned up, okay?”

You nod and reluctantly let him go.

He was wearing a condom so you wonder how much mess there could possibly be, but when you pull back the sheets, you realize that your own cum has coated your thighs. Jesus.

Pedro returns with a warm washcloth, gently wiping your skin clean. You watch his careful ministrations for a moment, hesitating to ask him the question on your mind.

“Was that…” You try to piece together the words, “For you, I mean—was that…”

“Mind blowing?” He offers.

“I was going to say extraordinary,” You giggle.

“Earth shattering.”

“Astonishing.”

“Divided life into two eras—before that fuck, and after.”

That assessment finally breaks you with a laugh.

“Yes, it was incredible, querida,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before retreating to the bathroom to get rid of the washcloth.

You sit up a little as you watch him go, knowing that you have a dumb smile on your face. You glance over at your clothes on the floor.

Shit, are you supposed to leave now? This is technically a hook up, so maybe you’re expected to get dressed and go, or slip out in the morning undetected.

What happened these past couple of days didn’t feel like a hookup. That wasn’t Pedro’s intention here, right? He was so intimate and sweet and sincere and…

God, what if you’re being ridiculously naive? What if he does this with every extra he can get his hands on? What if Jess puts concealer on his scene partner’s hickeys every week?

“Hey.”

Pedro’s gentle voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s approaching the bed, his gaze following yours to the outfit laying on the hardwood.

He sits down on the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go,” he admits quietly, “And I don’t want you to disappear on me in the morning.”

You just blink at him. How does he know you like this? You think back through your memories with him and try to put your finger on when he had managed to learn you like this.

“You can, if you wa—“ He quickly begins to correct himself.

You interrupt the doubt wavering on his tongue with your lips, kissing him short and fierce.

“You really think I’d want to disappear on you after life-dividing sex?” You smirk.

He smiles, kissing you till you lay back down, and follows after you. He settles alongside you, pushing aside the comforter and opting to pull the blanket from the bottom of the bed over you both. You wonder why until you realize the comforter is soaked with wet spots.

“I’m sorry about the, um… the mess,” You say, a bit of embarrassment painting your cheeks, “that’s never happened before.”

Pedro groans a little.

“Querida, you’re going to get me hard again,” he complains out the feeble warning with a little laugh. “I’m really the first person to make you do that?”

“Yes,” you reply as he wraps his arms around you. You place an arm and a leg over him, resting your head on his chest.

“I don’t think you understand how fucking hot it was,” he says, “I couldn’t care less about clean up. Now I know to put a towel down next time.”

Next time.

Your stomach does silly little butterfly flips.

“You were really good at… um… you know…”

You can feel Pedro beginning to laugh again.

“You are so sweet,” he says, “a minute ago you were begging for me to choke you, now you can’t even say it?”

“Okay, that was kinky me!” You explain, “She’s a whole different person. I don’t know her!”

“Oh I see,” He says in mock realization.

“But really, you were really good at it,” You continue, “You must have done that before.”

“Nope.”

“No way,” You reply incredulously, craning your neck to look up at him, “How did you know how to do it like that?!”

“I did some googling when I got home last night,” He says simply.

“You googled how to choke me?” You hold in your giggle.

“And phoned a friend,” he adds.

Now that piques your interest. You pick your head up to look at him fully.

“You phoned a friend?”

“It’s Hollywood, everyone is kinky!” He defends with a wry smile. “It was just a good friend of mine.”

Your mouth drops open as a name pops into your head.

“Oh my god, it was Oscar Isaac, wasn’t it?” You gasp quietly.

Pedro bites his cheek and fights a smile.

“You called Oscar Isaac and asked him how to choke me?!” You prodded.

Pedro can’t help a proud smirk and gives a nod.

“I mean, the bar is exceptionally low, but that’s one of the nicest things a man has ever done for me!”

“I think doing a little research to make sure you don’t hurt your partner is pretty bare minimum,” he scoffs.

“The bar,” you remind him, demonstrating with a flat hand in front of you, “Exceptionally low.”

“I’m just glad you enjoyed yourself,” he says as you place your head back down.

“Enjoyed is a bit of an understatement,” you reply quietly.

You nuzzle in as he adjusts the blanket back over your shoulder.

You reach your hand up blindly and find the side of his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He turns his head, pressing his cheek into your palm.

“You’re welcome, querida.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #fanfiction #the last of us #Joel miller

606 notes · View notes

eternal-curse · 6 months

Text

imagine if popular vampire media characters all had tumblr. that would be so hectic lol they’d have so much beef with each other

#this is about to be super out of character for all of them #but humor comes at a price

4 notes

👨🏻‍🦲 colin-robinson-69-420 Follow

Callout Post for @mag𝗂strate-murder (aka Astarion Ancunín)

@mag𝗂strate-murder (prev URL was @year-of-the-carr𝗂on-crow) has shown some absolutely vile, revolting, disgusting, toxic— sometimes downright evil— behavior on numerous (and lengthy!) occasions. This behavior has been repeated again and again. I would be willing to forgive and forget all of these things, IF they were first-time events or isolated incidents. They are NOT isolated incidents.

The list includes (but is not limited to):

Trying to attack his friends while they're peacefully slumbering.

The murder of countless (countless!) innocent people.

Theft. Maybe even robbery. Idfk.

Showing annoyance at the idea of saving entire groups of people from being enslaved or mass murdered. (These were two separate occasions... Yuck!)

I know I’m posting this at 8 o’cock, so many vampblr users may be currently asleep, but it’s my civic duty to provide information for the uh. The people at large. So there are more details, more moral crimes, and proof of all of the heinous actions this spawn has committed under the cut.

------------------------- read more -------------------------

🗡 magistrate-murder

I'm flattered. You just can't take me off of your mind, can you? Do you dream of me? I hope they're nightmares. 💕

🩸 blood-and-book-reviews Follow

I love how "theft" is directly between "killing innocent people" and "is chill with subjugation and mass murder"

🎸 the-vampire-queen

#did anyone else notice how they said 'moral crimes' #as if murder and theft and etc are legal? #lol? #weird... #<- prev's tags #my tags -> #YES OMG I NOTICED THAT TOO. #also what the eff? OP had to point out that astarion's a spawn? #why does it matter that he isn't a full vampire? #as someone who’s a vampire/demon hybrid that’s kind of a red flag to me :/ #ugh this is SO not math

12,987 notes

📚 j-harker

I’m missing @m𝗂ss-mina-murray. Currently out of the country for work.

💁🏼‍♀️ slayer-summers

Oh, I'm sorry :( At least the view is beautiful, where are you?

📚 j-harker

Transylvania. Why?

💁🏼‍♀️ slayer-summers

Get Out Of There Immediately Jonathan Harker Leave Get Out Now Get Out Go Leave Go Now

#buffy talks #slayer posting

548 notes

🎸 the-vampire-queen

I just learned about "vegan vampires." That's so stupid. Just eat the color red ???? It's NOT that hard

🎀 miss-draculaura

🎸 the-vampire-queen

I'll make an exception for you

🎀 miss-draculaura

1,600 notes

🐺 the-vampire-lestat

A preview of my upcoming book:

I am the vampire Lestat. I'm immortal. More or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire-these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not.

I'm six feet tall, which was fairly impressive in the 1780s when I was a young mortal man. It's not bad now. I have thick blond hair, not quite shoulder length, and rather curly, which appears white under fluorescent light. My eyes are gray, but they absorb the colors blue or violet easily from surfaces around them. And I have a fairly short narrow nose, and a mouth that is well shaped but just a little too big for my face. It can look very mean, or extremely generous, my mouth. It always looks sensual. But emotions and attitudes are always reflected in my entire expression. I have a continuously animated face.

My vampire nature reveals itself in extremely white and highly reflective skin that has to be powdered down for cameras of any kind.

And if I'm starved for blood I look like a perfect horror- skin shrunken, veins like ropes over the contours of my bones. But I don't let that happen now. And the only consistent indi- cation that I am not human is my fingernails. It's the same with all vampires. Our fingernails look like glass. And some people notice that when they don't notice anything else.

Please, contain your excitement.

🐺 the-vampire-lestat

Who is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way?

💁🏼‍♀️ slayer-summers

Would you believe me if I told you we're still trying to figure that out?

#buffy talks #well ebony isn't real #but we still don't know who tara is

6,666 notes

🦇 cravensworth-king-of-bottoms

I've heard a rumor about this online webbed site; that is which it is filled to the brim with abstinants, celibates, and the like.

📸 liam-de-lioncunt Follow

Ugh... As much as I hate to use popular gifs, I feel compulsed to post this before anyone else does.

There. I did it first.

🦇 cravensworth-king-of-bottoms

Tonight, we FEAST. NYAH! HAH!

628 notes

🎸 the-vampire-queen

Just recorded this Mitski cover

youtube

6 notes

🧛🏻‍♂️ tepes-the-first

Why is it that when Gods demand blood, it's called a necessary sacrifice, but when I, Vlad Dracul,

💛 alucard

It's because you're evil.

🧛🏻‍♂️ tepes-the-first

For the last time, change your URL. Your name is Adrian.

📚 j-harker

I didn't know you had a son!

📚 j-harker

Wait, what was the original post about??

🧛🏻‍♂️ tepes-the-first

Don't worry about it.

📚 j-harker

Okay. :)

4,279 notes

💁🏼‍♀️ slayer-summers

I'm starting an emotional support group chat for slayers, does anyone want in?

💑 armand-de-la-cruz

Yes please!

⚔️ nandor-the-relentless-3

Guillermo?

⚔️ nandor-the-relentless-3

Why do you want to be in a vampire slayer group chat Guillermo??????

⚔️ nandor-the-relentless-3

Answer my texts Guillermo

63 notes

✨ edward-cullen Follow

My beautiful daughter. Looks just like her mother.

🍷 dimitrescu-winery

Get that wretched monstrosity of a child off of my screen.

🐈‍⬛ carmillas-admirer-sappho

wait, Ravioli is a real child? i thought she was just a photoshop meme of @the-vampire-lestat’s daughter Claudia?

6️⃣ vampire-count-er

What is the Vampblr number of the day? Let’s count the vampires of Tumblr above me in this post to find out!

Ah, that’s one vampire.

TWO! Two vampires!

THREE bloodsucking vampires! Ah ah ah!!

The number of the day is three!

7,012 notes

🐈‍⬛ carmillas-admirer-sappho

💀 real-carmilla

🐈‍⬛ carmillas-admirer-sappho

NO I TAKE IT BACK

CARMILLA I’M SORRY

🐈‍⬛ carmillas-admirer-sappho

BEGONE WHITE GIRL

🐈‍⬛ carmillas-admirer-sappho

please check your dms carmilla i sent you my address

1,982 notes

👨🏻‍🦲 colin-robinson-69-420 Sponsored by Blaze 🔥

The new The Vampire Lestat album sucks.

Get it? It sucks.

Because he’s a vampire.

It’s pretty funny, if you ask me.

#lestat de lioncourt #satan’s night out #the vampire lestat #vampblr #not a callout post

438 notes

🌙 werepire

Is no one going to talk about how problematic Marceline’s girlfriend is? Just because they’re both royalty doesn’t mean that Bonnibel can do whatever she wants with no repercussions.

I mean, here’s an article explaining all the horrible stuff she’s done [link]. Are we just going to pretend none of it happened?

👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 nadja-of-antipaxos

Hard agree. Down with the monarchies.

She can, however, do whatever she wants because she’s hot

384 notes · View notes

thisisourlovestory · 5 months

Text

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Wordcount- 3.1k

Notes: Sorry this one was so late, it was just not chaptering but it's here now so enjoy!

Chapter 5

My heels clicked as I walked across the stone floor. My dress swirling around in the light breeze that flowed through the opening at the other end of the room. I felt eyes on me as I walked. So many eyes. All latching onto me and following my every movement. I locked my own gaze on the horses. Beautiful creatures, tall, strong and powerful. I stopped next to the chariot I would be riding in and stroked the horses pulling it. I found myself drawn towards the one on the left. His depthless black eyes pierced my skin. I felt as if he knew everything I was feeling, everything I thought, everything I had done. I stood directly in front of him. My own eyes locked on his as I lifted my hand to stroke his face. Dark fur like velvet under my touch. He nickered quietly, hooves pawing at the ground.

“It's okay. It's okay.” I soothe him gently. “I'm a friend, I won't hurt you.” I hold his head and stroke along his nose to calm him down as I chatter mindlessly to him. “You're very beautiful, you know. I'd love to see you free, running in the wild. I'm sure it would be a sight to behold, you in the meadows. I think you'd like that, meadows are pretty. Especially if they have lots of flowers, my favourites are the blue and purple ones. Then again you might eat the flowers.“ I frown. “I don't know if flowers are good for horses so you maybe shouldn't eat them.” He snorted as if laughing at me and I smiled before turning around and taking a step forward. Immediately, eyes were on me again, assessing, questioning, some downright sadistic- as if they were already plotting how to kill me. I shuffled nervously on my feet, putting my hands behind my back and fiddling with my fingers as I peered around curiously myself, Cashmere and Gloss were stood chatting to Enobaria and Brutus, their sneering expressions as they glanced over me giving away exactly what they were talking about. Other tributes were milling around, chatting to each other quietly, trying to not draw attention to themselves. I decided to mingle a bit, I meandered through the room, not looking directly at anyone but nodding hello or raising a hand in greeting. Without realising it I somehow ended up by the district 12 tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The winners of last year's games, the star crossed lovers. I gave them both a quick nod and turned, in doing so I lost my balance and wobbled, almost falling over but Katniss grabbed my arm and righted me.

“Thank you.” I muttered. She said nothing in response so I thanked her again awkwardly and made to walk away.

“Wait,” I turned to see her holding a hand out to me. “You're Y/N right. The winner of the 68th.” I nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

“I remember the year you won. I watched your entire games. You won by killing the three career tributes didn't you.“ I shivered at the reminder and replied softly.

“Yes.”

“Nobody thought you would be the one to win. I didn’t either. Thought it would be the district 2 boy.” I laughed lightly.

“That makes two of us.” I stopped for a second before continuing. “I know you don't know me or anything but for what it’s worth I’m sorry you have to do this again. You and Peeta. You don't deserve it.”

“None of us should have to do this.” Peeta interrupted. “None of us.” I quirked an eyebrow as I studied him. His face set in a stony expression.

“You shouldn't have won either but you did and here we all are again.” I turned away from him to face Katniss again. “And what you did for your sister last year was brave.”

“What you did for Annie this year was brave.” She countered. I hummed

“How do you know I didn't do it for glory?”

“Because none of us want to go back in there.” I studied her, a sad smile on my lips.

“That's not entirely true.” She looked confused for a second and I shook my head. “Some of us want to go back in, not for the reasons you're thinking, not for glory or bragging rights. Some of us just want to protect other people.” I shook my head slightly, my hair falling over my shoulders. “Like him,” I nodded to Peeta who was petting the horses,”He wants to protect you and he didn't want Haymitch to go back in because he would have probably died.“ She gazed at me for a second.

“So you volunteered to protect someone as well.” I stared back at her.

“I didn't mean to volunteer. It just happened.” She opened her mouth to respond but we heard a scream of my name from across the room. I turned and was immediately enveloped in a huge hug, my face filled with coiffed hair and I spluttered as it covered my mouth and nose.

“Effie, hair. Face. Hair. Breathing.” I stuttered out, Effie pulled away from me and gasped.

“Oh you look so beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous!.” She grasped the fabric of my dress and inspected it closely. “The stitching is impeccable and this colour is so lovely on you.”

“Wait a minute, how do you three know each other?” Katniss interjected.

“We met when I was in the games, Effie loved me from the start because according to her I was ‘just so adorable’ and Haymitch warmed up to me after a while. But we’re only acquaintances, very rarely see each other.” She looked sceptical but nodded anyway.

“Effie’s right kid. You look pretty incredible. They'll all love you out there.” Haymitch said from behind, patting me on the back. “How’ve you been doing?” I shrugged. “Come on, something must have happened since we last saw you. It's been what, three, four years since you refused to see us again?”

“Four years, eight months and twenty seven days.” I muttered, looking down at the floor and laughed awkwardly. “There have been some tough moments, nightmares that you can never get rid of, but other than those I've been fine. Same as I always was. Same as I always will be.” I squinted at him. “What about you?”

“We’ve been very busy looking after these two and making sure they are adapting well to life as victors but other than that it's been much the same as usual.” Effie chimed in, sending a glare Haymitch's way and mouthing something I couldn't discern. Haymitch rolled his eyes at her and spoke to me as she fussed over Katniss.

“You volunteered. I thought you said nothing could ever make you come back.” I looked down.

“I lied.”

“I don't know why you did it kid and I know you won't tell me because you don't get close to people if you can help it, so just,” He sighed, ”Just try and stay alive as long as you can alright.” He patted me on the back again and went to talk to Peeta as Effie

“I have missed you like you wouldn't imagine darling. Although I did see you dancing a few times, it was so graceful and beautiful.” She covered her mouth. “You've grown up so much. Now where is that escort of yours, Lysander?” I shrugged again.

“Don’t know. Probably hounding Finnick or something.” Effie let out a loud sigh.

“He really is useless. Utterly useless. And I’ve told him that before you know. But apparently my advice is meaningless! Does he even know what his job is? It’s to help you win by getting you sponsors. And ignoring you completely is not the way to help.”

“It’s okay. Finnick has got the better chance of survival anyway, it makes more sense to focus on him.” Haymitch sent me a look.

“Do not look at me like that. I'm going to try my best but let's be honest it's not going to be enough.” I scrunched my nose up and tipped my head to Katniss. “See you out there girl on fire. It's been a pleasure meeting you.” She shook my hand.

“See you out there.”

“And you Peeta.” I called out to him. “We’ll all bump into each other again at some point I'm sure.” With that I walked off, leaving them all staring at my back in surprise. I let out a shuddering breath as I leaned against a wall, my head tipping back and my eyes shutting in a moment of peace that was over as soon as it began when they called us all to our chariots. I pushed myself off the wall and made my way back over to the horses and chariot, stroking their noses quickly before being helped up into the chariot. Dark metal and deep blue flowers at the front to represent District 4. I picked a petal and smoothed it over with the pads of my fingers, smooth and velvety. I felt a tap on my shoulder and jumped, turning to face a smirking Finnick.

“Sugarcube?” He asked, holding them out to me. I took one hesitantly and bit into it, the sweetness spread across my tongue, coating my entire mouth.

“Thank you.” I mumbled, sucking the rest into my cheek. Unfortunately, I finally clocked what he was wearing, or lack thereof, and almost choked on the sugar as I inhaled sharply and swallowed at the same time. I had been prepared for this to happen. But clearly not as prepared as I had thought I would be. Because there stood Finnick Odair, still smirking, biting a sugarcube with his back teeth, dressed in nothing more than a golden net tied in a knot to secure it around his waist. He was perhaps the closest thing to naked I’d ever seen a person be before, I thought to myself idly and swallowed again, the grains of sugar scratching my throat. I averted my gaze quickly as I felt heat rising in my cheeks and resolutely stared anywhere but at him. He laughed next to me.

“I didn't expect that.” I admitted quietly. “I thought you'd at least be wearing actual clothes.” I peeked at him for a second, the man was built like a greek god. All muscle and tan skin and just unfairly perfect.

“My stylist is of the belief that the more they see of me the better.” He held out a hand towards me. “I don't think we've been properly formally introduced. I'm Finnick Odair.” My heart broke in my chest at his words but I shook his hand and whispered my own name back as the chariots began to move forwards. I smoothed out the creases in the delicate fabric of my dress and plastered a pleasant expression on my face just as the noise of the Capitol hit my ears. And we were out. Parading down the Avenue of Tributes with people cheering for us yet again, but this time multiplied by a million. It was the one event of the week that every single person in the Capitol came to see and they all blurred together in a mass of whirling colours. I smiled faintly and tapped a small raised gem sewn into the sleeve of my dress. Immediately, water began to trickle down from my tiara. It seemed to have a life of its own and left cold trails on my skin. It touched the fabric of my dress and a brilliant blue bloomed from the patch. As it trickled further down, the rest of my dress turned similar shades until the water stopped flowing and collected in a pool at the hem of my dress, dripping slightly and leaving a damp patch on the surface of the chariot. I gazed up at myself on the projections as the people went wild and threw flowers at us, hollering for our attention. The top of the dress had become a dark blue the colour of the deepest parts of the ocean and it faded into a powdery blue the colour of the flowers that had lined my mothers porch years ago. I looked like a queen of the sea. My dress was a representation of the ocean and of District 4, of my home. Megara had outdone herself and I would wear it with pride. So I waved and blew kisses to people, a smile as bright as the sun on my face. I could hear the commentary vaguely in the background. Exclamations of how they had never quite seen something like that before, how beautiful the dress was, how perfect it was for me, for their angel. Others had attempted to copy the artificial flames but compared to the original they seemed like cheap knockoffs. Hardly impressive. I could understand why Megara would use water then, to make a different statement. Fire had already been seen, it was old, except for on district 12. But water, the opposite of fire. They had never seen that before and it really helped that she was styling for our district. And yet when Katniss and Peeta emerged, dressed in a blazing inferno, I was forgotten. As expected the attention all shifted to the star crossed lovers of district 12. Not that I could blame them, they were a sight to behold, even more dramatic than last year. The chariots circled and everyone waved up to President Snow. I simply nodded my head towards him, my gaze cold. Eventually we came to a stop in a semi circle and President Snow stepped up to the podium overhead.

“Welcome all to the 75th Hunger Games. We thank our tributes for their great sacrifice. We shall be sad to see them go.” With that he sends us on our way, we roll out and back where we came from. I leapt out as soon as we passed the entry way, my dress dragging along the floor, dust sticking to the damp fabric. I saw Mags waiting and brushed past her without a glance. I walked around for a bit, the architecture of the building was so new, it was clear they had it built especially for us. It was like a fortress, cameras everywhere, the thickest glass they could have found for windows, doors that couldn't be opened unless the guard stood next to them opened them for you and white walls all around. It wasn't just a training centre. It was a cage, our cage for the next week.

I laughed. They really didn't want us going anywhere at all. And they weren't taking any chances if they could help it. They could mask it with pretences of hospitality and wishing for us to enjoy our stay but even a blind man could see that this was a prison, and one made specifically to keep us in. I pressed a button on the wall and stepped into the elevator. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch all greeted me with nods and Johanna grinned widely at me as we started moving upwards.

“Well well well. If it isn't the little princess. Tell me, how's life been treating you in the Capitol?” She asked, venom dripping from each word. I regarded her silently, assessing as she stripped off her dress. She had never liked me. She thought I was just some pretty little doll that the Capitol kept and never touched. They all thought that though, each and every victor knew I danced and sang and that was it. They had never been so wrong in their lives. But who was I to tell them that? It's not as if they would listen to anything I had to say.

“Life has been,” I paused, “It's been wonderful.” I watched her eyes darken with anger as she pulled off the last of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She quickly turned to Katniss and Peeta, flashed a cat-like grin.

“Thanks. This has been fun, we should do it again sometime.” With that she flounced out of the open doors. Haymitch whistled.

“Thank you.” Katniss sent him a disgusted look and I disguised a laugh with a cough. As much as I disliked her I could admire her. She was everything the Capitol didn't want her to be and the looks on Katniss and Peetas faces were something. She was confused, he was almost impressed and Haymitch was just like me, trying to not laugh out loud at their reactions

“Johanna Mason, district 7. Won the 71st games by pretending to be weak and then killing the remaining tributes with her axe. Delightful girl.” I rolled my eyes.

“Except for if she hates your guts. So try and get her to like you.” Peeta glanced at me.

“What do you mean?”

“If I know one thing about Johanna Mason, and I think I do. It's that she doesn't care about anyone or anything. And I'm pretty sure she has a hitlist and I'm number 1 on it.”

Before they could answer, the doors opened again and they all got out without a word, leaving me alone to go down again. I leant against the glass, looking out to see peacekeepers crawling about like insects, escorts rushing around for no reason whatsoever, tributes and mentors staying well away from the two former as if they were the plague. The doors pinged open and I made my way down the corridor. I pushed through the double doors and was met with expectant looks from everyone. Mags, Lysander and Finnick all sat at the table.

“I'm not hungry.” I said quickly before they could even ask me to sit.

I practically ran to my room and threw myself on the bed, silk sheets scrunching up under my weight. The door clicked open and I looked up to see Megara standing there with an eyebrow raised.

“They want me to convince you to come out. But I've got better plans for tonight.” She pulled out two tubs of ice cream and a plate of intricately decorated cakes and biscuits. She set them down on the table and waved me over.

“First of all, get changed. There's clothes in the drawers. Second, by my logic if they really wanted you to sit and eat dinner with them they would do it themselves. Third, I brought food,” She picked up a spoon and dug into a tub of ice cream, “And I'm not waiting for you to start. Plus,” She grinned, teeth coated in chocolate,”I want to know everything.”

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @thatonegayloser616 @livibbu @cherrsnut @honethatty12 @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick odair x you #thg x reader #catching fire #the hunger games #angst #implied finnick odair x annie cresta

149 notes · View notes