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occamstfs · 1 month

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Terracotta Turmoil

Another muscle growth racial TF! I went with phonetic Chinese rather than using Chinese characters as it feels hotter to me to be able to read the phonetics! Hope y'all enjoy! -Occam

Chase was beyond excited for the opportunity that his museum has recently secured. It didn’t seem possible, and perhaps the provenance isn’t exactly strictly clear or legal, but some donors have ensured that an exhibition is soon to begin. Before that though Chase simply had to sneak a look and wandered into the exhibit’s worksite to closely observe the artifact.

Upon seeing it Chase is less than impressed with the artistry and history of the object instead thinking of what a score they have wrung from whatever schmuck had it. Chase begins counting dollar signs in his head as he approaches the statue, getting close enough to touch it when he sees a flash in the statue’s lifeless eyes. Keeping his mind ever focused on financial gain his eyes race to meet those of the terracotta statue in front of him where he finds naught but the cold rage-filled gaze of a warrior.

He rolls his eyes and begins to step away to plan the promotions for the exhibit when suddenly he hears a voice in his head, in a language he cannot understand, “Rúguǒ nǐ yào bǎ nǐ de yìzhì qiángjiā gěi wǒ. Ránhòu wǒ huì bǎ wǒ de qiángjiā gěi nǐ” (If you shall impose thine will upon me. Then I shall force mine upon you.)

Chase suddenly scans the room for whatever coworker must be pranking him, though he is sure that none of them know Chinese anywhere near the fluency of his voice. His eyes flicker to the door as it slowly creaks closed with a click, the lock turning by itself. Chase turns with a suspicious look to the statue. His concentration flickers as he once again sees a glint in the statue’s impenetrable eyes. Chase is not a superstitious type but something unnatural was occurring and he wasn’t to be caught on the back foot.

He is mousy and short but tries to stand tall and puff his chest up at the statue as he starts to engage, “Your, uh yìzhì?”(Will?) Wh-” Despite his meager attempt at bravado he immediately falls back in shock finding himself speaking in a tongue that he never even had a passing desire to know. He stumbles back away from the statue, still facing it. The lights dim in the room and the glitter of the statue’s eyes begin to glow outright, “Wǒ bù xǐhuān shǐyòng nǐ de shēntǐ, nǐ zhège chètóuchèwěi de shǎguā. Dàn nǐ jiāng chéngwéi wǒ líkāi zhèlǐ de ménpiào." (I take no delight in using your body, you utter fool. But you will be my ticket out of here.)

Chase is compelled to make eye-contact with the merciless eyes as they burn a hole into his mind. He is immediately beyond confused and dizzy, no longer sure of anything in the world besides the fact that his condition is only to rapidly deteriorate even further. He feels himself lose control of his mouth as drool begins to pool within it. Little loss though as he is rapidly losing the ability to form any thoughts in English anyway.

He falls to his hands and knees, mouth agape as he spits up onto the floor. The floor shines like a mirror reflecting the light above as a spotlight onto him and making evident the sinister shine of the statue’s eyes as they continue to burn. He stares at his hands clenched on the floor struggling to latch his mind on any thought that remains. As he struggles suddenly a thought appears through the fog as if it were the most evident thing in the world, Diāoxiàng bù shǔyú zhèlǐ (The statue doesn’t belong here.)

Chase isn’t even taken aback as his mind starts to return, now using a language he’s never learned. If his thoughts are all in Chinese there is no conceivable explanation beyond that it is the language that he was raised in, but he was gweilo(western) no? He brings his eyes to look at his reflection in the recently waxed floor to see something immediately jarring. His mouth is still ajar, still slightly leaking drool, but his reflection looking back at him has an unmistakable scowl and smirk.

He recoils, though staying on the ground, as he notices that his short messy hair is starting to grow and straighten. His sandy blonde locks swiftly begin to darken as they lengthen into something far more fashionable. He feels his face respond to the unconscious worry in his mind at seeing his appearance change. In response his reflection bares its teeth as the scowl becomes crueler, the eyes beginning to glow just as the statue’s did.

He forces his eyes shut to avoid them being penetrated by the burning gaze once more. He is no longer able to open them as he feels his eyelids throb and tighten. Chase grunts and clenches his teeth as pain surges through his face before he forces his eyes back open and is once more greeted with unfamiliarity in his reflection. Impossible to miss were the epicanthic folds that now hang over his blue eyes. He continues to stare at them, seeing his skin begin to pale and smooth as his hair turns black to the roots and his eyes begin to darken, slowly turning brown.

Chase stares at his own irises as they almost move beyond brown to instead be as pitch black as his hair. At the same time a laugh that Chase still recognizes as his own rings through the exhibition hall, though each echo as it returns back to his ears is deeper than the one that came before. He clutches at his hóujié (adam’s apple) feeling it throb larger into his hand. He gasps sharply, feeling more air rush into his lungs as he takes a breath deeper and more labored than ever before.

Now with only one hand keeping him from falling to the ground Chase watches as the eyes of his reflection glow with a rage centuries old, challenging him to not fall on his face as he feels the force of gravity upon him ever-more difficult to ignore. Just before totally collapsing he wrenches his hand from his neck to catch his fall. Struggling against the weight of his body as it feels heavier by the moment, Chase feels his arms begin to strain the sleeves of his dress shirt. Sweat drips from his hair to stain his reflection as his biceps force themselves larger than his shirt could possibly hold.

Drawing off all the remaining will, or yìzhì rather, he has to resist. He pushes himself higher from the ground rising further than his arms should be able to push him. His biceps burst with power as they grow to the size of a lesser man’s thighs. Sweat drips down his massive arms trailing from thin but present black hair now filling his pits. Chase looks towards his chest and no wonder his breaths were suddenly nigh-impossible, the buttons had already burst from his dress shirt as pecs had forced themselves from his chest and below them abs defined as those you see on only the most prodigious bodybuilders.

Chase smirks to himself seeing how he has grown. He knew he simply could not let himself fall, his people were zhànshì (warriors) after all. His proud smirk is now truly mirroring his smug reflection. Chase flexes every muscle he can in his more powerful body, feeling the strain of his strength as he tests the limit of each newly formed muscle group. His whole body convulses in pleasure as he becomes acquainted with the power now within him. He feels his hitherto ignored cock grow firm as he feels nothing but pride for his body and his homeland.

He pushes himself fully off the ground to land on his ass as it too grows to break past the limit of his pants. No longer looking at his reflection Chase feels his thighs tear through his jeans and his feet grow large enough to make finding any replacement shoes impossible. His briefs struggle to hold his still growing erection as he continues to bask in his body and power as he finds himself once more sitting in front of the terracotta soldier.

Rather than seeing it as the financial boon that he intended to when he walked in. Chase now sees it as a testament to the artistry and history that his home country deserves. He feels a fire burn in his chest as rage begins to fill him at seeing such an extraordinary artifact of his culture being subjected to this tourist trap of a museum. His eyes twitch as the last attachments to his old life fade beyond even his subconscious as he remembers the life and history of his real identity.

Chen was not going to sit around and let this relic of Chinese opulence and power be disgraced by this sorry show. He looks down towards his reflection one last time and sees his face now perfectly mirrors the proud smirk that it has displayed since he first saw it. Chen laughs the same laugh he has always known, one deep and slow, as he stands to prepare his repatriation of this terracotta soldier. First things first though, he’ll need a few new friendly faces, a few new countrymen. He makes for the door whispering to himself as he feels his cock surge in his pants, “Dàodǐ shéi lái zǔzhǐ wǒ” (After all, who is going to stop me.)

#male tf #mental change #racial change #muscle tf #race change

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earthtooz · 11 months

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sfw/suggestive, tooth-rotting fluff, gn!reader x lovesick!jing yuan, dialogue heavy, two idiots in love.

jing yuan is in the gardens again.

as magnificent the sight of your beloved basking in the luofu sun is, you can’t help the tinge of jealousy that tugs at your heartstrings, for he is spending too much time with the birds again.

of course, it feels redundant to be jealous over birds, but, your lover is a busy man and you sometimes wonder if the birds adore him more.

the fight for his time and attention feels like a losing battle.

as if sensing your stare and presence, the white-haired general turns around so that his back is no longer towards you. on his hand, shoulders, and head are several perched birds who have sensed him, and like magnets, flocked to his company.

“beloved,” he greets with a beautiful smile, setting the bird on his hand on his shoulder before he stalks gracefully towards you. before you can say anything, jing yuan cups your face in his hands and raises it, causing you to look straight into his inquisitive golden eyes. “you’re pouting. what’s the matter?”

you feel your heart expand at the concern of your fiancé, but you brush him off gently and jing yuan tilts his head to the side in confusion. “nothing’s the matter,” you say.

“dear, is everything okay?” he asks once more.

you cross your arms, partly as a response to his question and majorly because you need to stand your ground against him. but how on xianzhou are you supposed to stand your ground when the man in front of you is the arbiter-general, jing yuan?

he is also so beautiful, you might cry.

as your partner looks at you with his golden gaze of concern and attentiveness, your facade melts away, leaving behind someone so helplessly in love.

“you are spending far too much time with the birds again,” you mutter through a sigh, unable to stop embarrassment from creeping into your head from the admission.

jing yuan laughs. the sound is hearty and like velvet to your ears.

you wonder when your heart will stop skipping a beat around him. after all this time together, he still makes you feel young.

“i can not believe you are laughing!” you huff, the growing smile on your face betraying you.

“i apologise. i just- i thought you were upset over a serious matter.”

you feign a gasp, hand flying to your chest. “how utterly dismissive of you, general. i shall be on my way now then seeing-”

he pulls you into him in one, swift movement, the birds previously perched on him flocking to the trees as a result of the sudden force.

“i beg of you, please do not go,” the general asks smoothly and lowly, “i missed you.”

“you saw me at dawn and kept me until after the starting hour of my schedule.”

“that was far too long ago, and you did not accompany me for a game of starchess and tea at noon. what was the matter?”

you freely wrap your arms around his neck, fulfilling his waiting need for your grounding embrace that squeezes motivation and life back into him. “a few meetings ran over time with the officials. i apologise, i received all of your impatient messages only afterwards.”

he frowns. “i cannot fault you then. duty waits for no one.”

“correct, and especially not you, general,” you scold and jing yuan merely looks at you with innocently curious eyes, a smirk beginning to dance along his lips. “i drop by your work quarters expecting to see you busy and yet, i find you busy frolicking with the birds, have you no agency?”

your words, although harsh, do not match the airiness and teasing of your tone. jing yuan always finds himself enthralled at the banter you sustain with him, unable to resist joining the dance every time.

“why? would you prefer me to ‘frolick’ with you?” he asks, completely demure as he drawls out the words in his trademark lazy tone.

you push him away, retreating as if he was a lick of fire that had burned you. he chases after you regardless, laughing loudly as you walk away and back inside his office.

“please save any inappropriate discussions when we are off work, general,” you lecture playfully, jing yuan’s footsteps heavy behind you.

“i apologise for my remark, please, my love, do not leave,” he requests, mirth laced in his voice.

his hand catches your wrist and you turn around to face him, only for the two of you to end up in a fit of laughter, and it feels too right- too easy that he is the man you are in love with. when the two of you have calmed, the white-haired raises your hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss on the back whilst maintaining eye contact and this feels suspiciously like forever.

“i missed you,” he says.

“so you have told me,” you say.

“i ask you work in my office for the rest of the day.”

“you will not allow me to get any work done.”

he intertwines your hand with his, “i will behave. i promise.”

“alarming that you need to promise me that.”

“my word means a lot. i am merely adding emphasis, darling.”

“i refuse. i shall see you at dusk.”

“but that is too long away.”

“you have lived for centuries. what is two hours?” you ask.

“torture when it is without you, my love.”

your heart beats wildly. “you will survive,” you mutter, feigning indifference to your lover’s dramatics.

“yes, but, you will lose me to the birds again.”

“am i that replaceable?” you question. as if on queue, a feathered creature emerges from jing yuan’s hair, chirping happily at the mention of its name. you sigh, not having it in you to be upset when the sparrow jumps to your shoulder instead.

jing yuan waves his hand in front of the bird gently, commanding for it to leave, and it does, flying out of the open windows and into the garden of his quarters.

“i confess to my mistake,” mutters the cloud knight who traces a thumb along your jaw affectionately, “nothing in the universe could compare to you.”

you smile, leaning in to his touch. “i’m glad.”

with that, you seal your lips against his in a fleeting kiss, one that steals his breath and fills him with endless bouts of love and adoration. jing yuan doesn’t have enough time to respond before you’re pulling away, taking a piece of his heart with you.

“that was not fair,” he murmurs, leaning in for a longer taste of heaven; something you don’t grant him, stepping aside to avoid his touch.

“later. when you have completed your duties.”

the furrow of his nose tells you that he’s discontent with your demand. "if you are going to hinder me from seeing you for the next few hours, then can i not have a kiss in compensation?"

"no. all compensation will be given after hours."

"all compensation? after hours?" the white-haired parrots.

you turn on your heel to leave. he chases after you.

#MID TBH.#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #jing yuan x reader fluff #jing yuan x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

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kingtomura · 4 months

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Good Girl

Summary: It’s not your fault that your boyfriend was hard for people to warm up to. God, your parents are so lame. But so were you. So you did what anyone else with strict parents would, and you cut him off.

Bad idea.

Word count: 4k

part two is here!

Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, explicit content, kinda quiet sex, cunnilingus, praise, slight humiliation, unprotected sex, strict parents, toxic relationship with parents, AU - no quirks, no use of y/n, gets a little mushy at the end im sorry

You would rather be anywhere else but here. You would pay to be anywhere else but right here, right now being scolded like some teenager who had been caught sneaking out after curfew. But you were here and you weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

“He’s just not good for you,” your father’s voice stressed. It dragged on, pulling you from your drifting thoughts. “You have so much ahead of you and we even agreed to this gap year so that you could figure out what you wanted to do, not so you could run around with some delinquent boy with no future–”

“He‘s not a delinquent,” You cut off, “you’re judging him without even giving him a chance.”

Your father sighs, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, but knowing you inherited his stubbornness has never detoured him from taking your objections head on. He’s been on this earth longer than you, butting heads with others longer than you have. “Well, whatever he is, he’s not allowed to see you again. That’s final.” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. False air of nonchalance sending fury through your veins.

There would be no more arguing and you knew it. You desperately look to your mother, who is in her usual stance of resignation and uselessness when it comes to his word. If she saw things your way, she would never say. And even if she agreed with you, there would be no change. It has always been your father’s way or no way.

“I’m an adult, you can't tell me who I can and can’t see.” you try once more, not ready to end things here. It’s suffocating.

He scoffs, bringing a hand up to count his fingers, “You live under our roof, you eat our food, you drive our car, you give me attitude when I agree to give you time to figure out your life when you decided to leave university after two semesters,” his voice is rising and you begin to feel your eyes burn with the threat of tears, your chest tightening as its harder to catch a breath. You can’t cry here, it would only make things worse. “I don’t think it matters how old you are. I am done with this conversation. End things with him now or you won't have a pot to piss in by the end of the day.”

This cannot be happening. You're still sat on the plush sofa of the living room as your father stalks off with your mother in tow. The latter only glancing back with an empty look of pity as you stare at where your father had just been. Words burned into your mind while hot tears finally break and run down your cheeks. This is really happening.

And Tomura was going to be upset.

In a perfect world you could meet up with him tonight, talk it over, or even run away together and leave all this behind, but you know better. You know the two of you haven’t dated long enough to warrant running away together, but it still crosses your mind. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it's painful to think you never will again. Tomura just made you feel so.. Alive. There was so much to him and his witty dry humor that keeps pulling you in.

He’s cynical, he’s moody and sometimes he’s mean but god he could be so soft. Touch you in ways that felt like he reached your soul. Quiet nights where you would stay at his house and watch him play video games would turn into late night sessions of making love until the twilight of dawn peeked through the dark curtains of his room. There was no way you could let him go. But you had to. You had to. Your father had given you no other choice. So you take the coward’s way out.

You text him.

You send him a short text that would send you to the bathroom dry heaving, but you didn’t know what else to do. What more could you say other than your father had snapped at you and you both could no longer be together. It would hurt so much more facing him head on. You knew that if you had to speak to him face to face that you would crack, probably throw out your silly idea of running away together and then face the awkward rejection. This was all you could manage. You felt awful for it, finally forcing yourself off of the floor and dragging your feet to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

It had been hours and there was no response from Tomura. You couldn't blame him. What could anyone say to a break up text? You hollowly hoped he would fight for you. Even a little. But the flat Read 14:57 showed you otherwise. This had now become a heartbreak you werent quite expecting. You couldn’t help but second guess every interaction you had with him before. If maybe you read into things a little too deeply. If maybe, some smaller, quieter part of you dreaded your father was right.

There was no use of dwelling on that now. No point in running through what you would never know. So, you sighed, and finished up in the bathroom. Slipping on your silk sleeping gown that stopped above your knees and adjusted the small straps on your shoulder. You had cried for hours after your argument – if you could even call it that– with your father was over and your face ached. The bags under your eyes showing the worse for wear state you had found yourself in. it would be okay, you told yourself. You just have to sleep it off.

And that was your plan and you slid into your welcoming bed, soft comforter embracing you and your worn feelings. You feel more tears begin to sting behind your eyelids before there's a sudden tap at your window.

A trick of the wind, you decide and return to your somber thoughts.

You would have to move on eventually, but tonight? He was the only thing on your mind. His eyes, his hair, the way he would feign annoyance when you were overly touchy, craving closer contact. He always indulged you. Always gave you more, you knew he liked it as much as you did. You were lovesick.

Tap.

There was that noise again. Louder than before as if someone had thrown a rock right at your window. The room was still and quiet so you knew it hadn’t been your imagination.

Jumping to your feet and shuffling towards the window in question you brushed your curtains to the side to see the possible culprit. And when you do, your heart drops and instant regret fills you. Stomach aching as you take in the sight before you.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki and he is pissed.

Tomura, your Tomura leering up at you with another rock resting in his hand, bigger and ready to be tossed at your window if the last attempt didn’t work.

You look around, knowing no one is in your bedroom but yourself and the moonlight, then go to open your window, ducking your head out to get a better look at him. There he was, black hoodie oversized and so soft, red eyes burning in anger but you aren't scared. You’re relieved, it's him. He's here to see you, mouth turned down in a scowl and fists clenched in fury but he was here.

You couldn’t stop your hushed whisper, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.” Was his only reply before he dropped the rock and walked towards your window. It wasn’t terribly high up, but higher than he could reach without a bit of help from you.

Now that he was closer you could see the anger in his posture much more clearly. All tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. It was enough to make your stomach turn. You couldn't help but worry your bottom lip as he pulled out his phone and took a step closer.

“Really? Over a fucking text message?” He hissed, rasp in his voice, uncaring of the time of night or who could hear.

“Tomura, shh, please–” you tried, hands coming up to placate him, if only a little. Your father would have your head if he heard another man in his home, let alone Tomura Shigaraki.

He huffed a sarcastic laugh, disbelief taking over his features, but he obliged, “I don’t care what your father told you. He can’t control who you talk to.”

You shake your head, the all too familiar sting of tears in your eyes threatening to fall, “I know. I told him that, but he threatened to kick me out, to cut me off. I’m sorry Tomura, but I can't.”

“He can't do that.”

You nod, knowing all too well that your father would go through with his threat. “He can. Technically. I'm an adult, so it’s his choice.” The tears fall now, seeing the rage dissipate from Tomura, slight drop of his shoulders showing disbelief and disappointment. It's too much. This is why you didn’t want to see him, couldn’t face him. “I'm so sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold in the sobs threatening to wrack your body and possibly wake your parents up. This could not have ended worse. “I don't want it to be this way.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were such a good girl.”

Your breath hitches, caught off guard, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I didn't know you did everything daddy says. What a good girl you are.” The tone is one you’re familiar with. Condescending. Challenging. He’s testing you.

Your cheeks flushed. What could you say? That you’re not a good girl, actually. Then what would that make you? A bad girl? You would walk right into his trap. He’s watching, waiting for a response. Something to make you slip up.

You don't have the chance to respond before he’s taking a step forward, lifting your chin with a finger so that you could look him in the eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room those crimson eyes looked into your own. Like he was delving deeper, looking for the response that you can't seem to give him. Nothing else matters in this moment. It’s just him and you and the pale moonlight dancing between you. The air is tense and unmoving, like the smallest noise, the faintest blow of wind would ruin this moment.

You couldn’t take it, couldn’t wait another minute before your body moved, leaning forwards onto the tips of your toes to give you more leverage as your lips pressed to his. His lips were still cold and dry from the cool air outside but that didn’t matter. Nothing matters more than knowing you needed more of him and you needed it now. Tomura’s hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and the kiss deeper. Taking all of you in as his other hand gripped your waist.

Your hands wasted no time burying into his hoodie – so soft and worn– the faint smell of citrus and cedar being a comfort as the intoxicating kiss deepened. Tomura wasted no time, slick tongue entering your mouth, hungry, like it was the last time you would have him this way. It was too much. It was not enough. You broke the kiss, a string of saliva following the short distance you put in between. Air seemed sparse, like you couldn't get enough and Tomura spoke before you could.

“Get on the bed.”

And you did, newfound vigor in your step as you eagerly did as what you were told. Energy ebbing through your veins as excitement overtook your previous anxiety. Tomura was a mere step behind, discarding his hoodie without care and joining you on the bed, caging you beneath him as he dove back in for another kiss, wet and warm, before trailing lower. Open mouthed kisses to your jaw, then neck, his hands, rough and warm gripping your thighs, taking in all he can. After leaving a particularly hard bite on your neck, Tomura lifted your gown up, smooth silk gliding with ease above your ass and resting below your breast. It was only natural for your legs to spread for him, cool air on your bare cunt making you shiver.

“Oh?” An amused huff from the man above you makes your cheeks heat further than before. He’s seen you like this many times before, but he’s always had a way of making you feel shy. “No panties, huh?”

You push past your embarrassment. “You know i dont wear them to b– ah!” you're cut off by the feeling of his finger sliding between your folds, slick making it glide, and rubbing over your clit. The surprise of the motion makes you press your thighs closer together. Tomura grins above you, before bringing his wet finger to his mouth, a mocking shh following the motion, tongue flicking out and licking the digit as his other hand pushed your legs apart again.

He bends down, bulge in his sweatpants pressing against your bare cunt. He’s so hard and that thought only makes you wetter. Tomura’s nose brushes yours, your eyelids fluttering shut as he dives to kiss you again. All open mouthed and wet. You could taste yourself on his tongue as well as feel the pressure of his clothed erection grind against you, rubbing against your bundle of nerves. You are sure your slick is dampening his sweatpants but Tomura doesn’t care. He’s grinding you into the mattress and you’re so close to begging him to get on with it you want to scream. But almost like he’s read your mind, he pulls away.

The kisses he places along your body set your nerves on fire, anticipation eating away at your patience as he takes his time. Once he’s reached his destination, right between your thighs, he places one wet kiss onto the plush of your inner right thigh. Another teasing move. Another way to make you squirm in excitement. He looks up at you, ruby eyes gleaming in the moonlight of the room.

“Be quiet for me, yeah?”

Tomura huffs a laugh at your eager nod, grin growing wider. So quick to please. Dedicated. “Good girl.”

The praise makes you falter for a second, embarrassment threatening to make its way to the surface once more. There was no time for it now, Tomura enjoyed catching you off guard. Loved surprises. He wastes no more time, tongue licking a wet strip between your lips. The action causing you to moan louder than you intended. Your hand rushes to cover your mouth. If you were to be caught in this predicament by either of your parents it would be horrendous for the both of you.

This doesn’t stop Tomura, though. If anything you were starting to think it encouraged him, because his relentless pace on your cunt was driving you wild. His long stripes simmered into just the tip of his tongue flicking your clit and sending jolts of pleasure roaring through you. You were already close, pleasure and pressure building and building until you were so close to tipping over–

Knock knock.

“Hey sweetie. I know it's late, I just wanted to talk for a second.”

It was your mom. Holy shit it was your mom and there's a boy in your bed with his head buried between your legs and holy shit. If she opened the door, if she barged into your room in the familiar way she always had a bad habit of doing, you would be done for. With wide eyes and accelerated breaths, you clamped down harder over your mouth with both hands. Even Tomura stopped in his tracks, gaze lazily focused on the door with curiosity bleeding into his indifference.

Your mother must have taken the silence as a sign of slumber, yet she continued. Voice muffled by the door between you both.

“Your father... was harsh today. And I’m sorry for that.” She pauses, long enough for you to believe she would be giving up and going back to her bedroom. You aren't so lucky, surely at this point you were very unlucky and you dreaded whatever else she had to say. “I just want you to know that he just wants the best for you.” your heart drops as she carries on, unaware and unconcerned of the other pair of ears listening in to her words. “We don’t know him that well. We can't risk you getting involved in something you're not ready for and throwing your future away.”

At this, Tomura rolls his eyes, interest clearly lost and goes back to his earlier movements. The sloppy kiss to your clit catches you off guard and forces a whine out of you. It was small, but still a noise. Squeezing your eyes shut you prayed this would be written off as an odd sleep noise. Wishing to the sky that it wasn't noticeable and Tomura would stop. He didn’t. It was in that moment he decided pressing a finger against your entrance would bring out more noises. The digit slipping in with minimal effort and adding more pleasure to this mix as he sucked your clit.

If your mother heard anything, she didn't make it known. The floorboards outside of your door creaking with the shifting of her weight. “Well, maybe we can get ice cream or something tomorrow. Have a little girl’s day?” The silence is palpable as she waits for an answer that won't come. “Okay well, goodnight sweetie. See you in the morning.”

You don’t know what you're more grateful for; the sound of her receding steps or that fact that Tomura wasn't cruel and waited until the telltale sound of a door opening and closing rang through the air before adding another finger and curling them. This time you couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped you, hands gripping the cotton of your duvet.

“Aw, how sweet,” Tomura started, sitting up while adding a thumb to your sensitive nub and rubbing slow circles to replace his mouth. “She wants to have a little girls’ day with you.”

His mocking tone would have gotten a reaction out of you any other time, but right now you were so close. On the precipice of an orgasm that’s been drawn out for far too long. You could only look at him with half lidded eyes as his fingers worked like magic sending you closer and closer, your breath hitching as you finally, finally reached the climax. Body shaking pleasure cascades over you like a tidal wave.

“There we go,” Tomura whispers, giving your cunt a playful tap after letting you ride the sensation out. He pulls away completely to take off his sweatpants and underwear, cock already hard and leaking. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight and you hear his breathless chuckle. “I’ll let you have a taste next time, but right now, I can't wait any longer.”

It was only when he began to line up with your entrance that you absently wondered about the lack of condoms you owned. You look up at him, question burning on your tongue but he only grins at you, and you swore in that moment he was a mind reader. “I didn’t bring any with me, sorry,” his voice was far from apologetic as he stroked his cock, rubbing the head between your folds and against your clit, slick soaking the head. “But don't worry,” he continued, leaning forward and you felt the pressure at your entrance, excitement buzzing through your veins. “I’ll pull out.”

Whether you believed him or not didn’t matter, you had no time to process a thought as he began stretching you to the limit with his size. A gasp escaped your parted lips as the sickeningly sweet feeling of being stretched too far too fast took over. He gave you a minute to adjust, even as his cock twitched in anticipation of movement. The grip he had on your hips was tight enough to bruise and you knew it was taking a lot of his self control to wait for you.

He pressed on, figuring it had been long enough and bottomed out with a sigh. Your walls clenched around him and swore you could cum from the stretch alone. After giving you a second to breathe he pulled back, almost pulling out, only to snap his hips back forward into you. Your head lolled onto the pillow, hand coming up once more to mute the moans dragging from your body. Tomura hoists your legs onto each side of his shoulders,bending them forward and successfully folding you like a lawn chair as he started his aggressive pace, forcing your tight heat to clench around his cock.

“Oh, fuck…” you couldn’t help but mutter as you struggled to hold off your already approaching orgasm.

Tomura saw this as a challenge. “What? You gonna cum on my cock?” he mocked, pace wild and rough, leaving you gasping as you shut your eyes, not ready to admit how right he was. “It's okay,” he continued, leaning closer and allowing his dick to press deeper inside you. The drag hitting the bundle of nerves inside and nearly sending you over the edge. “Come on, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.”

Those words push you over, hips convulsing as your legs shake and it takes Tomura slapping a hand over your mouth this time to quiet you. You couldn’t focus on anything else, let alone keeping quiet. Your body felt light and Tomura fucked you through it. His pace grew more erratic as his grinning face became one of focus, brows furrowing as his eyes shut and he focused on his pleasure. Your pussy squeezing around him making it harder for him to stave off his own nearing climax. You were worried that at this point you were both too far gone. The silence of the home would leave the messy noises between you both loud and clear for the entire house to hear. Tomura was great at keeping his composure but the soft groans coming from your lover only showed how much he was losing his grip.

“Can’t– fuck, sorry–” you didn’t have time to decipher his strange words, your curious eyes meeting his face to gauge his expression before you feel it.

His cock twitches inside you, seed painting your insides white as his thrusts didn't slow. He was hammering away at your insides, only pumping his cum further into you. You feel so full, the warmth spreading over your body like a blanket. He came in you. Even though he said he wouldn’t, he did. The worst part about it? You don’t care. It's invigorating. You feel even more attached to him. Even closer. You want more.

Overstimulated and weak, you whimpered, thoughts swimming as Tomura finally came down from high. Slowing his thrusts and panting heavily. Your heart is drumming against your chest as he removes your sore legs from his shoulders. Shuddering as he slips out of your tight heat, feeling the cum dripping out of you and onto your sheets.

The bed dipped as he took his place next to you. Out of breath and eyes focused on the ceiling. Your ears were ringing with the sudden quietness of it all. Things felt different, heavy.

“You could always just not tell them.” It was Tomura who broke the silence first. “Act sad, mope around, and then come see me at night.”

You glanced over, vaguely registering the sweat cooling on your body. You would need to get up and get cleaned up soon. “Yeah, but if they catch me–”

“They won't. I’ll teach you how.” he turns towards you, bringing a hand to your chin to make you face him. There’s a fuzzy feeling turning in your chest and the familiarity of heat rising to your cheeks is starting to drive you mad. His grin is enamoring, red eyes almost glowing with mischief in the moonlight. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

There's an ache that tugs at your chest as you nod. “Okay.”

You are so fucked.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my works #tomura shiragaki #tomura x reader #mha tomura #shigaraki smut #fanfic #my hero academia

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karliahs · 2 years

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i often see people say they can't go to the library because they lost/never returned/dropped some library books in a bath or something, and now view themselves as heinous library criminals who would be yelled at and/or hit with a huge bill if they ever went back

and obvs i can't make promises unless you came into my specific library and were served by me but here are 10 reasons i think if you went in and politely explained the situation to a member of staff it'd probably be fine:

consider this from the library's perspective. those books are probably never coming back regardless. that value (having the books back), which is probably the reason the library has a fines system to begin with, is not gonna happen. the value of retaining you as a customer though is right there in front of them

if you explain that a fine is too high for you to pay and that that is keeping you from coming back to the library, what you've basically said is that there is an impediment to your library access. part of the job of anyone who works in a library is to remove that impediment

library computer systems will vary hugely and if it's been a long time there is a significant chance there isn't even a record of your lost books anymore

the pandemic affected library access significantly and a lot of libraries will have had amnesties once they reopened to get people over the hump of oh god oh god i've had these books FOREVER i can never show my face again. even if that amnesty is officially over, the fact that there was one helps the person in front of you justify waiving the fee (which, if they're like me and you aren't being cruel, they are probably looking for a reason to do!)

a lot of libraries have reduced or no fines for children, so if you lost books as a kid there's even more of a chance there won't be a fine

the person you speak to at the front desk at a library is probably not an accredited Librarian TM but a nice underpaid person who has to deal with a lot of difficult customers going off on them for no reason (also accredited librarian tms are also pretty nice usually). i would take 100 people politely explaining that they've lost books and are very embarrassed over one person whose purpose that day is to belittle me, a captive audience who has to be nice no matter what. library assistant jobs are often not that different from customer service jobs! a lot of library assistant jobs now explicitly are customer service jobs! it is so so likely that that person wants nothing less than to have an adversarial conversation with you

if you haven't been to a library since you were a lot younger, it is almost certainly no longer what you're picturing. most modern libraries are actively trying to move away from the image of severe quiet building where you will be shhhhed and sternly told to look after your books or else. we're trying to be vibrant community hubs full of friendly people who will do their best to help you

library employees, bizarrely enough, probably don't think of each individual book as being that valuable compared to other readers. if you own a book and keep it forever and read it maybe twice, barring any crazy accidents it'll probably last decades. if a book is on the shelves of a public library and is regularly borrowed, it'll last...3-5 years, maybe. a busy library will discard large volumes of stock every year because that's just how it works. you lose that sense of the sanctity of every copy of every book pretty fast in these kinds of jobs

libraries need people to use them! a huge huge part of getting library funding is demonstrating how many people use and value your service. you and the library staff are on the same side: they also want you to be able to use the library again

a public library has witnessed behaviours the likes of which you cannot imagine. people have shoved books down our toilets. people have looked at porn on library computers in full view of everyone around them. people have thrown chairs out of the window. losing books happens all the time and is so unlikely to phase staff who are probs a little bit dead inside

tldr: come back to the library, we need you visiting and using the service more than we need the books you accidentally lost, also if the person you talk to is anything like me they're probably just glad you aren't yelling at them

#like so many situations in life if you are polite and reasonable you will be a blessing to customer service workers #people are so fucking rude and dehumanising i do not care if you lost one of our books when you moved house 5 hears ago #talking

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pinksatinsashes · 4 months

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The Dream Girl's Guide to Setting and Achieving Goals

If there's one thing that I am insanely good at, it's planning and setting goals.

However I have not always been great at achieving them.

Call it laziness, lack of self discipline or being over ambitious, you can take your pick. But every year I would set goals and every year I would never achieve them.

This year I was, and am determined to transform. I'm tired of putting it off. I've tried a completely different method (read about that here) and it's finally working out, I cant't wait to share it with you.

Why is Setting and Achieving Goals Important?

Setting and achieving goals will forever be important, no matter what stage of life you're in if you don't want time to pass while you stay in the same place.

If you're happy staying exactly as you are, looking the same way, doing the same thing everyday, making the same money, dating the same guy or having the same conversations, year after year after year. Then this post simply isn't for you.

But for the rest of us, who want more, who understand that wanting something different means that you have to do something different, who want to grow, learn and develop and that who understand that time is the most valuable thing that we have; setting and achieving things, day after day, month after month and year after year is insanely important.

If you are one of us, I'm sure you already knew that, the issue might be actually following through.

You're good at setting goals, not so much with actually achieving them?

Maybe it's not your fault, maybe you're just doing it wrong.

------------- How To Set Goals -------------

How many of us start the new year, or the random day that we decide we need to be better by writing a list of Goals?

Maybe that list looks something like this.

Lose 10lbs

Grow Hair Longer

Dress Better

Save Money

Get 1000 followers on X platform

Can you see the problem here? My STEM girlies are yelling at the screen saying that the goals aren't SMART (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Timely).

The real problem?

All of these goals are end products.

And to eliminate this problem, and make these goals better, we have to turn them into habits.

-------- How to turn Goals into Habits --------

Let's go through our list again.

Lose 10lbs -> Workout 4 times a week, do one form of excerise a day and eat at a caloric deficit.

Grow Hair Longer -> Keep hair in protective styles, use hair growth oils daily, only brush hair when in conditioner

Dress Better -> Sell the clothes I don't like to buy clothes I do like, do a closet clear out once a month, only buy things that are high quality

Save Money -> Budget all money once a month, unsubscribe from things I no longer use, declutter and sell things I no longer need once a month.

Get 1000 followers on X platform -> Post 3 times a week, create meaningful content, reply to all comments left on posts daily, interact with posts from others in the sam niche every day

Can you see the difference?

By changing your goals from the end product to the process these goals suddenly mean more. They're more helpful and seem much more achievable.

End goals cannot always be controlled, you can do everything right, post 3 times a week, reply to all your comments and your following count may still not change for months... then all of a sudden something goes viral and they'll call you an overnight success.

By shifting your focus to the things you can control, rather than the end product, your sense of achievement comes from your consistency and hard work, allowing you to keep going even when you don't see any changes.

This prevents you from giving up when success could be just around the corner.

-------- How To Achieve Your Goals --------

Now that we've gone through how to set Goals, lets talk about how to achieve them.

A lot of people just stop at the first part and never think about the things that they can do to ensure that their goals are met.

Never stop at the list.

Why?

You have no initiative to ever look at this list again so you'll most likely forget you even wrote them down in a few weeks

You haven't factored how your life may make achieving these goals a priority.

The answer to this problem?

Turning your Habits into Routines.

It's all well and good setting goals, even setting good goals. But you also need to make sure that you're creating an environment that's conducive to the goals you want to achieve, the habits you want to keep, and the life you want to create.

------- How to turn Habits into Routines ------

We've written down all our goals, turned them into habits and now it's time of the most important part, turning them into routines.

This is important because consistency is key, always. Instead of saying that you'll do something 3 times a week and leaving at that, let's go deeper.

Which days of the week will you do it? What time? For how long?

Leaving it up to chance is risky. What if you forget?

We need to create consistent routines.

Pick which days to do your habits

Pick what time you'll do your habits

Pick how long you'll do them for

Pick what you'll do before and after.

Try to make this as consistent as possible, for example, same time every day, same day every week.

Make sure that every single hour is accounted for, even if it's just set as free time.

Its easy to convince yourself you don't have enough time to do things, let's put all the things you have to do into a spreadsheet with how long it'll take and when you'll do it. Better yet we can use a calendar app or website.

See all the free time you've got?

Now creating routine is so much more than writing it down and doing it everyday or every week. At first you may have to check the app every five seconds to see what you're meant to be doing but if you stay consistent, after a few weeks it'll become second nature.

------------ Removing Distractions ----------

Organising your time and creating a routine is really eye-opening because it gives you a chance to wonder what the f*** you've been spending your time doing.

Nothing productive probably. Take a look at your screentime, what apps are you spending your time on? How long are you spending? Is this part of the life you'd like to build for yourself?

It might be time for a break.

I am being so honest when I said that getting rid of every single distraction that could be keeping me from my goal was the single most important decision I could've made when planning 2024.

I went full on, no Netflix, no YouTube, no music, no games, no social media. No distractions. For at least the first month of my new routine and I plan on only adding everything back slowly.

I advise you do the same.

Remove the things that you can see could distract you from your goals. What's keeping you from going to bed early? What would you rather do than going to the gym?

I'm telling you, I haven't stopped working on myself, because I genuinely have nothing better to do. I've cut all the distractions out. Going on my one hour walk is now what I look forward to all day. The gym is the best part of my day.

My days currently consist of self improvement, wellness podcasts, reading Jane Austen, being active, cleaning my spaces, skincare and early nights.

But it feels like I'm living my dream life? Whenever I think of my ideal day it's never included 4 hours of mindless scrolling or spending 2 hours down a YouTube rabbit hole.

When I think of my dream life it's always been home cooked meals, reading and fancy skincare routines. I couldn't be happier and I really don't feel like I'm missing out on anything.

TRY IT.

This is probably the most important step because the power that distractions have on us is so real.

You can do all the planning and have the best intentions but if your want to play games, scroll mindlessly on social media, text a guy that doesn't care about you or engage in celebrity drama is greater than your want to be better? Good Luck Charlie.

---- Making Your Goal Your Obsession ----

This is actually the fun part.

All I do is listen to podcasts about my goal, read books about my goals, make pinterest boards about my goals and talk to myself about my goals. I'm so obsessed.

Make a reading list, find some podcasts that align with your goals, follow blogs with the same mindset, talk to those of your friends that will get it.

This makes sure that nothing can distract you, and you can't just 'forget' to work towards your goal.

However, you must not let your time obsessing over your goal be more than your time actually working on your goal. Do not forget that.

------------- Books that could help ------------

Atomic Habits by James Clear

Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport

----- May the odds be ever in your favour.. -----

#dgg #level up #level up mindset #black femininity #hypergamy #black hypergamy #hypergamous #dreamgirl #black women in luxury #2024 planning #new year #glowup #wellness #self care #mine

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aswaki · 1 month

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sex ban [smt x reader]

seok matthew x reader | 1.2k word count | explicit (minors dni)

“you enforce a sex ban with matthew”

contains: afab bodied!reader, needy!matthew, crack (??), suggestive tone, reader being a tease, pet names ("baby", "babe")

he let out a laugh because he thought you were joking. he was waiting for you to laugh along with him... to hit him with a “sike!” and start stripping.... but you didn't.

matthew gave you a bewildered look, “you cannot be serious.”

“watch me,” was your only response before you walked away from him. no. you strutted away from him. moving your hips in a way you knew that would drive matthew up a wall.

the whole day you were teasing him relentlessly. you wore tight clothes that emphasized your curves. you held on to his arm sensually. you were doing the most to get a reaction out of him. however, every time he would go initiate something, you tried to act clueless in this little game of cat and mouse of yours. his advances went all ignored.

you were probably amused by all this. matthew wasn't. (not one bit.) (he liked challenges but not this.)

it was pure torture that went on for three days.

the day after you declared you'd stop fucking him indefinitely, you purposely picked up something in front of matthew. the shorts you had on was being true to its name; it was too short that your ass cheeks were showing.

you arched your back that made him think of all the sinful things he could do to you in the bedroom. he was so aroused he could fuck you right then and there. he wanted to break your back.

as you bent down, he groaned. he came up behind you and smacked your ass.

“matty!” you squealed. you immediately stood up straight. matthew pressed your bodies closer. you could feel him hardening behind you. instinctively, you rubbed your ass on his cock.

matthew smiled thinking he was winning. he started to kiss your neck but you pulled away.

once you started being intimate with each other, you've been going at it like rabbits in heat. if his cock wasn't inside of you, he would be squished between your thighs, tongue prodding your cunt and lapping up your juices.

this was a good thing— matthew being obsessed with you. way too good that it had gotten you severely tardy from work a lot. your supervisor called you in about your attitude to reprimand you, even with a threat of dismissal.

“if you wanted to fuck, you should've thought about your actions before you did it!” you scolded him with a pout. you became handsy as you palmed him above his sweatpants. he loudly moaned in ecstasy as you did so. you kind of missed his cock and the sounds you made together. (but you wanted to be responsible for once!)

“said, i was sorry, baby.” he told you through his teeth, mostly likely getting needier.

you knew you were getting horny. at the same time, you did not like to back down. you did enjoy teasing matthew just to get things out of your system (and as a little bit of pay back for getting you in trouble at work).

you removed yourself from him so you wouldn't be tempted any longer.

matthew knew you were just as turned on as he was. the outline of your pert nipple could be seen through your body hugging top. he wanted nothing more than to pinch it with his fingers.

on god, matthew almost went on his knees to beg you to fuck but he had to remain a little bit of dignity.

for the second time that week, he could only watch you walk away from him. he wanted to smack your ass again. he looked down at his slight boner and sighed, “guess it's just you and me, buddy.”

on the third day of your evil sex ban, matthew felt like he was going to lose it. his hands didn't give him the same pleasure just as you did but it was all he could do.

the entire day he let his imagination run wild as he thought about you. he imagined his hand sliding across your smooth leg before venturing out to what's in between your thighs. in his mind, he could see himself pressing his crotch against yours. you were being tied up to the bed post, calling for him. matthew even pulled up some of the nudes you sent him back then so he could masturbate to you like a fucking idiot virgin at the bathroom.

this was the worst moment of his life. it truly humbled him.

he hung his head low in defeat as he entered the apartment. it had been a long day. all he wanted was to sink in your plush thighs and squeeze your ass to relax. (but he couldn't. curse your sex ban.)

“oh, you're home.” you said, coming out of his room.

you were wearing one of matthew's sweaters. seeing you in his clothing always turned him on. it was even worse now that he had these pent up energy in him. he was sure you were seducing him right now.

he wasn't the only one feeling frustrated.

you, on the side of things, felt like you were going to fold as soon as you saw him. he was so hot. you can't believe you held off from fucking him. sweat was dribbling down his neck. his hair a bit damp. an indication he was at the gym.

his biceps were flexing as he placed his things down.

“christ,” you muttered to yourself as you watched him. you bit your lip. you could cut the tension with a knife in the room.

you decided to wave your white flag down. you admitted to yourself that this was getting ridiculous.

you headed straight to him and literally jumped on him. matthew caught you on reflex despite being surprised. he had planned to pathetically beg to you until you caved in to lift your ban but here you were breaking before him.

it was a turn on how he carried you with ease. he let out a sound of pleasure as he finally got to hold you. he hooked his arms underneath your thighs as you put your legs around his waist. he relished at the feeling of your soft thighs; the one he'd been thinking about earlier.

“missed me, baby?” he looked at you with so much desire. his pride rose knowing you were the one who gave in to him.

like magnets, both of yours lips attached itself to one another. a breathless kiss with so much emotions. three days worth of pent up sexual needs. the atmosphere in the room instantly becoming hot and heavy.

your fingers played with the hair at the back of his head after you wrapped your arms around his neck. you held on to him like this for more support but also so you can keep him close to you. you did miss your matty.

“need you,” you panted out in between kisses. you were the one who put the both of you in this situation. the ban was your idea. should you even be saying that you needed him? matthew was in disbelief.

he pulled away from your kiss just a bit. and you had the audacity to whimper. “i'll punish you for this, you know.” matthew whispered. you could feel his breath fanning your lips.

you had him on edge for days. obviously, he would make sure to give you a taste of your own medicine. you only grinned at his words before pressing your lips together again. your lips moved hungrily against his.

“can't wait for it, babe.”

a/n: so... what do we think? hehe this was fun to write. (the photos matthew sent as i was writing definitely helped lol lol lol) (my other wips are probably wondering why i started on a new project and finished it before them... i will get to them soon!) btw, my asks are open if you want to leave matthew requests or if you just want to talk about him! (i need to interact with more zeroses and seokryudans.) and... thank you for reading! rbs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. (':

divider credit: saradika-graphics

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dope-trope-105 · 1 year

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cregan stark x rhaenyra’s daughter. she flies to winterfell to gather support for rhaneyra but she falls head over heels for cregan as well. could you add that she had a past relationship with aemond ( you don’t have to though)

Like Stormy Seas, Like Rough Clouds

Cregan Stark x Velaryon! (Strong) reader

A/N: The reader is still not completely over Aemond, but she realises he was not what she wanted, or she was not what he wanted. She has the typical Strong brown hair-brown eyes appearance.

Warnings: Strong language, abusive relationship, mentions of death, some angst.

Word count: 2.7k

The cold wind felt like daggers of dragonglass on your face as you gazed at the rough seas that surrounded your home. Dragonstone was not a cheerful place, the war had made it more glum. Your mother had locked herself up in her chambers the day Daemon came with the news of Lucerys’ death. You didn’t understand her pain, but your own crushed you inside. It broke your soul, took your joy, and rendered you unstable. The pain of losing a brother was great, but the pain of losing him to someone you once loved more than life itself tore at your entire being. You felt like a shell, your memories with him ran through your mind like a play.

You had your eyes closed as you breathed in the scent of a flower you hadn’t seen in the gardens before, it smelled sweet, but different from the others. “My lady seems to be enjoying herself,” came the smooth voice of your uncle. “Tis’ not every day mother nature visits one with a new treat, uncle,” you said, holding the flower up to his slender face. “Letting your guard down like this for all to see? The stranger may send you one as well,” he said, mocking you but taking the flower from your hands nonetheless. “It’s sweet, isn’t it?” you asked. “I’ve known sweeter things,” he said, his eyes looking down upon you as he relished in the fact you knew what, or rather, who, he meant.

You remembered how you had craved his attention at the keep. You had been friends with Aemond when you were children, and you had felt yourself dangled in a noose between your love for him and your love for your family the day Lucerys butchered him. Aemond refused contact with you after that. You found yourself at the keep again as you turned ten and seven, your mother had wished for you to celebrate you becoming a mature woman with your grandsire. You chased Aemond like a lost pup for your entire month-long stay in the castle. Aemond played along. And his play became a reality as he found himself taking your maidenhead in his chambers one night. He had begun to love you. As much as a damaged man could.

“We cannot do this any longer,” you cried. “Do you not love me?” asked Aemond, his voice cold as his back was turned to you. The whole family had supper that day together. You sat beside Helaena next to the head of the table where Aemond sat. Jace had set his eyes upon you the entire time, sneaking you off to the side to ask you if something had occurred between you and your uncle. It had scared the soul out of you, and you had gone to the one person you admired so much you hoped he'd show you the way. Unfortunately for you, Aemond was set on doing anything but. “If my mother finds out-” “What of it?” he spoke over you. “I have claimed you,” he said. “No Lord would want a whore who’s been bedded by her uncle, no one will love you as I,” he said. Tears streamed down your face as each word he said came as a jab to your heart. “You do not mean that,” you said, wiping your tears as he turned. He opened his arms to you as you reluctantly found yourself in his embrace. “I mean every word I say, you are mine,” he whispered to you. “No one but I will love you,” he held you tight.

A heated discussion had been tearing the rocks of Dragonstone as Daemon wished for nothing but revenge. Who stood for the Queen, and who against? It was not clear. You had begged and begged to have your mother let you fight for her. She had ushered you to your chambers, you speaking for your rights as she refused over and over again. You only stopped asking at the shock of her harsh palm on your cheek. You held your face, looking at her with great confusion. “I will not lose another child, my only daughter to this war,” she had said, leaving you with a burning reminder on your face that you would never be allowed to fight for her. Your stomach churned at being called her only daughter, your mind reminding you of the little Visenya you would have loved, a little girl you would teach womanly things to, braid her hair, tell her she is no less than a man, teach her the histories and philosophies that made your world. Memories of all sorts ran haphazardly through your head, your sweet moments with Aemond, your tears for Lucerys, your step-father's anger towards your mother, and nothing seemed to calm your racing mind. The rough waves flowed on par with your thoughts. The ground rumbled beneath you as you turned around. “Sagon gīda, gēlenka,” be calm, silver. You had claimed the magnificent Silverwing when you were only ten and three. She had been your everything since then. She was your anger, your wrath, your joy, and your fire. She was your dragon. And you mounted her in the dying light of the Sun taking off for the North. Your mother had said no, but after incessant begging from both you and Daemon, she had reluctantly agreed.

You felt your fingers numb despite the layers of clothing you wore as you flew higher up North. You were a dragon, you were fire, and you weren’t made for the cold. Silverwing made her landing near the castle of Winterfell, the Northmen gazing at your dragon in awe as all men did. You wore a black dress, its sleeves up to your wrists and its neckline up to your jaw. Golden embroidery spread across the expanse of your chest. You wore a few layers under it, but it seemed to not save you from the biting winter one bit. Your dark hair was tied halfway up behind you, wild from your flight, gold resting amongst the dark strands. Your palms and fingers were raw and bleeding. You never wore riding gloves, and you suffered the consequences. You’d rather have raw palms than lose the sensorial bond between your dragon and yourself.

SIlverwing had given your identity away as the guards opened the gates for you, offering you a slight bow. You nodded at them. You were escorted to where the Lord of the North sat. Your presence was announced as you entered the darkly lit hall. Cregan Stark was sitting on a high chair as he watched you walk to the centre of the room.

“Good morrow, Princess, we are delighted to have you at Winterfell,” he said to you. “Good morrow to you as well, Lord Stark, I thank you for your graciousness,” you said. You knew power when you saw it. You saw it in your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You saw it in your stepfather Daemon, the Rogue Prince, and a sliver of it in your past lover, Aemond. And now, you saw it in the wolfish man that sat in front of you. He was a large man, with skin like the snow and hair like onyx, matching stubble on his face. His eyes were grey like the storms you often saw at Dragonstone.

“What brings you to the North, princess?” he asked. His voice was deep, holding the air of authority that made the young girl hidden under your burdened heart giddy. You cleared your throat, quieting your own thoughts, lifting a scroll in your hand as one of the guards came to collect it from you.

“Lord Stark, as you are aware, your father, the late Lord Rickon Stark, had pledged fealty to my mother, the Queen. With the unfortunate passing of my Grandsire, my half-uncle has usurped the throne from my mother and claims to be King of the seven kingdoms. I’ve only come here to assure you remember your father’s oath,” you said. Your voice held confidence. Cregan had been watching you intently as you spoke, his eyes flicking to the scroll in his hands only once as he quickly scanned over the words.

“Of course Princess, I will honour the oath my father pledged to your mother, House Stark is loyal to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. We will provide you with what you need at Raven’s ask, be it men or refuge, or be it our undying loyalty,” he said to you, with clarity in his voice like he didn’t need to go over this in his head for even a moment.

“Thank you, for your support my Lord. I shall report this to my mother immediately,” you said, making a turn, readying yourself mentally for another long flight. “If you do not mind Princess, it is a harsh Night, why don’t you stay here at the Castle, you may fly on the morrow,” said the Lord. You thought it over. He was not wrong, the temperature would only get colder with the night. You did not wish to die from the cold before the war even concluded. “Then I will gladly make my stay here,” you said.

The guards had led you to a room for the night. You sat near the fire, so close to the flames you believed the hair on your head would be scorched, and you almost thought you saw your fingers darkening with ash. Your head whipped to the door at a harsh knock. “Princess? May I come in?” came a voice. You knew it was Lord Stark. “Yes of course,” you said, smiling sheepishly when the door cracked open and his eyes landed on your crouched figure near the fire.

He chuckled, nodding to a woman behind him. The maid approached you, a blanket of fur lay in her hands. “Tis’ a coat for you, I had assumed the cold must be too trying of you,” he said, entering the chamber. You smiled at the maid, who quickly put the coat around you. “Not that I wish to seem meek, my Lord, you had assumed right. I fear I would’ve ended up falling into the hearth had you not brought me this surprisingly soft coat,” you said, eyes widening at the sheer delicate touch of the blanket of warmth on you. You took your place on a chair in front of him, though still remaining close to the fire.

“I understand, cold like this does not suit all, especially those who are used to being around fire,” he said, a glint in his eye as he said it. You smiled at him. “I assume you’ve met Silverwing from afar,” you said. “She is a beautiful creature, although I fear I’m not one to see her for much beyond her ability to leave me nothing but a scorched corpse,” he said. “She will not hurt you, my lord, at least not in my presence,” you laughed, taking the glass of wine he poured you. “If you wish, I can arrange for supper here, it is only I in the castle,” he said. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” you requested. “Of course,” he said, calling out to one of the guards.

Moments later, some maids brought trays full of delicious bread and different meats and vegetables. The both of you ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging words. There was something so simple in this moment, a comfort between the both of you that you hadn’t experienced in a while. “If you do not mind, may I ask you something?” he said. “Of course,” you replied, intrigued eyes looking up at him. “I’ve heard dragons have a close bond with their riders, it is said they can feel what their riders do, has anything as such been indicated to you by your own?” he asked. You thought it over for a moment.

Silverwing was very protective of you, but she would get more protective if you were on your bleed, she would get more aggressive when you were agitated, and she would make those purring sounds when you felt comfortable. And she despised Aemond. She hated him near herself, and near you. She never attempted to harm him, but she made her distaste of him quite obvious, same for most of your enemies. “In some ways, I believe it is true, her protectiveness and agitation in some situations do indicate what you say, but I do not believe this holds true for all dragons, only for some,” you said, and he nodded thoughtfully.

You gazed into his grey eyes, they were beautiful, not beautiful like the violet in your silver-haired family members, not prideful like Aemond’s, his eyes told stories of ships lost at stormy seas, of the rough clouds you flew through. His eyes showed curiosity and warmth, you felt like if you were to crawl into his arms, all would be well. You did not wish to sound like a silly girl one would view as nothing but a brood-mare of high status, but you wanted him to hold you and make you feel safe. You wanted him to tell you all would be right in the world, he would make it so. You wished to touch the soft hair on his face, to rest your head on his strong chest, to have him wrap his arms around you, to have him take your hands in his own. You felt so juvenile.

“What does flying feel like, princess?” he asked. “I could not say. It is the sheer terror of falling to death, freedom, and pleasure in solidarity, it makes me feel like a god, watching everything rendered so little from atop the sky. The sky looks so distinct above the clouds. It gets colder, the air lighter, breathing becomes more challenging, but the sky is so captivating, it is unlike anything you’ve seen,” you said. Lord Stark did not reply. He seemed to enjoy questioning you and thinking your answers over. All simple questions, but truly innocent. He did not have an evil sense behind his words. It was simple, like a warm fire licking at your skin in the snow-struck lands. There was no snark to decipher like the words of your stepfather, no mocking like your siblings, and no cunning like the words of the greens, no cunning like the words of Aemond. It was just curiosity, simple as that.

As he stood up to make his exit, you stood up as well. You looked up at him when he said, “You know princess, I would love to show the North to you, it is quite exquisite, though nothing compared to the sky above the clouds as you describe if you are willing to make your stay here longer,” he said. You smiled at him shyly. “I will think it over my lord,” you said.

You watched him leave, realising that since the moment you’d been in his presence, there was a calmness in your head. You did not feel the impending doom of war on you when you were busy staring into his eyes. A few maids came to remove the multiple layers of clothing from you, but you put on the coat again, curling yourself up in the blanket as well before you let sleep take you, and for once in a long time, you found yourself easily drifting to sleep in the comfort of the furs and your empty head. There was a warmth in your heart, and it almost made you want to stay in the North forever and forget about your duties, and your family. Maybe one day, when all of that was over, you could return to the North, to Lord Stark and ask for his hand in marriage. You would love to stay in the North, in a land white as clouds, in the warm arms of the warden of the North as you’d gaze upon his kingdom.

One day, you could learn what love truly meant, not obsession, not sly need, not a cunning need for control, love.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

Hey guys, I've just started writing for some of these, I hope you like this one. I'd really appreciate it if you could comment on what I could do to make my writing better, but as of now, I hope you enjoy this, I'll try to post as soon as I can.

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #dark aemond x reader

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helaelaemond · 5 months

Text

Pulling Apart - Aemond x Reader

Pairing: Aemond x f!reader

Word count: 874

Summary: The Dance of the Dragons has begun, and it is dragging your lover away from you. You have little fight left in you, and try to make him stay one last time.

Content warning(s): elements of dubcon, Aemond can't get hard, angst, no happy ending

INCLUDES: oral (m receiving)

Rating: E

"Stay."

"No."

"Stay."

Aemond's lip twitches. He looks at you with a hard stare, and you do your best not to flinch under it. "My brother awaits me."

"It is the middle of the night. All the king awaits is a whore from Flea Bottom and a barrel of red."

"Don't." His voice is quiet. There is a threat in it.

"I want you to stay."

"What you want is of no consequence."

You grab his arm as he turns away. "It is of every consequence!"

"Why?" he asks coldly, ripping away from you. "Who are you to the realm?"

"I am the woman you love."

He is quiet for a moment. His one good eye bores into yours until you feel your soul utterly bared to him. "I do not deny that. But..."

"But what?" It's impossible to hide the desperation from your voice.

"But it is not enough."

"Aemond, please-"

Long strides take him across his chamber towards the door, and you follow with heavy steps, the cold of the flagstone floor making your feet feel numb. It's warm in the room, but your body has turned to ice. In front of the door, you drop to your knees. "Please," you beg. Taking his hands into yours, you look up at him with shining eyes. "I'm afraid."

"Of what?" His lips are so tight that the words barely come out.

"Of losing you. We are falling apart, you and I, and it frightens me."

"There is a war out there, I cannot simply-"

"There is a war in here, too!" And you pull his hand over your heart. Why can he not understand? "There is a darkness in you that you will not allow me to shine a light on any longer. You're pulling away from me to a precipice from which you may not return."

He tries to pull away but your hands go to his hips.

"Stay," you tell him again. Your hands go to the laces on the front of his breeches.

"No." He pushes you away gently.

"Stay."

He is stronger than you, and faster, and he could leave if he wanted, he really could. That's what you tell yourself when you sink your hand into the warmth of his trousers. The soft hair there tickles your skin and you whimper as your fingers trace his base.

"Please," you beg more softly this time. "Don't leave me alone. Do not go where I cannot follow."

"I will return once the war is won," he replies, his voice low and tense. In his thighs, muscles twitch and move to hold himself upright more firmly. One hand goes into your hair. It's unclear whether he wants to push you away or pull you closer.

It doesn't matter. You pull his soft cock free and stroke it in your hand and rest your forehead against his groin - he groans softly when you press his head against your cheek. Closing your eyes to concentrate on the feeling of him alone, you pull back his tender foreskin and run the pad of your thumb over his slit.

He used to be hard for you at just a glance.

But it's been weeks.

"Aemond," you whisper. "I'm losing you."

He makes no reply. He stands as still as stone. Turning your face, you lick a line up his cock and take his tip into your mouth. The salt of his skin makes you whine softly. Taking him deeper, tears prick your eyes. Please, you think, come back to me.

Long fingers scratch across your scalp. "Stop," he commands.

You take him deeper until he touches the back of your throat. It makes you gag, and when he pushes you off him, you let out a cry of despair. Back on your heels you sit. What now?

"Aemond," you weep. "I'm lost without you."

Your lover, tall and proud and nothing more than a frightened boy, looks down at you. His expression is unreadable. "That is of no consequence."

"You are lost without me."

The pretty bow of his lips curls as if he is going to reply. It is torture when he does not. All he gives you is a hum. And then he tucks himself back into his breeches, and tugs his jacket into place again while you drag yourself back to your feet.

"This is it, Aemond," you tell him shakily. "I cannot fight any longer when you have no intent in fighting for me in return."

He watches you with severity in his pretty face.

"I mean it. You leave now, and you will never see me again."

'Hmm."

And for a fleeting moment, there is a glimmer of hope. He pulls you to him suddenly, and runs his nose up your jaw and into your hair. "Lavender," he breathes into your ear. "It will always make me think of you."

"Aemond."

His arms envelop you in warmth, and you are home. You turn your head to meet his kiss, and it is searing. It leaves you both breathless. When he says your name, you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Stay," you say one last time.

By the time you open your arms, he is gone. The cold returns.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond x female reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #mine

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jahayla-parker · 1 month

Note

🎆 Requests: Please note these will be likely shorter than my longer requests (I say that but you all know me 😂). These cannot contain a lot of specifics or anything like that. Rather, it’s a simple concept and a character. Limit is 1 request per follower for this option given the time it’ll take to do these.

what about finnick odair x wife!reader where he has to go back to the games and she waits for him and they reunite back in 13 and she is glued to his side during their time there cause she's afraid to lose him and it's like hurt comfort and fluffy <333

Heartbreak’s Cure : Finnick Odair x Reader

Descr: 5k wc, Finnick and his wife reunite in District 13 after Finnick returns from his second Hunger Games and they help each other through the aftermath of him being reaped a second time. Hurt-comfort, flangst

Warnings: hunger game type content and applicable warnings, trauma, sadness, mentions of Mag’s death, mentions of Finnick’s background (including brief mention of Snow selling his body).

“Finnick!”

“Fin!”

“Y/n?”

“Honey?!”

“Fin!”

The couple’s screaming continued as they raced toward the sound of the other’s voice.

Y/n sprinted around the corner of the dull gray slabbed walls of the medical corridor when her eyes finally caught sight of who she’d been searching for; her husband. The air left her lungs and her body abruptly halted upon seeing him.

Finnick had been bolting down the hallway when y/n suddenly appeared as she turned the corner. He briefly paused in breathless relief before he once again began charging towards his wife.

Y/n copied Finnick’s needy rush and ran straight into his extended arms. She buried her head into the crook of his neck as he lifted her up. She hooked her legs around his waist as he held her to him so tight it was difficult to breathe. But she couldn’t care less. He was alive! He was home!

Finnick spun them around as he closed his eyes and admired the way it felt to be able to hold his loving wife once again. “Hi love,” he finally spoke, his voice a soft whisper.

“Hi Finny,” y/n whimpered. “Are you alright?” She asked, leaning back against the supportive hold he had on her tailbone so she could see him.

“I’m perfectly fine now y/n/n,” Finnick vowed, pulling her back to him and protectively holding her tight in his arms. He was so relieved his sweet wife was okay. That Snow hadn’t been able to harm her before she’d made it to District 13.

After a heartfelt kiss between them, y/n pulled away as her worry took over. “Let me take a look at you,” y/n pressed, not believing Finnick‘s well meaning reassurance. She again leaned back while staying in his arms, her legs still around his waist as he held her up. She frowned as her eyes noticed the multitude of scratches along his face. “Liar,” she whispered with a pout.

Finnick chuckled lightly. Damn he had missed her.

Y/n hopped down from Finnick’s arms and grabbed his bicep. “C’mere baby,” she cooed as she lead him to the nearest stretcher. “Here, sit down,” she instructed. When he complied, she kissed his forehead and gave him a warm smile. “Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts,” she commented as she quickly pulled over a tray of random medical supplies. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are there any injuries I can’t see?” Y/n continued to interrogate worryingly.

“Honey,” Finnick smiled. He gently grasped y/n’s wrist as she softly tried to clean his skin.

“I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but I gotta clean it,” y/n explained, giving her husband a sympathetic frown.

Finnick grinned admiringly and shook his head. “It’s okay, that’s not what I’m talking about,” he explained softly. “Breathe Honey, I’m okay”. Finnick lovingly rubbed his thumb against the inner side of her wrist to soothe her.

Y/n set the washcloth down with a sigh. She wanted to help her husband. She looked around to take a quick inventory of the room. It had been awhile since she was last in this wing. Seeing a stack of cases of water bottles, she hummed and hurriedly sprinted to it. She effortlessly pulled out an unopened bottle and brought it back to Finnick with a small smile. Surely he was dehydrated! “Here, drink this, it’ll help.”

Finnick replied with a sympathetic sigh. He understood why she was fussing over him, he’d have been much worse if the roles were reversed. But, it didn’t mean he wanted her worrying so much. As such, he sipped on the water she’d passed him; not mentioning to her that on the flight back here, the nurse had hooked up an IV to help his fluids. After taking a considerable drink, he twisted the cap back on and took ahold of y/n’s hand. “Honey,” Finnick softly scolded, tugging her hand away from the water bottle as he tried to get her to stop fretting over him. “You look really good in my sweater,” he commented, changing the topic as he took notice of what his wife was wearing.

Y/N’s cheeks heated up, prompting her to bashfully look down at the stretcher’s wheels. She let her eyes flicker briefly to the sweater in question before biting her lip and slowly lifting her gaze to Finnick’s. “I.., sorry, I needed something that smelled and felt like you,” she explained.

Finnick shook his head, a prideful smile now gracing his lips. “You don’t need to apologize,” he commented lovingly as he tenderly guided her closer by curling his thumb resting under her chin. “Were you okay honey?”

“It’s fine, you’re here now,” y/n smiled. “That’s all that matters,” she hummed, leaning closer as she moved her hands to cup her husband’s defined cheeks.

“No, no,” Finnick argued. “How were you while I was away?” He repeated, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “What all happened? What did I miss?”

“Me,” y/n giggled with a smug smile.

Finnick chuckled, his cheeks turning a soft red. “Well that goes without saying, my dear,” he winked. After a moment of silent bliss, he turned his expression to a look that communicated he wanted her to give him an actual answer.

Y/n shrugged. She’d struggled while he’d been gone. But he didn’t need to know the depths of that. At least not right now. She knew her husband well enough to know it was futile keeping a secret from him. Even if it was for his own sake. He’d know at some point. For now though she would keep it as vague as possible without hurting his feelings by keeping it inside. “Nothing other than just worrying about you,” she murmured quietly, eyes closed.

Finnick frowned in understanding. “Oh love,” he purred, his fingers reaching out to grip the material of his her their sweater.

“I .. I got your message though,” y/n elaborated, peering into Finnick’s loving eyes.

Finnick grinned and tugged y/n closer to him. “Good,” he murmured, fingers moving to trail her cheeks.

“You’re not allowed to talk about your death like that again though, Finnick Odair,” y/n scolded in a soft voice.

Finnick chuckled and nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Odair,” he grinned, pulling her in for a kiss.

Y/n was resting beside Finnick’s medical cot in the hospital corridor of District 13 when she felt him stir. She quickly set down her notebook and faced her husband. She frowned lightly as she noticed the confused look in his eyes. He had been sleeping when the medic came in to adjust the medication dosage coursing through his veins. It had been like this off and on for the last few hours, so y/n hadn’t paid much mind to it until she felt him stir beside her in response to it.

Finnick tried to keep the tears from building up in his eyes as he tried to scoot away from whoever the person was beside him. He had thought he made it back to y/n, to District 13. But he didn’t remember being put under and upon opening his eyes he saw a nurse-like figure standing before him in a medical room so clearly he’d been dreaming. Of course he had. He’d been dreaming of his precious wife and making it back to her ever since he’d been reaped for the second time. He didn’t recall anything after the arena collapsing in on him. He thought he had, but he had clearly been dreaming of those events. So he figured he must’ve been captured after their attempt to escape the games. As such, he presumed this nurse before him was from The Capitol. It was the only explanation for why his wife wasn’t by his side when he thought he’d reconnected with her earlier. Hence why he began resisting the medic’s attempts to adjust whatever they were pumping into his body through the IV in his right arm.

“No, no, no, no, no, hey,” y/n rushed out, turning to face Finnick more directly. “Finnick? Hi, I've got you,” she informed him as his frantic eyes darted to her face. “You're safe. Finnick, can you hear me?” She asked, noticing the distant look in his sea-green eyes. “They're here to help you, you need to let them help you,” she pleaded, squeezing his hand.

Finnick’s eyes snapped down to his hand as he felt a squeeze. He looked back up at y/n and gazed into her eyes as the pieces returned to him. He hadn’t been dreaming. He had escaped the games. He’d made it back to y/n. She’d been beside him the whole time. He just hadn’t looked to his left upon waking up.

“That’s it, babe,” y/n cooed encouragingly. “They are just helping your body heal,” she smiled softly, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Finnick hummed in relief. His hands moved to wrap around his wife. He held onto her as he tried desperately to not cry against her shoulder. He was home. He was back with his girl.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention,” Finnick pouted playfully. To emphasize his point, he stretch his right hand and the attached IV over his lap to poke y/n’s side.

Y/n raised her eyebrows at her husband in question. She’d been giving him plenty of attention. In fact, she was certain he had to be growing tired of her constant presence and fussing over him. “You need more attention?” She questioned knowingly.

Finnick nodded with a smug smile. “From you? Always,” he grinned.

Y/n rolled her eyes jokingly as her cheeks flushed. “You’re lucky I love you,” she teased, kissing his cheek.

Finnick resumed playing with y/n’s hand he was holding. “The luckiest,” he agreed proudly.

Y/n simply bashfully bit her lip and buried her head against Finnick’s bicep as it rested on his cot.

“I’m tired of laying here in this stupid bed though,” Finnick said to explain his earlier comment.

“Finnick,” y/n sighed. She lifted her head off his arm to look down at him.

“I want to go home,” Finnick said, almost whining.

Y/n frowned. “I know, I do too,” she acknowledged. “But, Finnick, we have to stay in District Thirteen until it’s safe to go back,” she reminded him cautiously.

Finnick shook his head. “I know, I didn’t mean home-home”.

“What?”

“Not as in District Four,” Finnick elaborated. “While that would be nice,” he hummed, “I meant wherever it is here that our home is now, wherever you spend your nights”.

Y/n smiled adoringly at her husband. “Let me go ask them again when you can leave, I doubt it’s changed, but if you promise me you’re feeling okay, I’ll try to persuade them,” she offered.

“I promise,” Finnick nodded with an appreciative smile. He tugged y/n’s hand back just as she went to head towards the hallway, “but be quick”. When her head whipped around quickly, her eyes full of concern, he blushed before hurriedly explaining his thoughts. “‘Cause I missed you,” he whispered shyly, grinning again when his wife kissed the top of his head lovingly.

Y/n closed the door to their bedroom behind her as she and Finnick entered the hall. She turned towards her husband with a timid smile. They were about to head out for a light stroll so she could show him around. “Can I hold your hand?” She requested quietly, needing to physically feel his presence to remind her he was here after so long.

Finnick smiled, “you never gotta ask, sugar”. He kissed his wife’s warm cheek. “But, I have a better idea”.

“Which is?”

“Piggy back ride?"

“Finnick,” y/n scolded, shaking her head. “You should be taking it easy,” she reminded him. When he playfully rolled his eyes, she glared protectively back at him.

Finnick hummed and took ahold of y/n’s hands. “I promise I’m fine, honey. I wouldn’t put you through dealing with the aftermath if I wasn’t,” he promised.

Despite Finnick having convinced y/n he was able to give her a piggy back ride, she wasn’t done being protective over him. She’d just gotten her husband back! She wasn’t about to let something happen to him! As such, she had been doing everything under the sun to protect him from even minor things like loud noises, bright lights, etc.

Finnick knew what y/n was doing and her reasoning behind it. So, he’d complied with her wishes and heeded her warnings, all while smiling bashfully. He was beyond appreciative of his wife’s considerate measures. And he found her actions insanely cute.

They couple had taken a quick break so y/n could help one of District 13’s other residents find the supplies closet. Luckily the room was nearby, so she was not away from her husband for more than a handful of minutes. However, when she returned, she was less than pleased. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Y/n hissed at Mike, one of District 13’s leaders. He was evidently having her husband help him move some boxes of equipment. Y/n knew the boxes with the particular symbol that was on the one Finnick had been about to pick up were often pretty heavy. It was certainly not something Finnick should be doing right now! “He just got back, have Gale help you with carrying that!” She critiqued with a harsh glare.

Finnick sucked in his bottom lip as he tried not to laugh lightly or smile at y/n’s behavior. He shrugged minimally at the man beside him before he made his way over to his wife. “I’m okay, angel,” he cooed in a hushed voice so only she could hear.

Y/n nodded silently in response to Finnick’s reassurance. She gave Mike another sharp glance and then took her husband’s hand and led him away from the room.

Finnick froze momentarily before he stiffly turned to face y/n. They’d been eating lunch alone in the corner of the cafeteria when he suddenly heard her sniffle. Why was she crying? “Are… are... are these good tears? Or bad tears?" He asked quietly. He only got a hum in response, making his brows furrow further. “Y/n?”

“Both”.

“Both?”

Y/n nodded. When she felt Finnick’s worried eyes on her, she shrugged. “Bad cause I missed you and I was so worried,” she explained. “But, good cause you’re home now”. She knew she was speaking in broken sentences, but it was the best she could do right now without breaking down from her emotions.

“Sugar,” Finnick whined sympathetically. “My sweet girl.. I’m so sorry-”.

Y/n rapidly shook her head. “Don’t apologize, Finny,” she whispered lovingly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you have to. I just, I don’t know I just…”

“Shhh...just let me hold you,” Finnick instructed warmly. He knew how to make his wife feel better. He grinned as she wasted no time sliding down the bench to him and snuggling up. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

“Promise?”

Finnick swore his heart both soared and broke over the sweet but scared tone of y/n’s voice. “I promise angel,” he vowed, smiling to himself as she buried herself in his hold even further.

“No, no, you need to lie still,” y/n instructed as Finnick yet again fidgeted. There were resting in their shared bed, almost about to fall asleep when he’d begun tossing and turning.

Finnick turned to face his patient wife’s beautiful face. He batted his long eyelashes at her. “Baby, could you play with my hair?” He requested in a gentle whisper. He closed Jo’s eyes as y/n instantly complied with his wish. “That feels so nice,” he murmured.

“Good,” y/n smiled, her fingers dancing through Finnick’s sun-dyed golden locks.

“I missed you,” Finnick whispered blissfully.

Y/n smirked playfully. “You missed my fingers in your hair,” she teased.

“No,” Finnick argued, holding y/n’s wrist to stop her playing with his hair for a moment. He turned his head to look up at her. “I’m serious, I missed you,” he replied with a frown.

“Hmmm, I know sweetheart,” y/n informed her husband, craning her neck to kiss his forehead. “I missed you too,” she whispered.

“I was so worried about you,” Finnick admitted as his mind went back to his worries over y/n’s wellbeing during his time in the arena.

“I’m never letting you go again,” y/n declared warmly. She tightened her grip around Finnick’s chest as he peered up at her at an angle from where he lay on her torso. “Snow will have to pry you from my dead arms. No one is going to hurt you anymore Finnick,” she spoke protectively.

“Hmm,” Finnick hummed as he inched his way up. He kissed her head lightly before lowering himself back down to use her as a pillow. “Don’t talk like that, honey,” he scolded lovingly. “I’m not losing you either.” He closed his eyes as he turned so his cheek was pressed up against her chest. “We’ll finish this out together, that’s the only option. Okay?”

“Okay,” y/n agreed quietly as she hugged Finnick tightly. “Now, sleep, my love. I'll keep you safe."

Y/n woke abruptly as she felt her husband tossing around beside her in bed. Her eyes snapped opened as she heard his whispered cries. A frown instantly formed on her face as she quickly sat up and turned to face Finnick. She softly shook him. “Finnick.. It’s me, it’s y/n. It's okay, it was just a dream." When his eyes finally opened, they were wide and watery as they analyzed their bedroom. “You're not there, Finnick. You're home, you're safe,” she promised, being able to read his worries without needing any verbal explanation as to what he’d been afraid of.

“Fuck, I …,” Finnick winced slightly, hating that he’d cursed in front of his dear wife. He was also so proper around her, declaring she was too precious to hear such profanities. But tonight he couldn’t help it. He felt horrible for having woken her. He knew how tired she’d been from sleepless nights as she waited for him to return. She should be asleep… not taking care of him and his nightmares. He knew she didn’t mind, she’d helped him through similar ones countless times before. But still, she should be resting. “I’m sorry.., I didn’t… I was back at the-,” he began rambling quietly.

Y/n nodded quickly and squeezed his clammy hand. “It’s okay, I know sweetheart,” she cut him off so he didn’t feel he needed to explain himself. “What do you need? What can I do for you right now Finny?”

Finnick’s shiny eyes lifted to meet his wife’s compassionate face and he gave her a timid smile. “I just want to be held for a little while. I’ve missed your touch,” he murmured.

Y/n smiled warmly and opened her arms. “Come here baby,” she instructed as she pulled Finnick to her chest.

Finnick shuffled down the bed so he could rest his head back on y/n’s chest. Like he’d done hours ago, before he’d moved to her side so they could sleep. “Like I expected, you're much comfier than my pillow,” he muttered softly as he nuzzled into her.

Y/n grinned and craned her neck in order to kiss Finnick’s scalp.

Finnick’s fingers played with the material of y/n’s sleep top. “D-do you mind if we stay like this for a little longer?” He questioned hesitantly. He wanted her to sleep, but he really needed this.

“We can stay like this as long as you want sweetheart.”

Finnick hummed in relief and snuggled against y/n further. His eyes began to become heavy again, but he kept blinking to stay awake.

“I'll protect you. They've never going to touch you again,” y/n promised, playing with Finnick’s hair the way he adored and always seemed to soothe him. As she noticed his eyes looking tired, she slowed her combing movements slightly. “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be all right, no one can hurt you now”.

Y/n futilely tried to pull her muscular husband away from the cracked door. They’d been on their daily walk when they passed by the mission center which happened to have it’s door slightly parted. However, it was what had been playing on the screen inside the room and the sounds it caused to float into the hallway that caught Finnick’s attention. The crew in the mission center had seemingly been reviewing various clips from the latest games. Unfortunately, it turned out they happened to be passing by just as Mag’s death began to play.

“No,” Finnick argued weakly against y/n’s attempts to pull him away. “I deserve to watch this,” he croaked. “I caused it, I need to live with the pain of that”.

Y/n gritted her jaw and furrowed her brows. She had to keep her anger in check. She wasn’t mad at Finnick, just at his statement. Her precious husband didn’t deserve any of the atrocities he’d had to endure. “You've suffered through enough,” y/n declared firmly but kindly, pulling her husband’s head to her shoulder. She whispered loving words to him as she lead them down the hall and back to their room.

As they reached the doorway to their bedroom, Finnick pulled back. His eyes were red and dripping, lips in a deep frown, and nose scrunched. “I also failed before the games, I didn’t make sure you had a safety plan in place,” he argued.

“Finnick, you had Haymitch make sure I was picked up and taken here, too District Thirteen before the games even began, for my safety,” y/n argued. “Besides, sweetheart, that’s not your job. And I’m fine, please don’t burden yourself with that”.

Finnick shook his head. “I should’ve found a way to tell Mags the plan,” he sighed. “I should’ve found a way out of letting Snow sell my body,” he added. “Katniss had me in her crosshairs early on, I didn’t train enough after the last games”. “I promised you that I’d never let you down but I did”.

”Finnick Odair,” y/n gasped. “Look at me.” Once he finally met her gaze, she presented him with a small smile and a tight hug. “I'm so proud of you”. She shook her head inside the crook of his neck. “Seriously, none of those things are true or your fault”. “You have always had so many things working against you, Finnick. I’ve always been so proud of you, even without taking that into account. But you need to. I’m so proud of you baby, you did what you had to do and came back to me! I know it wasn’t easy by any means,” she hummed, “but you did it. I didn’t lose you. And that’s because of you. I’m so proud. I’m infinitely sorry you had to go through all of that, but I’m so proud of you coming home to me”.

Finnick whimpered appreciatively and pulled y/n closer to him. He’d missed this. He’d needed her. He never wanted to be apart from her ever again. His sweet wife was his everything. If he had her, he’d be able to heal from his pain of the latest games.

"We don't have to talk about it right now, but I'm here if or when you want to,” y/n offered quietly as she and Finnick sat at the table for a late lunch. They’d been eating when someone who had passed by mentioned something to their friend about the latest games. Y/n had noticed the way Finnick tensed immediately. She figured he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, but wanted him to know he could whenever he was.

Y/n had been correct. Finnick hadn’t been ready yesterday afternoon to talk about his experiences in the arena this past time. But, tonight he seemingly was. It was brought up unexpectedly, but she was pleased he felt comfortable and stable enough to begin talking about it.

Finnick had expressed several thoughts about his experiences in the arena when a question came to his tired mind. “Did… Did you watch?” He asked quietly as y/n helped him undress due to his fatigued state. He watched as she hesitated in her movements for a split-second.

“Yeah,” Y/n admitted quietly. She lifted Finnick’s shirt over his head and tossed it towards the bin. “I… didn’t really want to,” she admitted, “I hated that you had to go, to do that all again”. She sighed and her fingers trailed down to help him step out of his jeans. “But I needed to know you were okay,” she explained slowly, “and I wanted to be able to understand what you went through.,. As much as possible that is, of course…” She helped hold him steady as he removed his pants. “That way if you didn’t want to talk about it or needed someone to understand slightly more than I would’ve without watching it…,” she rambled.

Finnick turned to face y/n, a tender smile on his lips. “You..,” he shook his head, “sugar, you’re far too sweet, you didn’t need to put yourself through that. But I appreciate you doing so and being so considerate of my potential needs to begin with”. He kissed her forehead delicately.

As Finnick began to try to help y/n undress for the night, she shook her head lovingly and stopped him. He was so exhausted. He didn’t need to help her tonight. “I’ve got it baby, you’re tired,” she spoke softly.

“I want to,” Finnick argued quietly, “if you’re okay with that! I don’t-”.

Y/n nodded quickly to silence Finnick’s worries. “I am, Finny. Just don’t want you overdoing it,” she mused, kissing his cheek.

Finnick hummed and resumed his efforts to help y/n out of her day clothes. “Is there… was there anything you saw that you want to talk about?” He asked.

Y/n hesitated for a moment. But, upon meeting Finnick’s genuinely curious eyes, she sighed. “…l heard you crying my name,” she said, thinking back to the moment she’d watched her husband crumple to the floor of the arena in agony.

Finnick gave y/n a sympathetic smile, sensing her worry and needless guilt. “I just needed to hear your voice, to know you weren’t actually hurt,” he explained. “I know they were fake. But.. you were…? You’re alright?”

Y/n nodded and grabbed Finnick’s hands from her shoulder and squeezed them. “I was just upset I couldn’t be there to reassure you I was fine,” she informed him. “But, I wasn’t hurt. Do you want to tell me about what it was like, babe? Get it off your chest?"

Finnick looked away as he began to cry. “S-sorry,” he murmured quietly in apology. “I shouldn’t be... I shouldn’t be crying. I.. I’m stronger than that… I’m sorry honey… I…”

“Finn,” y/n cooed. She let go of his hands and moved hers to cup his face and guide it towards her. When his eyes met hers, she gave him n a sweet smile. “Sweetheart, you never need to apologize to me. Ever. And, certainly not for crying…”.

Finnick nodded and melted into his wife’s embrace. “I… I thought it was real,” he began. “I… they copy… and it was your voice. I know it! It was so accurate! I…,” he shook, prompting y/n to rub his back soothingly. “I thought they’d hurt you.. that The Capitol.,. Snow…,” He trailed off.

“I think.. I thought about that a bunch too,” y/n murmured. “I think those sounds were made using by mixing up and splicing recordings from my games years ago, Finny.”

“I should’ve known that,” Finnick scolded himself. “I’m,” he sniffled as more tears escaped his eyes. He knew she might be watching the games and hadn’t wanted y/n to see him break down the way he had in that moment. He’d promised her he’d be strong and make it back to her. Yet all it took was some old audio clips and he’d shattered. He couldn’t deny the heartbreak he’d felt hearing her screams and cries. But he should’ve held it together. “I’m sorry.. I should’ve been stronger than that, I-“.

“No, Finnick. No,” y/n argued protectively. She leaned up and kissed his nose. “I don’t need you being strong all the time. I just need you. Vulnerabilities and all. Because that’s the real you, that’s all of you. And I love the whole real you.” She grinned as a bashful smile formed on her husband’s lips. “It’s all over now, Finny. No more having to pretend to be someone else for the cameras. You can just be yourself from now on. Just my wonderful Finnick Odair,” she cooed. As he leaned into her, she paid attention to his tears. She continued to sweetly dry them as she whispered loving words. After a few minutes, he’d stopped crying and was just resting in her embrace. “Fin, it's so good to have you home,” she whispered.

“I missed this,” Finnick confessed quietly.

“So did I.”

“You’re my happy place.”

“Don’t get cheesy on me,” y/n teased as Finnick stepped back so they could resume getting into bed for the night.

“I was away from you too long,” Finnick defended simply. “I gotta make up for the missed chances to flirt with my beautiful wife,” he winked, smirking as y/n looked away flustered.

“What can I do for you right now Finnick?” Y/n questioned as she faced him and saw his tears had returned.

“All I want is your lips against mine right now,” Finnick informed y/n. His cheeks turned brighter and brighter red until they matched the color of his teary eyes. “It sounds stupid, but I want to also physically feel your love-” he attempted to explain, feeling he needed to justify his request.

However, y/n didn’t need any reason to kiss her sweet husband. She quickly slid her hands into his hair on the back of his head and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Both y/n and Finnick cried quietly into the kiss as they moved impossibly closer to each other. It had been far too long since they felt this secure and untroubled over the other. When they pulled back, they instinctively rested their foreheads against each other’s, staring at one another. “I love you,” they whispered at the same time as they felt a small piece of their broken hearts begin to repair.

Finnick Odair Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @heroinhchicblog222

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redrobin-detective · 1 month

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I keep thinking how sad Quill Kipps' whole deal is. He's brought up as a child soldier and he becomes quite good at it, good enough to work at one of the best agencies. He works hard, suffers, loses people, carries on because it's all got to be worth it. He ages in a system that prioritizes youth and feels everything special about him slowly starting to slip away. He has put everything into being an elite agent and he's about to age out of everything he's ever known.

He gets tangled with an unruly bunch of independent agents. They're annoying rule breakers but god they're amazing. Part of his beef with them is he can feel their talent rolling off them in waves making him acutely aware of how his is almost used up. When it becomes unsafe for him to pretend any more, he does what other agents do and becomes a supervisor. He keenly feels the separation from himself and agents in the field and finds he now can't just sit on the sidelines and watch others put their lives at stake when he can't help.

He's adrift, nothing to his name but his old reputation and a set of skills that are no longer useful. He ends up tangled back with the independents because they trust him - need him - and by god does he want to be needed. He wants so desperately to be part of their world again. They find some goggles that allow him to see visitors again and he's like a kid at Christmas. He can finally be involved again! It doesn't have to be over!

While working with them he learns everything he was taught to believe in was a lie, the prestigious agency he gave his entire being for is causing the rise of spirits. Once his involvement is found out, he loses his pension and privileges. He is cut off entirely from his old support system. With nothing left, the independents take him in. He's useful but he knows it's more out of pity. He works hard, almost dies and fights to dismantle the very establishment he spent his best years serving. The battle is won but things stay the same for him.

He is still a young adult clinging with aching fingers onto his childhood and teen years because that was the only way he had purpose. His closest friends are still young teens, five or more years younger than him. He chastises them for their childishness even as he desires more than anything to be one of them. He is Peter Pan, refusing to grow up because there is nothing for him as an adult in haunted England. He does not even look towards his future because he cannot let go of his shining past where he was actually needed.

#lockwood and co #the more I write kipps the more sad I get for him #I grew to like him in the books but getting in his head really hammers home his inherent tragedy #most 21-22 year olds would HATE hanging with 15-16 year olds #but he desperately wants to be one of them again because thats all he knows #the agent system builds these kids up with power and prestige and then throws them to the curb as adults #youre not special anymore not useful #but what is he supposed to do? He stopped education early and he's aged out of his most useful skills #quill kipps

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starbylers · 10 months

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Mike’s lack of personal journey in a Mlvn reading of the show: why so many people complain about Mike’s character

Something just occurred to me…I actually would challenge any Mlvn to tell me about a character motivation/internal conflict of Mike’s that does not revolve around El. What struggles does Mike as a person deal with throughout the series? When trying to build an effective, realistic, well-rounded character you can’t have their biggest fear be ‘loosing this particular person’ as Mlvns love to claim is Mike’s. As a writer you have to understand your character’s deepest desires and what drives them at their core, they cannot be purely motivated by an external force. A character such as that will feel hollow, boring and difficult to connect with. This is basic character development stuff.

Examples (simplified to get the point across):

For the whole show, El struggles with finding her place in a world where she feels fundamentally different

For most of the show, Will struggles with his sexuality and feeling like a ‘mistake’

Dustin in s2 deals with his self-esteem and understanding that he is good enough even if he doesn’t have a girl’s approval

Lucas in s4 wrestles with a desire to be popular and to ‘fit in’ which we see him overcome

Max in s4 deals with depression and the process of wishing to no longer be here to realising she actually wants to live

But…what about Mike? A brief Mlvn interpretation of everything he does through the show and why he does it:

S1: he saves and looks after El because he fell in love with her. He also looks for his friend Will.

S2: he is heartbroken because El is not with him anymore, and then madly in love again once she’s back.

S3: he has ups and downs with El because teen relationships are just like that, and then they get back together because they’re truly in love. He’s also too in love with his girlfriend to care about his old interests.

S4: he fights with El because all couples fight, and then rescues her from Nina while taking friendly advice from Will. Finally he confesses his love, which he didn’t do before because he’s terrified to lose her oh and he’s not good at feelings (but they won’t digger any deeper into that last one 🤐).

Like…yeah they acknowledge Mike also helps with the supernatural stuff, he’s smart and observant. He generally takes charge of the group and looks out for his friends, and (at least in earlier seasons) he’s the leader. But those are character traits. Everyone has them. (Max is sarcastic and kinda scary when she needs to be, Dustin can be cocky but is highly intelligent, Lucas is very headstrong and follows his own judgement, Will is sensitive and empathetic). I’m talking about character conflicts/journeys. Can they tell us what journey Mike has gone on as his own person???

And this, this is why lots and lots of people complain that Mike’s character revolves around El (especially since they started dating). This is why people say Mike is the Duffer’s self-insert and is just meant to be a blank slate relatable character. This is why Mlvns characterise him as El’s obsessed loser boyfriend. Because if you view the show through a Mlvn lens then yeah, Mike looks utterly two-dimensional with no drive other than screeching El El El when she’s in danger (sorry it had to be said).

The problem is when you try to dig into what Mike’s deeper motivations could possibly be, it gets very bad for Mlvn very fast:

‘Mike is scared to lose El because he’s worried she won’t need him’

Let’s detach El from that and figure out the root of this problem, what is really going on with Mike here (we already know but just for the sake of my point), because he is a character in his own right and this was a large focus of his story last season.

What do we know? Mike expressed feelings of worthlessness (‘I’m just some random nerd...’) and feelings of inferiority (…‘who got lucky superman landed on his doorstep’) in his relationship. He acknowledges that his and El’s relationship was fundamentally built on her just needing someone. Also, throughout the series we see Mike has a strong desire to help and serve and save those close to him, it’s who he is.

Mike is so clearly driven by a need to feel needed and fears being an unimportant nobody. He doesn’t think he’s special or useful next to El and it hurts him, his self-esteem is very, very low. But Mlvns never acknowledge that, because that would require admitting that a) Will’s words in the van showed he recognises & loves the Mike as the brave and inspiring leader he wants to be, and in doing so soothed Mike’s personal insecurities (because those do exist, and the talk wasn’t just ‘relationship advice’) and b) Mlvn’s relationship makes Mike feel shitty.

Another example:

Common Mlvn interpretation: ‘Mike was spending all his time with El in s3 because he’s in love with her and he is growing out of childish games’

What do we know? (1) Mike didn’t truly loose interest in DnD, he just neglected his interests when he got into a relationship, super healthy (2) He tries to act cool around El (‘Sorry that made me sound like a 7 year old’ / feigning disinterest in Dustin’s inventions) (3) When arguing with Will, Mike frames him getting a girlfriend as being the inevitable progression of life, the opposing choice from ‘sitting in his basement playing games’…but then he joins Hellfire in s4…as soon as El leaves. He didn’t truly believe anything he was saying to Will, he just can’t juggle being himself and having a gf simultaneously 😬.

Mike’s internal conflict here is clearly feeling like he has to grow up, and has to suppress his true identity in the name of achieving that. (And this continues somewhat into s4 with the fake, not-at-all-his-style Cali outfit in El’s fav colours). But again, understanding that requires understanding that Mlvn as a couple is not a safe space for Mike to be himself, and what Mlvns characterise as a normal teenage ups and downs is actually indicative of an unhealthy relationship.

Basically what I’m saying is it makes so, so much sense why Mike is one of the most disliked characters among the GA (aside from like the actual villains) and why he always ends up on those stupid lists. People are sick of him existing just to be El’s love interest. And that is not true in the slightest, but when you aren’t looking deeper than Mlvn…yeah it does look pretty bad, and I understand where they’re coming from. And as much as we say El is the one who Mlvns are obsessed with making everything about her boyfriend, the real victim of this treatment from them is Mike. Even his heart-to-hearts with Will are actually Mike thinking about El, apparently.

This is another reason why I’m so sure about Byler because Mike is essentially the original main character (aside from El I guess). I’m sorry but there’s no way he is the only one the writers managed to mess up this badly when they are capable of adding deeper personal development to characters who are much less central to the story. Even Finn himself said we’ve not been as personal with Mike recently but s5 will remedy that and people will be happy with his journey. The day Mlvns and GA are forced to look deeper at Mike’s personal internal conflict outside of how it relates to El is the day I will know peace 🙏🏽

#byler #anti mileven #wow this got incredibly long congrats if you make it to the end

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lovesickeros · 1 year

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☆ sickly sweet poison

{☆} characters tsaritsa, harbingers [ mentioned ] {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings isolation, starvation {☆} word count 0.6k

You lose track of time so easily in the suffocating walls of your room. You can only guess, generally, how long has passed by how the logs burn in the grand centerpiece of a fireplace, drowning the entire room in vibrant hues of orange at all times. Servants come every few hours to stoke the flames and add more, should it be needed, but they do not listen to your pleas, hurriedly scurrying out of your room as if they had never been there at all.

It was..surprisingly lonely, despite how often the Harbingers visited.

You did not even know what the hall outside your door looked like, beyond the brief glances you managed to steal when it was opened. They showered you in affection and gift, your closet bursting at the seams with new clothes and the bowl of imported fruit sitting untouched - they claimed to love you, to adore you, to worship the very ground you walked upon..so why, then, did you feel more like a bird, trapped within a cage of it's own making?

You should have never trusted them to protect you from the other Acolytes. Death, you think, would have been sweeter then the poison they feed you with every pretty lie they tell you.

We're just protecting you, Most Divine.

The others cannot be trusted. They have failed you once already, what's to say they shall not do so again?

You are safe with us, Divine One.

You no longer believed a word of it. Not since they locked you in the palace, in the room you once viewed as a safe haven from the cruelties of the world. You were blind to their own cruelty, as they made it your prison.

"Divine One?"

Heels clicked against the floorboards, the door shutting softly behind her, as the cold that followed her like her own shadow swept over you. Even beneath the heavy blankets and despite the freshly stoked fire burning every so brightly, you could not help but shiver. You felt sick, dread clawing at your throat as the bed dipped, calloused, gentle hands brushing your hair away from your eyes.

You wish she would at least pretend, just like the rest, that your isolation was for the greater good. It was so very easy to hate them. But she would not hide her intentions behind falsities - she was simply selfish.

"My Harbingers tell me you refuse to eat," Her voice is uncharacteristically soft, but you sense the dull threat offered beneath her honeyed words, "Must I remind you, Divine One, that I am not above forcing you, if I have to?" Her tone turns bitter, fangs peaking from beneath plump lips as you tearfully meet her eyes, shivering beneath her cold hands and even colder eyes, dissecting you and pulling apart your defenses until you become pliant.

"It truly pains me to do so, Divine one, so let us not make this any harder then it has to be for either of us." You tense, freezing like a deer in headlights as her hand slips to the back of your neck, nails digging into your throat enough to make a point, the bed dipping even further as she leans down, "I hope I will not have to ask you again."

"..Okay."

You barely hear your own voice over your heartbeat, your hands still trembling as she takes them in her own, "There we are. I knew you'd see reason." As if waiting for your eventual compliance, the door opens again, the overwhelming smell of food filling your room as multiple servants shift in and out, lining the table in the far corner of your room with more food you would eat even on a good day.

You are sure she senses your uneasiness, but she peels the layers of your bedding away all the same, hands shifting beneath your knees as she lifts you away from your last remaining comforts, cradling you against her chest.

Had you known love could be so cruel, you never would have stepped foot into the wolves den - death was a mercy, now.

#sagau #self aware genshin #self aware genshin impact #genshin sagau #tsaritsa #sagau tsaritsa #fic tag #aka the tsaritsa bullies u into self care for issues that she created (girlboss)#the self care is not dying #we support evil villainous women in this household #if she tells me to sit down im sat #luring in normal ppl w the zl fic so i can throw this fic at them like a brick. enjoy ur fucked up women!!#oh right #imposter au #implied but its there

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cherrykamado · 1 year

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CHEWWI CHEWWI JIRO OVERSTIMMING HIMSELF IN THE PROCESS OF OVERSTIMMING YOU 😵‍💫😵

OH MY GOD FNDSJKFNJNFVNSDGN PLEASE VI!!! the amount of times i've thought about this!! i honestly think tanjiro is someone who, despite being so centered and focused in his s/o's pleasure, can easily get lost in it and lose himself in the process so YEAH !

— WARNINGS: aged up characters. fem reader. overstimulation. reader has hair. pet names ('bunny').

— NOTICE: minors, ageless and empty blogs dni. age in bio or blocked.

His breath has become beyond erractic; his glossy wine gaze finds anchor on yours, and he struggles with his heavy eyelids as so he does with that wet curtain of tears so that he can keep on looking at you. You feel strangely, excessively heavenly when your walls are pulsating around him; the way your mewls have become synchronized with every kiss of the head of his cock against your sensitive spot can only add to this ecstatic haze he's submerged in.

"T-Tanjiro... Tanjiro..." you call, but to him it's the way in which his name falls off from your lips, that he can't bring himself to stop.

"J-just a bit more..." He retorts, "I promise, just... just a bit longer... oh, I promise... I promise." The words make their way, lose their shape as they come out of his lips, as he is drawn to the crook of your neck. When he breathes in, shallowly, he inhales the sweet scent of your skin, mixed with the one of your shampoo — god, how besotted he is.

And that enamour brings him to keep going. Thrust after thrust — sloppy, but deep. The afterglow comes as his climax slowly dies down, but for some reason there's a tingle inside him, with every thrust. It's like it feels even better like this, if he keeps going. And he cannot just not hear his desires, not when he's so lost deep in you.

Lost in you, and in the idea of making you feel good.

You beg him, you tell him that it's too much, and once again he promises that it'll be just a bit more, as he kisses the crook of your neck, only to climb with his lips up your skin, until his lips find home in yours.

"You're doing so good..." He starts, stopping just for a second to sink into your lips. And then, he confesses:

He inhales sharply— "Let me— let me make you feel good, a bit more. Just... oof..!"

And you hear the cracks in his voice, just as much as you feel the stutter of his hips — you feel it too: your thighs try to hide your over-pleasured sex from him, or so try to. However, despite feeling pain in his tip, he decides to not pay attention to it — it's just what your deserve, he tells himself. And he thinks that the way in which you keep on quivering around him is a good sign.

Until the pain becomes too much for him, and he winces, his forearms pressing your sides as so does his forehead against yours.

"S-sorry, I'm s-sorry...!" He stutters, pulling out from you. But little did he know that you were yearning for that.

Out of breath, you tell him that it's okay. "I... I actually was trying to tell you..." You pant, but never finish the sentence. "Are... are you alright?"

And he nods. "Are you okay?"

"Mhhm, it was a bit too much."

"O-oh! I didn't— I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? I hope—"

You stop him, grabbing both of his cheeks to plant a kiss on his lips in a gesture of reassurance. "You didn't."

#tanjirou thirst #tanjirou kamado x reader #kamado tanjiro x reader #kamado tanjirou x reader #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro x reader smut #tanjiro smut #tanjirou smut #kamado tanjirou smut #tanjirou kamado smut #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro x you #kny thirst #kny smut #🍒 — works #tanjiro.💚#loml.❣️💍#IM SORRY I SELF INSERTED A BIT INTO THIS FNSDFKJNGJKAG I CANT HELP IT W HIM

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heliads · 10 months

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like a heartbeat, drives you mad

From the moment you first dream of Neverland, you know that it's a home unlike any other. Waking up is terrible every time, but what if you were able to find a way to stay there forever?

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You are always alone when the thoughts catch up to you. When you’re with other people, it’s different, easier to convince your mind to race to better, safer topics. You don’t have to think about the fears or the worries, you just have to keep up with the conversation or do your best to not seem like the person you’re terrified you truly are. Everything hinges on the one other person there, distracting you from the relentless parade of thoughts, keeping you firmly in reality.

When you’re alone, though, you can’t hide anymore. You wave goodbye to your friends to head inside, and with your hand on the knob, you think, did they really want to see me? And, was that laughter genuine, or were they faking it the whole time? Worse, was it at me?

Things get worse once it gets dark. You lie awake at night thinking that you’ll fail at everything, that no one will want to associate with you after that, that everyone on this earth is going to live and die and no one will ever remember you again. You don’t like thinking along such dark lines, but the self-hatred is strong and won’t let you go. You’ve tried before, shaking it off, but it always comes creeping back when you want it the least.

Life is not the best, but at least the fall of dusk upon the streets and surroundings of your hometown brings you the blessing of finally being able to go to bed. You can push off schoolwork until the next day, chores until forever, just so long as you can shut off your mind and crawl under your covers and everything will go away.

Tonight is one of those nights when you want it most of all. It’s been a long day, followed by a long week, chased by an even longer month. You can only tell yourself that it’ll get better soon for so long before even that familiar lie loses its charm. It’ll be good to rest tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow will make you happier. You close your eyes and try to sleep, all but begging unconsciousness to fall over you and carry you away. Your waking life is horrid enough. In sleep, at least, you will be alone, but–

In your dream, there is a boy. He was not there before. He is, in fact, nobody you have ever seen before. This should not be a problem. Dreams are rarely perfectly photographic, but this boy is, indeed, perfect. He’s absolutely in focus, blurred by none of that dreamlike haze that most figures cling to in your subconscious. It’s like a memory, but it’s never happened. It’s like reality, but you are still definitely asleep.

You stare at him for longer than is perhaps polite, but he does not go away. You can feel this dream in a way that should not be possible– the carpet under your feet, the cool of the air conditioning. You’re in your room, standing by the door. He’s perched on a chair, eyeing you with interest, and as bizarre as this dream is, you cannot shake the absolute certainty that this is his fault.

The only thing to be left, then, is to get some answers. You work up the confidence to speak, and your voice sounds exactly as it should, not distorted by dreams or anything. “Who are you?”

The boy chuckles. “A friend of yours. Hopefully, that is. I’d like to get to know you.”

Having gone a record number of years of your life without any hyperrealistic boys disrupting your dreaming schedule, especially ones who specifically wanted to meet you of all people, this only adds to your confusion. “Why?”

The boy shrugs liberally. “I’ve been encountering fewer and fewer dreamers around. Yours are the most vibrant. I was curious.”

You fight the odd urge to laugh. “A lot of people dream. Maybe you’re just bad at looking.”

This is, of course, the most rational thing you can do, immediately pick a fight with some guy currently terrorizing your brainwaves. Luckily, he doesn’t seem offended by your need to argue, and he just grins. “See, you’re right, but most dreams are nothing more than surface level. Yours are deeper, richer, stronger. In all honesty, that’s the sort of thing that makes me more powerful, so I wanted to see what it was about.”

You scoff. “Sure thing, magic boy, you, like, eat dreams or something. Weird of you, but okay.”

He smiles again. He shouldn’t, but he does. “You don’t believe me? I can show you.”

He stands, holds out a hand to you. You’re certain this guy’s nothing more than a figment of your imagination, but still. You hesitate. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Peter,” he says, “but magic boy works too.”

It makes you laugh. Shouldn’t, but it does. Just enough to shake loose your hesitations– what could happen here, after all, in the confines of your own dreams? You take his hand and something sparks behind his eyes. Pride, maybe. Or justification of some sort. Either way, you get the feeling that he’s just proven himself right.

Peter walks over to your window, throwing it open abruptly and climbing out onto the ledge. “You have to trust me,” he tells you, “or this isn’t going to work very well.”

You want to argue with him that you have absolutely no reason to trust him at all, but for some reason you’re already crawling out the window before you can get the words out. Your body trusts him, even as your mind doubts it. Strange, but nothing about this makes sense, anyway.

Peter straightens up slowly, bringing you with him. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” You ask, concerned.

His eyes dance with mischief. “For this,” he calls out, and he pulls you from the ledge.

There is a terrible moment of falling, when the only sure thing is his hand still wrapped around yours. You are plummeting towards the ground with dreadful speed, but then you’re not, and you’re leveling out again, the two of you pulled through the air as if by some invisible string.

The wind whips through Peter’s hair as the two of you soar through the air. “How is it?” He shouts over to you.

You laugh delightedly. “Fantastic.” It’s almost a pity it isn’t real. The fact that it feels so true but isn’t is almost more heartbreaking as if nothing had felt like reality in the slightest.

Before you know it, you and Peter are well beyond the reaches of your town, or even your country. Dark waters skim by underneath you, the waves of some foreign sea. Thousands of stars twinkle above you, Peter points out a few, shouts, second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning, that’ll get us there. You frown at him, call back, where? And he laughs, delighted in the thought of all that you have soon to experience, and screams, Neverland! at the top of his lungs.

It sounds like a joyous place. It is, from the moment you step foot on its pearlescent beaches, and later still, when you’re striding through the lush forests towards a campsite. It’s all a blur from that moment onwards, a swirl of new faces running towards you and laughing at your jokes, the clash of swords without a trace of fear, promises that you’ll love this even better, or that, or everything.

It is paradise. You do a hundred things and never tire. The Lost Boys who meet you, take you by storm, and obviously enjoy the company of a newcomer. Throughout all of it, Peter watches, tucked into the shadow of a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest with that satisfied smile on his face again. He does not approach until earlier into the morning, once dawn starts bleeding out beneath the blushing fingers of the rising sun.

“We have to go back,” he tells you at last, slipping out from his hideaway to step carefully to your side, “Or, you do, at least.”

The memory that none of this is real comes crashing down upon you, and you can feel the ecstasy of this whole night leaving you in a flash. “Right,” you say, “This is just a dream. Forgot about that.”

The thought that you’ll have to wake up and go to school and exist again as a normal person without any of this wonder that you’d just experienced makes you feel sick and saddened. Peter shakes his head, eyes soft. “You don’t necessarily have to wake up, but you should. You can come back soon, though.”

You laugh bitterly. “Of course I can, dream boy. I’m going to forget all of this by morning.”

He frowns. “Do you want to?”

“No,” you insist, “but I don’t think I have a choice.”

“You do,” Peter tells you, “You always have a choice. Always.”

With that, he takes your hand, and pulls just so. You stumble forward, caught off balance, and when you look up again, you’re in your room. Same four walls, same ceiling, same everything. You know somehow that this is the dream no longer, even without mysterious boys or wonderful islands in front of you.

A dreadful sigh leaves your lungs, carrying only heartbreak and misery. What a pity, to have such a magnificent dream and then have to leave it. Knowing that none of it was real is perhaps one of the worst agonies you have ever encountered in your life.

Or– was it not real after all? There’s something clenched in your hand, and you raise it slowly, uncurling the fingers one by one. What falls neatly onto your lap is a stone, polished to perfection by centuries of tides. It’s like no stone you’ve ever seen around here, shiny in a way that nothing natural is. It’s dark and lovely and– and it’s exactly like the ones on the shores of Neverland when you first touched down. There was no way you could have gotten it anywhere but there. That means that you were there after all, and that it’s real, it’s all real.

You go throughout the day in a haze, barely able to focus long enough to remember where you’re supposed to be going. None of it matters, though, not even the snide comments of your teachers or the questioning looks from your peers. Nothing matters, because the second the day ends and night creeps back around you, you know it’s time.

You have a brief moment of terror just before you fall asleep when you wonder if you can get back after all, that perhaps that was just a one time thing. No, you decide firmly, I want it. I’m going.

And, when you open your eyes to that same slightly uncanny feeling of the dream before, you know it, you can get back. Peter isn’t here this time, but that doesn’t stop you from racing to your window and throwing open the sash. You leap out into the air again blindly, reaching for the stars even before your feet leave the threshold. You won’t get hurt, none of this is real. All of this is real, that’s why you can fly into the air again, caught by an unseen hand. Second star to the right. Straight on until morning. You know the way. You couldn’t forget it if you tried.

The beaches of Neverland are empty, but you charge forward anyway, nearly tripping over tree roots and loose plants as you hurry through the forest. You can just see the lights of the camp, and then, yes, you’re into the clearing, and you’re greeted by shouts of glee and joy. Peter’s waiting for you at last, slowly clapping with the rest of the boys.

“You made it,” he says, evidently proud, “We wanted to see if you could.”

“Of course I can,” you tell him, laughing, “I made that choice.”

“That you did,” Peter says, and the celebrations begin.

It is quite possibly the best time of your entire life. You repeat this process day after day, slogging through your daylight hours with the end goal of being able to fall asleep and go back to Neverland, back to your Lost Boys, back to Peter. Nothing matters but the island. They all get along with you better than any friend you’ve ever made on the mainland.

The journey takes a shorter and shorter time, gone in the blink of an eye, and half the time you just wake up on the shores anyway, so familiar is the destination to you. You learn archery, throw knives, spar with the boys, shriek and shout and spin around the campfire. It’s fantastic, all of it, but that only makes the morning even worse in your opinion.

For, no matter how excellent of a night you had on Neverland, you always have to go back. Always. Peter takes your hand and he gives you that same look, that expression of regret and acceptance, and promises to see you later, to see you soon. Then you’re back in your house, and every time, the storm of homesickness and grief at no longer being on your island pulls you under.

It makes you think, though. On your first night on Neverland, Peter had said something strange about how you didn’t necessarily have to wake up. Perhaps it fits in with what he’s been telling you about how everything is just a choice. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to want that choice, the one to live here forever. It’s one you’d make in a heartbeat if you could only do it.

Curious, though, you start looking around at the other Lost Boys. They had to have gotten here somehow, right? One night you see one of them arrive, ferried over by a strange shadowy thing that looks far more terrifying than the whirlwind flight you’d had with Peter.

You ask one of the Lost Boys about it that night, interested to know why you were brought by Peter and this newcomer wasn’t. Apparently, though, you were the anomaly, not this boy.

“Usually Pan makes his shadow bring newcomers over,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly, “but I guess he wanted to impress you or something.”

You frown. “Why?”

The boy lifts a shoulder, evidently unbothered by the whole affair. “You’re the last of the dreamers, I guess he wants to keep you around or something.”

It’s an unhelpful answer, all things considered, and basically just what Peter had told you in your dream bedroom that first night. Still, the story is consistent, at least, and it makes you even more certain that Peter wants you to stay. You’re one of the dreamers, right? Why wouldn’t he want you to stay here forever, at least to keep his magic strong if not for the obvious friendship the two of you have had since the very first time you met?

You resolve to bring it up to Peter the next night. You’ve barely been on Neverland for an hour or two before you pull Peter aside and tell him what’s been on your mind for the longest time.

The breath out of your lungs is shaky, but you’re determined to get this right. “I want to stay in Neverland,” you tell him. “Forever, I mean. Not waking up. I want you to bring me here in real life. You always say that we have to make choices, and this is mine. I choose Neverland.”

Peter nods slowly, and you’re almost getting up your hopes that he’ll be accepting when he starts to speak. “That certainly would be an important choice. I would have to choose to bring you, though.”

You incline your head once. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you now. I mean, we’re friends, right? You and me, and the rest of the Lost Boys get along with me, too. I belong here, you know that. You brought me here in the first place, at least let me stay.”

He’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? After too many minutes, Peter sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Dreaming is one thing. Actually living here is something else entirely.”

“I know,” you say, starting to get impatient, “I’ve thought about this a lot, trust me, but I feel more alive on your island than I have in the real world. This is my home, Peter. You made it my home.”

Peter stares at you, the ground, his hands, and back to you. “No,” he says at last.

It feels as if you have fallen off of a tall cliff, condemned to tumble down forever in endless emptiness. “What? Why wouldn’t you– you’ve let me come here every night for months, but actually being on this island for good is too much for you? Peter, was any of this actually real to you? Was I just here as a temporary thing while you tried to harness the power of a dreamer or something?”

Peter shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It wasn’t about that. You’re as good as one of my Lost Boys–”

You cut him off, feeling the horror build in your chest with every passing second. “But never actually one of them, right? I can hang around during my nights but I will never be one of them, because you don’t really want me here. If you did, you would have brought me like all the others.”

You want to scream and cry, perhaps both. You’ve trusted him and, hell, even loved him, more than anyone else. Peter was the one thing in between you and complete melancholy. He’s turned your whole life around, given you reason after reason to keep going, but he does not want you around for good. Maybe he doesn’t even want you around at all.

He’s trying to say something, come up with some excuse that’ll somehow exempt him from your heartbreak, but anger is quickly outweighing sadness in your mind and you won’t let him. “No,” you say shakily, “If you never intended to keep me, I won’t waste our time. Why have me here at all?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Wait, please–”

You never hear the end of his sentence. You’ve woken yourself up from this glorious dream enough to be able to do it all by yourself, and you do it now. When you open your eyes, it’s still dark outside, several hours from morning, but it’s over now, it’s all over.

You know that with certainty. You’ll never be going back. If Peter does not want you, and it is suddenly crystal clear that he does not, or he would have already taken you to Neverland and never fought it, then you will not trouble him with your presence any longer. This is what he wants, even if it destroys you.

It’s funny, realizing how much being on Neverland transformed your life. Your waking hours suddenly seem longer, the days filled with more dread and dullness than they ever had before. You had been miserable before you dreamed of Peter and the Lost Boys, and now that misery is back in full force. You compel yourself to forget him, to forget everything that had happened on that island, but picking up the pieces is a far harder task than you had ever anticipated.

Days pass. Weeks. Months. At first, you have to force yourself to wake up from that dream again and again, catching yourself with the image of second stars to the right even as you promised yourself that you would never think of it again, but it gets easier as time goes by. That hurts more than it should, but you have no other choice. Peter does not put himself in your dreams again. You do not show up to Neverland. Everything is exactly as it was before, but worse, because now you have those memories of a time that was far better than this one.

You’re walking home from school one day when you’re reminded of Neverland again. It’s a strong memory, forcing itself to the front of your mind. Green trees, the leaves waving overhead. The breeze whipping at your face. You can’t imagine why you’d be thinking of it again, and then you turn a corner and he’s there in front of you.

Peter.

It’s impossible. You’re not dreaming, so he shouldn’t be here unless– unless he actually came here. You stand stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, and Peter looks back at you, just as shaken even though he’s the one who came all this way.

“I miss you,” he says slowly, unsteadily. You’ve never seen Peter hesitant, or ever show any sign of a lapse in his typical cocky confidence. Not until now, that is. Truly, he has no idea how you will treat him now that you’ve already left once before and gotten away with it.

“I know,” you tell him, “I know.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, trying to get a read on you. “Did you miss me?”

You take a step to the side, looking at the nearby scenery, anything but him. “Yes. Parts of it. I missed running with the Lost Boys under the trees. I missed the bonfires and the dancing. And yes, I think I missed you. But I hated feeling like you didn’t want me there, and for a while, that was enough to make me think I didn’t miss you.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, twin emeralds twinkling in the quiet air. “And what about now that I’m here? Can you miss me now?”

“I can,” you decide at last. You do. You have, and seeing him again has ripped open a fresh wound you swore had already healed. Blood is oozing around your fingers, but for some reason being with him still takes away the pain of such a grievous blow.

Peter holds out a hand to you. He’s trembling slightly, far less sure of himself than he’d been in a dream of your bedroom many months ago. Still. He wants you even now.

“Come back with me,” he says, “Back to Neverland. We all need you. I need you. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. It was always your home, I didn’t realize it before. It could be your home again.”

You look at him. It’s been a long time. You’ve grown up in the time since you last stepped foot on the island, but strangely enough, you think he has too. That’s why you’re able to take his hand at last, and trust that he will not let you down again. He needs you, just like he said. As it turns out, you need him too.

Peter’s smile is radiant. “Shall we go back, then?”

You allow yourself to smile back at last. “I think we will.”

ouat tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

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