#absolutely abhorrent he to go

[loyalhorror]

i think part of why loustat doesn't do it for me is because it's endgame. i'm not really interested in relationships where everything works out or where two characters are fated to be together no matter what. the "they love each other more than anything <3" thing bores me. i loved loustat in season 1 - the messy, dramatic, toxic, shit they put each other through. louis' complacency, lestat's abuse. two people trying to make it work but fucking it up, then irrevocably harming each other; lestat agreeing to let them kill him, louis struggling but doing it. that shit was tasty!

i liked them on-screen in season two. i liked louis struggling with what he did, with what he lost. i liked dreamstat and what it revealed about louis' memory of lestat as well as the reflections on louis' own psychological state (letting go of lestat in order to become "louis Getting Things Done du lac", for example). i loved the reunion too, because of how messy it was and the fact that that was the first time we ever actually saw an "objective" lestat.

but the fandom. the fucking fandom. literally everything is either a) people talking about what's going to happen in the show based on what happens in the books, ignoring the fact that the show is an adaptation and is not a 1:1 replication, b) people talking about how fated loustat are to be together and how every single moment of louis' life was actually about lestat, including every single second he was with armand (despite the fact that dreamstat is a HALLUCINATION and those don't just happen because you're in love lmfao), c) how armand and louis didn't actually love each other because they only loved lestat or whatever the hell, d) how lestat wasn't actually abusive and we only think he was because armand was manipulating louis' memory, e) etc etc etc etc...

it's exhausting. it's really like, burnt me out on the character of lestat in general and that sucks. it's bad enough that anne rice herself treated him like a perfect angel blorbo who could do no wrong and was the most important person in the whole universe to everyone ever; it sucks that the fandom does it too.

[puppysdog]

i dont belong anywhere except dead

[priestfrommidnightmass]

there are some kinks only the “anonymous” feature of ao3 will ever know i have but god. this man needs to stop TEMPTING ME!!!

[yanderedrabbles]

Cheat on me please

How to safely rid yourself of a yandere

There's no easy way to get rid of him. He's too obsessive. Too controlling. Too bloody single minded.

You tried talking through it and he just scoffed and said you were being silly. That you were just too hormonal and would calm down in a few days.

You tried going no contact and he showed up at your door. Hammered at it until the neighbours called the cops and they dragged him away.

You tried being nice about it and all he did was grab your wrist so hard it bruised. His eyes like chips of stone when he said he didn't want to hear it.

You weren't breaking up with him. You had no reason to.

And the worst part? He was right. You don't have a reason.

On paper, he's the perfect man. Attentive. Generous. Handsome. He buys you gifts, he lavishes you with attention, he's funny and charming around your friends.

And he scares you.

Not because of anything he's done. (Perfect guy, remember?) But some instinct deep inside you tells you to be careful around him.

This one's a predator, he's got claws and fangs, he'll fill you with venom and never let go, some ancient part of you insists.

But try explaining that to him. He's so mindlessly logical. He's not going to leave you because of a silly gut feeling. Come on baby, what sort of shitty boyfriend would do that?

And that's why you're down to half thought out, borderline silly plans to get rid of him. Get your hot friend to sleep with him. Catch them in the act. Throw a tantrum and finally get to break up with him.

You can't try and excuse cheating. It's abhorrent. And his logical side will surely see that, right?

One little hitch though. He's actually loyal to a fault.

Part of you finds it hard to believe. Is he really turning down your absolute bombshell of a friend? The girl all your exes were just a bit in love with?

Maybe he's just being cautious. Maybe he isn't lonely and needy enough to risk it.

So you up the stakes. Decide to avoid fucking him as much as possible. And oh boy, does it drive him crazy. He gets irritable and needy and somehow even more horny the longer your dry spell lasts.

And you know that you almost have him. He's just a man, no matter how logical he pretends to be.

You pick a fight over nothing. Blow it all out of proportion and storm out to stay with your parents for a while.

Piss him off just enough that a revenge fuck seems like a great idea.

He ends up drinking at a shitty dive bar and oh what a coincidence, your gorgeous seductress friend just happens to turn up. The last text she sends you makes it seem like she's finally hooked him and you hurry over to her apartment, feeling just a little giddy. Your plan actually worked! You feel like a goddamn genius.

And sure enough, his car is parked at her front door.

For a second, you feel a little hurt. Yes, this is the outcome you wanted. Yes, you deliberately manipulated him to get to this point. But it still feels like betrayal.

When you make it to her door, it's oddly silent for a supposed drunken hookup. But you're too geared up to notice it.

She left her door unlocked like you agreed and you tiptoe inside, your heart going a mile a minute. Her bedroom door is cracked just a little and a shaft of light cuts through the dark of the hallway.

You swing the door open with a crash, getting to ready to cuss him out.

And you freeze.

There's no guilty couple leaping away from each other, no smell of sweat and cum, no illicit rendezvous.

Instead your friend is tied to a chair, her mouth taped shut with silvery duct tape and her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes lock onto yours and she tries to scream something through the tape.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You turn slowly. Like putting it off will make the situation less horrible, less like a dissociative dream.

Your boyfriend looks ragged. His eyes are blood shot and his hair is an unruly mess.

But the worst part is the way he smiles at you. Paternal, almost. Like he's caught you doing something naughty but he's willing to overlook it.

"Come on baby, you didn't think I'd actually cheat on you, did ya?"

His voice is condescending, but under the surface you can hear a cold, terrifying anger.

You swallow. Those same instincts that warned you about him are screaming now.

"What the hell is going on?" You demand, trying to sound angry instead of just afraid.

He steps toward you and it takes everything in you to not step away. He picks up a piece of your hair and rubs it between his fingers. Proprietary, possessive.

"What's going on? You should know babe. You're the one who tried to set me up... As though that skank over there ever stood a chance."

He tsks. "I knew something was wrong the second you stopped sleeping with me."

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, his breath ghosting across your neck.

"I fuck you too good for you to give it up so easy."

You jerk away from him, your eyes burning like you're about to cry. How did this go so wrong?

"Are you insane? Untie her right now! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

He backhands you right across the face.

He's never hit you before and the shock is almost worse than the pain. You stumble, clutching your cheek. Your face feels numb at first and then a sharp, fiery pain blooms across your cheek.

He grabs your collar and shoves you toward the bed.

"Oh baby, you're lucky I love you." His bared teeth catch the light and he looks more wolf than man.

The edge of the mattress digs into your thighs and you fall backward. You're still reeling and he has you pinned under him before you can find the strength to scramble away.

"Thought about killing her, y'know. What kind of whore goes after her best friend's man? You deserve better than that."

His grip is unyielding. A part of you always knew he was strong, but until now you didn't realise how big the gap between you actually was. His knee is between your legs and he brings it up to press against your crotch.

"But then a light bulb must have went off. And I decided to see how things played out."

He laughs and there's nothing warm or welcoming in it at all.

"All I had to do was squeeze her throat a little and..." He grabs your throat and thightens his grip until you see stars. "And she was just fallin' all over herself to tell me about your little plan."

He let's go and pats your cheek with rough little smacks. "It was cute, baby. Really was. But fucking stupid."

He leans down and kisses you. His lips are rough and he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang of it makes you gag.

Your instincts were right. He's dangerous and you never should have tempted this monstrous part of him.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and you struggle to pull away. Your chest heaves and no matter how you buck and twist under him, he still keeps you pinned.

When he pulls away, something in your expression must please him because he hums and tilts your chin up. "But it's okay baby. We'll work through this."

He reaches down and tugs at your belt. "And I know exactly where to start."

[delirious-donna]

Just Call My Name, I'm Yours To Tame [Nanami Kento]

an: running late is Kento’s idea of hell, but even more so when you’re waiting for him. If he’s not careful, someone else might swoop in and try to steal you away, but you’d never go… right?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warning: unwanted attention from a male stranger, uninvited touching, pissed off Kento, implied violence (not involving reader), hasty sex, semi-public fucking, Kento wants to rub himself all over you

Masterlist

Kento hated running late, it wasn't a simple mild annoyance but a deep abhorrence at the lack of punctuality. It was his belief that if you had the manners to arrange to meet at a specific time, you should do everything to keep your word. He was an old soul, as you often teased him, and good manners cost nothing in his eyes.

Cursing the inept Gojo Satoru, a man meant to be his elder and ‘superior’, for being unable to write up his reports without assistance at every turn, he scowled and glanced at his watch once more. In his mind, he was concocting retribution befitting of his ego and idiocy, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips as he hurried along.

Thirty minutes late…

Oh, he wanted to claw at his skin. The discomfort of his lateness darkened his mood on an evening which was meant to be fun. He was meant to meet you at the small bar you had discovered a few weeks back, conveniently not far from his apartment which meant on that first fateful night it made tumbling home easy whilst you loosened his shirt and tie, and he left his mark on the skin of your collarbone.

Those tantalising memories had the grace to relieve the worst of the anger bubbling inside him like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment, thoughts of Gojo’s smirking face and the traffic that seemed intent on keeping him from you melted into the periphery. All he needed was to set his sights on your pretty face and all would be right again.

What he wasn’t expecting when he finally rounded the door to the bar, eyes scanning through the Friday night crowds, and what he absolutely did not need given his current temperament was to discover you being harassed.

His hand tightened into a fist, which he slowly released as he blew out a controlled breath. You were seated at your favourite section of the bar—close enough to the bartenders that drinks would never run dry but removed enough that quiet conversation was easy. Kento's glance cut to your outfit, much to his immediate shame, taking in the skirt that you knew was his very favourite and the sentiment was clearly shared by the man leaning in much too close.

Whilst he could see why this stranger admired your shapely legs, the soft spread of your thighs and the curve leading to generous hips, you were not enjoying the attention and he was far from being subtle in his interest. Any sane person could see that you were slowly inching away from him, but drunk on his poison of choice and probably a hefty dose of adrenaline given how often and fidgety his hand ran through his greasy hair, the man was ignoring your rebuff. Instead, he shuffled even closer with drool practically hanging from his open mouth.

His rising temper was curtailed by an unexpected hint of humour, his imposing frame blocked the entrance and left other patrons to squeeze around him rather than ask him to move whilst he observed your short, curt nods in response to the man's questions. Your entire stance, mannerisms, and the way you turned in your seat to give him your back all screamed 'fuck off' in the politest way possible. You were too good for him, far more restrained than he would be at the unwanted attention. It made him want to laugh, and that was far more welcome than the fury beating deeper in his heart.

You were no damsel in distress, but when the man reached out to touch the side of your knee, he knew it was time to announce his presence and put a stop to this pathetic display. Kento’s neck cracked from side to side, and he moved off with purpose from where he had been standing.

Discreetly you tapped your phone to life and glanced at the time, frowning at the continued absence of the man you were meant to be meeting. A low sigh eased past your lips as you continued to ignore your annoyingly persistent admirer. Kento was late and it just wasn't like him.

Worry was beginning to gnaw in the pit of your belly, only incited by the flashes of irritation at the man that you could only describe as a pervert. Not only had he seated himself despite you assuring him that it was taken, but he also openly leered at your chest and legs.

You wondered if you should call him, biting your lip in indecision and tapping anxiously at the green call symbol next to his name, but it was all for naught.

A figure caught your attention from the corner of your eye; blond perfectly parted hair, broad shoulders and an unreadable expression—Kento had arrived and was heading straight for you, his eyes burning holes into you.

You weren’t quite ready to throw yourself into his arms, although you were tempted if it finally gave this pest the hint he needed to beat it, but your thoughts were cut short by a clammy hand on your knee. Disgust rose in your throat at being touched without your consent.

The hand didn’t remain there long.

There was a muffled scream as your view of the unwanted admirer became obscured behind a broad back. His navy shirt looked close to breaking point as the threads at the seams strained to contain the strength of your beau, his biceps flexing whilst you were left to wonder exactly what he had done—although you could guess.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart. I was held up by an idiot," he soothed, finally turning to cup your chin in his large palm. His thumb stroked along your jawline as the other hand landed on the seated flare of your hip. His hold was firm, deft fingers sinking into your plush flesh and kneading you just how you liked.

You barely took note of the man leaving the bar with his hand cradled to his chest, the fingers looking bent into an unnatural position and very red. It was hard to care when you were caught fast in the snare of being able to breathe in the scent of your man. The only man that mattered, was the one looking at you with an expression you weren’t entirely familiar with.

"Where are we going?" you asked breathlessly. With one fluid movement, you allowed him to pull up from the seat and into the warmth of his body, his chest shielding you from those around who were turning to look your way.

"Home, sweetheart."

Except it wasn’t the complete truth. You found that out when your spine arched off the wall, shoulders digging into the brickwork as Kento held your weight around his waist as if it were nothing. With his zipper undone enough to allow his cock to slip free, and your underwear shoved roughly into the crease of your thigh, he took you like he never had before. He dropped you down onto him again with fervour, swallowing your whine and feeding you his own rumbling groan.

He was possessed with the need to reclaim you, to rub his scent across every bare inch of your skin and the desire couldn’t be contained. You were thankful for the shadow-polluted back alley running behind the bar. Eternally grateful that it wasn’t yet dark enough for the streetlights to illuminate the lewd scene in which you were playing a starring role. The shadows wrapped around the hunched form of Kento, his frame hiding you from sight except for your legs around his hips.

Rough, calloused hands smoothed your bare thighs, hiking your skirt even higher as he groped at you in desperation. It was so unlike him, to see him so raw and in need of you. Your cunt clenched around his hard length, rolling yourself to meet his frantic thrusts halfway, the haze of an impending orgasm dulling your senses down to the only one that mattered—the feel of him fucking up against your g-spot.

With your fingers entwined with his, dizzy and all too giddy from the quick hit of dopamine, you skipped along towards his apartment. The lazy, self-assured smile he wore had you clenching all over again, dancing closer to him and leaning up to press a kiss to the bobbing swell of his Adam’s apple.

You should have known that he wasn’t done, in fact, he wouldn’t be satisfied for some time to come. Kento let out a low roar like some feral beast the second the door slammed shut behind his back. Taking off like a drunk gazelle, you ran and he chased you down the hall to the shrieks of your laughter until he had you caged against yet another wall.

"Kento... you’re acting beastly!"

His answer was to open his jaw, teeth snapping around the slender column of your throat and his tongue working into the hollow. He nipped and bit his way around your throat, holding you in the cage of his arms without sign of release.

“I am a beast, darling. When it comes to you… I’ll never stop reminding you that I am the one you chose, and never stop proving exactly why you love falling into my bed.”

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

[bunny-1111]

Falling behind - Theodore Nott

Based on the lyrics of "Falling Behind" by Laufey, where the reader feels like everyone's in a relationship. Too blind to notice that Theodore's been waiting for her all along.

Word count: 0.8k, fluff

...

"Don't you just love this weather" Pansy smiled beside you,

You shake your head, arms crossed, grumpy, it was going to become everyone's problem

"Come on, smell how fresh it is today!" she continues, shaking you gently

"Yeah, all I can smell is a sickly romance in the air" you groan, head tilting back

"Oh, come on, it's nice" she tries to persuade

"You because you have Blaise, alright? Look at how happy you are; look at how alone I am." you huff

She laughs at you. "You're not alone."

"Oh yeah, look around, Pans, Lovers stroll without a care in sight, I care alone, about everything", you complain.

"You're so clueless," she smiles, looking back at the rest of your Slytherin boys. Her eyes observe Theodore, and his eyes watch you.

"Whatever" you mutter, looking behind, eyes falling onto Theo

"he's perfect" you sigh

"how many times do I have to tell you for you to belive me, he likes you too" she insists

"Please Pans, he just nice, thats all" you say looking back to the ground

"Theodore Nott, nice, yeah not to most" she almost laugh

Trailing not too far walked Theo, Blaise and Draco

"Just ask her out already. I'm sick of listening to you talk about it, Nott!" demanded Draco

"Yeah, ask her out, Dray will bring Astoria, I'll bring Pansy, and you bring her", suggested Blaise

"Don't you idiots think I haven't tried? The girls' more oblivious than fucken Flilch during night shift," he sighed.

He takes matters into his own hands, picks a flower, jogs up and offers it out to you

"For you" he smiles

"Thanks, Theo" you accept, smelling the freshly plucked rose, skipping to catch up to Pansy

Pansy looks back at a now-stationed Theodore. She mouths, 'good effort,' he just nods his head. He'll try again tomorrow.

...

"Hey, did you hear we need a date for this Christmas ball thing" you panic

"Yeah, so?" Matteo replies

"So?!, this is horrible news, absolutely abhorrent", you continue

"And why's that?" he continues, unamused

"Not everyone is like you, Matteo, ok! Look at you falling in love with Tracey Davis. Good for you! You don't need to stress about who you'll take," you rant. "Gitt", you finish under your breath

"Should I ask her now?" Theodore asks Lorenzo

"Better time than ever, look at her go" he gestures to you, hands flying around the air as you rant to Matteo

Theodore's eyebrows scrunched together. He was becoming more helpless by the minute. He was beginning to lose count of how many times you had accidentally rejected him.

"look at how passionate she is, Enz, I want her so bad" Theodore admires from the couch behind you

"No one wants me!" you exclaim as if you had almost heard Theo

"Come on now." comforts Matteo, gesturing for you to turn around and face Theodore

When you did turn, your face was met with a worried-looking Theo and a smiling Enzo.

"Look at your faces. You're teasing me" You begin walking out

"Everybody's falling in love, and I'm falling behind!" you scream out, storming out the large common room doors, heading to your dorm

Unbeknownst to you, a deprived Theodore is left standing, hands thrown in the air, in defeat

"Enough now, go fucking get her", Matteo says, not looking up

Theodore shakes his head and begins to follow you, catching up to your door and knocking gently two times to alert you.

When you open the door, he is taken aback

"You're crying, why are you crying," he says quickly

You wipe your running nose and let him in, "I'm not, just coming down with a cold, I think", you try

"Bullshit, you can tell me what's wrong, alright" he smiles, inching closer.

"I'm just frustrated, that's all. They're frustrated tears," you explain quietly

He sits you both on your bed, neither of you saying anything but your eyes and his, looking into each other. The eyes say a thousand words.

"I-" you begin

"When will you get it?" he interrupts

"get what?" you ask

"I have feelings for you, alright, and you're so blindsided you can't come to your senses ad realise." you quickly spills out

"Oh.' you breath out

"yeah, oh." he follows, face frowning

"Why do you look so upset at it?" you question

"Come on, look at your reaction. You've turned me down enough times without even trying, OK? That's it, now I'm frustrated," he says

"Who said I don't have feelings for you, too," you say

"What?" he says, looking up. "Do you?"

You cup his face, softly kissing his lips

You both laugh, pulling off each other

"So why didn't you tell me" he laughs

"Why didn't you?" you reply

"I did, So many times, I tried to show you!!" he smiles

"Well, it worked in the end, Nott." you smile back, leaning in for another kiss

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize, Part 4 (Yandere Alpha!Shanks x Omega!Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

The other parts

Your POV

Everything was wrong. 

You woke up to the morning sun rising over the horizon with the sheets beneath you drenched in your sweat. It felt like there was static electricity sparking across your skin from head to toe and you were overcome with a new restlessness. Nervous energy coursed through your body and you needed to expel it immediately. Your eyes swept around the Emperor’s untidy cabin and the urge to rearrange everything struck you. Nothing was different than the day before but now everything just wasn’t right. Given Hongo’s warning, you knew you were going into heat but you hadn’t expected it to feel like you were an alien other in your own skin. 

In addition to the physical sensations, your mind felt fuzzy to the point you couldn’t complete a single thought. You knew that during your heat you’d be in a sort of fugue state; your mind taking a back seat to the needs of your physical body. You would want to do anything to satisfy your Alpha with pleasing him becoming your main priority. Heat was a physically and mentally vulnerable  time for Omegas.. A corrupt Alpha could claim you against your rational will under the haze of the heat or cause irreparable harm to your body. In an ideal world, an Omega would have the time and ability to choose their Alpha before and during their heat. But…you would have the Emperor ashe’d made it clear there was no other choice. 

You inhaled deeply through your nose while sitting up and nearly vomited on the spot. There were so many conflicting harsh and irritating smells that you couldn’t even determine which was the most abhorrent to you. You stood up after kicking the blankets off your feet and began investigating to find the source of your current displeasure. The Emperor’s clothes all over the floor were the primary culprits of the unbearable stench. Even though he hadn’t told you that you could touch his belongings, he could surely understand that some items needed to be removed from his room. The thought that you hadn’t been given permission flitted away from your mind as you began to sift through the discarded clothing.

Picking up individual items, you sniffed each piece of clothing carefully. Some smelled so incredible that you held them over your nose and mouth like a mask while inhaling the rich scent of cloves and oranges deep into your lungs. One of the best smelling items was one of the Emperor’s open chested shirts. You weren’t sure what exactly was different about this white linen shirt from all the others but you couldn’t get enough of the smell. You disrobed from the clothes you were wearing and slipped into the shirt with the hem reaching to your thighs. Continuing on in your quest, you sniffed the next garment and immediately threw it across the room where it ended up landing at the door to the cabin. It was a white dress shirt with a ruffle in the front and the initials “DM” stitched onto the collar. The shirt itself was nice enough but it smelled like an absolutely vile combination of wine and leather. The smell of the ruffled shirt bothered you so severely you went to wash your hands to be rid of it.

You ended up sorting the Emperor’s clothes into three groups. The pile with the amazing smelling clothes went onto the bed where it was arranged in a circle. You weren’t sure exactly what the end result would look like but your instincts were telling you to start building a nest. The disgusting clothes went to the farthest possible point from your nest and joined the other foul smelling shirt beside the door. You left the clothes that didn’t bother you, which there weren’t many of, where they were on the floor. The majority of the clothes made it onto the bed, including the Emperor’s cloak you had worn the first time you’d met him. As you finished sorting things, there was a brief rap on the door before it opened. The door opening revealed the Emperor bringing you a tray of breakfast.

“Whoa, what’s all this by the door?” he asked, stepping over the pile of clothes and into the room. You scrunched your nose as he approached you. His scent on the clothes was pleasant but he didn’t belong in the room with you. You wanted him gone so you could build your nest in peace but weren’t sure how to communicate that in a way that didn’t get you in trouble.

“You alright, Love? You look warm,” Shanks continued while setting down the tray and reaching out his hand to touch your forehead. You stepped back from his intense smell as it grew closer to you. It was simply too potent for you right now and you couldn’t bear to be near him. Ducking under his arm, you scurried to the other side of the bed in an effort to put distance between you. The Emperor was undeterred and followed you around the bed as you kept taking steps back. Soon you were left with nowhere else to go as your back hit the wall of the cabin. Even though you risked punishment for your rude behavior, you couldn’t stop yourself from pinching your nose shut to keep out his smell as he approached you.

“Yeah, your heat’s starting. You began building your nest, hm?” Shanks asked, his hand drifting over one of his old shirts on the bed as he continued on his way to you. You practically hissed at him while narrowing your eyes at him before moving towards the shirt and rearranging it to your liking. It was pure instinct making your fingers itch with the need to move it, but couldn’t he see that he had moved the shirt to the wrong position? You hoped he wasn’t keeping a tally of your mistakes against him but you couldn’t stop yourself from adjusting it so it was the way it needed to be. 

Reaching for you, he put his palm on your forehead as you leaned back farther away from him. He was also warm, adding to the heat of your body to your chagrin.

“I’m guessing you want me out of here then,” Shanks said with a boyish grin, unperturbed by your annoyed body language. You searched his face for any signs of malice before you nodded your head in response. He laughed easily at your answer and put his hand up in mock surrender. 

“All right, I’ll leave. I’ll bring some clean blankets and linens for you but other than that I’ll be on the deck if you need me, yeah?” he said as he turned to go, stepping over the clothes pile again. 

“M-may I ask you for a favor, Emperor?” you blurted out at his receding back. You had to talk to him about the claiming mark now since you weren’t sure how long you’d be rational. This was your first heat so you wanted to ask while you had the chance. The Emperor’s eyebrows hiked slightly as he turned to you.

“Sure, Love. What can I do for you?” he asked with curiosity leaking into his tone. You took a deep breath to brace yourself for asking your question. You thought he’d deny you what you were asking for like he had with your island expedition but you had to at least try.

“I - I don’t want the bite. The, um, the claiming mark. I know, um, that - I - um, you might - you can do -” You shrank back when the Emperor drew near you once more; curling your arms around yourself in an attempt to reassure yourself. It wasn’t the stench this time that had you moving away, you knew from experience how strongly Kid had felt about the claiming bite and how desperately he’d tried to make it form. A claiming mark was supposed to be the final step of an Alpha / Omega courting with it supposedly creating an unbreakable bond between the pair. It was said that some highly compatible couples could even sense each other’s emotions through the bond, but that was surely just an old wive’s tale. In reality, it would be a way for the Alpha to secure the Omega to their side forever by creating a lasting bond between them. If you got a claiming bite from the Emperor, you’d never be able to endure another heat cycle without him. You’d never ever be free again.

He put his large index finger under your chin before tilting your head up to look at him. Even with your head filled with cotton you could feel your underlying fear instincts kicking in. You wanted to avert your eyes but couldn’t summon the courage to as his eyes bored into your own.

“I won’t, I promise,” the Emperor replied with the sincerity of the vow settling under your skin as he kissed your forehead. It was the best you could hope for, but you wondered what a pirate’s promise was worth? You stayed silent while you nodded slightly to indicate you understood. Closing your eyes to focus, you tried to remember your manners. It would be no good to start your heat off on the wrong foot with the Alpha who’d be…helping you through it.

“Thank you Emperor,” you croaked out as he kissed your forehead. He turned and smiled at you once again, his smile lines etched into his tan skin. His deep red hair shone in the sun as he grinned at you, giving you his full attention. He really was very handsome, you conceded to yourself as he left the cabin with an ambling gait.

“See you soon, little Omega.”

Shanks POV

Shanks’ smile remained on his face as he closed the door to his cabin behind him. You were absolutely adorable and he couldn’t get enough of you like this. Your moody feistiness was showing him the most spirit he’d seen out of you since you’d been on the ship. You reminded him of a little cat, hissing and puffing up its fur when all it really needed was to be taken in hand and pet until it purred. The clothes on his bed alerted him that you’d started building your nest and the sweat dripping between your breasts told him you’d be in heat likely by nightfall. He reluctantly gave you leave even with the absolutely divine sweet smell emanating from your every pore. He wanted to roll around with you and wrap around you like a blanket but he’d been warned you would want to be left alone at this particular juncture. Hongo had informed Shanks that you would want privacy to build your nest so it didn’t bother him that you wanted to be left alone.

Hongo had said you would need time and space to prepare yourself for the coming heat. So Shanks knew you would be picky about your surroundings, getting rid of anything you didn’t like and preparing the room along with yourself for your heat. What he hadn’t anticipated was you cracking open the door while he was still in front of it and throwing a pile of clothes out onto the deck, before slamming the door shut again. The various crew members lounging on the deck glanced between the door and their bemused Captain. Rockstar’s eyes roved over the pile of clothing and narrowed his eyes.

“Hey! That’s my favorite shirt!” griped Rockstar while snatching his gray shirt from the pile.

“And my missing bandana!” Lucky Roo chimed in before grabbing his kerchief with a huff. 

“The rest of the shit is mine, except for this,” Benn said, holding up the ruffled shirt between two fingers. He was smoking yet another cigarette as he piled the rest of the clothes in his muscled arms. Shanks had noticed that Benn was smoking like a chimney since you came onboard. Luckily they’d be docking at the island later that day and Benn could buy as many as he wanted. He was, at best, unpleasant when he ran out of smokes at sea.

“Ok, so I borrowed a few things. So what? You got 'em back, no harm no foul,” Shanks said  with a shrug brefore leaning against the door to the cabin. 

“What else you got in there, huh? Probably more where that came from,” Rockstar grumbled, turning to head towards the door.

“ DON’T.” 

Rockstar froze where he stood, his body unable to move as Shanks’ Command crashed over the deck. His face was stuck somewhere between shock and horror as he found himself at the wrong end of his Captain’s aggression. Shanks hadn’t meant to utter the Command, much less combine it with his Conqueror’s haki. Calming himself down with a deep breath, he released the energy and Rockstar slid to his knees, panting for breath. Shanks exchanged a look with Beckman as the first mate helped Rockstar back to his feet. 

‘Stay away from the Captain’s quarters. Three meter radius around the whole area,” Beckman decreed. Not that the crew needed to be warned as the discharge of haki was enough on its own. Sighing, Shanks sat down in front of the door to his cabin with his back against the familiar worn wood. He could excuse his aggression the first time around, but this was becoming too much. Hongo said that an Omega in heat could cause him to go into rut if he wasn’t careful. Someone like Shanks, at his level of power, couldn’t afford to go into a mindless state where all he cared about was fucking. For the sake of his crew, his ship, and all the people who depended on him for protection, Shanks needed to keep his mind as clear as it could be and avoid the rut. Hongo had advised him not to distress you and to keep you sated, which should prevent him from going into overdrive to protect you from any perceived harm.  It would be harder than Shanks had anticipated if someone stepping within three meters of his cabin was enough to set him off. 

“Stay there and guard the girl,” Beckman said while picking up the rest of the clothes on the deck.

“I’m not guarding her, I’m -” Shanks began protesting only to be silenced by his first mate.

“And stop taking my clothes ya shrimp, don’ fit ye anyways. Do yer wash instead then you’ll have somethin’ to wear,” Beckman continued while pointedly ignoring his Captain’s words. Shanks humphed but gave no further argument as he listened to the scuttering behind the door. Secretly, he was pleased that all the clothes you’d rejected were those from the crew and Mihawk. Everything you’d kept and moved to the bed was from his own wardrobe and drenched in his scent. Even though you hadn’t been given a choice in who you’d be mating this heat, your body had chosen him. And his certainly chose you.

Your POV

The ship had been docked for an hour now, gently bobbing in the waves with the sounds of the crew dissipating into the night air. The crew had hurriedly left the ship as tension rose corresponding to your coming heat. You still hadn’t left the cabin nor did you have any inclination to. You’d finished your nest a few hours prior with everything exactly how you wanted it. The Emperor had offered you fresh linens but you didn’t want to have the smell diluted from what was already in the room and you huddled in the center of your nest. Your stomach twisted itself in knots while an uneasy sense of anticipation settled over you. Your heart rate picked up and you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to push away your rising stress as you worried about the potential outcomes of your heat. Though you were glad you’d never experienced it before now, you wished you knew what to expect beyond what you’d heard from vague rumors and hearsay.

You were curled up naked in the Emperor’s cloak and you began rubbing the material between your fingers when your stomach went from butterflies to full blown pain. It felt like the worst cramps you’d ever felt in your life and you let out an agonizing groan. Clutching your stomach, a gush of liquid flooded out of you, coating the cloak in your slick. You’d heard going into heat wasn’t pleasant but you didn’t know it would be so incredibly painful. For what felt like the millionth time in your life, you cursed your designation and wished you’d been born as anything but an Omega. Your thoughts on your life dimmed as another wave of cramps hit you and more slick spread between your thighs. 

Mindless need had you pushing your hand between your thighs in a futile bid to quell the building ache coming from deep within you. Your core felt like it was missing something you needed as much as the air you were breathing. Whimpering as your fingers sought your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub did nothing to subdue your pain or desire. With tears beading at your lashline you tried to think of something, anything, that could help you.

You needed…an Alpha.

Shanks POV

Bursting into the cabin at the first sounds of your distress, Shanks was first met with the nearly palpable smell of an Omega in heat. If he’d had any lingering doubts about keeping you on the ship before, they were gone now. His cock was aching as he located you in your nest on the bed, ready to fill you with his seed. His cloak below you was drenched with your slick as you writhed, your small fingers rubbing at your clit fruitlessly while crying out for him while you sought to alleviate your own pain. You looked like an offering to an ancient god, a sacrifice left on an altar to be consumed.

“Alpha it h-hurts…Alpha… A-alpha… need you…hurts” you cried out, waiting for him to come and alleviate your pain. Disrobing what little he had on, Shanks loomed over you in the bed, his one remaining thought was to ask permission before joining you in the nest. 

“Omega, shhh. I’m here for you, I’m here. Can I -”

“Alpha, it h-hurts, I c-can’t -” Shanks took that as all the permission he needed as he crawled over your nest to get to you. He removed your hand from your clit as pleasure would be found only from him for the rest of your heat. Pinning both your wrists above your head, he leaned down and nipped along your scent glands with his teeth, causing you to gush more slick and whine loudly.

“Alpha, p-please, I -” 

“I’ll attend to you. Hush,” Shanks commanded as you stifled your cries, sniffles still coming occasionally.

“Beautiful Omega,” Shanks said simply while taking in your blushing face and dilated eyes. Your nipples were pert and begging for his mouth and your cunt was calling for his cock. Wanting to relieve your pain, Shanks let go of your wrists and lined himself up to your dripping cunt. He needed to be in you immediately - for both your sakes. You were hurting, needing an Alpha's seed within you to quell the pain of the heat. Shanks felt like he was going to go into a mindless rut if he didn't start fucking you now .

Sheathing himself in one long stroke, you moaned loudly and arched further into him as he bottomed out within you. Your tight channel was gripping him so perfectly that he wanted to spend the rest of his life deep within you. Shanks quickly began a harsh rhythm, his thighs smacking the backs of your legs as you wrapped your shins behind his back. Your legs began to shake when Shanks rubbed your clit with his thumb while he fucked you.

“All for me,” Shanks muttered before catching one of your nipples between his teeth. He bit gently as you hissed and held his head in your hands. Omegas were known to come easily and repeatedly during their heat and you were no exception. Your pussy fluttering around his length when you reached your first of what would be many peaks. Shanks desperately wanted to bite your scent glands as you threw your head back in bliss, but he’d given his word that he wouldn’t. You were living with him now, he could wait to give you the claiming mark until after your heat passed. 

“ Al-phaaaa, ” you cried out with your first orgasm hitting you and your eyes rolled back in your head. Shanks knew that no matter how many times you came it wouldn’t matter - he had to come in you repeatedly to fully alleviate the pain. Still hard within you, Shanks slowed his pace but continued fucking you through your orgasm. Putting his forehead on yours, you opened your eyes to meet his. Your heavy lidded eyes and blown pupils alerted him that your true self was being consumed by your heat. Your true personality would be hidden under the haze of heat until the tail end when you’d come back to yourself in bursts. As Shanks watched your face smooth out in relief after contorting in pleasure, a flash of your real self flickered through your eyes. It was like you’d come to the surface and were frightened of what you found. You looked around rapidly and tried to wiggle away from under him as distress soured your scent. Shanks shushed you and used his arm to keep you under him.

Your lower lip wobbled and Shanks regretted his decision to wait until you kissed him first. He wanted to soothe you and so settled for cupping your cheek in his palm as you started to cry. He knew the lucid version of you would be lost soon but he wanted to make sure you felt safe and secure while you were mentally present.

“Shhhh. It’s me, Shanks. I’m here with you. It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe -” he said softly, rubbing your cheek. Your eyes roved over his face as if trying to etch it into your memory. You opened your mouth to speak but just as quickly as your lucidity had come it went, leaving you back in your uncomfortable heat. You grimaced and moved underneath him, wanting to fuck again to alleviate the rising pain. 

“Alpha, please, Alpha, I need you,” you cried out for him with tears streaking down your face as your contractions resumed wracking your smaller body.

“Again already, little Omega?” Shanks asked the more pliant version of you. You nodded your head as fat tears ran down your cheeks. Licking a trail all the way up your face, Shanks nipped your ear before he began moving again. Your scent glands were producing more than ever before, he needed some of you in his mouth before he bit you and broke his promise. 

“Ag-gain,” you confirmed, your body already crying out for another orgasm as well as his own.

“As many times as you need,” he cooed as you began moaning once more. Now the raw need inside him wasn’t building as quickly as the time before so he could spare some time to help you adjust to his presence. Settling himself down between your legs, he opened your thighs to reveal your glistening core. You whined at the loss of his thick cock but yelped instead when Shanks nipped your inner thigh with his sharp teeth.

“Quiet,” was all he had to say before you parted your legs farther to give him access. You shivered as Shanks flattened his tongue and licked your cunt in one long stripe from your hole to your clit. Your slick tasted divine and he couldn’t get enough as it coated his face from your leaking hole. Your hands found their way into his hair as he began sucking, licking, and mouthing at your clit. He was being an unfair tease by bringing you to the brink of orgasm repeatably before stopping his ministrations. Shanks lapped at you as your slick gushed out in anticipation of a climax you had yet to receive. Pointing his tongue, Shanks groaned as he drove it into you much like his cock had been previously. He couldn’t get enough of your delicious slick and he swore he’d never had an ambrosia so divine before. 

Bending your knees, you put your legs on his back and pulled his hair to coerce him to let you come. Shanks smiled into your pussy - he had half a mind to discipline you for trying to tell him what to do but he didn’t want to be away from your cunt for a single moment. 

“Not on my face, on my cock,” he said while moving back to flip you over to hands and knees. Entering you once more from behind, he fucked you with long and slow thrusts as you continued to leak slick. You were moaning with every thrust, making Shanks glad the crew had left the ship so they wouldn’t hear the delicious noises you made. Taking his fingers and running them up your thigh, he gathered your slick on his fingertips before he raised them to his mouth. He tasted your juices and hummed with delight. Running his finger through again, he leaned forward towards your face.

“Open,” he commanded without having to use any Alpha power behind it. Your jaw dropped immediately like you couldn’t wait to comply with whatever he told you to do. Sticking his fingers in your mouth, you sucked off the juices on his fingers and continued to suck on his fingers as he kept moving within you. 

“Stop,” he whispered into your skin before biting your shoulder gently. Shanks was going to keep his promise to you - he would - but he couldn’t resist a little nip along your soft skin. You ceased sucking immediately, opting instead to drop your front to the bed and turning your head to take his length further within your body. Shanks was amazed at the degree to which you obeyed him. Sure, you’d been obedient beforehand, but it had come with trepidation and hesitancy. You complied out of fear of reprisal, afraid of his every movement. But now you were completely willing to submit to him and allow him to do with you as he pleased. The feeling of heady power was not unlike the rush that came with using his Conqueror’s Haki. There was almost no one beyond his control, he could make even the proudest of Alphas bend the knee with his might. None of it felt as rewarding as your soft, hot, tight, cunt wrapped around him like a silk fist. This was the due of an Apex Alpha, he thought as your cunt pulsed around him. 

Shanks leaned back to watch his cock slide in and out of you as he fucked you. You pushed back against him, your body desperately trying to get more friction, more of his length, just more. Shanks used his hand to keep you in place as he started pounding into you more forcefully. You didn’t get to control the rhythm or speed, you were there to take what he chose to give you. You accepted his offering by stilling your body and pushing your knees further apart. Maybe you did need a little discipline, he thought as he drove into you. He would go easy on you, he decided, after all this was your first heat and you hadn’t had…positive experiences in the past.

Continuing to fuck you from behind Shanks surprised himself - his favorite position was to have his partner ride him. Normally by this point, Shanks would be enjoying a lovely view and would fuck up into you when he wanted to. Except…he didn’t want to have you any other way besides in front or beneath him. He was driven by the need to conquer you while accepting your submission and demanding more.

Shanks grabbed the ends of your hair and wrapped his fist in it twice, using the makeshift ponytail to pull your head back. You keened as your pussy clenched tighter, showing your enjoyment at how he was using you as he continued snapping his hips against your ass. He wished he had both hands so he could thumb your clit but the way your cunt was pulsing told him you were close again. He could see why Alphas wanted their Omegas to keep their hair long now, it was an easy way to control you and contort your body. Pulling harder made you whimper as another wave of slick hit his thighs. You were close, and he was sure if he kept going he’d be able to get you to come in a few minutes even without touching your clit. A thought touched the corner of his mind and Shanks decided to test out a theory.

“ Come,” he Commanded in his strongest Alpha voice. You howled your release as your already tight cunt contracted around him, milking his cock to orgasm. Your cunt convulsed around him seemingly endlessly as you rode your high. Finally sighing from relief, you collapsed onto the bed for a moment’s respite. Shanks was still on his knees with his cock already hardening again in anticipation of your need. He was on a razor’s edge and barely able to avoid entering a rut himself at the sight of his cum leaking out of your soaked cunt. He was pleased his command had worked, it was a way he could compensate for lacking a second hand. 

You were laying face down on the bed, already mewling your need for another round. Hongo had said the experience would be intense but Shanks hadn’t been prepared for something like this. Rolling you over, Shanks took in your blissed out expression and relaxed body. He’d never seen you like this and his heart clenched at the sight. He could almost see who you were before you were taken from your island, but it was just out of reach. He idly pondered what you were like before Kid met you and your life had dramatically changed course.

“ Smile,” Shanks Commanded, wondering what you would look like if he had met you first. Your face broke into a huge grin that reached your eyes, alleviating the stress and lethargy he’d seen previously. It took his breath away - you shone as bright as the sun and it reminded him of easier times and happier days. Shanks couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, it felt like you were lovers lounging after your first intimate moment together. For a moment you two weren’t an Alpha helping an Omega through heat by necessity. He wished you always looked like this, that you were happy to be there, to be with him. It wasn’t real, you were just lost to the heat, he knew that, but…

“ Fuck me like you love me.” 

The Command came out before he could stop it or rationalize it away. You smiled even wider, stretching your arms up and around his neck. Pulling him down to you, you kissed him tenderly on the lips. You spread your legs and wrapped them around his waist while continuing to press your lips to his. He licked against your lips for entry and you opened your mouth allowing the kiss to deepen. It was so similar to the first time he’d had you but this was love and tenderness, not a rough fucking to alleviate your primal needs. You moved your hands from behind his neck to his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands like he was a treasure. 

“I’m so glad you found me, Shanks. I’ll never leave you,” you said, your eyes filled with love and adoration as you whispered to him, punctuating your sentences with sweet kisses to his cheeks and lips. Shanks kissed you back as he languidly began making love to you, stroking your arms tenderly with his own. Shanks had lost many people in his life - Roger, Rayleigh, Buggy, so many others to fighting, wounds, drownings - that it felt right to have someone all of his own. Someone he could protect and cherish, to keep for himself.

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog @mfreedomstuff @littlelovebug98 @hannya-writes @babi-lamb @sanjisleggy @princessuta061108 @twismare

[riaki]

nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader

wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends

i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!

satoru hates arguing with you.

it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.

it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.

of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.

but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.

it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.

it was small. barely worth fussing over.

he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.

a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.

"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.

his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.

you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.

"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.

(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)

you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.

he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.

you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.

you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.

"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.

he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.

then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.

"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.

his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.

(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)

but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.

"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.

the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.

and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).

a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.

but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.

you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.

"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"

"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”

...

he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.

maybe.

a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.

it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.

"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.

"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)

his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.

you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.

he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.

the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.

what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.

eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.

wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.

despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.

and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.

"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.

"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."

you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.

"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.

(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)

"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.

"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.

you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.

he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.

you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.

you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.

you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.

you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.

"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.

even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.

its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[diejager]

Nooo but there is something about the monster au where there is a casual mention from her that she won't live as long as them (I assume monsters/hybrids are longer lived plus she is a lot more likely to die on mission), like she probably just jokes about it offhandedly and it sends all of them feral because... no? Absolutely not? Insulting. Ridiculous. Not happening.

Cue ultimate clinginess, all rushing to be more intimate because the thought of her not being around is abhorrent. Soap maybe losing it a bit going off on a line of thought about how he could mate her right? Would it be awful if there was a way for her to be a wolf shifter?

I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

Change cw: mention of turning, mention of death, joking about death, tell me if I missed any.

All options are on the table at this point, death had always been something that loomed over them like a shadow, the veil and sickle of death following you wherever you went. You’ve had more than one reminder of your short life, your vulnerability as a human, weak and tender skin, short lives and a delicate body. There were so many things in the world that could pose a possible danger to you and they hated that.

You lived shorter lives than most monsters or hybrids, you grew sick and frail whereas hybrids could fight any viral infections or diseases, you didn’t have thicker skin despite all the extra layers of protective gear and you were a target of many for your choice of career. They were reminded of you mortality whenever you get hurt, blood painting your skin with a strong, metallic odour.

And it didn’t help that you’d often joke about it, throwing offhanded comments that made their hackles raise, body tense and mind brewing with what ifs scenario that has them tearing their hair from the root. While some monsters were more solitary than others, all of them were possessive of what they deemed their family —pack.

Ghost and König stuck closer during training, a tall, imposing figure behind you that acted as a guard dog to ward away anyone they deemed a danger. Soap and Horangi hung around you in the rec room, either laying on you or clinging to you, putting a show of ownership over you. Rudy and Alejandro, the ever active couple, were always finding you around the base, striking up a conversation and wrapping their arms around you. Gaz would was the cuddliest of the group, finding time outside of his busy to snuggle up against you and cover you with his wings, pulling you to sleep on his shoulder. Price, the man with the most authority in the TF made sure that you were always with someone on every Op, having someone to back you up in the most dire situation.

Every visit to the medic made them wild, it brought them closer to desperate measures. Would it be so bad to turn you in one? Would it be so bad to let Soap bite you during the full moon, his bite infecting you with his power: thicker skin, sturdier build, longer lifespan and better sense? The only draw backs were the higher wildness, near feral during full moons and a competitive mindset over the possessiveness and brattiness of a young werewolf.

Would it be so bad to make you return as a wraith? While Ghost learned to control his powers alone, the pain and emotions building up in his body without any way of letting it out, you had him, you wouldn’t be alone with the resurrection. He didn’t want you to feel the terror and agony by yourself —he didn’t want you to know how it felt to die and come back.

Would it be so bad to have a vampire turn you into one without becoming a thrall? You couldn’t walk in the sun, something you told them you enjoyed, you’d be restrained to specific activities and you wouldn’t like that, being limited by the sun. Granted, there were solutions to that, but none very comfortable.

They knew you were aware of your mortality, made fun of it and laughed as it this was your last day, but you didn’t fear death, you only feared leaving them. You were open to their thoughts, listening to their ideas and options with a neutral expression, but you didn’t reject the idea of turning you. That was a good thing, a step forward in their mind.

Now all that needed to do was to let you decide which path you wanted to walk.

tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

[willowed-wisp]

gladiator [ könig ]

part two

König would make the perfect Ancient Roman gladiator, and you happen to be the daughter of his trainer.

You thought it was barbaric- absolutely heinous. Yet, what were you, a woman, supposed to do in a patriarchal society where women only had one use.

So you had to sit on your hands, your mother hated the habit. You weren’t even allowed to argue with her, lest your father get involved…

Your parents weren’t terrible people- just unfortunate enough to be wrapped in a system too big for any family to endure.

The Roman Empire, grand and faulted. Corruption laid thick and violence ran rife.

Thats why conformity was a must and keeping your heads down was a close second.

Which was impossible in the wealthy echelons… blood knew blood until it had to be spilled.

Bloodshed was senseless. You were only watching onto the warring combatants in the arena below you because your father trained them- forcing you to acquaint yourself with the way of life.

Not squeamish in the slightest- you just thought it was abhorrent and you also had… other reasons.

Joining your father since you were a teenager- watching gladiators come and go.

Traded off or killed.

No in between for those poor souls.

Though, your father painted them out to be wretches, only training them to avoid execution by order of the emperor. For so long you thought the same.

Until HE arrived… a couple years older than yourself. You didn’t know much about the handsome, expressionless boy.

That didn’t mean you weren’t intrigued. Grappling your curiosity by the neck and choking it down. He was a dead man.

That didn’t exactly happen, he was fast for his build. The tallest man you had ever seen and not to mention what he had you feeling as a seventeen year old, bound for an arranged marriage. He grew to become successful and quite renowned in the Roman Empire as unbeatable.

They called him ‘Rex’, meaning ‘king’. And he ruled the Colosseum. Whatever he was faced with, with upside triangles in paint beneath his eyes, he conquered it. You pondered how he hadn’t bought his freedom, or had earned it. He would make an impressive military general…

You had shared looks. It was purely because you were around the same age. Not because of the half-lidded gaze he faced you with or how statuesque his body stood… let alone in the heat of combat.

Towering over you- swamping you… no.

There was just something about Rex that left you intrigued.

That night you agreed to a soirée from some socialites in your family’s circle. Meeting place- the ruins that were by your villa on the outskirts of Rome.

The only catch was to wear a mask- and so you did. Weaving through backstreets and the footpath down the grassy hill. Met with torchlight and… naked bodies. Not uncommon for the majority but irregular for you. Stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of flesh.

Heart leaping from your chest- two hands on your shoulders, “You shouldn’t be here, little miss Silvanus…” How did somebody recognise you? Face met with a broad chest… you’d know that maimed, chiselled frame anywhere. Appearing in your dreams… never this close before in reality.

How had he gotten out of the jails beneath the Colosseum? “Rex… how- ?”

“I slip the guards some money and they let me out until sunrise,” You could get him in trouble punishable by mutilation or death. Warmth from those lips against your neck, “Now how did YOU end up here? This isn’t the place for someone like you…” Your cheeks were inflamed, his smirk spoke as much looking down at you. Normally so stoic and unspeaking, must be the wine.

Palm against his chest- cut nails grazed slightly. Light teal peered down at your hand. Aching in your chest as those eyes met yours.

You had meant to push him away, now finding yourself reeling the gladiator back in. “I’m going to leave, I don’t know anyone here,” with care his hand caught yours.

“No, live your life. And you know me, I’ll be your escort for the evening…”

“Don’t be a fool. We’ve never spoken before- we don’t know each other…” a shining look beamed down at you.

Holding out his looped arm- scattered blanched lumps amongst his veins, “Trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen, unless I have a death wish…”

You had been dubious, but the wine rushed to your head… stripping any clothes you had on. Remembering the dancing with Rex, his hands on your bare waist. The only thing between you and him was the loincloth he wore.

You were just eighteen then… and accompanied your father to train on the daily from then on. Passing glances between you and Rex grew more frequent.

He hadn’t been inappropriate with his hands, even in your wayward state. That left you with many questions not enough answers to fulfill them about the famed gladiator.

You needed to get some air, away from the crowded stadium. Navigating the maze, bumping into rock… “Fuck!” relieved seeing his helmed face, blood dripping from a cut on his neck. “Thank God, it’s just you. Are you alright?” Not able to help but reach up. Thumb nearly touching the wound, he clasped your hand in his own. Dropping both to the side.

“Just a cut…” It wasn’t just a cut but you knew he could take care of himself- he’d survived this long. Rex’s neck craned- lips brushing your ear… a reflection of that night. “Come to the ruins at midnight…” Soft against you- a hand at your waist for that glimmer of a second. Then you acted like strangers.

You had become adept at scaling your balcony and down the ivy in relative silence. Your parents none the wiser as their daughter appeared as a wisp in the wind- flowing sheer material tousled on the hill.

So you found yourself stargaze on a slab of crumbled slabs, balmy flurries on your skin. “The Lion…” Hefty palms so forbearing when guiding your pointing hand along the stars above you.

“Thank you, Rex…” You didn’t see the wince when you spoke his name.

He did drop your hand from his, “That’s the name they gave to me when they took me away…” Revenant and hallowed…

“You’re not from Italia?” Body on its side, looking down at that face. So at peace but trouble all the same.

His head shook, “The Romans call it Noricum. When they arrived at my village, they thought I’d make a good gladiator… so here I am…” It wouldn’t take a genius to note the dejection in his tone…

You took his hand in yours, finally looking your way instead of up- away from the tragedy that was mankind and their conquests, “So what IS your name? Where you come from, what do they call you?” A solemn look on his face- maybe hindrance. But he trusted you.

“König… it means ‘king’…” So not entirely different from the name he was given in the Colosseum. They meant the same.

You didn’t say that to him, not even a word. Thumb brushing against the new wound on jawline- avoiding after one swipe. Your face all he saw, “Well, I’m glad I’ve met you König…” Lips pressed against his, chapped but nothing that bothered you. Taken aback when he sat up, mouth agape and he swept in. Deepening the feeling, a pang in your chest while steadying yourself on his solid middle.

His brandished hands were intoxicating against the soft skin of your jaw, anchoring you where he needed you. He broke the symmetry you shared, “You’re an amazing woman…” Hooking a leg over his hips, oh… that’s how he yearned for you. “It’s wrong, isn’t it? A peasant with a noblewoman…” Nails scraping along his glorious skin… all yours for the taking then and there. You were on top of him, felt his intention and he could see the lust in your eyes.

“I’m just Y/N, and you’re just König… not a noblewoman or Rex the gladiator…” A sharpe inhale from the man beneath you as the straps of your stola dropped. As if he’d never seem a pair of breasts before. Another tone dripped from him with your hand reaching past the fabric to his hardness.

Whatever Gods listened, may they help you… you’d seen many before- men in Rome weren’t afraid to be in the nude but this was a brute.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea, lining yourself up over that large tip. The etching on your face, the squeak of your voice… “Gods be merciful…” You could take it. He remained still while you sucked him in constricted walls.

“Relax,” Fingers rubbed your thighs, tingles spurring down to your core. Looking into his eyes was the main help- his face… the sweat caught on his brow, down into those thickets of blond that had grown up since you’d met him. “It’s just me, my love…” You sank down further after hearing that… tears prickled… finding some kind of pleasure in that overwhelming burn.

That night you saw more than stars, raging breath matching your panting. Stilling yourself against König, limp in his capable arms. Picking up the pace when you begged for it.

Moaning obscene nonsense as his came inside of you, going for another round against the desecrated marble pillar. Hands on his broad shoulders. Screaming his name, not the one they had given to him.

You repeated that routine every Day of Venus, the fifth day of the week.

Tongue exploring every inch of your body, fingers collapsing you over the edge. A few more scratches on his back…

It was that way, until he won the sword… earning his freedom. Released from your father’s hands and the city’s.

König, known by all as Rex, was a free man- rich from the earnings he had stored in those five years. Famous and taken on by the Roman military.

You supposed he had forgotten about your times together… not hearing from him for half a cycle. Until one day he was at your family’s villa for a dinner, seated across from each other at the marble slabbed table. Icy sage staring at you, “General Rex, I’m sure you remember my daughter…”

A grin slack on his face, “I believe so, Y/N, wasn’t it?”

He had you against your bedroom door that night, apologising for the absence while rutting into your legs- wide open for his thickness.

Then it was marriage celebrations a mere week later.

Splitting your legs apart, revealing your sex. Ravenous was an understatement, but he had to control himself, “I’m never leaving these legs.” Thrusting his hips forward, “Never.”

You didn’t know if the gladiator had conquered you or if you had conquered you…

König the only thing you could mumble when he split you in two.

————

masterlist

[saints-who-never-existed]

So we all know that Blanky is cool and badass as fuck. That goes without saying. There's a sense, right from the get-go really, that he pretty much always knows what to do in any given situation.

Blanky knows when humour will lift a mood, and when seriousness is required. He knows when to give grace and kindness, and when to dole out much-needed tough-love.

I think it always worth repeating, though, that none of that would be possible without an extremely high degree of empathy and emotional intelligence. To me, that's Blanky's real greatest strength. It's the root of what makes him so cool and badass as fuck so I want to ramble more about some examples of it.

-

In Episode Two, for instance, we have his nighttime conversation with Crozier where Blanky matches the captain's energy beat for beat.

He laughs with him first about the erstwhile reindeer and while he remains optimistic throughout the rest of the scene, he's also honest, both acknowledging Crozier's various fears and drilling down to the root of them immediately - "Aye. You trusted Ross and you trusted Parry."

When Crozier remarks on his perceptiveness, Blanky's incredibly tactful and kind too - a casual "No, it's just that I know you." when in reality Crozier's been doing a horseshit job of concealing his thoughts and they're visible from fuckin' space.

-

In the following episode, I think the response Blanky gives to Little's fearful teatime diatribe is great.

In contrast to Crozier's vague and even condescending reply which only seems to rile him up further, Blanky shuts Little down clearly and firmly but without being unkind. I think a simple, factual response was the right tactic for the lawful-good sort of guy Little is.

I think his accurate judgement of Little's character is further confirmed later in the episode vis a vis the clandestine rescue party. He's right when he says "Lieutenant Little will never agree to it."

-

Another example that's very special to me personally is in Episode Five and it's not Blanky delivering his warning after Crozier punches Fitzjames, or even when he lightens the mood with jokes and toasts before having his own fuckin' leg sawn off (although I could talk about those forever).

It's actually a wee almost throwaway line Blanky utters to McDonald right before he heads up on deck:

"He's ill with it now..."

Crozier's behaved abhorrently to everyone around him up until that point. He's been vicious and manipulative, cruel and thoughtless. Threatening to throw Silna out into the elements and actually following through with Blanky, ordering him out into weather he knows full well is so cold that it literally just killed a man.

It would be so easy for Blanky to decide that that was final straw, that he was done with Crozier's bullshit. But no! Even then, even then, Blanky seems to be able to take a step back to some degree. To recognise Crozier's alcoholism for what it is - a debilitating illness and not some great moral failing.

It used to confuse me to some degree why Blanky would greet Crozier so warmly at Carnivale (other than the fact that the absolute mad-lad is drunk off his ass). Like, that's the man who made the decision that lead to you nearly dying and losing a limb - how can you just hug him as if none of that happened? But the more I thought about that earlier line, the more clearly it spoke of the incredible depth of understanding and feeling Blanky has for Crozier and the more beautiful that relationship became. He can forgive him so quickly because he can see so clearly the true person under the difficult surface.

-

We talk so much about Blanky remaining outside of the horror story the rest of the characters come to inhabit, refusing to dignify it with his presence. And, again, I just think an important part of the reason he's able to do so is that he sees the world around him and the people within in it for exactly what it is and for exactly who they are. It's just a lot harder to jump-scare a man who sees the mask you're wearing from a mile away, and understands precisely why you've donned it.

[spideyhexx]

11 pm thoughts with kit;

nsfw

Coriolanus' intention was to sleep.

All he wanted was to bask in the warmth of his quilt and his mattress, one that still smelled new, that was still getting used to his body's place on it.

It had been a long day of university, but a welcoming one. More questions about his time in 12, about you, who is now adorned on his arm like an exquisite bracelet half the time he's in public, and about everything in between. He was quick to accept your father's offer for your hand in marriage and you seemed just as eager, the praised Coriolanus Snow, apprenticing under Dr. Gaul and likely to take over as gamemaker in a few years time.

Your life was set up for you in an instant.

Coriolanus made a promise to himself that the entire engagement, then marriage, would be treated like a business transaction. Sure, he respected you and he appreciated you, but he couldn't let himself feel more than that. So when thoughts of you today flitted across his mind as he tried to sleep, he considered boiling himself in his shower to rid himself of them.

He could afford to waste warm water now, but the absolute comfort of his bed made him unable to get up. Coriolanus thought about when he was with you today. The way you lightly jogged over to him after your class and kissed his cheek, and he couldn't tell if you did it for show or if you genuinely wanted to do that. It left residue from your gloss and for some reason, he found himself not scrubbing it off of himself immediately. Instead, he let it linger, fester into his skin and he's undoubtedly regretting it now.

How would that gloss feel when your lips touched his own? Or other places on himself. Coriolanus pushes his face into his pillow as he rolls onto his stomach, hoping the slight suffocation will distract him.

It did not.

You sat so close to him during lunch that he could feel the heat of your body, your thigh pressed to his, foot knocking into his foot, your hand bumped his when you grabbed your fork, and you even rested your head to his arm for a couple of seconds (seven seconds, he counted).

Coriolanus thought it was impressive. The show you put on of your romance, yet in private he rarely talked to you unless he was invited to your family's dinner or Tigris invited you over. Was that so wrong of him? Did you care? He liked to think you were just as precise and particular as him. Simply, very good at putting on a front. Enough for any of your peers and anyone else looking in to see you two and think, they are going to be a powerful husband and wife.

Coriolanus turns his head to let himself breath, letting out a deep exhale. He squeezes his eyes shut very tightly, but all he can see is that skirt you were wearing today. It was not meant to be so enticing, but on you...on you, Coriolanus felt abhorrent for thoughts he was having. Over a damn skirt. He's going too far, isn't he?

He deprived himself of these urges the moment he came back to the Capitol and he was hellbent on not giving in but oh what he would give to tug your skirt up a little. To let you sit on his lap and see how it rides up on your thighs. He could do that, couldn't he? You were going to be his wife and that meant the two of you would do something eventually.

That's the only way he could justify the slight ache he feels in his loose pajama pants as he shifts on the bed. He forgot how nice it feels. To let himself have some sort of friction. Coriolanus realizes he's pressing his hips into his mattress and makes himself stop. He turns on his side, looking under the blanket to see the problem he's made.

He tries to ignore it. He really does. With every thought of you that pops into his head, he thinks of one to deter it and make his situation go down, but nothing works. Nothing overrides your sweet smiles and the way you pushed a strand of his hair that fell loose from it's slicked back state back into place. How tightly you gripped his hand when you got scared over a big noise. How you buttoned the top button of his coat for him because it looked more sophisticated, as you said.

With a grumble, he turns onto his stomach again, and with more force, grinds himself against the mattress. It's not enough. Not nearly enough. His hands almost shake, with anticipation, with nerves, with looming regret, as he pushes his pants and boxers down, kicking them off completely.

Coriolanus can't think because if he thinks, he'll stop himself and if he stops himself, he'll feel even worse. He grabs the pillow he doesn't use and bunches it up, shoving it down the bed and pushing his bare cock to it, groaning into his pillow at his head. He licks his palm and rubs it all over to aid himself and groans again.

Fuck, that's better, he thinks.

In languid movements, he rocks back and forth, trying to find the right angle to please himself. He feels both in a rush and a longing to be slow, because who knows when he will let himself do this again. You flash across his vision, and Coriolanus wonders what it would be like to have you under him. Would you like his touch? His kisses? His mattress?

It would be your face shoved into his pillow, not his own, and he determines he'd fuck you slow. Letting you feel every part of him so he can savor it. Savoring is better.

Coriolanus uses his pillow to muffle any noises that slip out, mostly groans whenever he hits the right spot. He reaches a hand to himself, smearing the pre-come over his cock, the sound spurring him on to grind a little faster, a little easier. His hand pushes the pillow beneath him tight against his crotch, leaving no room to slip up and lose the friction he's created.

Would your sounds be pretty? He's sure of it. Your voice is already one that lures anyone in, so he would never doubt that in states of ecstasy, you'd be akin to a siren.

With each move of his hips, he makes a vow to himself that when he finally touches you, he won't get addicted to it. No matter what, Coriolanus will refuse to let it consume him. This is his one time to let the feelings loose, but when he actually has you wrapped around him, he will be stronger.

A few more short jerks of his hips and he's spilling all over the pillow, stomach tightening and slightly sweaty, he lets himself rest. He ignores the mess, the literal and the figurative mess amounting in his head, biting his cheek so hard, he draws some blood.

What was he thinking.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter I - In Between These Lines

Summary: Aemond had been avoiding you all day, and you were determined to get some answers, and maybe comfort him when he needed you to.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 2,4k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Hello hello! It's the day of the (official) release of the season 2 finale of HotD and I thought it was the perfect time to publish this. I have been meaning to write for this fandom for quite some time now, and this one had been on my mind for quite some time now and I decided to write it down and see where it went, and I’m quite proud of how it turned out.

Just to clear some things up: reader is Rhaenyra’s eldest child (yes, I went for that trope), being one or two years younger than Aemond and one or two years older than Jace (so she and Aemond are more or less the same age). This first chapter is set on the same day of the Pink Dread incident (season 1, episode 6), which means they are children. (Also, I don't understand anything of palm reading, but that's kinda the whole point)

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

Next chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

He had been ignoring you all day. The only time you even managed to catch a glimpse of him was on the courtyard during his training lessons with Ser Criston, accompanied by both your brothers and his own. It was pretty boring, really, watching from afar as it would be considered ‘improper’ for you to join them, even though both your father and Ser Harwin had taken upon themselves to teach you the ways of the steel in secret (even though you had a strong suspicion your mother was well aware of it). At least you got some free entertainment for the day, watching Ser Harwin beat the absolute shit out of Cole.

Serves him right for being cunt to my brothers, you had thought.

You’d normally prefer to spend your afternoons with Helaena, truly enjoying the girl’s company, her fascination with bugs and beetles and her clever mind never failing to make you smile. However, you’d later have to apologize to your aunt for skipping on your daily meeting as you ventured around the keep in search of her brother. You were supposed to meet at the weirwood tree after he got back from going to the pit with the boys so you could work on your high valyrian lessons together, but as the minutes passed you began to worry and set out to find him. 

You thoroughly believed he wasn’t even going to show up at supper, his mother smiling softly albeit crookedly upon your questioning, claiming he was feeling indisposed, but to your surprise he did come in if only a little late. He wasn’t acting like himself, however, choosing to sit in the seat furthest away from you, where he would normally sit right by your side, leaving the seat vacant for Aegon to sit next to you, his abhorrent manners at the table almost making you physically recoil. He didn’t look at anyone, nor did he speak to anyone unless spoken to and he seemed way more interested in poking around his food than actually eating it. And once the meal was over and everyone was excused he practically vanished, rushing out of the hall before you could even rise to your feet.

Now, as night had fallen, you were determined to find him and get some answers. Goosebumps formed on your skin as you ventured deeper in the hidden passages of the Keep where your sword lessons were held, the chilly air of King’s Landing biting at your exposed arms. You walked with confidence, knowing for a fact both your chambers were connected through these halls. You just hoped to the Old Gods and the New that you did in fact know where you were going and that you didn’t accidentally walk in on Aegon doing something very morally questionable with one of the servants.

Please let it be this one, you prayed as your fingers pressed against a loose panel on the wall.

And it seemed you had to look no further. Aemond was half submerged in a bath arranged in the middle of the room (confirming these were, indeed, his chambers), the ends of his hair sticking to his skin as water clung to the strands. Upon hearing the wall moving he startled, his eyes widening as he desperately scrambled to try and cover some of his modesty, even though you could barely see anything below the waterline.

“B-by the Gods!” he squirmed, clearly not expecting visitors at this hour, and you felt an amused smirk building on your lips at his attempts at covering up.

“Worry not, uncle.” you jested walking closer to the tub after closing the secret door behind you “You seem to forget I have three younger brothers. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

His cheeks tinged with a bright shade of pink.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?!” he tried once again to cover up, trying to look anywhere but at you standing in the middle of his chambers in only your nightclothes.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you asked, the smirk promptly slipping from your face.

He seemed momentarily taken aback by such a question, looking away almost… ashamed?

“I have done no such thing, I have just been busy?” he tried, though his words lacked any conviction and ended up sounding more like a question.

“You promised to meet me after going to the Dragonpit.” you spoke softly “But you never came.”

At this he didn’t have a rebuttal, not one that wouldn’t give too much away, so he simply shrugged, his gaze cast down into the water. But you could tell from the way he shrunk under your gaze that there was something more to it.

“Did something happen in the Dragonpit?” you asked, taking a couple of slow and careful steps closer to him. When he stayed silent, only scrunching his eyes as if it physically pained him to think about it, you tried again “Aemond… what happened at the Dragonpit?”

“Nothing happened!” he snapped, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, before his voice acquired a venomous tone “Now if you could excuse me, little niece, I find myself quite occupied at the moment and don’t have the time to entertain you right now. Go meddle on somebody else’s business.”

Had you been anybody else you’d have left by now, with your tail between your legs and tears dripping down your face over the lashing of his tongue. And although his words did sting and left you feeling slightly humiliated, you stood your ground. You’d like to think that after all these years, having grown up together in the Red Keep, you’d come to know your uncle, your friend, better than anyone by now. You knew he, very much like yourself, was more reserved in his feelings, keeping them to himself, but once they finally bubbled over they tended to burn everything in their path. Aemond, like you, was the blood of the dragon after all. And you had come to learn that when he was hurting he tended to lash out at anyone and everyone around him, intending to inflict the same hurt onto others so he wasn’t left alone in his misery.

So, taking a steadying breath, you closed the distance between the two of you, carefully climbing inside the tub with him. The water was lukewarm, and given the propensities of the members of the Targaryen family to enjoy their baths scalding hot, it told you that he’d probably been here for quite a while now, sulking alone.

As you lowered yourself into the water, he pressed himself further into the side of the wooden tub, trying to stay as further away from you as possible. 

“T-this is hardly appropriate, niece.” he stammered, trying not to let his eyes curiously wander down to your now soaked nightgown.

You stayed silent for a moment, contemplating the situation you found yourself in, but you’d gone too far now to back down without the answers you seek.

“So, are you going to tell me what the matter is?”

He didn’t answer, but even though he refused to look directly at you, you spotted a lone tear escaping down his cheek.

“Aemond-”

“They gave me a pig.” he whispered, his gaze once again cast down.

“What?”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes finally meeting yours, and you could see the weight of the anger and the shame he’d been caring throughout the entire day.

“After Jacaerys finished his training with Vermax, he, Aegon and Lucerys mentioned they had found a dragon for me.” his voice wavered slightly as he recounted the event “I should not have believed them, I was such a fool… they brought a pig, decorated with wings and all.” more tears escaped his eyes, your heart clenching in your chest at the sight “‘The Pink Dread’ they called it.”

“Oh, Aemond-”

“I don’t want your pity, niece!” he lashed out once again, and you had to remind yourself it wasn’t personal “If that is all you came here for you can see yourself out.”

You pursed your lips, a frown etched on your face. You knew how much it pained him to remain dragonless. He had shared his thoughts with you once in the library after your lessons in high valyrian, way past the time you should have retired to your respective chambers. How he thought himself a disgrace to the Targaryen name, ashamed at not having a dragon for himself when even your younger brother Luke already had Arrax. You tried to console him but he was having none of it, too caught up in his self-loathing to listen. So you knew nothing you said could comfort him how he deserved.

An idea struck you. It was a stupid one, and you didn’t even know if it would work, but you had to try even if it backfired spectacularly. So you scooted closer to him in the tub, fitting between his spread legs without touching him, and extended your palm out.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes wide and confused.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just give me your hand.” you coaxed, making come-hither with your extended fingers.

Once he realized you weren’t going to give him any further explanation, he did as he was told, laying his hand over your own, his palm facing down, which you quickly turned around. You started tracing the lines on his palm gently with your other hand, so concentrated you barely noticed the goosebumps forming on his skin from your ministrations.

“What-?” he started but you were quick to cut him off with a gentle ‘shhh’, which promptly shut him up, only slightly offended.

“See here?” you pointed at one of the lines in his palm, tracing it with your finger “It is your line of life. See how long it is? It means you shall live a long and fulfilling life.”

He glanced at you, still not understanding a word you were saying, and you gave him a soft, encouraging smile. 

“And see this one?” you pointed to another line “This is your line of heart. It turns upwards, which means you will be wed to a nice lady one day, and that you will love eachother very deeply and rejoice in your happiness together.”

You don’t know why saying that made your heart ache only slightly, but the sight of a smile slowly but surely curling on his lips made it all worth it, as it meant your plan was working. 

“And here,” you curled your fingers, closing his hand inside your own, and pointing to the lines that formed on the outer side “two deep lines and one shallow, meaning you’ll have three children when you grow older, two daughters and a son. And from how deep these two lines are, the girls will be very beautiful, they will probably give you a headache from how many suitors they will have.”

To this he chuckled, his tears long forgotten, and you giggled along with him.

“And here…” you opened his hand once again, and pointed to a long vertical line that crossed almost the entirety of his palm “is your line of the dragon. Only those of Targaryen descent have this one on their palms, see?” you pointed to your own hand which showed a similar line, different only in length “It means you will have a dragon one day.”

At this his face fell and he tried to rip his hand from you, but you held onto it firmly.

“The lines don’t lie.” you rushed to explain, now focused on his eyes as they softened at your words “You can check for yourself. Your brother and sister both have it on their hands, my own brothers have it. Seven Hells, you can even check Princess Rhaenys hands, she has one as well.”

You searched his eyes for any trace of doubt and found none.

“You will have a dragon one day, Aemond.” you squeezed his hand to emphasize our point “I’m sure of it.”

His smile grew on his face, sheepish but sincere, only a flick of his lips away from becoming a smirk.

“You just came up with all that, didn’t you?” he asked, and you gasped in mock offense, pushing against his shoulder.

“You wound me, uncle!” you pressed your hand against your heart “Why would I do such a thing?”

A beat passed before both of you burst out laughing, not one bit concerned the guards stationed just outside his door could probably hear you. You were glad you could make him smile again and give him some comfort, knowing you had succeeded on your mission.

As you both calmed down you looked at him once again, truly looked at him. He was quite beautiful when he smiled, and oh, how you wished he would do it more often around you. In that moment only the two of you existed, together. When asked later you wouldn’t be able to tell what came over you in that very moment, but once you realized what you were doing you had surged forward, pressing your lips against his in the gentlest, softest of kisses.

No sooner had your lips come in contact with his own, you were pulling back, eyes widening in panic. His own were blown wide as well, surprised by your actions. You didn’t waste a second climbing out of the tub, almost toppling over the side in your rush, your drenched nightclothes making your task all the more difficult.

“Wait!” he tried to hold onto you but you were quicker “Please, don’t go, I-!”

But you were already making your way to the hidden passage on the wall and disappearing from his chambers. He would have thought he had fallen asleep in the bath and dreamed the whole thing had it not been for the dark trail left behind going from the tub all the way to the wall from where water had dripped from your body in your haste to get away. 

And if, come the next morrow, he forcefully grabbed his mother’s hand and flip it to look at her palms, much to her protests, and notice a line present on the exact place where you had pointed the so called ‘line of the dragon’ the night before, his smile gave away the gratitude he felt for you at that moment.

[vagabond-umlaut]

affaire de cœur

Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone'; gallons of domestic fluff between sukuna and reader; hints of spicy times; no warnings except sukuna is very much sukuna here but you too are there, so he's sort of a better sukuna... [not loads better, though]

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Repeat those words after me, my lord."

"No."

The pouty face you vault his way from the other end of the bathhouse makes Sukuna huff an annoyed sigh. Few monsoons back, you would never even see him in the eye, gaze trained on his feet – until he lifted your chin up; even then you would shyly avert your gaze — yet, now?

Now, you show the boldness to wear such a pathetic expression while making such an imbecilic request– nay, demand of him– locking your gaze with his the entirety of the time, no less.

Another sigh finds its route past his lips. Watching the way those sin-filled lips of yours twitch in a tiny smile before dipping into a pout, he groans.

"Alright. Fine," Sukuna grumbles, resting his two arms on the edge of the tub while the other two move to card through his damp hair, "Will you ever leave me for another, woman?"

Your eyebrows rise for a beat, the second the question you chomped his ears off earlier for, leaves his mouth. Your lover rolls his eyes, loud scoffs erupting from him at the utter inanity of the whole situation at hand — you, not beside by him, but beside those damned towels and bath soaps; him, not soaking in the warmth of your flesh but of these bath waters; the humid bathhouse not resonating with the sounds of your whines but with the remnants of a query, whose answer he does not care the least for, for no matter what you say or do, he will not—

"Yes, I will."

Your clear voice scatters his thoughts away, akin a strong wind and a handful of chaff. Sukuna freezes, every crimson eye of his fixed upon your approaching figure– your soft footfalls, your yellow yukata, your simple hairdo, your angelic smile...

Your husband takes a while too long before discovering his lost voice, eyes narrowed, throat tight and chest heavy as he asks you, "You will leave me, pet?"

"Uh-huh, I sure will," you hum in response, sitting on the stool next to the tub and moistening a towel. Sukuna moves to grasp your wrist in his palm but pauses when he catches you switch your attention from the towel to him, a terrifying emotion brimming in your tender gaze.

You draw in a tiny breath before speaking, voice now a mere whisper.

"Show me someone who is the most feared creature to ever exist, yet is a sulking mess if he isn't being cuddled in bed till noon every single day; someone who detests humans like I detest carrots, yet visits the monthly market in secret, to get gifts for his close one; someone who everyone's told me is the worst, yet goes on to prove, again and again and again, how he's the absolute best in this world—"

You stop suddenly.

Chest growing heavy from an entirely different reason now, your lover drinks in the manner your smile widens, your fragile fingers letting go of the cloth to trace those markings on his skin instead – you resume.

"Show me someone whose embraces feel the safest place in all the three realms, and I swear, my king, I'll leave you and run to his arms without thinking twice."

For the first time in his millennium of existence, the two-faced curse feels the same distress of being paralysed, as his mere mien induces in the muscles of his miserable victims— except, it isn't the fear of an end to his life which is causing this abhorrent weakness to him unlike those worthless mortals— no.

It is the fear of the unknown, of the uncharted, which is rendering his powerful self so, so powerless before your blinding brilliance. Sukuna thinks death might be an easier journey to undertake than these odd realisations your voice and touch elicit in him always.

These days, more so.

This moment, very much so.

The addicting timbre of your voice rouses him from his musings, the second time that night.

"Is every–"

"Is that supposed to be a love confession?" Your husband cuts you off before you can finish your question. You slowly blink at him once then twice, before leaning backwards and picking up the forgotten cloth, a visibly coy giggle bubbling out you as you return to washing his skin.

"Yes," you agree after a beat, gaze darting to his face before skittering away again, "That is supposed to be a love confession for my beloved king; though I wonder what my lord thinks of it. Was it heart-touching as I intended to make it? Or did it sound too tedious to him?"

The addressed being deliberately makes a big show of rolling each of his four eyes at your query. "Neither," he says, curling his lip in a show of vexation before they lift a little at the lower lip you jut out, "And you should count yourself to be lucky that you're my wife, not a worthless mortal, pet. For if you were not my wife–"

"– you would've sliced me into halves without a moment's hesitation," you finish the rest of the sentences for him with a fond shake of your head. "Trust me, my king, I know you. I do, I rea– Sukuna!!!"

The startled shriek of his name— not my lord or my king but Sukuna —parts the curse's lips in a smirk, which widens on noticing the warm water slowly seeping into your clothes, making them translucent; and you staring up at him with a disbelieving look etched onto your pretty face.

Sukuna allows his smirk to melt away into a genuine smile, for once.

Nestling your drenched form closer to himself, he closes his eyes to rest his forehead on your shoulder, palms holding you as if you were not a member of the race he lives for the sake of tormenting, but an invaluable blessing, beings he has never believed in, sent earthward for his damned self.

Which is true, the curse reckons. You indeed are a blessing he knows he doesn't deserve – yet will keep for and with himself for an eternity and some more.

Pressing you closer to himself, your husband lifts his head to plant a kiss to your forehead, followed by your warm cheeks — hoping you'll understand the meaning behind every reverent contact he's marking your form with now.

After all, you know him really well, don't you?

[You do— which is only why you reciprocate every brush of his sharp canine over your skin, with a brush of your soft palm over the wicked, handsome, wickedly handsome visage of the love of your life.]

▸ masterlist

[blazethecheeto]

Things Sanders Sides Characters Absolutely Have Said

Remus, with a headache: Advil me up, daddy.

Logan: I will short out the language centre of your brain if you say anything like that ever again.

-

Logan: Janus, this morning, I called you abhorrent and reprehensible, and I’d like to withdraw that statement-

Janus: Aww, thanks-

Logan: But I can't. Those are the 2 words that best describe you.

-

Roman: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!?

Janus: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

-

Logan: How long do you think it'll take?

Virgil: I don’t know, three or four.

Logan: Three or four what? Days? Weeks? Months?

Virgil: Yeah, maybe five.

Logan: Five what?!

-

Virgil: So are you gonna explain how the hell you crashed my car?

Logan: Well we were driving and there was a deer in the road, so I said "Patton, deer!"

Virgil: ...And what did Patton do?

Logan: ...He said "Yes, Honey?"

-

Roman: There's no way he cares about any of us.

Thomas: Remus would throw himself in front of a moving car for us!

Roman: Remus would throw himself in front of a moving car for fun.

-

Patton: Where the devil is Janus?

Virgil: Well, it is raining outside... Maybe he melted?

Roman: Shall I look outside for a pointy hat?

-

Patton: That's it, you're grounded! Roman, no adventures for you! Logan, no debating for you! Janus, no stealing for you! And Virgil... oh my god, is there anything that you love?

Virgil: Revenge.

Patton: No vengeance for you.

Virgil: I was going to say "I'll get you for this," but I guess that's off the table.

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