#one piece dance battle

[ringdabel]

Bepo be throwing some moves frfr!!!!

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[punkhazardqueen]

I want to bless you with this dancing Caesar.

You’re welcome.

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[eraenaa]

Parting Gift

Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon Targaryen Tag List

Synopsis: Aegon asks for a parting gift from his younger brother and his beloved wife: One night with you in exchange for the throne. 

Warnings: Threesome, ¿Manipulative Aemond?, Violence, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), Squirting, Overstimulation, ¿Slight Degradation?, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 5,017

A/N: Even I have to admit that this is one of the more steamier fics i made.

After the toll of war had subsided, your husband and his side reigned victorious—after two years of blood, battles, and betrayals, the greens had defied the odds and won the Dance of the Dragons. Your lord husband now serving as the hand of his brother, the King who still had not come to terms with his responsibilities to the realm. Often, you wonder who the true king was, Aegon or your husband Aemond, who had stood in his brother’s stead, taking all the responsibilities that were not meant for him.  

You admired your husband’s efforts and initiatives, but you would admit you had missed him dearly. After moons spent away as he waged war in the Riverlands and his duties as hand and now substituting as king, the two of you had barely time for each other. It had not left your lips yet, but you were starting to feel neglected. You would hope that the nights would be spent with just you and your husband, but more often than not, you went to sleep alone, cold and needing in your bed. Only feeling Aemond’s presence when the morning was soon to come, and when you woke, Aemond was no longer there. 

“Aemond…” You called as you clung to his side, the two of you in the sitting area, him reading countless scrolls whilst you clung to his side, trying to fight for his attention. You placed soft kisses on his neck and jaw, and before, he would always be quick to respond. However, now, he simply hummed and continued on with his duties. You feel yourself pout as your eyes shift between him and the scroll in his hands. You bit your lip and sighed in defeat, standing and making your way to your bed to sleep and not dwell on the growing hurt of your husband’s neglect. “Where are you going?” Aemond asked, voice still distracted, his hand clasped around your wrist. “Bed. I… I don’t wish to disturb you,” You say quietly and gaze into his lilac eye. Aemond sighed and shook his head, pulling you towards him, you landing on his lap and you circled your arms around his neck. 

“Just one more scroll, and I’m all yours, my fire,” He whispered and connected your lips briefly, but it was enough to bring butterflies to your stomach and need to your core. You waited patiently on Aemond’s lap, scratching your nails gently at the back of his head as he read. You hear a deep, satisfied hum leave his throat as you do the action, and you feel your lips twitch into a smirk. You were reading along with what he read when you were caught by surprise as he intertwined your lips once more, the scroll he read discarded to the side. “I’ve missed you, my love,” You sighed against his lips, his hold on your waist growing tighter, and you felt his arousal through your shift. 

“I should hope so… I apologize for my extended duties,” Aemond sighed and tucked a stray piece of your hair, watching intently as the sleeve of your shift drifted off. “You’ll make it up to me, won’t you, my love?” You hummed and entangled your fingers in his hair. Taking hold of the strap of his eyepatch to gaze at the sapphire in his eye. “That, I will,” Aemond smirked and moved you to straddle his waist. 

You moaned as your lips locked again, his tongue fighting with yours. You lifted your waist as he undid and pulled down his breeches, his hard length already pushing against your entrance. “Aemond… gods, I’ve missed you.” You moaned as you sank down on his length. “Me or my cock?” He breathed out, amused, already overwhelmed at how you clenched around his length, missing the feeling of you. “Answer, little wife,” Aemond hummed as you bounced on his length, his head dipping down to take the bud of your tit, his teeth lightly nipping it, making you moan louder. "Both,” You answered. You would often touch yourself during the nights Aemond would be taken by his duties. Trying to imagine it was Aemond’s hands bringing your pleasure, but that was not enough to suffice your needs. You needed your husband desperately. 

For the first time in a few moons, you and your husband were intimate and slept in your marital bed together. You slept that night contended, and when morning came, you felt your heart double as you still felt him holding you against his chest. 

You smiled and raised your hand to lightly trace his brow, “Good morning,” You smiled as Aemond’s eye twitched open. “Indeed it is,” He whispered and dipped down to kiss your lips, moving you to rest your whole body atop his chest, making you let out a small laugh. You inhaled his scent deeply, savoring him. “My love?” You called, and you traced the contour of his chest; Aemond hummed. “Will you do something for me?” You asked shyly. “I will do anything and everything for you,” Aemond replied without hesitation, your smile growing wide at his words. “Can… can we spend more time together?” You asked quietly. “I’ve just noticed that the time spent with just us has grown scarily scarce… and I’ve missed you greatly, Aemond.” You pouted, and Aemond sighed. 

“I admire how you tend to your duties meticulously… almost stubbornly, in fact.” You say, and Aemond laughs, “But you have a duty to me as well.” You cautiously added. Aemond sighed and ran his hand through your hair, trailing down your back, making gooseflesh rise to your skin by the touch of his cold hand. “I apologize, my fire, that my duties had led me to neglect you,” Aemond softly said as you traced the scar on his cheek. “So, will you spend the day with me?” You asked hopefully, but the smile on your lips slipped as Aemond let out a grievous breath, hating to see the disappointment in your eyes. 

“I just… I have prior engagements this week, little wife. But I swear to you, by the week’s end, I am completely yours.” Aemond quickly said, trying to relieve the disappointment in your eyes. Aemond kissed your pouted lips, “Very well then,” you sighed and removed your weight from your husband to get ready for the day. 

Later that day, you found yourself in the gardens, a bit sullen as you spent the day alone once more. Before, you would spend the days with Helaena, but you were left utterly devastated when during the war, her madness took her— the Red Keep mourning her deeply for moons to come. Aegon watched as you solemnly walked through the flowers, your smile he had grown to admire was gone, and he was alarmed as he had not seen it for a while. Aegon knew he should attend to his duties, that his brother and the small council were already waiting for him, but he could not hinder himself as his feet carried him towards your direction. 

You hear shuffling behind you, and you quickly turn, your eyes locking with violets. “My king,” you curtsied as you saw Aegon. He smiled, “How many times must I tell you, no titles are needed when it comes to family, sister,” He said and stepped closer to you. You gave him a small smile and nod, “How are you, brother? I heard that the realm has been proven to be quite… demanding after the war.” You asked as he offered his arm for you to take, escorting you through the gardens; oh, how you wished Aemond was the one escorting you— but you would take any company offered. 

“Indeed it has… though I am quite fortunate to have my brother as my hand, Aemond has always been the one keen on such matters,” Aegon answered, inhaling a deep breath of your scent as a gust of wind came. You always smelt so lovely, Aegon thought. A calming scent, and he wondered if it were the reason his brother would soften every time you were in his presence. Or perhaps it was just your whole being, sweet and serene. 

“Yes, quite keen,” You say, and Aegon is quick to notice the sadness in your tone. “You do not approve?” He questioned, and you could not even have it in yourself to lie through your teeth. “It is just… I miss him. With the moons spent apart, I thought at least we would spend some time together, but he was quickly ushered to his duties.” You confessed, and Aegon pursed his lips. He, too, knew the plight of the duties of the realm, and though he had already fought the war, the throne was one thing he had never wanted. He thankfully had his brother to rely upon, Aemond catching the duties of king as well as hand. However, he did not expect you to grow so… sullen about your husband’s extended duties. 

After a few more moments in the privy of the gardens, Aegon reluctantly departed from your company, knowing he must attend to at least one matter for the day. He ventured towards the room of the small council, hindering the guards from opening the door, for he eavesdropped upon the conversation held when he was not present. Aemond had always commanded the room, and it would seem that even in the king’s absence, his presence was not missed. He stood there for a few minutes, noting how productive his brother and the lords were, a matter they cannot do when he is present. 

Aegon drew in a deep breath before nodding for the guards to open the doors and as he walked in, it would seem their meeting was done. The Lords and masters stood to take their leave, surprised by the presence of their king. Aegon nodded along as they passed him, and his brother sat in his place, his persistent scowl adorning his face. “You are incredibly late… we have finished the matters for the day,” Aemond said sternly, not bothering to stand from the seat Aegon did anything to deserve. “I apologize; I was taken by your wife… accompanying her in the gardens,” He spoke and watched as Aemond’s nose flared and his fists clenched. 

“You should pay more attention to attention to her, brother. You are fortunate enough to have a wife so eager to be in your presence,” Aemond clenched his jaw at his brother’s words, hinting longing in his tone. Aemond’s vision was impaired, but he was not blind to miss the yearning of Aegon for you. They had known you since childhood, and ever since, Aegon was always enthralled by your presence, mystified to be with you, but your heart and attention were always on Aemond. Aemond knew not what he had done to be blessed by such adoration from you, but he knew he would not be an ingrate to question it and squander it off. 

“I would have time for my lady wife if the king tended to his duties rather than let me handle them,” Aemond spat as his brother stepped closer to him, noting that your scent had lingered on Aegon, making jealousy in him spike. How close were your proximity to each other? 

“You had always been the one able to perform and solve the problems of the realm; why must I do it when I have no wish for such duties?” Aegon questioned and that only added to Aemond’s rage. “Because you are king!” Aemond almost yelled, abruptly standing from his seat. Aegon simply hummed, toying with the orbs on the table. “Aye, king,” He stated, not accepting his faith. “Perform your duties, brother— I am merely your hand, and I am tempted to step down for even I am overwhelmed by the demands of these two duties!” Aemond threatened, and Aegon sighed, shaking his head.

“What if I lessen it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, and Aemond frowned. “What do you mean?” The prince asked, and Aegon let out another sigh. “I shall lessen your duties; you no longer have to be the hand and king… just… just king,” Aegon stated confidently at his decision. He had no wish for duty or this life— he was unencumbered by a wife or children; hypothetically, he was a free man. He was free to do what he wished, but the crown was his only hindrance. 

There were only a few moments in his life where Aemond was taken aback; him claiming his dragon, your first kiss, your wedding day and night, and his sister’s death, Aegon stepping down as king was now added to that list. “You cannot be serious,” He stated, unable to find the words. “I am,” Aegon replied with finality. “You know I never had the wish to be burdened by these duties. I was ready to sail off to YiTi but you and Cole had hindered me.” Aegon stepped closer to his brother, who stood still in shock, “Be the King, Aemond. Help me escape, and the iron throne is yours,” Aemond licked his lips, pondering over the proposition before ultimately nodding. Aegon felt a smile twitch on his lips, already feeling the weight of pressure off him. 

“I’ll find you a ship,” Aemond stated, ready to perform the plan, but his brother took hold of his shoulder. “However, I do wish for a parting gift,” Aemond rolled his eye as he heard the tone of his brother’s voice. “What more could you want?” Aemond asked, straightening his back. “In exchange for the throne, I want your wife.” 

Aemond did not hesitate before grabbing his brother by his collar, landing a punch on his jaw, and slamming his head upon the table. Aegon sadistically laughed, “Come now, brother,” He said in amusement. “Perhaps I should just kill you now and take the crown for myself,” Aemond mused, slamming Aegon’s head into the table once more, wanting to draw blood as Aegon had the audacity to want you. “And be a kinslayer twice?” Aegon hummed, “You were lucky enough your sweet wife still loved you even after starting the war— do you think she would still be able to forgive you if you kill your brother?” Aemond gripped his brother’s hair harder. 

“Just one night, brother… share her for one night, and the throne will be all yours. She’ll be your queen and your son the heir to the throne,” Aegon played with Aemond’s desires. Aemond gritted his jaw and felt rage fuel him. He let out a breath and released his brother, “One night,” He gritted, and Aegon smirked as he stood. “And I shall be in observance.” He added, and Aegon nodded, expecting it. “Very well then, go, find me a ship, and I shall see you and your lovely wife when the moon is high,” Aegon smirked, already filled with desire and excitement to have you, even if it was just for one night.

“Aemond!” You say in surprise, sitting straighter on the settee as your husband returns to you earlier than you had expected. Aemond shut the door of your chambers as you rushed towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss. Aemond turned lax in your arms, and he circled his arms around your waist. “Wha… why are you here?” You asked, and Aemond raised his brow. “It’s just… you usually return later in the night, though I am happy you are here,” You beamed, and Aemond could only kiss your lips as he could not disclose the reality of his early return. 

Aemond led you to the sitting area, never parting your lips as he gathered the courage to tell you of the dealing made behind closed doors. You took in deep breaths as your lips parted, and you perched upon his lap. “Seriously, why are you here so early? The sun has barely set… is everything well?” You asked in concern as you saw apprehension in his lilac orb. “Aegon wishes to step down as king,” Aemond confessed and watched your eyes widen, but you were not completely in shock; in truth, you were just counting down the days before Aegon fully escaped his duty.

“I found him a ship, as he had ordered,” Aemond added, stalling as he had no clue how to tell you about their dealings. “When is he to leave?” You asked quietly, intertwining your hands with your husband’s. You could feel a slight sadness in him that yet another member of his family was to depart. “Before tomorrow’s early light,” Aemond said, and you nodded. “Then… you’ll be king?” You asked cautiously, thrilled that your husband would finally gain what he had wanted since he was a boy but dreading the demanding duties that come with it. You could only hope that with his council, he would not be completely burdened by the realm as he was now. “Aye,” Aemond nodded and cupped your cheek. 

“However… my brother asked for a parting gift before he leaves,” He said, watching keenly every reaction present in your face. “Oh? What is it?” You asked and slightly frowned at the solemn and almost apologetic look on your husband’s face. “He… he asked for you,” Aemond bit his lip as your mouth parted in shock and your eyes filled with confusion. “What? Me? Y—you said ‘no,’ yes?” You asked in scandal, but you feel your stomach pit as your husband could not give you a reply, his eye going downwards to the floor. “Aemond… wh—“ 

“It’s just for one night, my love— and I shall be here to make certain he will not step a foot out of bounds,” Aemond whispered and felt his stomach twist as you stood and walked away from him. “You cannot be serious!” You almost yelled. 

Aemond went to you and took you into his arms. “Just one night… after that, I will be king— you, my queen. Our children to be the heirs of Westeros.” Aemond tried to convince. You shook your head; in truth, you know you should feel offended that your husband had practically sold you off to his brother like a common whore in exchange for the throne, but you could not find yourself to be appalled by the dealings made. You sighed heavily and shook your head. 

“If I am king… I will have more time to be with you, having installed a council that I know is competent and will not waiver under small dilemmas— unlike the pathetic lords my brother had chosen. Isn’t that what you wanted, my fire? For us to spend more time together? Have you not said it yourself that you had missed me terribly, hm?” Aemond tried to sway your mind. He was truly blessed that you were always one to believe and fall for his words. 

You took a deep breath, “Are… are you certain of this— you would let your brother f—fuck me?” You said hesitantly, watching as his eye darkened and his jaw clenched. Aemond had always been a jealous man, never one to share. You recalled the time he had cut the hand of a lord for he had touched you. It was quite a severe reaction, especially when you considered you and Aemond were not anything but childhood friends at the time. Aemond could only nod, and you rested your hands on his chest. “Very well then, I shall do as you wish.” You agreed. Aemond had told you that he would do anything and everything for you, and you supposed you would do the same for him. 

When the hour of the owl came, you sat nervously in yours and Aemond’s shared bed as he was sitting before you by the sitting area. Husband and wife waiting for the king. With each moment Aemond stared at you, perched upon your bed, the candlelight illuminating you, the doubts in him multiplied. When he heard you let out a shaky breath, his mind had now convinced him not to go through with the plan, but before he could take back what he had devised, a knock sounded out through your room, and Aemond knew that the both of you were past the point of no return. You chewed on your lip as your husband downed his wine and went to unbar the door for his brother. 

Aegon was greeted by the scowling and enraged face of his brother as he opened the door. “Try not to put a damper on my mood, little brother— this is my last night after all.” Aegon mussed as his eye went to you, who sat on your bed, his cock already twitching at the sight of you only in your shift. 

You swallowed thickly as the two Targaryen brothers stood before you. You shuddered as you felt Aegon’s eyes assess your frame. You turned to Aemond, and there was a steely look in his cold lilac eye. “You will not kiss her lips; it is only meant for me.” Aemond gritted. “You are no fun, brother,” Aegon drawled, his mind already consumed by the thought that he would finally get to taste and feel your plump lips upon his. “But very well, I shall do the orders of the future king,” Aegon teased and stepped closer to you. You bit your lip and turned to Aemond, him going back to his seat as his brother started to have his way with you. You swallowed thickly and bit your tongue as you felt Aegon place kisses on your neck, his fingers draping off the sleeve of your shift. 

You were unusually quiet, Aegon thought. When you and Aemond would couple, he would often hear your moans of pleasure ring through the halls. Aegon doubled his efforts, for he was detrained to elicit the same reactions from you. You let out a small whimper as he took one of your breasts into his mouth, his teeth gently nipping the bud and his tongue soothing it. Aegon palmed himself as rested his head between your ample breasts, trying to ignore the burning stare of his brother. You let out a breath as Aegon placed kisses on the underside of your tits, his lips trailing downwards and downwards until he knelt between your cunt. “Your wife can be as quiet as she wants… but her cunt cannot conceal her arousal for me,” Aegon smirked and turned to Aemond, who violently griped the armrest of his chair.

Aegon did not waste another moment before burying his face in your cunt, and you harshly bit your lip as you felt a moan wanting to escape. You looked downwards and watched as Aegon ate your cunt, the sounds so lewd and made your cheeks flush further.  It would seem his years of depravity did teach him well on the art of pleasure. Your eyes shifted to your husband, who had been watching you try earnestly not to moan and show your pleasure. Aemond sighed as he saw your eyes well in tears. He sighed and gave you a nod, and Aemond shut his eye as you fell back on the featherbed and finally let out your moans. Your hands tangled in Aegon’s shorter hair as he lapped on your cunt. “So fucking sweet… it is no wonder my brother is so addicted to you,” Aegon moaned and inserted his finger in your cunt, groaning at how quickly you clenched at the digit. He sucked at the pearl of your cunt and relished the way your moans grew louder. 

Aemond knew he should not find pleasure, let alone tolerate the scene before him, but he could not help but palm his length as he gazed at you wrapped in pleasure his brother gave. He had never seen you in such a way, for he was always too focused on bringing you pleasure. He watched with amazement at the way your back arched, your lips agape, and you spewing out moans. The way you gripped the sheets and the way your hips writhed against Aegon’s face. 

Aegon licked his lip as he brought you to your climax, your heavenly taste still lingering on his tongue. Aegon stood before you and unlaced his breeches, and took out his length. He wanted to turn to his brother and give him a teasing smirk as he would fuck you, but he could not find the strength to tear away his gaze from your face that was flushed and contorted in pleasure. Aegon grabbed a hold of your thighs and pulled you closer to him, hissing as your wrapped your legs around his waist and the tip of his cock entered your tight, warm cunt. “Seven hells…” Aegon muttered as your cunt took him in. You breathe out as you feel him fully sheathe himself inside you. His cock was not as big as Aemond’s, but he was still well-endowed, and you still felt somewhat overwhelmed by the size of him. 

Aemond only focused on your face and moans as his brother fucked you. Fucking his fist, imagining he was in Aegon's stead instead. Aemond could not bear it any longer. When he heard his brother’s heavy breathing and observed Aegon’s thrusts become sloppy, Aemond stood and pulled his brother back. You whined as Aegon’s cock abruptly slipped out of your cunt. Through the haze of pleasure, you propped yourself on your elbows and observed how two Targaryen brothers stood before you once more, your legs parted and your cunt in full display for them. 

“You overstep, brother. You will not spill your seed inside my wife,” Aemond gritted and pulled you towards him; you moaned loudly as you felt the tip of his cock gliding through your slick folds. Aegon groaned and shook his head but did not quarrel with his brother. You turned your head to the side when you felt Aegon kneeling by it, him placing his cock between your lips, and you turned to your husband for permission if you could suck his brother’s cock. Aemond gave a reluctant nod, and it was only then did you parted your lips. 

Aegon groaned loudly and tilted his head back as you hallowed your cheeks and sucked his length. Your teeth lightly grazed his skin, pain mixing with pleasure just as he enjoyed it. “Fuck— perhaps, brother, I shall be rid of you and take your wife as mine instead,” Aegon moaned in the pleasure you gave, but you abruptly stopped at his words. Aemond smirked at your loyalty; he knew what his brother said was a jest, Aegon being forever unserious, but you did not take his words lightly. 

Aegon looked down at your glaring eyes, his cock still in your mouth, but you seized any pleasurable movements. “It was a jest,” He clarified and tucked in a stray lock of hair. It took a moment before you resumed your action, your glaring gaze rolling back at the way Aemond thrust deep inside your cunt. Aegon was skilled in fucking, but not as skilled as your husband. For Aemond knew every part of you and had memorized every action that would bring you pleasure. Aemond was relentlessly thrusting against the sensitive spot in your cunt, and your moans only grew louder as Aegon reached down and drew circles upon your nubbin and his other hand pinching the bud of your breast. 

You gagged against his cock, the tip of it hitting your throat. When Aegon felt your throat tighten around his length, he could not hold back any longer as he spilled his seed. He slowly took out his cock from your mouth and watched as you swallowed his spent with tear-filled eyes, hazy in pleasure he and his brother gave. 

“Rub her faster,” Aemond ordered his brother, wanting to show what his wife was capable of— dangling something Aegon could never get. Aegon, still dazed by his climax, mindlessly obliged, and his ears rang with your loud moans. “Ae… Ae—“ You trialed as Aemond lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder. “Look how pleasured you are by us… you don’t even know who to call upon,” Aemond hissed as your cunt almost painfully clenched around him. Aemond reached forward and clasped his hand around your neck, the pacing of his thrusts fast and sloppy. “Show my brother your talent, my fire— show him how much of a whore you actually are,” You whimpered at Aemond’s words, but you knew it was all for your benefit because you sadistically liked it when he would be mean and callous with you when he fucked you. 

Aegon felt his flaccid length quickly harden again as you reached your peak. Your eyes rolled back, your face completely flushed, and your cunt emitted a sloppy, wet sound that accompanied Aemond’s final thrusts. He watched his awe as you sprayed your release, Aemond smirking down at you in pride before placing a kiss on your lips. “You’re a fucking lucky bastard,” Aegon breathed out, watching as you caught your breath, your body slick with sweat and glistening under the candlelight. “That, I am,” Aemond smirked and gave you another kiss before turning to his brother. 

“You got your parting gift. Now, leave us to rest— I shall fetch you when it is time for your escape.” Aemond said coldly, ushering his brother to the door. Aegon struggled to put on his trousers. He badly wanted to stay, to be in your presence for just a while longer but Aegon conceded, counting his blessings as his brother actually agreed to his request. Before Aemond could shut the door on his brother, Aegon hindered him. “Thank you…” It was off-putting to say such words, “I will miss you… but mostly your wife,” he jested, and Aemond was too tired to control the amused grin rising to his lips. Aemond nodded, “Take care, brother,” he said and watched Aegon turn on his heels and walk away, leaving the new king and queen of Westeros to find respite. 

[illyrianbitch]

Words of Affirmation

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

Summary: Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

Warnings: established relationship fluff :)

Word Count: 2.3k

just a quick sweet fluffy piece to make up for all my angst. dedicated to the one and only @sarawritestories

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cassian would never admit it, but the assumptions of his intelligence bothered him. He was always a brute, a mindless warrior, a soldier— nothing more. He knew, deep down, that his brothers rivaled him in all matters of the mind. They were more collected, more capable with familial matters and court affairs. Simply put, they were smarter. 

And he had accepted that— at least, he told himself he had. After all, he was talented where it mattered. He was a good male, a good friend, a good brother, a good commander— and amazing in bed. So truly, it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did when his meeting with Eris went sour. 

Cassian entered the room with heavy steps, a frown on his face as he began to peel off his coat, each movement slow and heavy with frustration. A part of him hoped that he could shed more than just the layer of clothing, hoped that coming home would rid him of the insecurity that had threaded itself through his ribs.

You observed him quietly, taking in the way his muscles tensed and released with each motion, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the deep exhale. He hadn’t looked at you yet, hadn’t made his classic entrance. On most days, Cass would return home with a huge grin, door thrown wide open as he bellowed out your name with a burning heart.

But he was quiet today. And you knew exactly why– you could feel it through the bond. Cassian was sad. 

Your footsteps were quiet against the wood floors as you slowly walked towards him. 

“Things didn’t go well?” 

Your voice was soft and gentle and the sound of it sent a ripple of relief through his body. Still, he felt heavy. Tired. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally discarded his coat onto a nearby chair. “I don’t know how Rhysand does it.”

“Does what?” 

“This whole diplomacy thing, even Azriel. I just… I couldn’t. I'm too stupid for it. Just an idiot.”

Your heart clenched at his words, a heaviness settling on the glowing bond in your chest. You wanted to console him, to fight and kill whatever it was that was unsettling him so deeply. But the thing that was causing Cassian pain wasn’t anything you could fight yourself. It was his own mind, the insecurities he was too afraid to acknowledge. 

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he waved you off with a frustrated gesture.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his tone heavy with defeat, “I’m just whining. I’ll get over it.”

You frowned, letting out a small breath. 

“No, don’t say that,” you said gently, taking a step closer to him. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“I’m not?” 

You took in the sight of your mate for a moment, took in his long hair and brown eyes, took in the stubble on his jaw and the way he let out a small breath. You extended your hand to him, voice low as you murmured, “C’mere, honey.”

He hesitated for a moment before he gently took your hand and closed the distance between you, large arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you. 

“You are a big ole’ dummy,” you teased lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you put your hands around his neck. You felt Cassian melt into your touch ever so slightly, eyes shuttering closed as a small hum left his lips. “But you are brilliant. Like really fucking smart.”

Cassian’s eyes opened to meet yours, somewhat narrowed in skepticality. You rubbed the nape of his neck with your thumbs. 

“I mean, you’re a war general. You’ve commanded hundreds of soldiers, have won countless battles– wars, even. You couldn’t get away with those things as an idiot.”

Cassian grumbled, but you caught the hint of a smile dancing in his stormy eyes, felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. A wry chuckle bubbled up from deep within him as he shook his head, his lips quirking up in a brief smile.

“Well, I don’t know about that one, we have Beron and Tam-”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Would you just let me compliment you?” You interrupted with a gentle shake of your head, eyebrows raised as you looked at him. 

A soft chuckle escaped him. “My bad.”

“You are so incredibly smart,” you repeated earnestly, slightly pulling him down and urging him to place his forehead against yours. 

He stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy as he searched for something in your eyes. He seemed to find it as he gave you a small smile. “You really think so?”

You pulled yourself back gently, dropping your hands from his neck to take his in your own. Then, you gently guided one hand to your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

“Does it feel like I’m lying?” you asked softly.

Cassian’s expression softened as his gaze flickered to where your hand held his. You watched as a glow of warmth lit up his eyes. 

“No,” he said quietly, “It does not.”

And then he was bringing his hands to hold your face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly, his lips a gentle caress against yours.

He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, if he was comfortable enough with considering himself to be smart, let alone brilliant. But you, his beautiful mate, the love of his life— you thought he was smart, you thought he was brilliant.

And truly, that's all that mattered to him. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn’t that he was insecure about his looks, no, that wasn't it. 

Cassian knew he was attractive, knew that he was hot and ruggedly handsome. He knew from the looks that he got from females and males alike, from the scent changes that he caused, and the lovers he had bedded. 

But sometimes, when standing next to Rhysand and Azriel,  Cassian would catch himself wondering if he was rough around the edges in ways that his brothers were smoother, more appealing. After all, they were the two more classically pretty males, the more softly attractive and very often audibly complimented. 

And then there was him, the rough warrior. 

Attractive, yes, but pretty? Elegant? Those were never words used to describe him. 

There was a soft glow in your room tonight, gentle shadows casted across the bed from flickering fae light. Cassian let out a deep sigh as he prepared to climb into bed, his muscles aching and head heavy as he shed the remenands of his day. 

You watched him with a tender gaze as you lay on the bed. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of your lips as your eyes traced the lines of his face. Cass caught your gaze with his own, a warm hearty brown that made your heart flutter. 

A playful smirk tugged at his lips as he noticed your lingering stare. "You like what you see, sweetheart?" 

You grinned, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you tilted your head. "Always.”

With a grin of his own, Cassian began to crawl towards you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he closed the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Admiring how absolutely handsome I am?” he said, “How Incredibly sexy?" 

You let out a small laugh as he reached your face, his body hovering over yours. With a gentle hand, you pushed back his tousled hair, your touch feather-light against his skin. A soft sigh escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the warmth of your touch. His lips wore a content smile. 

"So beautiful," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced the contours of his face with your fingertips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes scanned your face. You ran your finger along the crease that they created. "Beautiful?" 

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Yes, beautiful. Maybe I don't tell you enough."

He chuckled softly as he leaned into your touch, heart swelling with warmth at your words. There was a new flutter in his chest that he didn’t recognize. For a moment, Cassian felt shy— he wasn’t quite sure why. But he laughed it off all the same. 

"That's a word reserved for you, sweetheart." 

You shook your head, your fingers trailing down his cheek to cup his face in your hands. "My beautiful mate,” you whispered, "My handsome, gorgeous, incredibly sexy, and beautiful mate." 

For the first time in a while, Cass was stunned, unable to respond as quickly as he was used to. Your words held a certain reverence to them, a sincerity that made him melt into your touch— made him melt into your voice itself. Before you, Cassian never knew himself as something gentle, as something capable of softness and sensitivity. But here he was before you, in all of his warrior glory, feeling like a child with a playground crush. And there you were, staring at him like he was the most exquisite thing you’d ever laid eyes on. So when words failed him, Cassian did the only thing he saw fit. 

He leaned in to kiss you tenderly, bringing his lips to yours softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, feeling his warmth against you as he smiled into the kiss. From deep within your chest, you felt a glow— a deep, ethereal, and overwhelming glow. 

Beautiful, his mind echoed, beautiful. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You let out a soft sigh as you settled onto the couch with Cassian, pushing yourself further into his warm chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You’d spent the night at the River House, drinking more wine than you could handle and eating almost all of Elain's sweet desserts. There was a smile on your face as your eyes closed, your hearing quickly tuning into the heartbeat of your mate below you. 

You frowned when the sound began to quicken, echoing like a drum in your ears. You pushed yourself up, slightly turning your body and placing a hand on Cassian's chest. When you looked up at him, his face was scrunched, his gaze distant as if lost in contemplation.

Cassian wore a specific face when he was troubled, furrowed brows and a downturn of his lips. He wore it was he was sad or frustrated, when he had thoughts that plagued him at night. The face before you was a troubled one, indeed. But it was less rough than the others he bore, more vulnerable.

You slightly tapped against him with your palm. Cassian blinked at the sensation, then he slowly looked down to meet your eyes with his own. You let your chin fall gently on his chest. 

“What's wrong?”

Cassian managed a smile, shaking his head as he brought his hand to run over your hair. “Nothing.”

You frowned. “Tell me.”

For a moment, Cassian’s thoughts traveled again. Mor’s laugh echoed in his mind, wine glass in hand as she pointed at him. You have the subtlety of a war horn. You’re so loud I can hear you across Prythian. I don’t know how Y/n handles it all the time.

"Am I too loud?" 

His voice came out rushed, drenched in a tinge of what you could only describe as worry— even doubt.

A flicker of surprise passed through your features. “What?”

He let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Mor said something tonight, it just got me thinking.”

“Mor says a lot of things. Especially when she's drunk.”

“I know.” He nodded in agreement, tongue running across his teeth before he let out another sigh. “But she had a point tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

He took a moment to take you in, to trace the features of your face with his eyes. Absentmindedly, he ran his hands through your hair. 

“Maybe I am too loud.”

Cassian's voice was defeated now, lips naturally falling into a frown. The crease between his eyebrows was still there as he peered down at you, hand still caressing your head.

You stared at him for a moment before you responded. "You're so loud." 

A flicker of disappointment crossed Cassian's face. But before the thought could spread through his mind, a soft smile graced your features. You gave his chest a small kiss. “But I love it. So very much.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up, a sense of release evident in his features as his lips curved into a smile. The crease between his eyebrows faded. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice filled with a sincerity that made his heart flutter. "My world would be too quiet without you."

Cassian’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently swiping loose strands away from your forehead. “Yeah?” 

You nodded against him, chin still resting on his chest. “I hear everything I love in your voice.”

He smiled, the bond deep within him singing as he stared at you. He felt you tug at it, felt a roll of warmth run through his body— something gentle, something loving. And for a minute, Cassian could have cried at the sensation, could have cried at the way you looked at him, at how happy he felt. 

With his heart swelling, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice filled with a depth of emotion that he couldn’t quite express in words. He hoped that you could sense it, that you would hear those words and know everything he was trying to say— that you would understand just how much you meant to him, how your love filled him with a sense of peace and belonging he never knew he needed.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, feeling his now steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know,” you said, “You practically scream it from the heavens.”

Cassian let out a deep laugh, the sound reverberating through his chest. You felt his body move from under you, felt as the sound caressed you like a pair of warm hands. 

As his laughter subsided, Cassian pulled you closer to him. “I’ll keep shouting it so you’ll always hear it,” he whispered.

A warmth spread through you at his words, a feeling of love so strong it was tangible through that sacred tie that connected you.

“And I’ll keep listening.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

me not writing angst?? (i’m about to write the most gut wrenching pieces ever) unheard of. but we love a sweet established relationship <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

[jaebeomsbitch]

My First Kiss (E.M.)

PT: II coming soon

Summary: Eddie finds out you’ve never kissed anyone before and offers to teach you.

Warnings: Minors DNI!!! Kissing, some light touching, cursing.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short one haha. Not edited!

“It was traumatic! She left saliva all over my face, maybe she was part dog” Eddie dramatizes, hands swinging wildly, the tv playing low in the background. You can’t help but laugh along as if you understand. All you can really do is imagine.

You cant help the look of disgust on your face before smiling.

“Oh yeah your battle scars run deep” you giggle pushing his thigh with your foot.

“I feel like it’s worse for girls, isn’t it?” He asks.

You quickly look down, cheeks blooming red like a spring flower in the morning.

“I- u-uh uhm— I” you stutter.

Eddie’s eyes furrow, it’s incredibly uncharacteristic for you to be this flustered especially after knowing you so long.

“I- I wouldn’t know” you mumble, shaking your hair out and curtaining yourself away from your best friend.

“You want me to teach you?” He asks, his tone a lot raspier than you remember two seconds ago.

“W-what? N-no that’d be weird” you stammer as your gaze snaps up towards Eddie.

“C’mon it’s just a kiss, it doesn’t have to mean anything or change anything” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. Something so normal for the two of you that now feels weirdly charged. You stare at him like a fish out of water, mouth open, eyes wide as you contemplate.

“You can trust me, sweetheart” he says softly. Your eyelashes flutter, you hate that your stomach flips when he cups your cheek.

“I know, I know— jus’” you swallow hard looking up at him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I’ll always take care of you” he says softly.

“It’s not gonna change anything? You’ll still be you and I’ll still be me?” You ask, heart thumping hard against your ribcage.

“Yeah, just me and you. Always” he murmurs.

“Okay,” you whisper after a beat.

His fingers weave through your hair, his touch gentle, as he cradles the back of your head. You twist your bodies, the angle awkward but not as awkward as you feel.

"Okay," He echoes, his tone soft. His gaze holds yours, his attention intense, as he commits himself to making this experience good for you. With a tender smile, he tilts his head, his lips inches from yours, as he prepares to take your first kiss. Your breath hitches, hands fisting his shirt.

His mouth hovers above yours, his warm breath dancing across your skin, as he senses your nervousness. He pauses, his lips barely grazing yours, as he allows you to anchor yourself. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip reassuring, as he remains motionless, waiting for your cue.

Your breath shakes as you your lips approach his, eyes clamming shut, gasping when your lips press against his. You end up tugging at his shirt, Eddie grunts as his arm slips pressing his body into yours.

“Easy, sweetheart” he says pulling away from your mouth when he realizes you’re shaking.

“You’re safe with me,” he runs his fingers through your hair, trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

“I’m okay- I’m okay. Just wasn’t expecting this” you say.

“Shit” he looks down, moving off of you.

“Sorry” he straightens out his shirt. You don’t miss the light dusting of pink on the tips of his ears.

You smile softly when you realize despite his usual suave manner he’s also nervous.

“S’kay” you hum, letting yourself fall back onto the couch. You can feel his gaze burning through you. As the silence rings loud in Eddie’s trailer the awkwardness starts to grow. This sense of dread starts pressing into your chest, it’s almost suffocating. You sit up abruptly, startling Eddie in the process.

“Jesus Christ!” He says clutching his chest.

“Sorry” you laugh, feeling the tension lighten instantly.

“Why were you sitting up like you’re fucking…Pazuzu?” He asks, struggling to cross his legs on the small couch. You shift back to give him more room.

“Nothing, just wanted to try again”you try to say nonchalantly, totally not like your heart beat is in your throat and you want to vomit with anxiety.

“Oh, yeah?” He says, that smile back on his lips. The one you’ve accustomed to seeing whenever he proves you wrong or beats you at skeeball.

You roll your eyes, “yeah but only if you don’t crush me in the process again.”

“I’m a growing boy!” He protests, moving to sit against the couch cushions again.

“You’re twenty five,” you deadpan.

“And yet you still want you kiss me” he grins, grabbing your elbow and pulling you towards him gently.

“Technically you asked to kiss me so I think you want to kiss me more” you tease, crawling over to him.

“Maybe I do” he smiles grabbing your hip and bringing your leg over his until you’re straddling him.

“Yeah right” you chuckle, brushing his hair back. You feel the way his hands slide down your hips to wrap around the backs of your thighs, your heart beat racing so fast you think you might have a heart attack.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“No you’re not” you laugh, not believing your player of a best friend for a second.

“Yes, I am” he says. Your eyebrows furrow as you look down at him.

“No you’re not” you shake your head. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head forcing you to look at him. Your lips brush ever so slightly causing you to lose your breath.

“Yes I do” he whispers

“Eds…” your voice shakes, your hands finding his shoulders for some stability as everything you know starts to fall apart.

“I wanna kiss you sweets… please” he sounds so pathetic in the best of ways. You can’t help but squeeze his shoulders.

“I- I-“ you struggle with your desires and your logic.

“Just feel baby” he whispers, hand squeezing your thigh softly.

You swallow hard before pressing your lips to his, hands tangled in his knotted hair. You’re incredibly clumsy but Eddie doesn’t mind, not when he can feel his lips tingle with sparks.

Your fingers dig harder into his shoulders as you start to find your rhythm. Just when you start to get comfortable he squeezes your ass pressing your chest into his, not wanting to leave any space between you two. You moan as your hips press into his. You can feel the thick bulge through the stupidly short shorts he wears.

“Eddie” you pant as he starts pressing kisses down your neck.

“Mhm” he hums against your skin, sucking on it and leaving purple bruises.

“Fuck— m-maybe we’re going too fast?” You struggle to keep your thoughts together. He pulls back “You ‘kay?” He asks, his hand holding your jaw.

You nod, noticing how disheveled he looks. His hair mussed and tangled, lips puffy and dark pink, the collar of his shirt slightly stretched.

“M’okay” you lick your lips self consciously.

“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” He asks, his thumb rubbing your cheek back and forth.

“That we’re about to fuck everything up” you whisper.

“We’re not gonna fuck it up” Eddie responds immediately.

“I like you, I’ve liked you, I’ll continue to follow you around like a little lost puppy dog even if you don’t wanna kiss me again but we’re not gonna fuck us up” he says holding your face making sure you understand him clearly. Your mind reels as Eddie drops the thin vein, the one thing that kept the reality of what’s going on between you to unspoken.

“Eds…” you whisper.

“N-no it’s fine” he says, lowering his hands from your face as the embarrassment of being rejected sets in. Eddie is used you rejection but he actually likes you, it’s not some one night stand with a stranger.

“No, no hold on. I’m not saying no” you rush.

“I like you but— but you’re you and I’m… me” you say squeezing his shoulders

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asks, his tone a little harsher than he means to be.

You flinch at this new side of your best friend.

“Nothing, it doesn’t mean nothing” you sigh, he won’t get.

“Tell me” he says grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. You swallow hard as you’re met with those big brown pleading eyes of his.

“You’re hot and I’m—“ you trail off.

“You’re what?” He pushes you again.

“A hideous monster that no one would ever look at” you murmur. You don’t have time to react before his lips are on yours, they’re not soft and patient like before. It’s angry and you find it hard to keep up but it feels like Eddie is swallowing you whole.

“Shut the fuck up, if I ever hear you talk ‘bout yourself that way again I’ll make sure you forget about all those stupid little thoughts, yeah?” He says, eyes wide. He looks pissed, more angry than you’ve seen him when he’s just off of work and customer was being an asshole.

“I- uhm okay” you stammer

“S’what I thought. Good girl” he breathes out a sigh, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You hate that your mind does blank as soon as the praise slips out of his pink lips, your body still as he falls back on the couch. His hands haven’t left the backs of your thighs, no. Instead he’s started tracing patterns onto the sensitive skin.

Every piece of your best friend is tantalizing whether he realizes it or not. It’s so easy to fall for his charm, especially when it includes those big brown eyes of his. You’d fallen for Eddie far too long ago, before the leather jackets and metal music. Back when scraped knees and soft kisses to your marred skin were innocent.

[fantasyinallforms]

May I present to you this absolutely showstopping sketch commission from the talented Lorbalith on Instagram! They don't have an active Tumblr, so they let me post this here. I encourage you to check out their other work. Every piece is more stunning than the last! I commissioned this based on a scene in my fic.

The Proper Way To Call You Mine

Thorin and Bilbo have been dancing around their feelings for one another since the battle of the five armies ended. The company, particularly Fili and Kili, are sick of it. They devise a plan to force their feelings for one another into the open. Will things go to plan, or will their good intentions backfire horribly?

[andy-15-07]

Soft Spot

masterlist ! pairing Feyd-Rautha x reader

SUMMARY : you're going to marry Feyd-Rautha, but you didn't know he has a soft spot for you

GENRE: fluff, loveeee

The grand halls of the Harkonnen fortress echoed with the clinking of armor and the whispers of political intrigue as you, unaware of Feyd-Rautha's hidden feelings, prepared for the arranged marriage. The alliance between your house and House Harkonnen was to be solidified through this union, a union that held more secrets than you could fathom.

As you adorned yourself in the intricate wedding attire, your mind buzzed with the weight of responsibility. The marriage was a strategic move, a chess piece in the game of power. Little did you know, Feyd-Rautha harbored a soft spot for you that went beyond the calculated alliance.

As you walked down the aisle towards the ceremonial chamber, Feyd-Rautha stood at the altar, a stoic figure in his Harkonnen regalia. His piercing blue eyes, however, betrayed a subtle warmth when they met yours.

The ceremony commenced, the officiant reciting the traditional vows that bound you to Feyd-Rautha. Yet, amidst the formality, a flicker of genuine emotion appeared in Feyd-Rautha's eyes as he spoke, "I pledge my loyalty to this union, and to you, Y/N, my chosen partner in this intricate dance of politics and power."

His words carried a sincerity that resonated within you, and a realization started to dawn. Perhaps there was more to this marriage than just political maneuvering. The enigmatic Feyd-Rautha seemed to be unveiling a side of himself that few had witnessed.

As the ceremony continued, you exchanged vows, committing to the union with a sense of duty. Unbeknownst to you, Feyd-Rautha's words held a depth that transcended the political façade. "I promise to stand by you, Y/N, not just as a husband but as someone who sees beyond the political tapestry. You are more than a strategic alliance; you are the missing piece in my life."

The celebration that followed was lavish, a feast befitting the union of two powerful houses. Amidst the revelry, Feyd-Rautha found a moment to steal you away to a quieter chamber. The tension in the air was palpable as he looked into your eyes, his usually composed demeanor revealing vulnerability.

"Y/N," he began, his voice softer than usual, "there's something I need you to know. This marriage, yes, it's a political move, but for me, it's more than that. I've developed a deep admiration for you, one that goes beyond the expectations of our houses."

You were taken aback by the sincerity in his confession. Feyd-Rautha, the formidable figure known for his ruthlessness, was baring his soul to you. "I never expected to find solace in this arrangement, but in you, I see more than just an alliance. I see a partner, someone I want to stand beside in the battles that lie ahead."

His vulnerability resonated with you, and a spark of understanding kindled. "Feyd-Rautha, I may have entered into this marriage out of duty, but your sincerity has not gone unnoticed. Perhaps there is a chance for us to find common ground beyond the political landscape."

The revelation marked a turning point in your relationship. The walls that had separated you from Feyd-Rautha started to crumble, revealing a shared vulnerability that formed the basis of a connection neither of you had anticipated.

As the night unfolded, you found yourselves navigating the intricacies of this newfound understanding. Feyd-Rautha, known for his calculated moves, was now making room for emotions he hadn't explored before. The marriage, initially a pact sealed by duty, started to evolve into something more complex, a tapestry woven with threads of unexpected emotions and genuine connection.

And so, in the grand halls of House Harkonnen, a marriage born out of political strategy took an unforeseen turn, guided by the unspoken soft spot that Feyd-Rautha harbored for you. The game of power, it seemed, had made room for the unpredictable dance of the heart.

[ringdabel]

This game is one of my favorite One Piece games ever on mobile!

Yes this game is VERY REAL and it’s my favorite thing I discovered randomly on Pinterest by a Japanese User 🔥

* One Piece: Dance Battle is a music and rhythm game released in 2014 for iOS and Android devices.

GAMEPLAY

The player chooses a character and has to follow the dance commands. There are five different commands represented by different colored orbs, and, by streaming dance moves together, it is possible to execute a combo. By successfully executing a combo, the speed of the game increases and the words "Tension Up" appear on the screen.

SILLY IMAGES

For more information, go to this link to see it’s review or something like that!

[monster-disaster]

maybe a short story on a human reader being taken by an orc army/camp and just absolutely used as their personal toy???

When I read your request, I couldn't help but hear, "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" from Lotr.

But let's be serious: I hope you will enjoy it. :)

Orcs x Reader Warnings: filth, nothing but filth

The air is thick with smoke, mingling with the musky odor of sweat and leather. The scent of blood and violence still hangs heavy, fueling the heat and tension around the tents made of rough animal hides. The crackling flames of the campfire cast dancing shadows across the rugged faces of the warriors. Feral hunger glints in their eyes as they come closer. It feels like the ground rumbles and shakes under their steps. Their muscular, battle-scarred bodies pulsate with anticipation. The sounds of their gruff voices fill your ears, making you deaf to everything else. Your gaze jumps from orc to orc. The chieftain's large hand is heavy and warm on your shoulder as he pushes you deeper into the center of the camp.

The bounds around your legs and wrists make it hard for you to move, but it doesn't stop the warriors from closing around you. Their heat and raw desire surround you, making you shake and sweat under their primal gazes. Adrenalin fuels the fire in your bloodstream and thrums through your body until you almost buckle because of the throb between your legs.

The chieftain behind you reaches for the clasps and buckles that hold your armor together. The metal piece is dirty and beaten. His calloused fingers trace the edges of your armor before letting it fall to the ground. In other circumstances, you would feel relieved without its weight. Your undershirt sticks to your chest because of the sweat that still glistens in your heated skin, revealing the curve of your breasts. Another orc steps closer, barely smaller than his leader behind you. You remember him. One of his eyes is milky-white with a long scar from his eyebrow to his nose. He rips off your shirt, dropping the useless fabric before reaching for the buckles of your pants. You can't even feel the cold night air between the orcs towering over you.

The warriors move in sync. Their hands work in unison to strip away the layers covering your body. They reveal the soft swells of your curves and the hard cords of your muscles. Your skin is decorated with old and fresh scars, injuries, and bruises. The others get louder and louder with each glimpse they get of your naked body. The clear signs that you are a warrior, a fierce opponent, fuel their desire.

Soon, you stand exposed among the orcs, ready to be ravaged by them. Your limbs are not tied together anymore, but it changes nothing. You can't make yourself to move. It would be futile anyway. You can't fight against them, and they would enjoy chasing after you too much.

The orc in front of you wastes no time. His rough hands eagerly reach out to grope and caress every inch of your body. His dark green fingers dig into the flesh of your breast, squeezing and kneading, pinching your nipple until you mewl and try to get away from him, falling into the arms of the chieftain behind you. The leader grabs your hip, making you grind down on his leather-covered erection. His unyielding grip leaves red imprints on your skin. The cold of his rings digs into the flesh of your hips.

One hand slips between your legs. Rough fingers slide over your slickness and prod at your entrance. Your stomach jumps with fear and excitement. "Look at this juicy cunt, boys! She's all wet and ready for us!" The orc in front of you announces loudly to everyone around you to hear. The camp gets even louder with feral growls and words that make your heart beat faster in your ribcage. Whatever you want to say, to tell him to stop or to go deeper, dies on your tongue. The only thing keeping you standing is the chieftain behind you, still grinding his cock against your ass while his man explores your wetness. He smears it all over your mound and inner thighs before turning his attention back to your entrance. "I knew the moment I saw her on the battlefield that she would be a good prize to fight for," he grunts, forcing each digit of his thick finger into your pussy. Your walls clench down around him, to keep him out or to force him deeper, you don't know. "You like that, don't you?" The chief grunts next to your ear. His question fans over the curve of your neck. "I can smell your pussy, girl." "We all smell her." Someone says from the circle of orcs surrounding you. Their eyes are heavy on your body as they watch you. You steal a few glances at them. A lot of them are already naked, tugging at their cocks hanging heavy between their thick thighs.

The male in front of you continues to bully your cunt with his finger, going deeper and deeper while his other hand reaches up to grip your hair. He pulls back your head, making you arch your body. "You're ours now, human," he snarles. "But do not fret. I saw you fighting, I'm sure you can handle a few orc cocks too." A rumble of laughter waves through the air, and your pussy tightens at the thought. "Oh, look at that!" He laughs, pushing another finger into your wet hole. A groan gets stuck in your throat at the feeling of your walls stretching around him. "She likes the thought." "She does," the chief grunts, pulling his own cock out of his pants to force your hand around it. Your fingers curl around his thick rod automatically. If you could focus on anything, you would be surprised at its weight on your palm. "She doesn't look like someone who backs out of a challenge." His words are followed by laughter again while you bend and turn the way they want you.

Before you know it, you are on your knees with their leader still behind you, shoving his cock into your pussy while his warrior is busy with your mouth. He taps the head of his erection against your lips, and you open without a second thought. At this point, your mind is too hazy, and your senses are full of their musky scent to do or think anything. You feel like a raw nerve under their pushes and pulls. They thrust in and out of you with a relentless rhythm while you moan and drool around their cocks. You slip in and out of your orgasms, getting more and more drunk on their relentless assault. They push your boundaries, both physically and mentally, until you are nothing but a warm body they can use as they want.

You don't even notice when they come inside you. Their warm seed seeps out of your abused holes, and you almost choke on the orc's cock when he pushes himself deeper into your throat.

The ground is dirty and hard under your weak body as you let yourself collapse. Your muscles shake and twitch while your pussy clenches around nothing. Your chest heaves with every breath you take as you try to clear your mind.

But they are not done yet.

"It's your turn, boys," one of them says, stepping away from you to give enough space for the others. "Keep those sweet holes full tonight."

The air crackles with anticipation and feral need. One by one, the orc warriors step forward, their rough hands exploring every inch of your body. Their calloused fingers trace the swell of your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples until you cry and wiggle. Your pussy pulsates between your legs while their fingers explore your folds and both of your holes. They feast upon your bare curves, their desires ignited by the sight of your vulnerable state.

The first orc doesn't waste his time. His massive frame towers over you, keeping his body up with his trunk-like arms next to your head while taking you fiercely, his thick length plunges deep into your wet and eager pussy. His heavy balls slap against your skin. Your walls grip him tightly even though you are sensitive, and the feeling of him pounding into you makes you tear up. A thumb smears your tears all over your face before pushing into your mouth. Your tongue laps at the digit.

When the orc between your legs reaches his peak, fucking you full of his cum, another one steps forward, hungry and ready for his turn. He turns you onto your stomach easily, positioning himself behind you when you force your knees to not give up under your weight. His hands are gripping your hips as he shoves his cock into your cunt. Ecstasy trembles through your body while someone else grabs a good chunk of your hair and forces your mouth down his hard length. More tears escape from the corner of your eyes as you gulp and suck around the orc's cock.

The orcs continue to take turns, their primal instincts driving them deeper and deeper into you. You become a mess of drool and cum until there is no part on your heated, sweaty skin that they didn't touch or use. They ravage your body with a ferocity that matches the intensity of the battle they had just fought while you scream and moan underneath them.

[milksnake-tea]

━━ star-shaped .

War was never pretty. Death comes for both enemy and ally, and even as a healer, you cannot save everyone. Wearied by the war that seems to drag on for years, with no victory in sight, you join Jiaoqiu at the campfire for a rare moment of peace.

jiaoqiu x gn!reader

contains: based on leaks abt jiaoqiu's character stories !! but honestly its kinda implied in the quest but idk. has death, war, depictions of injuries and diseases, things are rough, can be read as platonic or romantic !!

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i love this man and his potential because goddamn war stories??? in my hsr??? sign me UP. also this was inspired by The Things They Carried by Tim Burton that i was forced to read in highschool. i loved the soldier death scene in that book so YEAH

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven @camellia-rabbit , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace

The man you killed had two eyes; one was closed, and the other a star-shaped hole.

You wake when the sky is still dark and the sun bathes the other side of the planet. Harsh winds beat unrelentlessly at the tent’s folds, and hail pelts at the sturdy fabric.

Some of your comrades, fellow healers, sleep soundly as they can on the battlefield, while others work tirelessly in the makeshift hospital next tent over, keeping an eye on injured and diseased soldiers’ conditions.

Fire crackles outside. The sound is sharp, yet barely audible over the snow storm.

With a sigh, you pull your sheets off of you and as quietly as possible, make your way outside the tent. You aren’t going to get much sleep anyway - you might as well do something useful.

The man you killed resurfaces in your mind. He had two eyes - one closed, the other a star-shaped hole.

You pull your fur-lined coat closer around you as you step out into the camp. Snow crunches under your boots and you have to hold your hood in place to shield yourself from the hail.

To say that this planet is freezing would be an understatement. Here, the cold chilled you from your bones to your skin, seeping into your veins and leaving icicles in its wake. Frostbite was an everyday occurrence here; you’ve had to amputate more toes and fingers than ever in your life.

A silhouette sits before the fire, their back turned to you. As you get closer, you make out tall, Foxian ears and the same winter coat you’re currently wearing.

“Jiao?” you wrinkle your nose as you near, suddenly slammed with the strong scent of chili. Your comrade acknowledges you with a brief flick of the ears, but nothing more.

You don’t blame him. This war has been a harsh one, with less soldiers returning to camp every time they’re sent out. Unknown territory and harsh weather conditions made the battles long and exhausting, and healers could only do so much.

Not to mention, time passed so quickly yet so slowly here. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been stationed, but it feels like several lifetimes.

Everyone is tired. You can see it in the hollowed cheeks, the eyes that have grown numb to death, and the despondent numbness that has overtaken the camp. They no longer cared who won or who lost. All they wanted was to return home in one piece.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed, and the other was a star-shaped hole.

You sit down next to Jiaoqiu on the log. The Foxian makes no move to push you off, only shifting to the side to help make room for you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare blankly at the drifting embers that dance in the air.

Jiaoqiu absentmindedly stirs at his soup. It boils in a small pot just above the fire, the thin liquid a red so bright it’d be threatening… if you had the energy to be threatened.

“It’s late,” you say into the crisp silence. “You should get some sleep before the sun rises. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know it’s pointless. In war, sleep is something you have to force your body into. You have to lie down in the tents, look up at the fabric sky and listen to the hustle and bustle outside as soldiers are carried in and out, and close your eyes to the screams as yet another frostbitten knight has their arm cut off. You have to put yourself first, even for that small second, and allow yourself rest while your comrades fight on the front lines.

Sleep is a luxury that no one can afford. It is an escape. It is shameful.

And from the looks of Jiaoqiu’s darkened eye bags and mindless stirring, it’s a sin he won’t be partaking in tonight.

And neither will you.

Your gaze falls to the small bag of spices lying next to Jiaoqiu on the long. You can see peppercorns, cloves, fennel, cinnamon, and… star anise.

You look away.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed.

“How are you faring?” Jiaoqiu finally speaks. He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes on the flame.

Another gust of wind runs through you.

“As well as anyone else is, I suppose.”

Jiaoqiu swirls the soup with one hand. A bubble bursts and sprays the snow in little sizzling red freckles.

“How about you?” you ask.

The snow has already covered the soup’s spill by the time Jiaoqiu replies.

“As well as one can be,” he mutters. His hands, gloved with thick leather, clench once before relaxing.

A hollow chuckle leaves you. You sigh, kicking your legs out onto the snow and leaning back on the log. You look to the sky, to the cryptically beautiful cosmos. Blues, purples, and reds merge together like watercolor clouds above you, and small, white stars bejewel them.

Stars… Your gaze becomes lidded.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was a star-shaped hole.

“Do you think that man had a family?”

If Jiaoqiu was surprised at all by your question, he didn’t show it.

“Does it matter?” He takes a small taste of his soup. Despite it practically glowing in red, he doesn’t seem satisfied. “He was the enemy, need I remind you.”

You close your eyes briefly. “But I’m a healer.”

“You are.” Jiaoqiu opens his pouch and dumps in the rest of his chili rations - what for, you don’t know nor do you care to know. “You are also a soldier of the Xianzhou Yaoqing military. War always ends up in casualties, you know this. So did the soldier.”

There’s a bitterness in his tone that makes you wonder if he was talking to himself as well as to you. Your eyes soften.

“You did what you could, Jiao,” you offer. You want to put your hand on his shoulder, but you aren’t sure if that is appropriate, given the circumstances. “What happens outside the camp is beyond our control.”

Jiaoqiu sighs. His hand tightens around the ladle.

“Then what’s the point?” he whispers. His brows furrow, and his eyes open - a gem of amber reflecting years worth of grief and hopelessness. “What purpose do I have as a healer if I cannot stop my patients from hurtling towards their deaths?”

He turns to you, searching your face for any sort of answer that could satisfy him, that could reassure him that there was meaning, there was a point, that all of those bandages and surgeries and amputations weren’t for naught.

But you cannot answer him, for it is a question that no healer knows the answer to.

“You gave them another chance at life,” you say softly, unconvincingly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Even if that life is destined to end regardless of what I do?”

Dead eyes meet dull ones.

“What happens outside the camp is beyond our control,” you repeat blankly.

The man you killed had two eyes.

Jiaoqiu searches your gaze once more, before ultimately giving up. The amber of his eyes close, and he returns to the cauldron.

In a feeble attempt to console him, you go against your earlier thoughts and rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. But with the roughness of your gloves and the cold limiting the dexterity of your hands, it isn’t much - but it’s enough.

Jiaoqiu glances at your hand, then back at the cauldron.

“Do you feel bad?”

You blink, a bit caught off guard by the question, but you settle down soon enough.

“No,” you say after a brief pause. “He would’ve killed us if I hadn’t killed him.”

You lean forward, resting your head in your palm as you watch the flames swallow up what little tinder the others managed to collect.

“I’m just glad to be alive.” You don’t sound like you believe it.

Jiaoqiu’s ear flicks. You hear him stand up and scoop some of the soup up into his ladle, and dash out his tongue to taste it. His tail swishes, and his eyes widen momentarily, amber flashing like lightning.

A smile, a weary, tired, but grateful smile, slips onto his lips.

He turns to you, vitality returned, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Try this,” he says, holding the ladle out towards you. 

You eye it warily. The liquid drips down the sides of the ladle and drops down onto the snow below, sizzling the second red touches white. You didn’t think it was possible for the soup to get even redder, but Jiaoqiu somehow did it.

“I won’t die if I eat it, right?” you try to joke. Jiaoqiu huffs, his breath steaming in the air.

“You doubt my cooking capabilities?”

You shake your head. “No, but whatever you have in there doesn’t exactly look… edible.”

And yet you’re already leaning forward to taste his concoction. Jiaoqiu carefully holds the ladle still as you take a sip.

Instantly your senses are flooded with pure, unyielding heat. Fire blazes on your tongue, searing your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. Your stomach burns, and for the first time since you’ve come to this planet, you stop shivering.

It’s painful.

It’s exhilarating.

“It’s delicious,” you praise despite the coughs that wreck your being. “Although… did you have to add so much chili?”

Jiaoqiu hums out a laugh. “But that’s what makes it special.”

You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you laugh alongside him, eyes crinkling with joy instead of pain after years of constant war.

You’ll have to return to the war eventually. The sun is already beginning to rise, and soon the soldiers will be awakened to go out into battle once more. You’ll have to take over for your comrades who had spent the night in the hospital.

But you don’t have to do it just yet.

For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this second of normalcy and peace in the battlefield.

The man you killed had two eyes.

One was closed.

The other was a star-shaped hole.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[selene-ella]

" Relics of the Past | III "

Pair: Qimirxfemale!reader

Summary: still unable to face your hidden feelings, Qimir offers you a solution.

Warnings: mdni, slow burn, mind reading(?), improper use of the force, fingering, unprotected piv, sensory deprivation(?) I still don't know how his helmet works like, possible typos.

Notes: excuse my English. That's it.

Part I , Part II Part IV (final)

Word Count: 3.7k

Qimir’s fingers traced the jagged seam of his cortosis helmet, the metal cool against his skin. The helmet had saved his life more times than he could count, but now it lay broken—a reflection of his own fractured existence.

As he worked, the dim light of the lantern cast shadows across the cave’s walls. .Repairing the helmet was a distraction—an attempt to silence the racing thoughts that filled his mind.

Beside him, you stirred in your sleep, caught in the grip of visions. Your murmurs were unintelligible, a language spoken only in dreams. Qimir glanced at you, concern etching lines into his weathered face. The Force had always been unpredictable, but earlier, it felt like a revolt tearing at the fabric of reality.

Your mind remained clouded, the aftermath of opening the Sith holocron. Qimir had asked you if you wanted it—the ancient artifact held power beyond comprehension. It was meant to reveal glimpses of the future, but its whispers had become a cacophony, mingling with your own fears and desires.

And then came the dream—the one that shook you awake, gasping for breath. In it, Qimir stood before you, lightsaber drawn, facing a faceless force being. Its eyes glowed like dying stars, and its intent was clear: to end him. The vision left you trembling, your heart racing.

As you tried to piece together what had transpired, your ears buzzed, and your head spun. The holocron’s influence lingered, a phantom weight on your soul. You remembered Qimir’s offer to help you unlock its secrets, the way he’d guided you through the process. But afterward, everything blurred—a haze of fragmented memories.

Now, as you lay there, puzzled, your gaze shifted to Qimir. His back was to you, hunched over the helmet. The marks left on it told stories of battles fought and lost. Did he sense your wakefulness? His focus remained on the helmet, meticulous and unwavering. Was he able to see more of in that short amount of time?

You wondered if he regretted helping you with the holocron. If he knew the cost—the way it had woven itself into your mind, a tapestry of prophecy and emotion. And what of the faceless being? Was it a harbinger of doom or a warning? Qimir’s fate seemed entwined with yours, and the Force whispered secrets neither of you fully understood.

As dawn approached, casting a pale glow through the cave’s entrance, you debated whether to speak. Would Qimir welcome your questions, or would he retreat further into silence? The helmet sat before him, a puzzle waiting to be solved. But perhaps the real puzzle was the connection between you—the one who left to forge her own path—and the man who danced on the edge of darkness.

And so, you watched him, wondering if he sensed your gaze, if he felt the tremors of uncertainty that echoed through your very being. The next steps were unclear—the path veiled by visions and the remnants of a shattered holocron. But one thing remained certain: Qimir held answers, and you were determined to uncover them—even if it meant risking everything.

The cave seemed to hold its breath, cocooning you both in a fragile intimacy. Qimir’s hands—once skillfully repairing the helmet—now hung still, forgotten tools resting on the crate. His hair, dark and unruly, fell across his forehead, framing the edges of his face. You watched him, as if drawn to him by an invisible thread.

Your gaze dipped, tracing the movements of his body. There it was—the scar that marred his lower back, a testament of his first betrayal. As he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, the scar peeked out, a raw reminder of how those who are the closest, can hurt you the most. You wondered how many nights he’d spent alone, nursing both physical and emotional hurts, after you've left.

Closer now, your breaths mingled in the close space. Inches apart, you reached out—a hand resting on his shoulder, the other finding its place on the small of his back. The scar tissue was rough beneath your fingertips, a map of resilience etched into his skin. He remained still, as if afraid to break the fragile closeness built between you.

The silence spoke volumes—a language of longing and restraint. Qimir didn’t pull away; he allowed your exploration, a silent invitation. Your hand moved upward, tracing the contours of his the scar adorning his back, memorizing each imperfection. His shirt yielded, riding up as your fingers ventured higher. The rest of his skin felt warm and soft and made you wondered if he felt the heat radiating from your palm, if he sensed the ache that mirrored your own.

And then, as if guided by a force beyond reason, your other hand joined the first. You circled both arms around his middle back, your body hovering above his. The cave walls seemed to lean in, conspirators in this clandestine dance. Qimir’s breath hitched—a barely perceptible tremor—as if he, too, craved the closeness.

The helmet lay forgotten.In this moment, it was just you and him.

And so, you held him, your heart echoing the rhythm of his. The whispers of what's to come are still echoing in your mind, indifferent to your vulnerability. But here, in this hidden sanctuary, you dared to touch the edges of something profound—a longing that transcended words, a shared ache that defied fate.

You bent down, your cheek grazing his shoulder, replacing the weight of your hand that of your cheek. The fabric of his shirt coarse against your skin, as your eyes traced along his pulse points.

This intimacy was uncharted territory—a map drawn in stolen moments and shared glances. If something happened—some unspoken confession or desperate kiss—it was always a distraction from sorrows too heavy to bear. For both of you, this closeness was a fragile bridge between survival and surrender.

The dim light of the lantern painted Qimir’s skin in a glimmer. His jaw clenched, and you wondered what battles he fought within.

You let yourself immerse in this feeling—the warmth of him, the salt-scented air. His skin glowed, and you wondered if he felt the same pull.

Qimir’s gaze met yours—a galaxy of uncertainty. But there, in the dim-lit cave, he was pleased with this side of you—the unguarded vulnerability, the ache that mirrored his own. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was enough—a chance for redemption, a reclamation of all the feelings they’d lost.

Remaining silent, his hands searched for yours, joining them as if he wanted to pull you closer. You broke the embrace, one of his hands still gripping your arm, fighting for attention. You shifted, changing your position, and found yourself guided to match his level—seated on his thighs. His curious gaze lifted to you.

His voice, rough and deep, sliced through the silence, laced with anger and desire. “Want to kill me, still?” he asked, his gaze unyielding. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and memories surged. Everything connected to him weakened your resolve. You wanted to sob—to release the weight of it all.

“No,” you managed, your voice a fragile whisper. It was your first word, a denial that held more truth than you cared to admit. He traced the faint red shadows on your skin, and you flinched.

"You know," he began, gaining back your attention " unlike others, I cannot read minds", but he could read guilt—the way it clung to you like a shadow.

His hand moved toward your neck—a threat or a promise, you weren’t sure. Big accusations had been thrown, and now, with clarity returning, you realized you’d projected your guilt onto him. The lines blurred—the boundaries between right and wrong. But he was right about one thing: you’d have to talk.

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted your spiraling thoughts. “We’ll get there.” His other hand reached past you, fingers closing around his helmet. Sternness filled his tone. “Put it on.”

“What? Why?” Confusion colored your question. His demand cryptic.

“You like to push your limits,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Battle with the unknown. Put it on.” His eyes never leaving yours.

And so, you hesitated, torn between fear and curiosity. The helmet sat before you. You wondered if it would reveal truths you weren’t ready to face. But then again, perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown—to confront the guilt that still bound you to him.

"It's gonna be just you and the Force. Nothing from me, or any outside source to cloud your mind" he gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, "trust yourself."

Once the decision was made, the helmet settled over your head, its weight heavy, pulling you into darkness. Thoughts retreated, replaced by a quietude—an emptiness that both unnerved and intrigued. All your senses diminished, as if a veil had been drawn between you and reality.

The Force surged—a river of energy coursing through your veins. Your heartbeat quickened, a counterpoint to your breath, which slowed, muffled by the helmet’s confines. It was as if the very air conspired to keep you breathless.

Tension unravelled. Your body relaxed, surrendering to the heaviness of the Force. You fell back, supported only by Qimir’s workbench—an anchor in this shifting tide. “Qimir…” The name escaped you—a breathless sigh, a plea for understanding.

His arms—strong and unyielding—pulled you closer. The proximity was both intimate and dangerous. You felt the heat of his groin, the magnetic pull that defied reason. His voice—close yet distant—commanded you. “Focus.”

And so, you did. The helmet’s darkness became a canvas—a place where guilt and longing danced. Redemption or damnation? The Force held the answer, and Qimir was your guide.

The air crackled with tension as Qimir's hands moved with

deliberate precision, unraveling the layers that shielded you from his touch. The foreign heat intensified, searing through your veins, and you wondered if it was the forbidden thrill of your yearning for him or the real touch of his fingers that ignited this wildfire within you

All of his focus was on you--the fabric slipping away, revealing skin that trembled under his touch. The imagined caresses you'd conjured in your mind merged seamlessly with the reality of his hands mapping every curve, every hidden desire.

Your top pooled at your feet, forgotten, as Qimir's palms replaced its confines.

His voice, low and intimate, sent shivers down your spine. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with anticipation. His hands, deft and purposeful, worked on your belt.

You had no idea which Qimir was to blame for this pleasure--the one from your fantasies or the one standing right in front of you. The room seemed colder now, and you sensed him shifting.

His breath hovered inches from your heated core, his hands tracing a tantalizing path up and down your body. "Ready to give in?" His voice, low and intimate, accompanied a kiss placed on your inner thigh.

The air crackled with anticipation as you struggled to form a restless “yes.”

“Good,” you heard him murmur, the command a velvet thread weaving through the charged air. You struggled to lift the helmet, your fingers trembling as you carefully placed it on the surface behind you. Qimir remained knelt before you, his gaze intense. “As much as I’d like to have you in that state,” he said, voice low, “I wouldn’t be a fan of hearing muffled moans.”

He straightens himself, his body molding against yours. As your senses return, a newfound confidence surges within you—a desire to assert control, to match his intensity.

"I used to dream about it years ago,” you confessed, “but I never dared to pressure you into anything.” Your slender fingers worked deftly, untying his white shirt. You pushed the fabric away, revealing the contours of his chest—a canvas waiting for your touch.

“Now where were we?” you questioned, your touch both deliberate and gentle as you guided Qimir back to his seated position. The air hummed with anticipation, as you placed your mouth to his.

Qimir’s eyes traced every nuance of your movement. His gaze, intense and unwavering, mapped the contours of your form—the rise and fall of your chest, the delicate curve of your neck. In that charged space between desire and restraint, he drew you closer, his fingers entwining in your hair. The strands yielded to his touch, a cascade of midnight silk slipping through his grasp.

You, too, were not passive. Your breath hitched as you tugged at his hair, unraveling the facade he wore—beneath it all lay vulnerability, a raw ache that mirrored your own. His neckline yielded to your exploration, revealing skin still unmarked by your teeth. The pulse at his throat echoed your own racing heart.

And then, with a hunger that defied reason, you leaned down. His scent enveloped you—a heady blend of leather, sweat.Your lips met the exposed skin, a silent confession etched in the press of flesh. Each kiss was a revelation, a promise whispered across the expanse of his collarbone.

In that stolen instant, you both surrendered. Not to the dark side or the light, but to the desire swirling in the air. And as your lips molded to his skin, you tasted the bittersweet truth: lust was the most dangerous game they played, and yet, it was the only one worth winning.

A trail of kisses ignited along the contours of his chest, each one a whispered promise of desire. And then, as if the force itself conspired, a soft touch slid upward, finding it's trajectory against your inner thigh. The sensation was both fire and ice, a paradox of pleasure and anticipation. Your breath hitched, caught between surrender and resistance.

His dark eyes, twin black holes of need, pierced into yours.

The kiss resumed—filled with hunger and longing. His lips mapped your skin, leaving trails of fire and memory. The holocron’s hum echoed in your veins, a symphony of fate and desire. And as his touch ventured higher, closer to the heart of your vulnerability, you surrendered to his pull.

His touch was a solar flare, searing through the fabric of your resistance. Fingers, calloused and unyielding, found their way into your core—the epicenter of longing and vulnerability. The tightness that welcomed him brining a faint smirk to his face.

You gasped, in mixes of pleasure and surrender. Your body trembled, caught in the gravitational pull of his action. Your existence narrowed to this singular moment.

“Qimir,” you breathed, the syllables a prayer and a plea. Your grip on his arm was desperate, a lifeline in a tempest of sensation.

And then, with the precision of a cosmic clock, his fingers worked on your needy cunt. Their curling motion unraveled you, leaving you gasping for air, for sanity, for something beyond the boundaries of flesh and bone.

You had no time to breathe, eyes fluttering closed, you surrendered to the tidal forces of pleasure.

His fingers retreated all of a sudden— bringing part of your sanity back . The hiss that escaped you was not pain; it was desperation, a plea for more, for everything. And Qimir reveled in your unraveling.

Your gaze shifted toward him. Brows furrowed, you sought answers in the depths of his eyes.

He brought those same fingers to his lips, a siren, and licked them clean. The taste of your arousal lingered—a blend of spice and sweetness. His gaze searching for yours.

“You think,” he murmured, his voice deep “that I’ll let you go with mere fragments of pleasure?” His fingers caught the length of your hair, swirling it around them. “Can I read your mind?” he teased, “No. But your actions,” he pointed at your hand gripping his hip, “they betray you.”

His head tilted, and a mischievous smile curved his lips. He had you where he wanted, drenched in your rawest want. Toying with you was an art form at this point.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tremor, “do me a favour.” His hand caressed your face—a touch that could bring you to your knees. “Turn around,” he breathed, his lips grazing your ear, and your years started buzzing. In that whispered command, you surrendered to his demand pulled by the thread of his desire.

You turned, back facing him. His fingers traced a line along your spine, memorizing each spot of your bare skin. "Qimir, please", cave’s walls absorbed your breathy plea, echoing it like a sacred hymn.

“It’s funny,” his voice low, interrupting your thoughts “how you brought me to this state.” His hand gripped your nape, anchoring you. “You fled,” he chanted, “leaving me a prisoner to my own want.”

Guilt swirled within you, a black hole devouring reason. “Always eager to face your trauma,” he said, his words dripping with invitation, “yet avoiding pleasure and desire" the hardness of his arousal pressed against your back.

His touch was teasing your entrance, waiting for you to finally break. “I won’t go further,” he murmured, “unless you tell me what you want.” His fingers danced around your sweet spot, drenched in your early release.

You both loved and hated this game—ot filled you with desire and frustration.

“By the looks of it,” he hummed, his hand palming your cunt “you won’t even be needing my cock.” His palm pressed against your skin.

“For the Force’s sake, Qimir,” you groan, frustration echoing through the cave. “This is torture.” Your words loud.

He pulls you into his embrace, “then,” he murmurs, his lips a comet’s trail against your skin, “what would it be, hm?” His voice is a sweet chant. “Do you want me to fuck you right now, right here?” His breath fans your neck. “Or perhaps,” he continues, “you feel bold enough to show me?”

You turned, your heart racing inside your chest, and took a breath—a gulp of courage. “Qimir,” you began, your voice a quivering, “I—” The words hung in the air, as his chuckle brings back your attention.

“Okay,” you said, “I never dared to go further because—” another stop, “Gosh,” you continued, “I feared your rejection, Qimir.” His name on your lips was heavy this time.

“You were so deep into your head,” you confessed, “about plans and creating your new legacy.” I felt like a threat,” you admitted, “to your grandiose scheme.” Your feelings swirled within you. “I didn’t want,” you paused, “my feelings for you to hold you back.”You hid your face in your palms.

He listened quietly, his finger tracing across your lips once your face peeked out from behind your palms. “What about the jealousy outburst from earlier?” he asked.

“Risking your cover?”

“Hm,” he considered, “understandable.” But there was more. “I wanted someone to teach and make use of,” he continued, his grip on your hips accentuating “Do you think I wanted an acolyte so I can fuck her?” His mocking tone was making you feel stupid.

“Still,” he hummed, his voice light as a breeze, “this is not what I want to hear from you.” His eyes not leaving yours.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “what you want from me.” The words hung in the air.

"Still, this is not what I want to hear from you, your jealouseness. Tell me what you want from me"

He peers into your thoughts:

I want you to strangle the light left with me. I want to break me. I want to consume me until you can only hear me screaming from how good it feels to finally have you pull me apart and leave me aching for more- ...

The realisation hits you.

"That will do do" You hear him say. "You have no idea how long I've imagined being inside of you like this," he admits as he toys with your entrance.

You feel a surge of excitement as he pulls you into his lap, toes curling when you feel him press against you, hard and throbbing.

You lick your lips, whimpers leaving them as he sinks deeper, filling you all the way in, hot breath hitting your face. "How does it feel?" He breaks the silence, "finally having me fill your warm, needy cunt?"

You tighten your legs around him, gripping his shoulders, nails leaving red marks behind, and you hear him speak " no need to tighten up sweet thing" he adjusted your position.

"Who would have thought you feel this good and welcoming" his voice coarse.

Your mind was a blur. His steady thrusts were clouding all of your fields of perception.

" I want to have you filled up, filled up with me, make a mess out of you, and repeat it all over again"

Were you in his mind? Or is he in yours? It didn't matter anyway.

"Feels good right? I want you to let me make you feel good, lose the grip on reality. I'll give you everything"

Your mouth was dry, head fallen back, supported only by Qimir’s hand, arms pulling you back down on him.

You feel a wave shattering inside you. Not pain, but ecstasy. Your legs locked around his hips, chasing your high, a pool of heath soaking your insides.

You feel Qimir’s breath hot against your skin, consciousness falling back down into your body.

His mind, a quiet nebula, observed the aftermath.

"You still have a bit of me left in you" he said, referring to the energy he passed you earlier to aid you with your task.

"I think I have way more than a bit of you left inside me" you laughed while pointing your eyes at the place your bodies connected.

He kissed your shoulder, slowly sliding out of you. "You know- you still have a mark"

You quickly started to inspect your body.

"No" he pulls your attention back to him" it's on your back, near your shoulder blades" he pointed. "Does it feel... like it changed something?" He asks while making his way to the hot pool in the middle of the cave.

"No." , you shrugged, "It's just - there. I don't feel different" you confessed.

"Good" he follows, "then care to join me for a bath, or will try to fit your sticky body back into your clothes?"

He offers you a hand, guiding your steps into the warm water. An urge to have him closer fills you up, and you don't resist it this time. You place your head on his chest, arms pulling him closer.

"I love you, Qimir."

"I know.”

[satoruxx]

SWEET SNACKS.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader | 2.3k words

✧ SUMMARY: tooth rotting fluff, meet cute, battles with inanimate objects, reader's got exams bc i have exams, satoru's whipped af (as usual), sorry i love writing him as a simp, reader is also whipped bc this is gojo satoru, bonding over snacks !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: if you saw me tryna post this yesterday no you didn’t. this was supposed to be a quick drabble oops. but it's finals week so i'm offering this piece of fluff to maintain sanity and gush over the meet cute i will never have. if y’all are also dealing with finals, i'm wishing you the best !!

satoru strolls down the bustling streets with a quiet hum, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets to keep them away from the bite of the cold breeze. his boots crunch against the thin layer of melting ice that has formed overnight, now warming under the cold afternoon sun that coyly hides behind gray clouds.

honestly, he wasn't the biggest fan of weather like this, and he wouldn't have stepped out on any other day. but one meeting with the higher ups had his mood souring, and shoko had suggested he take a walk, maybe grab something to eat.

he knew better than to argue with her, especially since she could somehow read him better than most people could—scary.

so here he was, trudging down the streets of tokyo with his hat pulled over his ears, cheeks pink from the frosty air as it dances across his skin. despite the weather, satoru thinks there's something oddly peaceful about the city, the quiet chatter and sounds of boots scuffing against pavement as he turns a corner to head to the nearby vending machines he's frequented so many times.

the peace is broken by an annoyed grunt, and satoru looks up.

"are you serious?" another irritated groan. "of all the days…"

he takes in the scene with interest.

even with all the anger that he's not quite understanding, he thinks you're so undeniably pretty—puffy jacket hugging your body and the warm scarf resting around your neck. your brows are furrowed, exasperation tugging your features into expressions that shouldn't look so endearing.

you groan again, slamming your curled fist against the glass of the vending machine—frustration ticks at your brow.

and why wouldn't it?

nothing was going your way today. it had already started off badly, the atmosphere filled with gloom that made it impossible to want to leave bed. but you had to force yourself to miserably extract your body from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows that urged you back with a siren's call—a promise of comfort that looked all too enticing.

and then, when you finally did manage to drag yourself to the library to sit down and study, nothing was sticking. you read through paragraphs over and over until your head was spinning, dizzy with information that wouldn't absorb, and that fact is nothing if not disheartening. the impending quickness with which your final exams were approaching made you feel even sicker, so you decided to take a twenty minute break to grab a drink from the nearby vending machines.

but of course, even that couldn't just work out.

satoru watches you stand in front of the machine with a glare, before you're shoving your weight against it, huffing as it remains in place and hoping that at least one of your efforts will prove to be fruitful. he's talking before he can help himself.

"hey, you need some help?"

you turn to face the owner of the voice, finding cerulean eyes behind black shades that so directly contrast the white of his snowy hair. he's tall—abnormally so as he peers down at you with curiosity and a bit of mirth.

you think you've never seen a man so handsome in your life.

then you remember he's asked you a question, and you attempt to swallow down the unnecessary nerves that have taken root in the pit of your stomach. "oh, my uh…my drink got stuck," you reply somewhat lamely, cheeks heating up under his gaze as you think about how utterly ridiculous you must've looked to passersby.

satoru's eyes travel from your face to the machine, noticing the way your drink of choice is stuck in a frozen free fall against the glass and the rack. he sighs in exasperation. "tried hitting it?" he asks, walking closer to stand next to you and take a closer look, even though he knows the answer already.

you're not sure what it is, but this man exudes a certain energy—confidence that leaks through his very skin. it makes you feel like you have no right to be standing this close to him, but all he does is smile at you patiently, waiting for an answer.

so you nod, brows ticking again as the dull throbbing in your fist reminds you of how you had lost the battle with the greedy machine. "yeah, i've been hitting it for the last ten minutes. didn't budge," you sigh, checking your phone to see that there are only a little over five minutes remaining for your quick break. "what a waste of time and money."

satoru watches you shrug helplessly, smiling up at him. "oh well—"

he takes two long strides until he stands right in front of the machine, grips the edges, and shakes it hard.

satoru can feel you gape at him, at the unfiltered display of strength, and the unbothered expression on his face that tells you it didn't faze him. you hadn't been able to move the machine even an inch.

his powerful movements earn you a tell tale thunk, and your heart leaps in excitement as he bends down to push his hand through the slot and pull out your drink. he returns to his full height, an easy smile on his face as he turns around and hands it to you.

"thank you." your voice comes out breathless, a weird kind of excitement thrumming through your veins because it feels like you aren't supposed to know this man.

satoru's smile stretches further when your fingers graze his, taking the drink and popping it open eagerly. he watches you take a sip, oddly pleased with himself at the sheer joy on your face. he doesn't quite understand why this drink looks like it's made your day, but he doesn't ask because you look so sweet drinking it.

"how did you do that anyway?" you ask after you drink a little, curiosity so obvious in your tone. "i tried so hard to move it and it didn't budge at all."

satoru smothers a smile, fighting back the urge to say something stupid. instead he grins, cheeks warming a little under your eager stare. "guess i'm just strong."

you make a face, raising a brow with a playfully disbelieving expression as you cross your arms—to which satoru just laughs. "what's your name?" he asks.

you purse your lips, hiding a smile as you tuck your nose behind your scarf. you give him your name, almost shyly, and satoru tests it on his tongue. he decides he likes the flow, cocking his head as he replies with his own.

"satoru."

for once, the pressure of his last name doesn't permeate the air, and he's all too grateful for it. he turns around to approach the machine again, and he can feel your somewhat confused gaze on his back.

you watch as he stands there for a good minute, his back to you as he ponders the choices in the vending machine like they'll lead to life or death. then he shoves in a bill and clicks a few buttons, and within a couple of seconds, you hear the thud of two things falling.

he remains facing away from you for a few more seconds and then turns around, and you see that he's bought a chocolate bar and the same drink that you have in your hands. you raise a brow.

"well you did almost just lose your life trying to fight a vending machine for it," he says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. "figured it'd be good to try."

you sputter over your words, embarrassment crawling up your neck, but satoru laughs good-naturedly. his eyes shine with mirth as his shoulders relax. "i'm kidding." he stresses, smiling into the collar of his jacket. "but it does look good so…"

he opens the drink and takes a sip, eyes squeezing shut dramatically as he hums at the sweet flavors washing over his tongue. you suddenly feel like getting revenge for his unfiltered teasing.

"well?" you hum cheekily, taking a sip of your own and raising a playful brow. "taste good?"

satoru laughs—a full, pristine sound that makes him throw his head back. "yeah," he agrees easily, feeling oddly fond of the way your voice curls around your words. "it's sweet, i like it. you've got great taste."

somehow the words of this man you've met not five minutes ago cause the muscles of your heart to trip over themselves. you watch him peel open the candy bar, a brand that's unfamiliar to you.

"what'd you get?" you ask, unsure of where the confidence to speak up is coming from. a man like satoru—so unflinchingly ethereal—would normally have your lips zipping and throat muted.

he holds up the bar with a grin. "my favorite."

there's a pause, followed by your sheepish smile, and satoru gapes at you, cerulean widening so clearly behind a backdrop of white. he takes in your innocently confused expression and his ribcage shakes with thuds. "what, you've never tried it?!"

before you can even shake your head no, he's breaking off a piece and handing it to you.

"no, oh my goodness, it's yours—"

"take it." he pushes his hand closer to you, eyes staring imploringly, and you sigh, reaching up to take the piece from between his fingers. a graze of skin—he's warm.

"thank you." you slip the piece past your lips, not at all surprised by its sweetness and yet a little taken aback by its underlying comfort—a rush of warmth.

"good." you're nodding, smiling between chews as satoru's stomach flips. "really good."

he chuckles, all too triumphant for something so menial. "told ya."

you laugh, a quiet subdued sound that satoru wishes he could hear more of. "thanks for getting my drink out," you say. "i really needed it today."

"oh yeah?" he finds himself asking. "how come?"

you sigh, smile dropping as a bit of fatigue makes itself comfortable on your face. "ah well, i've got final exams this week. i've been studying like crazy. nothing's really sticking, and the closer i get to the exams, the more annoyed and stressed i get."

satoru hums, not envying you for a minute.

"so it kinda felt like a kick in the butt from the universe when the drink decided to not just…"

he laughs again, taking another piece of chocolate and chewing on it soundlessly. "i gotcha."

you grin, curling your fingers around each other to diffuse some warmth back into them. "yeah."

there's a silence that follows—not uncomfortable, not unwelcome. you take quiet sips of your drink, and satoru breaks off little pieces of the chocolate bar to chew on. his eyes linger on you, watching the way your lips curl around the bottle, the way your fingers rub against each other, the way the cold has settled into your nose and cheeks and made a home amongst your skin.

when you look up at him, he looks away, throat oddly parched. his fingers flex.

"here, the rest is for you," he says, pushing the half finished candy bar into your hands.

you shake your head immediately. "no way! you paid for it! besides isn't this your favorite snack?"

satoru shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets with a grin that looks too happy. "you liked it, didn't you?"

you nod, slowly, like you're confused at what he's getting at. "well then, enjoy the rest of it. i buy them all the time—i don't mind sharing this one."

you can't help the soft smile that graces your lips, looking up at him with an odd sense of gratitude and surprise—touched that someone could be so casually kind.

"then thank you," you laugh quietly, eyes fluttering against the gust of cool wind that tickles your skin. "i'll enjoy it."

satoru grins, uncharacteristically pleased—he won't ever admit it, but he's glad shoko told him to take a walk. he'll have to thank her when he gets back.

he clears his throat, offering you a small wave as he turns on his heel to head back to the school. "well then, see you around. good luck with your studies, yeah?"

you smile with a gentle nod, oddly rejuvenated after seeing bright blue eyes and snowy hair. "thank you."

and then he's disappeared into the crowds. you laugh to yourself quietly, looking down at your drink and the half-eaten candy bar nestled between your fingers. a part of you feels strangely forlorn, wishing that you had the guts or confidence to talk to him a little longer—ask a little more.

but you've never been good at that, so even just this small happiness you'll take in stride. you grin to yourself, shoving the drink into your bag and slinging it over your shoulders.

you begin walking back to the library, fingers breaking off pieces of the chocolate and savoring the sweetness on your tongue. somehow you didn't expect a man with such an imposing presence to enjoy simple sweet things like this, but that just makes you all the more fond of him.

by the time you've reached the entrance of the library, you're shoving the last piece of chocolate into your mouth, sighing as the doors of reality swing open once more. the meager slice of giddiness that enveloped your very being dissolves, and all the reminders of what's left to do come back to suffocate you.

you bite back a groan, about to throw the empty wrapper in the trash when something catches your eye. you double-take, peering down at it with wide eyes and rapidly heating skin. there are a set of numbers scrawled there, along with a haphazardly written message:

in case you need someone to fight another vending machine for you -satoru <3

[fairene]

good for you / ln4, part one

lando norris x fem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

in which you and lando have parted ways, but on what terms? at what cost is he willing to get you back, and how far down are you finished with him? what lengths with the two of you go, battling with your hearts, before you can be together once more? he knows that no one is good for you, except him.

a/n⋯ a collaborative piece between myself and the lovely @jamminvroomvroom. she will be writing the next chapter, so keep your eyes out! we don't have a total idea of how long this'll be, but we are so thrilled to have it ready for you all. jas is an amazing writer, and i am so, so lucky that she wanted to do this with me. shower her with all the love, and i hope you enjoy this. as usual, reader's clothes are left up to interpretation. this is for you afterall;)!

warnings⋯ smut, MINORS DNI 18++. language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), insecurity, arguments, exes to lovers(?(we shall see!)) possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc⋯ 5.2k (unedited.)

the night began well. the boy you were with was well. you were well. that was the most important thing, wasn’t it? it must be. it had to be, you convinced yourself of that very fact. truly, you had no reason to complain. your friends supported you, loved you, were obsessed with you. and you had a man on your arm who felt the exact same way, and would kiss the ground you walked on.

but others, another, would worship you. used to. but now you were alone, a goddess left untouched, brazen in this world of antagonists. yet, it was a change. it was a change that you needed. this relationship you had with damian was one of new blood. a shift from your tumultuous routine that felt liberating over a life you once mourned. 

damian was a man of respectful nature, good upbringings, and he was a good chat. he was fit, treated you with a sweet tenderness that you adored him for, and didn’t devolve into a flaming lair of toxicity to keep you trapped. 

and, he was a football player, which was a bonus. he played for barcelona’s team, and you couldn’t be more proud of him. after your previous relationship concluded, the pair of you were introduced by mutual friends, namely the ferrari driver, carlos. you were apathetic at first, unsure of if this was the right move. if it was too soon to want to jump into something. 

but damian was kind. he adored you. what else did you want? 

more. 

you danced with him. in the night life of monaco, you were showered with his attention. the attention of your friends. it was a weekend off for the drivers, so you were able to meet up with the other girls you knew. kika and alexandra in particular, who’ve been entirely supportive of you these past few months. 

they danced with one another, cheering you and your now boyfriend on, shouting pleasantries of how good you looked at his side. 

damian’s hands around your hips felt good. it felt right. when the bass dropped, so did you. he caught your seductive actions and his eyes widened. there were no words to describe his expression besides admiration. you loved his eyes the most about him— his dark hair, tanned skin, muscular physique— 

shit,

maybe you did have a type.

you spun back around, latching your arms around his neck, and he cradled your lower back with his palms. “what?” you questioned his stare that was unrelenting. 

“nothin’,” he scoffed. “you’re just absolutely beautiful, innit?” 

your head fell back with a laugh, patting his chest as a means to quiet him, but he kept going. 

“‘m serious,” your name was low on his tongue. “you’re practically glowin’, love.” 

you peppered a kiss on his lips. he met you halfway, swallowing your mouth whole. his tongue entered your mouth, and you could only respond with a noise deep within your throat. he felt the vibration against his lips, and continued his movements. 

the pair of you were swaying against each other’s bodies, tongue down one another’s throats, and for a moment the world washed away. something that hasn’t happened in ages, you felt like a makeshift paradise was born between the both of you. a hideaway. 

but mirages only serve their purpose for a short time before they fade away into nothingness. 

you broke away from his kiss. he looked surprised, offended, but you said nothing of his expression. you brought your lips to his ear for a brief kiss, “i’ll get us drinks?” 

he nodded, letting you go. 

you brushed past him, trailing your hand up kika’s arm. she immediately spun towards you, alexandra’s attention drawing as well. they beamed when they saw you, following you right over to the bar. the triad of you loitered there, swirling the drinks you ordered in hand. 

“so?” kika asked you, as if she’s been dying to hear this story the whole night. alexandra glowered at her, pestering her to be quiet, but you’d answer her regardless.

“it’s good.” 

the girls looked at one another. 

“that’s it? good?” kika looked baffled. 

“what? what else do you wanna know?” you took a sip of your drink, feet hanging from the barstool that you were sat upon. 

“anything!” alexandra exclaimed. “haven’t seen you this happy in months.” kika made a face at her, telltale of not to bring up what happened. ah, you thought, what happened. none of you discussed in great details of what happened that night, but they knew it was intense. intense enough for you to lock yourself away for a week with no contact. it was a horrid sight, and they were terrified for you. 

“well,” you shrugged. “i am. really. damian’s a great guy.” 

the girls squealed, grabbing your free hand. “he seems lovely, doesn’t he? ugh! you look so good together, too!” kika was more excited than you expected her to be, but her support meant the world. along with alexandra’s approval, you felt like you were taking the great steps that were needed to…move on. a dreadful phrase that has been bouncing back and forth in your mind. 

“you really do. and he’s an excellent photographer. i mean, look at these pictures he took of you—” alexandra passed you her phone, damian’s instagram story open. it was of you, looking divine beneath the yellow-hues of the club. you’d give him credit where credit is due— you looked fantastic. 

your hand flew to your mouth, covering your smile. that only had the girls squealing out more, finding your bashful attitude enough to answer their wearisome concerns. they were so worried about your state after the breakup that they would hound you. would stay as invested as they could in your life, until they were rather annoying. but you were grateful for them nonetheless. without them, you would’ve never met damian. without them, you may not have ever found happiness. however temporary it may be, it was what you felt at the moment. 

when damian’s drink arrived in front of you, you swung off the stool and bid them a sweet goodbye with a kiss in your palm, blowing it in your direction. you sashayed through the crowd, slithering through the stalks of grass, and made your way into his arms. he reacted instantaneously, holding you close to his chest. his chin rubbed against your shoulder, clean-shaven, and whispered to you.

“thought you ran away on me.” he said with a hushed tone. you swiveled to hand him his drink, which he took, but not before pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

“me?” you made a ‘pfft’ motion with your lips. “never.” 

but oh,

how right he was. 

damian let out a soft laugh before the two of you made a ‘cheers’ motion with your glasses, and danced the rest of the night away. it was a beautiful evening, truly, and you shouldn’t be feeling the way you were. devoid. 

you pushed down the feeling as much as you could. 

when you and damian left the club that night, you were happy. glittering with the sparkles of what young love was meant to be. you’d only been dating for two months, but it had you on the edge of your seat. fantasizing about what a life you could have with him. 

but some things just stay fantasies, don’t they?

“you sure you’ll be alright?” damian asked you when you unlocked the door to your flat. you hummed with appreciation, feeling the buzz of alcohol through your system. 

“i’m sure, my knight.” you said with dramatics. he smiled, appreciating your small antics. they kept him on his toes. 

“whatever you say, babe.” he shook his head, holding the door open for you. you stepped inside, gripping the wood, and turned to face him.

you kissed him once good night on the lips, “i’ll text you in the morning.” he nodded against your lips, unwilling to let go, but did when you laughed against him. he was sweet. a sweet, sweet boy.\

“goodnight.” you cooed. he returned the phrase, and you shut your door and locked it. 

now alone in your apartment, you threw your bag to the empty countertop and sauntered over to your room. fuck taking a shower tonight, you were just too tired for all of that. you stripped of your dress and threw on an old tee shirt that you had, unknowing of its origins, and laid in your bed.

on your phone you scrolled briefly on instagram, but froze on a singular post.

it was a suggested post. you were instantly gripped. the man draped over this girls body was instantly recognizable. his tanned skin. the stubble on his chin. the curls atop his head. the curls that you used to be obsessed with, running your fingers along his scalp.

you stared at the description:

paradise!

paradise. you scoffed to yourself. 

tagged in the photo was the man himself. you clicked on his profile, curious, though you promised yourself you wouldn’t. once wouldn’t hurt, would it? too late, anyways, as you were down the rabbit hole of his feed. 

the first post was a feature of him at his races. then, the second slide was a picture of him and her. what was this feeling? how could you find the audacity to let your stomach churn, your heart race? it wasn’t your place anymore. your place, albeit fought for, was not at his side. 

he looked happy.

but so were you.

you were.

you are.

but the suggested post of his new girl had you hooked. it had you seething. biting your thumb nail with your front teeth, you made an impulsive decision.

you liked the post. 

the night was just beginning for lando when you were in your bed. in the club with his mates, he was bumping to the rap mixes they played on the speakers. drenched in the mix of sweat and alcohol, he was living the life he dreamed of having. it was everything to him, picture perfect that no one could argue. 

but there was something missing.

the girl at his front, his girlfriend, grinded against him with radical intentions. she was beautiful, of course, but that was all the words that lando had for her. she accessorized well, was in the media spotlight, and that’s all the boxes it took for him to swoop her off her feet. it was easy, truthfully, and their relationship has been a breeze.

but lando didn’t want a breeze, he wanted a storm. you were the eye of the hurricane that he yearned for. nothing about that has changed– and he feared, deeply, that nothing will ever turn his head. he’d been fixated on you since he laid eyes on you, your attitude. you kept him on his toes, not laid down and bored. 

the girl, samantha, spun around to wrap her arms around lando’s neck. his hand traveled to her lower back, holding her close to him. she shouted and cheered with her girlfriends, lando’s own doing the same. but he said nothing, and brought his cocktail to his lips, gurgling a deep swallow of the bitter liquid that heated his throat. 

with his bloodshot eyes and weary smiles, he’d attempt to be picturesque for the media. media, media, media. everything returned to the circulation of photos that’d come out with him and his girlfriend. girlfriends. you. he’d never felt so protective of you, of anyone, than the relationship that you had with him.  nothing could compare, especially how samantha boasted in every post that he was with her. 

her following count jumped well over five hundred thousand since he came in the picture. of course she never said anything, made it a point to speak about, but he knew. lando watched. scrolled endlessly through his phone in the middle of night, drinking up every word that his fan spewed out. a folly of comments asking where you were. what happened between the two of you. but he never made a post about it. it had been radio silence on his end, just as it was the same for you.

but it’d end with him throwing his phone to the side, and promising himself that he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. not when you weren’t his anymore, and that you walked out on him that night with valid purpose. he failed you, and that was on him.

in the meantime of your absence, samantha was there to fill the gaps. to soothe his broken heart with her painfully long acrylics that dug into the back of his neck, her pathetic moans of pleasure when he fucked her better than anyone ever could, and the rocking of his hips against her own in the darkness of the night club. 

for now, it was enough. just barely, as it scraped the surface, but lando would down cup after cup to glue the pieces of his heart that you shattered. 

samantha continued her movements. lando didn’t relent either, finishing off his drink, slapping his palm against her ass. the crowd around them erupted in cheers, and lando plastered a bolstered smile across his face. this is what they wanted. the surface level teasing, the sultry nature of grotesque actions. but it is not what he wanted. he craved the solitude, the comfort you brought him in the hours of the night before his races. he’d been a phantom crawling through this season, a ghost in the shell of a formula one driver. 

“you alright?” samantha asked him. apparently he hadn’t been good at hiding the turmoil from his expressive face. her puckered lips had his eyes shifting downward. her bare chest, barely covered tits. 

he’d say nothing in response and simply go in for a kiss. a deep one, aggressive, filling her mouth to the brim with his tongue. maybe this could erase the memories of you, however stubborn they were on placating in his mind as permanent fixtures. 

his hand came around the back of her neck, angling her head better for him to swallow her whole. the bracelet, silver imbued with his logo, clanged against her large golden hoops. it was a loud noise that samantha pulled their lips apart. she turned her head to glance at the jewelry, and her lip curled with disgust. 

the bracelet. the bracelet you gave him. 

she scoffed and he could hear it, but he opted to say nothing in rebuttal. instead, she stalked away from him, looming large near the bar. he followed her tail, knowing that this spat between them wouldn’t last long. 

she ordered a drink. lando’s head spun as is. 

samantha pulled out her phone, bringing her drink to her lips, and damn near spit out the liquid. she covered her mouth from it spilling, and lando watched with a raised brow. 

“what?” he asked of her. 

“she liked it.” she. who’s she? who is she?

“what? who?” lando begged for clarification. samantha spun her phone around to shove it in his face. the screen illuminated him beneath the barely visible hues of light, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skill. 

you liked her post with him. 

you who swore you wanted nothing to do with him ever again. you who snapped the chain of the necklace he got from you, though made of the toughest silver, the metal was nothing beneath your furious fingertips. 

lando swallowed, though it did little to stifle his salivating mouth, his racing heart. he clutched the back of the bar with one hand, feeling the world collapse in on him in that moment. a singular like on a photo he didn’t even want to be posted. all it took to have him breaking out into a cold sweat, feeling nausea tug on his stomach, was a like on instagram. 

fucking pathetic, wasn’t he? 

his thumb came to spin the bracelet around his wrist, twirling it in front of him. samantha hadn’t noticed, too hyper focused on your account. she uttered words that he couldn’t make out. things along the lines of, ‘weird,’ ‘she’s obsessed, ‘innshe?’ but they never made sense to his ears. if anything, you were obsessed with staying away. obsessed with anything but him, contrary to his own feelings. he wasn’t even sure if they mattered to you— did they?

in retaliation, he knew only one thing to steady his heart. he took samantha by her wrist to the nearest restroom, a single stall, and banged on the locked door.

she stood there, speechless, but had a feeling how this night would end. it brought a cruel smile to her lips, but she covered it with her phone in hand. she knew this is how she’d get some of the best sex of her life, when he was riled about his ex, brimming with fury. she didn’t care that she was being used as an outlet, for she was using him for the same. 

so she didn’t care.

the man in the bathroom left with a curse but lando didn’t seem to give a fuck. he pulled the girl inside and slammed the door behind him, locking it without a care in the world. against the wall she was pushed, ravished by the company of his lips. he sucked and tugged at her lower lip, becoming so bold as to bite the flesh with his top teeth. she smacked his arm and he relented, knowing damn well that you would’ve been moaning with pleasure. 

his lips left no surface untouched as he trailed down the surface of her body. along her collarbones, her bare chest, but he left no marks. he never did, much to her dismay, as if he were saying that she was never really his. because she wasn’t, his thoughts were rampant. this should be you. 

lando hiked up the fabric around her cunt, scrunching the dress in his hand. his other made work around his pants, shuffling them down so his blistering cock could spring to life. it did, but with the work of you in his memories, and not the girl who was spilling her breasts for him in face. 

he didn’t spend long serenading her with his tongue, though it would be a different story if it was you beneath him. he spared no effort where his lips rejected, the only way he found himself happy would be with your own against his. they were claimed for you and you alone. 

it would be a fair assumption to say that you utterly ruined him. 

his dick slid into her with ease with the help of his spit across his hand. he had slipped a condom on, too, tearing open the packaging and threw it to the ground. samantha’s hands came to wrap around the back of his neck, her claw-like nails digging into his skin. it had him curl his lip, not finding the sensation enjoyable, but he didn’t care. not when you were thundering on his mind. his storm, his sunshine. 

she moaned deeply at the contact, finding her g-spot with no effort whatsoever. she was already a mess beneath him as he solidified a pace, grunting in the wake of his thrusts. 

but he wasn’t thinking of her. ‘course he wasn’t. he was thinking of the first time he had you. you in your light-toned dress, you with your big, sparkling eyes. it would be there, beneath the moonlight of his monaco apartment, that he’d taken you to his bed for the first time. and that was the first time you’d ever came at a man’s touch, and lando wouldn’t forget that he was the first you spilled a name on your tongue. 

how you voice was so iridescently sweet. how it curdled his heart into a bow, tying it off with a kiss. your scent had him stirring with craze, frenzied as he ate you out that first time, and nothing ever compared. your cunt was the nectar of his life, fueling him day to day whilst he could have you. when you were his. now he was a man running on fumes, on the oils you’d left behind in his apartment. there wasn’t much he could spare, but that fucking liked photo seemed to do the trick. 

it’s enough to hold him over for the time being. the pace at which hips were thrusting increased, sporadic. his hand came to clutch the base of her throat, but samantha slapped his hand away. the wall would suffice, but knew you’d beg him to hold you. clutch you with your life in his hands, bestowing him the greatest trust he could ever earn. he’d have you tearing up, whining, mewling with pleasure from his hands alone. now, the sex was black and white, when you were the whole world. ripped away from his clutch, he’d be empty handed. 

she shouted his name, “lando–!” while she came over his cock, tightening around him. he’d groan, forehead flush against the concrete of the wall. 

he was reaching his own. those photos of you on your instagram. the feed of your soft launch with that fucking football player. how your friends posted the pair of you— how you were glowing in every light that caught your face. you were so fucking beautiful, so perfect, that he couldn’t help but cum at the thought of you.

but this time, he made a mistake. 

it had been your name that flew past his lips when he filled the condom to the brim. it was your name that he grunted in her ear. not samantha’s.

she was furious. disgusted. she shimmied out of lando’s hold, tugging her underwear up and her dress down. 

lando knew he fucked up. this wouldn’t be the first time, and ultimately, not the last. 

before she left with tears streaming down her face, she had words. “you’re pathetic,” she spat. “take off that fucking bracelet. you know she won’t want you back.” 

and then she was gone. 

lando was left in the empty stall of the bathroom with his head draped against the wall. his breaths were rampant, coming down from the high of his orgasm, but there was no regret in his mind. there was nothing there except the distress of his memories, the titration of you that fumigated him, held him in a chokehold. 

he fixed his pants, washed his hands, and glanced at himself in the mirror. sweaty, bloodshot, exhausted, he didn’t recognize himself. he didn’t recognize the man that was there; unshaved, overgrown hair, sloppy dress attire. this wasn’t him. he was nothing without you, it seemed, and it would drive him into the fucking ground sooner, rather than later. but he was betting on the latter. 

aggravated, he let out a curse, “fuck.” before he left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

when the both of you were in your beds that night, you tossed and turned. a whirlwind of emotions swaddling the both of your beneath the comforters, you kept checking your phone to see if he texted you. you wouldn’t ever say it, but you’d unblocked him a week after you broke up. you wanted to see if he’d chase you. but he didn’t. he didn’t. 

he was on his phone, too, fresh out of the shower. waiting. looming on instagram to see if you’d like any of his posts, but he saw no activity. but he did see that his fans caught wind of your liked post. confusion was stirred, wondering if the pair of you were friends again. he couldn’t help but chuckle at that insinuation, because he was wondering the same fucking thing. 

but when you both put your phones down and settled in for the night, you were consumed by your memories, and so was he. 

you’d dragged him from the event that night back to his flat. when you opened it with the copy of his key he gave to you, you threw your bag on the sofa without a word. you made move to run right to your shared bedroom, but lando wasn’t far behind, and grabbed your elbow. 

“what is it?” he asked, confused, and that only angered you more. 

“you’re serious?” you said, mouth agape. you couldn’t believe he claimed to not have a single clue what he’d done. what this mess had been amounting to for quite some time. 

“clearly, otherwise i wouldn’t be asking,” he said with a bite. “would i?” 

you rolled your eyes, attempting to pull your arm out from his hold. but he didn’t relent. he kept his hands firm on you, keeping you settled. 

“don’t be daft,” you hissed. he simply raised a brow, shrugged his shoulders. “how you treated me.” 

he was still clearly at a loss, free hand coming to rub the back of his neck with a scoff. “and how did i treat you, then?” 

your hands flew up with contempt, finally loosening his grip. “this! like this!” your voice raised. “first you hate to post us, and then you say ‘we’re not that serious’?” 

that night you’d been standing beside lando, keeping him company with his mates, when they popped the question about the sincerity of your relationship together. you’d expect him to answer with a smile, saying that you were very much in love— because he’s told you that numerous times— but he simply batted the question off with a ‘not too serious, innit? here for a good time.’ 

“you know i didn’t mean it that—” 

“oh…! here we fucking go.” you turned your back on him, head falling into your hands. you ran them over your face, “you say that. you always say that. ‘it doesn’t matter,’ ‘they don’t know the truth,’ then why don’t you tell them?” 

he couldn’t believe what you were saying. that you didn’t trust him, didn’t have faith in the words he spoke to you in the peacefulness of your bedroom. 

“we don’t owe them shit,” he spoke your name in a controlled tone, gritting his teeth against one another. 

“and when i get flamed on instagram? twitter? for taking you away from them?” the fanbase that lando acquired was some of the most valiant people you’ve ever witnessed, but could also be the most brutal. 

“you know how they are—” 

“i didn’t sign up for that.” you retorted quick, shouting this time, which had his face going a ghastly white. “i’ve done nothing but love you. cherish you. and you can’t owe me the decency to speak kindly on my name. defend the ‘love of your life,’ — as you’ve so called me before!” 

lando was stunned to silence. 

“and what do you have to say to her now? while i get numerous death threats, how they’ll kill my family, tarnish my work.” you waited for an answer, turning back to him with your hands up. 

he said your name again, stepping closer to you. but you threw your hand up in front of him, halting his steps. 

“no. no. what would you say?” 

lando swallowed the thick, anguished lump in his throat. 

“i’d tell her i was sorry.” he took a step closer, letting your hand rest on his heart as he bumped into it. your lip quivered, finally coming to terms with how emotional you’d gotten. “i’d tell her that she means the world to me, and that i’m the biggest fucking mug she’s ever met.” 

your breath stifled. arm relaxing, he closed the distance. 

you began to believe him. 

“and i’d tell her she’s more than what the internet says.” that had you flickering your eyes up. was he still not going to make a statement? “and that their words are meaningless.” 

you raised a brow at his indecency. 

“threats that they’ll find my parents? dox them, send feds to their house?” you backed away from him. he realized that he fucked up again, and that it could cost him everything. 

“you know that won’t happen—” 

“and if it does?” you were still firm with your statements, however desperate he looked in his eyes. “what then, when i get a call that my parents house was ransacked? what would you do, oh lord of fame?”

he took a step back from you as if your words pierced through the thick flesh of his heart. he didn’t see it that way, didn’t see how you saw it. the words of hate he received online were toilsome, ignorable, but it was different from you. you didn’t ask for any of this, and he knew it more than true that you didn’t deserve it. 

but he made the discovery too late. 

“that’s what i thought.” 

you moved to grab your bag, your phone, brushing past him whilst he was locked in place. his heart was bursting out of the cage of his chest, his mind pushing him forward, but he was terrified. terrified that if the next words he’d say, you’d be gone. 

“don’t fucking call me until you figure your shit out. i’m not playing—” 

you were stopped when you were pulled against lando’s chest. his stubble grazing your shoulder, bringing you a greater comfort than you’d sooner die than admit. you felt his heart against him, racing with a speed greater than his car, and let the tears slip from your eyes.

“stop,” you shook your head, begging him to let you go.

“don’t,” he begged, not even sure what he was truly begging for. “don’t go, baby, don’t leave.” 

but your mind was already made up. though his begging could suffice if the circumstances were different, but he’d already made his mind up, too. he embarrassed you, threw you under the bus, and allowed you to be tormented in the eyes of the media. you knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you also thought he’d defend you. 

yet, you were met with radio silence on his account. 

and nothing but an endless stream of apologies, but no solution. 

“let me go.” you said. metaphorically, physically. your hand went to the necklace around your neck, picking at the chain. 

he shook his head, refusing. 

“lando…” you hissed, trying to weave out of his grip. you finally turned to face him, seeing the tears falling from his eyes. 

you were crying, too. it felt like something was ending, though you didn’t wish it to be true. but you couldn’t let this media abuse continue any further, and needed to protect yourself, your family, when he failed as its guardian. 

“don’t go. please.” he begged, forehead coming to connect with yours. you sucked in a tight breath, wishing to relieve him of his sadness, but your own was overpowering. 

“i have to,” you said, holding back a sob. “i’ll be back once you find a way to fix it.”

it was enough to bring the formula one driver to his knees, falling to the carpeted floor. he shriveled beneath your disappointment, unable to keep himself afloat with your wishes. 

“get up.” you hissed, wiping away the tears from your own face. 

but he didn’t, and laid his head on your stomach, pushing his face into you as hard as he could. you could feel the indent of his nose, his lips. the quivering of his jaw, the shaking sensation of his fingertips as he wrapped around your waist. 

“don’t leave me.” 

to be continued

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16 @strengthandstay @mybluesoul1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[hotvintagepoll]

What are some screwball comedy pairings you wish had been a thing? Can definitely be gay ones :)

Okay finally!

One of the reasons I made this blog in the first place is that few things bring me as much blinding rage as imagining the movies we could have gotten, if old Hollywood had stopped being racist/homophobic/anti-everyone for ten fucking seconds. There were so many talented hotties working through our tournament era who only got cameo spots or no-budget movies! for no reason beyond white supremacy! there were so many stories that didn't get told because heaven forbid we acknowledge gay people! If this blog has a mission statement, a big chunk of it would be about highlighting all the amazing hotties who never got what they deserved in their heyday.

So! Let's tear Louis B. Mayer a new one and make some better movies.

Diamond Eyes (1946)

Harold Nicholas, the bored but fabulous son of a Manhattan millionaire, decides to take himself off on a transatlantic cruise to recover from the boredoms of socialites, constant martinis, and west side glamor. When working girl Rita Hayworth snags him into a fake dating scheme to throw off a jealous ex (Cesar Romero), he doesn't mean to fall in love with his false fiancé—or to set the ex up with his scheming accountant (Tyrone Power).

To the Tune of Millions (1945)

Ann Miller and Lena Horne are conwomen besties who use a fake dance act to get into casinos, which they then promptly rob. Unfortunately, an over-enthusiastic talent agent (Gene Kelly) sees the act and thinks they're legitimate, hiring them on the spot as the lead number in a newly opened but already failing musicale review. Who can they hustle at a theater that's barely bringing in a dime? The two ex-cons fall in love with show business, Kelly and Horne smooch at the grand finale, and Miller has an intense will-they-or-won't-they sparring relationship with the hot stage manager (Ethel Waters—and they will).

Untitled Three's-a-Crowd Film (1942)

Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman are running interference on a corrupt justice system while trying to keep up the act that they are all simply cohabitating in a shared AirBnB and definitely not falling in love with each other. Wait. This is actually The Talk of the Town. This movie actually exists and does veer this hard into polyamorous romance.

Tomatoes and Toast (1928)

Anna May Wong and Greta Garbo eat sandwiches for three hours. It's riveting.

One Soul, Two Bodies (1948)

Farley Granger and Vincent Price star as Alexander the Great and Hephaestion in this sword-and-sandals period piece. Though clearly made on a studio backlot with a budget of $3, the dashing romance grounds the chariot races and cardboard sword battle sequences.

Grand Central Station (1931)

Interconnected narratives of Josephine Baker, Joan Blondell, Dolores del Río, and Fredric March all vying for the last seat on the 5:45 train out to Poughkeepsie. When they realize they're jostling to sit next to the same sugar daddy who's been stringing all of them along, the four decide to unionize. Pre-code thrills; the four-in-a-bunk Pullman car scene remains notable for a reason.

I have more but I think I've gone a bit delirious.