#heart of steel drabbles

[breakingdiamondboi]

you're got to be kidding me, why did i miss the opportunity to buy Transformers: Evolutions Hearts of Steel?? I need to see Bee's little ankylosaurus alt mode like RIGHT NOW???? that is by far the best and cutest dino they could've given Bee! a little anky running around being the cute little guy?? are you kidding me!! i swear i'm gonna lose it one of these days by my inability to foresee my future wants smh

[mundanemiseries]

updated tags (pt 8/?)

[mingtinys]

lost for words

pairing : lee jihoon x gn!reader

fluff , drabble , ultimate simp jihoon

warnings : none

word count : 0.6 k

requested ? no

a/n : this is what i imagine it would sound like if woozi wrote his own "shall i compare thee to a summers day"

Jihoon is nothing short of talented. A maestro amongst artists and a musical prodigy to his peers.

He can pluck strings until they sing and make his fingertips fly across piano keys in a way that makes them melt together into a symphony. He can breathe life into a school child's recorder that could charm a brewing storm and he can fit together words like a jigsaw to reveal a lyrical masterpiece worthy of the Louvre. Trust, Jihoon has no qualms over his musical competence.

But how is it that he struggles to find any combination of words suitable to the occasion? Why now does his brain falter when it thinks of ways to encompass just how much he loves you? Not a dictionary in the world would be adequate enough to measure that of which he feels.

Because what he feels for you could not possibly be contained to ink on paper, you're much too special for something as archaic as that. Everything about you is so breathtaking. An enigma he's simply been blessed to experience in this lifetime. Jihoon could carve your likeness into crystal under the moonlight and it wouldn't be nearly as mesmerizing as the real thing.

Jihoon believes you outshine even the brightest stars against a jet-black sky. He'd choose the ones in your eyes to stare at for hours over the Milky Way in a heartbeat. Your voice sings a sweeter melody than Apollo's harp on a warm summer day. One he wishes he could capture and play on a loop for all of eternity. If all of history's greatest composers put their minds to one piece, still, they could not conduct a symphony worthy of your essence.

And, oh, how you call his name has him hearing bells. You light a fire inside him like flint dragged across steel— like a bow across strings. Your hand fits into his palm like the bout of a violin and he can't get enough of the harmony you bring to his life. Just your presence alone grounds him in ways he never knew possible.

When he kisses your lips, Jihoon can taste a song so decedent it leaves him full for days. Soft and delicate touches that crescendo into passion personified pluck at the strings of his heart in the late hours. The feeling of his arms around your waist as you sleep provides an indomitable security. Your even breaths fan against his collarbone like a lullaby, easing him to sleep. Then, when he wakes, you're still there, greeting him like a songbird.

You are his muse, his life, and everything more.

Jihoon understands now why so many of history's greatest ballads are written for lovers. Because the human language is a fickle thing. Always changing, never quite perfect, unsatisfactory in the eyes of man. Music lives on for centuries beyond their composers. It is, by all definitions of the word, immortal. There will always be someone to enjoy its tune and pass it down for years to come.

A song is but a time capsule of the memories that brought it to life. And Jihoon is not a man selfish enough to deny future generations of your beauty. He would write a song a day if it meant cementing your memory in history.

If only he could find the words.

"Are you ready?" Seungcheol's deep voice pierces through the thin silence.

"Not at all." Jihoon inhales as deeply as he can in his suit that feels one away thread from being too tight, then exhales slowly. The parchment with his vows crinkles and folds at the bend between his fingers.

The words in his palm are no soliloquy, but his heart bled them with every ounce of love he could muster through shaky hands. And the gold band on his finger is a gentle reminder he has a lifetime to spend writing ballads in your honor. There are only two words he needs to worry about right now.

I do.

[i520u]

ᵎᵎ 𓏲 ❛ you are in love

TAGS ◝ sfw, fluff, drabble

PAIRINGS ◝ anton x gn!reader

SUMMARY ◝ anton doesn’t know that he’s in love.

NOTE ◝ i was in my feelings this was based off you are in love by ts

Shyness was something he can never rid himself of. He was also tall, which makes the combination between reserved and tall intimidating to other people. Anton was grateful for his introverted behaviour for most of the part, he doesn’t really enjoy being in the centre of attention. He liked to keep his thoughts to himself, and he hated when people went, “huh?” when he speaks because his voice is so soft.

He’s grateful for the way he is, except for one thing. His shyness completely stops him from approaching you.

He thinks you’re amazing. He wasn’t exactly sure why he would think you’re amazing, he just does. You’re always so radiant when you enter the room. He adores the way you would whisper with your friends during classes, giggling and gossiping – doing everything but paying attention to the teacher. In a way, Anton realised that he was also not paying attention, but his case was different. He admires that you would never shy away from anything, like you’ve got a heart of steel. He knows he could never do what you do.

He doesn’t think of you as his crush, he didn’t believe that it was ever that serious to him. Even if he did think it was serious, he wouldn’t label you as something as fleeting as a crush. You were so much more than that. Anton could never label you under any existing ones, he just knew that you were more than what he could utter with his words.

You don’t talk to Anton much, he was just another classmate to you. However, you also wonder why you always find yourself attending his swimming competitions, constantly cheering him on. Maybe it was because you just wanted to support your classmate. Maybe you were drawn to him, but you don’t even realise it.

Whatever it may be, you never really thought about it for too long – you’ve always been supportive. Anton knew it too. You were the only person he’d ever search for before and after his competitions end. And you were always there. Always.

So, when you weren’t there for the first time, Anton was haywired. He couldn’t focus under the water, he could barely breathe once he was out. He wasn’t frustrated by how badly he had performed. Hell, he wasn’t even affected from seeing his low scores, he was frustrated that you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there?

His mind started racing with more awful thoughts. His world was quite literally collapsing. Did something happen to you on your way here? You always came by yourself, and it wasn’t impossible that something could’ve happened to you. He was upset now, not with you – but with himself. He wasn’t sure why.

His mind raced with awful paranoia about your whereabouts once they announced the winner. He had lost the competition that day. But he didn’t care about any of that. Where were you? Did something happen? Or, have you simply gotten bored of watching him?

His mouth was dry as he walked out of the place with his silver medal, panicked-stricken. He wasn’t sure why he worried so much, but he didn’t care for the reason. He just needed to see you in person, or hear your voice. He needed to know you were okay. He was fine if you told him that you were bored of watching him, he just needed to be sure that you were okay.

Anton didn’t have your phone number, and he could only see you next week, Monday. He couldn’t wait that long.

It was like a black void was surrounding him as his worry grew and grew. 

Then, “Anton?” His eyes perked up to the person standing in front of him, the familiarity of your voice instantly washed away every single worry he had. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, his mouth was slightly agape. “Y/N.” He breathed, “are you hurt?” He asked, he needed to be sure.

It was an unusual question to ask to a mere classmate that you barely talk to, but you also noticed the genuine worry in his eyes, the pained expression. He was restless as he waited for your response. “I’m not.” You kept your voice soft as you talked to him, “I’m sorry, it seems like I missed the match this time.” You sighed, you looked apologetic, your eyes trailing at his silver medal, then to the hand that was gripping it. His knuckles were white.

Anton could feel himself let out a breath of relief, his muscles relaxing. He had been holding his breath, and he didn’t even notice it. “You’re here now.” He blurted out, he wasn’t even sure what he had just said to you. There was a long pause between you and him in the quiet corridors. Anton was freaking out, he wondered if he had said too much. “That’s all that matters to me. You’re here.” He ended up saying.

You could hear it in the silence between the two of you as you processed his words. He is in love.

[orinfucker]

cravings

summary: your desperation to learn about your past has led you to the door of the one and only enver gortash, and he is more then happy to refresh your memory.

warnings: fem!reader, durge!reader, blood, slight manipulation (gortash), suggestive, making out, finger sucking, pet names, dom!gortash

note: small drabble of durge x gortash because i am sooo normal about them! might write a part two to this but i’m not sure yet.

you knew this was wrong; sneaking out of camp in the midst of the night to meet with a man you had no knowledge of. but, who could blame you? everything he said about your urges wasn’t wrong, only someone who experienced them first hand would have the information he possessed.

so here you are, blindly trudging your aching legs up the staircase towards enver gortash’s office. you had your doubts about the man obviously, the way karlach had described him made your blood boil with anger; how dare he hurt one of your companions so badly. you knew this was a carelessly bad decision, but you needed to know more about this ‘past life’ of yours, and gortash seemed to have answers you craved.

“second door on the right.” you whispered aloud, reminding yourself of the steel watcher’s directions to the lord’s office. once you reached the polished door of his quarters, your body froze for just a second. was this really your only option? could you live knowing nothing of who you truly were? with a shaky breath, you curled your hand into a fist and knocked onto the wood of the door.

“ah, come in please.” a heavy voice spoke, the sounds of paper rustling echoing filling your senses. you fiddled with handle before finally opening the entrance to reveal the man you’d sought out: lord enver gortash. his presence was overwhelming to say the least, he held himself with such confidence it made the depths of your body ache. “i’m shocked to see you here, my dear. have you had a change of heart since the last we spoke?” you swallowed nervously, trying to search for the words to say, but nothing came up.

“perhaps we should make ourselves comfortable, to speak plainly with one another, yes?” gortash spoke, his eyes seeming to pierce right into your mind. a simple nod was your response before descending into his office, taking a seat at one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. “i, well, wanted to speak with you about my past.” gortash glanced towards you, and then a smirk plastered itself onto his face. “of course dear, ask me anything you would like.” the sultry tone of his voice sent a jolt of arousal through your body, one that felt oddly familiar to you.

“you’ve told me of my urges, something that is deeply personal to me,” you took a breath before continuing, “but i want, no, i need to know more about us.” gortash’s face twisted into a more sinister one before an amused laugh exited his throat. “you’ve been thinking about me then, is that it?” he began, leaning back into his chair as his eyes bore into your own. you shifted in your seat before shyly nodding in response. “when i heard your voice, it held such a familiarity, yet i have no clue who you are.”

gortash stood in his chair, circling around towards you own before kneeling to match your height. “that’s because we were something much more than business partners, my dear.” your face flushed over with red, immediately understanding the intent behind his words. “that.. can’t be right. i would never sleep with the likes of you.” you spat out in denial, refusing to believe you’d stoop to that level. “yet here you are, sitting in my office, begging to know about us. it seems to me that you want to indulge in our old ways.”

one of gortash’s hands began to trail over your knee, slowly edging up towards the clothed flesh of your thigh. you peered down at him for a moment, a feeling of lust clouding over your mind as the ministrations of his hand continued. “your body craves my touch, it aches to be used by me again.” you so badly wanted to refuse him, to feel repulsed at the feeling of his touch upon you, but every part of yourself cried out towards him.

gortash observed the way your face contorted from one of disgust, to one of desire. you felt an insatiable hunger rise within you, and without thought you leaned down to capture his lips in a messy kiss. the man below you groaned at the feeling, his teeth brushing against the flesh of your mouth before biting into your bottom lip, letting pecks of blood slip through them. you felt his tongue lick away the metallic substance before finally pushing away, heavy sighs leaving the both of you.

“my love, how i’ve missed you.” gortash breathed out as he stood from his knees, letting one of his hands come down to caress the side of your cheek. his thumb brushed against the fat of your bottom lip, wiping away the blood that was left from your raunchy kiss. “open.” your body could no longer resist; it obeyed every word, every breath that left gortash’s mouth. the flesh of your lips parted as his calloused thumb entered the cavern of your mouth, pressing down on the slimy organ inside before reaching for the back of your throat.

“you always were a nasty little thing.” his words sent chills throughout your body, a gag leaving your throat as his finger sunk deeper into you. “good girl.” gortash slowly removed his finger from you, wiping the spit and saliva away on the sides of your face. you looked up at him with doe eyes, practically begging the man to do anything he wanted to you. gortash took your hand between his own, helping you raise to your feet before guiding your body to lean against the edge of his desk.

“now, we have lots of catching up to do, don’t we pet?”

[shirefantasies]

Lord of the Rings Masterlist

(All works are x GN!Reader unless otherwise specified!)

☆ = Personal Favorite

ღ = Suggestive

꩜ = Humor

𖠋 = Parent AU

☮ = Platonic

Reactions/Scenarios

How The Fellowship Acts Around Their Crush

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound ღ꩜

Napping With the Fellowship ☆

Calling the Fellowship Pretty

When You’re Naturally Physically Affectionate

When You Give Them Flowers ☆

Their Favorite Body Part of Yours ☆

When You Call Everyone Pet Names

When You’re On Your Period (F!Reader) ღ

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character? ღ☆

Reaction to You Wanting Cuddles When Stressed

How They Confess to You ☆

With a People-Pleaser

Cold Hands, Warm Heart ☆

How Many Kids Do They Want? ☆𖠋

When You Have a Loyal Canine Companion

Things You Do Together ☆

Youngest Member is in a Courtship ☮

How the Fellowship Comforts You After a Nightmare ☆

The Fellowship Reacting to Your Fear of Heights

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version) ღ

Lotr Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader) 𖠋

How the Fellowship of the Ring Treat You When You’re Shy

LoTR Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader) ☆𖠋

How LoTR Characters Spend Your Birthday With You

LoTR Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship

Reacting to Their Flirty Jokester Crush

Seeing You Dressed Up For the First Time ☆

When They Accidentally Walk in on You Changing ꩜ღ

The Fellowship With Your Feline Companion

LoTR Characters + Buff Woman

One-Shots

Horse-Maid- Eomer x F!Reader

A Failure of Words- Haldir x GN!Reader ꩜

The Steel Lady of Imladris- Elrond x F!Elf!Reader

Sweet Spot- Boromir x GN!Reader ☆ ღ

Pie in the Sky- Pippin x F!Hobbit!Reader ☆

This Means War- Elrond x Wife!Reader (Drabble) ☆

The Weight of a Heart- Galadriel x F!Reader ☆

Hold Fast to Me- Legolas x Reader (Drabble)

Headcanons

Miscellaneous LoTR Headcanons

[brabblesblog]

They will never be you.

A small drabble set post-Cazador, pre-epilogue.

What if Astarion’s not the only insecure one in the relationship?

Angsty-ish with a happy ending. Enjoy!

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The drow who was now half draped over his arm was stunning.

You watch from across the room, your dinner half-eaten and abandoned, as he smirks at her and not so coyly puts his hand over her knee. Part of you wants to just storm over and ask him what the hell he was playing at, but the larger part of you thinks that this was to be expected.

After all, how was someone like you expected to match up to someone like him? Someone who turned heads wherever he went, who without any conscious effort stole the hearts of whoever was foolish enough to look at him for too long?

And you? You’re just you. You’ve never turned heads. You were never first choice.

Sure, he had chosen you. But really, weren’t you chosen because of circumstance? You were his first. You had chosen to protect him. You had saved him. How can you not be chosen?

You like to think you were special because you had seen beyond his physical beauty. Had loved him for more than that. However, you know it could have been anyone. Anyone in your position could have also done the same thing.

You weren’t chosen. You just happened to be there.

The slam of your mug down on the table makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look over at you. It would be embarrassing, if you weren’t so consumed with your thoughts.

“I’m retiring for the night. If Astarion looks for me, let him know.”

With that, you leave your half-eaten food and rise from the table, leaving all of your companions stunned.

The only companion not on the table however, misses it. He’s still hand in hand with the drow, whispering into her ear.

The door to your room opens an hour or so later, snapping you out of your nap. You glare as he steps in, and to your surprise and extreme annoyance, he looks giddy.

“Darling, the others told me you left early! You missed-“

Astarion narrowly dodges the shoe you throw at his head. He blinks, the grin slowly disappearing off of his face.

“What’s wrong?”

You stand, trying to not show any sign of the internal anguish you feel.

“I know you’re a bastard, but you could have at least broken up with me or said something before you start picking someone else up in front of my face!”

He blinks, then realization dawns on his expression. He moves quickly, and in a second he’s right by you. He offers you his hands, keeping them close but not pushing to touch you.

“It’s not- that’s not what it was,” he says quietly. “I thought you’d know I was putting on an act.”

“Act or not - it hurts.”

A moment to steel yourself. You don’t really want to open this can of worms, but it needs to happen.

“Look. If you’re done with this. Us. You could just say so, like a normal person,” you say, the sound of defeat inevitably present in your tone.

“And why would you think that?” Comes the reply. He moves to sit by you on the bed. “I trusted you to know that it was just an act. I saw something, and wanted to have it.”

Your mind goes to the worst possible option, naturally.

“Well, did you have it? Did you have her, then?”

With Cazador’s death, Astarion had began to rediscover his sexuality and reclaim it. You are happy for him, of course, but now you wonder if he’s shopping around for better options than you.

He laughs at your words. It is a little incredulous.

“If I wasn’t talking to you, love, I would have thought you insecure,” he begins, but as he finishes his sentence the truth hits him: you are.

You’ve always been the calm, collected one to him. You’ve always seemed so secure and so sure of your relationship. He was the insecure one. He was always frightened of the day you’d realize you could find better.

Now he sees the truth you’ve never really let slip.

He takes a deep breath, unsure how to approach this. Then, he digs inside his pocket and quickly shows you what he has in there. An aquamarine ring, set in an intricately carved band.

“I spotted this the moment we walked into the inn. And I had to have it,” he murmurs in a very different tone. “I got it for you.”

You exhale roughly, and pick up the ring from his hand. “So you decided stealing it by flirting with the drow was how you’re going to show your love?”

It felt ridiculous, but when was he not?

He chuckes. “That was the idea. The execution could have gone a bit more smoothly.” He figures he should have told you of his plan, but then again, would you have even agreed? And he did so want to give you something nice.

You are silent for a few moments, and then you nod.

“All forgiven, then. Just let me know next time.” You’d rather just sweep everything under the rug, since you were proven wrong. And you don’t really want him prying into..

“Did you think I was going to replace you, darling?”

Shit. You wince. “Yes.”

The truth needs to be said. You face him. “Look. I’m just me. I’m your.. whatever I am, because I was there. Had it been anyone else, then it would have been them. I’m-“

“Does it matter who was there? Who was first, who was not? I agree. It could have been someone else. But it wasn’t. It was you.” Astarion shakes his head. “And that is the end of it.”

“And if one day, you tire of me? If you realize you could have a more beautiful, more desirable partner who would also understand and love the real you? If you realize that you could literally have the most beautiful-“

Your words die as lips are pressed against yours, insistent but not rough. He pulls away.

“I needed to shut you up,” he says. “You’re speaking nonsense about my darling, and I will not have it.”

“I’m not special,” you hiss, at last finally managing to get the words out. This venomous thought had been in the back of your mind ever since you had gotten together, but was only voiced now. It was never just him who was insecure about the relationship.

“Right you are,” he acquiesces, “but neither is anyone else.”

“No one deserves better. We aren’t owed anything.” This he knows from experience. His hand finds yours, and takes the ring back. He holds it between thumb and forefinger, peering at it.

“But you are the one who was put in my path, darling. You’re the one I love. None of those other what ifs matter,” he adds, his hand taking yours and slipping the ring on.

You glance down at the ring and sigh. It is indeed, gorgeous.

“I won’t find someone better. Someone younger. Someone- whatever-“ he waves a hand dismissively.

“One, we’ll find a way for you to live forever. Two-“ and he holds up a hand.

“They will never be you.”

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny

[cxlamarisalxmi]

Being Miguel’s legitimate daughter that he left behind and hosting Venom [FEM]

[Platonic Drabble]

c/w: cringe writing, angst

—

[Unedited]

“How dare he?”

You ignored the symbiote raging in your head as you watched your father Miguel finish the battle with the Green Goblin variant. Binding him with glowing red organic webs and aligning him up and over his shoulder.

“How dare he return here?!”

“Venom,” you trailed exasperated. Obviously you weren’t happy at all to Miguel either but he hadn’t even seen you yet so what does it matter? Originally you and Venom had fully intended to take down Goblin and inform Peter B. Parker there was a variant in your dimension. (Don’t ask how you know him).

But then Miguel showed up instead, and honestly you should’ve expected that he would because he was the one who led the spider society. And he was among the first to know of any anomalies or unusual readings in any dimension.

And only Jessica and Lyla were a witness to the internal conflict inside him at the prospect of going to his daughter’s dimension. The daughter he abandoned in favor of a different one, a different daughter, a different universe… a different life.

He was absolutely certain that you hated him and you did, you held such bitterly angry and maliciously hateful feelings for him for such a long time. When you were young all you felt was confusion for his disappearance, but as you grew older and as time passed those feelings turned from rage at his betrayal… to utter heartbreak and despair at his departure.

For the longest time you’d believed that you’d done something wrong, because what had tog done that was so bad? What had you done that was so wrong? You didn’t mean to.. whatever it was you didn’t mean to.

Eventually you had come to learn that this was not a fault of yours, but of Miguel’s. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong, and you didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.

So you grew in the suffocatingly isolating darkness that was hate and grief. And as time passed you built walls thick and tall surrounding yourself, barbed defenses to protect your broken and vulnerable pieces. Behind those steeled doors you also tucked away the last part of your inner child, to keep her safe and protected.. from ever feeling this abandonment again.

When you were fourteen you’d found Venom, and at the time you had been living on the streets for close to two years. At fourteen is when you had very nearly quit on life, being alive was pain.. constant hurt that was very close to swallowing you whole.

Venom had stopped you, not because they had talked you out of it but more so because you were intrigued by the way they had glided across the ground. Even more so interested by the way the deep onyx goop slid up your hand before sinking into your body.

And you’ve been together ever since, the constant babble of the alien grated your nerves slightly but other than that you’d grown to love having them attached to you. And you wouldn’t change it for anything—

“[Y/Name]?”

You froze, previously having turned away from the scene of Miguel opening a glowing golden portal on the street below your perch to make a swift exit. But his voice had stopped you, and you’re not sure why you had even bothered to halt in your tracks.

“Wonderful,” you spat with toxin, “you remember my name.”

Miguel shouldn’t have been taken aback by your response, and he shouldn’t have been thrown off by your bite. He didn’t deserve to feel confused as to why you had responded to him so aggressively— because he knew why you had.

“Of course I do, I gave it to you.”

“Right,” you replied boredly before you were moving forward intent to leave the conversation there.

“[Y/Name]!” He called, and again you shouldn’t have given him even a second of your time but your broken and guarded heart longing for answers seemed to work your feet for you.

“[Y/Name], keep moving. Or I will. He does not deserve your time. He does not deserve you.”

“Did you ever wonder if I had even survived after you left? Did it ever cross your mind even once if I was still alive?”

“I checked on you regularly.”

“I see, the technology to travel through the multiverse also grants you the ability to peer into the lives of people you have ruined.”

You still hadn’t turned around, refusing to give him any sort of indication that you had actually cared about whatever it was he had to say.

“Look, I-I know that I’ve screwed up. I know that I hurt you—”

“Hurt me?” You chuckled humorlessly, a hitch of pain in your throat and fire on your tongue. “Hurt. Me? You may have before.. but you’ll never hurt me again.”

Venom had come through on the last word, enunciating the end of the sentence with a snarl. Ferocious and purely built from the pure emotional pain they could feel coming from their host.

Miguel subtly flinched at the deep growl in your tone, not enough for you to see but enough of a twitch that your heightened senses had picked up on it.

And you chose that moment to make your escape, stepping forward and utilizing Venom to vanish within the pitch black abyss of the shadows. The added darkness provided by the night sky and waning pale moonlight casting deeper shadows aiding Venom in helping you disappear entirely.

“[Y/Name] wait!—” Miguel reached out expecting to touch flesh but was met with nothing.

He stepped back, looked left then right then both directions once more before he exhaled tiredly and leapt back down to the road below. He lifted the Goblin and threw him in before jumping in himself, the portal closing behind him leaving the desolate street in utter darkness once again.

You had watched, this time from the gargoyle statue attached to the side of the roof’s lip on the building above. Venom formed off your shoulder, their head with white eyes and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth complimented well by the black ink of their exterior. And their head stretched off your shoulder by several tendons and tendrils still attached to your body.

You met his blank, milky white stare as he spoke.

“He will return. Whether he wishes to talk or— something more.. what will you do?”

“I made my feelings clear, if he returns. If I see him in my universe again. We. Kill. him.”

You watched as Venom’s grin grew exponentially at your sinister promise. The ominous threat on Miguel’s life exciting him after all the years of trauma and pain he had inflicted upon their host Venom wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth in and never let go.

And if granted the opportunity he would seize it with little to zero hesitation.

Every Spider-Man needs a nemesis, no emotionally richer story than having that nemesis be your own daughter.

“You are sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ve grown cold. Sinister.”

“I am what he made me.”

—

a/n: I’m a little stoned and had this abrupt idea— 🫢 this is weak and maybe a lil’ cringe.. I know that, I’ll make it legit when I’m not baked 😐👍🏽

[hamsterclaw]

Black Ice

Bangtan Christmas drabble 7 - read the rest here.

Min Yoongi only cares about three things. The thrill of drifting, his friends, and cars, in that order. Somehow, you've got under his skin. Part of the Drift Kings AU.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Street racer/mechanic! Yoongi, smut

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Min Yoongi knows loneliness. He knows the unrelenting ache of it, the way it permeates every aspect of one’s psyche.

He knows what it feels like to look for a connection that isn’t there.

When he was ten his father took him into work for the first time, and it was then, amongst the smells of engine oil and new paint and pinewood air freshener, that Yoongi discovered his first true love.

He pored over engine diagrams, admired the easy simplicity of every tool falling into its destined purpose, got used to his clothes being stained from tuning up cars all day long.

He’d loved every minute of it, and the truth is, he still does.

Then his cousin Yijin had given him a lift down Mount Samo one day, and 14 year old Yoongi had learned that there was more than one way to soar.

He learned to drive navigating the hairpin bends of Mount Samo, and although he’s perfected the art of drifting up and down it, could do it blindfolded a hundred times over, the thrill of it has never really faded.

He’s picked up a collection of friends over the years, all of whom love the adrenaline of street racing – not knowing what’s round the corner, trusting your own reflexes and instincts to save you when you can barely see for the blood rushing in your veins. 

Kim Seokjin, his oldest and closest friend, the chaebol prince who can put together a Supra’s turbo-2JZ engine almost as quickly as Yoongi himself. His sister, a corporate princess who makes Yoongi’s heart soften and the opposite happen to his cock. They’re the two people Yoongi would do anything for, not that he’d ever tell them that. 

Jung Hoseok, the gifted mechanic with a heart of gold and the sunniest demeanour Yoongi’s ever been able to tolerate, creature of the night that he is. 

Jeon Jungkook, the baby fuckboi of the group, a man with the looks of a god and the persona of a baby deer. Yoongi finds it hard to be anything but endeared by his earnest good nature and anything but amused by his swaggering. Maybe one day the kid will grow into the bad man he so badly wants to be, but Yoongi hopes not. He’s great the way he is. 

It’s been a while since Yoongi felt lonely, in fact his life’s pretty good right about now. 

And at this exact moment? It’s perfect. 

Yoongi’s senses are on overdrive as he swings into a hairpin bend on Mount Samo, tires gripping tarmac sideways. His foot taps the throttle, his hand on the handbrake just in case but he doesn’t need it, he knows the terrain so well his body’s reacting on instinct. 

Sideways on he can see Seokjin to his right, composed, barely breaking a sweat as his rear wheels scrape the very edge of the path, inches from the steep drop. 

Yoongi catches sight of himself in his own rearview mirror, teeth bared in a feral grin as he shoots out onto the final stretch, so fast there’s nothing to see but black. 

He’d normally stop, celebrate his win with a cigarette, but he’s got somewhere to be tonight. 

Behind him now, Seokjin’s headlamps flicker in lieu of a goodbye. 

Yoongi depresses the horn, a sharp short blast, and then he’s gone. 

***

Kang Yubin’s been supplying Yoongi’s father’s garage for years, and Yoongi’s been going to him for car parts since before he knew a spark plug from a catalytic converter. 

The Kang warehouse has an unassuming front in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Seoul. Yoongi parks outside the familiar glass door, can see the dim lighting filtering through the tinted glass as he approaches. 

He pushes open the door, stops, nonplussed. 

Instead of Kang Yubin’s steel-rimmed glasses and grey hair, he’s greeted by you. 

Half your face is obscured by a black face mask, your hair up under a baseball cap, but you’re definitely not who he expected to see. 

He blinks. 

Your eyebrows rise. 

‘Are you lost?’ you inquire, an edge to your voice that pulls him out of his surprised reaction and reminds him why he’s here. 

‘I was expecting Mr Kang,’ Yoongi replies. 

Coming closer to the counter he picks up on a guardedness to your posture, a weariness that you don’t bother to hide. 

‘I’m his granddaughter,’ you say, brief. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t just come here to stare at me, what do you want?’ 

‘Spark plugs – I have a —’ Yoongi breaks off as you get up. 

‘I know who you are, and I know what car you drive. Stay here and I’ll get you your stuff.’

You disappear behind a door, return in minutes with a cardboard box. 

You pull a box-cutter out of a desk drawer, slit the masking tape, pull the flaps up. 

‘Feel free to take a look,’ you say, looking at him. 

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to verify that they’re what he needs. 

‘How do you know who I am?’ he asks, as he pays. 

There’s a faint spark in your eyes, a flicker so quick he wonders if he’s mis-read it. 

‘My grandfather said you were due around this time.’ 

You nudge your shoulder vaguely in the direction of the screen to your left, a view from the camera overlooking the front of the warehouse. ‘Not many people drive a car like that.’ 

You take his money, nudge the box in his direction. 

‘Pleasure doing business, Min Yoongi. I’ll give my grandfather your regards.’ 

You’re already looking back down at your phone like you’ve dismissed him. 

Yoongi picks up the box, casts another glance at you, and leaves. 

He’s still thinking about you when he reaches home. 

***

Yoongi’s concentrating so hard on the engine in front of him that he barely hears Seokjin approach. 

‘Dinner?’ asks Seokjin, eyes flicking over the V configuration of the 8 chrome cylinders in the custom Nissan with interest. 

Yoongi leans back, massages the crick in his neck from leaning over. 

‘Yeah. Quick though, the client wants a rush on this.’ 

They exchange a look. 

‘More money than sense,’ Seokjin says, critical. 

‘Pays the bills,’ Yoongi counters. 

They have similar opinions about rich clients who want their supercars tuned up. It’s rare that a client’s got the ability to do justice to the horsepower under the bonnet of the flashy exteriors. 

Yoongi shrugs, goes to wash his hands. 

‘Is your sister coming?’ he asks. 

Seokjin’s still admiring the engine. ‘Not tonight. Jimin’s in town,’ he says. ‘There’s a race later, if you change your mind. I’m meeting Jungkook after dinner.’ 

‘Is he still sulking over Mijin?’ Yoongi asks, falling into step beside Seokjin. 

There’s no need to confirm where they’re going, they always stop at a tiny restaurant run by an elderly woman who seems utterly unimpressed by their good manners but makes the best broth in town. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but his tone is sympathetic. ‘You know how it is. People never expect him to be as soft as he really is.’ 

Yoongi nods. ‘Tell him if she can’t appreciate him she’s the one missing out.’ 

Seokjin snorts. ‘Tell him yourself, he’ll love it. Are you coming to Seulgi’s party?’ 

It’s rare that Yoongi goes out at night, he’s busy and he does his best work at night time, both in the workshop and on the streets, but he’d promised Seokjin he’d go. 

‘Next week?’ he asks. 

Seokjin nods, pushes open the door to the restaurant. 

‘Yeah, don’t forget.’ 

***

Seulgi is a friend of Seokjin’s, they’d dated briefly, years back, but it hadn’t worked out. 

She greets Seokjin enthusiastically at the door, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening as Seokjin gives her an affectionate hug. 

She beams at Yoongi, and he smiles back because he’s not proof against her cheerful nature. 

It’s how he became friends with Hoseok, after all. 

‘Drinks, let me get you drinks,’ Seulgi cheers, leading them into her kitchen. 

Seokjin’s swept away by Seulgi and her friends, he’s always been a popular guy. He shoots Yoongi a look as he’s pulled into the lounge, which Yoongi pretends not to see. 

He lifts his cup to his lips, decides to go outside for a bit. 

The deck outside has a few scattered people, mostly couples, some groups. 

Yoongi leans against the wall, looks around idly. The throbbing bass of the music feels like a heartbeat. The night is cold and crisp, the skies clear, but there aren’t any stars visible in Seulgi’s backyard. 

He lets his mind wander to his next project, restoring a classic Toyota for a friend from the circuit. He’ll need parts. 

He wonders if you’ll be behind the counter when he next goes to the Kang warehouse. Then he’s straightening up, unsure if he’s manifested you into reality. 

He’s never seen your full face, but he’d know your eyes anywhere. 

You’re standing across the deck, looking straight at him, coat open over a dress that shows a hell of a lot more than the hoodie and sweats you had on the last time he saw you. 

For the first time tonight, Yoongi feels a prickle of interest. 

He’d known you’d be beautiful, there’d been something about the way you carried yourself.

You’re still looking at him. 

Yoongi walks over. 

‘Who’s manning the warehouse?’ he asks, when he gets close enough. 

You tilt your head. ‘Are you really so concerned about my family business, Min Yoongi?’ 

There’s a mocking note in your voice, Yoongi finds he likes it. 

‘You have the best quality parts,’ he says. 

Your smile blooms over your face, making your eyes bright. ‘I knew there was a reason my grandfather liked you.’ 

Yoongi nods to your dress. ‘You look pretty.’ 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘You look pretty too.’

Yoongi can feel his lips curving. Are you flirting with him? Seems like you are.

He’s all for it.

You’re raising your cup now, taking a sip.

In the night time lighting, your lips glisten with moisture and whatever lipstick you’ve got on, making him wonder what they’d look like around his cock.

You eye him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

Yoongi says, ‘Do you like cars? Want to see mine?’

***

You’ve got your legs either side of his torso, your ass bouncing in his lap, and Yoongi’s front seat’s reclined all the way to make room for you to ride him.

The lines of your beautiful body are reminiscent of a triumph of masters of Italian design. Long smooth thighs, tightening around him with every rhythmic thrust. 

The curves of your breasts, bouncing right in his face.

The long line of your neck, head thrown back, the pulse in your throat fluttering as he holds your hips so he can fuck you back, fuck up into your sweet warmth.

His cock fits inside you like he was made for you, and god fucking damn, you feel so good around him he’s on a hair trigger.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, tugs you down so you’re close. Goosebumps prickle your flesh as he tells you how good you are.

Your eyes close as he kisses your bare neck, flicks his tongue against your skin.

You had been whimpering steadily as your arousal dripped down onto him, soaking his balls, pooling at the base of his cock, and as Yoongi picks up the pace he’s gratified by the hitch in your breathing.

Yoongi’s always been damn good at helping his partners find their pleasure, and he’s sure as hell not going to stop now.

Your breasts are still in his face, half out the low neck of your dress, chest heaving.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over the outline of your hardened nipple, and you cry out, muffled with your mouth against his skin but still loud enough to make his ears ring.

His balls tighten up even more as your walls flutter around him, and Yoongi would know you were coming even if you hadn’t gasped it.

God, you’re so sweet and sexy he’s lost.

He can feel your panting breaths against his neck, the weight of your warm body as it goes lax after your peak, the sweet grip of your cunt taking in everything he has to give you as he releases, a pulse of pleasure so intense it sends shockwaves through his skin.

Yoongi’s floating, and like reaching the summit of Mount Samo, he immediately wants to do it again.

You’re looking at him, lips still so swollen and pretty his spent cock gives a residual throb inside you.

‘Like my car?’ Yoongi asks. It’s stupid, but it makes you laugh and he’ll be as stupid as you like if it makes you sound like that.

Your chin lifts, and you say, ‘It’s all right.’

The flash of merriment in your eyes gives you away.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe next time we can get the car started and I can actually take you somewhere.’

‘I don’t know,’ you tease. ‘Are you a good driver?’

Yoongi reaches out, tucks the lock of hair that’s fallen over your eye behind your ear.

‘Let’s find out,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go?’

***

Yoongi’s thinking about you the next morning when he wakes up. He’d ended up taking you back to your place, where you’d kissed him sweetly at the door and bid him goodbye like a promise to see him again. 

His phone rings and he’s still got you on his mind, so it takes a second for him to regroup. 

‘The maknae needs help,’ Seokjin says, no preamble. ‘I’m going to swing by yours, be there in ten.’ 

Yoongi hangs up, wonders what the hell Jungkook’s got himself into this time. 

By the time Seokjin arrives, Yoongi’s had time to bolt coffee and change, but Seokjin still raises a brow as he swings into the passenger seat. 

As always, Seokjin’s impeccably dressed, dark hair swept back from his forehead like he’s going to his own fucking wedding instead of about to deal with some shit that’s going down. 

Yoongi suppresses a yawn, tugs his beanie down over his brow. 

‘What’s going down with JK?’ he asks. 

Seokjin cuts off another car so smoothly they’re halfway down the intersection before the irritated horn blares. 

‘Remember that race the other day? Jungkook beat Seungho fair and square, I was there.’ 

Yoongi groans. ‘The fuck. I thought we weren’t going to race that fragile asshole anymore.’ 

Seokjin glances in the rearview. ‘The maknae was still hurting over Mijin, I thought an easy win might make him feel better.’ 

‘So what’s Seungho done?’ 

‘Brought in the big guns,’ Seokjin says grimly. ‘Called in some guys from Hongkong. JK’s with them now.’ 

Now Yoongi’s fully awake. ‘Should’ve taken my car instead of this piece of shit,’ he says. 

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Don’t worry about my car, Yoongi. Maybe think of a way to hide that big–ass hickey on your neck.’ 

‘Suck my dick,’ Yoongi says, like they’re 16 again. 

‘Looks like someone already did,’ Seokjin returns. 

***

Yoongi parks up outside the Kang warehouse, pushes open the door. 

You look up from your phone. Your face mask is off, so Yoongi has the privilege of seeing the way your lips curve in a smile. 

‘There’s been a shipment of fuel injectors,’ you say. ‘Want to take a look?’ 

Yoongi stops just in front of the wooden half-panel that separates you from him. 

He tilts his head. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Also, I took my friend’s Honda for a spin today, I’ve got a list.’ 

He smooths out the piece of paper he’s got folded in his pocket, places it on the counter. 

You pick it up, get up. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi runs a hand over the hickey over his neck. ‘I’ve been taking shit all day, about this,’ he adds. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, but you don’t seem the least bit contrite. ‘You did your share of marking, Min Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi asks, ‘What time do you get off?’ 

You’re about to answer when the door opens. 

Yoongi turns and tenses immediately. 

Fucking Shin Seungho. 

‘You following me?’ he asks mildly. 

Seungho scoffs, doesn’t deign to reply. 

‘I’m collecting an order,’ he says to you. 

Your face mask is back on, your face carefully blank. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’ 

When you go into the back to collect it Seungho turns to Yoongi. 

Yoongi concentrates on the silkscreen of a cat on the wall behind the counter. 

He can feel Seungho’s eyes on his face. 

Just try it, fucker. 

The fact was, he’d pushed Seokjin’s Honda to its limits beating Seungho’s friends today, and although the adrenaline’s ebbed, there’s a thin streak still running through his bloodstream, and he’s a spark away from igniting. 

Seungho takes a step closer, and Yoongi turns to face him like he’s got all the time in the world. 

You return just as Seungho opens his filthy mouth. 

‘Looks like you’ve paid,’ you say, passing the box across the counter to Seungho. 

You pull out the box cutter, slit the package, open it up for him to check, but don’t put it down. 

‘Am I going to have trouble here, boys?’ you ask. 

Seungho barely looks your way, Yoongi’s always known the man lacks vision. 

‘Nah,’ Seungho says finally. He picks up the box, sneers at Yoongi. 

Yoongi blanks his expression. There’s no way he’s going to start shit with Seungho in front of you. 

The asshole’s not worth it. 

As soon as the door closes behind Seungho you put down the box cutter. 

The next words out of your mouth surprise him. 

‘Shit, you’re hot when you’re mad, Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi stares at you, flummoxed, then he laughs. 

‘Just when I’m mad?’ he asks. 

You shrug. ‘Take me out on a date and I’ll tell you more.’ 

‘How about right now?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’ 

***

As your grip on his hair loosens, Yoongi lifts his mouth from your cunt, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Helps you tug your panties back up, smooths your skirt back down over your thighs. 

He notices you’ve still got his cum in the corner of your lips. As he watches, you flick your tongue out, lick delicately. 

His cock stirs with interest, and you act like you know it. 

‘More later?’ you ask. 

‘Yeah. After I win.’ 

Yoongi reaches over to help you with your seatbelt, arranging it across your chest, between your breasts, securing it. 

You lean forward and kiss him as the belt clicks into place. 

Yoongi starts the engine, turns the heating back on because he’s noticed your hands get cold easily. 

‘I can drop you off at home before the race,’ he offers. ‘Come see you after.’ 

‘I want to see you drive,’ you say.

Yoongi wouldn’t say it, but he’s pleased. He knows he’ll keep you safe, it’s a circuit through the city outskirts he’s done a million times, and he’s looking forward to you meeting Seokjin and Hoseok and Jungkook. 

He flicks on the lights, rolls into oncoming traffic. Heads North. 

By the time he pulls up to the starting line there’s the usual crowd gathered. He parks up next to Seokjin and Hoseok.  

In his rearview he can see JK surrounded by people. He’s lost the sad puppy air he had for a few weeks whilst he was pining after Mijin. The kid’s going to be all right, not that Yoongi’s ever had any doubt about that. 

Engines all around him are starting up, a deafening series of rumbles. 

Beside him, Seokjin waves, and Hoseok smiles so brightly it’s blinding. 

The flag waves, and Yoongi accelerates. 

Checks on you in the rearview, and you’re as pretty as he remembers. 

Min Yoongi’s spent a lot of his life looking for connection, and by his reckoning, he’s doing pretty well right about now. 

Lights flash by in a blur. 

Yoongi drives. 

Author note: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, hope you've enjoyed, here's to a brighter 2024. This time last year we were saying goodbye to Kim Seokjin, I can't wait to start welcoming the boys back again. Happy holidays to you all!

©hamsterclaw 2023

[achaoticeternal]

a presentation

word count: 750 summary: finding aemond admiring the throne once more, you tell him of your wish to simply be his wife again a/n: just a quick drabble to get some writing going again. not proofread. this is based off the song the greatest by billie eilish

All my love and patience Unappreciated You said your heart was jaded You couldn't even break it

The mass of swords welded together to form the Iron Throne loomed over the Throne Room. Its' magnificence was equally spectacular yet terrifying. An item that represented unity and obedience melded together by fire and death.

It was a seat many had craved over time. Yet she saw the jagged edges that had nicked King Viserys, then Aegon... and soon Aemond would be subjected to it. She had dreamed of it only nights prior.

Her husband ascends the Throne before a mass of nobles and common folk alike. A wolfish smile invades the faces of those surrounding them. Yet when he took his seat with the Conqueror's crown high on his silken hair, an undulled sword from the arm of the chair would slice his palm open. The princess had felt it an omen, an even darker one after Meleys had been carted through the street. The dream was the only thing to replay in her mind as she approached where Aemond now stood. His eyes flickered our the steel of swords stuck together permanently. She always sensed his hunger for power and prayed that his thirst did not come at the cost of blood or their marriage. But the gods paid little favor to them. "It is late," She called out to him, "We should be sleeping." Aemond hummed, acknowledging her comment. He cocked his head to the side, not quite looking at her as his eye remained fixated on the Throne, "We shall be standing up there tomorrow."

The princess swallowed, only to take another step forward as she responded, "You. You will be up there tomorrow. I will be perched next to your mother or Helaena. Either hearing prayers for Aegon's ailments or your ascension." A small, playful smirk painted his lips, "I'm sure I could order a seat to be placed near my feet. So that I may present to the court all my prizes: the Throne, the Crown, the perfect Wife."

Her lips tugged downward, disgust lining her stomach, "Will you dress me and braid my hair too? Paint my face to make my skill look porcelain?"

The Prince Regent finally turned to face her, "Do not use such a tone with me, wife. You have nothing to complain about as I have built you a perfect life." The air between them went stagnant as her eyes remained fixed on them. You face betrayed nothing of what you felt which shocked your husband. He had always been able to read you so plainly, it was something he even enjoyed in your relationship.

"A perfect life?" The princess repeated her words, "Will you put me in a glass display and title it 'A Perfect Life?'?

Aemond's jaw tightened and he took a great step toward her, "I have proven myself to be the greatest Targaryen since Maegor himself and yet you look at me like a villain. This will make people see. This will make people fear me and regret their spineless actions. Now they have no choice but to love and respect their new King."

"And yet I did all of that when you were just Aemond," She barked back at him, her own hurt and anger slipping through, "I respected you, I listened to you, I loved you... for just being a prince- no, just being a boy." "Wife, I-" He attempted to interject.

"I am not finished," The princess stopped him, "I have played the part of your wife, perfectly. I provided you with love, comfort, hospitality, my spirit, my body. I never asked for you to give more of yourself than you could because I knew what a fragile heart you keep locked away. But I am not some pet or doll to be displayed as another prize of your ambition. I am your wife, and you could at least let me enjoy that duty. I only ever wanted to show you love."

At her speech, Aemond had fallen silent. His hands rested behind hs back, silently fidgeting with his leather cuffs. All was still.

"It is late," Aemond finally spoke, "You should get some rest. I will join you in our chambers when I have wrapped up my duties for the evening."

"Very well," The princess swallowed back her pain, once more feeling powerless. She turned on her heels and exited.

I shouldn't have to say it You could've been the greatest

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabble: How Gale Reacts When You’re Injured

Request:

How about Gale with a severely injured tav?

There’s so much blood. It stains his own skin, dripping down to the dirt beneath him. Your skin has turned ghostly in color. His heart pounds with panic in his chest. 

He knew it would be bad when he saw the hit you took. The sword of your enemy stabbed right into the center of your gut, spattering blood as they ripped the steel from you. 

He thanks the gods that Shadowheart was right there. Once all nearby threats were eradicated, she was quick to begin her work on you. 

Her hands now move in quick motions to treat you. She mumbles spells under her breath. Her eyes are beams of concentration.

Gale holds you in his arms. Your body is so limp. So lifeless and weak compared to the strength he always sees in you. He can’t help the panic that begins to grip him.

He leans down and presses his forehead to yours. “Please.” He’s not sure whether he’s pleading to you or the gods above. All he knows is that he can’t lose you.

There’s a minute of uncertainty. The severity of your injuries is not easy for even the most skilled of clerics to heal. But when Shadowheart finally sits back on her heels and examines her work, he knows she’s done all she can.

His eyes roam your face, nearly crying out in relief as your eyes finally flutter open. Those beautiful eyes meet his. He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“What is it, wizard? Were you worried about me?” You ask. Your voice is still weak, but your teasing tone lets him know you’re okay.

“Even when you’re close to death, you still manage to be a smartass.” He says it with annoyance, but a smirk grows on his lips.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“take it off”

A/N: so yesterday I was talking to @itsokbbygrl about how Joel would react if baby love ever wore a piece of Brazzers merch around him and well…😵‍💫

~word count: 960~

Summary: Joel catches you wearing a pair of Brazzers spandex shorts 🤭

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, established relationship, punishment, teasing, dom!joel, meanish!joel, possessive!joel (reader is into it) spanking, sir kink, praise kink, language, Joel calls the reader a naughty dirty little slut in a non derogatory way, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of having a big ass and thighs) +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

It’s laundry day, and you’re faced with an unfortunate problem on your hands. The only pair of clean shorts that you could find in your drawer happened to be a pair of black spandex shorts with a BRAZZERS decal stretching all the way across the stretched fabric. Why was this such an unfortunate dilemma you may be asking yourselves? Well, you already had a feeling that Joel was gonna lose his shit if he saw you wearing these shorts…

Fuck it, we ball!

And oh, did he lose his mind alright.

All afternoon he had been working on fixing an issue he was having with his truck, and with Tommy’s generous help after refusing to take it into the shop. No, the Miller brothers were the kings of DIY. Joel came striding into the kitchen to grab two more beers, shirtless and reeking of car oil and grease, he was frozen on the spot when he saw you bent over the sink, working through the dishes in the tightest pair of spandex shorts he had ever seen. Your cheeks and thighs were practically spilling out from under the strained fabric.

Then he saw the familiar logo that was once the bane of his existence, and his eyes narrowed into slits, grease stained fists clenching at his sides, teeth grinding together and jaw ticking.

Fuck no. Not on my watch.

His boots were heavy on the tile as he approached you and before you could even turn around, his heavy set palm was making harsh contact with one of your cheeks, smacking your ass so hard, you swore you saw stars for a second as your body lurched forward against the sink and a soft surprised yelp slipped past your lips.

“The fuck are these, baby love?” He growled against the shell of your ear, crowding over your back like a cloak made of pure cement from how hard he was pressing into you. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the stench of car grease flooding your senses, dizzying your brain. Your covered cunt pulsed around nothing but the prospect of him punishing you just for wearing these damn shorts.

“It’s laundry day, baby. And I’m all out of clean shorts…” you let out a sigh of faux disappointment when he began to rub the plush flesh of your ass with his big meaty palm, “it’s a million degrees outside, and I found these in my back drawer and probably just never got rid of them when I moved in.”

He smacked your ass again, watching the way it recoiled against his palm, “Yeah?” He rasped, “well, baby love, they ain’t it.” He shook his head, grasping the hem of the spandex and yanked them right down your ass and thighs and all the way down to your ankles.

He dragged his hand right back down between your cheeks, spreading you open just enough that he could slip just the tip of his thumb into your already sopping tight cunt. “And you ain’t ever gonna wear them again, we clear?”

“Y-yes sir!” You squeaked out, arching your back into his hand so his thumb would slip in further.

“Good girl.” He chuffed a laugh as he retracted his hand despite your soft protests for him to continue, “Sorry I had to do that, baby love. I’ll get you a pair of mine, okay?”

You laughed it off, steeling your racing heart in your rib cage as you looked over your shoulder at him, “it’s okay, baby. You’ll just have to get me a better pair to strut around in.” You responded with a wink.

“‘Suppose I can arrange that.” He stalked off to the laundry room, grabbing you a fresh pair of his boxers and he even helped you step into them before he bent down and snatched up the Brazzers shorts and shoved them deep into the pocket of his jean cut offs. “Think Tommy and I are gonna go out for some burgers soon. Y’want anythin’, baby love?”

“Mmm, yeah I’ll take some meat.” You said with a giggle, turning around with your arms crossed against your chest in a challenging stare, “preferably the kind of meat that is shaped like your cock. Think you can deliver on that, baby?”

He closed the gap between you once more, looking even taller and broader than usual when he crowded you against the counter. His brow was cocked in amusement, lips spreading into a deep set grin. “Sorry, baby love.” He tutted softly, bringing his hand down between your thighs and pressed the heel of his palm directly against your covered cunt as he leaned in, “naughty dirty little sluts don’t get rewarded that easily.”

You leaned into his hand immediately, trying to pull him in for a kiss but he was being stubborn and nipped at your jawline instead while you let out a pathetic whine.

“Joel, baby, c’mon, please?” You nearly begged him.

“Nuh uh.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips before retreating out of your grasp.

Joel: 2 | baby love: 0

A week has gone by since the little incident and when you wake up late one morning and head downstairs to make a cup of coffee, you find a pink box on the countertop next to your mug. The box is wrapped in a pretty pink bow, and there’s a note under the ribbon addressed to you.

To my naughty little baby love,

Here’s a better pair ;)

-Joel x.

You untie the bow and lift the cover from the box and beneath the perfectly crisp wrapping paper is a pair of black spandex shorts. Upon further inspection, you find that the back of the shorts have a decal stretched across the fabric as well. However, instead of Brazzers, it reads Miller-Co in bold lettering.

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[yaksha-lover]

Track #2: Sunlight - Hozier Drabble Masterlist

Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

Summary: Azul treats everyone as a business arrangement. He thought it would be the same with you, until he realizes he’d much rather have you than your resources.

i. all the tales the same

An octopus has three hearts - that’s the explanation Azul’s mother would always give when he’d come home crying as a child. It was comforting, to explain away his sensitivity in a single phrase. You have to be more careful with yours, Azul, she’d say, rubbing his back. There’s more of you to break.

He understood what she meant far too well. Every tease, every taunt, every comment muttered behind his back (and most of the time to his face) was far too much for him to bear. They were only children, but so was he. Is it any wonder he’d stopped seeing people as more than transactional when all they’d seen him as was a joke?

If he didn’t care for them, if they were reduced to nothing but an inky signature, how could their words hurt him? They were nothing.

He thought you’d be nothing too.

You started off like most ‘relationships’ in his life; a business transaction. At least, that’s how he’d thought of you.

You, who was so blissfully kind and innocent, doe-eyed and naive, thought of him as a friend, and then eventually, more.

To him, you were easy prey. It would be simple to gain your friendship, your trust, maybe even your heart if he was so lucky. Then, it would be oh so simple to gain access to all that you could do for him.

ii. told before and told again

The plan requires more commitment than he’d realized, but he knows it will be worth it in the end. You, the sole heir of your father’s estate, will be in a position to let Azul gain access to a brand new market he’s been looking to expand into. If he has to play friend, he’s willing to do it.

You’re…lonelier than he expects. Azul isn’t exactly a social butterfly himself (at least, for non-business related reasons), but your eagerness to spend time with him certainly stems from more than just his ‘great companionship.’ He almost feels bad, for a moment, to lead you on, but he steels himself with the justification of his success.

You won’t mind, right? He gets your help, you get his friendship, even if it is manufactured. It’s an equal trade, he tells himself.

Spending all this time together, he learns things about you. Things that are disconcerting.

Azul hasn’t had trouble sleeping since he was a child. Everything he did was perfectly scheduled; how was he to function if not by keeping up a meticulous sleep cycle which guaranteed him a satisfying eight hours of rest per night?

He thinks you’re the reason he’s started lying awake. He can’t stop thinking about the things you’ve told him - maybe ‘let slip’ is the better term.

He’s used to coaxing information out of his clients; it’s good for business. Now he only wishes he wasn’t so good.

They aren’t so much secrets; it’s not as though you’ve made a great effort to hide them, only that no one has made an effort to look in the first place.

He’s played the dutiful friend long enough to know how…pitiful you can become after a night out or a hard day. He’s been there to take care of you, always making sure you get home safe or that you’re well fed. You’re a poor, unfortunate sight; you’re lucky it’s only Azul taking advantage of your resources and not someone much worse. His stomach churns at the thought of it - that’s one of the many things that keeps him up. It’s not that he’s worried; no, no, you were only a business arrangement of his. If anything were to happen to you, his whole plan could go to ruin.

That’s why he stays the night in your apartment, sleeping on the couch so he can check on you despite the fact that the commute will make him late for work and his back will hurt all day from the lumpy sofa. That’s why he can’t sleep, forced to make sure you’re sleeping soundly every few hours.

You’ll apologize in the morning for being a mess; you always do. The two of you put on a charade of sorts - you promise it won’t happen again, that you’re sorry for forcing him to take care of you (although you’d never asked a thing from him) and he pretends that none of it matters, that it’s not a big deal.

It’s only for the sake of business when he asks you to spend more time with him; if you’re not with your undesirable friends (who only get you into trouble, he thinks) then you (and his deal) will be safe. It’s certainly not because the last time he’d come to check on you, you’d had light bruises peppering your neck, almost as if someone had nipped at your skin gently and-

Azul perishes the thought from his mind. So what if he hasn’t won your heart? That’s not his goal, he doesn’t need your love to get your help, he’ll just-

iii. a soul that’s born in cold and rain

You kiss him, one night. You’re at his apartment, and it’s been a peaceful evening. He’d invited you over for dinner, cooking you one of the most recent dishes he’d been testing for his restaurant chain. The two of you had settled into his sofa, a movie playing in the background.

He noticed you hadn’t been paying attention; he was watching the screen, but you kept sneaking (not so subtle) glances at him every few seconds, putting him on edge. He turned to you, about to ask what was wrong, when you kissed him.

Your lips brush against his lightly; he almost wonders if he’d fallen asleep and was only dreaming the whole thing. He’d only just closed his eyes when he felt you pull away and begin to apologize for kissing him without asking. He can’t even form a response, only pulling you in to continue what you’d started.

Things only seem to spiral from there. Azul is, admittedly, a sensitive soul, perhaps too sentimental for his own good. He’d vowed to be utilitarian about his relationships; to view everyone only per their use value, and thus to never have to care. Caring, for him, typically meant getting hurt in some way, but he can’t quite help himself with you.

Your affection feels good. Your love is addicting. He refuses to let either of them go, thoughts of business and markets pushed to the furthest place in his mind.

It’s only natural, then, that the two of you quickly become closer than ever before. A toothbrush at his apartment quickly becomes you moving in; he’s a busy man, after all. What better way to see more of each other than living together (you practically spent all your time with him, anyway).

If you depend on him, that’s okay. That’s how it’s always been with the two of you, hasn’t it? He takes care of you, he always has.

iv. knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

He’s drifting off to sleep with you in his arms when he hears you speak.

“Azul?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I’m sorry.”

That makes him open his eyes. He moves to turn on the lamp, but you stop him. “Sorry? For what?”

“For taking advantage of you.”

That almost makes him laugh. “Pardon? I don’t seem to recall such a thing happening.”

“I know, Azul. You…you don’t need to pretend that you like me. I know you just want access to my father’s contacts. I knew since the beginning and I should’ve put a stop to it. I’m so, so sorry I just - you were so kind to me, and I couldn’t help but bask in your sunlight a little. But it’s gone too far. Look at us. You never should’ve had to become so close with me, it was wrong for me to hold on. For that, I’m sorry. There’s no need for us to continue this charade, I’ll give you the contacts you want. And…and I’ll be sure to get out of your life…”

Azul is silent for a moment, before he can’t hold back his chuckle any longer. He tries to contain himself once he sees the tears begin to pool in your eyes. You start to pull away, but he pulls you close with one arm, wiping away your tears with the other.

“Oh dear, you’re truly serious! You’re laying in my bed, in my arms, and you think you’re taking advantage of me? You thought I only wanted you for your resources and yet you feel sorry? I suppose your tender heart and naïveté are endearing, but it won’t do for you to be so vulnerable, my love. It’s a good thing I love you so much, any less and I might truly be tempted to take advantage of such a poor soul like yours~”

You look at him in confusion. “You mean it…but how can I trust you, Azul?”

His arms move to slip around your waist, pulling you in close to him. You can feel the heat of his smooth skin move against your body, the warmth of his breath on you face.

“How indeed, my love? I suppose I’ll have to show you, then. Actions speak louder than words, after all.”

With that, Azul lifts himself off the bed, drawing you under him and capturing your lips once again.

[levisfavoriteteashop]

notes: back with a short drabble! I had a suddent inspiration to write something and it came out to be quite romantic. anyway i hope you'll like it ♡

In the dim glow of candlelight, Levi Ackerman sat at his desk, engrossed in the stack of paperwork before him. The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him, a burden he bore with unyielding resolve. Yet, amidst the chaos of duty, there was a fleeting moment of respite whenever she entered the room.

You, the one who brought warmth to the chill of his existence, moved gracefully into his quarters. Your presence alone was a balm to his weary soul. Levi glanced up from his work, his steel-grey eyes meeting yours, and in that simple exchange, a world of unspoken words passed between you two.

"Levi," you murmured softly, your voice like a melody that eased the tension in his shoulders.

He watched as you approached, the gentle curve of your lips forming a tender smile. With each step you took, his heart beat a little faster, a rhythm that echoed the longing he dared not voice.

Standing before him now, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his cheek in a gesture so tender, it stirred something deep within him. In that fleeting touch, Levi found solace, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the chaos of their world.

"Work can wait," you whispered, your voice a soothing caress, "but moments like these, with you, are precious."

Levi's stoic facade softened, a rare smile gracing his lips as he reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours. In that simple gesture, your worlds collided, two souls bound together by an unspoken bond that transcended the boundaries of duty and war.

And in that quiet sanctuary, amidst the flickering candlelight, Levi Ackerman found himself falling deeper in love with the woman who had stolen his heart.

divider credit: @cafekitsune

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[ghostsy]

Birds of Prey

WARNINGS: yandere, nsfw, noncon, abuse, blood, possessiveness, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment

A/N: the fic i wanted to post is taking too long, so pls enjoy a not very short, not very sweet, slightly unhinged hawks drabble

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! HAWKS X READER

“You’re mine, you know?”

“You’re insufferable, you know?” 

A laugh, deep and raspy, filled the space between them as his head fell back in surprise. Though, the fingers digging like claws into the skin of her waist betrayed his irritation.

He brought his face to her own, smile turning razor sharp; that ever present glint in his eyes, while entertained, sparked with a dare she was too stubborn to ignore, no matter the ensuing consequences.

“Pretty pretty Bird,” His tongue poked out from his canines, swiping up to lick the tip of her nose, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Rather than recoil in disgust, she leaned closer, fingers threading in his golden locks, “Selfish, mindless, animal,” Each word enunciated with a sharp tug, “Ruin all you like,” Her lips brushed against his ear, and she was met with a pleasured groan, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

“Fuck,” His hips bucked upwards, his clothed hardness grinding against her in a failed attempt to soothe the growing ache, “You promise?”

It was her turn to laugh; it was sharp and spiteful, and she leaned back on his lap to meet his eyes, hands falling to his face to trace the sharp curve of his jaw in resigned admiration, “What makes you think you’ll like it?”

His own hands trailed from her waist to squeeze at the fat of her thighs, fingers sinking like talons as they spread her further, pulling her into him.

“Oh, my pretty Bird,” A hand moved to brush under her shirt, ghosting against the skin, and bringing goosebumps to the surface, “If it’s you,” Dextrous, devious fingers worked their way underneath her bra, “I’ll love it.” 

Despite her resolve, a whimper escaped her lips, and the predator under her pounced, shoving her back onto the mattress below them.

Blood red wings spread behind him, and eyes glowing with the celebration of premature victory, he looked like some harbinger of death, beautiful in all his glory, but come to rip her to shreds, and feast on her insides with that golden smile.

She wasn’t far off, she realized bitterly. Though, her chance at revenge came sooner than anticipated when he dove forward, shoving his tongue past her parted lips, licking the taste of her mouth from inside while he tore at her clothes.

And, steeling her nerves, she bit down, teeth tearing into the intruder, replacing the taste of spit with syrupy copper. Her reward came in the form of a strangled groan as he ripped himself from her.

“Fuck—!” A curse, low and raspy with the interruption of dribbling blood.

The sight before her was enough to send her heart leaping to her throat, embers of satisfaction dying as quickly as they lit. If he had looked like a harbinger of death before, now, with the back of his hand swiping crimson to smear across his cheek, feathers puffed and poised to attack, and hair falling to shadow his eyes, the man above her was a type of demon king she tried to force herself not to regret awakening.

He spat to the side, blood dripping from his lips, and turned back to her with a smile more sinister and sharp than she thought him capable of showing. Slowly, he pulled at his own shirt to reveal a body too sculpted and too pretty to belong to him.

“Caged Bird has teeth, does she?” He breathed, “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, baby.”

“The only game I’m interested in,” She growled, “Is one where you lose.”

She had already scanned the room when she’d woken up dizzy and groggy and surrounded by a space all too familiar but not her own. He hadn’t even bothered with chains. Cocky bastard. There was no place to go where he couldn’t follow, but she’d be damned if she just laid there and took it.

She held her breath, and the pause between them was interrupted by a low, building chuckle that raised in volume and pitch until he fell forward in a fit of giggles underlaid with a twisted and angry amusement.

Lifting his gaze to hers, she found his eyes burning through her with the giddy anticipation of a hawk playing with its food. The condescension was enough to stroke her own need to fight, and she forced a sardonic smile despite her growing unease.

“What? Too much?” Swollen lips pulling into a sneer, “I thought you said you’d love it if I ruined you.”

He snorted, eyes moving to sweep across her body: fabric hanging in threads from her skin, lacey undergarments serving as her only decoration, traces of his blood smearing her lips, and tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. Too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of falling. God, did he love this woman.

“Between the two of us, little Bird,” He leaned forward, taking her jaw in a bruising grip, and forced her gaze to his own, “I’d say you’re plenty ruined yourself.”

There was a twitch in her brow that sated his ego, and he pushed forward to give her a peck, retreating with the quickness of a man who had learned his lesson. For now, he reminded himself.

“Though,” Still, he couldn’t help but push, “Not nearly ruined enough.”

And he surged forward, taking her throat in one hand, and forced her backwards into the pillow; her legs flailed while her hands shot up to claw at his own. It was time to give her a little lesson of his own.

He settled himself between her thighs, ripping the last of her coverings to leave her bare and thrashing. Her heels kicked at his back, lips parting in short, sharp gasps.

“Fuck–fucking–” A strangled whine, “Bast–bastard–”

“Come on now, Birdie,” He leaned forward, fingers flexing, “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” Nose to nose, his canines gleaming, “You don’t say anything at all.”

With the twitch of her jaw, she pursed her lips, refusing to consider the consequences, and sent a glob of spit flying right at his face, watching with glee as it splattered under his eye. 

He jerked back in surprise, releasing her neck to swipe at the offended cheek. Through a fit of raspy coughs, her chest sparked with a sort of vindicated satisfaction.

Her victory was short lived, however, and a burning smack echoed in the empty space, whipping her face sideways, a ringing in her ears growing to match her blurring vision. The strength of a hero, she thought sarcastically.

It was her turn to spit out blood, before her eyes rolled back to him, angry, but cautious. His fingers worked at his belt buckle, and he shirked off his pants in her momentary incapacitation, entirely unbothered by his own sudden show of violence. 

She did her best to avoid looking at the monster between his legs, and, like any sign of weakness, he seized the opportunity to mock her.

“Fight all you like, pretty Bird,” A hand was back on her throat, tight, but not squeezing, “But you and I both know this only ends one way.”

She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but the ache of bruised pride burning in her chest insisted on hurting him back. Hurting him more than he would ever hurt her. Because he would hurt her.

Her hands moved back to his chest, pushing as he wrenched her thighs apart, “Fucking villain,” She’d lost her appetite for this game of theirs, opting instead to let her acidic resentment pour outwards, “Get off.” After all, words were her only true defense.

In a flash his free hand took hold of one frantic wrist, “Villain? I can be a villain,” His face twitched in irritation, and her bones screamed under the force of his fingers, “Keep pushing, and I’ll break it.” 

The sudden flip had her hands falling limp, retreating in shock once he released her wrist, and balling into fists beside her head. And as fast as it came, the darkness left him, only that treacherous smugness remaining.

She cursed herself for her fear, put off by the unpredictability of his own emotional landmines. But still, she squared her face back to a disdained neutral, unwilling to show more weakness than he’d already sniffed out.

He pumped at his length, positioning it at her entrance. She was damp, but not nearly prepared enough for the size of him, and he hummed, fingers dipping down to toy at her clit, sending her hips jolting upwards in regretful anticipation.

“Say something nice, baby,” He breathed lazily, “Say something nice, and I’ll make you feel good, too.”

There was a beat as they stared at each other, “I…” She whispered, a growing conflict in her eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against her own.

“Yeah?” His hot breath spread across her cheeks, “C’mon Birdie, I wanna hear something pretty come from that filthy mouth of yours.”

They were nose to nose, golden eyes piercing into her own, each pair glowing with emotions too loud to speak, “I,” Breathy and wanton, “Would,”

“Yeah? You’d what?”

“Rather fucking die.”

For the hundredth time that night he was taken aback, incredulous laughter his only response as he pulled away from her, eyes snapping back to her own with a promise he’d been eager to fulfill.

“Suit yourself,” And he shoved inside.

A yelp, surprised and pained, “Fuck–!”

He was only halfway in, and rather than let her adjust, he sunk his nails into her thighs as leverage, and forced himself further. She whined in pain, a coat of crimson serving as response around his pulsing length, and he moved to trap her hands in his own, fingers intertwined.

“Tight like a virgin, huh, little Bird?” Once fully sheathed, he set a brutal pace, the head of his cock bruising her cervix with each greedy thrust. His face dipped down to lick a stripe up her stomach, trailing marks up her chest and throat with gnashing tongue and teeth.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She bit out, trying and failing to pull her hands from his crushing grip, “Wouldn’t know wet pussy if it—mmgh!—if it smacked you in the face.”

He huffed another laugh, “Don’t tempt me, baby,” His hands released her own to dig into the fat of her ass as he pulled her hips upwards and into his own with a renewed violence, grunting as her knees dug spitefully into his sides. 

Her newly free fingers clawed at his back, and despite his earlier threat, he seemed to revel in the streaks of red she tore in the skin between his wings, responding in kind with a hiss of masochistic pleasure.

“Not my fault the only way to get your dick wet,” A sharp, pained gasp, “Is to make a girl bleed.”

There was a glint in his eye that brought back her unease, and one of his sinful hands flew to the space where they met, finger pressing with irritating accuracy into her bundle of nerves. His other readjusted to push one leg to her chest, pausing his movement.

“Pain not a good enough lesson for you?” A too bright smile, “Fine with me,” That gleam in his eye sparkled with a sadistic satisfaction, “How ‘bout we see how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out.”

And the thrusts returned, chasing his own pleasure while the hand at her clit swirled in circles and stars, faster and faster until a whine more pleasured than pained escaped her lips.

“Like you–fuck–” She groaned as his fingers sped their motions, cock rocking into her with a deliciously savage rhythm she dared not acknowledge, “Like you fucking could–” A moan, full and long, drowned out her words, and her nails dug crescents into his shoulders.

He only hummed in response, her clit twitching under his thumb, “What’s that, Birdie?” A pulsing ache formed in her gut, “Words, baby, use your words,” Her pussy squeezed against his member in a way that had him groaning.

“Fuck you.”

“With pleasure, little Bird.”

He drew his hips back, pulling out of her dripping entrance to tease the hole with his tip, before diving back inside with unfairly gratifying precision against that spongy, tingling spot inside of her. Faster and faster, her bundle of nerves pulsed greedily under his fingers, and her teeth tore into her lip, trying to will the pleasure away, or, more shamefully, will it to peak.

Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blooming inside her that had her eyes rolling backwards, open mouthed moans raising in volume in an attempt to settle the warm buzzing between her thighs.

Though, she couldn’t find it within herself to care about the knowing smirk that pulled at his lips, too focused on his continued thrusts, and the quick rebuild of overwhelming pleasure.

“What are you–Stop!” A groan as he released her clit in favor of throwing both of her legs over his shoulders, and pressed against her chest, fucking into her at an angle that had her seeing stars, “What are you doing?!”

“If I’m correct, baby Bird,” He smiled, turning to press a quick kiss to her thigh, “You’re still conscious,” She growled as he nipped at the skin, but a particularly harsh push inside her cut the murderous thoughts short, “Which means we’ve still got a ways to go.”

His words were smug, but the growing sloppiness of his movements betrayed his own pleasure. Her eyes widened in realization, and her fingers leapt to pull and push at his back, tearing at what feathers she could reach in an attempt to get him off of her. Get him out of her.

“Not inside,” She rasped, “Don’t do it inside–”

“Hmm?” A mocking tilt of his head, “No? You don’t want me to fill you up?” One hand shifted to deliver a harsh slap to her ass, “Breed you like a needy little bitch?”

“Fucking—get off—get off!” She shrieked, beating at his shoulders, “Fucking psycho!”

“Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” His hips were stuttering, and before she could stop herself, the words shot out through her lips.

“Please,” A couple stray, humiliated tears as she whimpered his name, “Please, not inside. Please, don’t cum inside!”

“Oh, so you do know how to talk pretty,” He breathed, fingers massaging at her abused flesh, “I was beginning to worry.”

“Please,” She swallowed her spit and her pride, “Please–”

“That’s right,” He was panting now, lips meeting her neck, teeth sinking in to add to the ring of bruises, “Beg me some more.”

Throwing her dignity out the window, she obliged, pleas working in tandem with the savage strokes of his cock, trying and failing to ignore her own mounting pleasure until finally he stilled, pouring deep inside her with a raspy groan, and sending her once again over that dreaded and savored edge.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?” He ignored the defeated, broken whines that left her while they both returned to reality, “You’re mine.”

As his eyes trailed down the collage of her forming bruises, he was sure he bore his own battle scars, heart strangely skipping at the thought. She was his, but he had long belonged to her. A fact he’d hoard to himself as long as he could.

He caught his breath, readjusting to brush sweaty strands of hair from her forehead to behind her ear, pressing a reverent kiss to her temple before pulling away. It was a gesture entirely too soft, and she could have forgotten it was the monster above her had it not been for his next words.

“Oh don’t cry, my broken little Bird,” That vicious golden grin was back, “I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

Looking down at the ruined little thing shaking underneath him, he felt a type of satisfaction one only gets from dethroning a queen, fight fucked out of her. Not for good, he reminded himself gleefully. His pretty Bird was too stubborn for that. His softening cock twitched to life at the thought.

The flare of her nostrils sent lightning in his veins as she growled, “I’ll ruin you,” The words were venomous, humor sucked out in favor of acidic hatred, but his chest only vibrated with a sadistic urge to play, “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“Ruin all you like, baby,” Breath wet and hot, shaking with anticipation, “I’ll ruin you right back.”

[lullaebies]

GREEN FAMILY PROMPT!

Please, it is possible to get a drabble where Daeron saves Helaena and her children from B&C???

He had a bad feeling, so he's like, "I'm gonna visit mother, sister, and nieces and nephews to see if they are fine," he thinks and then goes to her mother's chambers

Alicent is tied up and gagged, and she begs the gods to help them, her child, her grandchildren, and as Blood or Cheese says: "You heard that boy, your momma wants you dead" to Maelor,Daeron barges in and saves the day.

I need this out of my system after the season 2 finale fiasco :(

a/n: oh bestie i became literally not normal over this prompt. i genuinely may have went crazy with it a bit LOL. it is way longer than a drabble, and a bit on the graphic side, but daeron... daeron best uncle, that i assure. love how this turned out, seriously.

He had been feeling uneasy for days. 

When Aegon had been crowned, Daeron had been summoned to court. He had been excited to come back home, and had been glad to see his older brother glowing as King. Mother, grandsire and Aemond had been quarrelling over the death of Lucerys Strong, but Aegon had shut the divide down for the most part. 

Aegon had been trying his best, and Aemond had a feast for his avenged past. Mother had steeled herself, swallowing her nerves, and Daeron swallowed his wine, drinking with his brothers for the first time in his life.

He very much wanted to find comfort in that. In the hearty laugh of Aegon and Aemond’s pleased smirk. And yet, Daeron had felt anxiety creep upon him. He trained with his uncle Gwayne for this long day because of it, the auburn-haired man trying to snap him out of his worries. 

“You sound like your mother,” his uncle told him. “You and your brothers are boys of true valor. Whatever comes your way, you’ll shut it down, triumphant. You hear me, boy?”

Daeron nodded, but he hadn’t managed to find ease in his shoulders nor his heart. He had been walking around the castle for the entire evening, the unmoving storm clouds in the sky threatening to rain down the red keep. 

Damn it all, he thinks to himself. He feels a child at a time he must be a man, and petulant where he should be collected. He had been on his way to his room, unable to get in the mood to participate in the joys within the mead hall, but he turns on his heel. It is childish, he supposes, to seek his own mother, but he can’t help it. He missed her, and if he sounds like her — shouldn’t that prove that more than all, they should confide in each other?

He barely had her act his mother in his life, but he very much wanted to be her son.

It is a sound choice, he thinks. At these hours, his sister goes with his nephews and niece to see their mother at the Hand’s Tower, to tell the children bedtime stories and kiss them goodnight. Daeron adores the twins, and even more so little Maelor, who plays with Daeron’s rings and cuffs whenever he sees him. Helaena had been a successful mother as she had been a beloved sister to him. Between her and the children he feels much at ease, although sometimes he does feel she acts as if he had been just as tiny as her toddlers.

Mayhaps he’d be able to contribute to the bedtime stories. He had not yet strayed far enough on Tessarion to tell the children his adventures, but the many books in the Hightower had kept him company on days where he had felt lonesome. Princes and Princesses have little they couldn’t receive from the world, but he knows the merriment from a good story could appear on their button nose and full cheeks as they crinkle.

It is not long before he is by the Hand’s tower. For a moment he thinks he should’ve probably bathed before this; he is sweaty in his training garb — Jaehaera is going to tell him he is stinky, no doubt — but then he notices color, from underneath the door, trickling from between the copper-colored bricks of the floor. 

Dark, bloody red, separating in between the creaks of stone. 

“M-Mae.. Mael…” 

Is that his sister? Her voice is in croaks. He hears other voices from the inside, but they are not familiar to him. They’re male, but not childlike, they are gruff and spiteful; scoffing.

“Hear that, little boy? Your mama wants you dead.” 

And realisation hit him. The knots in Daeron’s body and bones, the one that constrained him for these past few nights, release in a burst of flame and make him spring into action. His hand reaches for the grip of his sword while his side slams against the door, forcing it open. 

The blood that seeped out of the room is one of a slain maid he only barely manages to avoid from stomping. There are two men in the room, one tall, mountain-like in figure, and the other hunched, with a blotched face. He had Maelor in his grip, his arm pressing tight on the neck of his younger nephew. 

He finds his mother seized and gagged, tied to a chair, and his sister bruised and shaking like a leaf, her dress torn at the skirt. Jaehaera’s nails dug into the fabric of it, frightened, and Jaehaerys had been painfully held by the shoulder by the giant man that now turned to him. 

“Aren’t you silverlings supposed to be dragons? All I see are helpless skinks,” the man drawls. Jaehaerys almost manages to escape his grip but he catches him by the hair and tosses him towards him to a blotchy man. “Hold the boy, ratcatcher!”

The man begins to pull out a lengthy, heavy sword from its sheath, and the blotched man reaches for Jaehaerys at the cost of dropping Maelor to the floor. Maelor screeches as he hits the floor, Helaena scrambling to get to him and his brother. 

Daeron charges to ram into the man before he could begin to swing. A man like that is too large to allow to wield a weapon and demand distance. While the man recovers from the slam, Daeron slashes at the dirty hand that grabbed at his nephew’s hair. The swing is not long or powerful enough to cut through bone, only flesh. Blood erupts from the man’s thick wrist. He is forced to let go of his sword, and enraged, the man brings his other hand, fisted — and smashes it against Daeron’s face. 

Daeron is knocked to the floor, no better than Maelor, laid underneath that goliath of a man. As his gums bleed, he can hear his sister and her children screaming, and his mother — his mother’s muffled cries from behind him, begging, begging, begging, the cloth that keeps her voiceless to allow her to scream his name. 

No mother should weep, naming her son. No mother would. The bloody iron on his tongue turns him to the very steel he holds in his hand. The accumulation of adrenaline within his belly ignites into a battle cry louder than thunder as the man over him to punch the life out him. Daeron manages to find the strength to lift his sword crookedly, make it an axe, slamming down the man’s head and opening his scalp, cutting right down to the skull.

Blood drips down through the cracks of it, onto Daeron, as the man’s eyes lose light.  The large assassin falls to his side. 

“Fie on the lot you!” The apparent ratcatcher screams watching, looking for something in his pockets, all while trying to steal away with Jaehaerys, dragging the boy by his chin. “Where the fuck is it—”

Jaehaerys, despite the tears in his eyes, finds the courage to open his mouth, and bite. 

The ratcatcher yells in pain, forced to release the boy who rushes back to his mother. Helaena, who is already holding Maelor and Jaehaera in their horror, embraces her eldest back to her, and then lifts her eyes to the blotchy man in front of her. They are flaming violet. 

Daeron manages to get up from underneath the heavy corpse. The ratcatcher seems to want to flee, backing on his heel, but Daeron catches him, bringing an already bloody sword to his throat. 

Finally, all too late, guards arrive at the room, shocked at the scene. Daeron doesn’t let that faze him, and neither does it faze Helaena, who has them speak to her, but her gaze is insistent on the man, while her hold is insistent on the children.

And now, he seems so frail, locked in Daeron’s grip. “Please, wait, I’ve been forced—” he says as Daeron tightens the slit of the sword against his neck. “They told me— they told me to bring the boy’s head. The Prince! The rogue prince, and his worm, they made me! I beg you, your Grace…”

Helaena is still shaking. But unlike the shaking leaves that are her children, she is shaking with rage that drips in tears down her eyes. She picks up something from the floor; a small dagger, which looks better than a butcher’s skinning knife. That is what the scum looked for — a way to kill the boy.

“One word, Helaena,” Daeron tells her. Just one word, and he’ll slit his throat clean.

“Not word, name,” she says, and looks around the room. “And not one. All of them. I want every name of every person who has been a part of this,” she says, and inches closer. “Take him to the dungeons for now, and make him spit every single one.” 

“Your Grace, thank you, thank you..” the ratcatcher nearly weeps as Daeron relents him over to the other guards.

Helaena glares at him and looks at the guards. “And after you believe he is done listing your accomplices, call me. The last name he’ll hear would be his own one, from my lips,” Helaena decrees, and comes closer to the man. “I want you dead.” 

The ratcatcher is dragged away in despair, no less lifeless than the corpses the guards take out of the room.

When they are away, out of sight, Helaena tosses the dagger in her hand into the fireplace of the room, and goes to her children, falling to her knees and wailing loudly with them, over them, kissing their faces with ruptured apologies. 

Daeron watches, in tears himself, when he feels his mother’s hold on his arm. The marks of her formerly bound wrists catch his eye first. “Mother,” he starts, but finds himself croaked, voiceless instead of hers, his limbs helpless instead of hers. “I…” 

“My sweet son,” she says, bringing a hand to his face, wiping the blood by his mouth. She holds him the same way she did when he was no older than his nephew and niece. “My sweet Daeron. I am sorry,” she says, crying. “I am sorry that you had… you have to…” she loses her voice to a raspy weep. 

And he is uneasy, and fretting, like his mother. The apologies on her tongue, for having to be brave at the face of hell on earth, he may have before had been comfortable receiving from her, or his brothers. But no more. He will be no craven when his family is at stake. His mother, anxious as he, had always known they were at stake. 

He won’t let her be scared, nor anyone else. 

“All that comes your way… our way, mother,” he says, holding her tight, letting his tears of stress fall on her shoulder. “I’ll repel, and endure, triumphant. I swear.” 

His mother embraces him close. “My little light,” she coos. “I will never allow it to be otherwise. I love you.”

I love you too, loves his family whole and true. The painful beats of his heart tell him how heavy it had been, knowing a scenario like this has been impending. And never again he would allow it even a chance.

Aegon and Aemond storm into the room, Ser Criston in tow, moving hands touching his face and lips asking him questions. Aegon rushes to his wife and children; the crying Helaena leans entirely into her husband’s hold along with all of their little ones. Aemond and Criston examine him and Alicent, their own rage palpable as they reach over to hold them too. 

When they leave the room, locking the horrors shut behind them, they move to the midst of Maegor’s Holdfast, coming to sit in front of a greater fire with a greater fireplace, awaiting the baths that will allow them to wash away the horrible day.

Daeron sits in the middle, as silence falls between tear-dried faces. To be brave at the face of hell on earth, is not only to be brave within battles to survival, but also force away fright that haunts halls.

“Should…” he opens his mouth tentatively, looking at his nephews and niece who sit at restless adults’ laps. “Should I tell you a story?”

Jaehaera lifts her head to look at him from Alicent’s lap, while Jaehaerys adjusts himself in his father’s hold. Maelor, still deep in his mother’s apologetic embrace, is the one who nods through his sniffles. 

And he finds his comfort again, as a storyteller for his kin. For the many times he may have to swing his sword, may he find himself in this circle of perked ears and crinkling eyes.