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targaryenrealnessdarling · 3 days

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A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part One | Series Masterlist

Summary: his music school having been challenged by Riverrun Conservatory, Aemond is given the opportunity to come face to face with their top musician | Word Count: 4.7k~ | Warnings: smut (not with the main female character), toxic relationship, semi-public sex

Nothing quite compared to the low hum, and delicate whine of a cello. It had been that way for some time, ever since he'd discovered it.

Aemond still remembers the look on his mother's face, her chocolate eyes wide with pride and joy, when her son who was still freshly mutilated, resulting in the loss of sight in his left eye, took an interest in playing classical music.

The cello had become more than just an instrument to Aemond; it was his refuge, his voice in a world that had grown suddenly more silent and unforgiving. The accident had not just taken half his sight but had cast a shadow over his once bright future. Music, however, brought light back into his life, offering a path forward that he had never anticipated.

The Targaryen name, synonymous with power and prestige in other realms, here lent an aura of intrigue and expectation to his performances. Yet, it was Aemond's own skill, the raw emotion he channelled through the strings of his cello, that captivated audiences. His music was a blend of classical elegance and a palpable intensity that seemed to stem from the very depths of his being.

And Aemond was nothing if not a perfectionist at heart.

He perfected everything, to the point of madness some felt. And if he had not invited a feeling of deep, primal intrigue from every performance he gave, then what was the point? This innocent hobby at first, honed by his parents and caregivers alike, was now a way of life. A career. Something to strive for.

As he became older, this competitive nature never wavered once. He embraced it like a challenge to be met. And the conductor of this prestigious school, Otto Hightower, both a friend of his father, Viserys, a business giant well-known across all of Westeros, and conveniently his grandfather, expected nothing short of the best from his prodigious grandson.

He was never self-conscious either, even if he was easily noticeable and stared upon everywhere he went. And one might expect little attention from the opposite sex in a world of classical music and elegant instruments, but for Aemond this could not have been less true.

He attracted in every show, not only with his talent but with his haunting appearance. The straight long scar through his left eye was struck in the middle by a pale blue pupil, his other seeing eye stark in comparison. Women would watch his slender fingers strike fear, passion and energy into their hearts, wishing the very same could grip at their skin.

To their frustrations, he never acted on this popularity.

Alys Rivers was the only woman he ever reciprocated affections of some kind for. At least two decades his senior, his family had been less than impressed at her presence in his life. But there was no choice on their part. Aemond had made his, and Alys Rivers, like it or not, was his muse. A classical music lover at heart. And a professional critic no less.

One might be forgiven for thinking they disliked each other, they rarely exhibited romance. She was more akin to his manager than anyone else, critiquing his manner of playing and giving advice where he didn't want it. And he rewarded her, away from the prying eyes of the public, with quick, angry sex, exerting what control he did have, into intimacy.

She, like him, had a haunting presence to her, but one less mysterious. More overtly seductive. And though sometimes it seemed to irk Aemond, some felt as if they were still acquainted by convenience if nothing else.

Aemond always arrived early to Kings Landing Music College. The stuffy, wood-panelled room gave some semblance of comfort. There was something about the acoustics, the closeness, that felt almost womb-like. Safe. Familiar.

Meticulously, tuning his cello, he half-listened to the skinny, pink-faced Blackwood, practicing at the same time, “sound like a fucking dying pig.”

“Half dying,” Aemond murmured, with a roll of his eyes.

Otto waltzed in, clad in black slacks and a loose forest-green jumper, “Blackwood, get your fucking instrument in tune please. Fucking Cole could do a better job in violas.”

Criston twirled two Timpani sticks between his fingers, giving a look of mock offence from across the room, “just because I'm over here doesn't mean I can't hear you-”

“Alright, alright, before we begin today’s practice, I have an announcement,” Otto declared, his voice commanding attention. The room quickly fell silent, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“We’ve been challenged to a competition by the Riverrun Conservatory,” Otto revealed, his eyes sweeping across the room, measuring the reaction to his words. The announcement ignited a buzz among the musicians, the rivalry between the schools notorious for its intensity.

“This isn’t just any friendly showcase. It’s a direct confrontation on neutral ground at the upcoming city arts festival. We will be judged on technique, emotional expression, and the complexity of our performance.”

Aemond’s pulse quickened. Riverrun Conservatory had a formidable reputation, known for their strict discipline and innovative performances. The thought of competing against them stirred a mix of excitement and nerve.

Otto’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on Aemond, then moving on. “I want crispness, I want emotion, and above all, I want precision. We will begin selecting the repertoire tomorrow. Today, I want everyone to focus on their sections. I expect perfection and I will accept nothing less than your best.”

With a decisive turn, Otto left the rehearsal space, his footsteps echoing his determination. The room erupted into whispers and hurried discussions; the stakes had been set.

Blackwood sighed, stress gnawing and weighing on his face. “Fuck me, no pressure then.”

“Don't fucking shit yourself. It's only Riverrun,” a lanky guy mumbled behind his flute.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Aemond tuned his cello once more, a determined glint in his eye. He was eager to prove himself, not just as a formidable cellist, but as a key player in leading his school to victory. As the rehearsal began, the sounds of strings, woodwinds, and brass filled the room, each musician pouring their heart into the notes.

Aemond knew that every session, every note, would count. The festival was not just another performance; it was a proving ground. And he was ready to claim his place on it.

With his cello perched on his back as if it were an extension of himself, Aemond strode toward Otto’s office. The familiar weight of the instrument reassured him, steadying his nerves as he prepared to discuss the imminent arrival of their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Aemond knocked with a confident rhythm and was quickly greeted by Otto, who peered out from behind a mountain of musical scores. His deep-set eyes and beard, more salt than pepper, gave him an air of aged wisdom.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Otto asked, noticing the urgency in Aemond's posture.

Stepping inside, Aemond carefully leaned his cello against the wall. "I've heard that Riverrun will be arriving tomorrow to practise here, in preparation for the festival. They’ll be using some of our facilities. I wanted to discuss how we can use this to our advantage, especially since their star pianist is said to be among them."

Otto raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he saw the cunning nature reflected in his grandson he perceived in himself.

"Indeed, they will be here. It’s a rare opportunity to observe them up close, to learn their strengths and possibly their weaknesses. We’ve managed to arrange different practice times to ensure there’s no direct overlap, but our paths will certainly cross."

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we could subtly observe their practice sessions, we might glean insights into their preparation and techniques. It could inform our strategy and help us focus our rehearsals where we need the most work."

Otto walked over to his desk and shuffled some papers, revealing a schedule. "Here are the timings. Riverrun’s sessions are slotted just after ours in the adjacent rooms. It’s crucial we keep our interactions professional, but keep your eyes and ears open. Understand how their pianist integrates with their ensemble— it’s not just about her solo performance."

"Should we consider adjusting our pieces or rehearsal focus based on what we learn?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

"Potentially," Otto responded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But let’s not be hasty. First, observe. See if there’s a particular piece they struggle with or excel in. We’ll adjust our strategy based on solid evidence, not assumptions."

Aemond felt a surge of tactical excitement. "I’ll make sure our section leaders are discreet but observant. We can use this chance to refine our performance to outshine theirs."

"Exactly," Otto agreed, handing Aemond a copy of the schedule. "Use this opportunity wisely. We need every edge we can get against Riverrun. Remember, they are guests in our school, so maintain the highest standards of respect and professionalism at all times."

With a firm nod, Aemond picked up his cello, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As he left Otto’s office, he knew the next few days could define the outcome of the festival. The challenge was daunting, but Aemond was ready to lead his school not just to compete, but to win.

Aemond was barely through the front door of his apartment before Alys was barraging him with questions. Her fine lips were lacquered with red, fingernails painted a charcoal black as she poured herself a coffee.

“I heard about the competition. Riverrun is notorious. Sure you can handle it?” She smirked behind the rim of her cup.

He sighed, setting down his cello, “yes, I can fucking handle it.” That was his only response before sinking into the sofa, laying his head flat back against the sofa, eyes shut, as if he wanted her to disappear.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit the way he tensed and then relaxed at the way her fingers expertly kneaded his shoulders, massaging the stress from him. But even more so as they trailed down, sharp nails ghosting over his neck had his lips parting and his trousers growing tight.

“Now, now. You know I only want you to do better,” she cooed, “and you will get better, with the right critique.”

He could hear her smile, her tone light and sensual as she trailed off.

Aemond turned his head and looked up at her where she was looming over him, her thumbs still pushing circles on his sore muscles.

“Critique?”

Alys’s lips curved up in a knowing smile, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his weariness. Her green, emerald like eyes, were like daggers, hooking and reeling him in somewhere dark.

"Of course, critique," she murmured, her voice a melodious blend of challenge and tease. "Every artist needs it, even the great Aemond Targaryen. Especially with Riverrun breathing down our necks."

She moved around the sofa with the grace of a cat, setting her coffee down on the table before moving her legs either side of him, brushing her clothed core beneath her skirt against his growing hardness. "I watch, I listen, and I provide feedback that no one else dares to give you."

Aemond sighed, shifting to look at her more directly. The red of her lips was stark against the softer hue of her face, a deliberate pop of colour that matched the sharpness in her words. "And how exactly does your 'feedback' help me tonight?" he asked, his tone a mix of scepticism and intrigue.

"It helps because it makes you think. It makes you feel. Isn't that what music is about?" Alys replied, her hands now moving down from his shoulders, her fingers tracing lines across his chest through his shirt. "Besides, seeing you tense up like that, only to melt under my touch—it tells me where you're holding back. Not just here," she said, pressing briefly into a particularly tight spot. Then, her touch sank to his belt, then drifting lower and stroking his growing erection, teasing his length slowly.

"But here too."

Her approach was intoxicating, a dangerous mix of personal care and professional critique. "You're brilliant, Aemond, but even brilliance can be polished," she continued, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Let me polish you, make you shine brighter. Let me push you to be the best, and then push a little harder."

Aemond felt the dual edges of her influence—the softness of her caress, the hard truth in her critique. It was a manipulation he allowed, perhaps even welcomed. Her presence was woven into his life, a thread that was both comforting and controlling. Sometimes too tight.

With two needy hands on her buttocks, he rolled up her skirt around her hips, dipping between her welcoming thighs, his ego somewhat inflated to find she was wet already. Alys did little else in reaction than assisting to undo his belt, taking his hard length in her hand and seductively massaging from base to tip.

He pulled her forcefully against him, fingers dug into her pale skin as she hovered over him and sank slowly, splitting herself open on his cock with a practised moan. Her hips moved instinctually, stretching to accommodate his thickness over and over.

Between grunts and curses, Aemond was rarely vocal. Sex was a way to dispel frustration and invite inspiration in his clear head afterwards. Alys could be anyone. But he had to admit, he found her interesting, if not for her advice.

Her manicured and rounded nails dug into his neck as Alys moved on him with vigour, one hand stealing between them to circle her bud to try and hurtle herself towards completion.

It had occurred to Aemond that she was similarly using him in the same way.

With a bruising grip around her waist, Aemond jutted up into her shakily, coming hard within Alys’ quivering walls in the aftermath of her orgasm. And once she gained her breath, she peeled his hands off her as if he were suffocating. His member slid out of her, softened and slick with her moisture.

Alys straightened, stepping back to observe him, her eyes assessing as she wiggled her skirt back down. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the rehearsal. I want to see how you handle yourself with Riverrun watching. I'll be watching too, taking notes." Her tone was playful yet serious, a reminder of her dual role in his life.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Aemond lay there, a part of him resenting the ease with which she shifted roles from lover to critic, yet another part eager to prove himself worthy of her praise, his heart going fast still in the aftermath of their hastened sex.

He knew that Alys's critiques, though wrapped in seduction, were aimed at forging him into a sharper, more formidable musician. In the complex symphony of their relationship, her motives played out in chords, each note crafted to challenge and change him.

The next day dawned crisp and clear, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the grounds of the music school. The building was abuzz with the nervous energy of anticipation, the air vibrating with the undertones of an impending musical clash.

As he made his way through the corridors to the rehearsal room, he could hear the murmur of voices, the tuning of instruments, and the occasional burst of laughter or a sharp command. Today, the halls of his own school would play host not just to its students but also to their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Aemond entered the rehearsal room to find it already half-filled with his peers, each one keenly aware of the significance of the day. The room was set up with chairs and stands arranged in a precise semi-circle, awaiting the arrival of the Riverrun musicians.

Before long, the members of Riverrun Conservatory began to filter in, their expressions a mix of confident smiles and cautious glances. The room's atmosphere thickened with the tangible sense of competition, each group eyeing the other, assessing and reassessing.

Amid this tense backdrop, Alys slipped into the room, a notepad clutched in her hand and a pen poised for action. Her presence was a sharp reminder to Aemond of the dual aspects of their relationship. She caught his eye and offered a slight nod, an unspoken signal that she was here in her professional capacity.

The rehearsal began with Otto taking the lead, his voice firm as he called for attention. "Let's begin with a warm-up. Remember, while we share our space today, let's show our guests the level of excellence we strive for."

Aemond took his place, settling his cello between his knees. His fingers danced over the strings, tuning with meticulous care, his gaze occasionally drifting to the Riverrun musicians who were setting up nearby. Among them, he noticed a young woman, stood between two other boys who looked over her at one another with smug smiles. They were most certainly either violinists or cellists. But the woman between them, he saw, had such delicate fingers, this had to be the pianist he had heard so much about.

All watched them perform with a sort of challenging, stoic expression, as if judging every movement, every chord and sound made. Every choice scrutinised. In the corner of his eye, between glances at the music, Aemond noticed Alys scribbling down notes.

And when their performance came to an end, Riverrun Conservatory clapped, alongside their conductor, Lyonel Strong. He was burly, red-cheeked, strict but well-meaning, as far as Aemond had heard. But the way he and Otto Hightower looked at one another was akin to some secret rivalry nobody else was privy to.

Alys slid up to Aemond’s side as he began to tidy his instrument away, her presence immediately electric. “See that man?” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Lyonel. “He conducts with his heart on his sleeve, not a metronome like Otto. That’s why they play with such passion. It’s infectious, captivating.”

Aemond nodded, absorbing her analysis. He knew of her critical acumen, but there was a personal edge to her voice now. “You sound almost admiring,” he observed, watching her closely.

Alys’s expression darkened slightly, her emerald eyes flitting back to Lyonel. “I might admire his style, but not the man. Not after everything.” She sighed, a sound more resigned than angry. “He might be the maestro of emotions, Aemond, but off that podium, he’s a different story.”

Aemond did not inquire further. If he was being truthful with himself, he didn't much care for Alys' personal grievances.

“Keep a close eye on their cellist,” Alys warned from the sidelines, watching Riverrun tune and start up their instruments for their own warm up.

As Riverrun began their performance, Aemond’s attention initially settled on the cellist, analysing his fluid technique and the rich emotion flowing from his strings. However, his focus soon drifted to the pianist, who was poised before her instrument like a painter in front of a blank canvas. Her movements were almost ethereal, feather-like, as her fingers danced across the keys, each note floating into the air with a delicate precision that seemed to transcend the mechanics of the piano itself.

The pianist's performance captivated Aemond, her connection with the music evident in the subtle sway of her body and the gentle closing of her eyes as she played. It was more than mere execution, it was an embodiment of the piece, a true manifestation of feeling and artistry.

Alys, standing beside Aemond, watched the pianist with a discerning eye. After a moment, she leaned closer to Aemond and whispered, "See how she plays? It’s like she’s not just striking notes, but weaving a spell. Each touch is thoughtful, precise yet so naturally expressive."

Aemond nodded, fully absorbed in the performance. He could see what Alys meant—the pianist wasn’t just playing, she was performing in a way that made the piano speak directly to the audience. It was an inspiring display of how technique served as the foundation for emotional expression.

"Her approach is impressive," Alys continued, her voice a mix of professional respect and genuine admiration. "That’s what we need to aim for, Aemond. It’s not just about the notes, but how you make them feel alive, how you connect them to the listener’s soul."

Watching the pianist, Aemond felt a surge of inspiration mixed with a competitive drive. He realised that this was the standard he needed to meet and exceed. The way the pianist’s performance resonated in the room, how it seemed to stir the hearts of all who listened, including his own—it set a clear benchmark.

As the piece drew to a close, and the final note lingered in the air, a hushed silence fell over the room before applause erupted. The pianist looked up, her expression serene, almost surprised by the intensity of the audience’s reaction.

Aemond clapped, his applause thoughtful, infused with a newfound respect and a burning motivation. He turned to Alys, a determined look in his eyes. "I see it now," he said. "But she's nothing special. Our pianist is just as good."

“Just as good isn't enough. We have to be better. We need to surpass them—to be so outstanding that Riverrun feels like just a prelude to our performance. They shouldn’t just be impressed by us; they should be overwhelmed."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he processed her words. He watched the pianist from Riverrun mingle with the crowd, her presence still resonating with the lingering notes of her performance.

The shy, timid prodigy. A story written a million times. He felt as if he saw right through her, and no way was that washing with him.

“Meet me in the supply room before lunch,” Alys whispered, turning on her heel before Aemond could reply. The swing of her hips as she moved towards the Riverrun musicians and indication of what she wanted from him. All she ever wanted from him.

Aemond merely watched on from the sidelines, arms crossed. Alys mingled with them all, shaking their hands and wishing them luck in the weeks of practice and competitiveness to come. And when she finally shook the hand of the pianist, his gaze flickered between his lover and the delicate frame of this stranger he had yet to know.

Everything about her was different to Alys. She wore sheer black tights, and sensible shoes. Her skirt was flowy and ended mid tight, covered only at the top by her high-necked top, also black. And it was here he recognised a similarity in her and Aemond's dress sense.

Alys on the other hand exuded sexuality. Tight fitting skirts and dresses, no tights and heels at least four inches high. And while Alys wore a sleek straight style, the pianist was loose and free, if not slightly frizzy.

He watched the two women talking animatedly. Alys no doubt congratulating her on how well she plays.

He'd never been in more need of a cigarette then right at this moment.

“I apologise for him, he’s usually more expressive on stage than off,” Alys joked lightly as they approached, teasing Aemond in her usual manner.

The pianist extended her hand to Aemond with a firm, confident grip that surprised him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your performances online,” she stated, her tone straightforward, skipping the usual pleasantries. Her directness was refreshing yet unexpected.

Aemond took her hand, a bit taken aback by her assertiveness. “Thank you,” he responded, realising only after the words left his mouth that she hadn’t actually complimented his work, just acknowledged it. “Your performance today was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding politely, her smile brief. There was no reciprocal flattery, no effusive praise—just a clear, concise acknowledgment.

Her straightforwardness intrigued Aemond. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t engage in the typical exchange of mutual admiration among peers, especially when one had just praised the other. Her confidence and lack of concern for social niceties made him rethink the usual dance of compliments that often felt more obligatory than genuine.

Their exchange maintained a professional veneer, but Aemond felt a distinct chill in the air as the pianist held his gaze with an unyielding intensity.

“I'm interested. How do you prepare for a performance of this calibre?” She asked in a probing manner, clasping her hands behind her back. And when she swept her hair out her face, a dash of her perfume hit him, light and floral, he noted.

“I focus deeply on the composition's technical demands," he responded crisply, his voice carrying a cool, almost detached quality. "Emotional expression is secondary to flawless execution.”

She bit back a smile he noticed before she could hide it, “that is quite a disciplined approach.”

"It’s the only way to ensure a performance is beyond reproach," he stated flatly, eyes scanning the room. "Judges appreciate perfection.”

“And the audience?”

He shrugged, “whether they do or not, it doesn't change my approach.”

She nodded, leaving a long pause, as if laying a trap, “interesting,” she mused, "I always believed that connecting with the audience was the true measure of a performance’s success."

“Emotions are too subjective.”

Alys, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a light laugh. "Aemond here is all about the technicalities when it comes to music. He believes in precision over passion."

The pianist tilted her head slightly, considering his response with an analytical gaze before a playful glimmer appeared in her eyes. “Are all aspects of your life subject to such rules?” her tone light, but probing. “Musicians are usually branded as romantics, after all.”

Aemond's brow twitched, a subtle annoyance. “There is a time and a place. In a competition, it's about control. Discipline.”

She hummed, slightly amused, “how practical. Does it not get lonely, striving so often for perfection?”

He shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Wins are measurable, feelings not so.”

“Musicians are not remembered for their wins. They're remembered for the feelings they tease out of people.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady, impressed by her ability to intertwine light-hearted banter with serious debate. “Maybe so, but I’d rather be remembered for setting records than stirring hearts.”

There was a long pause, her eyes never leaving him as if trying to piece together a delicate and intricate puzzle. And she had to bite her lip to contain her smile, simmering frustration in his chest.

“Interesting,” she mused, releasing her lip from between her teeth.

She finally broke their intense gaze, stepping back slightly as she prepared to leave. "Thank you for the conversation, Aemond. It was... enlightening," she said, her tone serious and reflective. "I'll be interested to see how your focus on the technicalities plays out in the competition. Good luck."

With a formal nod, she turned and walked away, her demeanour composed and professional. Aemond watched her rejoin her group, the interaction leaving him with a lingering sense of disquiet. Her straightforward, no-nonsense approach had challenged his views subtly yet profoundly, pushing him to reconsider the balance between technique and emotion in his performances.

Something he'd considered very little.

And as he fucked out his frustrations with Alys in the supply room, pushing her front against the wall and plunging into the tight warmth and solitude she offered, the encounter had ignited a new sense of challenge within him, or perhaps it was a hint of doubt, unsettling the confidence he had always felt in his methodical approach to music.

The usual clarity with which he viewed his musical career was now clouded with questions, thanks to a simple yet impactful exchange. It was a confrontation of ideals that made him both wary and intrigued.

It was clear now that the competition had escalated to more than just notes and rhythms—it was a clash of philosophies, a duel of passion in dual meaning.

And he was prepared to meet it head on.

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pumpkinbxtch · 2 days

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sumn about dionysus’s daughter and percy being obsessed w each other irks be in so kind of way, can i req something about it???

I would come back from death for you .⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

— percy jackson x daughter of dionysus!reader

warnings: none, i think

a/n: ok, here comes my confession. I don't know if this is something that counts as "obsession" as such because there are different types of it. I wanted it to be a more tender or cute obsession. I don't know, maybe I'll explore more but with a darker side.

The emotion was devouring him from the inside out. He knew he would be leaving in a few days, and even though he'd rather fight Hades himself than give his life on a silver platter, Percy couldn't help struggle with the thought of not being in your arms again.

— I'll go with you — you said, even though you knew it wouldn't happen. — I don't mind dying with you if it's the only way to keep us together.

Really, he wouldn't mind too, but he knew he had to keep you safe. Dionysus would never forgive him if anything happened to you, and to be honest, neither would he. You'd stay; that was the right thing.

The best deal he could get for now was to be together as much as possible until the day came.

You didn't say it, but it had become an obsession for each other. barely at night could separate to go to your respective cabins, and of course, not counting those times when you or he would sneak away to spend more time together. Some campers watched, they knew what was going on but still turned a blind eye because who were they to judge? Besides, it suited them to maintain the discretion or Dionysus would truly be in a bad mood, as having Percy Jackson as a son-in-law was enough for him.

That night, you had already turned off the lights, only the moonlight accompanied you, and you let out a deep grunt that turned into a gasp when you heard a knock on your door, you squinted your eyes and then heard two more knocks, three in total.

Obviously it was Percy, and you quickly got up before anyone could see him in front of your cabin. As soon as you opened, he slipped in between the door and closed it by pressing his heel. When you smelled the worn sunscreen on the curve of his neck, you let out a sigh; it was as if during the time you hadn't been together, you had been slowly holding your breath, suffocating without him.

— I missed you — he murmured, squeezing your body a little tighter. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and leaned back to look at you.

— It's only been an hour since dinner, Pers — you said, and he smiled at the nickname taking your hand to walk with you towards your bed. in the end, you were the only one to sit on the edge of it because percy stayed watching your bedside things, fiddling with and looking at your makeup.

— I'm leaving tomorrow — he said, still with his back to you as he struggled to read the label of a lipgloss, the one that suited you so well and that he never feared smudging when he kissed you.

Your heart raced. —Tomorrow? But...

— Things have changed, Chiron told me — Sadness and anger evident in his voice. Percy wanted to set the world on fire with Leo's help just because he hadn't had a couple more days with you. Instead, he took your perfume in his hands and brought it to his nose to smell it. Trying to imprint it in his memory, at least, until he returned and could smell it from your own body where it mixed with thousands of other scents resulting in your characteristic one. The one that drove him crazy.

That idea made him laugh, in fact you were the daughter of the man who could made men crazy with a snap of his fingers, so Percy believed you had done something similar to him, the only difference was that he was happy with it. He would jump blindfolded out of the grand canyon for you if you asked him to.

After a minute, he understood that your silence wasn't exactly a good thing, and he ran his fingers over the other beauty items on your wooden dresser, before turning towards you putting his weight on the dresser.

— Everything will be fine — he was convinced, but the tears threatening to fall from your eyes brought him to his knees before you, so quickly that you held back a sob seeing him on the floor raising his hands to caress your cheeks as if you were something religious that he was worshiping. Her turquoise eyes shone in the moonlight with empathy and they let you know that you had never felt that kind of religious love for which you would die until you had him.

Ugh, you were so in love with each other that it was ruthless to separate you even for just a little while.

You bent down to kiss him, and he stretched his neck to reach your lips desperately, without wanting to lose any piece of you.

—It will take much more than death to keep me from coming back to you— he whispered inches away from your lips, and you smiled because you knew he was serious about that.

With time on your shoulders, you settled on the bed, and he cuddled with you until you fell asleep while he stroked your hair and kissed you on the cheek; you had never felt so safe in someone's arms.

And it was in the morning, just after their last kiss, that your body began to ache for him and his absence. You returned to your cabin, cranky and teary-eyed, looking at the mess he had left on your dresser last night and smiled, recognizing your boyfriend's quirks, but little did you know that all Percy was doing was looking for things he could carry with him during his quest. Things that were yours and reminded him of what he had to fight for.

—Nice hair claw, Percy— Piper joked with a pink spark in her eyes, and he smiled proudly.

Leo dramatically put his hand on his chest and sighed loudly. — Better no one get in HIS – our – way because someone's waiting for him.

“Yeah, better not” he thought.

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#percy jackson x you #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson blurb #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fluff

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petrapalerno · 2 days

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Submitting to the Alien Barbarian #12

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, overstimulation, anal play, gagging, violence and murder.

MASTER POST

The entrance to the hunting cave is nearly invisible. Golden vines twine over the leather door flap, nearly obscuring it from view.

Sweat drips off your brow. The humidity of the jungle is so different from the dusty deserts of this planet. You find it hard to believe these two eco systems exist so close to each other.

Drohako removes the saddle bag from Graysi and sets them near the rocky wall of the cave.

Pushing through the saffron colored brush, you notice the sweat on your arms mingling with the blood of the fallen alien attacker.

You took someone’s life, extinguishing it in a single act. A full fucking grown Volkroth warrior.

And he fucking deserved it.

You think about your life before, how you wouldn’t be able to do what you had just done.

But things are different now. You love an alien barbarian, you’re carrying his child, and you’ve run away from what little civilization exists on this planet.

You should feel worse about murdering someone, shouldn’t you?

Drohako’s hand caresses along the messy skin of your arm.

“Your first kill?” He questions, although you can tell that he already knows the answer when you nod. “You are strong, you protected your family—wear his blood with honor.”

Our family.

You push your way through the overgrowth on the door and into the cave.

As the leather flap snaps free from the grasping vines, dirt sprays and you cough, your lungs assaulted by the dust.

The hunting cave is even more primitive than you expected. Unlike where you’ve fled from, there are no comforts. No furs line the sleeping space, the fire pit is tiny, and a thick layer of dust coats everything.

“You don’t get to do much hunting, do you?” You ask with a sarcastic smile.

“Hunting seasons are short, especially in spawning years,” he shrugs, pushing past you.

Drohako removes the incubation pod from his satchel as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. His thick fingers struggling to hold the tech just barely bigger than a gallon of milk.

“Hard to think you were ever that small,” you sigh as you flop down and pat your slightly swollen belly. “I feel like I can’t even feel him in there, you know?”

A panicked look flashes across his purple face.

“I mean, he’s in there, but I thought it would feel different—like a parasite.” Your alien frowns, and you get that your choice of words has you sounding less than enthused.

“What I mean is, it doesn’t feel wrong��it feels natural, like it was meant to be.”

When you look back up at my mate’s face, you can see his gaze soften.

“It’s fate,” He tells you. “Come, the pod needs a blood sample to activate.”

He reaches his scarred hand out to you, pulling you to standing. When he taps a button along the incubation pod’s side, a robotic arm pops out.

“It’s strange Volkroth’s births are so high tech, aren’t it? Because, well,” You gesture broadly to your surroundings. The primitive cave isn’t really where you would expect the Volkroth to live after seeing this little space age orb of white metal and glass.

“We choose to live in the ways of our ancestors—but we’ve adapted to breed without female Volkroth, and it’s mostly thanks to this tech,” He keepings talking even after the little robot arm pokes your finger with a quickly appearing needle.

“Ouch!” you yelp, as Drohako grabs your hand to prevent it from recoiling from the machine.

“Still, it’ll be over in a second,” he mutters as he watches the collection tube meet the small droplet of blood welling on your fingertip. With a whoosh, the machine sucks the sanguine fluid away.

As the blood enters the pod, it glows with an orange light. The intensity pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Done. That wasn’t so bad, now was it my tiny warrior?” His face is filled with pride as he stares down at your still blood covered body.

“Well, no, but—“ he interrupts your words by sucking your finger into his mouth, his rough tongue licking the needle’s wound.

“I promise you pleasure earlier,” he growls as my finger drops from his lips. The sound of his voice is making your pussy quickly slicker, as if on his command.

When you feel his hand go lower, skirting the hem of your wrap. You grab his wrist.

“Stop.”

Maybe you’re still full of adrenaline from the attack, or maybe this feeling has always been under the surface–but you want to be in control for the first time in your life.

“Mate?” His body is frozen, maybe shocked by your command.

“I think I’d like to call the shots this time,” you whisper to your barbarian.

“That’s new,” Drohako cocks an eyebrow. The muscles of his body relax slightly, but his eyes bored into you with a new intensity. “So, what do you want?”

“I want you to listen, but don’t worry–you’ll enjoy yourself if you do. Will you be a good boy for me?”

His pupils dilate and he looks like he can taste colors as he looks at you with hooded eyes.

“If that’s what my mates wants, a good boy is what she’ll get.”

“I need something comfortable to lie down on,” you say with an unpracticed coolness that surprises you both.

Drohako swiftly steps past you, pushing the leather flap out of his way, as he grabs the saddle bags from outside. Once back indoors, he kicks some dead leaves and twigs away, clearing a spot on the dirt floor.

He looks at you with a pleased smile as he unrolls a few of the thick yellow furs from your former home.

“This will do.” You shrug off your makeshift clothing, already feeling one hundred percent better than before. There’s something so natural about wearing nothing at all around Drohako that makes your heart sing.

His gaze on your naked body is that of a predator’s, hungry and all-consuming. You lay down slowly, deliberately, spreading your legs so he can take in the view.

He inhales sharply and pushes the heel of his hand down over his loincloth, onto his quickly hardening bulge.

“Who said you could touch yourself?” You drawl as my finger traces up your slick lips. “I don’t think I gave you permission.”

“I thought this was supposed to be fun,” He scowls, clenching his fists at his side. You don’t let the fact that he’s still listening to you go unnoticed.

“It will be, because the anticipation is part of the pleasure.”

Whatever’s possessed you to be so bold, you love it. Could it be that letting yourself be used like you’ve always wanted has you finding some new confidence? Have you found my power through being submissive?

You rub small circles over your clit. The blood of the fallen male mixing with your own slick–Drohako’s breath catches as he watches you work.

“I want you to want me, to feel every pang of desire.”

You twist your nipple with your free hand, not even attempting to stifle the moan that falls from your lips.

“Can I touch you, if I can’t touch myself?” His voice is needier than you’ve ever heard it before.

“Are you uncomfortable? Does my having the control cause you this agony?” You ask him, dipping your fingers into my opening—thrusting deep. “Don’t you wish it was your cock plunging inside me?”

“Is torture your idea of fun? Does our Volkroth babe fill steel your heart as a barbarian?” Despite his suffering, he smiles. His eyes hold a menacing glint.

“Seeing you squirm is fucking delicious, a reward all in itself.” You pick up your pace, throbbing need ebbs through your core. “Ask me for what you want,” you moan.

Drohako licks his lips, stepping closer.

“I want to taste you,” he growls.

“Then crawl and beg me for the honor. Prove to me you want it.”

Drohako, the mighty alien warrior that he is, drops to his knees with a thud. He rakes his nails over the dirt floor, pushing his glorious ass high. Each scrape of his fingers over the ground sends shivers up my spine.

When he finally reaches you, he presses his lips against your trembling skin, worshipping every inch of you with fervent kisses. You moan in ecstasy as he continues to worship at the altar of your pleasure. His tongue laps up your honey, teetering you on the edge of bliss.

You're both consumed by our primal desires, oblivious to the world around you, fueled by an insatiable hunger for each other’s bodies.

“Make me come, mate,” you hiss as you buck your hips, threading your fingers through his coarse hair and wrapping around his horns.

Drohako probes his fingers into you, spreading you wide with his hands alone. When he sucks on your clit, your core pulses sharply and you shatter.

Your legs attempt the snap shut over his ears, but he pushes them open. His tongue is unrelenting.

“Stop!” your voice is hoarse as you yell.

Despite his history of loving your overstimulation, he does. With just one word from you, he immediately ceases his ministrations. He’s under your command, afterall.

“You’ve done such a good job, you deserve a reward—”

“Serving you, mate, is enough.” He pulls himself until his strong jaw rests on your stomach. His face glistens with your juices.

He brings his hand to either side of your hips, kissing the small swell on your stomach. He stares adoringly at the pooch, and the promise that lies within.

#monster fucker #monster romance #monster smut #monster lover #smut #terato #monsterfuqqer #aliens #alien romance #alien #Petra palerno #STTABshort #i love aliens #monster fuqqer #alien x human #alien x reader

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sluttywonwoo · 3 days

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instead of you [part forty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, angst, alcohol consumption, smut (18+ ; mdni)

word count: 3.2k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

additional smut warnings: semi-public messing around, oral - m+f receiving

The other resorts along the shore were nice, yes, but they were also crowded to all hell. There’s no way you would have been able to relax at any of them. Not just because crowds make you anxious, but because Minho probably wouldn’t be able to show his face anywhere. He’d have to wear a hoodie to the pool or swim with a baseball cap on, and even those weren’t guaranteed to be foolproof.

There were hardly any people occupying the outdoor spaces so late in the day so it was like you had the place to yourselves. You and Felix continued to play in the pool while Minho grilled steaks and Jisung worked upstairs. You offered to accompany Jisung while he cooked but he assured you that he was fine to do it himself. Sometimes you kept him company at home but you knew he liked to work alone as well.

The room that you and Jisung were staying in was a standard hotel room but Nikki and Dom had a suite with a kitchenette that he could use to prepare the side dishes.

You ate gathered around one of the fire pits as the sun sank beneath the waves in the distance. When it got too dark out, Dom lit the fire so that you could all see what you were eating. There were path lights littered around the resort but they weren’t bright enough to illuminate the adjacent sitting areas too.

“I wish we had marshmallows,” you sighed. “We could roast them and make s’mores.”

“I think the bar sells little kits,” Jisung piped up. “I remember seeing a sign posted on their menu.”

“How convenient!” Nikki exclaimed.

“Want me to grab some?” Minho offered, already standing from his seat.

You had once again put yourself on the spot. Everyone was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“I-I’d feel bad. I’m the only one who wants them, so you don’t have to!”

“Don’t be silly, we’d all eat them,” Jisung assured you with a pat on your knee.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to try s’mores,” Felix agreed.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Wait, you’ve never had one?”

“They’re an American thing, babe.”

“Does that mean you’re the only other one here who has had a s’more?” you asked Jisung.

“I might have had one before,” Minho added thoughtfully.

“Might? You don’t remember?”

“Yeah, well, when we were on the first world tour we had a lot of bonfires and shit but I was pretty drunk at all of them so there could have been s’mores there, there could not have been. I dunno.”

“Anyway,” Nikki swooped in, averting the attention away from her eldest son’s anecdotes of underage drinking. “Minho, why don’t you go grab a few kits from the bar Ji mentioned? I think your father and I would like to try a s’more too.”

“How many do you think we need?” Minho asked.

“It depends on how many each serves. Why don’t we start with two and if we run out of supplies we can send Felix up to get more.”

Felix made a face. “What, me?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to send Minho up twice,” Dom explained.

“What about Jisung?”

“He cooked dinner.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minho interjected, cutting Felix off before he could protest any further. “Does anyone want anything to drink while I’m over there?”

He took everyone’s order and then disappeared in the direction of the bar.

“Do you think he’ll need help carrying stuff?” you whispered to Jisung after he left.

“Oh, shit, maybe.”

“Should I go help him? Would that be weird?”

Jisung looked back toward his parents to check that they weren’t paying attention before answering. “No, I don’t think so. No one suspected anything other than me. Do you want me to go with you, though?”

“No, you cooked,” you reminded him, “you should stay and relax. I’ll go help him.”

He nodded. “Okay. Oh, but kiss me before you go.”

Minho was still waiting when you joined him at the bar. It was almost as deserted as the rest of the pool area. Only a couple of people were occupying the stools and they seemed to be strangers to each other, drinking in silence apart from the waves crashing on the shore nearby and the occasional sound of the blender.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, grabbing Minho’s attention with an elbow to his side.

“Hey... did someone forget to ask for something?”

“No, I came to help you. We realized it’s a lot of stuff to carry all by yourself.”

He scoffed. “You doubted me?”

The bartender placed the drinks and s’mores kit down on the counter in front of Minho right at that moment, leaving both of you to size up all there was to bring back to the fire pit.

“You could have carried all that without spilling anything?”

“Fine, maybe it’s good that you came,” he grumbled.

“Maybe?”

He set his jaw and took a deep breath. “It is good that you came. Thank you for helping. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

You grabbed two of the drinks while Minho took the rest, holding the plastic bags of s’mores supplies between his teeth.

Nikki and Dom cheered when you reappeared with everything. The twins looked marginally happier. It was honestly as much as you could ask for from them.

You spent the rest of the evening teaching the Hans how to make, what was in your opinion, the perfect s’more. There were only a few skewers to go around so everyone had to take turns, but it was nice to be able to take your time with something and relax. There hadn’t been much time to do that on this trip. Jisung had warned you of that in the beginning but you were still way more exhausted than you expected to be at this point. At least it was almost over.

The thought of the trip ending was one that you had been pushing to the back of your mind for weeks now. Especially now that Jisung knew what had happened, you didn’t want to think about what would happen when you went back home. Would you grow apart? Would he distance himself once he was no longer in forced proximity with you? Would Minho break up with you? It wasn’t just something you could ignore now. There were only a matter of days left.

When it was over, you would go back to Seoul with the Hans until the summer ended officially. But that would be different too.

“You’re burning your marshmallow, love,” Nikki said softly, putting her hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Oh!” you exclaimed and pulled your skewer out of the heat. You blew the flame out and transferred it onto a graham cracker.

“Do you want a new one?” Dom asked.

“No, that’s okay! I like them burnt, actually. I just didn’t mean to leave it in the fire for so long. It could have made a mess.”

Jisung’s dad shrugged as if to say ‘suit yourself’ before taking the rod from you and reloading it with fresh marshmallows.

If it was woodburning, the fire would slowly start to dwindle as the kindling turned to ash. Since it wasn’t, it was still burning as brightly as it had been at the start of the evening when Dom finally turned the propane off. Nikki collected the empty cups and dirty skewers to return to the bar.

“Good night, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

Felix was the first out of the four of you to go up to his room, leaving you with your best friend and... Minho.

The pool area was completely empty by then.

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you two,” Jisung said and stood to leave.

You grabbed his hand to stop him. “Wait, no, you don’t have to go.”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, a little less convincingly. “You should stay.”

Jisung shook his head. “No thanks, I’d rather not third-wheel.”

“Ji-”

“Take as much time as you need,” he said to you. “Just don’t get fucking caught by anyone else.”

You waited for him to leave before slumping forward and sighing into your hands.

“I thought you said he forgave you,” Minho whispered.

“He did. That doesn’t mean he’s okay with it,” you sighed.

Minho leaned back and stretched his arm across the back of the loveseat, inviting you to sit with him. You crossed over to his side and joined him, allowing yourself to lean into his side. He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. It felt nice, to do something so domestic with him, even while sitting in complete silence. Still, you worried about someone seeing you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Just you.”

You didn’t want to give him the details and risk ruining the mood so you hoped he was content with that answer. Thankfully, he didn’t ask you to elaborate.

You shivered suddenly, unintentionally but thankfully changing the subject.

“Are you cold?” Minho asked.

“A little.”

“Should I turn the fire pit back on?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s so dark out now. It’ll only draw attention to us.”

“I don’t want you to be cold, though.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Minho didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t we get in the hot tub? You still have your bathing suit on, right?”

“Are we allowed to?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

You followed Minho over to one of the many hot tubs on the property. It was tucked away behind the now-deserted tiki bar and also totally empty. Minho turned on the jets and ventured down into the water, holding his hand out for you to get in behind him.

You let out a sigh as you sank into the bubbling water, closing your eyes and resting your head against the pool’s edge.

“Better?”

“So much better.”

You looked over to see him smile. “Good.”

You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you were warm. The chill had seeped through your bathing suit too. You could feel it ebbing out of the fabric as well as your muscles the longer you sat in the water.

Minho settled next to you and put his hand on your thigh. It was comforting even though his hand was still cold.

“This is nice,” he said.

“It is nice,” you agreed. “I like being able to do just nothing with you.”

“We don’t get a lot of time to do that, do we?”

“No, not really.”

“Guess that just means we have to enjoy it while we have it.”

You sat up to look at him, wondering if he meant something more than what was implied when he said that. He met your gaze and gave you a questioning look.

“What?” You shook your head and sank further into the bubbles. You were reading way too much into everything. You needed to get a grip.

“What’s wrong?” Minho repeated. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared to,” you finally admitted.

It wasn’t much, but you were finally being honest with Minho instead of skirting around his questions like you usually did. You could tell your answer hurt him but you were afraid that you’d hurt yourself even more if you told him everything. You had a feeling the conversation was going there anyway, though, and there was little you could do to stop it.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I don’t know... what we are?” You cringed as you said it. “And I don’t want to ruin things by asking, you know, because I like what we have going on and I don’t want it to go away but I also don’t want to get my hopes up by thinking we’re something that we’re not but sometimes you do things that make me think you want something more than... whatever it is we’re already doing but- mph!”

You were cut off with a kiss, like something out of a movie. It was brief, but enough to disrupt your train of thought. You stared at him incredulously, trying to read his expression.

His face was even but his eyes were warm. You wished you knew what he was thinking. Moonlight and the flickering flames of torches in the distance were just enough to illuminate his features. The quirk of his cupid’s bow, the flutter of his long eyelashes...

“What was that for?” you inquired, even though you knew what it was for.

“You were spiraling.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Minho said softly. “For what it’s worth though, I feel the same way.”

You lifted your head to look at him again, your vision slightly blurred by the water dripping down your face from your wet hands. “What?”

He hesitated. “I feel... what you said. I feel the same way.”

“I don’t even know what I said,” you laughed.

“Me either, but I got the general vibe of it and I’m in agreement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I... I thought I was making it kind of obvious that I wanted something serious with you.”

“You never said anything outright, though!”

“Because I didn’t know what you wanted,” he explained. “You never said anything either.”

“Well, you’re the man!”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re going there? The feminism just evaporates from your body the moment you’re faced with confrontation?”

“See, you get it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you now, okay? I want you. In all the ways you’re willing to let me have you.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning. You didn’t want to start crying and you didn’t want Minho to see you crying so you kissed him again, with more urgency this time. You couldn’t think, hell, you couldn’t breathe, until he pulled away, leaving you wishing and hoping for more.

When your lips met for the third time, he pulled you under with him, just long enough to shock your senses. You gasped for air when you surfaced, pushing your wet hair out of your eyes.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” you scolded, sputtering as you shoved him.

He stumbled backward onto the bench, falling seated again and pulling you on top of him.

“You believe that bullshit?” he scoffed.

“It’s not bullshit! It’s not good for you to put your head under the water in a hot tub!”

“I know people say that but why?”

“I... I don’t know why,” you admitted, “but I know you’re not supposed to.”

“See, you don’t even know!” You gave him a look. “Will you accept an ‘I’m sorry’ kiss?”

“That depends, are you actually sorry?”

He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he kissed you anyway, cradling the back of your head as he slipped his tongue past your lips. He tasted like s’mores and whiskey and chlorine, a combination so strange you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

One of his arms dropped to your waist, wrapping around your body and pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. You could feel him through his swim trunks, growing harder by the second. You were tempted to take him right there, but you were in public and having sex in a hot tub couldn’t be good either, right? That sounded like an infection waiting to happen.

“Upstairs?” Minho asked breathlessly, lips only centimeters from yours. Not for the first time you wondered if he could read your mind.

You nodded. “Yeah, upstairs.”

You dripped your way back to his room, shivering despite the thick towel wrapped around your shoulders.

“Wanna hop in the shower?” Minho asked between kisses as he fumbled with the straps of your bikini.

“Yeah, don’t want to get your bed all wet,” you replied.

“That would happen whether or not we had just been in the pool,” he joked.

“Hilarious.”

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he hissed. “Let’s get these off of you, they’re so cold.”

“Is that the only reason you want them off?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

You knew Minho was expecting to have sex in the shower but you kind of wanted to fuck on the bed so you sucked his dick while he washed your hair and then took turns rinsing off before moving to his bed. You put your hair up in a towel to avoid the aforementioned wetness and wrapped yourself up in one of the hotel’s robes even though you knew it’d be coming right off.

To your surprise, Minho left your robe on. He just undid the tie around your waist and let it fall open before shouldering himself between your legs. It was kind of like putting a towel down. He was killing two birds with one stone that way: protecting the sheets and keeping you warm.

It didn’t take long for you to cum in his mouth. Minho knew your body like the back of his hand by now. It had taken him a fraction of the time it took your past lovers to learn what made you tick and he used all of that knowledge to his advantage.

He kept going after you came the first time, eager to pull another from you, but you pulled him up by the hair to get his attention before he could get too into it.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Want you to fuck me,” you urged.

Thankfully, he was receptive to this and moved up so that he could position himself on top of you. He notched himself at your entrance and kissed you as he pushed himself inside, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before pulling away and wiping his face on your shoulder.

“Ew!” you cried and tried to push him away.

Minho looked offended. “What do you mean, ‘ew’? It’s you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want me all over what I’m wearing!”

“Since when?” he joked. “Seems like it’s always all over what you’re wearing when you’re around me.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” you begged, suddenly embarrassed and grossed out at the same time.

Minho laughed and pecked you on the cheek. “What would you rather talk about? The weather?”

You tightened around him as punishment, making him swear and bury his face in your neck. “Fucking hell, you succubus.”

You smiled politely and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Don’t people usually say that if she can talk at all, you’re doing it wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I was just taking it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, this was for your benefit,” he continued. “Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“How gracious of you.”

He clenched his jaw as he started fucking you faster, muttering sarcastically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was boring you.”

Ironically, you couldn’t respond right away, too caught up in the feeling of how deep he was inside of you to get any words out.

“I forgive you,” you choked out finally.

Your hands fell to his biceps, desperate for something to hold on to. You dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Harder,” he urged. You squeezed harder and he gasped. “Fuck yes, keep doing that.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that, baby. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x female reader #lee know x bi!reader #lee know series #stray kids series #stray kids x female reader

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firelordsfirelady · 2 days

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IX. Flash of Blue

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess?

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal

Word Count: 870

Destined to be Yin and Yang

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story.

Author’s Notes

The characters as all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N’s inspiration here.

Zuko and I trained every day for the next week or so, but I found myself struggling to focus on fighting. Zuko had grown frustrated and told me to leave if I couldn’t focus, and that’s how I found myself one afternoon standing on the deck. I watched the endless horizon of the icy sea continue without much variation.

Something deep inside my being whispered to watch the horizon for something.

“Gets boring watching the horizon, right?” I turned to find Lieutenant Jee casually walking to stand next to me. “I don’t know why the Prince insists on this mission of finding the Avatar.” The lieutenant placed his hands on the railing as he spoke his next words bitterly. “Or why he insisted on dragging us all with him.”

“You shouldn’t speak about the Prince in such a manner.” My words were stern. “I understand you’re frustrated, but you truly have no idea how much the mission means to him.” I could feel his eyes staring at the side of my head before he let out a humorless laugh.

“I did not think you’d be the one to have a soft spot for the Prince,” Jee said and my cheeks felt hot at the accusation.

“I don’t have--” I opened my mouth to speak as a large bright beam of light lit the sky in the distance. The beam of light continued to light up the sky as Zuko came rushing over to the side of the boat. The blue light drew my attention like a moth to a flame as I was suddenly attempting to attack a stranger on a dock in a city up north. The world is void of light as I try to defend myself, but the stranger laughs as he sends a fireball my way. I collapse as the world went black as the fireball made contact with my body.

“The only settlement in that area is a small Water Tribe village in the Southern Pole territory.” When I came to, there was a damp cloth on my forehead and whispers of conversation in the room around me. “That’s where we need to go.”

“Where you think we’ll find the Avatar?” Another voice--Iroh’s--whispered.

“Yes.”

“Because of the light?” Iroh’s final question had Zuko go quiet for a moment.

“Do you think I am imagining things?” I recognized Zuko’s voice as he sounded hurt at Iroh’s statement, and Iroh sighed heavily.

“Sometimes, the light beams we see are nothing more than celestial glimmers in the cold winter sky.” I heard Iroh shift his weight in the chair beside me. “Sometimes, caring for those who care for us is the more important option.”

“I’m not worried about her, Uncle.” Zuko’s tone was harsh, and I let out a low groan I slowly opened my eyes to let them know I was awake. Zuko was standing over the desk in my room with a map sprawled out on the surface of it. Iroh sat beside me in the chair from my desk. A bucket of water sat beside Iroh with various rags neatly folded next to the bucket. “I’m sure that was the Avatar.”

“Take it easy, Y/N,” Iroh said as he shifted his attention to help me sit up in bed. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Good. You’re awake.” Zuko’s voice was cold to me as he turned on his heel. “We will make haste for the Southern Water Tribe.” Without waiting for Iroh’s response, Zuko added. “Y/N, when we arrive, you need to stay on the ship. I don’t need any weaknesses when go to capture the Avatar.” With that, Zuko left the room and briskly walked away. I gave Iroh an encouraging smile and ushered him away as Zuko left.

“I’ll be okay.” Iroh gave me an apologetic smile as he left the room and closed the door behind him. A shaky breath left my lungs as I laid my head against the cool wall as I had to face reality once again.

It’s a coincidence that the beam of light was the same scenario as my dream. I ran a hand through my hair as I set the damp rag in the bucket by my bed. Something in my spirit was telling me that it wasn’t a coincidence that the beam happened as it did in my dream. I let this internal argument fill my head until I felt the familiar sensation of the anchor dropping.

Sneaking behind one of the crates on deck, I watched from a distance as the crew was lined up before Zuko. The Fire Prince slowly paced back and forth as he spoke to them in an authoritative tone.

“Our mission is to find the Avatar is vital to the future of the Fire Nation.” He stalked back down the line as he continued. “We will prove ourselves worthy to see our homes and our families again, or we will die trying.” Zuko paused to look at Iroh before turning to put on his Fire Nation helmet. The crew all followed suit and marched off the ship behind Zuko. I felt a pang in my heart at Zuko’s speech, but watched as they all marched off the ship.

Tag List @chevysstuffs @puttyly @ginger24880 @night-fall-moon @junieshohoho @0kauy @coolgirl458 @hypnoticbeing @angelruinz @preeyansha @playboygeniusphilanthropist @ssonniiu @chi-ara @hagridshaircare @dearstell @kyo-kyo1

#avatar imagine #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #destined to be yin and yang

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 2 days

Text

Red Breath

Summary: Azula has been hiding that she has tuberculosis. Her secret comes out during the last Agni Kai.

For @the-mariachi-96 based on this post.

There is red on her pillow.

There is red on the cloth in her pocket.

She tries not to dwell too much upon it.

Today is her special day.

The mirror has no mercy.

No sympathy nor compassion.

It is a cold thing, and—had it a voice—it would speak clinically. Forward. Direct. Brutal.

In its own way it does have a voice and it speaks through images it reveals and the inner monologue that it inspires from the looker. Sometimes it is pleasant, mostly it is mundane and indifferent. These days it has been cruel; it shows Azula that she has been deteriorating steadily and rapidly.

That something that was already well out of her control has spiraled much further beyond it. Either her skin has grown sallow or the palace’s warm lighting is making her complexion look more sickly than it truly is. For certain she has grown thinner, her robes had always fit rather large on her frame for comfort’s sake. Now they are too baggy for comfort. Sleep and illness have put bags under her eyes too.

She touches her fingers to her cheek, the texture of her skin is not quite right, but that could be because she hasn’t been drinking enough. Her cheekbones are more prominent beneath her fingers.

She wants to blame Mai and TyLee.

If they hadn’t chosen Zuzu…

If they hadn’t left…

Since finding out, they have always kept her fed and comfortable.

She grits her teeth. It is her own fault for letting them care for her instead of learning to care for herself by herself.

Even if they were there to feed her, she probably wouldn’t want to eat anyhow. The sickness is getting worse and it is stealing her appetite, her comfort, her strength, her motivation, and, most pressingly, her future.

Her well kept secret is finally unraveling and she is glad that father isn’t around to witness it, that nobody is around to see it, she had made certain of that. And she starts to wonder…

She is always wondering, speculating, or overthinking about something or another.

This time she ponders exactly what is to blame for her fraying mind, the fog within it, and the things that it shows her—the things that aren’t truly there.

Can tuberculosis cause paranoia and hallucinations or was it the loss of Mai and TyLee that has put her mind of kilter. If the former is to be blamed then it might be that she is reaching her last days. And, by the spirits, it seems to have come about so quickly. She knows that she doesn’t want to be alone when she takes her last red, labored breath.

Her chest hurts.

Her lungs burn.

She is afraid to die.

But she is afraid to breathe.

.oOo.

To some degree, she wonders what the purpose is. Of the crown. Of this new title. Of anything really. Azula will be dead soon and she knows it. So why then? Why bother letting them fix the crown into her hair? A sense of duty, she decides, and to make father proud right to the very end. Her nation depends on her, especially now, with the comet barreling towards the world. Her firebending is charged, she can feel it in her core, but she is no longer certain that she could withstand its power.

The Fire Sages hover the crown just above their head, they are just about to decree that she is the new firelord. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, Zuko is in front of her with the waterbender at his side and the bison behind him.

Surely she is delirious with fever.

But no, the Fire Sages are exchanging looks.

Her already burning chest, flares with hatred. Resentment for the person who had taken her mother from her and then her friends. For the person who now wants to steal her crown—the very last thing that she has.

She is in no condition for an Agni Kai, but she will fight all the same.

She will fight to keep what is hers, fight for her nation, and fight for her honor. She will fight for her vengeance. She will fight for her friends—surely Mai and TyLee will understand then, how much they mean to her.

She rises to her feet, her head is already spinning.

Dear Zuzu has already accepted her challenge. Her fate, whatever it may be, is sealed.

She closes her eyes and hopes that her coughing will subside just long enough for her to win this fight.

She takes a labored breath and she takes a stance. She feels that breath, scratchy and searing. Like sandpaper dragging all the way down her throat. She holds herself rigid and ready in spite of it.

Zuko makes the first strike, a powerful blast of orange flames that heat her face from well across the arena. She returns with a burst of her own blue and equally as scorching, if not more so. It isn’t a fair match; not in numbers, not with her state of mind, not with her state of health. She supposes that she has made her share of sneaky, honorably questionable maneuvers. A war is a war and it will not stop because she is feeling ill.

And so she throws blast after blast until the chills start to wrack her body. Even then, she pushes onwards. Even then she wields her fire as she always had. But the more the smoke fills her lungs, the more agitated they become.

She can feel the fit coming on.

“What, no lightning today? Afraid I’ll redirect it?”

It is bait and she should know better.

But it is an excuse; an excuse to end this match once and for all, before tuberculosis ends it for her.

Perhaps this will be the last thing that she does. She wonders if Mai and TyLee will miss her. Or if they will be relieved to know that she is gone. The lightning crackles on her fingers and the fever crackles in her body.

Both will be released, only one will claim its target.

She sends the lightning off as disease rushes forward. Her lightning falls short, it splits the ground with a rumbling crack. It launches Zuko violently towards the other end of their arena. And it launches her body into a violent fit. Her coughs come on with such merciless furocity that it leaves her stomach aching and her body hunched forward.

She can feel the blood behind her teeth. If she parts her lips, it will drip onto the ground. Perhaps not a dramatic spatter, but two or three little droplets.

She glances at her right hand.

It is bloodied.

She glances at the battleground.

At two alarmed faces.

And then she sees nothing at all.

.oOo.

Azula’s vision is fuzzy. There are figures around her bedside and she can’t tell who is who. She thinks that they are probably doctors. The same ones who have been attending her since she’d come home. The ones that Lo and Li had found for her.

Her throat hurts and her head is woozy.

Sounds hurt.

Bright light hurts as it streams through the window. A glorious light spills over her face but she has not earned glory.

The comet has passed and so to has her coughing fit. But the tingling in her throat remains as a souvenir of her suffering and her lungs don’t seem that keen on expanding fully. For it, when her lips part, her breath comes out in a labored hiss.

“Aang should be here soon, he can help with that.” It takes Azula a moment to recognize that voice as the waterbender’s. But of course. She might not be here if not for waterbending. And for the life of her, Azula can’t understand why Katara would help her. Especially when Zuko had also been harmed. Perhaps he hadn’t taken a direct hit but the lightning had fallen at his feet and the shockwaves had thrown him a respectable distance.

Katara likes him better anyhow.

Everyone does.

“Mai and TyLee?” Azula mannages.

“They’ll be here soon.”

But she can’t imagine that they will want to talk to her. They are probably coming for Zuzu, to check on and comfort him.

“I’m cold.” She mentions. But she is also terribly hot, her face has a thin film of sweat.

“You have a fever.” Katara replies. “But I think that you know that. How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you known?” And then she elaborates. “That you were sick.”

“None of your…” she falters into a half cough. “Of…” another half cough. “your…” And then there is the first full cough. Finally another fit comes on in full. Silent tears leak down her cheeks, more so the product of physical strain than any emotion.

Katara hands her a glass of water. “Drink that. After you swallow I’m going to bend that water and try to soothe the inside of your throat. It will probably feel weird, but it won’t hurt…”

It wouldn’t matter if it did, her throat is already sore.

“...And you won’t drown.”

Fleetingly it crosses her mind, that maybe she would be perfectly content drowning. She drinks the glass and Katara takes hold of the water. The sensation is terribly unpleasant, like nothing she has ever felt. Like nothing she ever wants to feel again. But then her burning throat cools and the sharpest of pangs taper off.

Katara lowers her hands. “No more talking, okay? You’ll agitate your throat.” Katara says. “Just rest.”

Azula nods.

“Zuko is in the bed next to you. Both of his feet are bandaged and he’s got a concussion so he won’t be walking for a little while.” Katara informs. “Mai and TyLee and my friends are on their way. You can go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when they get here.”

But she won’t be able to sleep. Her head is too preoccupied with troubled thoughts; knowing that she had failed her people and her father, knowing that she has lost everything including Mai and TyLee, knowing that her carefully guarded secret is now in the hands of the enemy. The enemy that is fixing her blankets for her and putting a cool rag on her forehead.

“Why?” Her voice is so hoarse. Hoarse and whispery, nothing like the elegant silk it had been.

“Because, you don’t deserve to die.”

It is a simple and impersonal answer. But it is just as well.

“I think that things can be different.” Katara adds. “Now that the war is over.”

Different.

She doesn’t particularly like ‘different’.

She thinks that she might be afraid of ‘different’.

Even if ‘different’ could be better for her.

“Get some rest, okay. I’m going to keep waterbending and I’ll have Sokka reach out to this herbalist that we met in Taku; she’s very knowledgeable and she has this troublemaking cat.”

“Miyuki?” Azula grumbles.

“You know Miyuki?”

Azula nods.

“Does that have anything to do with how Miyuki got in trouble with the Fire Nation?”

Another nod.

“That’s a story that you’re going to have to tell.”

“You said no talking.” Azula dodges.

“Later on.” Katara replies. “Right now, just get some rest. We’ll figure out how to treat your tuberculosis.”

Azula nods once more. Perhaps she will get to live a full lifetime afterall. She just isn’t certain of what sort of life it will be.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #katara #zuko #fanfiction #one shot

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green-eyedfirework · 2 days

Text

Dick can tell that the alpha is angry from the moment he spots him. To be fair, no father would be calm right now, but angry seems like an insufficient word for Slade's current mood.

When the alpha growls, the entire clearing bows their heads.

The men chasing Dick and Rose are already dead, ripped apart by a furious wolf pack, and Dick is numb, wondering if he's next.

He was supposed to keep Rose safe. He was supposed to teach her and protect her. And he failed.

Rose is slumped unconscious in Dick's arms. She isn't seriously hurt, just bruises and scrapes and magical exhaustion, but Dick can practically feel the murder exuding off of Slade as he stalks closer.

"She's okay," Dick tries to reassure, voice hoarse. "Just tired."

Slade's gaze snaps to him, and Dick abruptly regrets getting the alpha's attention.

The sound Slade makes is a cross between a snarl and a roar, and it's enough to start the trembling. Slade closes the distance, lips pulled back, teeth gleaming, and Dick stays on his knees, frozen to the spot. The sound of his heartbeat is the loudest thing in the clearing.

Dick's whole face is prickling. "I'm sorry," he forces out, because he failed, and then he shuts his eyes. He can't watch his death.

The bite is sudden and deep and agonizing as sharp teeth sink into the junction of neck and shoulder.

Dick cries out, or thinks he cries out, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the way he's getting dizzy. His arms are losing strength and he makes a muffled sound when he feels Rose slipping, but hands skim across his, picking her up easily.

His eyes are open again, but that doesn't make a difference, not when the world is growing ever more blurry between each gasping breath.

Slade disengages, and this time, Dick screams.

It feels like a thousand fire ants chewing on his collarbone, like someone carved him up with a superheated blade, and if this is how bad it hurts, Dick doesn't want to know how bad it looks. The world tilts around him the moment Slade lets go, and Dick finds himself sprawled in the dirt, sobbing so loud he can't hear anything else.

Something wet and cold touches his face, wandering across his skin. Please, Dick tries to say, please make it quick. If the alpha decides to play with his food, well.

The darkness is approaching swiftly, Dick's own injuries catching up with him, and Dick swears he can feel the rough, sandpaper edge of a tongue before it washes over him.

~#~

Dick wakes up feeling warm, which is pleasing enough to almost ignore the other throbbing aches that demand attention. His shoulder is pulsating with soft waves of pain and he very carefully turns his head to avoid aggravating the injury.

He remembers—the fight, Rose passing out in his arms, his own magic drained, the wolves appearing, Slade.

The bite.

Dick swallows. Slade was snappish the entire time Dick was teaching Rose how to use her magic, he doubts that this episode endeared him to the alpha. The only niggling problem is that Dick feels far too cozy right now.

He cracks open an eye. Fur. Dim light. Silver hair. He blinks, looking down in surprise at the curled-up wolf pup sprawled across his chest, breaths softly whistling through the air.

He honestly thought he'd never see Rose again.

There's another pup tucked under his left arm, light-colored and drooling on his shirt, and a bigger, dark-furred adolescent wolf with his back to Dick, and on Dick's other side is—

A cold, ice-blue eye meets his gaze. The alpha doesn't look any less angry, any less murderous in human form. Dick is stuck to the spot, trapped by more than a sleeping wolf pup and heavy furs, as the alpha leans over him.

"Sleep," Slade says, in a voice that makes it sound remarkably like a threat.

Dick shuts his eyes, and sleep follows quickly.

#my snippets #sladick #wolf/mage au #dick is contracted to teach rose magic #of course this means he spends half the time butting heads with slade

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wordy-little-witch · 1 day

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Not me looking at your Polycrossguild convenience marriage au thinking about the wedding vows and how fun it would be if trough the entire “convenience to lovers” pipeline, that’s the thing they just can’t seem to get right while they all sit together and practice them like one would do trying to remember lines for a nativity play. None of them are into it, it all looks incredibly forced no matter what they do. No matter what they change or how much they practice it’s just…. Awful. Stiff. So obviously a marriage of convenience thing it hurts.

But after a whole lot of confusing feelings and low key romcom shenanigans the wedding happens and they are all so done they go off script… and it works… kinda. Because if you read their vows on paper they would read like the most horrid vows you ever seen. Mihawk only speaks a few words, Buggy’s stutters out his and it seems like a weird tangent and Crocodile…. Basically straight up passive aggressively insults his husband’s through the entire thing…. But it’s by far the most genuine “performance” of their vows these three have given.

Hawkeye doesn’t say much, he rarely does, but when he squeezes his soon to be husbands hands it’s clear to say anything more would be unnecessary . Buggy is flustered and in love and is trying his damndest to get over himself trying to express that, using a metaphor only the three of them would get because Mihawk used it as a snippy commentary about this shit show when they first started practicing together. And nobody has ever seen Sir Crocodile smile so fondly at anything that wasn’t a Bananawani, even as he expresses annoyance at the men in front of him.

Iiiii dunno if I’m even making sense here, just got struck with the mental image of Crocodile smiling at Buggy and calling him “My beloved little pest of a clown.” And Buggy looking up at him, smiling just as happily while trying to blink away the tears from his eyes.

OKAY LITERALLY THIS

Like. They're Idiots, Your Honor. They absolutely try EVRYTHING to make it seem "authentic", and so Mihawk's papers are written in calligraphy, with verbose prose that boios down to some Gonez Adams Level of simpage but lowkey because he has a reputation.

Crocodile's is written like a damn business agreement, with clauses and edited areas to update and revamp it. He cannot for the life of him find that middle ground of Decently Organized and Genuine.

Buggy's filled no less than three full journals in WIPs of it, and almost all are scribbled on, torn out and crumpled up, or nearly burned bc he raged and threw it into a bon fire.

Finally, day of, they're scrambling and losing their MINDS and suddenly Nobody Can Find The Vows. Everyone is panicking. Something may be on fire.

Ritchie is found with glitter gel pen on his muzzle.

They're gonna have to wind it.

They're all McLosing It.

At least, they were.

Then they catch sight of one another, and suddenly.... the world has stopped.

None of them are exactly traditional, but they make it work. Mihawk is in ruffles and frills, accenting the sleek lines of his body in black and ruby, with slim cut pants and high boots which only serve to make his figure that much more imposingly ethereal. Crocodile opts for suits on a normal day, but this one is different in the cut and style, muted but bold, glimmering but softer, a much more subtle display of wealth and poise which makes him ooze charisma like snake oil. And Buggy has forgone a suit all together, opting instead for a gown, a mermaid cut dress which hugged his curves perfectly, fabric shimmering between violet and red depending on the light with a silvery blazer openly draped and held across his shoulders via a rainbow of beads which matched the colorful hair pins holding his curls from his face and neck.

All three are breathless when they see one another, and suddenly the words are there - odd to an outsider, certainly, but true to the heart in a way visible to all.

Mihawk's short vow is met with a bark of laughter from Crocodile, a silvery giggle from Buggy.

Buggy's rambling stuttered mess becomes teary and he's suddenly bitching about his eyeliner running. Mihawk and Crocodile both crack smiles, even as Mihawk wordlessly passes over a handkerchief and Crocodile makes a comment on looking into waterproof liner later on together - mascara too, he mentions casually, because the brand Buggy likes released a new line a exile back, they'll look into it.

Crocodile's is bemoaning his taste in men, but it's oozing warmth, and when he catches himself getting a little too mushy in public, he actually blushes and scoffs. Mihawk and Buggy look delightfully on with impish smiles.

It's weird and off and anything but typical, but it feels so incredibly real to those involved.

Maybe a little too real to some...

Of course the shenanigans that ensue during their "honeymoon" are another thing entirely.... 👀

#buggy the clown #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #cross guild polycule #marriage of convenience #enemies to friends to fake married to lovers #shanks is watching this go down btw with a wine glass of rum like #“these bitches gay! good for them!”#gender nonconforming buggy

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moon-upright · 3 days

Text

Rare Smiles - Julian Devorak

(the one in which Esme gushes talks about her lover's smile...)

(esme is something of a writer so why doesn't SHE answer this prompt, huh? why should i do it)

♡

Julian's Smile: A Thought by Esme Noble

Julian's smile isn't rare, if by “rare” you mean “infrequent.” On the contrary, he smiles all the time, and for a variety of reasons, I find.

He smiles sometimes when he's nervous, sometimes when he's sad, or to make people comfortable, or to keep a secret (his version of a poker face is a relaxed smile as opposed to stoicism)… Just off of the top of my head. That doesn't even mention how he smiles when he's happy, and how even within that one emotion he's got different shapes of smiles — his raffish grin, a teasing smirk, a small smile of awe, a smile of endearment, a beam of pure joy.

It's like a reflex to him; if you catch him unawares, he's likely to smile in surprise at whatever you did or said. (Especially if he's falling asleep. If he's barely awake and you speak to him, half the time the corners of his lips curl up and his eyebrows raise before he's even processed what you said. It's the funniest thing. The cutest.)

His smile is rare in the sense that something about it is so unique to him. It's Julian's Smile. That's why it looked so odd to see him grin while in disguise as Asra. It just didn't fit who Asra is.

It's everything that Julian is. It's sharp, it's dramatic, it's flirtatious.

If you went into a bar and asked around about him (“What's the first thing you think of when you hear Julian Devorak? ”), you would hear a variety of answers, from “You mean the tall one?” or “The one with the hair?” to a heartily laughed/sneered “That bastard!” And certainly included in this list is “The one with the smile?” Or some variation of it. I mean it, I've heard it myself. He is the one with the smile so bright that it burns itself into your mind.

I suppose even I am not immune to a pretty smile — when we first met (the actual first time, before the Plague), it was what I initially noticed about him. Some people have that ability to smile naturally in such a way where all you want is to see them smile again. I imagine that I'm not alone in this feeling either, where Julian Devorak bursts into your life, all grins, and it makes your heart soar into some Ether realm full of fire and light and color. To smile like that, and change someone's life forever, to change me from someone who was not particularly inclined toward anything, and tilt my world on its axis, is magic.

Though I figure it wasn't only the smile that did all of that. It would be meaningless if not for the person behind it. Julian Devorak and his magic.

#art writes #finally #should i put this on ao3 for the hell #vesuvia weekly #julian devorak #apprentice esme #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fan apprentice

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mightymizora · 5 months

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I think a lot about Gortash tentatively showing The Dark Urge his designs for the Steel Watchers. Showing off what works and being slightly embarrassed about what doesn’t. And then they point it out. There’s too much mass and not enough strength here. Or there’s not enough flexibility at this point. And when he asks them how they reached that conclusion they tell him about the intricacies of the forms of men and beasts, of ligaments and muscle, of nerve endings twitching. That there is mechanism in flesh, and that the mind and body may be cleaved from each other but are always calling to each other until the very last throes of death.

And he thinks of their bodies calling to each other.

He thinks of nerves and minds connecting.

He thinks of how utterly brilliant they are.

#enver Gortash #the dark urge #I love the idea of complimentary ways of thinking being like #top level attraction for Gortash honestly #that they are a weapon made flesh #but they also have an intricate understanding of things that maybe they dont even know #that they see the world in a way that lights a fire in him #a way of blood yes. and also of extreme desires #I dunno man just the oil and blood 🩸

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grimalkinmessor · 9 months

Note

Read your post regarding those angsty Light as an SAS headcanons. I loved that first fic on your rec list. And it got me thinking.

Any protective (over protective?) L headcanons? AUs? for Light. Since Light is so used to taking it for granted and well, in L's mind, it is an established relationship so protecting Light in that regards falls to L, since Light isn't going to do it himself.

Would prefer it if it doesn't end in L's death 🙈

Aaahhh I don't really see L as someone who gets protective?? I think he's more possessive than he is protective, especially where Light is concerned. By the time they meet in canon, Light can very much handle himself and he regularly does—he'd get annoyed and suspicious if L started butting in every time someone started bothering him. And to be fair, in canon, I think L would be more likely to see if he could use Light's annoyance with the people coming onto him as a way to get him to slip up or confess.

BUT! AUs exist, so I will give you this: L bites.

Light no longer gets harassed on the train because L stands right beside him, and all the other creeps take one look at L and go "Oop someone else found the pretty boy first :/ Damn better luck next time". L exudes weirdo creep vibes and the way he sits on the train makes other people shy away from him, and if anyone approaches Light with nefarious intent (or any intent) L will see them coming and just fucking bite them. And, after Light complains that it's not sanitary to put his mouth on people, L just starts kicking people in the face. Light is HIS pretty little evil schemer and if Light doesn't take care of you quickly, L will do it for him.

L will also sit or lay on Light like a cat when he talks to someone too long or starts to flirt. This has the added benefit of getting Light to notice how often he relies on flirting to get his way and get irritated with himself because that's a fairly obvious way that he 'deals' with his lack of control now that L's pointed it out, and he shouldn't be letting those insignificant irritations have such a lasting effect on him.

In general L attempts to just keep Light from getting too close to anyone else, and this has the half-intended side effect of Light no longer getting touched inappropriately. If Light gets talked to inappropriately, then Light takes care of it. He's a vengeful bastard, after all, and even if he doesn't consider it bad enough to get revenge for, L will make sure that person never comes within fifty feet of Light ever again :) They are not poaching L's significant bother. Light is his and no one else is allowed to be near him or look at him or touch him.

Light protests this, but only mildly. He secretly enjoys how quietly feral L gets whenever someone lingers around him too long, for whatever reason. But Light also can't be grateful to L for inadvertently fixing a problem that Light didn't acknowledge was a problem in the first place, so no kudos for L from Light :/ But Light is far more comfortable in himself and his ability to just,,,,exist without being molested than he would've been without L. So there's that :3

#asks #anonymous #lawlight #tw sa #tw sa mention #yagami light #l lawliet #these two are insane and light's not gonna let a little trauma change that #he will cut you #both verbally and physically #headcanons #death note headcanons #death note #character headcanons #L also doesnt see light as a damsel in distress. he is a dragon and light is his evil witch in a tower that he both protects from the world-#and protects the world FROM #he shields the arrows from light's back while also laying on him to prevent him from firing any back. sometimes light gets one by him anyway #i got way too into this metaphor. what was i talking about?

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chikaras-garden · 8 months

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Batboys as your sugar daddy

What’s the point of all this money if you don’t have someone to spend it on?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. These relationships are not aspirational babes. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋

“Wear the diamonds,” Bruce rumbles from behind you, lips right next to the shell of your ear. Before you can answer, his warm hands are already on your throat, and cool platinum touches your skin. A hundred diamonds arranged in three dainty layers sparkle in the low light of Bruce’s bedroom, clinging tightly to your neck.

With the choker clasped in place, one of Bruce’s hands traces up and down your neck while the other rests heavily on your hip, holding you flush against his chest. His touch is hypnotic, pulling you in like a planet pulls a moon into orbit. Your whole world revolves around him—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

But like the moon, the subtle gravitational pull you have on him keeps him in place, keeps him stable, calms his most wicked of storms.

He bows his head. The way he looks at you through his eyelashes is almost reverent while he kisses your bare shoulder, skin interrupted only by your dress’s hair-thin silk strap.

“Beautiful,” he says, and you know he’s not talking about the necklace, the dress, or any of the other jewels and silks he’s drowned you in over the last year.

When your eyes meet in the mirror, one corner of his lips quirks up into a smirk, which he buries under a kiss to your jaw.

There, with a quick, sharp nip of his teeth, he lays his claim. “And all mine.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Dick’s on his knees, head buried between your legs when you hear—feel—him say, “I need you to take a week off work.”

Well. What he really needs is for you to just quit your job already, but you got upset the last time he suggested it. Baby steps. For now.

“Why?” you gasp, blinking hard as you try to focus on the fact that he’s starting a conversation now when his tongue is making you smart and shake with pleasure.

“I want to go to the Maldives,” he says as if it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world, as if he’s saying he wants to go across town, not across the world.

His tongue flattens out and dips into your weeping hole, and your thighs tighten around his head in response. He groans, and you choke out, “A week for the Maldives?”

You feel his lips twist and curve around you, paired with a little graze of teeth; he’s smiling, and the sensation makes you dizzy. There it is, he wants to say. You want more. Finally, your expectations are starting to match his bank account.

But he decides to play the dumb, pretty boyfriend he likes to make people think he is. “You don’t think it’s enough time? Wanna take two weeks?”

“I don’t have the—” He kisses up to your clit and gives it a tentative little suck, which makes you fist his hair. “—vacation days.”

“Why don’t you just take them without pay?” he proposes as his tongue laves up your swollen sex. “It’ll be okay, just this once. You’ll feel so much better after some time off; I promise.”

JASON TODD 💋

Jason is currently scrutinizing the contents of your pantry, a box of macaroni and cheese in his hand. After seeing the scowl on his face, you’re not surprised when he starts to lecture you. “You eat this crap?”

You raise a brow because he’s one to judge. “I’ve seen you eat an entire party box of tacos.”

“I’m not you,” he fires back. His voice is still low, still calm, but you can sense an edge in his tone; this conversation is about a lot more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

In the beat of silence that follows, his heated gaze dulls to a smolder. “You don’t know how precious you are.”

You open your mouth to reply, but whatever retort you were going to argue back with is silenced when Jason’s big hands cup your face, tilting your head up so he can kiss your forehead. He lingers there, and you feel him tremble. His breath is ragged, rough—as if he’s afraid.

“I’m not you,” he repeats in a whisper. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he knows you don’t know any better. Poor little you—you need him. “Just let me take care of you like always, okay? How about I sign you up for one of those meal prep kits? No more processed food; it’s not good for you.”

When he pulls you against his chest and strokes your hair, you feel yourself nod, unable to disagree. You know he’s right, after all; and isn’t it sweet that he treats you like a delicate angel even though he’s seen the worst of the world? That nothing without his stamp of approval is good enough for you?

TIM DRAKE 💋

“Oh, you’re all set,” your manicurist smiles at you as soon as you take out your wallet, nails freshly done.

Caught off guard, all you can reply with is, “Huh?”

She just smiles a little brighter, and there’s a sparkle of something in her eyes. It looks a little wistful, but also a little vapid—is that jealousy? “Your boyfriend paid already,” she explains as her eyes not-so-subtly look around, trying to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend, but you’re just as surprised as she is.

“For the next year,” she adds in a dry tone. Slowly, you drop your wallet back into your purse. There’s only one man alive who could figure out where you get your nails done, what day and time you like your appointments, and call ahead to pay off your manicures for the next year without you ever finding out about it.

So when you get back to your car, you call him.

“Do anything fun today?” he asks over the phone, pretending to be way more innocent than he actually is.

“Tim—”

“Actually,” he cuts in, and you hear a bashful tremor in his voice. That tremor makes your stomach do flips, which beckons you to give in to whatever he wants. “I was just thinking about you. You’ve got the prettiest hands.”

“Tim—”

“Let’s go shopping later,” he rambles on, completely ignoring you. “I think you need some new jewelry. You’d like a new set of rings, wouldn’t you?”

🔖: @mrs-kurooo; @lovely-loren05

#bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #nightwing x reader #red hood x reader #batfam x reader #🌸— mine.#🌸— bruce wayne.#🌸— dick grayson.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— tim drake.

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prokopetz · 1 month

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Something I love about The Far Roofs is how much of a swerve its premise is if you're coming to it uninitiated.

Okay, so there's these talking rats with a culture of swashbuckling heroism – basic Redwall/Reepicheep stuff.

Also, there's a magical realm called the Far Roofs which exists above every human community, and that's where the rats go adventuring; a little weird, but you can see the precedents in popular fiction. It's like wainscot fantasy taken to its logical-yet-absurd conclusion.

By default, the game wants you to play as a fictionalised version of your (presumably human!) self and go up onto the Far Roofs to have adventures with the rats. All right, now it's coming together: it's like isekai fantasy meets The Muppet Show, with you as the obligatory human character, right?

Then we get to the nature of those adventures: the rats have this whole culture built around questing against beings they call "the Mysteries" – beasties with names like Harpy and Goblin and Unicorn. So basically it's a bunch of muppety rats on the roofs fighting Dungeons & Dragons monsters, and you go up and help them do it. Great.

And then you get to what the Mysteries are actually like, and... well, I'm going to let the following excerpt carry the weight here. (This particular bit of text also appears in a previously published work by the same author, so I'm not giving anything away that's still under wraps.)

Unicorn, which is named Numinous, dwells three steps away and beyond the world, but most often in the Farthest Roofs, where the Steppes of the Sky come down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court. There it is stepping upwards from the world, as it has always been stepping upwards from the world, caught in a moment of transcendent glory that does not complete. It simply is. Melanthios heard the footsteps of Unicorn. Melanthios heard the ringing of Unicorn’s bells. So Melanthios chased Unicorn off to the Farthest Roofs, and Melanthios did not return. Anton and Karel, who were his sons, were wiser than their father. They heard the bells but they did not follow. Instead, they memorized the scent. They gathered swords, and ropes, and nets, and they went out. They brought food and water and all manner of gear. They clung to the roofs with all four feet wheresoever after Unicorn they went. It proved no good. Anton looked up, and Karel to his brother. The world came down— That’s what Karel said. He had time to look away. He had time to bury his head in his paws. He did not see the fullness of Unicorn’s presence. He only saw Anton his brother become unreal. In the light of the moment of the Unicorn, Anton became as a paper figure in the fire. His reality burned out. His shadow seared into the roofs behind him. Where he’d stood, for just a moment, the Steppes of the Sky came down to touch the Vast and Earthen Court; and Anton was gone away. So Karel ran and Karel ran and Karel ran from the Unicorn; and all his life, he envied but was more fortunate than his brother.

These are gods. You're going up there to kill God.

Like, it's still silly wainscot fantasy with funny talking rats, but there's that tension. It's like if Fraggle Rock occasionally took a hard turn to serious cosmic horror – Lord Dunsany by way of Jim Henson – and that tonal juxtaposition was treated as something unremarkable.

Basically what I'm saying is go back The Far Roofs.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #the far roofs #dr. jenna moran #crowdfunding #kickstarter #violence mention #death mention

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woahjo · 2 months

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APHRODISIAC! (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Katsuki gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk. You decide to check in on him. What could go wrong?

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, dubcon, smut, porn with little to no plot, aphrodisiac quirks, quirkless reader, prohero!katsuki, rough sex, borderline free use, biting, creampie, multiple orgasms (fem!receiving), masturbation, edging (kinda), manhandling, katsuki is dominant but also not idk he's desperate, possessiveness, overstimulation, size kink, scent kink, some light aftercare! woo hoo!, friends to lovers sort of

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: yeah ik this isn't what i typically write but idk where this came from. i had a thought and it spiraled bad and now i have this. there is no deeper message. there is no meaning. i wrote this to make him FUCK and be kinda weird and desperate and pathetic about it. i needed to see him physically overpower us while also so desperate that it makes him look stupid. i feel violent. this bad boy is not going on ao3 lol. anyway, enjoy, heed the warnings.

Katsuki paces around the one bedroom apartment he rents in downtown Musutafu. His skin is tingling. Every nerve he has burns like it's been set on fire, needing some sort of touch to soothe it. His cock aches between his legs, hard and leaking against the side of his thigh. Katsuki grits his teeth, running his hands over his hair and then letting his palms slide down the sides of his exposed biceps.

Sweat collects on his skin, the kind that comes from desperation or maybe a fever, and he feels it on his palms when he lets them drop to his sides and clenches his fists. Fuck, he can't believe he got hit with a non-fatal quirk and had to be sent home. It's humiliating. What's worse is that it hasn't worn off yet, rendering him completely useless.

He sits on his couch, his legs spread wide, and leans back against the couch cushions, wincing as he reaches to unbutton his pants. He's never been this sensitive in his life and it almost hurts to grab his cock and pull it from his pants. Katsuki watches it twitch for a moment, rigid between his legs and leaking pre-cum from its angry tip. He doesn't even have to think about anything in particular, he's just turned on. Unbearably so.

Katsuki wraps his hand around the base of his cock and jerks upward once, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at his own sensitivity. Then, the desperation sets in fully and he squeezes the head of his cock with a wince and a low groan before beginning to slide his hand up and down. He pauses to spit into his palm, desperate for some sort of relief from the tension weaving its way through his body, his hand moving faster and fast over this dick. Katsuki only pauses when he touches his overly sensitive head, swallowing down an audible moan as he moves his hips to desperately fuck his fist.

He tries not to think of the humiliation in this, instead focusing on chasing a high that seems to get farther and farther. He stays like this for a while, desperately fucking his fist with low groans and whines. His face is completely flushed, sweat beading on his brow and forehead, covering every inch of his skin with a pathetic, glowing sheen. God, he's almost fucking angry. The frustration, the sheer desperation for release, is making it difficult to control his temper and he knots his free hand into the soft pillow beside him, raising it to his face and using it to cover his head so he can be a little louder.

He's desperately humping his fist when his doorbell rings. At first, it's only once and Katsuki thinks he can ignore it, but then it comes again, five more times and consistently more aggressive.

"Katsuki?" your voice calls through the wood paneling of his door. "I heard you got hit with a quirk and sent home. Let me in."

He furrows his eyebrows at the irony of the last person in the world he wants to encounter at a time like this. Pretty, quirkless, you. His long time friend and recent dispatcher at his agency. Someone he secretly wants to fuck even without the aphrodisiac quirk floating through his bloodstream. You really get under his skin. You’re exactly his type, right down to that annoying little attitude of yours that drives Katsuki insane. Of course, he's always respected your friendship a little too much to do anything about it, but tonight, he doesn't think he'll be able to and he sits in silence with his lip caught between his teeth while he fucks his fists and hopes you'll go away.

"I know you're in there," you call again. "I can see the light on."

You bang three times on the door and then ring the doorbell again, pushy and insistent the way you always are. A match for his stubborn attitude.

Katsuki swears and stands up, his hands shaking as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his sweatpants and flips the head up into his waistband with a hiss.

The crazy thing is, he can literally smell you through the door. The scent of you, that sweet and rounded perfume you wear, wafts under the crack of his apartment door. He pauses outside of it, resisting the temptation to open it, to welcome that smell into his apartment and use you to relieve the aching in his cock and lower belly.

"Katsuki?" You ask, a little quieter now.

Jesus fucking christ, don't call his name like that.

He swings the door open, letting his hand rest on the side of it so that it is positioned above his head. You look taken aback at his appearance, covered in sweat and flushed from the neck up, his chest exposed and heaving.

"What?" he says, looking you up and down.

Katsuki bites back the urge to yank you in. Why is it he can literally smell the sweat on your body and every prick of your emotions? It's like he can tell exactly what you're thinking, or maybe it's what he wants you to be thinking.

"Don't get on my ass about me still technically needing to be at work," you start, stepping forward. "I heard something happened and I just came to check and you look like shi-"

Katsuki blocks you from coming in with his body. You stumble backwards lightly and raise your eyebrow at him. There's a pause as you register that you've just run into a solid wall of muscle, sweat covered and glistening, while Katsuki eyes you like you're meat on a platter. He knows he's doing it, but he can literally smell every turn of your scent, soft and sweet. And he may be fooling himself... but are you... turned on?

"Let me in?" you say with a small laugh, side stepping to go around him. He blocks you again, his fingers gripping the door frame so hard that his knuckles are white.

"Go home," he says quietly, his voice tense.

"What? No," you furrow your eyebrows at him. "What's the matter with you?"

You duck under his arm and place your hand momentarily on his chest. Your touch makes him tingle all over and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"I'm not fucking around," he says.

"Okay, me neither," you respond with a bit of an attitude. "I expected you to be worse for wear but you look like crap. Like you're... I don't know."

You trail off a little.

"Let me help," you say, shaking off whatever thought had come over you. "I'll make you some food."

"Look, no offense, but I don't think you want to help me with this," he says, a frustrated bite in his voice. Food isn't exactly what he's hungry for.

"That's too bad," you say slowly, seemingly put off by the desperate air about him and settling into his kitchen. You move to open the fridge.

Katsuki walks up to you quickly, taking your wrist from the door and holding it between the two of you. Cool air hits his exposed chest and arm as the door falls shut again.

"I'm dead serious. Get the fuck out of here or I'm gonna do something I regret," he hisses through a clenched jaw. Your skin is warm on the pads of his fingers, wrist held flush against his palm. He bites back a genuine shudder.

Your eyes are wide as you look back at him, glancing between where he's caught your wrist by your head and his eyes. Katsuki's gaze roams over your face, pausing as he hits the top of your blouse where a few buttons remain open. When he returns his eyes to yours, your mouth moves to open before a heady understanding settles over your features. You're so pretty. Everything about you is pretty, so delightful and delicate. Your eyes look glassy and wide. Katsuki has always found them tempting, but today he can't stop himself.

He leans forward and kisses you, holding your wrist to his chest as his mouth comes messily into contact with yours. You squeak and freeze and it takes all he has to pull away from you.

"Go home," he says again, his lips tingling. Katsuki feels the color creep onto his cheeks, his hand still holding your wrist.

You don't say anything, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He swallows thick and feels the saliva drag against his throat. Then, his mouth dries completely, his expression twisting into discomfort as his cock throbs between his legs as the scent of you takes on a sharper turn. He's never felt anything like this before, something animal.

Katsuki tightens his jaw, staring at you for a moment. Then, he takes a step towards you. You take one back, though he doesn't feel like you're afraid. Rather, you tilt your head down to look at him through your lashes. He lets out a breath through his teeth and walks you back until your ass hits the counter, his free hand coming to gingerly touch your waist. You inhale when he leans in to kiss you again, screwing your eyes shut and reaching to grab at his shoulder to pull him closer.

Every touch tingles. It burns and he drops your wrist to manhandle your hips. You suck on his bottom lip, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. He ruts his hips against yours, desperate for any sort of friction to relieve the ache, and you gasp a little and let your mouth fall open. Katsuki takes the opportunity to bite down hard on your lip with a low groan, slipping his tongue into your mouth as the pads of his fingers press harshly into you. You whine, eyebrows pulling up.

Katsuki’s eyes are slightly open, just so that he can look at you. Every aspect of his senses feel heightened and the relief of your mouth far surpasses that of his hand over his throbbing cock only minutes earlier.

He pants, taking your hips and lifting you onto the counter so that you’re seated, pulling away for just a moment to lift the hem of your shirt and expose your breasts. Katsuki puts his face on the pillowy tops of them, biting and sucking at the exposed skin as his hand teases its way up the skin of your back to unclasp it. He thinks you’re probably looking at him, but if you are, he doesn’t have the mind to care about what sort of behavior he’s exhibiting. He can practically smell how wet you are from just a little touching and if he weren’t so fucking desperate for a little relief, he’d tease you for a few hours just to watch your pussy drool over him.

The cool air of his apartment hits your exposed nipples. Katsuki takes it upon himself, without even a second thought, to roll the hard bud under his tongue. He feels the way goosebumps rise on your skin, his hands coming to rest over the tops of your thighs. Katsuki bites lightly on your breast and you fucking whine at it, tipping your head back and rooting your hand into the tufts of his blonde hair.

His cock jumps in his pants and he’s no doubt leaked enough to leave an evident wet spot against the gray of his sweatpants. He stands to his full height, pushing your skirt up and pressing the outline of his cock to your crotch. Heat bleeds through your panties, the kind that makes him feel like he’s going absolutely fucking insane. You gasp, putting your hands on his shoulders and pulling him close again.

Katsuki’s mouth hits yours messily, breathing hard as he ruts his hips up against your crotch, pulling you forward on the counter so he can feel as much of the pillowy folds of your pussy through the thick fabric as possible. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth, sharp canines digging into the wet flesh of your mouth. He whines— high-pitched, desperate sound—as you position your hips to press your crotch against the head of his cock. His head falls onto your chest, forehead resting against the hollow of your throat. Katsuki humps at you, pulling you against him to match the rhythm of his hips, grinding your clothed cunt over the bulge of his cock. It’s a desperate motion, completely subconscious as he lets the quirk he’s been hit with take the lead.

His fingers dip into the crease of your thigh, fumbling as they reach for the waistband of the panties you’re wearing. Katsuki’s desperation is so palpable that he finds himself panting as he slips his fingers into the sides of your underwear, yanking them down. You gasp at the force of it and he swears he hears a small tear as he pulls them from your cunt, the crotch sticking to the lips of your pussy.

He leans his hips forward again, sliding his cock between your folds with a deep grunt. His mouth finds your neck and he bites along the side of it, lathing his tongue over your pulse point. It’s like he can taste you. Salt and that stupid perfume, collecting on his tongue as you dig your fingers into his back, his dick rutting restlessly against your clit. At one point, he almost slips in, his eagerness and your wetness making him careless. Katsuki sucks in a breath through his teeth, his whole body on fire.

The kitchen light shines down on his back and he can see the outline of part of his shadow on your thighs as he stares down at them, guiding the tip of himself to your entrance. He hears you wine when he presses against it and moves his hand down subconsciously to rub at your clit. An attempt to ease the stretch.

You tip your head back in a moan and Katsuki takes the opportunity to kiss your neck before settling his teeth against your shoulder and biting down harshly on the muscle connecting your neck and arm. You yelp at the sensation and Katsuki shutters at the sound, willing out a choked I’m sorry as he slides into your wetness. His hands push into the delightfully soft flesh of your upper thighs, the fat spilling up around each individual digit as he uses your legs for leverage, sliding you forward even further to better seat you on him.

Your legs are shaking and he can feel the way your nails dig into his exposed shoulder blades. Your bunch up skirt causes the fat of your tummy to fold over in a way that practically makes Katsuki drool. He urges himself to pause, attempting to come back to his senses as the quirk kicks into high gear. There’s relief in being inside of you, in feeling the flutter of your walls around his thick cock, but it also makes him desperate. Katsuki feels like he’s chasing something that he was desperately and it’s just out of his reach.

You’re breathing heavily above him, he can see the rise and fall of your chest from where his head hangs down, his hands trembling on the tops of your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes, his vision foggy around the edges as if he were peering through a tube. You’re at the end of it, your eyes glassy and mouth open, returning the look. Your eyebrows are knitted up in pleasure, but you almost seem confused.

“What are you waiting for?” You breathe out, the first thing you’ve said since he started touching you.

The tone of your voice is needy, with a delightful whiny lilt that makes him groan out loud. He can barely manage the words that come out next, his brain half mush, and he feels the way his cock jumps inside of you.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth, his breath coming heavy.

There’s a pause and he feels the distinct sensation of you squeezing down around his cock, like the idea turns you on.

“Use me,” you respond cautiously, your voice still containing that needy lilt.

Katsuki’s hips fuck up into you voluntarily and he feels the way his breath catches in his throat at the near desperate sound of your voice.

“Say that again.”

“Use me, Katsuki,” you respond, choking on your words as he fucks his hips up into you.

You reach for his face, taking it in your hands and drawing it close until it’s just in front of yours. Then, your palms slide down his shoulders and he screws his eyes shut and fucks into you again, harder this time, causing your body to jolt upwards on the counter.

He curses under his breath, pushing one leg further to the side and fucking his hips up into you roughly. You’re looking right at him, your expression drawn and pleasure-soaked, sweat collecting on your forehead as your mouth drops open into an o-shape. You punctuate his thrusts with high pitched yelps, squeaking out your pleasure and the deepness of where he’s hitting through choked moans.

Katsuki’s hands move up your stomach to roughly cup your breasts, his mouth so close to yours that he’s practically breathing in the sounds you make in exchange for his own hurried groans. He kneads at the fat of your chest, rolling your breast under his fingers before taking your nipples and pulling lightly on them.

He’s aware of just how rough he’s being, just how hard his hips are slapping yours, but he feels like he can’t stop. Katsuki chases a high so fucking desperate that his body is on autopilot, reaching and touching and moaning unabashedly as the room fills with the wet sound of his balls on the backs of your thick thighs.

You push your chest forward towards him, legs spread wide to make room for the width of his hips between yours as he bullies that perfect sensitive spot inside of you. Katsuki feels the way he makes you flutter. Every shift of your body, every involuntary squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, registers as if he were a part of you. His skin tingles everywhere you touch and the drag of your nails over his shoulder blades makes him want to crawl into the deepest part of you. Even the sound of your voice, drawn and desperate and mildly overwhelmed, feels like a drug to him. Every sense he has seems to be acutely attuned to just how badly he needs to fuck your lights out.

His hands slink down to your hips, resituating you and pulling you flush against him. Then, he drags his cock all the way out of you and quickly ruts back in, moaning as he does. His pace picks up, manhandling you forward on the counter until he is supporting most of your weight. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as you let him use you like a toy.

Katsuki chases his high, his stomach seeming to wind tighter and tighter but never finding that perfect snap and release. His movements grow faster, using all of his strength to fuck his hips up into you, barreling his cock against your gummy walls and bullying your sweet spot. He feels the way you tighten down around him, your body tensing and fingers digging crescent moons into the tops of his shoulders.

“Ka-” you choke out desperately, your voice breaking. “Wait, Katsuki, wait! I’m gonna-”

You shudder, your thighs squeezing around him as he continues to fuck you.

“Do it,” he seethes, “just fuckin’ do it.”

The end of his sentence comes out as more of a whimper as you cry out and squeeze down around him, squirming in his grasp as you begin to twitch with every additional thrust. Your body shakes, legs locking around him and struggling to hold him inside as he fucks you clear through your orgasm and then to the other side.

Katsuki’s voice breaks, almost whimpering like an animal as he buries himself in your pussy over and over again. He wants to smother you, he wants to completely cover your body and get as close as he possibly can. He’s already so much bigger than you, so much broader, how hard could it be to swallow you completely?

Katsuki’s hands come up under your ass as he wordlessly lifts you from the counter and moves to the couch on desperate, shaky steps. He lays you down, slipping out of you for a moment, before pressing a hand to the inside of your thigh, spreading your legs, and sinking his cock back into you as he crowds his body over yours.

“You know what?” He says, not really sure what’s going to come next. His head is so clouded with the quirk that he can’t think straight. “I’ve wanted to do this forever. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so- long-”

He screws his eyes shut, almost angry with the way he can’t seem to hit that high, teetering on a desperate and near painful edge.

“Those fuckin’ pencil skirts,” he says, unable to control his words or sharp tone. “The way you wear your hair, that damn look in your eye that constantly makes you seem like you’re beggin’ for it.”

Katsuki whines, a sharp sound from the back of his throat, as you tighten up around him. He meets your gaze, clouded and watery eyes accented by the delightful furrow in the center of your brow.

“And then you show up here,” he groans, not even sure of what he’s really saying. “Blouse unbuttoned, looking for trouble. I’m gonna fuck your lights out. ‘Till you can’t even think about fuckin’ anyone else.”

He leans in close, his mouth right up against yours.

“This is g’nna make you mine, right?”

You nod, your movements clumsy, and pull him close to you.

Katsuki loses all of his sense, burying himself in the feel of your pussy and the way he sinks into you, giving into the desperation of the quirk. He can feel just how deep he’s hitting, the way you suck in sharp, whiny breaths with every inward thrust. Katsuki’s hands grip your waist, pulling your ass up off the couch so that his angle is better.

His cock seems to drag endlessly against your overstimulated, pillowy, insides and you practically drool around. He feels like a dog slobbering over meat, any semblance of politeness completely gone from both his expression and his movements. This is going to fucking ruin your friendship, but he doesn’t even have half of a mind to think about it, so drawn into the delightful feel of your body and the aching in his cock that only seems to subside slightly with every thrust.

You try to choke out the word “again” and he feels like he knows what’s coming. Your whole body tenses, legs locking around him as you cream over his cock for the second time.

This seems to get Katsuki somewhere, the sensation of your pussy clamping down finally giving him some leeway to relief. He hits the edge of an orgasm, leading himself to the finish line.

The tension in his belly grows, cock twitching inside of your fucked out cunt. His fingers dig into your hips and he collapses forward, rolling his body so that the head of his cock catches perfectly inside of you, massaging and churning you up. You’re moaning, though maybe it’s more adjacent to whining, and Katsuki can hear himself mimicking the sounds, his body leading the way.

Then finally, on a pathetic and broken whimper, Katsuki cums. His whole body tenses, weight pressing down on you as he buries his face into your neck and lets his voice out beside the hollow of your throat. The relief and pleasure is so intense that Katsuki feels the way every muscle in his body tenses and lets go, filling you up with as much of him as he has to give.

His hips continue to pathetically rut into you, little choked moans escaping his lips as he uses his own cum as lube for his weak little thrusts. Then, he completely relaxes.

Katsuki feels the way his skin stops burning, the way the desperation at the back of his throat subsides, how his body rids itself of the quirk as quickly as the arousal came on. He shudders, coming back to himself and raising his head to peer at your expression.

You look exhausted, hair a mess and face covered in a thick sheen of sweat. You still flutter around his cock, your hands gripping his shoulders as you try and ride through the overstimulation of just having him inside of you. Katsuki furrows his brows, exhaustion creeping into his muscles. He raises his hand and uses it to push stray strands of hair from your face with his palm on your forehead. Then, with a clear mind, he leans forward and kisses you.

You blink at him for a second, before giving a weak smile, raising your eyebrows and letting your head fall to the side. Katsuki winces when he pulls out of you, sucking in a sharp breath and standing to his full height. He places a hand on his forehead like he’s assessing the situation, staring at your body, still fully clothed with your skirt pushed all the way up your stomach and your blouse missing a button at the top.

He wordlessly walks to the bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water, walking back over to you and wiping down the exposed parts of your body. You don’t really say anything to him, but you smile quietly while he gingerly wipes you down, your smeared makeup accenting just how much of a mess he’s made.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how-”

“How you wanted this to go?” You say softly, the corners of your lips turning up.

Katsuki feels the way he flushes, all the way to the tops of his chest.

“No, it’s not,” he admits, running a hand over his face as he crouches beside you.

You laugh a little and he furrows his brows at you, frustrated and embarrassed.

“You’ve got a bit of a possessive streak, huh?” You tease lightly.

“I got hit with some asshole’s fuckin’ quirk and-” he begins explaining himself, something he probably should have done when you showed up at the door.

“It was good though,” you say, tilting your head at him from where you lay.

Katsuki blinks at you, his expression completely flat. You should really know just how fucking crazy you drive him. Then, he scowls a little, not because he’s upset, but because he’s currently feeling the opposite and that makes him awkward.

“You’re into that shit?” He says, a bit incredulously.

You shrug and give him a coy smile.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw.dubcon #tw.biting #tw.free use #tw.overstimulation #tw.size kink #tw.scent kink #idk what this is #it’s a little ficlet I suppose #AND SO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT I USUALLY WRITE I FEEL LIKE #ANY IM NERVOUS ENJOY #cal.writing

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osaemu · 5 months

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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ THE CUTEST COUPLE ON THE INTERNET! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when you flirt with one of his many rivals?

contents: fem!reader. playful jealousy, it's nothin' serious. toji flirts with you <3 chat continues to make fun of satoru + fortnite slander. pretty short but uh... anyways.

author's note: live laugh love streamer!gojo

"c'mon, satoru," suguru drawls, smiling at your boyfriend through the screen. "how'd you get eliminated so fast? you must've set a world record," he teases, poking fun at the way satoru completely bombed the last round.

you snicker from your spot on satoru's bed, and he turns and sticks his tongue out at you. satoru had convinced you to come over just a couple minutes ago, and any hope you had of doing your homework in peace flew out the window the moment he went live.

"shut up," satoru huffs, turning back to his monitor and scrunching up his nose at suguru. the two are close enough for them to banter and insult each other without any fear of resentment. suguru laughs in response, velvety voice resulting in a burst of heart emojis from the comments.

"well, i gotta go," suguru sighs, leaning back in his dark, plush chair. he smiles and waves with a reminder of when his next stream will be before signing off.

satoru spins around in his chair a couple times and scrunches up his face at the screen. "why are you guys still here?" he asks, ruffling his hair and raising an eyebrow. "y'wanna see my girlfriend again or something?"

the chat explodes with a flurry of yes's, so satoru swivels his chair around and looks straight at you. he looks at you expectantly, opening his arms and beckoning you. "c'mere, sweetheart," he says, voice singsongy and light.

"you're so annoying," you mumble, rolling over and hopping off his bed.

"and i'm all yours," satoru replies immediately, shooting you a cheeky smile.

whenever you call him annoying or stupid or a clueless idiot, satoru responds the same way every time. and both of you know that you certainly can't do much better than your sweetheart of a boyfriend, even if he is the brattiest boy you know.

you run your fingers through your hair and walk over to him, resting your chin on his shoulder and waving at his camera. "hey guys," you say with a smile. satoru turns to his head to kiss your cheek affectionately, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer.

as you lean into satoru's embrace, you scan the comments. most of them are either hi's and hello's, but a select few make you laugh.

yuuji-itadori: they make me feel so single :(

inumaki: brb im about to violently throw up

toji-fushiguro: she can do so much better tbh

satoru scoffs at the last two comments, jutting his chin out and glaring at the screen. "why are you two still here?" he huffs, pointing at the camera and narrowing his eyes. the hand on your waist tightens as satoru pulls you into his lap. "inumaki, don't you have a fortnite round to lose? and you, toji, i'm this close to blocking you from my streams!" he grumbles.

the chat explodes with various expressions of laughter, and you can't help but giggle at the responses satoru's jibes get.

inumaki: kys

inumaki: whats wrong with playing fortnite??? most fire game ever fym

toji-fushiguro: im not here for u loser

satoru mimicks inumaki with a high-pitched voice and goes on a minute-long tangent of why fortnite is the one of the shittiest games ever, and eventually inuaki chooses to retreat with a last snarky comment before he disappears. then, your riled-up boyfriend turns on toji.

"if you're not here for me, who could you possibly be here for?" satoru snorts, resting his chin on the top of your head. his hands intertwine as he wraps his arms around you snugly, securing you on his lap.

the next message from toji catches you and satoru off-guard, but your reactions are entirely different. you laugh and smile bashfully, while satoru nearly knocks you off of him when he yells "what?!"

toji-fushiguro: i'm here for your pretty gf duh

before satoru can fire a thousand insults toji's way, you reach up and clasp your hand over his mouth. your boyfriend's eyes widen in the reflection of his monitor, and you have to suppress the urge to ruffle his hair and kiss him stupid. sure, you'll probably make out with him after the stream, but you think that it'd be even more fun to mess with him first.

"aw, you think i'm pretty?" you ask playfully, directing your words at toji. "i've seen you around," you muse, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with the hand not covering satoru's mouth. you smile coyly at the screen before continuing, "you're not so bad yourself, honestly."

satoru whines incredulously against your hand, and you can't suppress the laugh that slips past your lips. he bounces his foot on the floor impatiently, and eventually he reaches around you and quickly presses a couple buttons to end the stream. "baby, i love you but sometimes you drive me crazy," he grumbles, hoisting you over his shoulder as he stands up.

"let me go!"

"okay!" he replies, dropping you on his bed with a cheeky smile. satoru's eyes narrow as he watches you scramble to sit up, and you puff up your cheeks indignantly. satoru plops down next to you and pulls you into his chest, face barely an inch away from yours.

"what was that?!" satoru whines, glaring at you sullenly. he tugs at the bottom of your shirt and juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

"satoru, are you jealous?" you snicker, leaning in and kissing his nose. he scrunches his face up and frowns, but the corners of his mouth seem to tilt upwards. satoru pulls you into a kiss and holds you there for a second, smiling against your lips.

"no," satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. "i'm hotter than him, and i'm not a total asshole." he wraps his arms around your waist and nudges your cheek with his nose, clear blue eyes focused on your lips.

"true," you agree, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his embrace. satoru really is the best boyfriend you could ask for—everything about the two of you just works.

satoru pinches you gently and kisses your nose. "say that you love me."

you smile and close your eyes, suddenly more relaxed than you've been in the last couple days. "of course i love you, dummy."

"love you more, cheate— ow, i'm kidding, i'm kidding!"

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alwaysmoncheri · 6 months

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𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 — JAMES POTTER!

pairings ❧ james potter x reader

summary ❧ no one makes james potter feel the way that his girlfriend does and he definitely knows it

warnings ❧ female!reader, cheesy writing, lots of fluff, sunshine!reader, james is whipped for the reader, based on my girl, by the temptations, implications of wolfstar, pda, not proofread

word count ❧ 1.1k

additional notes ❧ my first james fic sort of blew up and i was feeling inspired to write another—thank you for all your support | i also have a longer version for this so let me know if you’re interested ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

You’re James’ sunshine, you’re his bundle of light and happiness on a cloudy day, and you’re all of his favorite things mixed into one beautiful girl. To James, nothing can ever compare to the way you make him feel. Every time you look in his direction with those captivating eyes that always sparkle with love—love that you constantly spread across the school like it’s your only goal in life—to make people feel loved, special, wanted—unlike so many—your contagious smile that makes him feel all giddy and causes his stomach to flutter with excitement.

Everything you do, everything you are, makes James feel like one of those special recipients of all the love you have stored in your overflowing heart. James feels like the luckiest guy in the world to have the privilege of holding you in his arms during the cold winter nights spent in his dormitory, the early spring mornings strolling through the flower meadow the two of you found in the outskirts of Hogwarts, the hot summer days spent in the backyard of the Potter residence, and the cool autumn evenings feeling the cool breeze blowing the fallen leaves past your feet.

Even now, you stroll through the doors to the common room and look so effortlessly breathtaking. The elegance you seem to carry with you to every room you enter makes James’ heart race because you’re his girl and no one else can take you away from him.

Yours and James’ friends always know when you’ve entered a room, not just because your presence is enough alone, but because James always seems to have an absolutely stunned expression dancing across his face, almost as if his heart has stopped beating—this time it leads the group to tease the love sick boy.

“What’s got you all smiles, Prongs?” Sirius asks curiously and with a teasing smile he playfully nudges his best friend’s shoulder, earning no reaction from James—who seems to be mesmerized, by your presence, “Is it that girl of yours, again?”

“Is that even a question?” Lily scoffs lightly and with a dramatic roll of her eyes she gazes past the small crowd of people also entering the common room in an attempt to spot your radiant figure, “Of course it’s (Y/n).”

“Let’s ask the lover boy,” Marlene suggests with a sly grin and points the book she's currently reading towards James, before calling over to him teasingly while tilting her head to one side, “Oh, lover boy?”

“Yeah?” James responds without tearing his gaze away from you and when your eyes finally meet he can’t help but let out a captivated sigh, his eyes screaming his absolute admiration for you.

“See, here she comes now," Lily smirks, gesturing in the direction of you, as you continue to make your way towards the group, who are casually sitting in their respective spots around the room—Lily and Mary are sitting together on the couch closest to the blazing, however warm fire, Remus and Marlene are reading on the couch across from them, Sirius is comfortably situated on the floor between Remus’ legs, and finally James is sprawled out on a lounge chair angled directly towards his lovely girlfriend—you.

“Good morning, everyone.” You greet your friends with a loving smile, plop yourself down on James’ lap, and finally turn your long-craved attention toward your favorite boy, “Hey, Jamie.” You add sweetly and swiftly lean over to plant your soft, addicting lips upon his flushed cheek.

“Good morning, love.” James replies, adjusting his hands on your hips in order to pull your back flush against his chest—something you shamelessly lean into. As James wraps one of his arms around your waist and nervously fidgets with the hem of your shirt, you wrap your own arms around his shoulders, place your hands at the nape of his neck, and begin to twirl the ends of his curls (that need a trim, you notice) around your fingers—something you know he’s obsessed with.

You then glance around the room at your friends as they engage in each of their preferred activities on this peaceful and quiet evening. Your face transforms into a content smile, reminiscing on what your life might be like when you and your friends all leave Hogwarts. A day where all of your friends come over to the Potter resistance—you and James’ house, and spend the day around the fire, warm cups of tea within reach, silent communication being shared between you and James before the two of you sneak away and up the perfect wooden stairs to your bedroom, where laughter and secrets are shared under the sheets.

“Prongsy here hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked through that door.” Sirius smiles causally, leaning further back against Remus’ legs as the sandy-brown-haired boy nervously shifts in his chair and swiftly runs the hand that isn’t holding his book through his hair. Sirius’ comment is directed towards you, and you finally snap back into reality when you notice that knowing smirk plastered across Sirius’ face.

James lets out a dramatic groan while throwing his head back against the chair that the two of you continue to sit in. Your boyfriend’s reaction to Sirius’ constant teasing causes a quiet giggle to fall from your lips. The sound of your contagious laugh makes James’ stomach swoon with love and his face visibly lights up after lifting his head back up off of the chair. James can’t help but stare at you even when you’re sitting right in his arms. You look so sweet, radiating with love and warmth. At this moment, James can only imagine what those lips of yours might taste like. And that’s when he kisses you.

James can’t control himself and for valid reasons. You taste just the same as you always do—like honey, sweet as can be. It would be impossible for the bees not to be jealous of him. James could never get tired of kissing your lips and he’s not ashamed of it. If he’s going to spend the rest of his life with you then he’s always going to express his everlasting amount of love and affection for you.

The kiss catches you off guard, not expecting such passion and aggression in front of your friends, but you instinctively kiss James back. Your hands tangle through James’ hair while his grip on your hips and the waist tighten ever-so-slightly. This earns him a surprised squeak from you, and causes a boyish grin to form on James’ face as he kisses you.

“Get a room!” Sirius shouts jokingly from his spot on the floor which causes you and James to pull away with love sick grins consuming your expressions.

“You’re my girl.” James whispers into your ear and affectionately bumps his nose into the apple of your cheek, tickling your sensitive skin. A soft giggle bubbles into the air when James begins to pepper kisses all over your face.

“And I’ll always be your girl.”

masterlist . my taglist

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