#a tribute to endless nights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chokepoet · 8 months

Text

Cruelty & Empathy 18+

gif by @romulussy

Summary | A night alone in the office has Roman and his assistant escalating their tension past a point of no return. The aftermath of which leads to confessions that will change the trajectory of their relationship forever.

Genre | Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Content | anxiety, biting, blood, bondage, choking, crying, dom/sub tones, degradation, dirty talk, mentions of past physical abuse, power struggles, thigh riding, sadomasochism, slapping, spitting

Word Count | 8.5k

A/N: Y’all this fic is fuckin’ filthyyyy… but like in a romantic way??? I wasn’t going to share it but my best friend insisted. If y’all hate this I volunteer as tribute for boar on the floor lmao

Roman Roy’s Office | 10:33 pm

He was sprawled out across the couch as if this were his family’s private estate. It might as well have been. The building’s climate control always seemed to be blowing a peculiar air. One that felt like his father breathing down the back of his neck at all times. Left calf draped over the backrest, right hand cradling a whiskey, and head tilted back over the armrest. His once-slick hair now hung limp, with loose strands reaching for the carpet below. His upside-down gaze willed me to stop my attempts at meeting our deadline and to focus solely on him instead.

My bank account's dwindling had my morals emaciated. They’d weakly played tug of war with my last braincell when I'd accepted Roman’s job offer nearly two years prior. About 6 months into being his assistant, I found myself earning another role: his best friend. His only friend. My typing picks up speed as I contemplate what level of fucked-up I had to be in order to actually enjoy this job. I decide it must have been top-tier when my thoughts drift to the one Roy that had me feeling this way.

In the past 22 months, I came to understand Roman better than anyone else ever had. He somehow wormed his way into gaining just as much insight into me as well. It made me feel strangely protective over him. Oddly enough, he seemed to reciprocate. We still rarely aloud ourselves vulnerability in the presence of the other. We much preferred self-immolation. I don’t think he ever intended to grow so attached to me. He certainly would never admit to it. If you had asked me if the feeling was mutual, I’d lie through my teeth.

I loved him madly.

I don’t exactly know when or how it happened. I do, however, vividly remember when I first realized he held something soft for me.

Siena, Italy | 4:21 am

He was drunk off his ass, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been leaning into my frame for support long before he even needed it. Roman mumbled something about liking me because I was the only “sad sack of shit” in the office who could make him laugh. I asked him why I was a sad sack and not just a regular sack. He blew out a huff of air, causing his lips to trill. The sound was quickly preceded by the flipping of his wrists in a few circles.

“Isn't it obvious?” I nudged my shoulder against his head.

“Because I work for your sorry ass?”

He clumsily tapped the tip of my nose with his right pointer finger, nearly blinded my left eye in the process.

“Bingo, bongo, banjo.” The nonsensical words tumbled out and the rest of his drink tumbled in. “Itstheeyes.” I’d been unable to make out the slurred syllables mumbled just under his breath. For all I knew, they could’ve been Latin for ‘bastard’.

“What?” He dropped his now-empty glass into a historic fountain as we passed. I stopped to try and fish it out, but he dragged me away. I remember wondering if he had made a wish on it in his drunken haze. Rich and careless enough to pretend it was a penny. Maybe that had been why he was so adamant about me not retrieving it. My mind wandered as I pondered what Roman could have possibly wished for. His father's approval? An endless supply of luxurious Korean face creams? A pair of stunning Italian supermodels to lean into instead of me?

Tripping over his own two feet, I instinctively gripped his bicep. Stubborn as ever, he shoved me and muttered something along the lines of 'fuck off'. God forbid he’d take my help. Throwing my hands up, I left him to walk alone a few steps ahead of me. He weaved for a while before slowing his pace until he could lay his head back on my shoulder.

A beat passed, where the only sound was the soft crunch of our shoes against the weathered cobblestone. I caught one of his bleary eyes peeking over at my face. Content with whatever it was he found, he nodded to himself.

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the 'p' and absentmindedly kicked a pebble from our path. “It's the eyes. Sad sack of shit eyes. You've got 'em.” The laugh that had left me seemed much too loud as it ricocheted off every crumbling brick ahead of us. Roman smiled proudly for a moment. “I love your laugh.” The words were said mostly to himself. My cheeks warmed considerably.

“Really? It's obnoxious as all hell.” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

“No, it's fuckin’—fuck off. No, it's not.” He kicked another stone. “It's pretty. Pretty like… like your face.” Pretty. “Nothin’ like a hyena.” Hyena? “I think I'm gonna puke.”

He did.

Roman’s Office | 10:47 pm

“Hi.” A small voice lounging across from me pulls my attention. I look up from the computer and rest my head in my hand, my elbow propped on his desk.

“Hi.” I smile softly with a raised brow.“Need somethin’?” The grin that breaks across his features is almost childlike. His big brown eyes could even be mistaken for innocent; I knew better.

“As a matter of fact…” Extremely happy to have garnered my attention, he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Yes!” With a swift motion, he slams his whiskey onto the coffee table. The sharp sound of glass on glass reverberates throughout the room.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” His voice drops into a cartoonish impersonation of my own. His hand was still clasped around his drink for some reason. Flipping his face up to me with a saccharine simper, he adds, “Will you kindly suck my cock?”

“Will you kindly go fuck yourself?” My impression of him was just as cartoonish as his of me. The hand holding my head returns to typing. Groaning loudly, he lets go of his glass to dramatically fall back into the couch.

“Will you? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ bored!” He drags out his words until they turn to whine. “This is fucking boring. Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, you’re extremely boring.”

“Hurr-hurr.” He mocks while crinkling his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m anything but and am widely known as delightful company.” A snort escapes my nose and Roman smiles.

“Really? I thought you were widely known as a terrible person.” He rolls his eyes as I quote his cousin.

“Yeah, yeah fuck you.” He gives me the finger. I flip him off in return. “The fuck does Nosferatu fuckin’ know anyways?” The nickname makes me chuckle and has Roman mimicking Greg. “Oh, I—I couldn’t help but—couldn’t help but notice that my gargantuan height may be alarm—alarming the schoolchildren. I—is that why Iverson is um c—crying? Or is he like, I—I mean, is he… y—ya know… special?”

The laughter still bubbled up uncontrollably even as I tried maintaining focus on the task at hand. My passive interest towards Roman was annoying him to no end.

“Come on! I want entertainment! Entertain me, woman!” I roll my eyes. A cinnamon tinted stare was steady burning apertures into my features, willing me to stop ignoring him. “Come—Come on…” His hands outstretch in my direction, middle and index finger beckoning quickly. “Come show big daddy watcha got.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, my typing stops and I fully turn my attention towards him. His face contorts in a grimace already knowing what was to come. My brows raise as I slowly repeat his words back to him.

“Come show big daddy what I got?” Roman’s hands drag down his face and he groans loudly as soon as big leaves my mouth.

“Oh, fuck y—shut the fuck up.” He sinks lower into the couch with high hopes of it swallowing him whole. The smile that breaks across my features is downright malevolent. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him this embarrassed. Surprising, considering all the lewd shit he spews at me daily. There was something sick inside me that enjoyed it. The urge to play cat rather than mouse overtakes me.

“No, no, no. I just want to understand you clearly, Mr. Roy.” Our dynamic had never been much of a professional one. I couldn’t recall the last time I had addressed him so formally but I wanted to really get under his skin. Oddly enjoying my place in its prickled embrace. Rising from my chair, I place both palms on the desk and lean forward with a pout. “Are you saying you wanna shut me up with your cock, big daddy?”

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aw! Weawwy, Daddy? Jus' 'cause I won't suwck yo big thick cock?” At that, a cushion flies towards my head. I narrowly catch it as I’m doubling over in laughter. He’s standing now, hands overtly animated.

“I swear to GOD, I’m going to fucking—fuck! Fuck you! Out the window!” He’s angrily pointing towards the giant window panes beside him. “I’m going to throw you out the fucking window!”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna fuck me out the window?” His face was the deepest shade of crimson I had ever seen it.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to Christ I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” I was doing a piss-poor job at stifling my laughter.

“I just fucking told you. Ass through glass.” He dismissively waves a hand in the air.

“Bullshit.” Finally looking at me, I cross my arms. His eyes flicker to my chest. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Are you saying I don’t have the balls to murder you?” The words come out in a bemused laugh. “I could murder the fuckin’—murder the shit out of you. Easily.”

“Okay.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I feel a dark coil in the back of my mind start to twist. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to—to what? Throw you through the goddamn window right now?”

I smirk back at him with a shrug, an inkling I had about him spilling to the forefront of my mind. It colors my vision and stains my tongue. If there was ever a time to find out if my suspicions held true, for some reason, I decided that now was the time. The office was definitely empty at this hour, and the privacy blinds were drawn, so no cameras. Risky as all hell, but if things go south, maybe I could play it off as riffing. I could be quite the convincing liar when I needed to be. My mother saw to that.

“See? I knew it.” With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to size him up. My tone shifts into something silky as sin. “You won’t do shit.” The air begins filling with static causing Roman’s lips to twitch. “You and I both know it. Don’t we…” I slide out from behind the desk, feeling taller as I grow closer. Feeling bolder seeing him swallow. “Romulus?” Using his father’s nickname for him causes his nostrils to flare. A clench in the jaw, a quick exhale. I fucking knew it. “So why don’t you just…” Fully standing in front of him now, I look down with a smirk “sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

The air was now overcome with static. Thick and heavy. The subjugated desire etched into his features felt so familiar to me. While I had never seen him this way, or anyone else for that matter, I myself had given that look many a time. That inkling I had was no longer an inkling. It had grown roots that smiled with wicked teeth; I was right.

The electric silence between us started to prick at my skin. My bottom lip twitches as it fought against every instinct to fill the silence with some form of an apology. To try and turn my sudden shift from dominance back into normalcy. His eyes dart to my mouth immediately; he knows.

“Make me.” His head slowly tilts upwards, as do the corners of his lips. The heat that had been slowly brewing between us for well over a year licks up my thighs. He was sneering up at me as we stood toe to toe. His burnt espresso eyes had my mind spiraling in their steam. The look on his face said everything. He saw me, he had me, he called my bluff, he won.

No.

My hand wound itself in the silky hair at the nape of his neck and I use it to jerk his head back. His jaw immediately goes slack. Something akin to a whimper escapes his throat. Surprise has my brows raising and Roman feeling embarrassed. His heavy lids fall and he turns himself away. Reaching up with my free hand, I grip his jaw until he’s facing me once again.

“Look at me.” He does in an instant and I’m flooded by a mixture of emotions. Relief, power, love. I never want to forget how he looks beneath my hands. The way his pupils eclipse the hazel of his eyes. The way his freckles scatter under the pinkish hue of a blush. The way his lips part slightly as his breath shakes out across them. Just as my eyes dance across his every feature, his do mine. Is he etching my features into his own memory?

He attempts to lean forward but I hold him steady. Roman wanted to kiss me but I wanted to tease. I press my lips beside his mouth before trailing them along the smooth path of skin leading to his ear. Sucking his skin into my mouth, I bit gently. A soft sound of content slips from his lips, so I trace up the shell of his ear with my tongue. Upon my return, I bite down once more; harder this time. Just as my teeth release him, the fist tangled in his hair gives a sharp tug. His hum bleeds into a moan that has me squeezing my thighs together. A cool plume of air billows past my lips along the now damp skin; goosebumps erupt immediately. I slide my hand from his jaw until my fingers wrap around his throat to hold him.

“Do you like this, Rome?” The soft whisper has him murmuring his satisfaction. “Come on…” I lightly squeeze his throat. “Be a good boy and use your words.” When I pull away to look at his face, I find his lids are nearly shut.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows in an attempt to steady himself. It doesn’t. “Y-yes, I like it.” He could barely look me in the eyes and it made my stomach flip in the best way possible.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.” The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them. He inhales sharply, and the air seems to rattle through his skull. His eyes quickly leave mine as his face warms considerably. My heart beats as if it were trying to rip itself from my chest and collide with his. The blood rushing in my ears was chanting 'I love you' over and over again. My teeth dig into my cheek until the taste of blood envelops my tongue. I'm raging a war with my own body in silence. This newfound power was locking talons with my own subjugated nature and death spiraling through the emotion in my chest.

His pulse was racing underneath my thumb. My voice cascades over his flushed skin as I let feather light kisses rain upon him. His first name glides along the tip of his right cheek, his last over the tip of his left. Hovering just out of his reach, I whisper into his open mouth.

“Tell me what you need.” He desperately tries to press his lips into mine but I just pull back. He grunts in frustration.

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already.”

“No.” Releasing my grip, I shove him into the couch. He trips backwards, gracelessly collapsing into the cushions. I climb onto his lap with my knees pressed to either side of his hips. With one hand, I weave my fist around his tie and pull him to me. My other grips his jaw tightly. “You wanna try that again?” His jaw clenches beneath my fingers. His eyes were wild as they flared up at me. Suddenly, his hands lock onto my hips, hard. He pushes his face into my fingers until the tips of our noses bump together.

“I said, just fucking kiss me and I meant do it now.” His words were caught somewhere between a hiss and a growl. He never could handle the word no, so his response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The power I’d been holding over him was now leaking through the lace under my skirt. My thighs instinctively flex around him and it has him digging his fingers in harder. A liquid heat spreads through my chest at the thought of later seeing the bruises he was surely leaving behind.

“Well?” My teeth clench and the hand holding his jaw twitches. The attitude lacing his voice drug it’s nails up my spine as I’m reminded of how entitled he could be. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making demands anymore. His smile twitches as a darkness blooms behind his glee. “You wanna hit me don’t you?” My grip loosened; my lungs suddenly feeling like he held them in his fist.

“W-what?” I didn’t want to hit him. Did I? He was selfish, he was arrogant, and he could be so goddamn cruel. Still, the urge to physically harm him was something I had never once encountered. Knowing the history of his childhood and having bared witness to his father’s present day violence against him had made me hyper aware of the constant pain pulsing below his surface. My eyes rapidly blink as they search past his burning stare and into the darkened crevices of his soul.

Oh—he wanted me to hurt him.

His need for it radiating from the blackened pits to scald me. It scared me. It scared me because it felt dark. It felt wrong. But it scared me the most of all because suddenly in this moment, I wanted to. “I-I don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Again, my teeth clench and my grip retightens on his jaw. His smile grew. Mother fucker knew what he was doing. He was basking in it.

He reaches for my hand wound in his tie, quickly unraveling before bringing it to his throat. His own then slide towards my ass. Gripping tightly, he pushes me down against his length to make sure I felt how badly he wanted this. He throbbed against my center; he wanted it bad. “Listen to me. You’re gonna let go of my jaw and you’re gonna fuckin’ slap me, aright?” I nod and release him. “Fuckin’ hit me.” As I draw back my palm, his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip.

Slap.

My palm makes contact and brushes across his cheek. It was a sad attempt really. Weak. Even though I knew he wanted it, needed it, something inside held me back.

I was still scared of harming him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come on!” He roughly digs his fingers into my ass, significantly harder than before. “I said fucking slap me!”

Crack.

I slapped him. Hard. His face jerks to the side. My hand stung as it instinctively goes to cover my mouth in shock of myself. His lips twitch before slowly turning up in a demented grin. A bloom of red seeps out from his bottom lip and his tongue slides across it. With the taste of his own blood, his smile widens. He laughs softly to himself and I slowly lower my hand.

“There she is.” His voice low, a rumbling purr. “You fuckin’ bitch.” The hand I had just used to strike instantly flies into the mess of his hair; our lips collide. A groan escapes, but from which of us—I didn’t know. The metallic taste of him fueled me. It felt frantic, bruising, needy. We pushed ourselves into each other as if we were feral creatures, held captive and starved. Feeding on something we had buried deep inside only to be found behind the teeth of the other. Sucking his tongue into my mouth causes him to moan and set me ablaze.

I force our mouths apart with a pull of his hair; desperately needing to catch my breath and clear my head. Panting heavily, we stare into the depths of the other in quiet disbelief. This was really happening.

“You sure you want this?” I needed to hear him confirm that he did, in-fact, want to go where we were obviously heading. I knew Roman long enough to know he had serious intimacy issues. Their seeming lack of presence in this moment had me in a whirlwind. He pressed himself into my center once again, his nails bruising crescents into my skin.

“What do you fuckin’ think, dumbass?” I let go of his throat and dig my own nails into his jaw to grip him harshly. He openly smiles with swollen lips.

“Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you want.” His expression falters and his jaw tenses beneath my fingers, eyes flickering from mine.

“You know what I fuckin’ want.” His words seep through gritted teeth. I press my forehead to his. Ever so slowly, I begin rhythmically grinding my hips down upon him. The friction causing his eyes to slip shut. A loud groan escapes from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Roman, I swear to God I’ll stop.” He doesn’t say anything so I still my hips. Umber eyes shoot open and he tries to move me himself. I won’t budge. “I will get up and I will fucking leave you here like this. Pathetic and alone with nothing but your hand.” As the words leave my mouth, so do my hips leave his. His brows snap together and tries in vain to pull me back down again. Still, I don’t budge. “I will walk out this door and you will never fucking see me again. Is that what you want?” The threat was hollow but said with a bite that had shaken me. I was falling into this role a little too easily, a little too well.

He gapes up at me when I completely let go of him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I attempt to push myself off. It’s him who doesn’t budge this time. He yanks me back down with every ounce of strength his small frame contained. The sudden action has all the air escaping my lungs. With a hand clasped to the back of my neck, he seizes me into a searing kiss.

“Whatever you want.” The words frantically rush into my mouth. “I don’t care.” Fighting against the grip on my neck, he finally gives. I pull back to contemplate his words. Tilting my head slightly, my gaze falls to his tie. An idea begins forming as I slowly untie the silk. My nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt has him intently studying my face. Whatever I want.

Cupping his warm face in one hand, I smear the blood of his bottom lip with my thumb. He parts his mouth and sucks it in. With my other, I reach for Roman’s and slide his own thumb into my waiting mouth. As I swirl my tongue around him, Roman’s eyes darken and he sucks me harder.

Pulling from his lips with a pop, I rub my now wet thumb against his nipple. A soft moan is let loose. My tongue continuously plays with him inside me. He shudders as I pinch the bud beneath my fingers before doing the same to the other. Letting go of his hand, I reach forward to pinch both simultaneously and he groans loudly.

My cheeks hollow around his thumb as he slips it from me. He drags it down my bottom lip and stares intently. Transfixed by my spit glistening in the incandescent light. Cupping my jaw, he pulls me forward to replace his thumb with his tongue. That familiar groan returning when I suck him in. His other hand tangles itself into my staticky waves and he kisses me with everything he has.

“Give me your wrists.” The order was partially muffled against his mouth.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled into my lips.

“I said,” Threading my fingers into his own hair, I pull him back. “give me your fucking wrists.” With a dramatic tug, his tie is jerked from underneath his collar in a rush. He sat still, blinking up at me. The walnut shells of his eyes fall into my hands. There was a slight apprehension, a nervousness to them. “Do you trust me, Rome?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was hushed as he presents his hands to me and I slowly start wrapping the silk around his wrists.

“We can stop at anytime. You know that, right? Just say the word and I’ll stop immediately.” My reassurance seems to irritate more than comfort. He rolls his eyes with a tilt of the head.

“Would you fuck off? I’m fine.” A crease digs itself into the bridge of his nose and my actions immediately still.

“I’m not going to fuck off unless I know that you know that you’re safe with me, okay?” This dominate role was far from the submissive one I was innately familiar with. We obviously had never discussed boundaries and I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “I need you to know you can speak up. That I’ll stop the second you tell me to.” Roman looks like he’d rather get a root canal than continue this discussion, but I don’t care. This was far too important. “I need you to know that your comfort is important—that your feelings matter.”

“I fucking know it, alright?” He snapped before groaning and throwing his head back. “God, what the fuck else do you need to know before you just shut the fuck up and get on with it already?” My hand quickly finds its way to his throat with a squeeze. He seems more than pleased by this response.

“Do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Clearly I wanna fuckin’—“ My other hand slaps over his mouth and I can feel him smiling underneath my palm. Roman was gladly trying to piss me off. He was itching to see me lose control; yearned to meet the creature locked inside me. The wicked one I never acknowledged or came near; the demon only he could see. She bathes me in the blood of solidified suspicions.

Roman didn’t want my empathy.

Roman wanted my cruelty.

“Then are you fucking stupid? If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make damn sure to have you crying like a little bitch before I even think of letting you cum.” His eyes blackened as he watches my succubuss unhinge her jaw to swallow me whole. “Got it?” He nods quickly. Rapid bursts of air shoot from his nose across the back of my hand. “And lose the fuckin’ attitude.” Removing my hand, I slap him across the mouth; handing myself over to his desires completely.

Having finished binding his wrists and setting them behind his head, I rise from the couch. Standing between his ankles, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. The muscles in his forearms flex. His tongue peaks between his lips as he gawked at the damp lace between my thighs. Sliding my finger below his chin, I tilt his head until he meets my eyes.

“You know what I want, Roman?” My hand takes home around his throat once again. Now having his full attention, I feel him swallow as he shakes his head. His excitement was palpable. Settling my right knee between his thighs, I nudge it gently against his hard length. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “I want you to watch me get myself off on your thigh.” He groans loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, frustration, or a mixture of both but the response delighted me nonetheless. Placing my left knee to the other side of his thigh, I fully seat myself upon him. “Knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck.” Slowly grinding against the fabric of his thigh, my lashes flutter at the sensation. A soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. I was dripping wet and could already feel myself swiftly ruining his ostentatiously expensive pants.

“How does it feel Roman? To have me use you like this?“ A whimper meets my ears. His eyes transfixed on my clothed center sliding roughly against his thigh. There was a fire beneath his skin and he was entranced by the sight of kerosene being poured upon it. “To ruin you like this?” His smokey gaze flickers up to mine and I use the moment to grind myself harder against him. The rough friction elicits another moan from me, louder this time. “This is all you’re good for—” My final word comes out in a whine causing Roman to tear into his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. “Tell me. How does it feel?” I nudge my knee into his throbbing member once more and the deepest groan ripples through his teeth. His arms jerk against his binds as I use my free hand to sharply twist his nipple. “Answer me!”

“Good! It feels—Fuck.” The sentiment came out hoarse and husky. He shoves his head back into his tied wrists, thrusting himself against my knee. “Feels so f-fuckin’ good.” Digging my thumb into his pulse point, I slide my knee back. He whines; all hopes of friction dashing in an instant.

“No. You don’t get to cum until I say you do. Got it, you demented little fuck?” He’s a whimpering mess beneath me; eyes wide and watery. I wanted to drown myself in the sight and never touch the light of day again.

My thong bunches to the side from the aggression in my movements. Now fully bare against him, a shiver rushes through me as my clit kisses the luxurious fabric of his thigh. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“If you don’t fucking behave I swear to God I’ll leave you like this—tied up and soaking for whoever to find.” The bite in my threats were losing their edge. My voice lost somewhere between a moan and sigh. An impending orgasm flicks it’s tongue at the base of my spine.

“Wouldn’t want it to be your father who finds you like this, would you?” A mangled whine shakes itself from his throat and has me smiling.

The blood seeping from his parted lips seem to glitter under the city light of his windows. I flatten my tongue across his jaw and drag it up his chin until my mouth fills with copper. The taste causes a sigh to slip from my mouth into his.

“You’re close. I-I can feel it.” His voice tight and high-pitched as he starts to slightly bounce his leg. “You’ve f-fucking drenched me.” The jolting of his thigh into my clit has my head falling into his shoulder; grinding harder and faster against him. The nails of my right hand embed themselves into the skin of his waist. A carnal mosaic of the flesh born below my grip. I was at the brink. “I-I wanna feel you cum.” He’s whining as he starts to bounce his leg faster; face buried in my hair. His shaking breath against my cheek has my entire body erupting in goosebumps. “P-please lemme f-feel you cum.” His beg hitches to an even higher pitch. His thigh nearly vibrating under me, desperate pleas rippling through me. Every nerve ending in my body felt ablaze.

It was all too much.

A scream rips from my lungs and I sink my teeth into the flesh of Roman’s shoulder. He tasted of salt and brimstone. My nails frenetically scratch into his skin as my thighs tremble and squeeze. Groans barrel up from his chest to mingle with my own. My release shatters through me with a blinding intensity I had never experienced before. I was overflowing; drenching his thigh to seep into his soul.

The heaving of our chests pressed tightly together slowly lulls me back down again. My fingertips absentmindedly painting shapes into his skin with the blood I’d drawn from his waist. Sparkles of light and voids of soot twirl across my vision. An indention of my teeth remained etched into his shoulder. He shudders when I press a soft kiss onto the bruised skin. My head falling heavy when it replaces my mouth to lean into him.

I’m suddenly reminded of Roman’s own much needed release upon finding his hips desperately grinding circles into empty air. He’s whimpering; body begging. My hand still cradled his throat so I languidly brush my thumb along his pulse point. His heart was racing.

“Do you need to cum, Roman?” A loud, high-pitched whine answers me.

“Please.” The word comes out in a choked sob. “I need—“ He was fighting against his binds, the silk digging painfully into his wrists. “Please.” He frantically presses open mouth kisses into any inch of my skin that he could reach; pleading with glassy eyes. “Please lemme cum.” I leave his throat to gently cup his cheek and smile softly before pulling back from him. “No—“ He stops himself when I thread one hand into his hair and place the other bloodied one atop his chest.

“You gonna cum your pants for me, Romie?” I take my sweet time sliding my palm towards where he needs it most. “Like the needy little slut that you are?” The whispered words were dripping in ghost pepper honey that had him swallowing. “Are you that desperate? That pathetic?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out in a quiet quick rush of air. “Y-yeah, I am.” My hand finally reaches his pulsing length and it twitches beneath my fingers. He immediately ruts against my palm and I squeeze him before jerking his head back.

“Stop.” He clenches his teeth but surprisingly does. Tensing beneath me, using every ounce of self control to still himself. He was trembling beneath my grasp. Frustrated tears caressed his lashes and began streaming down his flushed cheeks. His breath was coming out hard and shallow through flared nostrils.

A memory flashes through my mind: Roman’s captivated stare watching his glistening thumb press into my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” Again, he follows my orders instantly. Hovering my face above his, my lips purse with a drop of spit. He catches it with a moan that I immediately kiss into my mouth. “Cum.” My voice drops just above a whisper against his raw lips. “Make a mess of yourself.”

He instantly begins fucking himself roughly into my grip. The heat of his flesh searing me through the fabric. Grunting into my open mouth as I tug his hair into the cushions just below his wrists. His hands opening and closing before locking into tight fists. “Look at me.” His eyes shoot open. “Such a good boy for me.” A familiar emotion swirls through the sliver of hazel around his pupils. His lids flutter as he fought with everything in him to keep himself rooted in my gaze. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Roman.”

His hips shoot from the couch as he explodes and spreads me open across his thigh. The sensation causes my breath to catch in my throat. A gravely yell rips from the deepest parts of himself and tears apart every muscle in my body. He pours everything he has into the fabric beneath my hand with wide eyes never leaving mine. He collapses hard with shuttering breaths; body limp and twitching.

I release him to bring my palm to my lips; the slightest bit damp from him. My tongue paints his taste into my memory with pupils blown. Jaw slack, he watches intently through heavy wet lashes. His muddy eyes fill with that same emotion I had seen from him earlier.

“Lemme taste you.” The request was nearly silent but it rattled me like a wail. If I was any further from him I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did and couldn’t believe he had asked. Lifting my hips slightly, I run two fingers through my sensitive folds and shiver. He immediately takes notice and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

My fingers tremble as they rise towards his mouth. He inhales deeply before parting his lips for me. Slipping into the velvet of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. His pointed tongue runs up between their gaps before flattening to drag back down. He was savoring every drop as if he were a starved man lost at sea. An involuntary hum reverberates from his throat into my skin and his cheeks seem to darken even more. He playfully bites down with sparkling eyes when I slip my fingers from his warm mouth.

The sight had the blood pounding in my ears beginning their familiar chant: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ It overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but pull him into one last searing kiss. Tasting myself on his tongue had my head spinning. Here on my knees, I prayed to a godless sky that he could taste my heart overflowing into his mouth. Cupping his cheeks in both hands, my thumbs brush away the damp paths left by his previous tears. His forehead suddenly creases beneath mine.

“You okay, Rome?” He shakes my hands from his face and turns away from me. My own brows knot together in worry.

“I’m fine.” His face further contorts upon hearing how his voice cracked. It might as well have cracked my ribs right along with it. He clenches his jaw before gnawing at the inside of his cheek. His hands form into tight fist behind his head. He was trying not to cry again.

My fingers twitch in my lap and it takes everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I reach for his wrists and bring them forward. They felt heavy and limp in my hands. Right as I began my attempt at untying them, a small sniffle brings my attention back to Roman’s face.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know?” I try to gently reassure him but it only deepens the tortured disgust in his features.

“I said I’m fucking fine.” The words are spit with a venom that eats through to my bones. Feeling me search his feature has him crumbling before me. Fresh tears immediately start spilling down his cheeks and into the pits of my soul. I couldn’t help but reach for him. He surprisingly lets me cup his cheek, so I gently turn him to face me. His eyes squeeze tighter below my lips as I lightly kiss their corners. The small gesture of affection has a mangled sob ripping from his chest. Fully burying his face into my hand, he lets himself weep into my palm.

Brushing back the strands of hair sticking to his sweat, I feel my own eyes filling with tears. Refusing to let myself cry, I leave his hair to clumsily attempt untying his wrists with one hand but the knot had grown significantly tighter. No doubt from Roman constantly pulling against it all this time.

“Hey, Rome?” He responds with a mangled sound in the back of his throat. A desperate need to comfort and free him started anxiously clawing at my throat. “Listen, I know you’re totally fine and everything but I’m actually not.” His watery eyes glance to me, not registering that I’m joking. “The she demon that possessed me, she—the bitch was a Girl Scout from hell. This knot’s tighter than a goddamn hangman’s noose.” Roman pulls his face from my hand while rapidly blinking. The sounds of grinding metal fill my ears and their smokey scent tickles my nose. I flash him a goofy, albeit nervous, smile and the gears inside his head finally click into place.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” There was no bite to his words, having spoke them through a bemused chuckle. He wipes his nose with back of his hand and inhales the remnants of his vulnerability. Grateful relief balms the scrapes at my neck left by worry’s desperate claws.

His smile falters when I suddenly get up and leave him; it's as if a burst of panic fills his chest. However, when he watches me pick up a pair of scissors and the joggers from his gym bag, I sense the tension in him ease slightly. It's only when I climb back atop his thigh that he appears fully relieved. The weight of my warmth sinking into him seems to ground him.

After tossing his change of pants onto the cushion beside us, I carefully slide the blade under his tie and free him. The silk had dug in painfully, leaving nearly raw indentions in it’s wake. I mentally make a note to check my purse for some soothing lotion later as my fingers lightly brush across his skin. My thumbs begin rubbing into the muscles of his forearms. Roman was studying my face intently.

“These feel okay?” Shaking out his wrists, he rotates them a few times before letting them fall limp in my lap. It was his way of silently asking me to continue with my actions. He had far too much pride to express his desire for such a tender expression.

“Feels fine.” He fights off a shy smile when my hands pick up where they left off, massaging him gently. “My side on the other hand feels like fuckin’ cruise papers with the way ya shredded me.” He chuckles but I could still hear the residual emotion behind it. I lift the corner of his shirt up to take a look. The sight has my stomach instantly dropping; tangled weeds of angry wounds imbedded deep into flesh. Needles of red hot guilt begin sewing threads of shame up my legs. Looking down, I’m greeted with his blood caked under my nails. Memories of violence and words of degradation take ownership of my lungs.

“Fuck Rome…” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel my own tears holding a knife to my throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Roman quickly tears the fabric from my grasp and yanks it down.

“Oh shit. No no no no no—fuck fuck fuck.” His panicked expression made me feel so much worse. The canines of an anxiety attack drag up the nape of my neck like a threat. “I—I was fucking kidding!”

“I shouldn’t have d—done that to you. I—I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t—Rome, I didn’t mean them! The words—I—I’m so sor—“

“Oh dear God, would you fuckin’ stop.” He quickly cut me off but I had already dove to the deep end of a molten lava shame spiral.

“I—I made you fucking bleed Roman!” He rolls his eyes. “Multiple times!” His hands slap themselves onto the sides of my face, pressing hard into my cheeks.

“Yeah and you licked it up and it was the sexiest fuckin’—” I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him. If I looked at him I’d most certainly start crying. “I mean, I’m literally fucking drenched in cum right now.” My mouth was set in a hard line but my bottom lip quivered. “Come on now…” Nope, didn’t have to look at him. Turns out his voice alone could send tears falling. “I was kidding! I liked the fuckin’—fuckin’ feral scratchy shit! It was hot! And—and I told you to hit me! I—I wanted it! I wanted you to say all that fuckin’ nasty shit!” His fingers press into my skin harder as if he could force his sentiments to penetrate my skull. “I…I fuckin’ loved it. Like a lot. Okay?” My head was shaking back and forth trying to gain some control over my emotions, shake free of my tears. Roman didn’t know that though. How could he? I wasn’t speaking. He probably thought my actions were just my way of rejecting him. “Please don’t fuckin’ do this.”

My eyes crack open as I remove Roman’s hands from my face. The knotted look of bewilderment etched into his features summons the childhood phantom of my mother. Taking her disembodied palm to slap me across the mouth and rattle me with shrill screams: ‘You need to pull yourself the fuck together!’ I follow suit, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Promise?” My question came out pathetic and small. I fucking hated it and I fucking hated crying. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

“Again, and I can’t stress this enough, soaking in my own cum right now.” His reassurance comes with a laugh that tugs my frown up slightly.

“I just—I’m sorry. It was one thing in the moment but just like… I dunno. I’ve never done anything like that. I—I don’t know what came over me.” My face felt feverish as the backs of my hands wipe the shame staining my cheeks. “Seeing the aftermath just kinda, it just—The thought of actually hurting you makes me feel fucking sick, Rome.” I feel the back of Roman’s knuckle brush away the tears I had missed. Chancing a look at his face gifted me the softest expression I had ever seen from him. “I never want to cause you any real harm.” My voice sounded almost foreign, weak with emotion and vulnerability. Where did all my bravado go? Oh yeah, it’s dripping down my thighs.

“Well you didn’t, alright? I’m fine. Like completely. A-o-fuckin’-kay over here.” He throws me the okay symbol and tries offering me a reassuring smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you were crying, Rome.” The smile instantly drops.

“That? No, I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head before scratching at his jaw. “It—it wasn’t because of that.” My brows furrow, and he groans, hands dragging down his face. “Look, I didn’t—I don’t—fuck!” He shakes his fingers through his hair and looks as if he’s about to rip it out. Refusing to meet my eyes, his stare finally settles on my hands lying face up in my lap. “It was your fuckin’—your hands, okay? It was your fuckin’ hands.” My eyes fall from his face and focus on the blood staining my fingertips. So it really was because I hit him. “The way you—“ He sighs. “The way you held me.” Oh. His head falls back as a long frustrated groan escapes him, eyes searching for heaven in the ceiling. “I dunno, okay? It just felt—it felt—“ He couldn’t finish. His eyes fall shut before he continues, his voice even quieter than before. “All I could think about was how you had looked at me.” I swallow before whispering just as quietly as he.

“How did I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice grew thick with emotion once again. He shakes his head and finally meets my eyes; looking so defeated and sad. His pain bled me. “You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at me like—like—“ Again, he can’t finish. He clenches his jaw like a threat towards the words caught in his throat.

“Like I love you?” His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his face from me once again; hiding himself from my words. I watch him clench and unclench his jaw until courage clenches my own. “Because I do love you, Roman.” Every muscle in his body seemed to tense beneath me, but I couldn’t stop my feelings from shattering their shackles. They’d been locked up for so long that their first taste of freedom sends them sprinting. “I love you so fucking much.” He clenches his fists, still unable to open his eyes and look at me.

I let myself lean into him and lay my head onto his shoulder. His fist start to unfurl and he lets his head fall against mine. A shuddering breath leaves him and he buries his face into my hair, hands tentatively resting on my hips. We sit in silence as I listen to his breathing slowly steadying. Once it had nearly returned to normal, I feel his lips gently press into my temple.

“I love you too.” The words were murmured into me, a heavy sigh follows after them. “You have no fucking idea.” The wilted buds of my heart and mind begin to bloom. My arms wrap themselves around him and squeeze him to me tightly. He reluctantly wraps his arms around me as well; slowly tightening his embrace until he’s clinging to my soul. Turning my head I press a kiss into the side of his throat and hear him sigh once again; the weight between us was dissipating.

“I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” The words he had stuttered out when trying to calm me drift to the forefront of my mind. “I—I liked it too.” The warmth of his skin embraces my shy confession. “What we did together, I mean.” I hear him snort and it has me smiling against him. The air was feeling lighter.

“I’d fuckin’ say so, ya fuckin’ banshee. You shoulda seen how fuckin’ hard you came. I mean—Jesus Christ, you were fuckin’ feral.” I hide my face further into his neck but can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from me. “And now you act all fuckin’ bashful and shit? How the fuck does that even work? You literally tied me up and road my thigh like a buckin’ bronco.” I bite his throat and my body shakes from his laughter vibrating through me.

“Fuck you! I’m complex.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me back to face him. “You’re fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He was smiling as he said it. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“The feelings mutual.” His smile only widens and he bounces his leg. I yelp in surprise, frantically gripping at his arms to maintain balance. He’s giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a sick fuck, Roman Roy.”

“Ooo round two already, thigh master?” He bounces his leg again. I try to slap his chest but he catches my wrist with his freehand and pulls me into a kiss I’m never going to forget. It was different than all the ones we had shared prior. This one was so much softer, so much gentler. Our foreheads rest against one another. His smile against my lips illuminates every crevice once void of light; I was loved.

#this used to be 10k words lol #I’ve rewritten it soooo many times #Roman Roy #Succession #Succession HBO #roman roy smut #roman roy x reader #roman roy one shot #roman roy fanfic #roman roy imagine #succession smut #succession fanfic #succession imagine #succession one shot #mine #can’t believe I’m following up kittens & perverts w/ this filth lmao #it still doesn’t feel perfect but she’s about to confiscate the phone from me if I keep rewriting this lol #cruelty & empathy

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fatallyfalling · 5 months

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Sea-Green~ ♆

“waves crash , time slows , and all that’s left are those stupid sea-green eyes”

warnings: hurt/comfort - fluff if you squint, it’s the Hunger Games so canon perceived violence/trauma, Finnick is soft, vague/brief insinuation to Finnick’s place in the Capital, talk of nightmares, brief panic, comforting touch, slight language, etc

{{ word count }} 2.7 k

{{ prompt }} you didn’t want to be a victor, you don’t think anybody in the districts does really. It’s the wee hours of morning - sun still asleep below the endless sea and you can’t help staring into the water, it brings a comfort you can’t quite describe. However your peace is interrupted by a certain “Darling of The Capital” looking for his own escape.

{{ a/n }} this is my first fic in like.. three years please be kind >< this is also my first time writing finnick so i’d love feedback! please enjoy <3

The evening air by the sea is salty, intertwined with damp earth and a hint of pine as you take a deep breath in. You can feel the malleable sand beneath your fingernails keeping you grounded as you perch on the beach with your knees drawn close to your chest. There’s a chill that nips and a breeze that whips but you don’t mind it, if anything it helps keep your grip on reality to feel the sensations.

The sun is still sunken deep below the horizon and there’s only the oceanic chorus of the tide mixing with nature as District 4 remains in its slumber for a while longer.

You hadn’t bothered to check the time when you had shrugged on a sweater and crept out of Victor’s Village to escape the shadows of your nightmares, but it was definitely two or three o’clock in the morning. At least the sea was close so you didn’t have to go far to find solitude with the water. The soft murmurs of the crashing waves and the lull of the tide brought a peace you hadn’t been able to find anywhere else, not that you had much peace, to begin with these days. In fact, you used to fear the ocean, its watery depths murky, unknown, and brimming with secrets. However, you found yourself sneaking away to visit the rolling waves more often than you could keep track of now.

The sounds were comforting, the push and pull of the sea foam was a steady cadence to help focus your thoughts away from the night terrors. You managed to drag your arms away from the wet sand to wrap themselves around your shoulders, another shaky inhale and a squeeze of your closed eyelids as the tiny granulated pieces of earth clung to the knit sweater making it a bit scratchy.

The dampness had suddenly felt too much like blood.

You tried to focus in again on the sounds of the water, your earth-covered nails digging slightly into your skin as you kept attempting to steady your breathing. The terrors that came with the setting sun were your least favorite change thanks to the deadly arena you had been trapped in years ago. Unfortunately, as much as it felt like an eternity had passed, the terrors made it feel just as fresh and raw in your mind.

The 67th annual Hunger Games.

You had been sixteen, now twenty-two. The arena had confined and demolished your heart and senses like a meal, you still found yourself jumping at the kettle whistle and reaching for a phantom knife on your hip. You hadn’t even intended to last let alone win, as many tributes as you had managed to outlast in the first two days you were still forced to reckon with death and the sticky metallic scent of blood and copper following the sting of salt as you fought a fellow tribute to prevent drowning in a river.

You gripped yourself a bit tighter as you tried to shove away the memory and the sudden tightness constricting your throat.

A harsh shiver raked through you as the cold finally seeped into your bones and snapped your awareness to a shifting sound a few paces behind where you hid. Instinctively you whirled, sand kicking up in a small spray as your distorted view and trembling hands scrambled for anything to defend yourself. There wasn’t anything but sand, not even a shell within reach as you rapidly blinked to focus on the darkness in front of you.

Your gaze landed on the tall figure a few yards away, the waves crashing as time seemed to drag itself across the sand and you met a familiar set of sea-green eyes.

You let loose a breath you hadn’t quite noticed you’d been holding as the blossoming warmth of adrenaline on your skin fades to let the cold once more seep in. Collapsing your knees back onto the sand your hands dig into the wet beach along with a sharp inhale, the sense of danger slowly ebbing away as the figure continues to approach, a thin whistle swimming into your senses as he stops a pace or two away.

He allowed a brief apology as you adjusted back to your curled-up position on the sand, failing an attempt to brush the clustered sand off your pants with a sigh.

“It’s fine, Finnick..”

You weren’t exactly ecstatic about the so-called ‘Darling of The Capital’, his smirks and the drip of confidence off his tongue tended to rub you the wrong way, but considering the mere constant watch of Capital elites and a vague awareness of the many lipstick sealed letters and ‘visitors’ coming and going from his home in Victor’s Village you tried to keep your patience on a tight leash. A pang of concern stung inside however as you noticed the too far away look washing over his tanned features as he slumped down beside you.

“Can’t sleep?”

A tense muscle fluttered in the Darling’s jaw as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“No..”

Your brows stitched together in a bit of confusion but you didn’t pry, the air around Finnick Odair was colder, more solemn than the usual radiating warmth and the lack of any suggestive comeback from the bronze-haired male sparked a wonder of what might be going on inside. If he was awake at this hour and out here the same as you, it could only be assumed he had a similar reason to your own.

Quiet resumed for a while as you both sat in silence listening to the crash of the waves. You tried not to look too long but in your peripheral, you could notice the messier than usual mop of bronze hair, a smudge of purple beneath his eyes and the ivory knit sweater Finnick wore was bunched over his hands as if to mimic mittens. He caught your glimpses after a minute and you quickly reverted back to looking at the horizon, hugging yourself a bit tighter as the wind swept the disturbed sand around your boots.

Inhaling through your nose for a brief moment you decided to break the silence, it hadn’t been awkward but by the twitch in Finnick’s jawline, you could tell he didn’t exactly prefer the quiet.

“Do you get nightmares too..?”

Your voice was a bit meek, toeing the line of a whisper as you kept your eyes trained on the water beyond. You tried not the notice the tension release in his shoulders as he dropped his head to look at his hands, a small but forced smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as an empty ‘tch’ huffed out with his reply.

“Was it that obvious ?” the slight tilt in his head as he turned to look at you had a few bronze waves falling over his forehead, the tug on the corner of his mouth showing his too-white teeth in a coy half smile. Ever so slightly turning to meet his gaze you couldn’t help marking the crinkle in the corner of his eyes or the slight dimples on his cheeks. No wonder the Capital adored him.

“What is it - three? No - four in the morning? You mustn’t think I’m out here for an evening stroll Odair.” you huffed, your tone slightly playful if only to keep the smile on his face. Your ploy worked as his cheshire grin widened, a small head shake tossing his bronze waves back and forth as his gaze flickered between yours.

He hummed in response, the brief glimmer of mischief returning to his sea-green eyes for a moment before quickly deflating again. “It’s hard to sleep when there’s always eyes watching,” he murmured, his gaze dropping back to his sweater mittens.

You paused, biting back a remark about his trade in secrets. To receive one from Finnick without a form of repayment was rare if ever from your experience watching the victor at capital functions in the upper districts. But you could tell he wasn’t asking for any repayment, that far-away look had glazed over his face again in an all too familiar way. “Sometimes I have to throw blankets over my windows just to feel any sense of privacy..” you softly return, you couldn’t know the full extent of his experience but you had your fair share of watching eyes from the Capital as a fellow victor.

Finnick’s gaze snapped back to yours, this time it was his turn to knit his brows in confusion, if it wasn’t for the nature of the conversation you might have taken the perceived concern - or was it..worry? to heart. But when it came to the Capital’s Darling you found it a bit puzzling to figure out which reactions were genuine, though a sneaking whisp of knowing allowed room to think this was true.

“I’m sorry…”

Your name sounded foreign on his tongue, had he ever directly addressed you before? It didn’t matter, you tried to push away the warmth that clung to your heart, averting your gaze from his stupid sea-green stare.

“It’s not your fault Finnick.”

You tried not to notice the spread of the warmth as his name left your lips.

He pushed a hand through his messy hair, no doubt dragging sand through it as well to be inevitably washed out later. Quiet returned, the soft rushing of water filling the silence as a small glow started to peek over the horizon. You enjoyed sunrises more than sunsets, watching the world slowly rise from slumber and start their day was a feeling you relished being one of the only ones to experience it sometimes.

“It’s hard… remembering the arena. Waking up feels more like a dream than the memories sometimes..” You sighed, feeling a weight start to press in on your shoulders as you spoke. “I know I’m not physically there anymore… but it still feels inescapable - like if I blink too fast I’ll be put back in with no way out..”

Drifting your hands up from your shoulders to your head, not quite covering your ears as they threaded through your hair, you blinked hard to try and fight the growing sting in your eyes. There was no way in hell you’d cry in front of him, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and meet his gaze either.

“It just… it’s just horrible, what they make us do... a-and even after we survive we can’t have any form of peace.” You were starting to ramble, a familiar tightness creeping across your chest and throat as you subconsciously picked up a quicker breathing pattern.

The fear stung as you gripped your hair a bit tighter, trying to remember the sound of the ocean across the way and that Finnick was beside you. You didn’t feel much comfort at the fact he was practically watching you fall to pieces in front of him - actually, you felt awful for doing so. Horrors flashed behind your eyes that you furiously tried to blink away. “I-I’m sorry..”

You didn’t register a reply if he gave one, instead finding a sudden but gentle heat on your back. The warmth slowly spread, like flames starting to lick up your shoulders and neck and drawn in small, slow circles with an even pressure that oddly helped calm the rising panic in your system. You apologized for getting yourself worked up, it wasn’t fair to dump such a thing on him.

“It’s okay,, we all have a few skeletons in our closets..” He mumbles, adding that you didn’t have to apologize. For someone who excelled in confidence and strength, it was a tad odd to see the one and only Finnick Odair be gentle if not comforting to someone. There was a beat of silence and a falter of his hand on your back that brought in a nip of cold air at the absence as he must have realized what he’d been doing, “Is - is this okay,,?”

A simple nod and small hum in return from You and he resumed the gesture, your fingers slowly leaving your hair to gather on top of your boots, fidgeting with the sandy laces as you let your eyes flutter closed, wetting your lips and trying to control your uneven breaths.

“I get them too, not just the night terrors but the panic attacks..”

Your eyelids fluttered open, braving to meet his eyes as you listened to his confession.

“Usually I have to dunk my head in ice cold water to break out of it.. other times diving into the sea..”

Finnick’s gaze was tender, his lips pressed into a thin line as he peered over at you, another secret kept hidden under that Golden Boy mask revealed. You returned a small, tight-lipped smile as your gaze faltered from his out of a sudden nervousness.

“I guess there’s more in common between our Capital’s Darling and us mere mortals than I thought.“

You breathed with a small hint of a laugh. That cheshire grin was quick to make an appearance once again on Finnick’s face as he let out a low chuckle.

“I’d hardly place myself above anyone..” Finnick shook his head again, bronze waves whisking around in the wind but his grin didn’t falter.

“Hmm,” You hummed in response. The Darling’s circles on your back had slowed to a stop as you calmed down, eventually returning to its place over his knee. “Thank you.. for that, i-it helped a lot,” you murmur in thanks to him. He simply nods, telling you not to worry about it as the warm light of early morning starts to wash over his features. The weak light brings a new look to the Darling, and it’s the first time you’re able to notice that the brave Golden Boy facade of Finnick Odair is nowhere to be seen.

It’s refreshing, to say the least, he seems more relaxed, at ease in a sense as he watches the waves. The posture he normally holds isn’t there and the messy bronze waves of his hair make him seem almost nothing like the charming playboy the Capital adores, more human than anything to say the least.

You couldn’t bring yourself to really resent or dislike him in any way either, he may shine in the spotlight and favor of the Capital and career districts but you knew it was a light he didn’t choose nor have a say in. You’d heard the murmurs and noticed the prying eyes of the elite, always watching as if ready to pounce on the Darling victor. But Finnick carried himself with a self-assuredness that could put even the best victor to shame. He didn’t let the Capital see the fruits of their torture for what they did to him and if anything you could only admire his strength.

“You’re staring y'know ~ “

shit!

Shock smacked you in the face like a punch as an uncontrollable flush tinged your cheeks and ears red, averting your gaze to anywhere but those stupid sea-green eyes. “S-sorry..” you mumble, bending your head as if it could hide the embarrassment burning your face. Finnick’s laugh rises over the rolling waves as he tilts his head back, the coy smirk on his face downright insufferable if not…cute.

“It’s alright, you can stare if you want to,”

Finnick leaned to gently bump his shoulder to yours, a reassurance that you hadn’t made him uncomfortable in the slightest. Sighing through your nose you playfully reach out and shove him away, a small grin spreading on your own lips.

“In your dreams Odair.”

Your eyes meet once more as the sky turns from blues and purples to pinks and oranges, the weight that had been pressing on you only lingered now, much lighter than before and you could tell the same proved true for Finnick. The small giggle that left your lips had the smirk on his face growing wider by the second, dimples well and truly defined and his too-white teeth flashing in the morning light. Maybe, just maybe, you could learn to be friendly with him. It was… comforting - to have someone to confide in after the isolating years following your games.

“Would you like some tea ?”

“Drinking tea with a mortal? I’m flattered” You feign a dramatic wave across your forehead but accept his offer with a smile.

Another bout of laughter rises from Finnick’s throat and you no longer feel the cold or the wind. Your heart feels lighter, almost like a piece has managed to pick itself back up from the damage.

And maybe you could get used to those Sea-Green eyes.

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eu-nicola · 3 months

Text

Emotional Labyrinth - Luke Castellan x Reader

summary: You see yourself enveloped in a love that consumes and hurts you but that feels like love.

warnings: This story contains depictions of toxic and emotionally abusive relationships. Themes include emotional pain, confusion, and internal struggle. If these topics may be triggering or problematic for you, I recommend considering whether you want to continue reading. Remember that your emotional well-being is the most important thing.

inspired by “ultraviolence” by lana del rey

Before you could realize that you were in love with that boy with the curls and the scar on his face.

Falling in love was easy, his brave, charismatic and seductive nature were what attracted you. You had heard and they had told you about how manipulative he could be but you never really listened, from the beginning you felt so attracted to him that you didn't pay attention to anything else.

You didn't go unnoticed in his eyes either, you were the daughter of Aphrodite, of course you were going to catch his attention, your beauty, intelligence and charisma dazzled everyone, especially the men. You didn't go unnoticed in anyone's eyes and you liked that, being the center of attention.

This caught Luke's attention, so much so that he began to spend time with you, accompanying you to your cabin at night or walking around the camp when no one was watching, it was really lovely to be with him. As you spent more time together, the connection between you became deeper and deeper, but also more complex.

Luke seemed to exert an irresistible magnetism over you, drawing you more and more towards him and his desires. You found yourself caught in an emotional web, fighting addiction to the intensity Luke offered you. Even though you were just friends because he didn't want anything else, there were episodes of jealousy when you talked to other guys or when he thought you were doing something wrong. You tried every way possible to not get him mad at you because you knew he might go off with some other girl and that was the last thing you wanted.

The more you spent time with him the more he consumed you, he was like a vampire sucking your blood and consuming you. You were entering increasingly turbulent waters, the shadow of the emotional labyrinth in which you were trapped became denser. You struggled to find a balance between the passionate love you felt for Luke and the need to preserve his own emotional integrity.

And even through everything you always chose the love you felt for him because you knew that the love you felt for Luke wasn't enough for him but when you were in his arms he made you feel divine and loved, most of the time when he wasn't a jealous idiot spoiled and adored you. Your thoughts were so clouded that you didn't know if he was actually doing that because a part of him wanted you or just to keep you by his side. He clung to you as much as you clung to him but the difference was that he didn't get hurt.

Those few times where your thoughts were clear you wrote to free yourself. Your trembling hands held a letter you had written in a desperate attempt to give form to the feelings that were consuming you.

“You hurt me in ways I can’t even put into words,” you murmured softly, as if you were talking to yourself. "Every lie, every act of contempt, every moment in which I felt invisible in your eyes..."

A lone tear ran down your cheek as you continued, "But the strangest thing of all is that, in the midst of all that pain, I still found a way to justify it as love. As if every wound inflicted by you was further proof of how deep it was." "Our bond. It was as if the tears shed were a tribute to the love I felt for you, a love so intense that it eclipsed even the sharpest pain."

The letter trembled in your fingers as you continued writing, trying to unravel the tangle of emotions that had kept you trapped in an endless cycle of love and pain. And after all that you just burned them, letter by letter.

And with eyes red with tears that refused to stop. You realized that it wasn't the violence that scared you, but the certainty that no matter what Luke did, you would come back to him again and again. It was like he knew exactly how to lift you up in your darkest moments, how to wrap you in a hug that seemed to contain the entire universe.

Sometimes you desperately longed to return to the past, to a time when his paths had not crossed. But despite everything you loved him from the first time and you would love him until the end.

That feeling of being elevated above the emotional chaos that consumed you. Despite the pain and confusion, you kept coming back to his arms, seeking refuge in him, and at the end of the day he kept coming back to you too.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #percy jackson #pjo series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x you #luke castellan oneshot #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo x reader

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bradshawsbaby · 4 months

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Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

Series Masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #WWII AU #1940s AU #lewis pullman

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aifanfictions · 7 months

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a story about (y/n) who is khal drogo's translator and khal drogo slowly falls in love with her and asks her to be his khaleesi in front of all his people one night by the fire

The Khaleesi's Heart

(Y/N) had always been captivated by the vastness of the Dothraki Sea, with its endless golden plains stretching as far as the eye could see. She had joined the Khalasar as a translator, seeking adventure and a chance to immerse herself in the rich culture of the fierce horse lords. Little did she know that her journey would lead to an unexpected and life-changing encounter.

Khal Drogo, a man of immense stature and a reputation that preceded him, had never taken much interest in the affairs of outsiders. His heart was bound to the warrior code, and his focus was on conquest and the endless expansion of his Khalasar. As he led his people through the sea of grass, he rarely spared a second thought for anything or anyone beyond his warriors and his beloved bloodriders.

One fateful evening, as the setting sun bathed the horizon in hues of fiery red and orange, Khal Drogo's warriors captured a party of travelers on the fringes of his territory. Among them was (Y/N), who had been accompanying a merchant caravan on her journey to learn the Dothraki ways. She found herself standing before the imposing Khal, her heart pounding in her chest.

(Y/N) knew the importance of diplomacy and the art of communication. Fluent in both the Dothraki tongue and the common language of Westeros, she was able to bridge the gap between her people and the fierce Khalasar. Her eyes met Drogo's, and she bowed respectfully, uttering the words of introduction in flawless Dothraki.

"Anhaan vekhat hoshori, majin adak jin," she spoke, introducing herself as a translator.

Khal Drogo, unaccustomed to hearing his mother tongue from the lips of a foreigner, was taken aback. His dark eyes bore into hers as if trying to decipher her intentions. Her confidence, intelligence, and the fire in her eyes intrigued him in a way that no one ever had.

Over time, as (Y/N) continued to serve as translator, she and Khal Drogo shared more than just words. She found herself drawn to the strength and honor that defined his character. He, in turn, began to seek her presence during meetings and discussions, valuing her insights and wisdom.

As the weeks turned into months, a connection grew between them, though they rarely spoke of it aloud. (Y/N) saw beyond the fearsome exterior of Khal Drogo, recognizing the depth of his heart and the unspoken longing in his gaze. Khal Drogo, a man of few words, found himself yearning for (Y/N)'s companionship, her laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled when she shared tales of her homeland.

The Khalasar continued its relentless journey across the Dothraki Sea, conquering rival clans and collecting tribute. In the midst of the dust and chaos of battle, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) found solace in each other's presence. They shared stolen moments by the campfire, where he would listen to her recount stories of the world beyond the grasslands, and she would learn of the proud history of the Dothraki.

One night, as they sat by the fire, the sky above them was ablaze with a tapestry of stars. Khal Drogo turned to (Y/N), his eyes filled with an intensity she had come to know all too well.

"Anhaan vekhat anni, (Y/N)," he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "You have brought light to my Khalasar and to my heart. You are strong, wise, and beautiful. Will you be my Khaleesi?"

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat. She had never anticipated such a proposition. To be the Khaleesi of the Great Khal Drogo meant leaving behind her old life, her dreams of adventure, and embracing a destiny she had never imagined. Yet, as she looked into the eyes of the man who had come to mean so much to her, she knew that her heart had already made its choice.

"Yes, Khal Drogo," she replied, her voice unwavering. "I will be your Khaleesi."

Word of Khal Drogo's declaration spread throughout the Khalasar like wildfire. The warriors and the women ululated in celebration, recognizing that their Khal had chosen a powerful and deserving Khaleesi. The union of two strong souls promised a future of prosperity and unity.

As the flames of the fire danced around them that night, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) sealed their commitment with a sacred Dothraki ritual. Their love would be tested in the trials of the unforgiving Dothraki culture, but they were determined to stand together, a force to be reckoned with.

And so, under the vast, starlit expanse of the Dothraki Sea, a new chapter in their lives began. Khal Drogo, once a warrior without equal, had found something even more precious than conquest – love. And (Y/N), the outsider who had ventured into this world seeking adventure, had found a love that would change her destiny forever.

As the months turned into years, Khal Drogo and his Khaleesi led the Great Khalasar to new heights, forging alliances and achieving greatness that had not been seen in generations. Their love story, whispered through the winds of the Dothraki Sea, became a legend, a testament to the power of love to transcend boundaries and unite even the fiercest of hearts.

In the heart of the Dothraki Sea, beneath the endless sky, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) embarked on a journey of love and destiny, a journey that would shape the future of the Dothraki and etch their names into the annals of history as a love that conquered all.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

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hanrinz · 1 year

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midnights with them

includes — dabi and hawks

content warning — angst for dabi, fluff for hawks.

notes: i wrote this again with a spark of inspiration. finally writing for hawks?? paying tribute for a fluffy keigo. not proofread. more below cut.

# 𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈

midnights have been a terror for dabi in his younger years and he has grown to live with it, to wake up every night heavy breathing, drench in cold sweat, but never tears. it's been so long since his tear ducts have been burned off and no matter how much he tries, it just burns his eyes more. dabi have learned to live with it.

and when you walk into his life, it becomes bearable. he never told you what those nightmares were and how much it haunts him. how difficult it is to calm himself, to stop the shaking and he hates it. it was years ago and it still comes back to him.

you were patient, you were understanding and it made his heart so full and he can't explain it, he wants to cry, he wants to be vulnerable, he wants to tell you how much he loves you, but he can't. and you understand yet again, because when he clings to you like you were going to disappear, when he holds you just to feel like you were there, just to feel that you were real and not a figment of his imagination, that you were never going to leave, you understand.

you would tread your hands through his hair and kiss him on his head, with your comforting presence. suddenly, he feels like he's home, his safe haven, his sanctuary. and he doesn't understand, how he deserves all of your affections and love. how you can be with someone like him? he was selfish, how can you stay with him? why can't you be with someone who can walk out in daylight without being wanted? and he knows the answer.

with you, he can be himself, he can be selfish, he never knew that love could be so calm, so enchanting and serene. like the sun streams in the morning. he can love you without being afraid. afraid — of whatever consequences come to loving you, that anytime you could just be taken away from his grasp. And he can't bear to think of it. he can't bring himself to ever imagine you gone, without him by your side. but in the end, he knows the truth

he knows

he knows and yet he can't help himself to be strong enough to let go, to let go of the one good thing in his life.

he's selfish and he knows that, he's always been the first one to leave.

# 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐒

midnights have become a sacred routine for the two of you, the only time you're alone. being the no. 2 hero have its own cons and that includes not being able to see you at day time. with him being occupied saving people and over working himself, the only time given for you was midnight. you were worried for his health, this unhealthy cycle of him working until he can't move anymore, it does his body more damage than any villain will.

even, mirko and endeavor was concerned for his health. it pains you so much to see him like this, so whenever it clocks midnight, with him staggering to the balcony, you were immediately to his side, helping him. you can almost feel the exhaustion coming off of his body, you can try to get mad at him but his tired face and eyes threatening to fall was keeping you from it. you would always be there to greet him.

"welcome home, keigo", with a soft smile and he would give you a small smile too. like every burden from his shoulders are finally lifted. you would get him to eat his favorite meal and make him go to shower before he crashes the bed.

if you're lucky, he would be coming home earlier. you and him could just sit in the living room and watch movies, you can cuddle in the bed for the rest of the day.

but your favorite time is whenever you were at the kitchen dancing to a silent melody. those times, where keigo felt like he was at peace. like everything just slows down and tunes out, only your heartbeats at sync.

he's sorry for all the time he missed because of his job and he whispers his love to you and it was endless. he didn't know he was capable of loving someone so much, that it hurts. it hurts a lot. that he wants to give you the world, he wants to fly so high he could just fall and be at peace about it.

and whenever he's apart from you, he just pulls out a picture of you in his jacket, that was enough to get him through the day. he did promise that he would always be coming back home to you.

and every time he flies on that balcony of yours, you're grateful. you are finally able to breathe normally. you would give him a tight hug and just sigh contently.

because all you want, is for him to come home to you

— ♡

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kckt88 · 5 months

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The Day Love Returned II

Summary:

The time comes for a mother to reunite with her children.

WHAT IF VAERA DIED INSTEAD OF AEMON?

AU of Dynasty!!

Warning(s): Kissing, Smut, Oral (F) Receiving, P in V, Cock Warming, Lingering Feelings of Sadness/Grief, Mention of Character Deaths.

Word Count: 3700

Author Note: A companion piece to Courtship/Wedding & Consummation/Bath Time/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/ Rooks Rest & the Silver King/The Gullet/Taking of a City/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye/The Fallen Queen/New Beginnings/Ravenous/Don't Leave Me/Another Plane of Existence/Gēlenka Zaldrīzes I/Gēlenka Zaldrīzes II & Gēlenka Zaldrīzes III.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Aemond” replied Vaera as she slowly approached her husband.

“Y-You were dead. H-How?” asked Aemond.

“Cannibal took me to Volantis, a Red Priestess there brought us back” replied Vaera.

“Us?” questioned Aemond.

“I was with child when I died and bringing me back, also brought her back” said Vaera as she placed her hands on her round stomach.

Aemond couldn’t breathe, every night he dreamt that his wife would return to him and every morning he would wake, and it would be the same nightmare.

She was dead and he was without his twin flame.

There were some mornings that even for the briefest of seconds it was almost like it didn’t happen, but then he would remember, and it would hurt all over again.

Yet here she was, standing in front of him, heavy with child.

A child he didn’t even know she was carrying before she was killed.

“A-Are you real? Or are you a vision sent to haunt me?”

“I can assure you my love, that I am real” replied Vaera as she reached forward and took hold of Aemond��s hand.

Aemond suddenly reeled back, ripping his hand from Vaera’s grasp.

“It-It’s not possible. This goes against the natural order of things. You died, I held you in my arms as y-you-“ sobbed Aemond as he fell to his knees, reaching forward and clinging to her skirts like a frightened child.

“I know it’s impossible to believe. But please issa gēlenka zaldrīzes. I am here” whispered Vaera (My silver dragon).

Aemond let go of her skirts and gently pressed his hands to her round stomach.

He let out a small sob as he felt the babe move, it shouldn’t be possible. Yet here she was, alive and with child.

“Y-Your really here” whispered Aemond as he pressed his face against her.

“I’m here” replied Vaera as she gently stroked his head.

Aemond pressed a kiss to her stomach and then stood up, he seemed to hesitate for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her and held her as close to him as he could.

“Aemon and Rhaegar. Are they here?” asked Vaera hopefully.

“No, they are safe, they are with Ser Criston” replied Aemond.

“Oh” whispered Vaera sadly.

“N-Never leave me again” urged Aemond.

“I promise” whispered Vaera.

Aemond took her hand and led her into the ruins of Harrenhal, they meandered through a seemingly endless labyrinth of empty corridors before they entered a darkened room.

“I-I spent nights laying in that bed, wishing to hold you were here with me”.

“I’m with you now” replied Vaera.

Aemond smiled slightly as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

His heart was pounding in his chest, it had been so long since he’d experienced any form of intimacy and the mere touch of his wife’s lips upon his was enough to reignite that spark in his blood.

He wanted her, in every way possible. He wanted to sink his cock into her and bask in the feeling of her wet heat wrapped around him once again.

Vaera shimmed out of her riding gear and laid on the bed. Her body had of course changed over the months they were apart and Aemond’s eye hungrily devoured the curves and comfortable roundness.

Aemond discarded his clothes double-quick and gently laid down next to her. His mouth claimed hers and his teeth pulled at her plump bottom lip.

Moving his hand down her body, he slid two long fingers into her cunny and speared them in and out of her at a slow gentle pace. His palm bumped against her clit with each movement of his hand.

“Oh, Aemond” moaned Vaera desperately.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her wet centre and manoeuvred himself down the bed, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin, as he reached his desired destination he hooked his hands around her thighs, and his mouth descended on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into her core with his tongue. Vaera clutched at his head with one hand, whilst her other hand fisted the sheet.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast, and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunny.

Vaera ground down on Aemond, his tongue speared deeper inside her, as she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Yet Aemond withdrew and Vaera whimpered with frustration at the denial of her peak.

“So wet for me” muttered Aemond, his voice husky.

"P-Please Aemond. I-I need you” moaned Vaera.

Aemond smiled as he turned her over to her side and began suckling on her exposed neck.

"I want to feel you come all over my cock" growled Aemond.

Aemond lifted her leg and slowly slid his cock into her cunny.

Vaera grabbed hold of the sheet, and closed her eyes, letting out a gratifying moan.

Reaching back, she entwined her fingers into his long silver hair and whimpered, "More, Give me more".

Once Aemond was fully sheathed, he carefully grasped hold of her waist and started to slowly thrust into her.

"Vaera, my sweet wife. How I’ve missed the feeling of your tight wet cunny squeezing my cock” exclaimed Aemond, his hot breath caressing her neck.

After months without her delectable body to satisfy his ravenous sexual appetite, Aemond felt the need for release quickly spread across his body.

Vaera was so wet that he almost lost his grip and slipped out, but he managed to remain ensconced within her as he continued to thrust into her sweet tight cunt.

The sweat off her back rubbed against his chest and her moans and muffled groans were sweet music to his ears.

Aemond snaked a hand between her legs and rubbed her clit repeatedly until the rise of heat engulfed her and toppled her right off the edge.

"Aemond, don't stop, my love" gasped Vaera, her cunny clenching his cock.

“Fuck, Vaera. Yes, that’s it” moaned Aemond thrusting one final time as he exploded deep inside her, rope after rope of his seed painting her inner walls.

Aemond buried his face in her shorter silver hair and breathed in her familiar scent.

As he went to pull his softened cock from her, Vaera stopped him.

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer. Please”

Aemond nodded and pressed closer to his wife’s warm body.

A feeling of pure love shot through him, as he nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose.

“You have no idea how many nights I dreamt of you, wishing that you were in my arms again” whispered Aemond.

“I had those same dreams my love” replied Vaera, sighing with contentment.

She was back in her husband’s arms, and she never wanted to leave.

Eventually Aemond pulled his softened cock from his wife and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

Vaera cupped her round stomach and slowly rolled onto her back.

“Is that-” trailed off Aemond as he reached forward and gently traced the purple scar that now graced Vaera’s chest.

“Yes” said Vaera quietly.

“Does it hurt?” asked Aemond.

“No. Not anymore” replied Vaera as she slowly sat up.

“What are those from?” asked Aemond as he noticed two huge scars that now marred Vaera’s lower back and side.

“Cannibal. When he carried my body to Volantis” replied Vaera.

“I never thought I’d see you again” said Aemond, his eye filling with tears.

“I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” said Vaera as she wrapped her arms around her husband.

That night they spent hours making up for lost time, bringing each other pleasure over and over again, until they were finally satisfied.

As they lay entwined on the bed, Vaera told Aemond everything that happened during her time in Volantis.

As expected, her husband was thoroughly intrigued by the process of her resurrection and expressed a desire to travel to Volantis one day, if only to thank Kinvara for what she’d done.

Inevitably the conversation shifted to the war and Vaera sat in horrified silence as Aemond told her of the losses.

After her death, Aemond had lost himself to grief and those encountered suffered the full force of his wrath.

Her grandmother Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys had perished in a battle above Rooks Rest, and Aegon had been injured so terribly that he could no longer serve the realm as it’s King, so Aemond had been crowned Prince Regent in his stead.

His first act as Regent was to take Vhagar and destroy the blockade in the Gullet so that sea born trade could resume. Echoing her rider's anger, Vhagar had reduced the Velaryon fleet to nothing but charred wreckage.

Her brother Jacaerys had of course tried to defend the fleet, but his dragon Vermax was no match for Vhagar. In the battle Jacaerys had fallen from Vermax but survived, he was now recuperating from his injuries on Driftmark with Baela and Rhaena.

Aemond told her of Kings Landing’s fall and the death of his grandsire, that of course Vaera did know, but she figured it was for the best that she kept quiet. However, she was completely unprepared for the news that Helaena, Jaehaerys and Maelor were dead. During the fall of Kings Landing, both of the boys had been smuggled out of the Red Keep, but enroute to Old Town, they had been attacked by a group of peasants and killed and upon hearing the news that both of her sons were dead, Helaena had thrown herself from one of the windows in Maegor’s holdfast. Only sweet little Jaehaera remained alive, imprisoned inside the Red Keep alongside Alicent.

When Kings Landing had fallen, Aegon had fled the city with his dragon Sunfyre and a small garrison of soldiers. His where abouts were currently unknown.

As for Aemon and Rhaegar, upon his decision to retake Harrenhal from Daemon, Aemond had refused to leave his sons behind, so it was decided that Ser Criston would take both boys to a safe location not to far away from Harrenhal and wait for Aemond’s return.

Hearing of her sweet boys grief, broke Vaeras heart and she only hoped they would be ok now that she had returned, they were still so young, and she didn’t know if they would even understand. But she had to try. Every day she was in Volantis she thought of nothing but her sons and Aemond. Now she was back, she never wanted to leave them ever again.

As dawn broke, a raven arrived from Dragonstone.

In the wake of Helaena’s death and Daemon’s absence, riots had broken out throughout the city, the dragon pit had been stormed and the hatchling Shrykos had been killed, Dreamfyre and Morghul had sustained some injuries, but they had managed to escape as did the hatchlings Brightfyre and Valaerys, and Rhaenyra had been driven out of the Red Keep. She had fled back to Dragonstone with her sons Aegon the younger and Viserys, where she was immediately captured and killed by her half brother Aegon who had been living on Dragonstone in secret, since he fled the capitol.

With Rhaenyra now dead, Aegon had summoned his brother back to Kings Landing. If he was to reclaim the Iron Throne, he wanted his brother by his side.

But first they needed to collect Aemon and Rhaegar from Ser Criston.

Aemond as proficient as ever, was ready and dressed in his riding leathers before Vaera had pulled on her shift.

As she pulled on her riding gear, Vaera couldn’t help but blush under the lingering gaze of her husband who was staring at her almost as if she was a delicious snack that needed to be devoured immediately.

“You look sensational” exclaimed Aemond.

“You’ve seen me in riding gear plenty of times” replied Vaera as she pulled on her gloves.

“Not like this though, where did you get them from?” asked Aemond as he ran his hand over the intricate flame pattens on her left sleeve.

“When I arrived in Volantis, I had no clothes, so Kinvara had some made for me”.

“Whoever made these is incredibly talented” muttered Aemond, his eye now drawn the dragon-esque scales on her shoulders.

“I couldn’t agree more” said Vaera.

“Right, lets go get our boys” exclaimed Aemond.

As Vhagar was still injured from her fight with Caraxes, Aemond decided it was better for her to rest at Harrenhal for a while longer and return to Kings Landing when she was ready.

A requested that a garrison of soldiers remain behind to keep an eye on Vhagar and maintain residency at Harrenhal lest a wayward supporter of Rhaenyra get ideas of grandeur.

So, with a heavy heart, Aemond climbed onto the back of Cannibal and clung to Vaera for dear life as her dragon launched into the sky.

It had always amazed Aemond how is wife could mount Cannibal without a saddle, he snickered to himself as he remembered a moment just before they got married, when one of the Dragon Keepers suggested that she should saddle Cannibal, Vaera did not take to kindly to that advice and neither did the Cannibal as it turned out not to long after said incident, that particular Dragon Keeper mysteriously disappeared and Vaera vehemently denied that her ferocious boy had anything to do with it.

Not long after leaving Harrenhal, Aemond told Vaera to head northeast towards Maidenpool.

The flight didn’t take long and soon Cannibal was landing next to a small house just outside of town.

“Are you ready?” asked Aemond as he descended down Cannibals wing.

Vaera nodded wordlessly and took her husbands hand. She didn’t know why she was so nervous.

Just as Aemond opened the gate, the door to the house opened and Rhaegar came running out as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Daddy” shrieked Rhaegar.

“My little dragon” replied Aemond smiling as he lifted his son into his arms.

“Is it true daddy?”

“Is what true sweet boy?” asked Aemond curiously.

“MAMA” shouted Aemon as he barrelled past Aemond and launched himself into his mother’s open arms.

“H-How did you know?” asked Aemond astonished as Rhaegar wiggled free from his grasp and ran towards his mother.

“Aemon dreamt it. He said he saw mama flying on Cannibal” replied Rhaegar.

“I love you mama” said Aemon as he buried his head in her shoulder.

“I love you too” exclaimed Vaera, the tears running down her cheeks as she held both of her precious boys as close as she could.

“I’m guessing that you have some questions about mama being alive and-“

“-The red lady” said Aemon brightly.

“What?” gasped Aemond.

“She brought mama back” replied Aemon sweetly.

“Like magic?” asked Rhaegar curiously.

“Yes, and mama has a babe in her tummy” said Aemon firmly.

Vaera stared at Aemon for moment, not quite sure what to say but then she remembered Kinvara and the words she spoke. From her blood came the Princess who was promised, it wasn’t just her daughter, it was also Aemon, he also had a part to play and with everything that had happened was it also possible that her sweet son was a type of dreamer just like Daenys Targaryen?

Vaera looked up and saw Aemond talking to a shocked Ser Criston, who couldn’t stop staring at her.

Guess that was something she’d have to get used too, after all it wasn’t everyday that someone came back from the dead.

Vaera spent the next few hours gazing at her sons and soaking up every ounce of love she could.

The sound of their giggles as she continuously peppered kisses on their faces was a soothing balm for her soul.

“A-Are you going to leave us again?” asked Rhaegar.

“No, sweet boy I will never leave you, Aemon or daddy again” replied Vaera.

“I didn’t like listening to daddy cry” whispered Rhaegar.

“He was very sad mama” said Aemon softly.

“We all were” said Rhaegar gently.

“I know my sweet, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere” replied Vaera.

Aemond and Rhaegar smiled widely and snuggled against her, suddenly Rhaegar reeled backwards with a look of surprise on his face.

“I think the babe wants to say hello” said Vaera smiling.

“She’s moving” whispered Aemon in awe as he placed his tiny hand on his mother’s round stomach.

“It feels funny” giggled Rhaegar as he gently placed his hand beside Aemon’s.

“A pretty girl with silver curls” muttered Aemon.

Vaera looked over at Aemond who was hovering by the door, her husband had remained silent during her exchange with their sons, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

“We should head back to Kings Landing” said Aemond firmly.

“I-Is everything ok?” asked Vaera.

“Just seeing you with the boys, it’s almost like I’m dreaming, I keep expecting to wake up at any moment and live that nightmare of not having you here” muttered Aemond.

Vaera detangled herself from her sons and walked over to Aemond, not even blinking as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

“I’m here issa gēlenka zaldrīzes” said Vaera (Silver dragon).

“I-I know it’s just that I prayed to the seven every night for months, but it was the Lord of Light that answered my prayers and returned you to my arms” replied Aemond.

“Sometimes things work out in the most unexpected of ways. All that matter’s is that we are together again” whispered Vaera as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Aemond’s mouth.

“Once you’ve delivered our babe and healed, I will ensure that your cunny is constantly stuffed with my cock” whispered Aemond.

Vaera shuddered as her husband’s hot breath tickled her ear.

“I shall see you keep your vow” said Vaera smirking.

“Oh, I intend to Princess” replied Aemond sweetly.

The flight back to Kings Landing took some time as Vaera insisted that Cannibal take rest breaks along the way.

Aemon and Rhaegar were chittering excitedly at the prospect of going home and reuniting with their own dragons as they were sandwiched between their parents on the back of Cannibal.

As the Red Keep came into view, Vaera couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, she wondered how the people of Kings Landing would receive them. Would they rejoice at their return, or would they boo and hiss? Her mother had been driven out of the Red Keep by rioters, what if the dragons were no longer welcome.

As her dragon began his descent towards Kings Landing, the sounds of cheering could be heard.

The cheers got louder and louder as Cannibal roared triumphantly. The people of Kings Landing stretching their hands towards the sky waving and clapping.

Cannibal landed just outside the walls of the Red Keep at his usual resting spot, and Vaera breathed a sigh of relief. They were home, at last.

The sound of chirping could be heard from one of the caves, and suddenly Brightfyre and Valaerys burst forth and greeted their riders with such enthusiasm that both Aemon and Rhaegar were knocked to the ground.

Aemond and Vaera laughed as they watched their sons reunite with their dragons, even Cannibal seemed happy to be reunited with his hatchlings.

After bidding farewell to the dragons, Aemond and Vaera made their way back to the Red Keep with Aemon and Rhaegar.

The cheers and applause could still be heard echoing over the stone walls of the Red Keep, which in all honesty had seen better days.

The place was a mess. Rubble, wood, and glass was splayed across the floor.

“Be careful” urged Aemond as he lifted Aemon and Rhaegar over the broken glass.

“Aemond. Wait” said Vaera.

“What is it my love?”.

“One last time” said Vaera as she took the conquerors crown from her satchel and placed in on Aemonds head.

“One last time” repeated Aemond.

“Your Grace” said Vaera bowing respectfully.

“I shall see you properly bend the knee later” whispered Aemond.

“I look forward to it Your Grace” replied Vaera smiling.

“Ready?” asked Aemond as he grasped Rhaegar’s hand tightly.

“As I’ll ever be” said Vaera holding onto Aemon.

“Aemond of House Targaryen the first of his name, Prince regent of the seven Kingdoms and his sons Prince Aemon and Prince Rhaegar”

The few lords and ladies that were present in the throne room erupted into applause.

“AEMOND” shouted Alicent, dignity all forgotten as she ran towards her second son.

“Mother” said Aemond as he released Rhaegar’s hand and allowed his mother to embrace him.

“Oh, my son. Your, ok?” asked Alicent, her head tucked under Aemond’s chin.

“I am well mother” replied Aemond smiling.

“Grandma” breathed Aemon and Rhaegar in unison.

“My grandsons, my precious boys” sobbed Alicent as she hugged each of the smalls boys in turn.

“Good mother” said Vaera smiling.

Alicent smiled politely as she looked at Vaera, and then let out a scream.

“VAERA”

“Mother, it’s ok” urged Aemond grimacing slightly.

“Y-Your alive” exclaimed Alicent, her hands clasped to her chest.

“It’s a lot to take in, but I will explain everything later” said Vaera as she took Alicent’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently.

Alicent stared at their joined hands for a moment, and then at Vaera’s swollen stomach.

“Your with child?”

“I promise I’ll explain everything later, it’s a rather long story you see” said Vaera softly.

Alicent exchanged a look with Aemond who shook his head and then her good mother was hugging her tightly.

“What ever it is, I’m just glad your back” muttered Alicent.

“Your Grace” said Aemond as he approached the Iron Throne and went down on one knee.

“Brother” replied Aegon eyeing Vaera curiously.

“Long story” exclaimed Aemond.

“One I hope you’ll both share” said Aegon, his eyebrows raised.

Aemond nodded sharply as he lifted the conquerors crown from his head and held it towards Aegon.

“It’s time it was returned to you my King” said Aemond.

“You have served the seven kingdoms well brother” replied Aegon as Ser Arryk took the crown and placed it on Aegon’s silver head.

“All hail his grace. Aegon of House Targaryen second of his name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond x original female character #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #aemond smut #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd smut #hotd fic

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leprosycock · 2 months

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been putting some thought into things and with some tinhatting from joan and sea, i'm settled in the offbrand debacle theory hinging either mostly or entirely on the combined debacle of jrma's soft retirement and the streaming bubble popping along with the offbrand xmas party . follow this with me if you will:

jrma announces his soft retirement early last year. it's springtime. post-str3amer awards, pre-house fIipper. it's set to happen in 2024, but who are we kidding, he made his decision right then and there. 2023 was soft and unremarkable and the biggest streams he did were house fIipper and the shuffle stream. not very remarkable for a sendoff, but it was a sendoff nonetheless.

Iudwig hires jrma to be part of offbrand. he says it's the coolest thing about working there. jrma has always said he's wanted to retire in production and creative direction. it seems like an eventual happy ending for the time being.

Iudwig is extremely volatile, bitter, mean, standoffish, jealous, and snippy during house fIipper 1. he softens only when he gets to talk to j, who showers him in endless praise in turn. it's a fairly normal dynamic for them with lud just being especially pissy when jrma divides his time simply due to the nature of the game.

jrma and Iudwig are close enough over the summer where Iudwig races ahead of the group in qt's twitchcon vlog to hug jrma when they meet up for dinner, borrows jrma's con pass to give to qt when she loses hers, and offers jrma's setup to spu/uky to use at his leisure. things are going remarkably well.

2023 is sparse for collabs and the next biggest stream we get between them is the shuffle stream, where jrma puts on his typical self-fellating charade with costume changes and an elaborate performance and he and lud gaybait and play around with each other for hours. lud beams and glows and he and j are ecstatic just to be in close proximity to one another, touching each other whenever they can. they seem to adore each other.

the next stream we get is house fIipper 2. lud is noticeably weird and overly sentimental, full of stilted, out-of-character praise, petting jrma whenever he can and cooing at him, telling him how good he looks. it's rife with tension and it's easy to tell that something is amiss just from Iudwig's attitude.

next we have the offbrand christmas party that qt was forcibly absent from. she asked when it was, Iudwig said they weren't having one. she bugs him and bugs him and he dismisses her at every turn. he lies and says he's just gonna go out for the night and qt finds out that he was at the offbrand party via shakedrizzIe posting about it on instagram. she has a breakdown about it on stream and lud offers no real excuses, avoiding the subject instead. jrma was present. qt was not. on purpose. for reasons unknown.

this coincides with a very steady and rapid decline of streaming numbers. twitch is falling apart and youtube isn't fairing much better. especially when you've been maligned as a react andy and the public has turned against your bread and butter.

almost immediately after this party, dodgeball takes place and lud is mysteriously absent from all credits despite this being an offbrand project. st4nz is less than friendly towards him. afterwards, lud sharply and shortly mentions on stream that he had nothing to do with the production of the project at all.

sure enough, his name is largely removed from the company website and references to him being the founder and owner.

after this, lud lashes out at a small streamer who remarks that she's only familiar with him because of dollhouse and he has a mental breakdown rife with bitterness and indignation, wondering furiously if he's only ever going to be known for that stream, if that's all he'll ever be.

he and jrma are not seated together at the 2024 awards. jrma gets a vague passing mention in the offbrand ad that plays a few times and one more mention during a clip comp. that's all, compared to last year's insane tribute montage narrated by lud, the two of them sitting together, tweets, etc etc. he is also mysteriously absent from the name your pr1ce photoset posted by austin and will despite being a highly anticipated guest at the con show.

very odd timeline with a very sudden turn of events. it makes you think. it also makes one consider how Iudwig, in all his former trauma kid and personality disorder glory, links money to affection and affection to money. his love language is buying gifts. his love language is being gifted to, being showered with riches and glory, and i believe that something like that being revoked from him is akin to outright abandonment. abandonment is a terminal disease and one that becomes necrotized over time and rots from within and Iudwig is a devastating victim to it. his daddy dies and leaves him for dead to fend for himself and then, decades later, his second daddy dies and leaves him for dead to fend for himself once again.

i believe that once he realized that jrma was not going to be able to singlehandedly finance their fake fucking company where they scribble in lisa frank coloring books all day and poke st4nz with a cattle prod for fun, lud assumed he was in yet another state of abandonment and this didn't truly hit until lud either came to terms with this suddenly or he discussed it with jrma during the christmas party. jrma cannot keep offbrand afloat, he can't keep Iudwig afloat. by being unable to keep Iudwig afloat, he is no longer loyal. he no longer adores him. he is no longer Iudwig's teacher/mentor/father/crush and he is instead a selfish, unloving predator looking to take advantage of Iudwig and offer nothing in return—the offer that was always meant to be given was his body and his money and his time and his work.

because Iudwig is an insane person, i believe he took this as a personal jab and thinks that this was a long con in order to undermine Iudwig and the plan that he had for them to retire together. after everything that Iudwig has done for him and offered him, it's thrown back in lud's face. dollhouse was a scheme. replacement was a scheme. bro v bro was a scheme. everything that jrma has done is for the sake of entrapping Iudwig, making him soft and pliable, working his way into lud's heart in ways that no other person has managed to do before. and that's terrifying to Iudwig. compliments mean nothing to him, except when they come from jrma. it makes his chest feel warm. jrma gives and jrma takes and this time he took too much. and it hurts.

#long post #im on sleeping meds and this might not be coherent at all #but this might be the actual answer #and i believe lud has managed to get ppl to turn against jrma #really odd. really strange. really fascinating.#bunnyvommit

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asylummint · 1 month

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Shadows of the Heart

Like most Astarion was what got me into Baldur's gate in the first place! obvioulsy everyone else made me stay but heres a small tribute to him

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In the dimly lit corridors of the Underdark, where shadows danced and whispers echoed, Astarion prowled with silent grace. A vampire spawn cursed with immortality and a hunger for blood, he had long wandered the dark realms, his heart veiled in shadows as deep as the caverns he traversed. But amidst the darkness, amidst the ever-shifting alliances and betrayals, there was a glimmer of light—a ray of warmth that thawed the icy confines of his soul.

Her name was Tav, a rogue with a spirit as free as the wind that whispered through the tunnels. She had joined their band of adventurers, drawn by a quest to challenge the darkness that threatened to consume their world. With each passing day, Astarion found himself inexorably drawn to her, her laughter a melody that echoed in the caverns of his heart.

At first, he dismissed his feelings as mere curiosity, a passing fancy born of fleeting companionship. But as they faced dangers together, as they fought side by side against the horrors of the Underdark, he found himself admiring her courage, her strength, and the kindness that she freely offered to those in need.

Yet, Astarion was a creature of darkness, his existence bound to the shadows that he called home. He was cursed to walk the night, forever separated from the warmth of the sun and the touch of mortal flesh. How could he, a creature damned by his very nature, dare to yearn for something as pure and radiant as the love he glimpsed in Tav's eyes?

But love, like the tendrils of ivy that cling to the cold stone walls of the Underdark, is tenacious and resilient. Despite his doubts and fears, Astarion found himself falling deeper under Tav's spell with each passing day. He found solace in her presence, a refuge from the ceaseless hunger that gnawed at his insatiable appetite.

As their journey unfolded, they faced trials that tested the very limits of their resolve. They battled demons and monsters, confronted ancient evils that lurked in the depths of forgotten tombs, and emerged victorious against all odds. And through it all, Astarion found himself bound to Tav not only by duty but by a bond forged in the fires of adversity—a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

In the quiet moments between battles, amidst the flickering light of campfires and the hushed whispers of the night, Astarion dared to dream of a future where he and Tav could walk hand in hand beneath the open sky. He imagined a life filled with laughter and love, free from the shadows that haunted his past.

But fate, like the capricious winds that swept through the caverns, is unpredictable and unforgiving. As their journey neared its end, a darkness loomed on the horizon—a darkness that threatened to tear them apart and plunge the world into eternal night.

In the final confrontation against the forces of darkness, Astarion stood by Tav's side, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their time together was drawing to a close. But even as they faced the greatest challenge of their lives, he knew that their love would endure, a beacon of hope that would shine bright even in the darkest of nights.

And as the sun rose on a new day, casting its golden light upon the world once more, Astarion knew that no matter where their paths may lead, he would always carry Tav's love in his heart, a guiding light in the endless expanse of shadows that stretched before him.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 astarion #tav #bg3 fanart

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carlos-in-glasses · 6 months

Text

Thank you for the tag @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @jesuisici33 @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @carlos-tk @thisbuildinghasfeelings @three-drink-amy and @paperstorm 🧡

It's 2016 in Flashback Fic and TK has had a rough day. Let's meet his dealer, Spike:

Over by the window, Spike is smoking a joint and staring mournfully at the distant Tribute in Light – two blue beams like endless neon rods piercing into the night sky.

“Can’t believe it’s been fifteen years,” he says, wandering to the couch to pass the joint to TK, who takes a hit and passes it to Dan. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Strand,” he adds, “The [redated], too. Fuck.” He crouches by TK; TK watches as Spike drags at his lip to reveal a missing molar. “Had my tooth knocked out that way.” Spike shakes his head. He’s only twenty-eight, but he seems fifty for all his lived experience. "I do have something that’ll make you feel a lot better, though.”

One charming thing about Spike is how he carts drugs around in one of those old lady red-white-blue bags. He keeps a bed sheet poking out of the half-zipped opening, so it always looks like he’s on his way to the laundromat. He hoists the bag from where he dumped it aside the couch, and from a black sack within, he withdraws a packet of something pale beige.

“Heroin?” TK asks. He’s only half-sure. He hasn’t fucked with heroin before. All sorts of pills, booze, cocaine, concoctions of purple drank, sure – but never heroin or meth, and he’s never huffed solvents or computer cleaner. That shit’ll kill you.

“With a magic touch of powdered milk,” Spike says eagerly, “I call it Cream. And, ladies, a little bit goes a long way.”

“I’m not injecting shit,” TK says, “I’m on fucking PEP. Last thing I need is an infected needle.”

“Who said anything about injecting?” Dan tuts, “I’m not collapsing my veins.”

Spike cuts the ‘Cream’ on the kitchen counter with his library card and Dan rolls the dollar bills – he’s got a knack. Spike is meticulous, very keen that they don’t overdose. He’s quite thoughtful for a dealer. But then, it’s a smart business investment for his clients to live.

They snort what TK thinks must be exactly the right amount, because they’re all sitting on the kitchen floor now, but it also feels like floating on a warm jet of air. TK has no regrets. He forgets about [redacted]. He doesn’t feel bad at all about what happened to him a couple of nights ago. He doesn’t care that he’s paying for heroin out of the $50 that guy gave him because he thought he was a hooker, and TK accepted the money as a fuck you.

He doesn’t know what it’s going to take to overcome an addiction to this.

Open tag and tags below:

Tagging with no pressure: @eclectic-sassycoweyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @inkweedandlizards @whatsintheboxmh @paperstorm @wandering-night19 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @heartstringsduet @noxsoulmate @lightningboltreader @orchidscript @freneticfloetry @reyesstrand @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @bonheur-cafe @goodways @herefortarlos @redshirt2 @louis-ii-reyes-strand @inflarescent @fitzherbertssmolder @basilsunrise @mikibwrites @taralaurel @catanisspicy @chicgeekgirl89 @sugdenlovesdingle @theghostofashton @taralaurel @rosedavid @spaghett-onaplate @sanjuwrites @kiloskywalker @liminalmemories21 - if you want to share/ haven't already!

❤️ 🩷 🧡 💛 💚 💙 🩵 💜

#The redacted is mainly because it won't make sense out of context #flashback fic #my fic #wip wednesday #cig tagged #cig fic #tarlos fanfic

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Hello hello! Congratulations on 5k and sorry if im late with this request but can i ask for a finnick fic with prompts 3,17,25 and if possible also a newt fic with the same prompts? Thank you very much! 💓

newt req will come out in a few days, here's finnick!

masterlist

You don’t think you ever noticed just how quiet it gets in the Capitol until right about now. It’s always been loud around here. The buildings are filled to the brim with chattering elites, so many packed in side by side that they’re occasionally disgorged to the balconies, the windows, the roof so that more can fit in.

If you’re not with your mentor or fellow tributes, you’re displayed for show in front of the cameras. If you’re not panicking to the point of shutdown over the thought that you only have a few weeks until the Hunger Games begin and your life ends, you pretend that you have never known fear in your life, and bat your eyes at the interviewers until you think your lids might be weighted down with iron for all their aching burden in keeping you awake.

But now, midnight in the pristine halls of the tributes’ quarters, there is nothing. No whir of ancient lights, no creaking or groaning as beleaguered cooling systems try their hardest to convince you that you might feel something other than endless waves of heat. You suppose that has to do with the fact that the Capitol is richly furnished and would never have to deal with aged machinery, but you’re too far gone on old habits to ever fully make the remembrance stick.

There are guards posted somewhere around here, but they keep their presence to themselves. No Avoxes can be seen lurking in the shadows, but you have no doubt that they’re here somewhere, letting their eyes run wild with sights that their mouths can no longer hope to express.

All living things decide to leave you be on this night of nights. It must be tradition to not mess with the sacrificial lambs until they’re needed for further entertainment in the Arena, or maybe everyone else is out getting drunk on honeyed wine and spirits until they can’t remember how horrifying it is to send twenty-four souls to their deaths every year.

You’ve only been in the Capitol for a few days, so the layout of the buildings is still somewhat foreign to you. You wonder if you could wander down here forever, stuck in a whitewashed maze that will never let you out. No sound, none but your footsteps. No sights, none but the seeming same four walls. It is enough to drive anyone mad. You would not be the first.

When you first hear a sound echoing through the sterile halls, you wonder if it’s already started, the madness. Your mind could at least be polite and wait until the first moment you have to murder someone in the Games to lose itself, but it appears you won’t have that kindness quite yet.

The sound comes again, and you’ve just decided that no, you’re not mad, there actually was something there, when someone swings out of an open door to your side and comes to a sudden stop in front of you.

You stare at the boy in front of you with exhausted exasperation. “From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck. There was no reason to do that.”

The boy’s delighted grin falls in a flash. “You’re not supposed to react like that. Can you at least pretend to be a little frightened? I thought that was the whole point of a jumpscare.”

You snort. “You know, for a jump scare to work you have to actually be scary. Not just disappointingly cavalier in your methods of introducing yourself to strangers.”

The boy quirks a brow. “Is that what we’re doing? Introducing each other?”

“Well,” you reply, “seeing as you just came out of nowhere and I have absolutely nothing better to do, we might as well.”

The boy groans, the sound so rich with melodrama that it could have come straight from the stained lips of Caesar Flickerman. “You know, most people are usually far more excited to talk to me. I suppose just ‘nothing better to do’ will suffice for now, but I hope you’ll come to think of me far more favorably. I’m–”

You cut him off. “Finnick.”

The boy’s teeth flash again, as bright a white as the immaculate halls of the Capitol complex surrounding you. “So you do know who I am!”

It’s hard not to know who he is, but it’s not as if you’re about to say that to his face. Finnick Odair seems to suffer from a grievous overabundance of confidence, and you doubt his ego could use any extra boost from you. Of course, one would have to consider the fact that he’s out here wandering the halls at midnight just the same as you, which would raise the questions of what could keep him from sleep for so long, but that’s beside the point.

“I do know who you are,” you hedge, “A lot of information has been forced on me unwillingly.”

Finnick tilts his head back and laughs. “Unwillingly? I think I’m hurt.”

“Wonderful,” you say crisply, “Well, it was nice to meet you. I hope you don’t die a gruesome death once we get into the arena.”

You turn and continue your walk down the passage. To your surprise, Finnick jogs to catch up with you, his long strides allowing him to easily keep pace with you.

“Oh, you didn’t think you’d be rid of me that quickly, did you?” He asks brightly.

“I had hopes,” you mutter, “I assume I was wrong to harbor anything of the sort?”

“Precisely right,” Finnick grins, hands in his pockets as if the two of you were old friends out for a casual stroll. “It’s not like either of us have anything better to do, as you so wonderfully pointed out, so we might as well get to know each other.”

“Why?” You ask, unwilling to budge even an inch in your hostility. Finnick is your rival tribute and thus your enemy. You cannot afford to make friends out of people who are wishing for your death with every word they speak.

“Because I adore your charming personality, obviously,” Finnick says. “Actually, I’m sick to death of everyone pretending that all is well, and the fact that you don’t is a breath of fresh air. I might be developing an early case of cynicism.”

You turn to him questioning, but Finnick’s cheerful demeanor doesn’t change. For the first time, you wonder if you might have misjudged him. Perhaps Finnick isn’t a silly flirt but the best actor you’ve ever met.

“Well,” you say carefully, “if you’re in the mood for cynicism, I’ve got a lot right here.”

“Perfect,” Finnick responds happily. He meets your gaze at last and flashes you a wink. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.”

You hold his stare for a second longer, then break into incredulous laughter. “I take it back. You’re absolutely insane.”

Finnick grins as well. “Then we’ll have even more fun. Will you join me in being mad, Y/N L/N? If we only have a few weeks together, I want to spend all of it engaging in as much tomfoolery as possible.”

He offers you a hand with a mock bow and flourish, the gentleman. You chuckle and take the accepted palm. “I would like nothing more.”

Finnick straightens up and, grabbing your hand, begins to sprint down the hallways, all but dragging you after him. You run beside him, tearing down the identical corridors as fast as you can.

“Where are we going?” You shout over the thunder of your footsteps, “And what on Earth are you doing?”

“No idea,” Finnick calls back delightedly, “No idea at all.”

A laugh starts to build in your chest, so free of stress and fear that you almost don’t recognize it as your own. You haven’t laughed like that in quite some time, and it takes that last bit of terror clean out of you. Forget the cameras, the interviewers, every citizen in this twisted Capitol who wants to see you dead. You laugh at the lot of them.

Thus begins what might be the best thing to ever happen to you. What had once been a place of nothing but paranoia becomes host to your best friend, the one person you look to when all else breaks down. Finnick meets you most nights; neither of you can sleep, neither of you bring it up.

Instead, you explore every inch of the place, memorizing how the city looks from the roof and which doors lead where. Some handles turn out locked, some knobs won’t open no matter how many times Finnick jokingly slams his body against them. You get lost so many times you think you might have accidentally ended up in one of the districts, and just as you lose all hope of ever seeing your bed again, you and Finnick take a turn and come back right where you started.

You don’t think you’ve ever laughed harder or more often than when you are with this golden boy. Who gives a damn about the Hunger Games at this point, it’s going to happen and there is nothing you can do about it anymore. What you can do is make your days worthwhile, and that is precisely what you mean to accomplish.

You and Finnick delight in confusing the interviewers as much as possible. You start speaking in cryptic riddles whenever you’re recorded, and the Capitol practically tears itself to shreds trying to figure out your hidden meanings. Finnick busts out some poetry about a long gone lover, which the two of you had carved out the night before after he got the idea at one in the morning.

This is living, you decide. It’s funny that you would only realize it so close to dying, but this is the best time you have ever had and the thought of your imminent demise is secondary to the fact that you get this right here, right now.

As the days tick down to the Hunger Games, you try to push the intrusive fears from your mind as much as possible. You almost succeed, too, until the night before the Games hits and then you’re reeling in your own head.

You try to get some sleep, at least to help keep your body strong for tomorrow as much as anything else, but you just can’t manage it. At last, when you can take it no longer, you crawl out of bed and pad across the room to leave. Just as you swing open the door, the figure on the other side raises his hand to knock. You and Finnick, on the same wavelength yet again.

He doesn’t even have to ask, you nod and let him in without a single word exchanged. Finnick slumps into a heap on the edge of your bed, knee pulled up to his chest.

“What are we supposed to do, Y/N?” He asks quietly, voice half obscured in his tangled mess of limbs, “There’s only one victor. Somehow, one of us won’t make it out.”

“I know,” you whisper, and you feel the sheer agony of a thousand moments slip out with it, “I know.”

Finnick looks at you beseechingly, and you take a seat on the bed next to him. Finnick stretches out an arm and pulls you close to him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.

You look over at him. How many times have you been lost in those eyes now? How few times you have left. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to witness this sight one more time before you die.

“We knew this day was coming all along,” you remind him, “there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re going to get through this night, and then we’re going to worry about ourselves. You keep yourself alive and I’ll work on myself. That’s how it’s going to work.”

Finnick nods mechanically. “So this is the last night we have for us.” His gaze turns twisted and fierce. “I need something from you.”

“Anything,” you promise rashly. You don’t take back the words, even knowing what he could ask as a rival tribute. If he asked you to fall on your sword tomorrow, you would do it with a smile.

Finnick lets out a gasping sort of breath. “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it just the once. Lie to me if you have to, make it all up, but I need to hear it. Let me pretend that I might not be alone in this.”

You can feel your heart drop through the floor. “What?”

Finnick’s gaze is an endless whirlpool of sea green. “I want to fool myself into thinking that I might have met someone in this world who could need me as much as I need you. Say it once, and I’ll go to a happy death. Just say it.”

You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it against yours. “I don’t need to lie, Finnick. I love you. I love the fact that you make me feel so alive that the thought of dying in the Games doesn’t seem real. I love that you have never given up on me. I love that you’re the only one here I would be content with missing me.”

Finnick’s breath constricts in his lungs, and then he’s leaning over and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before. Every other kiss before this was nothing, nothing to this at all. You have never felt a love like this, and perhaps you never will. All will come to be undone in the Games, but this moment will never be taken from you. You can carry this kiss into death like a talisman, and it will protect you for all eternity. No shield has ever tasted so sweet.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43

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mrsnancywheeler · 3 months

Note

I JUST REALIZED THE GUILT SECTION LF THAG ASK GOT ERASED…am here it is

Guilt because he had rooted for Conways death, his tributes, death. He never thought he would be the type to wish for anyone’s death, let alone his sweet girls best friend. Sure he didn’t love the guy, in fact Finnick saw him as a pain, a thorn in his side, he was jealous of Conway, angered by him, but Conway cared for Finnicks sweet girl. That Finnick can relate to. More than he could relate to anything.

YES I LOVE THESE SM YOU HAVE NO IDEA

Finnick is supposed to care about keeping his tributes alive, both of them for as long as possible, but there wasn't a singular second after you got reaped that he thought about training the other tribute, getting them sponsors, how they'd brand themselves, just you, and it's so fucked because why should he pick and choose on human life just because he loves you more? it's so selfish, but he does it anyway because he loves you

and he knows reader like himself, better then he knows himself. so he knows you've got a plan the moment conway's name is called because that's just who you are, you're walks want to protect you. and he's so jealous when you're all close to conway on the train, but finnick is so proud because you're smart and you don't give up. all the years where you had to charm your way into getting things you wanted, bartering with people who didn't really want to just because you were so sweet and charismatic. he knows you'll be able to play the Capitol and Conway loves you, he'll never assume the worst.

but every time Finnick's brain stops being in overdrive he feels the pounding guilt sneaking into his head. because Conway is just a boy in love with you, just like he is, and conway is good, kind, he'd never endorse a plan like this. yet he resented the idea that Conway was morally superior, even if it was true, no one truly good ever won the games, if you wanted to survive you played them.

when you win and spend endless night and days crying because of Conway, Finnick wants to do the same. Because he'd actively only gotten you sponsors, he'd given you tips, he told Conway to imply he loved you because the Capitol would love it and it would work for your narrative. He'd only ever treated Conway like an extension or an obstacle of you, but we was another kid from his school, his hometown, his family sold his crawfish. he felt guilty that he despised when Conway had a possibility of a future with you or even kissed you in the arena.

but his sweet girl was safe because of it so it had to be all worth it. the haughtier part of him secretly thought Conway should have noticed, you'd always told Conway to find someone else, set him up with other girls, dated others, you'd only picked him when it was life or death, why did it take him so long to notice? and finnick was proud that you'd always pick him. but then the neverending cycle of guilt was back because he felt just as guilty as you did.

but that's why you two were meant to be, you burned together, you could be destructive together but also build each other up. you would have been wasted on a life with Conway, you would've swept him up when Finnick could have walked through the storm.

I love my little nuanced characters sm

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #the lakes #the river

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maegalkarven · 6 months

Text

Dreams of Red.

Characters: Enver Gortash, Dark Urge (Nemo).

Set between Empty Prayers and returning to BG in act 3.

Nemo dreams, Gortash wakes up.

TW: blood (mention), physical abuse (mention), choking, suggestive, not toxic but also not a healthy relationship (meaning they are awful but together kind of cancel it for each other).

He dreams of home; not the home in the flesh, but that place of dark alcoves and labyrinths made out of caves. He dreams of blood rivers running down the steps, of red fire lit sockets on a giant skull.

He dreams of his assassins, the unlucky souls who fated to meet him once and were damned enough to be caught in his gaze.

The First kneels before the altar, a tribute plastered on it, eyes closed in a reverent prayer.

She does not actually pray, somehow he knows it as well as he knows how many heartbeats are currently booming inside these halls.

The First is deep in thoughts and her thoughts are dark knots of resentment, anger and despair.

She grieves.

"Reaper of Bhaal," they turn around together as one; the girl made murderer made assassin and the benefactor who brought her there. So close to the girl's body he can taste the blood and sweat on her skin, sees dark shadows under her cold calculating eyes.

"Orin," falls from the First's lips. This is disobedience, he knows it somehow, for she is not simply Orin, but the Chosen of Bhaal.

Or is she?

"Look at what you have done," Orin-not-Orin says and her voice ricochets from the ceiling. It sounds...different.

It multiplies and shakes, and twists, and then suddenly its Sceleritas' voice.

Orin keeps opening and closing her mouth, but the sound he hears does not come from her.

"Look at the deeds of your disobedience. Once proud Temple of the most Gracious of the gods, now intruded upon by a mindless, senseless being you were supposed to enslave," an invisible hand closes over his throat, constricting the air.

He sees black and then red and then - Father.

Father is angry and that anger washes over him in waves, breaking his skin and piercing soft innards.

•••

He is seven again, bloodied heap of limbs on the floor as his caretaker walks around in circles.

"You're weak," Sarevok speaks. The boy hates Sarevok for how much his approval means to him. "You're fragile. You disappoint Father with your single existence. Stand up," a blunt hit across the spine. "Stand up and learn." Another hit. "Prove yourself worthy to be called a Child of Bhaal."

He is seven and he already talks more than he should, so he asks.

"Like you?"

Sarevok's unnaturally bright eyes blaze and the next hit landing on the boy makes him black out for a moment.

"Stand up," he hears again as his conscience returns. "Or die a scum and come back to Him graceless."

He stands up.

•••

Blood fills up his mouth, blood fills up his lungs. He gasps, choking, fighting the gravity - and swims up.

The pool is deeper than it should have been, the sacrificial room is darker, and Father's presence pierces his skull like thousand of red hot needless.

"Beloved son," Sarevok announces and the Echoes repeat. "Prodigal son, bathed in sacrificial blood in Your name, Father. Greet the unholy assassin born anew, Lord Bhaal, grace him with your presence."

He wants to step back, to avoid what is to come, but Bhaal is in his mind in an instance: an endless, darkest, bloodiest night.

The presence of Father is so strong the boy feels his own mind disappear, drown in the sheer force of his father's love.

Finally. He is worthy.

•••

Hands - bloodied, sheets - bloodied. Body after body, cold bed, red bed, sacrificial bed. Lover after lover, dead, dead, dead, dead.

Until the last one.

Until-

•••

He wakes up to the scene of Enver's flushed up face beneath him, the assassin's hands grasping at his throat firmly, pressing down, down, down, until the windpipe gives out, until the light leaves the eyes-

Nemo breaks the hold and collapses into the bed; not his bed, but the one he managed to crawl into in his sleep regardless. Gortash goes into the fit of coughs, proving once again how alive he still is.

Finally the man calms it down and tries his voice, hoarse from all the abuse.

"Good morning to you too."

Nemo doesn't reply, face digging into the rough pillows bellow - they used to be much softer than that - covering himself with Enver's blankets.

"Nemo," he refuses to answer. "Oh, for fuck's sake," the covers are dragged off his head, said head - turned.

Bluish bruises slowly imprint themselves on Enver's neck, prominent even in the dim light of the tent.

He appears to be annoyed.

"I said," the lord repeats. "Good morning."

Nemo contemplates tearing into this throat with bare teeth and chewing his way into the sweet red embrace of it.

"Nemo."

"Morning," he grumbles, unhappy. With this, with them, with the way Enver doesn't even look surprised, doesn't even care he almost died.

Again. He almost died again.

Something in the man's face softens.

"Bad dream?" And it's a cue for Nemo to crawl closer, to plant his face directly into the throat he was just squeezing the life out of, to put his lips to a pulse line and drink in the sound.

"Umgh," he replies unhelpfully. "Father is angry with me."

He can't remember the last time Father was not angry with him.

Enver sighs.

"At least he's still with you."

Nemo bites into the soft flesh slightly and then licks down at the bite.

"I wish he wouldn't," the admittance is so quiet it should be impossible to hear. Enver hears it anyway.

"And what would you do," a soft touch to his temple, nails scratching at the nape of his neck. Nemo feels his body relax at the merest of the contact. "If he'd let you go?"

"Whatever the fuck I want," another half-hearted bite. Enver always tastes divine. It makes Nemo want to tear at his flesh, crawl into his ribcage and stay there, forever as one. "Whoever I want."

"Oh?" His lover chuckles at that. "Have a list of men you want to fuck without killing them?"

No, Nemo thinks. Well, maybe. Not a list, no, but-

"I'd love to wake up someday without my body moving on its accord," he grumbles, tracing a scar down Enver's torso. A long and rigged thing running all the way to his abdomen. One of the earliest marks Nemo has left on him.

"I'm still alive," Gortash reads between the lines.

"You seem to be incredibly unbothered by the way I go for your throat, not even metaphorically speaking," the spawn comments. "Figures you'd be into me failing to kill you."

"You're not failing," Enver's breath burns into his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. "You stray your hand."

"One day I won't."

"Today is not that day."

"You keep saying it every time it happens."

"I am alive every time it happens."

There's blood underneath his nails: it tastes sour.

There's also a row of deep red lines scratched somewhere into Enver's flesh.

Nemo snuggles up closer.

"I hate everything in this world but you," he confesses.

His lordling hums.

"I consider you a rare feat of a person who delights me more than not," he replies.

Nemo laughs.

"Smooth, motherfucker."

Enver gasps, fake-scandalized.

"But dearest, you don't even have a mother for me to fuck."

The spawn giggles like a lovesick girl and closes his eyes.

After a moment he opens his mouth again.

"How is," and how do you say it? How is everything? How are the ruins of your life? How does everyone at the camp treat you?

How does he say what he wants to say without, you know, actually saying it?

"Is Bane still silent?" He resolves on and then mentally kicks himself. Of fucking course Bane is still silent.

But again, so is Gortash.

"Yes," he replies after such suffocating pause Nemo started to wonder who was chocking who. "I...don't think he'll answer."

"I wish Bhaal would shut the fuck up," Nemo blurts and receives a surprised chuckle into his hair.

"Have you tried telling him that?" Even without looking up Nemo knows Gortash is smiling.

"Do you really think father dearest would listen?" He grumbles back. "He just gave me a lecture on how bad of a son I am."

"Aren't we all?" Enver's hands move in soothing circles up and down his lower stomach, inciting a rush of goosebumps and a wave of heat. Nemo catches one of the hands and moves it even lower.

"I'm going to be the absolute nightmare to be in any relation to," he states as Enver's swift fingers start doing their job.

"You're absolute nightmare in any other accord too," his lover murmurs into his ear, bringing out the first breathless sigh out of his lips. "And I don't think I'd want you any other way."

Well, if this is what Enver's into, who is Nemo to deny him?

•••

Karlach glares at the column of Gortash's neck with a scowl so deep it should have been cut directly into her skin, not pulled up by the muscles.

"I didn't do that to myself," Enver comments for some goddamn reason, making the entire situation more awkward than it already was.

The wizard chokes on air.

"Yeah, we didn't really think you did," former sharran comments, eyes darting to where Nemo is seated, stoically ignoring any inquiring gazes straying his way. "That would be anatomically impossible."

"You never know," the lord feels the need to argue. "I am man of many talents."

The vampire spawn snorts.

"Something tells me this is the product of someone else's talents," he comments.

Young Ravengard clears his throat.

"I have questions," he admits.

Enver seizes him with a stare.

"And do you want to hear the answers?"

"Not...really, no."

"Good. It seems we are on the same page then."

"I hate this fucking family," Karlach murmurs.

"Darling," the vampire starts. "I am touched! But also this one is more dysfunctional than the family I left behind, and those were the vampire spawns."

"My father is the God of Murder," Nemo comments from the distance. "How about that for dysfunctional?"

"And aren't you a walking red flag, my dear."

"Hey, excuse me, I'm the nicest murder incarnate you'd ever meet-"

This entire group of losers, Gortash decides. Is a freak show.

It might be just worthwhile enough to stick around.

#durgetash #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge: nemo #empty prayers au #the first is clotilda #bhaal sees nemo's children in numbers and nemo watches the dream through his father's gaze #nemo is sulking bc he almost killed Gortash again meanwhile gortash is like: oh just another day in the live of bhaalspawn's lover.#the sheer confidence that one has what nemo will always stray his hand is. uh. enver dear. this is not sane. or safe #it indeed is consentual

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7grandmel · 2 months

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Todays rip: 18/02/2024

Mad Mew Mew Becoming Uncanny

Season 6 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume DQ

Ripped by The Green Spy

youtube

Requested by xinos! (Discord)

LORD, where to even begin with this one? I mean, a lot of times when I cover well-known rips on this blog, ones that continue to get references and tributes made within the channel itself, its typically rips from early on in the channel's life. Mii Favorite Things, Ripping Video Game Music......At Night, THE NEW TEAM 10 FORT!!! [Francis Flow: Original Mix] - all of these play part in or started a sort of ecosystem of paying forward respect to rips from the channels past, with these examples being from Season 1, 2 and 3 respectively. Yet seemingly through its sheer quality and variety alone, Mad Mew Mew Becoming Uncanny has become a modern classic on the channel despite being barely a year old, referenced in several rips since and with two direct tributes made during Season 7. How the hell did this happen??

I was thinking of this rip a fair bit whilst I was writing the post on Corridors of Vine, wherein I tossed around some thoughts on just how memes grow and evolve overtime. A lot of memes have a very linear and predictable lifespan correlating to just how overexposed internet users get to them, how long it takes before the joke stops being funny from derivative edits and low-effort uses. Yet we're currently in an internet age where far more platforms with unique features and cultures are all in mainstream circulation at the same time, each one finding new bizarre ways to pump extended life into memes as they would've otherwise fallen out of style. TikTok Duets and stitches, the captioned GIFs on iFunny as saved and spread like wildfire through Discord's GIF keyboard, Twitter's quote retweeting, Redditors' thirst for upvotes making them an easy target for all of the above platforms, and of course YouTube channels like SiIvaGunner itself constantly finding new and surprising ways to edit memes in hope of ending up in users' recommended feeds. And when one of these platforms finds a new way to twist a meme, the rest are soon to follow in its footsteps.

What I'm saying is - tracing the growth of memes made in recent times is an immensely interesting experience for just how many hoops they seem to jump through. A meme like "Super Idol" was one I'd never heard of until it started appearing on SiIvaGunner, because the joke itself is so baked into the culture of TikTok: A clip of a pop song cover with an eye-catching beginning and photogenic singer, with an addictive melodic hook and a silly "twist" of an ending. This one little section of the current internet grew its own meme, raised it through the unique features and community of TikTok itself, and soon enough it was everywhere for just a short while. There's a similarly interesting story to follow with Mr Incredible Becoming Uncanny: an innocuous showcase of AI technology on Twitter grew to be adopted into the most rote-basic "thing good/thing bad" meme template possible, before finding new life on TikTok with a seemingly endless pool of new degrees of Canniness added to the original Twitter joke. By now, its as if we're in the 9th layer of irony with these edits (SiIva itself has a YouTube Short that showcases just how deep in the sauce we are) and I genuinely cannot get enough of it.

Those are just two examples of how bizarrely memes seem to be growing and evolving these days, yet even without that explanation of it all I think it's something a lot of us have sort of become...subconsciously aware of. In my eyes, it's that knowledge, the experience of having seen these memes come and go in popularity in so many different ways, that makes Mad Mew Mew Becoming Uncanny such a delight to experience. The two Frankenstein-ian memes I used as examples here, juxtaposed with the enduring icon of meme culture in Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up, effectively assault your senses in a YTPMV made out of pure gold. That is, of course, to be expected from The Green Spy - a ripper who seems content in remaining anonymous yet has been putting out some of the densest YTPMVs I've ever seen on the channel as of late, such as (YTPMV) Bob-Omb Battlesources.

The quality of the original Mad Mew Mew certainly help the rip stick with you, yet its really the sheer pace and silliness of the visuals that make the rip unforgettable. Uncanny Mr Incredible practically bursting into the rip out of nowhere five seconds in, the edit of Tian Yiming himself being made uncanny at the end of his section, we in the audience being called out for our canniness, the tenth layer of irony being applied with an Uncanny meme being applied to the very jokes used by the SiIvaGunner team themselves, and even a brief segment paying tribute to VTuber Ina'nis Ninomae...whose birthday this rip was apparently part of as a larger event?

It's a whole bunch of sources, a concoction of shitposting from times of old and new, intent both ironic and genuine - an experience that's as memorable and catchy as it is deeply hilarious to watch. It may be due to my lack of knowledge with VTubers in general, but I hardly remembered this rip as being part of Ina'nis Ninomae's birthday, it alone stood so tall as to eclipse the event itself in legacy. Visuals, jokes, energy, quality, and catchiness - Mad Mew Mew Becoming Uncanny was the perfect storm to leave an unmistakable impression on the channel. The 100K viewcount appears relatively modest when compared to other hits on the channel, and yet, it feels as if every SiIvaGunner fan of today *has* to have heard of this rip; or if nothing else, heard it referenced someplace else. The Green Spy demonstrates time and time again the power that high quality YTPMV holds, and struck absolute gold with Mad Mew Mew Becoming Uncanny, a mess of noise that...still somehow manages to spark so many thoughts out of me.

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theszarrpalace · 3 months

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The Offering

Summary: The Goblin camp is a busy place, buzzing with action and chatter around every corner, thus it is of utmost importance to Abdirak, appointed Pain of Loviatar, to get some time to himself and worship the Maiden of Pain properly.

Word Count: - 1.7k

Content Warnings: Graphic Loviatar Worship :^), Abdirak Basically Having A BDSM Session With Himself, Some Additional Titles For Loviatar Aside From The Forgotten Realms Wiki, Self-Mutilation (Knife-Play, If You Will), Male Masturbation, Blood Used As Lube, Blood Being Licked Up, Bodily Fluids Mixing

A/N: I assumed that Abdirak would technically be a “Pain” of Loviatar because that’s the title travelling worshipers, who spread the word, get according to the Forgotten Realms Wiki.

- This fic was written as a Secret Santa gift -

A soft wave of elation ebbed through Abdirak's shoulders and spread up to the nape of his neck as he eased the heavy leather piece off his upper torso. The quickly settling in comfort culminated in a relieved exhale that slipped past his lips.

“Such a marvelous piece of work.”, He admired the layered spikes of black leather that were tailored just the right way to perfectly hug his shoulders in a tight embrace, “So smooth and elegant from the outside and yet unforgiving to the wearer.”

Tilting his head from one side to the other, Abdirak noticed just how sore his muscles felt. He didn't even have to check it in a mirror to know that the now exposed skin would be painted in bruises and pressure points alike. A picture, drawn in the colors of his endless devotion to the Patroness of Torturers.

Curious fingertips wandered over his chest to his collarbones, scouting his skin in the need to not just assume but also to feel which he did quickly. A peculiar, sharp pang of hastily spreading pain shot along his throat and through his shoulders as Abdirak applied gentle pressure to the brutalized skin.

“There, there…” He hummed to himself, appreciating the hurt emitting from his neck. Hurt that all too quickly turned into a well-familiar, almost sugary-sweet sensation of pleasure that worked its way down through his lower abdomen until it caused a stir, a quick twitch of muscles beneath Abdirak’s robe and for a moment the Pain of Loviatar pondered, held his breath until a decision was made.

An intrigued sight rolled over the man's tongue as he turned to glance at the door giving entrance to his chamber to make sure that he was alone and uninterrupted before almost nervously shuffling around to place the neckpiece on a small wooden box close to his bedroll. Abdirak nearly stumbled over himself in his want to get everything done and ready at the exact same time, however, he had to accept that it would just end in nothing but noisy, attention-evoking chaos if he tried to put the neckpiece down whilst fumbling to step out of the bottom half of his robe whereas he was simultaneously trying to pull his trusted knife out its sheath dangling from his belt that was already sliding halfway down the curve of his behind.

Instead, he reminded, lightly taunted himself to keep his composure throughout the rising excitement that made his fingers twitch as he eased himself out of the remaining fabric until he stood bare and vulnerable; exactly how he wanted to present himself to his Maiden of Pain. The cold night air caused a quick wash of goosebumps to erupt all over his body but it settled down just as fast again as Abdirak pulled his knife from the belt of his robe, closing his fingers around the handle and cradling it in his palm, admiring it in the somber light emitting from scarcely placed candles.

Pressure points and bruises came as a pretty but small tribute to his Mistress and Abdirak felt that tonight called for something more, something more meaningful and intentional than an array of blacks, blues and purples scattered along his shoulders. In devout silence, the Pain of Loviatar lowered himself down to his knees, the unwelcoming, cold stone tiles right next to his bedroll providing not a single ounce of comfort, just as he needed them to. Abdirak had to start it out right, wouldn’t accept anything below perfection from himself in the spotlight of praising his Goddess with all he had to offer.

He felt like it was time to show his Mistress Loviatar how much he adored and treasured her by proving, displaying how willing he was to endure the pain she fed from for as long as he could.

“Pain without purpose is a terrible thing.” The white-haired worshiper said out loud. It was one of her teachings and a belief Abdirakt stood by to his very core. The pain administered and the pain given had to serve a purpose or it came as nil and void, without any value.

“But this I give to you, oh Willing Whip, oh Maiden of Pain, in nothing but endless worship.” The gathered excitement buzzed and bubbled in his stomach as Abdirak lowered the edge of his uncovered blade to his right thigh. The tip of the knife broke through the first layers of skin slowly whilst the man holding it applied careful yet firm pressure.

Deep red started pooling around the silvery blade, indicating that the steel was in deep enough for Abdirak to administer a proper cut with a swift jerk of his hand.

Before the sharp bite of pain shot from the freshly opened cut a brief moment of nothing but a cold, almost icy sensation emitted from the vandalized skin that Abdirak had his half-lidded gaze trained on. Admiration and pride made his heart swell as he watched blood ooze from the disrupted flesh before the hurt eventually caught up to him. For a moment, he inhaled sharply, steadying himself because he was far from being done here just now.

“So beautiful, isn’t it, Mistress?” He whispered into the empty chamber, placing the sharp blade below the first cut after the initial fresh surge of pain had ebbed down to a steady pulse that hammered away like a trusty metronome.

“So pretty and elegant.” Completely enamored by his own craft, Abdirak administered a second, slightly longer laceration to his thigh. This one slightly challenged him as it doubled down into the already existing river of pain flowing through his body. The hurt splurging from it alongside the gush of warm blood pained him more than the first one, however, it brought him even greater rushes elation just as well. Sensations of scathing hurt turned into a twisted, wicked form of pleasure that vibrated through his every nerve ending, gradually setting his entire body ablaze and causing his mind to be rendered comfortably empty and dull. In those utmost holy of moments there was nothing besides the cleansing pain; catharsis through devoted suffering and the promise of greater pleasures shining on the torment-hazed horizon.

This sacred state of being was his refuge, his solace and the haven to return to on days where everything went wrong just as on days of utter delight and glee alike. Pain and pleasure walking hand in hand, consuming Abdirak in a way he ached for ever since the very first time the Maiden of Pain had shown them to him, graced him with this godly gift that never ceased to give.

“My Patroness, my Lady, I beg unto you to revel in me bleeding for you, to accept this gift I so humbly offer to you.” Abdirak’s voice turned a little sore as he discarded the blade to the side and occupied his now empty hand by softly caressing the incisions, fingertips searching out the blood leaking down the curves of his thigh.

They followed the thin cascades of red downwards, gathering some of it afore he brought his hand up to his lips.

“Such a treat!” He commented joyfully with a smile playing around his mouth before lapping at it with his tongue darting out. The dull metallic taste spread all over his tongue in an instant, fueling his desires to end this night with more than the well-familiar thumbing of pain throughout his body.

“I’m so desperate to offer more to you, my Goddess.” Abdirak exhaled after letting his now clean fingers slip from his mouth. The worshiper's eyes fell down to his crotch. Ever since the first touch to his neck, Abdirak had felt his cock swelling and twitching in flourishing excitement. By now, the almost purple tip was leaking droplets of pre-cum already whilst his whole length was throbbing against his lower abdomen; waiting to be touched and caressed.

With a low moan rolling over his tongue, Abdirak palmed himself, his eyes trained on how he slowly pulled back the foreskin before allowing himself to gently fist himself in careful motions, down and up in slow gestures of his hand moving along his shaft.

“Great hells, feels so good…” He uttered to himself whilst lazily jerking his cock. The sensation itself was almost perfect already, but Abdirak knew that there’d be more to it. Thus he reached down to his still oozing thigh, the blood trickling into his palm. He gathered a certain amount before he placed his hand back around his cock, now stroking it with more fevor, the fresh blood offering a very distinct kind of tacky yet fluid sort of lubrication.

The Pain of Loviatar tried his best to edge the swiftly approaching orgasm, but eventually couldn't hold himself back.

Abdirak felt his cock going rigid once more, balls tightening up against the shaft, the friction of his palm sending him over the edge at last as white-hot ropes of his release spilled over his thighs, some of them splattering into the fresh incisions, blood mixing with his cum. The instantly following burn made him groan as he fought the urge to double over and wipe himself out of the laceration, He mustn’t, only one last thing to endure, the perfect offering happening on accident.

Biting his lower lip, Abdirak waited for the sharp burn to ease, his fingers still wrapped around his slowly softening cock and with furrowed brows, he pushed through until the hurt had winded down to a mere hum of discomfort. With reddened knees, he straightened himself back up from the stone tiles, the administered cuts waiting to be cleaned properly so as to not risk any unnecessary issues regarding the following healing process.

The goblins might be messy and dirty but Abdirak for sure was not.

#abdirak #abdirak smut #loviatar #loviatar worship #baldur's gate 3

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