#And wildly conflicting too

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Someone needs to tell me I should work on one of the long fics I already have and NOT, under any circumstances, start a new one full of contrived ways for Leela, Romana, and Sarah to travel the universe

[aroacettorney]

tbh aup should have more moments where ludger is morally challenged. early arcs of aup did quite well in this regard where he had to pick between securing his goals/survival and genuinely taking care of the people around him (esp those who were not his people). nowadays, its just endless action scenes where he bruteforces through all the problems with his opness that contributes nothing to his character development because everything is already perfectly and conveniently aligned.

[fellhellion]

90s run PAD has this rlly annoying trend where he very often write a female character being in love w miguel and suddenly her entire character shrinks down to the scope of what drama this provokes and it's near continually in service to the narratives of men (Gabriel and Miguel interpersonal drama for example). even when there are actually interesting things to be mined from this angle like w lyla its like. this is a pattern w you dude.

[quietstime]

💕

[moonrecalled]

Aigis knows now - the true nature of Ryoji Mochizuki, and why she felt so much animosity towards him since the moment they "first" met.

But what's ironic... is that this time around, Ryoji himself doesn't. As far as Aigis can tell, right now he considers himself an ordinary human with an ordinary life, having escaped the memories and knowledge that would cause him so much pain if he remembered them. Of course, that state of being can't last forever... it's only a matter of time until he remembers who he is, and the awful truth that fact brings with it.

It's difficult not to hate him. Although, maybe what she hates the most is her own failure. It's irrational to blame Ryoji for something he cannot control - but irrationality is something that all living creatures feel, and isn't she too alive? It's his existence that's been the source of all of her friend's pain. He was created in order to end life - while she was made to protect it. But... in the end, Aigis was able to find a purpose beyond just what she was made for.

So... could the same be possible for Mochizuki? The fact that she doesn't know... tugs at her papillion heart, and twists her feelings into something uncomfortable to face.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, bluntly, in response to his greeting. There's nothing friendly about her expression, but there's no anger there either. "Are you looking for him?"

@musaeon ( starter for ryoji! )

[discoblocks]

I don’t wanna touch too hard on the egg conflict rn but I will say that as a time-tested practice, you have got to stop assuming other people are hating on characters when they are merely pointing out flaws and actions as part of their analysis. It’s not villainizing to discuss how specific character actions affect the characters around them, even if the effect is negative. Sometimes they are just speaking from a pov that you don’t really have an understanding of, and that’s fine. Sometimes YOU post from a pov they don’t understand either, which is also fine, bc not everyone is going to have the same opinions on everything.

We can relax and remember that this is a narrative, and a story being told to us, and our fighting about it is going to have no bearing on how it will continue to get told. If you can’t agree with people about it, block and let it go, and don’t bother going around making posts about how you found toxic takes, bc that only adds fuel to the unnecessary fire.

[nxsturn]

virgin!reader x matt sturn

warnings: suggestive (dry humping, praising, talking you through it), humiliation (if you squint).

the room was dimly lit, a faint glow emanating from the bedside lamp. you straddled Matthew’s hips, his hands resting on your waist as he guided you through the awkward motions. the friction of your clothed bodies rubbing together sent unfamiliar tremors through you.

he whispered encouragements, his breath warm against your neck, "like this, see?" he bucked his hips slightly, showing you the rhythm he wanted you to follow. you could feel how hard he is beneath his jeans, even through the thick fabric, it was unmistakable.

as you awkwardly gyrated above him, his hands slid from your waist to your hips, gripping tighter. his guidance became more insistent, urging you to press down harder, grind faster. a low groan escaped his lips, spurring you on despite the unfamiliar sensations coursing through your inexperienced body.

his face contorted with restraint, his eyes rolling back briefly as he fought to keep his hands on your hips instead of tugging your clothes off entirely. "damn it," he hissed between clenched teeth, his hips bucking more forcefully beneath you.

his intensity both thrilled and startled you. your cheeks flushed pink, breathing becoming shallow as the new sensations overwhelmed your senses. the friction between your legs was starting to feel.. good? too good? you bit your lower lip, hands gripping his shoulders for balance, unsure whether to continue or pull away.

he could see the conflict in your eyes, the hesitation written all over your face. he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your back to keep you from retreating. "keep going," he murmured, his voice hoarse, "you're doing it right,"

his praise emboldened you slightly, and you began following the rhythm he had shown you. the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against the thin fabric of your shorts sent tingles through your legs, a strange warmth building in your lower belly. "that's it, baby.. just like that," his normally calm voice was thick with desire, breath hot against your ear as he whispered instructions. one of his hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, while the other moved around to grip your ass possessively.

you gasped as he squeezed, pressing you further against him. the new position pressed you right where you needed it, and a small, surprised sound escaped your lips. your movements grew more instinctual, less hesitant, as you chased the unfamiliar but tantalizing feeling.

his fingers curled under your shirt, clawing at your skin as he tried to pull it up, needing more contact. "lift your arms," he growled, voice muffled against your neck as he tried to tug the fabric off.

hesitantly, you complied, raising your arms. the cool air hit your bared midriff as the shirt came off, leaving you in your bra. his calloused hands immediately mapped the newly exposed skin.

he stared at you in awe, eyes trailing over your face, neck, collarbone, and the gentle swell of your breasts above the lacy cups of your bra. "you're so fucking pretty," he murmured, almost to himself.

his fingers traced patterns on your back, while his other hand moved to cup your face, tilting it towards him. "really fucking pretty," he repeated, his eyes dark with desire as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

you melted into the kiss, your lips parting instinctively as his tongue sought entrance. the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. your hands crept up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer as if afraid he might disappear.

your manicure nails dug gently into his scalp as your hips bucked wildly against his, chasing the blissful sensation that had been building for what felt like an eternity. with a hoarse cry, you finally reached your release, your entire body convulsing in pleasure as you coated your panties with your essence.

he felt you tense and heard your cry, knowing exactly what was happening. a low groan rumbled in his chest as he watched you fall apart in his arms, your face flushed, lips parted, and eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. "fuck," he breathed.

he continued holding you close as the waves of pleasure subsided, one hand stroking through your hair while the other kept a firm grip on your waist. his heart was racing, and he was still painfully hard against you, but all he cared about was making sure you were okay.

your breath came in ragged gasps as you gradually floated back down to reality, your skin sensitive where it touched his. a mix of embarrassment and pure contentment washed over you, making your limbs feel heavy. you'd never felt anything so intense, so all-consuming.

as you looked into his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own emotions, multiplied tenfold. his gaze was unwavering, filled with adoration and affection. suddenly, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you.

he whispered, "stay," as he pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around you like shackles. the room fell silent — except for the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your ear.

©nxsturn

tags:

@lolastrniolo , @marrykisskilled , @emely9274 , @sophand4n4 , @fmalewokk , @pinkbunnyie .

thank you so much for 200-300 followers! (and the 1k+ notes on two of my fics, are you kidding me????)

[sena-seastar]

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings:  Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now. 

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side. 

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat. 

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go. 

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw. 

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still. 

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,”   he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out. 

“Look at me.”  

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t. 

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?” 

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face. 

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms. 

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips. 

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to. 

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak. 

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long. 

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs. 

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter. 

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you. 

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down. 

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

[gogogodzilla]

day 31, sex pollen

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, unprotected sex, fuck or die, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, reader gets sad at the end, multiple orgasms, dedicated to @omgbrcat hope you enjoy it bestie kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast and wildly in your life. Well, except for last year when you were fighting for your life and running away from everything that was trying to kill you. 

Peeta was a few steps behind you, slower and stumbling a bit due to his prosthetic leg. You threw a glance over your shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure he was still there with you. 

The various leaves and foliage of the jungle hit you as you ran. You hardly even notice as the foliage shifts from a  normal lush green to unnatural shades of pinks, purples, and blues. You did notice, however, when one of the plants shoots a dusty substance directly in your face as you run past it. 

You lost your footing as you attempted to wipe the dust off your face. Peeta came up beside you, arms outstretched and ready to pick you up. 

“Don’t!” you shouted as you slowly stood, slightly relieved that your face didn’t immediately burn off. “I don’t want it to affect you, whatever it is.”

Your ears strained as you tried to discern if the mutts were still on your tail. 

“Do you hear them?” Peeta questioned, echoing your thoughts. “Y’know since you have a Capitol-engineered ear and all.”  

You huffed out a laugh as you listened. You couldn’t hear the familiar rustle of leaves, and you relaxed slightly. You knew never to get too comfortable in the arena, but your lungs were burning and you needed to get this stuff off your face. 

“Do you still have the spile?” you asked, attempting to avoid the way your body felt like it was on fire and your heart was pounding in your chest. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he began to hammer it into the trunk of a nearby tree. You prayed that the trees wouldn’t be as hazardous as whatever was covering your face. You watched as he stuck a finger under the liquid flowing out of the spile, checking to make sure it was safe. 

He wrapped his hand around your elbow and it felt like fire bloomed under his touch. He was gentle as always as he guided your face under the water. You dragged your hands over your face as you washed off the dusty substance that had covered it. You attempted to rid yourself of the inferno burning under your skin. 

Your cheeks flushed as you pulled away from the stream of water. Peeta’s touch was fleeting but your entire body ached for him. It was a strange feeling, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest with every shaky breath you took. You hunched over, attempting to calm yourself. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover your skin, and your eyebrows furrowed in something akin to pain. 

You heard Peeta call your name, but the only thing you could get out was a whimper. He was on you within seconds, gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly. You scrambled out of his touch, thinking clearly enough to know that you needed to get away from him. 

“What’s wrong?” he questioned, voice desperate and eyes frantically searching over your form. You hurriedly crawled away from him. 

You shook your head, as you pressed your back against a tree. “I— I don’t know. I feel hot,” you breathed, conflicted between clenching your thighs together and spreading them for him. 

 Peeta kneeled in front of you, eyes soft, “How can I help?” 

You remembered before you’d entered your first Games together how he didn’t want the Game to change him. You were thankful that he was still the same sweet boy you entered the arena with. He was different in some ways, of course. No one left the arena unscathed, but who he was at his core was unwavering. 

Your vision was becoming hazy, and a dull ache where you’d never felt it before emerged. You let out a low groan as the heat blistering down to your bones becomes almost unbearable.

Peeta crawled between your legs and cupped your face. You hissed at his touch, leaning into him. You gripped onto his sides, nails digging into the soft flesh through his suit. His touch felt heavenly against your skin, a ravenous hunger for more filled you to the very brim.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Please, Peeta.”

He swiped a thumb across your cheek, and your grip on his tightened. You tugged him closer, your limbs seeming to move on their own. You made a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. 

Peeta’s lips were hesitant against yours as he kissed you. He was always so gentle with you, never wanting to cross a line. You moaned against him, and swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, desperate to taste him. 

You wrapped your arms around his back and clawed at the zipper to his suit, tugging it down as much as you could. He sucked in a breath as you yanked his suit off of his shoulders, practically manhandling him. You were giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted, but you didn’t care. 

The ache deep between your legs was growing with every moment, and your body temperature rose along with it. Your kisses increased in desperation until you were pleading against Peeta’s lips and writhing against him. 

“It’s okay,” Peeta soothed, reaching behind you to unzip your suit. “I’ll help, it’s okay.” 

You hurriedly peeled your suit off your shoulders, letting out a sigh as Peeta’s fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck and your chest. 

You ran your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, the feeling doing little to quell the electricity crackling under your skin. His tongue circled your nipple, eliciting a breathy whine from you. 

You raked your hands through the hair at the nape of his tugged and tugged on the strands. A groan vibrated in his throat, and his hands splayed against your ribcage. 

“Peeta,” you whined as he kneaded your other breast and you clenched your thighs around him. 

You couldn’t stand not having him for a second longer and you hooked your arms under his, gripping him tightly as you rolled to the side. You landed on top of him, straddling him. You panted as you finally got a good look at him. His eyes were half-lidded and he was flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at you. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “Is it getting to you, too?” 

He nodded, attempting to steady his breathing. You stood and shimmied out of your suit, tossing it to the side. You leaned down to hook your fingers into the waistband of Peeta’s suit and looked up at him through your lashes. The quick dip of his head was all you needed, and you were practically ripping his suit off of him. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken off Peeta’s pants, but you flushed all the same. You were too focused on saving his life last time to worry about being embarrassed. 

You were back on him faster than your hazy mind could process, your hips moving on their own accord as you ground against his thigh. His length pressed against your belly, warm and unbelievably hard, as you dragged your hips against him. 

You reached down and stroked him in time with each rut of your hips. He let out a mix between a whimper and a sigh as you did. Your movements quickened, and you buried your face in the crook of Peeta’s neck. With each twist of your wrist around his cock, he was letting out noises that had heat pooling in your belly. His tip was leaking, and you loved the sound he made when you ran your thumb over it. 

Peeta’s fingertips dug into the plush of your hips so hard you didn’t doubt that he’d leave bruises. The animalistic part of you that had taken control wanted him to mark you in every way possible. Your slick had begun to cover Peeta’s thigh, allowing you to easily grind against him.

Your strokes became more erratic as your pace against Peeta’s cock increased. You both were so wound tight you might burst. You’d never been so aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, and you came with a strangled cry. Tears coated your cheeks as warmth encased your entire being and you spasmed against Peeta. You had a moment of respite as you thought the plant’s effects had subsided, but the drive to ravish him returned with a vengeance. 

He followed you off the precipice soon after you calmed down, back arched and head thrown back as his release covered your knuckles. The fog that surrounded your head cleared just enough for you to realize just how pretty Peeta looked like this. If you were going to die, you didn’t think you’d get a better view. 

Your pace slowed but Peeta was still hard in your hand. The boiling heat still lingered under your skin, and your pulse quickened. You wondered if that was the Capitol’s goal; to make you so fucked out you succumb to exhaustion or burn you from the inside out. 

Peeta looked utterly exhausted and a coil of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach. 

“Just one more, please,” you begged, trailing kisses down his neck. He nodded against you, and you could’ve cried from the relief that washed over you.

You lifted your hips and aligned the tip of his cock with your entrance, gasping at the sensation. Peeta’s hips bucked up unconsciously, shoving himself deeper inside you. A pained hiss left you, and Peeta cried out a thousand apologies, his iron grip returning to your hips once more. 

“I’m sorry. You’re just— Fuck… So— tight,” he babbled out, brown eyes glazing over. You pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek, thoughts too consumed with his cock inside you to reassure him properly. You slowly lowered yourself onto him, sighing when your hips were finally flush. Peeta had his eyes screwed shut, gritting his jaw in thinly veiled restraint. 

Your hands settled on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the tree as you rode him, releasing little pants and moans with every thrust of your hips. 

With each moment that passed your movements became more erratic, desperate to reach your peak once again. Peeta’s hands frantically roamed your body, grasping and kneading whatever inch of skin he could reach. 

He reached a hand between the two of you and drew hurried circles around your clit. He lifted his hips to meet yours, jutting himself deeper inside you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, and you prayed you were the only ones trapped in this portion of the arena. 

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you clenched around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy, and for a moment you feared you’d pass out. 

Peeta finished with a few more rolls of your hips against his. He filled you to the brim, his release hot and steady coated your walls. 

Your vision cleared as you came down from your high. The fire within you had finally dissipated, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You felt exhaustion consume you as you slumped against Peeta. 

“I’m sorry,” you slurred out, clinging onto Peeta like your life depended on it. Your face screwed up and you felt your throat tightening. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he rushed out, running his hands over your body, attempting to soothe you as quiet sobs wracked your body. Your last thought before drowsiness overtook you was of how much you didn’t deserve Peeta Mellark. 

Your heart pounded as you awoke, adrenaline spiking as you heard someone calling your name. You jumped to your feet, eyes frantically searching your surroundings. Your movements caused Peeta to stir and his eyes shot open, the same panic gracing his features. 

You tugged on your suit, grimacing at the dried cum that covered your inner thighs. You tossed Peeta his suit and pulled him to his feet. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, and the thought turned your stomach. Someone could’ve easily come along and killed you both. 

You grabbed your weapon while Peeta removed the spile from the tree. 

“Let’s just hope our sponsors enjoyed the show,” you joked, immediately cringing as soon as the words left your mouth. 

The corners of Peeta’s mouth quirked up, “I’m sure they did.”

[toxycodone]

mouthwashing characters and their icks

ship. tulpar crew x reader

content. sfwish, just annoying things about our faves, some are romantic and some are general.

Captain Curly

Wildly empathetic. Like to a point where it’s annoying. Like yes, you get it. It’s sad to see an animal on the side of the road. But this is the second dog this week and it’s bit him twice. (He also falls for like. Fake homeless scams. Omg.)

I think he had an era where he had a cat that fucking hated him and never ever left under the guest room bed and terrorized his guests but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. 💀

He always ends up playing devil’s advocate without trying. Like when you’re complaining about someone at work or some bitch who cut you off in traffic, Curly’s like “maybe they had a bad day!” or something.

He just…never lets you just wallow in your misery when you need to. When he starts with his “look on the bright side!” stuff it makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

Is soooooo fucking conflict avoidant he’d rather just take shit on the chin then ever speak his mind about things with you. It gets so bad bc he’s bottling all this crap up and getting kinda catty. Because he won’t just grow up and tell you what his problem is.

Comes home in his dirty ass shoes and tracks mud all over the house. I mean he’ll swiffer it up like the housewife he is but it’s annoying.

Doesn’t clean his hands before touching your phone (or his own) before eating,. U get a greasy screen.

Jimmy is an asshole to you and Curly just goes “now now, Jim…” It won’t be until Jimmy does something like. Really bad. That Curly decides to put his foot down and enforce boundaries with that man. You witness this dude literally use your man as a doormat way too often.

If you make him choose. He would probably choose Jim unless push really came to shove…..

GIRLS FLIRT WITH HIM IN PUBLIC AND HES TOO ‘AWKWARD’ TO SAY “I’m taken…” so he just flaunts in the attention. In reality he just…likes the attention but doesn’t want to admit it to himself. (He’s loyal don’t get me wrong but this is annoying)

Thinks big romantic public gestures are cute. Whether that is an ick or not is up to you.

Jimmy

GOES THROUGH YOUR PHONE WHEN YOU’RE ASLEEP OR IN THE BATHROOM. And when you catch him he’s doesn’t even bother to make a good excuses “just wanted to check something.” Okay??? What?? If you go through his phone he will legit tackle you for it back (he isn’t even cheating he’s just pathetically bitchless and friendless. His last text was to his dealer and bro didn’t even respond.)

Will leave your important messages on read. It’s like he has read receipts on just to spite you.

Aggressively questions you out of the blue on who you know and hang out with as if it isn’t the same fucking people each time.

Really horny when he’s drunk and tries to seduce you but has terrible whiskey dick.

Terrible morning breath. Rank. Disgusting. Also all his clothes have the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke. Along with his carpet. And furniture. His walls are probably off-white too.

World’s dirtiest bathroom it’s literally so gross. He leaves his stubble in/around the sink after shaving with an electric razor real fast before work.

Has probably kissed you and then asked you what you last ate with a grimace 💔

Your friends hate him. Your family hates him. Your landlord hates him. And he hates them back.

You’ve had to bail him out of jail before. The officer on duty just gives you a pitied look when he sees you walk in and say you’re bailing him of all people out.

Pretty sure he has threatened to kill himself if you leave him multiple times but lashes out at you when you’re sweet to him at the most random times.

Anya

Stealing this from @l1v1ngd3dgrrl but Anya has the DUMBEST. LAUGH. Like she has a cutesy laugh until she’s finally not thinking and she laugh so hard she snorts. So loud.

Refuses to file down her nails so she accidentally scratches you all the time.

Definitely has an ex she’s still friends with that makes you lowkey question what is going on between them bc they’re obviously still into her and she doesn’t see it.

She silently judges and you can see it on her face when she has something to say but then she goes “it’s nothing!!!” And refuses to say it. (However, this does make her the best gossiper and she can be a total mean girl and tear apart bitches you hate on secret.)

Lowkey tries to psychoanalyze you when you’re venting to her like girl. I am not your homework.

Thinks it’s her responsibility to “fix you” for some reason. Takes you being depressed, angry, etc a little too personally.

Never watches the movies or shows you recommend you have sit her down and watch it w her. And she will. Be distracted by stuff on her phone.

Avid Mitski fan. And Nora Jones. Just an air of sad girl and longing to her that goes soooo crazy.

Big fan of ugly sweaters and tacky matching outfits….but has the audacity to make comments on your style.

Daisuke

“This one’s for you!” *Misses*. In public. In front of your friends. Need I say more.

Uses your hair products in the shower and your soap and your nice shaving oil without asking. :/

This is moreso in the beginning of the relationship but. I see this persisting that he’s constantly looking to you for approval for things. Has a really difficult time making decisions on his own, too. He’s looking to you for guidance on stuff,

Unironically thinks Dutch ovening you is funny.

Your friends all think he’s mid and although he’s sweet. You’re way outta his league. You’re dating down.

Has more skin care products than he can ever use. He’s a total product junkie.

GACHA GAME WHALE. Has definitely borrowed money for a ten pull in genshin 💔

Has cried out of frustration over Fortnite before (he was in a bad place. Okay.)

Cannot keep a job for the life of him. The only solid career he lands is like. Bobarista. But goddamn he’s good at it.

Has. Forgotten your anniversary/birthday/etc. before. and probably almost threw up out of guilt.

Swansea

Does the dad cold start every morning. Hacking. Coughing. Spitting up in the sink. It’s gross.

When he takes a shit he’s stuck in the bathroom for like half an hour at least. It’s always oddly humid and gross if you go in after him.

Chews with his mouth open.

Walks around shirtless only in underwear and will proudly fart whenever he needs to and it’s loud as fuck.

His kids lowkey hate him tbh. 💀 they have a better relationship as adults but man. Rocky fucking childhood.

Nothing ever really makes him satisfied or truly happy so you’re stuck in this weird limbo on if he actually gives a shit about you or not.

Rolls his eyes at you. When you can plainly sees he has suuuuch an attitude problem it’s crazy.

Definitely has asked for a manager in your presence over something minuscule (you wanted to die)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

The Importance of Fear & Anxiety

Marks (1987) and Bracha (2004) outline 6 ways in which fear and anxiety can afford protection.

Freezing: This response aids the vigilant assessment of the situation, helps conceal one from the predator, and sometimes inhibits an aggressive attack if you are not sure whether you have been spotted or cannot readily determine the location of the predator. Freezing may be better than lashing out or fleeing.

Fleeing: This response distances you from specific threats. When you encounter a snake, for example, running away may be the easiest and safest way to avoid receiving a poisonous bite.

Fighting: Attacking, bashing, or hitting a threatening predator may neutralize the threat by destroying it or causing it to flee. This mode of protection entails an assessment of whether the predator can be successfully vanquished or repelled. A spider can be squashed more easily than can a hungry bear.

Submission or appeasement: This response typically works mainly when the threat is a member of one’s own species. Among chimpanzees, performing submissive greetings to the alpha male usually prevents a physical attack. The same might be true for humans.

Fright: This is a response in which the person “plays dead” by becoming immobile. The adaptive advantage of becoming immobile occurs in circumstances in which fleeing or fighting will not work—for example, if the predator is too fast or too strong. Predators are sensitive to motion by potential prey and sometimes lose interest in a prey animal that remains motionless for a while (Moskowitz, 2004). If the prey is “playing dead,” the predator may loosen its grip, possibly opening up an opportunity for escape.

Faint: Fainting is losing consciousness to signal to an attacker that one is not a threat. The hypothesized function of fainting in response to the sight of blood or a sharp weapon is that it helps warfare noncombatants, such as children, to “non-verbally communicate to. . . adversaries that one was not an immediate threat and could be safely ignored” (Bracha, 2004, p. 683). Thus, fainting might have increased the noncombatant’s chances of surviving violent conflicts that were likely to be common over human evolutionary history. If this hypothesis is correct, it follows that women and children would be more likely than men to faint at the sight of blood, and the evidence strongly supports this prediction (Bracha, 2004).

Fear - “the usually unpleasant feeling that arises as a normal response to realistic danger” (Marks, 1987, p. 5).

Fears are distinguished from phobias, which are fears wildly out of proportion to the realistic danger, are typically beyond voluntary control, and lead to the avoidance of the feared situation.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Functional Defenses ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[aeth-eris]

★  behavior during conflict | mars signs  ★

★  aries  mars  ★ their  anger  is  immediate,  visceral,  and  impossible  to  ignore.  they  become  a  storm  of  movement—pacing,  arms  swinging,  sharp  gestures  that  cut  through  the  air  like  knives.  their  breathing  is  quick  and  shallow,  their  chest  heaving  like  they’re  bracing  for  physical  combat.  their  voice  rises  and  falls  unpredictably,  words  tumbling  out  in  short,  fiery  bursts  that  can  overwhelm  their  opponent.  eye  contact  is  intense,  unrelenting,  as  if  daring  the  other  person  to  fight  back.  their  energy  dominates  the  room,  crackling  like  a  live  wire.  physicality  becomes  their  outlet;  they  might  slam  doors,  hit  their  thigh,  or  grip  the  edge  of  a  table  as  if  holding  themselves  back.  inside,  their  thoughts  race  at  a  dizzying  speed:  "why  don’t  they  understand?  i’ve  said  it  all.  do  i  need  to  spell  it  out?  i  can’t  stand  this."  they  explode  with  rage,  then  leave  abruptly,  only  to  come  back  for  round  two.

 ★  taurus  mars  ★ their  anger  is  slow  and  deliberate,  like  a  tide  steadily  rising.  they  remain  grounded,  their  feet  planted  firmly,  arms  crossed  like  an  impenetrable  barrier.  their  jaw  tightens  visibly,  teeth  clenched  hard  enough  to  ache,  while  their  hands  grip  nearby  objects  with  white-knuckled  intensity.  they  rarely  move  unnecessarily,  but  when  they  do,  it’s  deliberate—slamming  something  down  or  stepping  closer  in  a  way  that  exudes  quiet  menace.  their  voice  is  low  and  rumbling,  every  word  carefully  chosen  to  make  an  impact.  they  let  silences  linger,  their  stillness  becoming  oppressive.  inside,  their  mind  is  resolute:  "i  won’t  move.  i  won’t  let  this  go  until  they  see  the  truth."  their  stubbornness  fuels  their  frustration,  which  builds  like  a  volcano  preparing  to  erupt.  when  they  finally  unleash  their  anger,  it’s  devastating—a  single,  powerful  outburst  that  shatters  the  calm  they  worked  so  hard  to  maintain,  leaving  a  lasting  impression.

 ★  gemini  mars  ★ their  anger  is  restless,  electric,  and  always  in  motion.  they  can’t  keep  still—hands  gesturing  wildly,  tapping  surfaces,  or  fidgeting  with  their  clothing  as  if  their  body  can’t  contain  the  whirlwind  of  thoughts  in  their  mind.  their  pacing  is  erratic,  their  movements  sharp  and  unpredictable.  their  voice  is  quick  and  sharp,  words  spilling  out  like  a  dam  has  burst,  switching  topics  mid-sentence  or  layering  sarcasm  over  cutting  remarks.  their  eyes  dart  around  the  room,  never  settling  in  one  place  for  too  long,  as  if  cataloging  every  detail  to  fuel  their  argument.  they  might  laugh  abruptly,  a  tense,  brittle  sound,  more  mocking  than  humorous.  internally,  their  thoughts  race  uncontrollably:  "say  this.  no,  say  that.  why  don’t  they  get  it?  i’m  explaining  this  perfectly."  they  try  to  dominate  the  conflict  with  logic  and  wit,  but  their  anger  is  fleeting,  often  dissipating  as  quickly  as  it  appeared,  leaving  scattered  energy  behind.

 ★  cancer  mars  ★ their  anger  is  a  tidal  wave  of  emotion,  overwhelming  and  deeply  personal.  their  body  language  becomes  defensive—arms  crossed  tightly  over  their  chest,  shoulders  hunched  as  if  shielding  themselves  from  further  harm.  their  eyes  glisten  with  unshed  tears,  and  their  lips  tremble  as  they  struggle  to  contain  their  feelings.  they  speak  in  soft,  shaky  tones  that  suddenly  rise  into  sharp,  emotionally  charged  outbursts.  their  hands  might  tremble  or  clutch  at  their  arms,  as  if  physically  grounding  themselves  against  the  intensity  of  their  emotions.  they’re  prone  to  slamming  doors  or  withdrawing  entirely,  retreating  to  a  quiet  space  to  process  the  storm  inside.  their  mind  loops  relentlessly:  "why  don’t  they  understand  how  much  this  hurts?  why  do  they  keep  doing  this  to  me?"  their  anger  lingers  long  after  the  conflict  ends,  tied  to  wounds  they  can’t  easily  let  go  of,  replaying  every  word  in  a  constant  cycle  of  self-protection  and  pain.

 ★  leo  mars  ★ their  anger  is  bold,  theatrical,  and  impossible  to  ignore,  filling  the  room  with  their  presence  like  a  sudden  spotlight.  their  posture  becomes  larger-than-life—back  straight,  chest  out,  shoulders  squared  as  they  assert  their  dominance.  their  gestures  are  grand,  from  throwing  their  arms  up  in  exasperation  to  pointing  accusingly  or  slamming  their  hand  down  for  emphasis.  their  voice  booms,  resonating  with  dramatic  force,  each  word  laced  with  passion  and  conviction.  their  eyes  blaze  with  intensity,  locking  onto  their  opponent  as  if  to  say,  "how  dare  you  challenge  me?"  they  thrive  on  the  attention  the  conflict  brings,  even  if  they  won’t  admit  it.  inside,  their  pride  roars:  "this  is  unacceptable.  they  need  to  know  who  they’re  dealing  with."  their  anger  flares  hot  and  fast,  but  it  cools  quickly  if  they  feel  validated.  they’ll  often  finish  with  a  sweeping  exit,  leaving  behind  an  air  of  finality  and  unmistakable  authority.

 ★  virgo  mars  ★ their  anger  is  sharp,  controlled,  and  painfully  precise,  like  a  surgeon  wielding  a  scalpel.  their  body  is  stiff,  tension  coiling  in  their  shoulders  and  neck  as  they  sit  or  stand  in  perfect  composure.  their  hands  fidget  with  their  sleeves,  adjust  their  glasses,  or  pick  at  nonexistent  lint  as  a  physical  outlet  for  their  frustration.  their  voice  is  low  and  clipped,  each  word  chosen  with  care  to  deliver  maximum  impact  while  remaining  calm.  their  eyes  narrow,  scanning  the  other  person  for  inconsistencies  to  dismantle.  inside,  their  mind  is  a  hive  of  activity:  "analyze.  deconstruct.  find  the  flaw.  they’re  wrong,  and  I  can  prove  it."  they  resist  overt  displays  of  anger,  preferring  to  let  their  cold,  cutting  words  speak  for  them.  their  silences  are  heavy,  loaded  with  quiet  disapproval.  they  rarely  explode,  but  their  sharp  critiques  leave  a  lasting  sting,  making  their  anger  impossible  to  dismiss  or  forget.

 ★  libra  mars  ★ their  anger  is  restrained,  subtle,  and  laced  with  a  quiet  tension  that  feels  like  a  ticking  clock.  their  body  language  is  controlled  but  defensive—arms  loosely  crossed,  a  slight  tilt  of  their  head,  or  a  step  back  to  create  emotional  distance.  their  gestures  are  small  and  deliberate,  a  soft  hand  wave  or  a  pointed  look  that  speaks  volumes.  their  voice  remains  calm,  almost  painfully  polite,  but  there’s  a  sharp  undertone  that  betrays  their  growing  frustration.  they  avoid  eye  contact  at  first,  glancing  away  as  if  searching  for  a  peaceful  resolution.  inside,  they  overanalyze  everything:  "i  hate  this.  how  do  i  stop  it?  but  i  can’t  just  let  this  slide."  their  anger  builds  slowly,  simmering  beneath  their  composed  exterior,  and  when  they  finally  snap,  it’s  with  a  sudden,  cutting  sharpness  that  feels  like  a  slap  after  a  gentle  breeze.  they  retreat  quickly,  eager  to  restore  harmony  to  their  world.

 ★  scorpio  mars  ★ their  anger  is  smoldering,  intense,  and  frighteningly  controlled.  they  become  eerily  still,  their  body  taut  with  suppressed  emotion,  like  a  coiled  spring  waiting  to  snap.  their  eyes  lock  onto  their  opponent  with  an  unrelenting  gaze  that  feels  like  being  dissected,  every  blink  deliberate  and  calculating.  their  voice  is  low,  steady,  and  chilling,  each  word  chosen  with  precision  to  deliver  maximum  emotional  impact.  their  movements  are  minimal  but  purposeful—a  slight  lean  forward,  a  subtle  tightening  of  their  hands,  or  a  deliberate  step  closer  that  exudes  quiet  menace.  inside,  their  emotions  churn  violently:  "this  isn’t  over.  they’ll  regret  crossing  me."  their  anger  is  slow-burning,  biding  its  time,  and  when  it  finally  erupts,  it’s  devastating—a  tidal  wave  of  raw  power  and  emotion  that  leaves  no  room  for  defense.  even  in  silence,  their  presence  feels  like  a  storm,  and  the  memory  of  their  rage  lingers  long  after  they’ve  left.

 ★  sagittarius  mars  ★ their  anger  is  loud,  chaotic,  and  expansive,  like  a  wildfire  burning  out  of  control.  their  body  is  constantly  in  motion—pacing,  throwing  their  arms  up  in  exaggerated  gestures,  or  even  kicking  something  nearby  to  release  tension.  their  voice  booms,  their  words  spilling  out  in  a  fast,  unfiltered  torrent  that  shifts  between  humor,  sarcasm,  and  outright  yelling.  their  eyes  are  wide  and  intense,  their  energy  overwhelming  as  if  trying  to  outpace  the  conflict  itself.  they’ll  often  interrupt  or  talk  over  the  other  person,  impatient  to  move  past  the  argument.  internally,  they’re  restless  and  annoyed:  "this  is  so  stupid.  why  are  we  even  arguing?  i  don’t  have  time  for  this."  they  might  storm  out  mid-conflict,  slamming  the  door  behind  them,  only  to  return  moments  later  with  more  to  say.  their  anger  burns  hot  and  fast,  but  it  leaves  little  residue,  dissipating  quickly  as  they  redirect  their  energy  to  something  else.

 ★  capricorn  mars  ★ their  anger  is  icy,  deliberate,  and  unshakable,  like  a  glacier  slowly  advancing.  their  body  is  stiff,  their  posture  commanding—arms  crossed  tightly,  feet  planted  firmly,  and  every  movement  slow  but  purposeful,  as  if  conserving  energy  for  the  right  moment.  their  voice  is  calm  and  measured,  each  word  delivered  with  chilling  precision,  leaving  no  room  for  argument.  their  eyes  are  steady  and  unyielding,  locking  onto  the  other  person  with  a  gaze  that  feels  like  judgment.  they  exude  quiet  authority,  their  silence  as  powerful  as  their  words.  inside,  they  suppress  their  emotions,  focusing  instead  on  strategy:  "stay  calm.  don’t  let  them  see  they’ve  gotten  to  you.  logic  wins."  their  anger  builds  over  time,  and  when  it’s  finally  expressed,  it’s  devastating—a  cold,  calculated  strike  that  leaves  the  other  person  reeling.  they  rarely  lose  control,  preferring  to  deliver  their  point  with  the  kind  of  precision  that  ensures  they’ll  never  have  to  repeat  themselves.

 ★  aquarius  mars  ★ their  anger  is  unpredictable,  sharp,  and  electric,  like  lightning  striking  out  of  nowhere.  their  movements  are  inconsistent—one  moment  leaning  back  casually,  the  next  standing  abruptly  or  gesturing  sharply.  their  voice  is  cool  and  detached,  almost  monotone  at  first,  but  quickly  spikes  with  irritation,  laced  with  a  condescending  edge.  their  eyes  flick  between  the  other  person  and  some  distant  point,  like  they’re  analyzing  the  argument  from  multiple  angles  at  once.  they  might  laugh  suddenly,  a  quick,  dismissive  sound,  or  roll  their  eyes  as  if  the  conflict  is  beneath  them.  inside,  their  thoughts  are  analytical:  "this  is  ridiculous.  they’re  being  irrational.  why  can’t  they  think  logically?"  their  anger  flares  unpredictably,  sharp  and  cutting  but  just  as  quick  to  dissipate  once  they’ve  made  their  point.  they  disengage  easily,  leaving  behind  an  air  of  unresolved  tension  as  they  move  on,  seemingly  unaffected  but  mentally  cataloging  every  detail  of  the  conflict.

 ★  pisces  mars  ★ their  anger  is  soft,  elusive,  and  almost  intangible,  like  smoke  curling  through  the  air.  their  body  language  is  small  and  defensive—shoulders  hunched,  arms  wrapped  around  themselves,  or  hands  fidgeting  nervously  with  their  clothing  or  hair.  their  voice  is  quiet  and  trembling,  often  breaking  mid-sentence  as  their  emotions  overwhelm  them.  tears  are  a  common  release,  not  from  sadness  but  because  the  intensity  of  their  feelings  becomes  too  much  to  hold  in.  they’ll  withdraw  physically,  retreating  into  themselves  or  leaving  the  room  entirely,  needing  space  to  process.  inside,  their  thoughts  are  a  swirl  of  confusion  and  pain:  "why  is  this  happening?  why  can’t  we  just  stop?  this  feels  awful."  they  struggle  to  separate  their  emotions  from  the  conflict  itself,  often  taking  things  personally  even  when  they’re  not.  their  anger  rarely  lingers,  dissolving  into  sadness  or  self-doubt,  but  the  emotional  residue  can  stick  with  them  long  after  the  argument  is  over.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

[hyomaslut]

──★ ˙🌟 ̟ !! gold star redemption program. 18+!

☆⌒(ゝ。∂).ᐟ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ's ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇʀ

✿ ─ synopsis: you are the new manager for team blue lock and you have a great idea to make the players get along better. after all, positive reinforcement worked really well on dogs, why not men? ✿ ─ characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma + kunigami rensuke referenced ✿ ─ cw: smut, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, aged-up!characters(18+), pet names, kissing, penetrative sex, oral receiving/giving, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, rough sex, deepthroating/face-fucking, non-exclusive relationships, lots of jealousy, pda, use of foul language, suggestive themes, shidou is an asshole, rin threatens murder, somewhat proofread ✿ ─ notes: okay so every is going to ignore the logistics and mental gymnastics done to put all these guys on the same team and have any of this go on, right? cool. this work was requested by @anastasiablossomlove pls enjoy!

managing team blue lock was no task for a person of average conviction. anyone with less of a spine would be easily trampled and consumed by the members, all with big personalities and even bigger egos. you took to the role with exceptional organizational skills and a positive attitude that didn’t falter, even under the cold glares of the less compliant men of the team (cough cough itoshi rin cough cough barou shouei). before the end of your first week you had drafted up detailed and individualized meal plans, unique to each of them. by the second you had worked with the coach to create special training regimes that works towards their fitness goals while providing challenge and variety. right under their noses you dug your pretty fingers into every part of team blue lock, finding every issue and soothing every conflict, turning a group of somewhat wild animals into a well functioning machine with you at its core.

and not a detail slipped your eye. you could always tell when kunigami had pushed himself too hard in the gym by the stiffness in his shoulders. honestly you doubt you would’ve been able to convince him to let you help him if he wasn’t just as sore as you predicted. but the minute your palms were pressing into his back he was groaning in relief, “you’re an angel” grumbled under his breath. he’s a bit less embarrassed the next time around, blushing while asking you to fix him like you did last time.

you quickly took responsibility for doing chigiri’s hair before every practice and game. after seeing it fall out of its style and flap wildly in his face whenever he reached top speed on the field, you decided he needed something a little more reliable to keep it out the way so his eyes could stay on the ball. though when his hair was this soft, who could blame you for taking a bit longer than necessary, brushing through the knots and gently scratching at his scalp. plus, he didn’t seem to mind all that much, always red faced and all smiles, leaning into your touch. the thank you kiss he plants on your cheek lingers long enough to leave a matching blush on your face as a token of his appreciation.

being the backbone of their system earned you respect, acknowledgement, even affection from the overly friendly members of the team (cough cough bachira meguru cough cough shidou ryusei). no one could deny the benefits of having you around, always offering all kinds of helpful advice and showed not a shred of judgment when listening to their problems. and you weren’t exactly ignorant to the fact that your constant support was causing some of your new friends to become especially attached to you. maybe to someone else it would be a bigger concern, but in your eyes, this was only another opportunity to do more for your team.

that’s why you implemented the gold star redemption program to help motivate them. it was quite simple to follow, you had a chart with all of their names along with cute, slightly wonky doodles of them, and a list of ways to earn gold stars. from goals and assists to being on good behavior, whatever way they earn their stars, team members can then cash them in for certain prizes from you. the list had looked something like this…

2 ☆ = snack or drink of your choice 4 ☆ = a home cooked meal 5 ☆ = a kiss <3 7 ☆ = a massage <33 10 ☆ = private training session <333

the objective was to give incentives towards cooperation. not to mention, it’s always good to strengthen bonds with your team members. it seems, however, that you underestimated how much of your time this new system would take up. or maybe you just overestimated how easy it would be to keep up with the greedy desires of so many egoists at once.

ever since your arrival, anyone with eyes could see that isagi yoichi carried a torch for you. you let him talk your ear off for hours about tactics and players, never tired of his company or too busy for his rambles. it gets his heart thumping obnoxiously loud in his chest. so yoichi makes it his objective to dote on you as much as possible to try to make up for all the time you spend fussing over everybody else. always staying after practice to help you or walking you home. so when you start handing out stars for that kind of stuff, isagi is already making a steady income. he considers himself a gentleman, so at first he spends his stars on meals. and he’s more than happy to eat your cooking, stirring up all kinds of wifey fantasies in his head and enjoying his lunches with you. but at night, when he’s lying in bed, the big ticket item at the bottom of the prize board haunts him. and when he can’t take it anymore, he slips into your tiny little office that you share with the coach, a self-satisfied smile on his face when he lets you know that he just finished the stat sheets you asked him to fill out, earning him his tenth gold star. enough for one private training session.

in all the times you thought about sex with isagi, you’re not sure you ever pictured it to be like this. bent over your own desk, tennis skirt bunched up around your waist, your star player too eager to sink into your pussy to even push down your underwear. they stayed tugged to the side, thoroughly soaked from the way his hips meet yours in sloppy desperate thrusts. “i knew i needed to fuck you when i saw this skirt,” he confesses, eyes fixed to the point where you connect, mesmerized by the way his cock disappears inside you, “you’ve been tempting me all day, so be a good girl and take my cock, okay?” before you can respond he hooks a finger into the elastic of your panties to let it snap back against your skin, drawing a small yelp from you. he changs the angle to fuck you harder, deeper. you wonder if this could be the same sweet yoichi that carries your things and bashfully tells you your outfit looks good.

apparently that yoichi doesn’t exist once he’s balls deep inside you, all that’s left is the side of him you’ve only caught glimpses of when he’s dominating his opponents on the field. and if you thought that it was a chance encounter, you’re sorely mistaken as week after week isagi makes sure he earns his ten stars and you get to know just how mean he can be. his grip is always tight around your hair, whether it’s pulling and steering you into the position he wants or guiding your head down to take more of his dick. god forbid he asks you nicely for something like he always does when you’re not ‘training’. one time you even had the gall to suggest the idea to him and lived to regret it as now if you want anything from him, isagi is only accepting the most convincing of your begs. “c'mon princess, mind your manners, if you wanna cum then you’re gonna have to ask really nicely.” and no teary eyed puppy dog look will get you what you want, even when he makes getting your words out so difficult. truthfully, he never intends to be so hard on you, but having you crying and begging for his cock is the only way to soothe the devil on his shoulder that tries to tell him to take you for himself. in the aftermath, you start to recognize your yoichi again, sheepish in his apologies for how rough he was with you, kissing away the tears that run down your face. he’s lucky you’re too fucked out to charge him for them.

there’s not a world where you offer bachira meguru sexual favors in exchange for playing soccer and he says no. he was already gonna do that anyway, and now not only does he get to make even more of a game out of it, but his reward for winning is the cute little manager he’s had his eyes on for far too long? consider him sold. bachira knows it would be most fun for him to save up and have sex with you as soon as possible, but all of a sudden he has five and he’s itching for a kiss. one he decides to give you right before practice starts… in front of the whole team. but can you blame him? he’s already been waiting forever to feel those pretty glossed lips on his, you couldn’t really expect him to make it through the next few hours when he’s so close to getting what he wants. and you could maybe understand that, but was it really necessary to go for a full open-mouthed wet almost make out that left you panting when everyone’s eyes were already on you? you suspect not, but bachira doubles down, telling you it was of upmost importance that he got it in, else he wouldn’t be able to focus. he neglects to tell you that he overheard reo in the locker room talking about what he was gonna do now that he had five stars. shidou already made it very clear that he would be first to ten, so bachira had to be crafty in order to secure at least one first from you.

meguru was certainly one of the more needy players, right under nagi that required some form of encouragement every step of the way to get anything done. bachira usually does what you tell him to, but not without whining about deserving a prize for being good. quite frankly, you dread having to ask anything of him, because he is determined to be fully compensated for even the smallest of requests. even a task as easy as grabbing something on a high shelf was met with a cheeky smirk and a request for a kiss. and don’t think he’ll budge either, holding the item hostage if he thinks he can squeeze two out of you. it didn’t make it any easier that bachira didn’t possess a shy bone in his whole body, openly showering you in affection when the others were around, holding your hand and nuzzling his face into your collar. it was enough to make even a professional like you blush. he acted as if he was oblivious to the jealous stares of his friends, but the smug cat-like smirk he sends them and the way he only holds you tighter when you try to shyly brush him off gives him away. it may come as a surprise considering his reputation for being a bit delusional, but bachira tries to root himself in reality for once. he frequently reminds himself of the nature of your relationship and tries his best not let his imagination run wild with anything that would be beyond the boundaries you’ve clearly set. things like picturing himself taking you on dates, coming home to you at night, introducing you to his mom. they were all too dangerous to let his mind settle on them for too long.

and what better distraction than burying his face between your thighs. it’s hard to think of much when he hasn’t bothered to stop lapping at your cunt long enough to take a breath in a couple minutes. suffocating was the least of his concerns when the clench around his fingers lets him know your orgasm is just around the corner. meguru swears that your pathetic little whimpers and the slick dripping down his chin are like a straight hit of dopamine to his brain and he’s at real risk of addiction at this point. lidded amber eyes travel up to watch your expression twist into one of pleasure as you gasp out his name. now that catches his interest. when your vision clears and your brain is functioning again after that intense high, you search for his comfort as if you had done any of the hard work. but all you’re met with is that signature wild look that he gets when he brushing past the enemy team’s defense straight towards his goal. it’s your only warning that he’s far from tired and even farther from sated. “if i can keep going, so can you baby. i know you have more for me. jus’ need t’see you make that face one more time.” you have no room to protest, his tongue already finding your clit and working towards bringing you to the edge once again. by your fourth time cumming, you’re sobbing for a break and debating whether you should charge him four times over or give him a star for each one.

someone who was on board with your system from the second that you explained how it worked, was shidou ryusei. what better way to celebrate another one of his blood pumping, heart stopping performances than racing to the locker room to blow a load in his favorite girl while his teammates debrief with the coach? to him it was simple, you fuck him, you feed him, you take care of him, you spend time with him. shidou is, by all of his definitions, dating you. while some might be turned off by the idea of dating someone who isn’t offering exclusivity, he didn’t see it as much of an obstacle. not when he spent star stickers like a gambler on a slot machine, having you multiple times a week if the economy allowed it. and if he’s short a few, no worries, ryusei is quite the negotiator. it starts one week when he’s only missing a star or two, promising he’ll pay back the difference, you know he’s a good customer. it’s probably not a good idea to give in to him though, as the next time he wants a private training session, he’ll insist they’re only nine stars for him. he has made all kinds of fake coupons from 50% Off! to Buy One Get One Free! to even a homemade punch card in his own terrible handwriting. shidou was the first one to ever get a star taken away when he tried to give you an arby’s gift card in exchange for a blowjob. he didn’t try that tactic again.

the worst is when he tries to haggle in the middle of sex. your legs are thrown over his shoulders and his tip is kissing your cervix when he chooses to whine about not being able to kiss you because he has no stars left. he worked too hard to get good star credit, he can’t go into star debt!! “ and with his lips just hovering over yours, his hot breath fanning across your face, how could you say no? in a moment of weakness, you have unfortunately given an inch to shidou, infamous mile taker, and now it’s hard to get him to pay for any of his kisses, especially while he’s fucking you. you thank god that at the very least no one knows he’s been getting them for free… if only shidou would allow your life to be that easy. even worse than giving him an inch, you expected shidou to keep a secret. and you thought his big mouth was something you liked about him. until he’s using it to brag to everyone that he’s your favorite, practically your boyfriend, all because you let him get away with a smooch here and there. let’s just say you had to give out a lot of free kisses to smooth over the problem his bragging habits created.

honestly ryusei was starting to cause a lot of confusion outside of the team with his antics. what with his always hanging off your arm, giving you as much affection as you’d tolerate, calling you sweet nicknames. the people in your life were actually starting to believe you two were dating. not that shidou does anything to discourage such rumors, only grinning and agreeing every time someone mistakes you as a couple. hell, he was starting to get you confused, saying things during your training sessions that certainly didn’t fit the transactional nature of the act. “holy shit you’re so tight- love this pussy, l-love you so much. say my name. c’mon baby, say you love me and i’ll make you feel so fucking good.” and only because ryusei always makes good on his promises do you allow yourself another moment of weakness.

itoshi rin didn’t have much interest or faith in you upon first introduction. he sized you up as some nobody doing this whole manager thing as a fun extracurricular, so as long as you stayed out of his way he didn’t care what you did. with his luck, he shouldn’t be surprised that you were immediately in his way, extremely often, rambling to him about ideas and strategies that he had no intention on listening to. although even he could admit, he understood why the others were so easily charmed by you. he was wrong about how seriously you took your job. not that it changed anything. at least that’s what rin tells himself, but in reality your relentless efforts and endless dedication to supporting all of them was something that spoke to him, made him a bit soft for you. it didn’t help that you were his type in every sense of the word, your attractiveness doing nothing but make feigning indifference a lot harder for rin. your seemingly endless patience didn’t help either. you always responded in kind to all of rin’s harsh words and cold stares, never let his sour attitude deter your subtle acts of service like getting grass stains out of his uniform and making sure he stays unbothered during his yoga. against his will, he was slowly warming up to you, but you were still caught off guard when rin started cashing in his stars, even if it was just a meal. he had lots of them sitting idle on the chart waiting to be used, so you supposed it was only natural for him to get some free food out of it. but you were even more taken aback when a couple days later he requested a massage from you with insistence that he only asks because he’s been extremely tense as of late. which wasn’t entirely untrue. rin had been very tense. just not from anything soccer related like he’d like you to believe. he was tense from the stress of his budding feelings for you combined with the dread of knowing he probably will never have you all to himself. at least not with this stupid reward system in place.

he despises it. he absolutely hates going about his day knowing there are other guys, his shithead teammates, that are getting your time, attention, and affection for the price of a couple of stupid fucking stickers. he misses the days when shidou’s incessant bragging about how many times he was able to make you cum or bachira’s unnecessary details of what your pussy tastes like didn’t bother him. now his blood boils to hear them talk about you like that. that kind of anger makes it clear to him that being your friend was simply not an option anymore. which is how he settled on getting a massage from you. he would satisfy this overwhelming craving he has for you and go back to normal and be able to focus solely on becoming best in the world again without thoughts of you plaguing his mind. that was his hope going into it, but feeling your warm touch on his bare back, melting away years of untreated knots and neglected aches in his body, he could almost blush at the intimacy he feels. especially when that foreign kindness he loves so much is on display as you reassure him that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about and that you’re proud he finally put his pride aside long enough to let you help him. you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker now. no use in struggling so hard, he supposes, as some part of him knows he’s doomed to fall sooner or later. perhaps it’s time to surrender. he fought a good fight, but his greed for you was candidly too tough of an opponent.

and to rin, surrender looked like asking you when’s the soonest he could book a private training session. you don’t think you could look any more shocked. rin had a quick turn around from someone you doubted even liked you, to someone reserving as much of your time as his stars could buy. the more often he was with you, the less time you spent giving those lukewarm brats the treatment he wants reserved for him. and he wishes he gave in a lot sooner when he feels the wet heat of your mouth around his cock for the first time. how fast he would’ve folded if he knew how pretty you would look on your knees for him. rin tried to be gentle and let you set the pace, but between hissing out curses and barely biting back moans, that same greed to get more from you has his hand twisting itself in your hair and pushing down on the back of your head. he couldn’t help it. and it was so worth it to watch you choke and sputter around his length but never pull away. he knew you weren’t a quitter. “shit, feels good… don’t stop,” he all but gasps, hips instinctively jumping to reach further down your throat, grip tightening when you try to come up for air. after a long moment of breathing through your nose you relax enough to let him ease himself the rest of the way in. rin sighs in relief when your nose finally presses against his pelvis. the way you look up at him starry-eyed and full of adoration made his chest feel heavy with desire to be the only one you ever look at. it drives him crazy that any guy on the team can see you like this, and that heartache has rin fucking your face to forget it. “fuckkk. don’t look away, eyes on me, g’nna cum in that pretty mouth.”

you couldn’t deny that your new attempt at encouraging the team had its kinks. while overall the amount of arguments that broke out between players lessened to keep on good star-earning behavior, you could tell that it came with its own set of tension creating problems. you also couldn’t deny that being pulled in every direction by men vying for your attention was both very time consuming and extremely gratifying, but you think you manage it well. save for when they were already pumped up with adrenaline from a game, that is when real issues arise. especially when a player from the enemy team thinks it’s a good idea to try and hit on the cute little lady holding the clipboard. fatal mistake.

it starts with your favorite pot stirrer, bachira, calling out from his position, making everyone else on the team aware of the situation. “no shot dude, she don’t want you! focus on losing!” you’re confident you can diffuse whatever is about to go down before you notice rin leaving the ball alone in centerfield to beeline straight towards you. threats are flying from his lips on approach, quick to get in the guy’s face, planting his hands on his shoulders to shove him back. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing? i’ll kill you if you don’t get the fuck away from her.” you think maybe you have a shot of getting rin under control if you just- your eyes widen in horror as a flash moves in from your peripheral. there are no words, just shidou drop kicking this poor stranger at top speed. you cringe as you watch shidou knocks this guy off his feet, cleats first, taking rin down with him. what a way to earn a red card.

this was a fun project and request tysm!!! i just went about it in the interpretation i found most interesting, i really hope it was to your liking!!!

© 2023 hyomaslut. please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content onto any other sites.

[sailing-ever-west]

I've broken this down in opla but I wanna talk about it in animanga context too: Zoro and Sanji's ongoing conflict is largely about sexism!! Which is a fascinating thing to do with male shounen protagonist power players, for one, but also just adds so much to the overall team dynamic and treatment of women in the writing.

Zoro and Sanji are both carrying on the legacies of oppressed women they lost in their childhoods, but in wildly different ways.

Kuina's oppression had to do with being seen as a lesser warrior for being female even though she was incredibly capable. Fighting with her was respecting her. To refuse to fight her would have made Zoro complicit in belittling her dream and status. So he treats women just like everyone else, only discriminating based on actual strength and skill, not gender. His concept of the systemic oppression against women is that they're being excluded from things they're capable of participating in.

Sora's oppression, on the other hand, had to do with her body being used as a tool of war against her will, to birth soldiers for Judge's army. It wasn't a case of being treated differently despite being just as capable, it was a case of being exploited directly using her biological differences and social position as a woman. To use more violence against her would be disrespectful and cruel. So Sanji focuses on protecting women from violence and refuses to be an agent of it, based on gender rather than strength and skill. His concept of the systemic oppression against women is that they're being taken advantage of for things inherent to them that they didn't choose and can't change.

Essentially Zoro only sees sexism as an issue of discrimination and Sanji only sees sexism as an issue of exploitation. And they're both too dumb and traumatized to articulate it, so they just hit each other.

[radiance1]

Tim, officially, does not have a new caretaker.

Tim, unofficially, does have a new caretaker.

A large, large man with long flaming purple hair that was capable of touching the floor if it didn't move like fire with sharp glowing green eyes and a neutral, if a bit of a resting bitch face, expression on his face.

Comparatively, he was not dressed oddly. Nothing but a white compression shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of black sandals. The only thing odd about it was the sword constantly strapped to his waist, though Tim ignored it when he saw the man using it to chop ingredients.

Fright, he called himself, and Tim never asked if it was his actual name or not. He was just glad someone came over as constantly as he does.

He doesn't know where the man goes at night, after making sure he's tucked into bed and asleep, but he never pried. Mostly because he wasn't supposed to know that, and he doesn't want Fright to catch onto the fact that he was constantly sneaking out at night either.

So they'll both keep their secrets.

===

Fright Knight was at a loss with himself.

His master, Pariah Dark, had been once again released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and he wasted no time to return to his side. Even with his previous betrayl.

The events that followed were unexpected.

His master did not continue his eons long war with life. Though it had long since turned silent with his imprisonment, it was still brewing under the current of 'peace' that the Ghost Zone fell into.

Fright Knight knew that well.

So, what exactly was he supposed to do when his master returned to his time as naught but a humble farmer and started to rebuild the bridge he had long burnt with the Master of Time?

He felt... conflicted.

Of course, reconnecting with the Ghost of Time was a good thing, and he has been subject to witness just how much passion they had for each other during days long past.

But his master picking up a life that was not one honed through blood was always an odd thing for him to experience. Two peas in a pod, as some would say they were.

War and Fear.

Where War went, Fear followed. Rivers of flowing blood with storms of fear promised was something too tempting for him to resist.

Fear was a sword, and he was War's blade.

So it was not something easy for him to adjust to when War settled down into peace and sought prosperity instead of his namesake. Of course, he, as always, adjusted regardless of the situation and followed his master in his newest endeavor.

It was much harder to preserve a life, than it was to end it. They both came to realize. On his master's part, farming was something he pondered over and donned for a brief time eons ago, the new methods of today clashing wildly with what little he knew of the activity before War sung to him again. For Fright Knight, he had not a single nail's worth of experience in the act, never having had an interest like War did and as such, never learned.

It felt rather odd to use his blade to cut gifts from the land, but if he replaced them with images of enemies long since snuffed, it wasn't exactly hard.

He could not stay there for long; however, it was just too... different, from what he was used to. The Ghost King knew this and told him he was free to be left to his own devices so long as it did not affect the rules the Master of Time had set for them.

Or rather, War. But as Fear was in his service, he was not exactly exempt from said constraints, either.

So he wandered, keeping to his 'human' persona he was told to set for himself here. He was thankful that these beings called Meta's existed as no one gave him more than a second glance.

Though if that was more something to do with his height he did not know.

He came upon a city, one of shadows and filled with curses in numbers that even made him pause in slight bafflement. Lady Gotham, the city's spirit, brushed against him as soon as he stepped foot within her haunt, and it did not take long for them to reach and accord.

Fear was allowed to stay, so long as he did not do anything she did not permit. He was fine with said rules, after all, what was another constraint compared to those set by Time itself?

He had a favorable view of this city, just the ambient fear alone made it worth stepping inside. It was better than War's attempt at peace, though it was nothing due to the being itself he was just... used to being surrounded by fear.

Then he met a human child by the name of Timothy Drake. A meeting by chance and nothing else, but he did need something to do by Lady Gotham's suggestion.

So he became the boy's 'caretaker' though if he were a good one was something he could not comment on.

He did not need sleep, his new ward did, so when night fell, he always stepped out of the city to go back to his master and reappeared the next morning.

The thing about his new master's attempt at peace, was that he was quite willing to give away the gifts he received from the land. Which was helpful, considering he had no idea how to acquire money in this new age.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Burn with Me

Pairing: Viserys III Targaryen (Game of Thrones) x f!reader Warnings: Smut, imbalanced power dynamics, abuse of power. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Viserys shares a piece of his ancestry with his concubine.

Author's note: Day one of Smuffmas - candlelight and collaring. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She steps into the tent that has been erected to serve as Viserys’ personal bathhouse and is immediately enveloped in humidity that clings to her skin like a shroud, as the opening falls closed behind her. True to his Targaryen nature, he favours the heat and, as such, always demands that the water be scalding before it fills the wooden tub, with as many candles lit as the surrounding space will allow, to ensure that it retains its heat.

The atmosphere within the canvas walls is one of resplendence; the rounded tub that sits in the far corner wafts viscous steam up into the air. The water’s surface reflects the vibrant orange glow of more candles than she can possibly count, all casting flickering shadows that dance upon the ceiling. The heady fragrance of Myrish oils lingers in the air, a potent aroma of cinnamon and ginger. Viserys refuses the use of Dothraki spiceflower in his bathwater, despite it being in abundance, and far less costly than oils and spices from the Free Cities.

“It is insult enough that I must exist among these savages,” he had once told her, “I will not smell like them too. See that my command is heeded, or you shall wake the dragon.”

He stands beside the bathtub, spine rigid and eyes narrowed in annoyance. She had come to him the moment she was summoned, yet she can tell from the subtle flare of his nostrils that he is impatient already.

Despite the gossamer fabric of the dress that drapes over her body, she can feel sweat prickling the back of her neck, dampening the hairs that rest at the base of it. She knows this is due to the stifling heat of the bathing tent, but the fearful hammering of her heart as Viserys eyes her in displeasure only serves to exacerbate it.

“About time,” he snaps irritably, beckoning her closer with a restive click of his fingers.

“Your grace,” she greets courteously, before he has the chance to scold her further, “allow me to help you.”

She steps in front of him, deft fingers moving over the forest green wool of the tunic that covers his lithe frame. It is a wildly impractical choice of fabric, considering the climate of Vaes Dothrak, but Viserys shuns more traditional garb in favour of wool and silk. One by one she pulls open the clasps, revealing the creamy, white flesh beneath.

During her time in the pleasure houses of Lys, she had lain with many men and grown accustomed to the sight of skin marred by battle scars and hardened by the ravages of hard labour. Viserys bears no such afflictions. He is thin, an unfortunate consequence of a life lived in squalor, but he has never known battle, he is soft and smooth, unblemished by conflict. She has silently wondered on many occasions how he could possibly ever hope to rule as king of Westeros if he is not competent with a sword, a musing she will never give voice to, lest she pay with her life for it. She has no doubt he will take no issue in wetting his blade with her blood, if provoked into doing so.

Despite his rakish appearance and short temper, she cannot help the appreciative gaze she casts upon him as she strips him of the remnants of his clothing. For all his flaws, Viserys is a handsome man; soft, silver waves of hair frame the hard lines of his face, a strong nose and chin accentuate the pierce of his gaze. His eyes carry madness within them, enticing with dangerous allure.

“Careful with that,” he commands, nodding to the tunic which she has picked back up to fold, “what’s in the pocket is worth at least five times more than what I paid for you.”

“Of course, your grace,” she replies simply, noticing the subtle weight the garment has to it that isn’t usually there.

“Bring it here,” he says to her, stepping into the tub and sitting down. The motion causes steamy water to slop over the sides, soaking into the clay coloured earth of the ground below, as he leans back, resting his elbows behind him on the edge.

“Not the tunic, stupid girl,” he spits, scowling as she steps forward with it, “just what’s in the pocket.”

She blinks rapidly, bowing her head, a fruitless attempt to will away the humiliation that burns hotly at her skin. Reaching into the pocket, she wraps her fingers around something hard, that feels cold against her skin despite the heat that hangs heavy in the air.

Pulling it free, she can see that it is a steel choker. Thick silver plates inlaid with large rubies make up the bulk of it, with a dainty chain that fastens it at the back. She has never held anything so valuable in her hands before, the very weight of it feels representative of its significance.

“I don’t suppose you have ever seen such opulence before,” Viserys tells her, drawing her attention back to him, to where he reclines in the bath, a smug smirk upon his face as he regards her pridefully.

She places the choker in his upturned, waiting palm. “Won’t it rust if you get it wet?”

Viserys grins, the gesture lighting up his face in a way that seems almost unnatural, as the ever present madness dances within the lilac of his eyes. “It is Valyrian steel, forged in dragon fire, it won’t rust, it can’t. Now disrobe and join me.”

He plays idly with the choker, running the chain through his fingers and holding the rubies up to the candlelight as she undresses, though it does not take her long. The near translucent dress is the only item of clothing that he will allow her to wear when tending to him, and it is rare that it stays on for long.

She hisses quietly at the burn of the water against her flesh as she climbs into the tub, the all encompassing heat making her legs tingle. She does not understand how Viserys can stand it, but then there is blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, so she supposes he barely notices it.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and she does as she’s told, presenting her back to him as she faces away. She can hear the splash of the water as he advances upon her within the small space, feel the water moving with him.

Dampened hands scoop her hair away from her neck, before he places the choker around it, carefully fastening it. It chills her skin, a strange juxtaposition to the clamminess that their surroundings elicit. It feels heavy and tight around her throat, more like a collar than a necklace, and as Viserys turns her roughly to face him, sending yet more water cascading over the sides of the bath, she can see that that was precisely his intent.

His eyes are wild as he appraises her, lips slightly parted. “This is hundreds of years old, it would have been worn by a Targaryen princess from the days of Old Valyria,” he tells her, his voice lowering, taking on the seductive timbre that he affects only when aroused. He hooks two fingers beneath the centre ruby, giving it a tug. “How does it make you feel?”

She swallows thickly, considering her answer, wanting to offer words that will please him. “It makes me feel…fortunate…to have the opportunity to wear something of such significance.”

He hums, clearly satisfied with her answer, giving a slight nod as he grasps her hips beneath the water and manhandles her into his lap. She can feel his hardened cock prodding insistently at her most intimate area as she settles into the position of straddling him, winding her arms around his neck, as his hands keep a firm grip of her.

“Ser Jorah came by this on his travels,” he tells her, eyes fixated upon her throat, “he was going to give it as a gift to my sister, but I have taken it for myself. I do not see why she should lay claim to such a valuable piece of our shared ancestry, just for spreading her legs and siring a whelp for that savage, Drogo.”

The tone of his voice drips with jealousy, and it makes her uncomfortable to be faced with his arousal, not for the first time, while he speaks of Daenerys. She knows that the Targaryens existed on a foundation of bloodline purity, however, those customs are queer to her and to be faced with the reality of their incestuous nature makes her stomach churn.

All thoughts leave her mind, however, as he tugs her downwards to meet his upward thrust, spearing her open on his cock with a grunt elicited through gritted teeth. She moans at the exquisite stretch, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she clings tightly to him, her breaths hot against his wet skin.

Viserys keeps his hands upon her hips, helping to guide her movements as she rolls her pelvis against his, bouncing herself upon his aching length. Though he is often cruel to her, when he holds her close like this, and it is just the sounds of their mingling pants for breath and the slap of their skin, it is easy for her to forget that she was purchased for his pleasure, a means to distract him from the want to defile his sister.

When he holds her close, his harsh features contorted in ecstasy, the madness that dances within his eyes conveying only lust, she can allow herself to believe that she is special, that he chose her alone to travel with him and warm his bed because he wanted only her, not because the Beggar King could not afford more than one concubine. 

In her own foolish heart, she has allowed gratitude to be misplaced for love. The fondness she feels towards him for him having taken her from the pleasure houses of Lys, and rescuing her from the life of a common whore, in her mind, is romantic. 

So when he takes one of the stiffened peaks of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinches harshly, she mewls wantonly as the sensation causes her sensitive walls to clench around him, wanting him to know just how good he makes her feel, how eager she is to please him.

If he did not return her affection, why else would he allow her to wear the choker that currently sits snug against her throat?

She speeds up her movements, the bathwater undulating around them with more intensity. The head of his cock bullies relentlessly at a spot inside of her that, coupled with the lightheadedness she feels from the heat of the water, makes her forget herself entirely. Before she can stop them, the words tumble carelessly from her lips.

“I love you.”

He halts all movements, and she freezes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage as she realises what she has just said. She opens her mouth, wanting to apologise, to take it back, to beg for forgiveness, but before she can he’s grasping her jaw, forcing her to meet the intensity of his stare.

“Say it again,” he orders quietly, leaving no room for argument.

She is hesitant at first, but he tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, not allowing her to look away, so she relents. “I–I love you.”

He snarls, tugging harshly at her hair as he resumes his brutal thrusts up into her. “That’s right, you fucking do.”

For the briefest of moments, she had allowed herself to believe he might say it back, and is not even given the respite to experience disappointment, as he chases his release within her. Her confession of love having been enough to stroke his ego to the point of climax, evidenced by the insistent pulsating of his member as he pumps it in and out of her with renewed vigour.

He holds her tightly against himself, pushing himself as far up into her as he can go as he peaks, spilling inside of her with a shameless groan, before settling back down, her body pliant against his as they both catch their breath.

“I’m finished with you for tonight. Leave me,” he says despondently, as his rapidly softening cock slips free of her.

She offers a curt nod, disentangling herself from him and climbing on shaky legs from the tub, bathwater and Viserys’ seed both dripping down her thighs, as she reaches for her dress, clutching it to herself to protect what little remains of her modesty.

“Wait,” he snaps, and for a moment she believes he will tell her he has changed his mind, that he longs for her company. Instead he snaps his fingers, gesturing to her neck. “The necklace.”

Her heart sinks, but she forces her expression to remain stoic, unclasping it and depositing it back into his outstretched palm. Her neck feels immediately lighter, having been freed from the weight of it. However, as she walks from the tent, it is replaced with a heaviness upon her heart that reminds her irrevocably of her place - or lack thereof - in the world of Viserys Targaryen.

Read on AO3

Game of Thrones masterlist

Main masterlist