#the ferocity and the smugness of this bastard… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grlzluvmyswag · 3 months

Text

"Oh, my god, come on." You stand before him in the staff lounge, gritting your teeth and making a mental note to wipe that shit-faced grin right off that pretty-boy face of his soon. You irritably grab two fistfuls of your uniform shirt, as well as the lacy bra beneath it, and yank them both upwards so that they’re bunched up above your bared tits. For him, this should be adequate. It was adequate the last time, right? Men love boobs, surely he’ll just appreciate the gesture and give you what you need…? You almost groan in exasperation at his unpredictable nature and the apprehension it brings along with it. The man slinks back into the most ridiculously expensive chair you've witnessed the like of with a lazy sigh, proactively making you wish you could dropkick his lanky frame to the cold, hard floor.

"Ehhh..." Gojo taps his chin with a slender finger, giving the impression that he is "thinking about it", albeit in the most unconvincing way possible while making a face at the sight of his student in the same scenario she was in the previous week. At once, an apparently innocent smile brightens up his face, and those keen eyes peer up into yours as though you happened to be having a normal discussion. "Yeah, no, not good enough for me."

"Huh…!?" is what you yell in reply to his selfish conclusion. Naturally, you could've called that response, but that doesn't make it piss you off any less! Please, who does this cocky bastard think he is? Given the taboo element of your budding relationship, he should consider himself so lucky to be seeing your tits for the second occasion in a row.

Gojo, who was hoping for that exact reaction, grins more enthusiastically than ever. He shifts back in his chair, sets his polished boots on the desk in front of him, and interlaces his fingers behind his head. He looks a little too proud for your liking, you think to yourself with a scowl.

"I said... not good enough." He shrugs his shoulders, making fun of his agitated student and all that she's trying to do in order to acquire additional training sessions with him. His claims are contradicted by that dumb smile of his, but he'll keep this up just a while longer for the hell of it. Maybe he can get more than he originally bargained for?

"Why." you promptly ask, planting your fists firmly on your hips as you continue the heated interaction, playing right into his game. Gojo is determined to have you as on-edge as possible, and it's evident in his sparkling blue gaze.

"Why is this not good enough?"

"Yeah, why."

"You're asking me for more one on one training. You know that's gonna eat into my personal life, right?"

You sigh frustratedly at the way he forever finds a way and a will to skirt around the answer you expect from him, palms slamming upon the polished surface of his desk in a futile attempt to intimidate the man. Your movement is carried with such ferocity, yet all it accomplishes is to lure the idiot’s interest back to those exposed tits. They sway and jiggle a small distance from Gojo's face, and he finds himself beyond turned on. Enough that even his leg is beginning to bounce as a way to cope with the overwhelming urges he's suppressing inside.

"Can you ju-" you cut yourself off suddenly, frozen as ice once you register the sensation of your tender nipple being delicately rolled between his knuckles at the same time his other big, veiny hand squeezes at your chest. You swiftly shift forth for him in search of more touch even when your body's instinctual need to jolt away from the stimulation is activated. "Huh, w-wait..." before you can stop it, a soft whimper manages to escape you, and this automatically motivates the teacher to insist on continuing with an air of smugness up until you fiercely slap his hand away.

The sorcerer chuckles breathily at your harsh behaviour while he tilts his head. And to really gain your sympathy, he shamelessly adjusts and briefly strokes the throbbing bulge in his slacks, because look at him... he's already painfully hard at the sight of your perfect tits! You just have to let him get his way after what you've done to him!

"Oh dear, just drop that god-awful attitude already, would you? What I'm sayin'... is while the sight is good, more would be good enough."

"...What are you playing at, Satoru Gojo?" Your tone is cautious, slightly breathless as you gather yourself. It's only a question of making sure. You know he loves to take every advantage he can just to get under your skin. He’s already had the pleasure of fondling you just then, so maybe it’s only acceptable for him to want more from you. That’s what he wants you to think, anyways. The man huffs impatiently, crossing those long, lean arms of his.

"Tch. Come onnnnnn. Do I seriously have to spell it out for you?" He groans like an impatient child, a slight pout contorting his lips. "I want you to let me suck on your tits. Play with 'em."

Yep, there it is. Ever so determined to cross the line, isn’t he?

"…you’re kidding." You blink at the man. Once, twice.

Gojo is bewildered. No, he's not kidding at all! If he didn't intend to act on it, why would he state something so obscene? You look at him as though he were known for abusing your feelings or something... it’s almost hurtful!

"No, I’m not." He expresses his annoyance with an exaggerated sigh, running his fingers through locks of snow white, pushing back the strands that messily rest over the frames of his shades.

Oh, wow. He’s truly not kidding. What is this… self-entitled, utterly infuriatingly handsome man’s issue?! He must really enjoy the thrill of greedily sinking his teeth into more than he should chew, mustn’t he? And he’s just so shamelessly rude about it! Yet somehow that’s barely enough to keep you from actually, actually, considering the price he wants you to pay. What really gets you thinking about it is a quick peer at the teacher's (effortlessly aggravating) mouth. You have to admit that with those perfectly pink lips sucking, kissing and everything in between, your view could certainly gain just that little bit more oomph. And oh, you can only imagine how absolutely delectable that silver tongue of his would feel, lapping at your hard nipples till you feel weak. On top of that, the task ought to shut him up for a moment or so! A highly appealing aspect indeed.

But damn it all! If what you were doing were to be discovered by an unsuspecting member of staff or a fellow student who hadn't left yet, what in all hell would you do? Really, what would you say? "Sorry, I was just letting Gojo-sensei here suck on my tits so he'd continue to supply me with the additional training I need"? God, no! You're practically gasping for air at the mere notion of something so probable occurring, however you're struggling to determine if this is due to that sinking sensation of dread or… arousal.

"Thirty seconds." you place a time limit in a stern tone of voice, not wanting to allow the smug bastard to think he has the upper hand in this little negotiation.

"A minute." Gojo counters almost immediately, a challenging smirk curving the edges of his mouth much to your displeasure. It’s only natural for him to push the limit, after all, so how could you snap at him over something of such common knowledge. It’s not like you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here, is what he’s thinking.

"Thirty. Seconds." Yes, that’s right. Stand your ground, you! Show him who’s boss right here and now—

"Minute and thirty seconds."

"Deal."

He could have been so considerate as to try concealing the certainly antagonising snicker behind a hand, or at least disguising it with a little cough! But not even the most meager attempt! Without so much as a small slant of his head to keep you from catching it, it simply slips by those sparkling pearly-whites. He knew you would cave eventually, but this quickly? Brilliant, really. No, truly! Brilliant. Ugh, and if you had thought ‘that ego couldn’t possibly get any more obnoxiously huge!’, it’s very well proven by that fucking smile that yes, yes it can get any more obnoxiously huge. Of course, the man can’t help but smirk at the dirty scowl on your face as you simmer, taking off his shades to get a better look.

I am your most strongest, most incredibly attractive downfall, sweetie. Those are the words that his sultry gaze conveys as he beckons you closer, firm thighs spread out on that damned rich-prick-vibe chair to accommodate your body between them. Having forgotten that your chest was bared free, you’re abruptly reminded once his open-mouthed breaths lightly fan over the soft and sensitive skin, not failing to direct your attention to his actions. Shit, the view’s pretty. It’s all so very pretty. Bright blue eyes peering up at you, sparkling and enthralling enough to the point where you study them too intently and catch your own reflection. Rosy, full lips that fluidly mould against the shape of your breast, planting slow kisses with his cupid’s bow prominent and glistening with a thin sheen of saliva. Stray locks of pure white that fall across his forehead, the ends getting caught on the tips of his long lashes when he blinks up at you. Flawless, yet such an entitled asshole.

With minimal thought, you carefully brush the flyaways from his face, carding your fingertips through the perfect mess that is his hair. It's so soft — soft enough that it could be mistaken for the feathers of an angel's wings.

"Mmph, fffuck… again." the sorcerer groans lowly against your dampened flesh, dancing his eager tongue around your areola and barely making contact with the stiffened bud at the centre, just enough to have your breath hitching. The heaviness of his palms caressing your waist is fucking dangerous, something you feel you could get addicted to very easily. Could? Will.

"For god’s sakes…" with a deep sigh and a roll of your eyes, you let him feel your nails grazing his head once again and gently tug on a loose fistful of hair, earning a genuine moan sent straight from the back of his throat. Oh, the noises he makes are downright delicious, you could just… "Ooph-…!"

Gojo swiftly pins you between the staff room’s large desk and himself, carefully bending you backwards until your head could rest on the surface if it wanted. The teacher’s deft hands leave no distance when it comes to your bare skin, greedily rubbing up and down over your ribs and stomach like nobody’s business. He’s thriving for the overwhelmed yet delightfully pleasured expression on your sweet face, chuckling to himself before happily leaning over and wrapping his warm lips around your nipple to suck on it.

"Uh, mnn..." you moan quietly within the otherwise empty lounge, nails instinctively sinking into the nape of his neck as his tongue swirls around your sensitive bud. He’s super into it now, teeth grazing and suction differing, so many techniques directed at one area until he decides to switch to your other nipple, only to mess around with your fleeting reactions. Every nibble, every hot caress of that silver tongue has you reeling. Even your toes curl at the sensations he brings you, causing you to feel more than ashamed of yourself for genuinely enjoying Satoru fucking Gojo.

He’s hovering you above the desk, marked papers, stationery, folders and god knows what else being knocked off by the force of his passionate movements. A string of little gasps, oh’s and ah’s escape your mouth, twitching and jolting in a pair of strong arms in response to his advances. It’s so sexy, the manner in which he goes about handling your body. Rough but not too rough, quick but not too quick for you still find yourself yearning for much more of him than you would ever like to admit. Realising you’re about to start thinking of him in a different light, you forcefully lay a hand on his chest and attempt to push him off. You’re way too paranoid about being caught right now, you lie to yourself for an easier, less aggravating excuse despite having just remembered where you were only a few seconds ago. Damn it, he’s too good and it’s tempting your inhibitions to jump out the window.

"Hold on, hold on-" the man murmurs in a concentrated state as his teeth are almost taken away from your sweet flesh, chest pressing against your hand in order to get closer again since he’s clearly not done the time. Actually, Gojo’s almost a little offended that you think he’d miss the chance to get the last few seconds in on such a perfect pair of tits.

"Hey, what the hell!" a vexed whisper leaves you when he doesn’t comply, kicking your legs in the air in a half-assed attempt to strike him.

"Four… mmff, three." he counts down the remaining seconds out loud and pays no mind to your thrashing, desperate flicks of his tongue and short, gruff moans occasionally interrupting the sequence of numbers, "Fu- two… mmnnn one."

Finally, he stops sucking. However, his warm mouth trails up to your neck as you reluctantly hold your shirt and bra as high as they can go for his access, and its only after the last couple of open-mouthed kisses that he allows his slicked lips to detach from your body. Gojo can feel his pulsing cock trying its very best to escape the irritating confines of his clothes now, pushing and jumping against the fabric as he effortlessly continues to hold you, a sign that he needs to leave before he lets himself get too carried away.

"Minute and a half, bam."

"A minute and thirty-seven seconds…" is what you retort snappily in return, glaring at that dumb smile he’s sending your way.

"Training on Monday." The man purrs in your ear before carelessly dropping you against the desk, humming obnoxiously as he strides out into the hallway on those string bean legs you’d love to kick in as of right now.

"Ugh!" you grunt loudly when your head bumps upon the hard surface, immediately scrambling to sprint to the doorway with a hand rubbing the bruise that’s definitely forming as you shout, "Prick!"

"…You say somethin’?"

#gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo imagine

84 notes · View notes

swansworth · 1 year

Text

My High Lady

A Darker!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You are Rhysand’s mate and he is not afraid to make an example out of any who dare harm you. And you are more than happy to let him stake his claim in front of the gathered crowd. After all, he is as much yours as you are his and they all need to remember that.

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, public sex, finger-fucking, rougher sex, mild breeding kink, semi-graphic torture and mutilation of a prisoner, biting/marking, Darker!Rhysand, mildly possessive talk

Word Count: 2,638

Author Notes: Just a really delicious idea that popped into my head and I had to get out. Considering this is my first time writing for Rhysand at length, I’m pretty content with this. Special thanks to @bubbles-for-all-of-us and @azsazz for being so lovely and encouraging me to write this.

Can now be found on AO3 here.

“I have to pretend to be someone I am not when I’m in the Hewn City,” Rhysand had once said, “Though, I will admit, it’s becoming harder and harder to determine where the real me begins and the persona ends.”

As you stared at him, his violet eyes almost black with fury, you wondered briefly if there had ever been a persona to begin with. However cruel the being before you seemed to be, you were not afraid. This being was born out of a soul-deep unconditional love for you; you would never be in danger of it. Your gaze returned once more to the elemental currently bound before you. He still smirked, as if he somehow had the upper hand in this twisted game he had thrust upon Rhysand. His mud colored eyes turned to focus on you and your fingers curled into a fist, ready to punch that smug look off his face if need be.

The growl that tore through Rhysand’s throat then, clawing its way out of his mouth—with a ferocity that you could only describe as carnal—was a clear message that the High Lord of the Night Court was done playing games. Rhysand flicked his wrist in a gesture so slight that to the untrained eye, it would have looked as if he hadn’t even flinched. There was a pause, and the elemental laughed at him, and you, not for the first time, felt a desperate urge to tear the bastard’s throat out with your bare hands.

The elemental’s laughter died suddenly, rapidly changing into a harsh series of screams as his body was overcome with a dark vicious-looking shadow that pulled and clawed at his flesh, tearing it slowly, mercilessly. Rhysand shot Keir a look and the Steward quickly stepped forward to put a small, opalescent, orb on a pedestal beside the restrained fugitive. A light burst from the orb, cutting through the shadow, projecting for all those present the crimes of the elemental and Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Elemental you may be, Aldric Firedagger, but surely they taught you not to touch that which does not belong to you in the Elemental Planes?” His tone was deceptively calm and you looked at him, watched rage swirl in those eyes that so often held nothing but love and adoration for you. “You tried to drag my love, my mate, back to that cave you call home, You dared to lay your tainted hands on her, hoping that you could steal her from me and then touch her, claim her, in the most intimate parts of her being. That right is mine. As payment for your despicable actions, we ask you to pay with your hands.”

Aldric pleaded, “Please! I need my hands for my work!”

Poor thing.

Rhysand’s voice was clear in your mind, as smooth as velvet and just as comforting.

He hasn’t realized I’m not going to let him out of here alive.

You know that he didn’t hurt me, Rhysand.

You haven’t seen what was in his mind. Believe me when I say hurting you was the kindest thing he had in store for you had Azriel not found you in time.

Then do what you must, love.

There was a tug of affection through your bond and you offered a reaffirming tug in return. Aldric’s hands were gone an instant later; sliced neatly by the claw-like shadows. You barely noticed his screams, not when Rhysand was gingerly stroking against the wall you kept up, almost as if to distract you from what was happening.

Rhys, I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the mating bond.

I just don’t want you to see more than you have to.

You said that we would do everything together. I intend to endure this together as well.

You could almost see Rhysand’s smile in your mind.

That’s my girl.

His attention shifted back to Aldric. For his part, Aldric had stopped sobbing as if he had accepted the weight and consequences of his actions. There was a look in his brown eyes you couldn’t quite place and it was only after he spoke that you knew what it was. “Do your worst half-breed.”

Facing death had made Aldric bold. His challenging words caused a ripple through the court, a wave of gasped breaths reverberated against the carved stone walls. Fire elemental or not, you had never seen such a blazing look on Aldric’s face before and for a moment you worried that he was going to burst, to scorch you all to Hell. Rhysand, however, was unfazed.

“They say that it is a sin to covet, Firedagger. Yet, with your eyes you have lusted after many beings, my mate included. Fantasies of passion, both sexual and murderous have filled your gaze and thoughts. I have seen it. It’s all there in your mind, unprotected and exposed. Tell me, Aldric, why is that?”

“I have nothing to hide. I am not ashamed of my desires, no matter how dark and corrupted they may seem to be.” The burning was still there in his gaze as he lifted his head and squared his shoulders. He was emboldened and reckless and one quick glance to Rhysand’s carefully composed face told you that Aldric had just made his last move in this twisted game of theirs.

“For those crimes, we ask you to pay with your eyes,” Rhysand’s voice was deep, powerful, and you shuddered against him as the shadows made quick work of utterly wrecking Aldric’s eyes. His scream fell on deaf ears, none caring that this measly elemental was being torn apart by the High Lord.

You supposed it said quite a lot about who you had become that rather than be disgusted by this torturous, public, punishment you felt aroused. There was an undeniable heat pooling between your thighs as you watched your mate’s stronger, darker magic—the magic that made him the High Lord—tear this insignificant being apart piece by piece. It was a graphic display, a goreish show, that had many turning away. Even there in the Hewn City, it was almost too horrifying. You, however, could see it for what it truly was. In the most twisted way, it was a demonstration not only of the High Lord's true power, but of the undying, unconditional love he felt for you, his mate, his High Lady.

Try as you may, you couldn’t ignore that burning heat within you, that flame of arousal. You worried your lower lip between your teeth as you debated what to do. The logical solution was to be as patient as you were able; Rhysand always took such good care of you, knew exactly how to use his mouth, fingers, and cock to make you sing in pleasure. However, a larger part of you wanted to have him right there, audience be damned. Let them see. Let them all see how well Rhysand claimed you and how he was hopelessly yours as much as you were undeniably his.

It was a thought that certainly had its merits.

Your fingers wandered down the expanse of your abdomen, around your hip to your lower back where the fastens that held your skirt together resided. With a practiced ease you worked them open, sighing in relief as the immense amount of fabric fell down, pooling at your feet. You stepped out of the skirt, pushing it aside with your foot, and were happy that the cloak Rhysand had insisted on wearing was large enough to cover your now nude lower half.

You brought your hand back around to the small patch of hair resting just above your slick folds, dragging your fingers down to press against your entrance. A low hiss escaped you as they slipped in with ease, surprised by how wet you were already. Your gaze locked onto the slowly diminishing form of Aldric, each scream that erupted from his mouth sending a shiver down your spine because you knew that he was suffering because he dared to look at and touch something that was forbidden to him.

The scent of your arousal was evident to everyone present; they could smell your slick as you worked yourself open, quivering against your mate’s side and moaning into the darkness. You felt Rhysand’s grip on you tighten and all but shivered as he turned dark, hungry eyes towards you. He flicked his wrist again, his gaze solely focused on your face, and he watched as your pupils dilated with a desperate need at the sound of Aldric’s tormented wails. You could so clearly see the depravity in his violet eyes and eagerly met it with your own. It was a look that said I see you and I love you and accept you and Rhysand let out an almost choked sound at the sight of it.

You gasped as Rhysand turned to face you fully, pulling you close and grinding your bodies together as he bent down to lick his way into your mouth. His left hand wandered down the planes of your skin, joining your own at your dripping cunt. You cried out, using your free hand to grab onto the front of his tunic as he pressed one, two, three of his thick fingers into you, thrusting in and out alongside your own smaller digits.

You chanced a look back at Aldric and watched as his arm slowly came undone in perfect synchronization with Rhysand’s own gentle touch to your arm. The same happened again as Rhysand dragged his hand up to grip your chin, forcing you to look back at him as he surged forward and captured your mouth once more, his other hand still fucking you open relentlessly. The knowledge that for every inch of you that Rhysand touched Aldric would lose that part simultaneously produced an especially delicious-smelling gush of slick from you and you moaned as Rhysand brought an utterly soaked hand to his mouth and licked it clean.

“Rhys,” you pleaded, sighing in relief when his fingers entered you once more, “Please. Claim me. Mate me again. Show them we are equals.” The implication of your words was understood by all in attendance and Rhysand, who normally took a pause to verify you truly wanted to be ravaged so thoroughly by him, unleashed a sound that was positively bestial as he gripped the corset and blouse you were wearing and tore them asunder.

His hands gripped your waist, dragging you down to the ground with him, into the dust beneath your feet. It was a filthy thing, one that to many would be seen as unfit for a fae of his standing, but neither of you cared. The ferocity with which Rhysand flipped you around, edging you onto your hands and knees—soaked entrance on display like a bitch in heat—sent a full body shudder through you, getting a thrill at seeing your mate so unhinged.

The sound of Rhysand untying the fastens of his trousers was familiar and you pressed back harder against him, hoping to feel some of the cock you knew he was freeing. You could feel yourself gushing, slick spilling out of you as Rhysand rubbed the head of his thick cock against your wet entrance. Rhysand’s normally calm outward appearance was ripped away as Aldric let out a particularly blood curdling cry, his body disintegrating as Rhysand fucked into you in one fluid movement.

The lack of care you felt in that moment for Aldric should have, perhaps, frightened you. But the sight of his body blasting apart and then dissolving into ash and dust sent a shiver down your spine. It was a brutal, grotesque, thing, but it was a sign that your mate loved you, truly, madly, deeply. If the visual display from the High Lord of Night was not enough, the way he took you, claimed you, in front of all present, was another reminder.

You took in that glorious cock, moaning at the curve of it. It was a proud, thick, thing and you shuddered as you felt it throb within you. Then, you rocked back against Rhysand, urging him on, wanting more. The base part of your brain, that seemed fond of taking over whenever Rhysand was more feral, was desperate to be glutted with his seed, to be bred and filled with a new life in front of the ashen remains of someone who thought they could have you.

Rhysand was a bestial thing, his grip on your hips firm, keeping you still as he pounded into you. Growls tore out of his throat as his mouth moved against your flesh, biting and sucking all over to mark you, to show any who dared look that you had a lover, a mate, and that he had staked his claim. You were helpless, only able to angle your body to make the slide of his cock easier, allowing him deeper. The speed with which he took you was nearly too much, yet you were thriving, your muscles convulsing around him as he drove into you.

He thrust in deep and perfect and you threw your head back, exposing more of your neck to his mouth. You screamed your pleasure, and pleaded for him to continue, begged for him to finally claim you. He bit down and your’s eyes widened in surprise as you felt a sudden surge of his power course through your veins, pulsing through every inch of your being. His tongue darted out to lick at the traces of blood seeping out of his claiming mark and you hissed in delight at the sensation.

“I love you. You rare, beautiful thing. My mate, my wife, my High Lady.” Rhysand’s voice was barely recognizable, more of a growl than anything else. His hips stuttered as he spoke and he bit down once more as he emptied himself into you. The feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, stuffing you full of him, had you screaming as you came at last.

Rhysand’s mouth was licking and kissing along the mark he had made and you groaned as he shifted. You could feel him in every fiber of your being and finally felt complete. ‘This’, you thought, ‘this is what I was missing.’ Rhysand hoisted you up with ease, standing with you still stuffed full of his cock and seed. He moved you slowly, turning you so your legs could wrap around his waist and you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it must have looked to your audience, but refrained. Instead, you gasped once more as Rhysand carefully pulled out, his cum leaking out of you and onto the ground below.

What a waste.

You couldn’t help but hum in agreement. Though that was a conversation for another time.

Rhysand’s hands were on your rear, keeping you supported as he looked around at the group surrounding you. There was a dangerous look in his eyes again, silently reminding them all to stay in their place.

“Someone clean up this mess,” Rhysand snapped, his voice rough and guttural and you delighted at the sound of it, “The High Lady and I are going to retire for the evening.” The High Lady. You grinned wildly at the sound of that. It was merely a title at the end of the day, but it spoke volumes and told all the fae in attendance that you were their ruler, that you were his equal and were not to be trifled with.

“Thank you, my darling,” You whispered against the shell of one of his pointed ears, your tone sincere and full of the love you held for him. You peppered kisses along his handsome face, neck, and shoulder and Rhysand gave an approving hum before whispering a promise, “For you, my love, my life, anything.”

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #acotar reader #acotar series #acotar reader insert #reader insert #c: rhysand #t: fanfiction #cw: smut #cw: torture #cw: voyeurism #ship: rhysand x reader #lit: acotar series #my writing

614 notes · View notes

ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

lovesick fools

pairing: bilbo baggins / reader

word count: 2279

summary: reader and bilbo think that the other harbors a crush on thorin, and the dwarven king is the only one who can smash their heads together hard enough to make them see sense

a/n: this is my january fic for both @oonajaeadira & @writeforfandoms and the year of themed creation challenge i joined! this month’s theme is “requited love but they’re idiots” & the overarching theme for the year is “the year of idiots”

another a/n: reader’s race/gender/appearance are left ambiguous. also jsyk i’m a sucker for idiots to lovers, it’s literally my favorite trope

you learned the hard way to not ask if things could get worse. when you muttered the cursed phrase after narrowly avoiding turning to warg chow, the offense and abject horror on the dwarves’ faces made you think someone had died.

“oh, you’ve done it now!” dwalin grumbled, continuing to complain in angry khuzdul as the company of thorin oakenshield took a moment to breathe after running for their lives yet again.

instead of acknowledging dwalin’s bitching, you slumped against a shady tree, letting your breathing slow down so the rest of your body could catch up. if you had known that the journey to reclaim erebor would include this much running, you would have fought a lot harder to keep the ponies that ran away ages ago.

in the distance, you could see nori and dori tending to their littlest brother, ori giving them both half-hearted swats away from their prodding. bifur and bofur were gathering wood for a fire to cook a quick meal, and you heard thorin delegate the task of hunting to his nephews.

thorin and bilbo were otherwise enthralled in conversation, their attention solely focused on each other. you couldn’t decipher any words or tones from your slouched position, simply noting that it was significantly less hostile than their previous interactions. they were situated so close together you’d be hard pressed to slide one of fili’s daggers between the two without nicking one of them. the only reason this rankled you more than it should have is that a week ago, bilbo wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting so close to the king, damn near snuggling him.

after bilbo risked his life to save thorin from azog, the latter gained a deeper respect for the company’s burglar. it seems that this newfound respect and acceptance made your dear hobbit more bold in showing affection to thorin.

you could almost feel your skin turning green with envy of the dwarf’s position, curling that close to bilbo and sharing hushed whispers with the same intimacy you’ve been craving to receive since before the trolls.

a nagging part of your brain told you that the tight embrace they shared on the carrock was a bit more than a gesture of friendship. the rest of your brain (the parts with common sense) told it to shut up, rationalizing that it was an act of camaraderie in the throes of emotion. but getting your thoughts to silence themselves was as likely as getting gloin to stop bragging about his dear gimli.

the underbrush surrounding you and your tree are ruffled around as you’re joined by balin. he eases himself to the ground beside you without a word, knowing that he’s always welcome company. the smug bastard.

“are ye tryin’ ta finish the defiler’s task for him?” you give the older dwarf a look of confusion, not knowing what he meant. his soft laugh mildly jabs at your nerves, unsure of his meaning and now growing insecure. “if looks could kill, fíli would be king under the mountain before we even reach it.”

of course, the one dwarf that put himself in your presence was the only one who made a habit of not speaking plainly. an eye roll conveys this frustration and he clarifies. “your eyes bear the same ferocity as the drake’s roar and are just as deadly as his fire, and they’re aimed directly at thorin.”

well now you’ve gone and done it, offending balin and openly showing animosity towards thorin. you’d be lucky to remain in the company at this rate once thorin finds out.

you’re sputtering through hasty, fearful apologies. it was your fault for not realizing that your feelings were on display to that magnitude, and now you were trying to cover your ass to keep from being booted from the company in the closest town.

balin, the ever observant dwarf, notices this budding anxiety and rests a calming hand on your shoulder as he continues. “matters of the heart are rather tricky, and while i’m not one to meddle in the lives of others, i can give some sound advice if asked.”

balin not meddling? that’s a pile of shit if you’ve ever heard one. next to nori and bofur, the eldest son of fundin was the biggest meddler this side of the misty mountains. you half expected there to be a gossiper’s guild established once the mountain was restored.

“then tell me, master dwarf, what is your advice?” you didn’t mean to snap at him so, but your temper flared when bilbo and thorin seemed to scoot even closer to each other than they already were. once again, you apologize for your rashness.

he hummed in thought, shooing your hand away gently with a knowing smile that had a frightening resemblance to gandalf’s. “tell him how you feel, no matter how grim the current situation seems to be. even if his answer is not what you wish, he will not let it interfere with the quest or your role in it.”

that made sense… almost.

not even the most ardent love such as yours would sway the stalwart bilbo baggins from his commitment to the company. when he gives his word, it’s guaranteed to be kept. why would admitting your feelings to bilbo even hypothetically derail either of you from the objective? he didn’t have a personal stake in the quest outside of his promise, only the kindness of his heart and tookish sense of adventure kept him on the road to erebor. kept him with you.

rationally, the only person who had a true say in who stayed or left the company was thorin. he was the exiled prince, the future king, the leader of this quest. his word was law; he could order you to walk on your hands and eat with your feet the rest of the journey and you’d be obligated to comply.

…wait a minute, did balin think you harbored affection for thorin?

you didn’t know what was worse, balin believing the falsehood or knowing where your heart truly lies. only time would tell.

“simply put, i haven’t the slightest idea what to do!”

bilbo’s been lamenting on and on about you to thorin for nearly thirty minutes. didn’t even ask to sit next to him by the fire, just plopped himself down, scooted in close, and began his woeful soliloquy.

while thorin respects the hobbit and appreciates his friendship, he’s just about had it. each time you and bilbo catch each other’s eyes, every soft word you exchange, it gets repeated back to him in a level of detail only found in the romance novels dwalin pretends to loathe.

to thorin, the solution to bilbo’s problem is simple: he needs to give you a gift worthy of your hand while stating his intentions towards you. maybe a little bit of affection while he was at it. he didn’t understand the nuance that bilbo kept applying to courting you, especially since you would accept anything given to you by the genteel hobbit.

back in rivendell, he caught you gazing at bilbo with gentle longing and pure intentions. despite every feeble attempt made to hide your feelings from the dwarf king, he called you on them far too quick for your liking and swore to keep your secret.

shortly after, bilbo asked him for advice on how to court you. the advice was given with a smile, hoping that it would be taken eagerly and no one else would have to deal with the lovesick fools dancing around each other.

he hoped in vain because here bilbo was, asking the same questions as if thorin would miraculously give a different answer.

thorin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in resigned exasperation. this was almost worse than the trolls. “i’ve already given you my thoughts on the matter, bilbo. whether you use that information to your advantage is solely up to you.”

bilbo’s eyes nearly popped from his skull. he was quick to begin hushing the dwarf (the nerve!) and placing himself even further into thorin’s personal space. “i beg of you, thorin, keep your voice down!”

a handful of the others looked on, wondering why bilbo exclaimed so loud when thorin was simply talking.

“i’ll keep my voice down when you tell me something that not every man here already knows,” thorin scoffed at the hobbit, almost talking louder out of spite. “quite frankly, i have half a mind to take care of this problem myself.”

f and k return from hunting, both of them laden with plenty of meat and a few foraged bits and come upon the edge of chaos. their uncle and their burglar are locked in a staring contest fueled by frustration and fear. barring your fiery glare towards the two, the others are suspended in anticipation, eyes flitting back and forth between their king and their burglar.

neither of them can find it in themselves to be ashamed of the way they flinch when you storm away from your tree and towards thorin. you’re right scary when your features are pulled into a scowl that rivals the pale orc.

“what did we just walk into, fee?”

“i believe the proper term for this situation is ‘shitshow’, brother.”

you push your way between thorin and bilbo and plant your feet firmly, your eyes nearly setting thorin on fire with the same intensity balin noted earlier. “you don’t have to take care of a damned thing, your majesty.” everyone flinches at the malice laced into the honorific. none of them ever heard you speak with such vitriol in your voice and it was rather jarring.

“i know what you and bilbo have been scheming about, so save your breath.” bilbo’s pained gasp almost made you turn around and hug your dearest friend until he was laughing again. but you were furious and determined, a lethal combination when targeted at a specific someone and you couldn’t stop now.

thorin’s confusion and frustration was palpable. “what could you possibly be referring to? there’s been no scheming done by anyone here!”

“don’t take me for a fool, oakenshield! your intentions with bilbo are clear!”

“and just what might those be?”

you growl in fury as you lay the accusation bare. “you intend to court him, make him consort of erebor! even after everything i told you!” tears are fighting to escape but you push them back. you can’t cry yet, not before you make your feelings clear. “i confided in you, you were my friend! how dare you!” with every word a finger is harshly jabbed into his chest.

every other dwarf was shouting over another, trying to make heads or tails of your words. the anticipation gave way to confusion, no one knowing where to start. thorin and bilbo as king and consort? but what about your feelings for thorin? wait, doesn’t bilbo have feelings for you? where was thorin’s heart in all this?

you had tear tracks on your face despite your valiant efforts to keep them at bay. bilbo had a hand pressed to his mouth as he sat himself back on the ground, struggling to keep himself together. thorin’s company was going back and forth with no end to the bickering in sight.

thorin was pissed.

“enough!”

near complete silence followed thorin’s shout, broken only by the occasional sniffles of you and bilbo.

thorin turned to face you, resting a hand on your shoulder and hoping you wouldn’t shrug it off. “i am sorry for leading you to believe i would ever betray your trust in such a fashion.” his eyes met bilbo’s for a moment. when the hobbit nodded solemnly, thorin continued. “bilbo’s been seeking my advice for a while now on how to go about courting you. unfortunately for everyone, the lovesick fool hasn’t done anything to follow said advice.”

“i only see you as a friend, both of you. you’re important members of this company and have grown into admirable companions.” thorin offers a hand to bilbo, encouraging him to stand and face you. “now for the sake of my sanity, please profess your love for each other so we don’t have to deal with your constant yearning anymore!” with that, thorin walks away and shoos the others off to give you both space.

your eyes meet bilbo’s. every negative feeling is now replaced with hope, your heart mending itself just as quick as it broke. the pad of his thumb gently brushes away the fresh tears that were about to fall, his smile soft and eyes kind. “i’m afraid that the oaf of a king is right, i do love you. i love you most ardently, my dear. and i apologize that i didn’t have the courage to tell you sooner.”

“there’s nothing to forgive,” your head leans gently into his hand, enjoying the affection that you’ve been craving for so long. “i love you too, bilbo, so much.” you both leaned in and stole a tender kiss, finally able to indulge the way you deserved.

in the not-so-distant distance, the others were being their usual loud selves trying to watch you without letting you catch them. they weren’t doing that well of a job. you hear slightly muffled whoops and coin bags jingling as they’re swapped between the rest of the company. most of them were going to thorin despite the fireless grunts about cheating.

“the gall of those dwarves! they placed bets on us!” bilbo’s offended huff made you laugh. your hobbit admired the way your eyes scrunched, surprising even himself with the way he snags another kiss from your smiling lips. the courage of hobbits, indeed.

#year of idiots #year of themed creation #bilbo baggins x reader #the hobbit reader insert #the hobbit fanfiction #bilbo baggins #bilbo baggins imagine #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit trilogy #bilbo baggins reader insert

154 notes · View notes

wizardofrozz · 6 months

Note

May I humbly get a Sawbones x Chuchi ship?

Love you BB!! 🥰🥰

I did not see this coming but wow I'm here for it 👀

Sawbones & Riyo Chuchi

While Riyo can be firm and headstrong, she's also gentle and kind. She would extend that kindness to Sawbones, especially seeing the blank, almost bored look on his face. His immediate reaction would be to get irritated by it, seeing it as nothing more than pity, which is the last thing he wants from anyone. It would take a handful of interactions between these two before Sawbones would start to realize that Riyo's kindness was genuine.

Sawbones is very hesitant about getting close to her and is a little confused about why she has any interest in him at all. He doesn't open up about his past, even when she asks, but she's able to pick up on bits and pieces from just spending time around Sawbones' commander.

Sawbones is pissed when she brings it up later and he snaps at her, only for Riyo to come back at him with just as much ferocity. He's immediately taken aback, not expecting her to stand her ground and Sawbones has a newfound respect for Riyo.

That's when he starts to warm up to her yes this man is a little weak for a woman that puts him in his place lmao.

Once Sawbones starts to feel a bit more comfortable around her, he allows himself to recognize that she's a beautiful woman who, for some reason, has taken an interest in him. His expression noticeably softens when she's talking to him, his attention lingers on her, and he lets himself wonder. After they get together though, there's no halfway, especially with Sawbones.

If they work together often, Sawbones suddenly becomes a goddamn menace. Standing a little too close, leaning down to talk in her ear, basically, any and everything to make her cheeks darken. Then once they're alone, he fucks Riyo within an inch of her life, sending her on her way with flushed cheeks, messy hair, and a clearly fucked out look on her face.

There isn't much that truly strokes Sawbones' ego but fucking a senator? It's really hard not to be a smug bastard about it.

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 (love you too ❤️) @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @trixie2023 @sev-on-kamino

#OC: CT-2697 Sawbones #oc x riyo chuchi #oc ask game

10 notes · View notes

manebioniclegali · 1 year

Text

Sometimes, strange things happen. And sometimes, the answers aren't obvious to those involved. You have a funny feeling about all this.

Word count: 1062

~~~~~~

“You like him, don’t you?”

That startles you, head whipping towards Celine while Markus disappears into the distance. Without meaning to, you keep track of him out of the corner of your eye. “Huh?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m— I’m not playing dumb. Why would I like him?” Your lips tremble at the lie.

“I’ve seen how you look at him.”

You roll your eyes, hopefully not appearing forced. “Celine, I look at him with something short of contempt. We bicker constantly; that does not attraction make.”

“Stop. Lying to me.” She spits the words out through gritted teeth. “Just admit that you like Mark!”

“What? No!” You frown, and your brow crinkles in concern. “Celine, what’s gotten into you?”

“Maybe I should be asking you the same thing!”

Celine’s sudden ferocity doesn’t make any sense, even as you try desperately to create some. …Unless— “Celine…do you like Mark?”

Her face flares in a matter of seconds, faster than you remember.

“Celine…Celine, you like William, I thought…?”

“Can’t a woman have more than one romantic interest?” she snaps.

“I don’t understand—”

“No, of course you don’t!” Her voice grows louder. “You couldn’t understand! You never did! You never will! Now tell me whether or not you like the bastard!”

Something almost seems to fracture in the back of your mind. “Wh…what?”

“I said tell me if your heart belongs to him.”

There’s another voice on top of hers when she speaks, a deeper one, and you take a step back defensively. “N-no!”

“LIAR!”

Celine rushes you, hands outstretched, red echoes around her, filling up the space behind her until it blocks out everything else, when suddenly—

***

You’re awake.

…

You’re awake?

The ceiling above you, the sheets surrounding you—all of it feels just as real as the…dream? you just had. You pinch your skin, and it sure feels like reality, not some lucid dream.

You rub the sleep from your eyes. You don’t get it.

Who’s Celine?

There’s a knock at your door, pulling you from your reverie. “Yes?”

“It’s me! Are you decent?”

You sit up and verify your situation. “Yeah.”

Mark enters the room, humming, with a tray populated by a surprisingly unburnt breakfast. “I thought I’d bring you a little something after our adventures—”

He stops dead in his tracks, silent. You think he’s staring at you, but he almost seems to be looking through you. It has you squirming in place before long. “...Mark?”

He blinks, bringing himself back to reality, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes before his smile reaches them again, continuing to approach. “Sorry, dear, lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”

You roll your eyes at the term of endearment, unable to snark so soon after waking, adjusting the bedsheets for him. You decide to answer honestly. “For the most part. I did have a really weird dream, though.”

“Oh?” Mark says, settling onto the bed and placing the tray before you. “How so?”

You’re quiet a moment. He’s used that tone where he pretends he’s not interested, but he very much is. You’re not sure if he knows you’ve picked up on that habit of his. “Some woman kept asking me questions…I don’t even know who she was, but she knew you.” Something tells you that saying what the questions were would be a bad idea…mostly because you aren’t sure the full extent of your answer. “She wasn’t very nice to you.”

Mark borders on that deadly quiet again, a sharpness on his features that you rarely see, juxtaposing his hand brushing gently against your arm, up and down. It’s a bit distracting. Thankfully, his voice is more that smug playfulness. “You’re not exactly nice to me, either.”

You open and close your mouth, face growing warm. “Maybe not, but not like her. Although, I don’t think she had time to be as mean as she could be.”

His eyes narrow. “Do you remember her name?”

The time you spend thinking isn’t to try and recall it, although you hope he thinks that’s the case. “No,” you lie. His eyes narrow further, but despite your nervousness, you don’t rescind your statement. Something about this woman will set him off, and you’re not sure how or why.

Suddenly, he’s in your space, and you inhale sharply, looking up at him. Your plate rattles loudly on the tray. You feel like you should make some snarky remark, but you can’t think of anything, his eyes boring into yours. There’s that odd flickering again…

Finally, after what seems like ages, he backs off with a sigh. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’re telling me.” You try and make it sound sarcastic, but your voice is thin. You change subjects in an attempt to distract from that. “I’m not sharing this breakfast, not with how hungry I am.”

His expression softens, returning to his teasing—although his eyes don’t quite bounce back. “How do you think I feel? I had to slave away over the stove, making your food while I starved—”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” you joke, gently punching his arm with more playfulness that you feel right now. “You made the easiest thing in the world, you better have starved if you messed this up.”

“No, I don’t think I would have starved.” His grin is stirring up something that you’re unsure of. “You would have shared. Out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘kindness,’ I woulda given you the burnt pieces.” You huff. “You know, can’t have breakfast without some juice.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I didn’t want to spill it and I was going to bring it separately—” He pulls himself from the bed, striding towards the door. “I’ll be right back!”

You keep up your smile until he leaves, then let it drop with a long exhale. It’s probably best that you forget about the all-too-real dream, forget about what just happened, and definitely forget about any of the emotions swirling in your chest. You don’t need to wonder why it felt vaguely like it was pulling from a memory. You don’t need any of that. Truly, all you need right now is breakfast. You situate yourself properly, scooting back from where Mark was reclining, and dig into your well-deserved meal.

#actor mark x reader #x reader #wkm actor mark #wkm celine #Markiplier #wkm actor #gn reader #🎬#the seer #sab writes #i feel like i can't do a super clever summary without giving things away abdbsjdks :|

23 notes · View notes

the-diabolist · 2 years

Note

Don't ask why, just please rank btd, btd2 and tpof characters who you would (from most to least likely) beat up in 1v1 with just bare hands. Ur fic with Jack is sick btw, we're waiting for chapter 2~

Ohohohoho, fun one~ but do you mean who I would beat up or who I could beat up? Let's just do both :D I'll even include tertiary characters!

Who I wanna punch, from most to least:

Derek - if I started punching him, I wouldn't stop until he was dead.

Akira - Conceited. Bad attitude. Ugh

Farz - Sullen, rude, and smug. Needs a vibe check

Strade - I'd be doing the world a service, plus he bugs me.

Ren - go ahead, zap me one more time, I dare you

Jack - I may love him, but he's very punchable.

Cain - smug, elitist bastard. Stop talking about wine or whatever!!

Mason - I may love him, but he has his punchable moments.

Vincent - I don't like it when he gets mad at me, so I'll get mad back

Rire - he's a menace and he deserves it

Dragon - I don't feel the need to punch him but I'm not against it either.

Komodo - I like him slightly more than Dragon so he's slightly lower on the list.

Sano - his aloof demeanor was kind of annoying at first, but I'd rather not punch him.

Celia - I don't want to, but I will if I gotta.

Machete - a good dude, but why didn't he make a move sooner??

Damien - he is a bit of a curmudgeon but I still love him very much and don't want to hit him.

Lawrence - baby boy. baby. I only desire to pat him gently

Who I'd be able to curb-stomp, from easily to no damn way:

Ren - he is so small, not really a fighter, and I work with dangerous animals for a living so even his teeth and claws aren't much of a concern.

Farz - again, small. His bad attitude doesn't scare me and that's really his only defense.

Komodo - small, probably not a fighter.

Celia - she's probably weaker than me physically and isn't quite as ferocious either.

Derek - he's kind of scrawny and I bet when it comes down to it he's a wimp. Soft rich boy.

Cain - his frame is rather slight and I fight dirty

Sano - if he's stuck in human form, I'll kick his ass hands down. In naga form, I'm not sure.

Rire - decent frame, but without his tentacles I'm not sure he'd be much of a scrapper.

Damien - looks like he could clock me. Even odds.

Akira - naga powers, decently strong, mean and angry. Even if I won, it wouldn't be without a scratch.

Dragon - sufficiently big and strong. Bet I'm meaner though.

Strade - we'd probably tear each other to shreds xD he's strong enough to cause trouble for me, but we're close to the same size and ferocity level overall.

Jack - much the same as above, but I like my chances slightly less.

Machete - strong, precise, controlled. I think I'd be in trouble.

Mason - listen. I know my limitations. He's huge and lethal - though possibly out-maneuverable via dexterity or strategy. Decent chance I'm dead.

Lawrence - so, okay. Even-ish odds I could take him in a fight initially (yikes, berserker mode), but the problem with him is he doesn't stay down xD I'd lose a war of attrition eventually.

Vincent - Big, strong, and angry. Most likely, I'm dead :p

This was a cool question! And thanks for the 37 Hours feedback, I'm really excited to continue it :)

#this is by no means a perfect ranking but it's late so here you go #my main attributes that work in my favor here are 1. nerves of steel 2. a deep well of rage and 3. a constant readiness to kill #of course there are a lot of variables. but I guess we'll never know #ily anon

43 notes · View notes

mannequinentity · 6 months

Note

🎶 from a like here

The headphones in Nezumi's ears play so loud that the sound of the song leaks through—a fast and rhythmical piece anyone could recognise as the distinct Black Betty. Nezumi doesn't seem to pay attention to Manny's arrival, completely lost in his little world of dancing—just him and the broom he holds and uses for leverage when he moves his arms for extra swing.

A step forth. A step back. Heel. Tip. Tip. Heel. Slide. Kick. Twist and turn.

The corner of Nezumi's eye catches Manny, and he immediately pauses, grins and takes one headphone out. He's a little winded when he speaks.

"Hi! It's late; what're you still doing here?" He is neither bothered nor embarrassed by being caught in his private moment. He gestures vaguely. "The cleaner called the night off so . . ." he explains his presence and waves Manny towards the stage.

"Come up here. It's a fun and easy dance. I'll teach you. Just take your boots off. Don't worry, I swept the floor." He spins the broom playfully in his hand and puts it against the wall, then walks back to Manny and sets up his phone. He unplugs the headphones, and the next song, from an electro-swing playlist, comes on.

"It's called Charleston; you must've heard about it before. Look—stand shoulders wide, then step one foot back and forth and your heels in and out. Whenever you step back, the heel goes in. Like this." Slowly, Nezumi demonstrates. "Alright, your turn."

"These bastards cunts protecting such a snake of a fucker! If I ever get back to that area, I will rip out their spine and FEED IT TO THE PIGS!" His temper is off the charts with an incident that backfired earlier today. He was kicked out of an apartment after brutalizing someone out self-defense. They started the initial confrontation and even threw the first punch.

He might've gotten a little too far. The perpetrator's face is bruised and battered, cheeks and eyes swelled up after the assault. It was disappointing to see him conscious. He should've punched him harder until he passed out. It would've given him more satisfaction in the end.

Relax your breathing and still your thoughts he reminded himself, taking deep inhales to ease his temper. He recollected what his master told him about ferocity and rage. Nothing good comes out of it, and this was a working progress to train his emotions. He failed numerous times, and this was one of them.

He huffed out of agitation at his own disappointment before opening the doors to the theater. He might as well find some peace of mind here before planning ahead of where he'll sleep later in the night.

Is that Nezumi? He doesn't care about the dance itself, but more of his presence.

"It's a long story my friend. One that I don't wish to speak about." He sighed heavily, his heart slowing down from his rage earlier. It's good to have some company at least.

Oh for fuck sake

Nezumi really requested him to be on stage, teaching him a silly dance he had in mind. It better be simple dance, one that doesn't require a lot of technique or energy. His hopes were short-lived upon hearing what it is.

A throaty groan, hinting his annoyance "Yeah, i've unfortunately heard about that lively dance. No, no no I'm already up here. It's too late, I'll do it. It's better to do it now than complaining about it." He proceeded to do what Nezumi demonstrated, doing it flawlessly with no stillness in his moves. Manny wished to do it perfectly so he can stop this nonsense. He would've been embarrassed, but he's too irritated right now. The sooner he succeeds, the happier he'll be.

Nezumi you're a good lad, but kindly go fuck yourself and your openness to teach me something out of the blue. You little smug roach fucker, His thoughts ran rampant, repeating many insults to the man.

#Ask #nezumivc103221 #imagine him doing the Charleston dance with that pissed off look on his face #I Remember Everything Verse

2 notes · View notes

moriiartist · 2 years

Text

‧₊ IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME (FOR ME TO KICK YOUR ASS)

PAIRING: C!Technoblade x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS: (High School AU) You and Techno have been self-proclaimed ‘rivals’ since the seventh grade, constantly trying to one-up each other every chance you get. Now that the holiday season is getting into full swing, it’s only logical that the two of you make Christmas decorations a competition as well. The winner gets to decide their prize, and you aren’t losing this thing for the world.

WARNINGS: Language, violence mention, racism mention

A/N: Enemies to lovers? In my self insert fic??? More likely than you might think... Seriously though, I did have a lot of fun writing out you and Techno’s ultimate battle for dominance, and I hope y’all enjoy the chaos!

If someone asked a normal teenager who their mortal enemy was, they’d probably tell them: “What the fuck are you talking about, that is some superhero bullshit.”

If they asked you who your mortal enemy was, you wouldn’t hesitate to inform them that it was, in fact, Technoblade, that stuck-up bastard from the fencing team.

It was no secret at your high school that the two of you had been at each other’s throats for the past decade, forming a heated rivalry that had burned strong for the majority of your lives. If you were honest, you weren’t quite sure how the whole thing began. Maybe he had stolen your favorite crayon set, maybe he had said something far too condescendingly for the last time, or perhaps he had marked you ‘out’ on the FitnessGram Pacer Test when in actuality you had been behind the line when the bell rang.

Who could say?

Whatever sparked it, you and Techno hated the other. Every opportunity you got to make your classmate’s life a little bit worse, you did it. Whether it was hiding his fencing gear all across school grounds, bribing Wilbur to put pink hair dye in his shampoo (which he, unfortunately liked), or getting a higher score on your literature tests, you did it.

Of course, your antics were reciprocated with as much, if not more, ferocity. Every time you sat down in your seat, there was a 50% chance that the entire desk would fall apart under your weight, having been discreetly disassembled until its structural integrity was only hanging on by a thread, or in this case, one loosened bolt.

You were so sick of his smug face when he turned to you with a perfect score, knowing damn well that you had placed a few points beneath him. But this fight with him, constantly trying to one-up each other in an unending battle to be “the best”... it was addicting, to say the least.

Today was a nice day. You had woken up early, made your breakfast and looked over your chemistry notes before you had your big test today, and boarded the bus with no issue. Today was a nice day, until you opened your locker to find a hundred bouncy balls crammed into it, all spilling out onto the floor and around your feet before you had time to even blink.

You would’ve cursed aloud if you didn’t already know that the perpetrator was standing a few feet away from you, self-satisfied stare burning holes into the back of your neck as he watched you for your reaction to the situation. Allowing yourself a sharp exhale, you spun on your heel to glare at Techno, eyes sparkling with barely restrained ire as you met his gaze.

“I was wondering when you’d make another move,” you said drily, toeing at one of the balls that had made its way to rest itself against your shoe, distaste blatantly stamped across your features.

Techno smirked, brown eyes glittering with a sadistic kind of glee as he took in your annoyance, waltzing closer to you with his hands tucked in the pockets of the signature red parka he always wore when it came to be winter time. The brunette- well, pinkette, you supposed would fit better- had always moved with a grace and confidence that you envied, something gained from hours of fencing practice and physical activity. Not that you’d ever tell him this, though. He always found other ways to embarrass you.

“Move swift as the wind and closely-formed as the wood. Attack like the fire and be still as the mountain,” he said, an air of self-righteousness about him that made you simultaneously want to exit your body and break his pretty face in.

You groaned, tearing a hand through your hair in exasperation. “I swear, we read The Art of War, like, one time for world lit and you suddenly become Sun Tzu’s biggest fan. I mean, seriously? At least throw in some Churchill for variety.”

Techno snorted, towering over you as you glowered at him, leaving you with the distinct impression of a Great Dane next to a particularly pissed-off chihuahua. “Churchill was an imperialist and a racist and I don’t respect him.”

You paused, a thoughtful expression replacing your previous scowl.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” you eventually conceded, pointedly ignoring how his smirk grew at your words. “But you’re still a dick.”

You turned your head, missing Techno’s roll of his eyes, and sighed heavily as you saw the absolute mess that had spread through the hallway. It wouldn’t be long before a teacher or member of the school staff would come around the corner to start berating you, and you only had a couple of minutes to start cleaning up before you had to be in class.

Grumbling to yourself, you crouched to start collecting the bouncy balls in your hands, carefully stuffing them into whatever pockets you had available. You fully expected Techno to gloat about his victory and then disappear, so you startled slightly when he shifted to start picking up the prank debris as well.

“The fuck are you doing?” you asked, barbed words softened slightly by the genuine confusion behind them. Techno shrugged, cherry blossom pink hair falling over his face to obscure his expression.

“What does it look like I’m doin’? If Ms. Puffy finds out I made this mess and didn’t clean it, I would be banned from participating in the club meets for the next month.”

You resisted the urge to groan aloud, instead settling on shooting the teen an unamused look. “Ah, of course. We couldn’t have our ‘star performer’ out of commission, could we?”

Techno huffed a laugh, and you elbowed him in the side on your way to deposit the, quite frankly absurd, amount of bouncy balls in a nearby trash can. However, as you turned to face the tall teen, you found yourself clueless on how to continue the conversation.

You had never really… talked with Technoblade. Normally, that is. You were more than familiar with the witty banter and traded insults that came with the animosity that crackled between the two of you, but it had been years since you’d held a semi-casual conversation with the pinkette. It was almost ironic how much more intimidating it was to try and break the silence than when you challenged Techno head-on in a battle of intellect.

To your surprise, Techno looked about as uncomfortable with the quiet that had fallen as you did, averting his eyes from your figure and awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Mercifully for you, though, he buckled over the rising tension first, blurting out the first thing that popped into his head.

“Have you put up your holiday decorations yet?”

You blinked, your brain buffering for a moment before you finally processed the teen’s rushed question, and it was a few seconds before you were able to force an answer out through your surprise. “Uh- not yet, no. Why do you ask?”

“Oh,” Techno seemed a little lost for words, as though he had no idea why he had said that either. ‘Just curious, I guess? Phil already put all of our stuff up, an’ I thought you would be the type to do it early too.”

“Of course you would be the one to start decoration in November,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in one exaggerated motion. “I wait until later to start, like a sane person. Everyone knows that the more you wait to put yours up, the better they’ll be.

The pinkette’s face smoothed over into a deadpan. “So you’re telling me our decorations suck?”

Grinning devilishly, you nodded. “Well, it’s only natural for them to be.”

Techno leaned forward, the competitive gleam in his eye sending a thrill through your entire body. “I bet I can make our yard look a thousand times better than yours.”

“No way,” you shot back immediately, not even hesitating before stepping up to meet his challenging gaze.

This- this was what always brought you back for more. The hunger for the win, the tantalizing opportunity to lord your victory over one of the most accomplished students at school, and the look that Techno had on his face. Eyes narrowed, lit from within with a blazing fire, and a cocky smirk spreading from ear to ear.

“Prove it. The day before Christmas, we’ll show everyone our houses, and then we’ll see who's decorating skills suck.”

You tilted your head, making a show of thinking his offer over. “What’s in it for me?”

“The winner gets to make the loser do anything they want.”

Nothing else could compare to the rush of energy that shot through you, and, knowing all of that, you felt an answering grin stretch across your own face, a twin to his. It was no surprise, to you or anyone else, that you took him up on the offer.

You were going to beat Technoblade Craft into the ground. That is, if the custodian didn’t murder you first.

Long story short, you prepped for this competition like you prepped for your end-of-course exams. Any free time you had was spent fervently researching ‘good Christmas decorations’ and scribbling down designs in the margins of your school notebooks. It even got to the point where you were obsessing about it during your lunches, casual eating and friendly banter with your friends replaced with your nose stuck even more in your work than usual.

A few days had passed since you’d accepted Techno’s challenge when your ‘studying’ was interrupted by a lunch tray slamming down onto the table you were sat at. Jolting out of your manic-charged stupor, you jerked your head up to see Wilbur flop down into one of the seats across from you, sighing heavily.

“I fucking hate the both of you,” the brunette groaned, chocolate brown eyes pinned to the paper you were sketching on as though it had personally offended him.

You blinked once, twice, before opening your mouth to say something. “Excuse me?”

“Techno’s been going on and on about that stupid decoration thing you two have got going, and I am going to throw myself into the ocean if he goes on another goddamn tangent about the intricacies of light stringing.”

Wilbur Soot wasn’t a friend of yours, exactly. You two got along just fine, but the teen had made it clear many times that he mostly hung out with you to get back at his brother, who considered Wilbur abandoning him for you an ultimate act of betrayal. Don’t worry though- you were 100% okay with this arrangement. More than okay, actually- watching Techno get progressively more and more annoyed as he oh-so-subtly glared at the two of you was hilarious.

“You know how they get Wilbur,” Quackity spoke from where he was seated next to you, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table. “This shit’s not gonna let up ‘till one of them wins.”

Wilbur groaned again, voice pitching high and whiny as he dramatically slammed his head down to rest next to his tray. “But why do we have to get involved? Why can’t we just watch them try and flirt with each other from the sidelines?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from choking on the sip of water you had just taken, nearly spewing it all over your papers.

“What the fuck?” you gasped, coughing and spluttering as you stared at the brunette in pure disbelief.

Quackity rolled his eyes. “He’s not wrong. It’s amazing how the both of you are so smart but so dumb at the same time.”

“We don’t- Quackity, I- what?” you spluttered, feeling as though you were going through all five stages of grief at once. “I don’t like Technoblade. You two of all people should know that.”

Wilbur raised his head just so you could see the skeptical expression on his face, one dark eyebrow raised as he appraised your dumbfounded expression. “Wow. Somehow, you’re stupider than I thought.”

Feeling heat rush into your cheeks, you made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek and chucked your drink at the brunette.

It was worth it to see him squawk, even though it was only a couple seconds before you had to run for your life.

Other than your friends being annoying and not understanding that you and Techno were Bitter Rivals™, you lived your life with relative normalcy. The little competition that you and the unfortunately pretty pinkette had going on ramped up quickly, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the school was aware of it. On more than one occasion you had caught sight of flyers hanging on the bulletins or hallway walls as you made your way to your classes, each advertising their support for either you or your opponent. (None of them stayed up for long with the school’s rigorous policy against vandalism, but you guessed it was fun while it lasted)

And, in proper high school fashion, it wasn’t long before you heard about the betting pools that people were making for who would win, for who would be named the ‘ultimate victor’ over the other.

In the end, though, it didn’t really matter to you- whatever people thought about the bet was irrelevant. What was relevant, however, was that you were almost a 100% sure that Techno was stalking you. Not like that, of course, but, well… let’s just say you had seen him a suspicious amount of times when you were trying to put up your stuff.

You had already finalized what design you wanted to make- something inspired by the legend of the snow queen, full of blue and gold lights and icicles (although where you lived it was too hot to get any real snow), and you were wrapping the trees that grew in your front yard with strings of little yellow LEDs when you spotted him for the first time.

You didn’t think much of it when you saw him, after all, you lived in the same county, and it wasn’t all that odd to see one of your classmates out and about. No- you only got suspicious when you turned around thirty minutes later to make direct eye contact with him.

It was as if he was actively spying on you, face blank and almost bored as he jotted down things into one of those small notebooks that you thought only detectives from those old noir films had.

You could be doing something- anything, really- in your yard that was somewhat related to the competition and he would show up.

One of those times you were fiddling with the icle lights you had fixed to drip down from the eaves of your house, balancing precariously on your mother’s ladder, when you heard the crunch of boots on grass behind you.

“What do you want, Techno?” you said, not even having to turn around to see who it was.

The teen hummed, rocking back and forth on his heels as he observed the work you’d already done with a critical eye. “Oh, nothin’ much. I was in the area and wanted to see how you were doing.”

You felt your eyebrows climb up your forehead, feeling a mix of disbelief and amusement. Oh, so you were doing this now?

“Really? Well, now that you’ve made your inspection, I think it’s time for you to kindly fuck off.”

Technoblade laughed, and you found your lips tugging up at the sound, finally shifting to look down at the pinkette. He was wearing his glasses today, the golden frames glinting in the slowly dying sunlight, and his pale face was flushed pink from the biting chill that nipped at your face. It was a cold day, one of the coldest in the season so far, and you weren’t able to stay warm even in your thick winter jacket.

“Nah,” he said nonchalantly, watching with a bemused smile as you sighed heavily.

“God, you’re so difficult,” you muttered, the statement most intended for your ears only, although the sound of Techno’s breathy chuckle made it evident that he had picked it up.

Hardly a few seconds had passed before Techno was opening his mouth to speak again, a more contemplative expression washing over his features. “What are you going to do with the favor thing if you win? Which, of course, will never happen- but just for the sake of the argument.”

You rested your arm on one of the ladder rungs as you looked down at him, snark forgotten as you genuinely considered the question.

“I’m not sure, actually,” you started, a note of honesty in your voice that made your words ring true. “Probably make you dye your hair another color or make up your senior quote for you.”

“Huh,” Techno mused, something strange crossing over his face that you couldn’t quite recognize. “Nothin’ else? Not even, like, my mythology books or somethin’?”

You wrinkled your nose, something bitter rising in your throat. “No, of course not. I may hate you or whatever, but I would never take those away. Everyone and their mother knows that your mythology is important to you.”

“Right,” he said, although his gaze had taken on a glazed-over quality that gave you the impression that his mind was far away. He took a few steps back, giving you an awkward wave as he turned to leave. “Yeah, um- good talk.”

You thought that you had a pretty good understanding of how Techno’s brain worked, but it seemed as though he loved to defy all expectations- including those you had about his investment in the competition.

You see, while you were out and working on your exhibition every day, the few times that you had gone past the Craft household there had been no change beyond what Phil had already done. None, nil, nada. It was as though Techno had no ideas to backup all of his bluster, which you knew for a fact had never happened before.

You didn’t trust it.

Not. One. Bit.

The days flew by until it was finally the night before Christmas Eve. It had been a hassle to get all of your friends out to judge you and Techno’s decorating skills, especially Wilbur, who had made several complaints despite living with one of the competitors, but you had managed to do it.

Night had fallen an hour or so ago, so the sky was painted in hues of navy and velvety black as you and the rest of the group made your way down the empty streets of your neighborhood, breath clouding in the near-freezing air.

“D’you think you’re gonna win?”

You glanced up to find that Quackity had fallen behind the rest of the group to walk in step with you, the blue beanie that he usually wore pulled even tighter around his head to combat the nippy weather. You rolled your neck to the side, eyeing him with a confidence that came from working many, many hours on your décor.

“Yeah, pink bitch won’t know what hit ‘em,” you murmured, something final and self-satisfied in your tone, convinced of your own victory. “As far as I’ve seen, he hasn’t even touched his house.”

Quackity hummed, not completely convinced. “Are you sure? Techno can still surprise even you sometimes.”

Scowling, you absorbed the dark-haired teen’s words unhappily. Although he was right about the pinkette, you didn’t want to believe that he could pull off a trick as dramatic as that.

“Maybe,” you finally conceded, breaking eye contact with your friend to stare up at the sky. “But if he does, I’m going to commit several acts of violence.”

Quackity laughed, a loud, bright sound, and you found yourself grinning as you finally made your way onto your street. However, as your house came into view, the sound of banter and giggling from the rest of the group shifted to gasps as they sounded their appreciation as the effort you had put into making it look like the winter wonderland from your fantasy stories.

Bathed in blue and gold light, the icicles that you had hung from every available edge- the roof eaves, tree branches, and porch fence- glittering coldly. You had hung wreaths from your doors and windows, each frosted white and blue from the cans of spray paint you had found in your garage. A family of wire deer were posed in the very center of the yard, twinkling merrily as if in greeting to you.

You grinned, crossing your arms as Techno shifted to look at you, and locked gazes with the pinkette. You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your face at his expression, the teen looking almost impressed, but your mood quickly morphed into something resembling dread as amusement flashed through his features.

… What was that look for? Techno- Techno what are you planning?

Walking over to Wilbur and Technoblade’s house was a nerve wracking experience once everything you had done had been appraised, your eyes glued to the pinkette’s head as you tried to read his mind through sheer force of will.

When everyone finally saw his house, the reaction that they had given to yours paled in comparison. There was a riot of noise as your eyes set upon what Techno had done, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you realized that: oh shit, you had just lost.

Through some witchcraft or black magic, your rival had completely transformed his yard seemingly overnight. What had once been a simple set of lights strung through the bushes and maybe an inflatable decoration or two had turned into an explosion of color and noise. Somehow, the pinkette had hooked up a speaker to play ‘Carol of The Bells’, and rigged the many, many lights he had laid to flash to the music. Santa and his reindeer, or at least a statue of them, were placed on top of the roof, mid-landing, and somehow, the grass had been frosted despite the fact that it had never snowed.

Upon your wide-eyed look, Techno just shrugged. “It’s tough, bein’ the best.”

You could only gape at him as Wilbur clapped you on your shoulder, face filled with something that was a little too amused to be genuine sympathy. “Well, it seems like the general consensus is that Techno is the winner!”

Resisting the urge to scream into your hands, you shook yourself out of your shocked stupor to shake his hand in a sportsman-like manner, dying inside as the group around you snickered at your obvious embarrassment.

“I don’t know how you did this,” you started tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. “But at this point I’m too afraid to ask. GG and all that, I guess.”

Before Techno could answer, Wilbur was barging into the little bubble that the two of you were in, slinging one arm around the pinkette’s shoulders as he looked at him expectantly.

“Well, Techie? What do you want our loser here to do?”

You grimaced. Ah yes, the prize. The reason why you had agreed to do this at all. Steeling yourself, you made eye contact with the teen in front of you, fully prepared for him to make some outlandish request and leave you unable to challenge his greatness for the rest of high school.

This was it, he had gotten you.

To your surprise, Techno broke your gaze, letting go of your hand to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, well, let’s not get too hasty here. We still have the rest of the night to hang out n’ stuff, so we really shouldn’t-”

Tommy, who had been standing to the side with the rest of the ‘Bench Trio’, as they had dubbed themselves, barreled into the conversation, taking up residence on Techno’s other side.

“Do you really expect us to believe that, big man?” the teen barked a laugh, a teasing Cheshire grin stretching across his face as he stared up at his older brother. “I remember what you told us you would ask for.”

“Yeah, Technoblade, we remember. Unless… you’ve chickened out?” Wilbur gasped dramatically like the theater kid he was, pressing a hand to his chest to accentuate his words.

You blinked, confused as Techno’s face seemed to redden further. If you were being honest, you had absolutely no clue what the trio were talking about, but as you watched the pinkette fluster further and further- and expression you had never seen on him before- you began to get an inkling of what they might’ve been referring to.

Heat rose in your own cheeks as well, and you shot a panicked glance at Quackity, who was standing to the side with a smug grin affixed on his features. Upon seeing the look on your own face, a wordless plea for confirmation that this was not what you were thinking of, he only laughed at you, breaking down into uncontrollable giggles to your dismay.

“Techno, what-” you started, fidgeting with your fingers nervously, but broke off when the teen sighed in defeat.

“Alright, alright- I was gonna ask you for a kiss,” he muttered, shooting his brothers a searing glare from where they were giddily watching your interactions. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. ‘S completely fine.”

You blanked.

“Oh,” you said intelligently, brain whirring as more heat rushed to your face. “Um, okay.”

How were you supposed to fucking respond to that? What do you say when your mortal enemy suddenly becomes all shy and stuff when he’s asking you for a kiss? How are you supposed to react when you realize that, maybe, your dumbass friends were right about the whole flirting thing?

Techno paused at your words, a mix of bewilderment and something heartbreakingly hopeful passing across his expression. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you said again, more firmly this time. “It would be bad form to back out now, and I don’t really mind.”

The pinkette nodded at your words, clearly trying to return to your normal dynamic. “Of course, of course.”

A second passed in which the both of you just stood there, the gaze of your friends boring holes into the both of you as they whispered, and you finally realized that you would probably have to be the one to take initiative on this. Taking a few hesitant steps forward, you halted when your chest was brushing his, tilting your face up to look at him.

You were so close to the teen that you were sharing breaths, warmth fanning your cheeks as your noses brushed together. Taking a deep breath, you didn’t wait any longer before going on your tippy toes to press your lips to his, savoring the soft noise of surprise he made before his hands found your hips.

The kiss lasted for maybe a few seconds, and when the both of you pulled apart, the group around you broke into cheers, Quackity practically tacking you from the force of his celebration. You couldn’t make out the majority of what they were saying, but you got the gist that they had ‘been waiting for this a long time’, and that they were relieved ‘you idiots can finally stop your mutual pining bullshit.’

As your eyes met Techno’s through the chaos, you couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, finding a matching one on his own.

You may have lost the competition, but you might have just won something even better.

@danny-boy27 @the-tired-system @silently-plotting-murder @g0re-h0und @hermitscapes @peanut-is-freed @itsonlydana @sina-the-idiot @amearla @rabukabait

#mori's holiday series #a meal for the children #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #c!technoblade #c!techno #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #c!philza #c!quackity #c!wilbur soot #c!tommyinnit #c!puffy #c!captain puffy #tw: language #tw: violence mention #tw: racism mention

187 notes · View notes

savnofilter · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 8

dabi

☠️ warning(s): 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤, chikan, exhibition, voyeurism, anal, humiliation kink, age difference, con-dubcon.

☠️ genre: smut, holiday special.

☠️ words: 3k [12 minutes, 10 seconds].

☠️ read more: kinktober(uary)

☠️ summary: after a long day of university youre coerced into giving him a show... along with the rest of the passengers on the metro train.

It was almost perverse on how much he enjoyed this. Scratch that, it is perverse. It was the hidden secret that even with leaving his old lifestyle he fucked his younger sister’s best friend. None of his family knew of his existence for a million reasons that weren’t going to be met in this story. Yet he didn’t care. As long as he had you still crawling back to him was enough to satisfy his dark desires without a care in the world. Except for the fact even with him accidentally running into you and somehow starting the dangerous entanglement was beyond him.

Just like right now. He wasn't expecting to see you pile into the train with the same uniform you wore for your school, your body begging for him to claim his prize while at the same time telling everyone to go fuck off. Dabi knew his objective as soon as he saw you, moving in to fill the missing gap you needed to be occupied. The train started to move once you got comfortable, your body posture meek as you raised your hand to hold onto the bars, the other holding your cute little school bag close to your body. Even with the clear embodiment of your school uniform dressing your shoulders and left chest it was clear you were nothing more than a university student, the only thing making you look so… delectable being the way you had filled it out.

Now, had you been someone else a stranger to Dabi he wouldn’t have looked your way but seeing as you were rocking just ever slightly, the fabric of your clothing rising just a bit higher is what piqued his interest. It gave him an almost unpleasant tenseness in his chest, knowing that this was a combo you rarely wore unless something was wrong in the laundry or it was your last backup. He didn’t miss the creeps that eyed you, his dark aura shooting them off as he made them think twice.

He’d just have to show them something that they’re missing.

Dabi stepped closer to press up against your smaller frame, the feeling of him catching you off guard. You swallowed as you could feel his body, the bumps, and ridges of his outfit signature with his familiar scent you were used to washing over you with a wave of relief, holding back the need to smile as you peeked back at him with an almost glad look on your face.

“I thought you were someone else.” You spoke fluently. He chuckled as you looked as if he had saved the day as if he wasn’t the villain between you two. He moved his head to nuzzle your neck, his hands wrapping just under your breast and pressing his hips into yours.

“You should be glad I saved you~,” Dabi remarked in a smug tone. You could feel your cheeks heat at the gesture. Whether or not the blood flow showed up on your cheeks wasn’t a concern to you at the moment, the small suspicion that his little small talk wasn’t going to end as innocently as it had started. You bit your lip as his arms aided in pressing your chest against you’re already tight button up. “Heroes get presents, right?” The pressure created a small gap to accentuate, showing bits of your bra and skin that was underneath.

“Wh-What are you doing?” You stuttered as the small attention that one time was brought away from you was slowly coming back, making you shrink back into him as your false safe haven.

“Nothing,” Dabi mumbles against the skin of your neck, the train hitting a more than convenient bump on the track. You whimpered as you rubbed your thighs together, as much you tried to hide it you loved it when people watched you like this. Even though with your attempts to dress as if the thought of sex never crossed your mind you couldn’t help but start to get aroused at the thought of Dabi using you on a train like this for perverts to watch. He chuckled as he could feel your breath start to deepen, keeping your head down as you tried to conceal yourself with the arm that carried the weight of your bag.

Dabi was starting to get bored. His hand came up to dance across the fabric of the button, playing coy before tugging the other side from the other and popping the buttons in the process. Quietly gasped once he had done so, your chest now being partly bared to the world… much to your pleasure. Your tits strained at your bra, the smooth bumps of the train not making it better for your “cause”.

“Stay still for me, doll, okay~?” He whispered against your ear, the sound of his voice making you shiver. You couldn’t help but nod meekly, not daring to look up at the mixture of disapproval and horniness that started to fill the train. His hand scooped up into your bra and brought your tits out into the public view, your nipples rock hard as you tried to keep up your little act to convince yourself you weren’t getting turned on by this.

But you were.

The excitement alone was starting to make you drip annoying as it was.

Dabi already knowing you were, his hands left your upper body, coming up under your skirt and shirking your underwear. There was clear dampness on the thin fabric, the embarrassment of it all going straight to your clit. You whimpered as the air caressed your now exposed intimate bits. His hand came up to cup your sex, letting a sound of surprise at the feeling of your drenched lips against his fingers. “Oh? The bitch is wet~” He mused happily, slipping two fingers into you happily. The sound of his middle and ring fingers slipping into you made an obnoxious noise, your thighs quivering as his fingers were always able to find well inside your needy cunt. His fingers were quick in working in you, his main objective only to have you wet enough to take his already aching cock. Your back arched as you encouraged him to continue in using you as he pleased, his hand making a move to help open your shirt more and pull down your bra fully. Any eye who wanted to watch could, watching as this patched man toyed with this innocent girl on the train.

His fingers left your cunt to give it a small slap, not holding on to the force or ferocity of it. The feeling made you yelp, the sound of both gaining new watchers while some chose to ignore it. Your breathing was heavy as people eyed you, probably wishing that Dabi would do the world some justice and rip off the tiny skirt that you had also worn that hid all the good bits. All they could see was him teasing you and being able to use you the way you were supposed to be used.

“Come on, scarface, pass her over-”

“Fuck off and watch.” He cuts off the loser hastily, his glare glaring at them to let them know to keep away still. “You think any of you greasy fucks can touch her,” He started before he side-eyed you, his famous grin spreading across his mouth when the thought of having these bastards touch upon you was something you wanted. “Hm… maybe the bitch wants it~? Use your word’s, doll~” He taunts, turning you around so your front is pressed against him. Your bag dropped as you braced yourself against him, your legs stabling yourself against him. “If you don’t use your words I’m assuming it’s a no.”

You bit your lip as you at least wanted to keep some of your dignity. Nowhere in your life did you think you were going to be able to live out your fantasy to be used on a public train for anyone and everyone to see, the helpful tool of your mask only concealing your identity as if something was looking out for your well being… as if. His hand flipped up your skirt and exposed the last parts no one else on the train had been able to see but him. Your face buried into his neck once he did the action, your ass now on display with your dripping cunt peeking through the small gap between your legs. Dabi's hands reached back from your waist and grabbed the cheeks apart, showcasing the part between your legs and glistening cunt. He looked over your shoulder to watch as your asshole clenched in excitement, your position looking no better than a bitch in heat. There were a few mutters and mumbles as he displayed you, the original action surprising you.

“D-Dabi-” Your plea was cut off by his hand coming up and tugging your mask down and pressing his lips against yours. His tongue was already violating your mouth, growling as his hand lifted and of slaps against your unmarked skin. Each time your thicc backside jiggled and teased with what was really between it, your eyes watching up at his. The feeling was oddly intimate as if he wasn’t exposing you to the train for voyeurism perverts alike. He pulled away once he had felt satisfied enough, dragging you to sit in his lap once he was sitting in a seat. He tucked your skirt into its band to prevent it from blocking from view, the sound of a few shutters sounded as some went to get a close up of your mostly trimmed cunt, the fact that both your cunt and asshole still had some on it was more arousing to the public eye. Which is what Dabi liked.

His hands found their way to unbuckle his pants and free his hard cock. If the sparse amount of women on the train were loathing not being in your position and only silently observing, they now were jealous. His cock slapped against your cunt once it was free from his tight pants, the hardness of it making it stick up proudly. He tries to hold back his pleasure of letting people his manhood as well, the Prince Albert piercings doing his already impressive cock justice in turning this debaucherous situation exciting.

He thrusts his hips upwards to rub his cock against your soaked labia, a deep moan sounding when he’s able to slip his cock to rub just ever so slightly between the cheeks of your ass. His hands were on your ass again, spreading them as he guided to take his length. Have already been able to take his cock during the late nights and sometimes early morning you had no problem doing so. Your heartbeat was faster as someone commented on how his dick was able to insert inside of you without any problem or hesitation, the onlookers wanting nothing more than to stick their girths deep inside your ass. Your hips worked like magic against his. His just about average-sized hands spread your cheeks to let people view without any obstruction to the view the passengers in the cart watching as they watched this generations of future heroes get dicked-down in a train cart. You had no qualms about letting out the sounds you wanted, your hands gripping onto his jacket as he bounced you against his hard cock. Dabi wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you in place and fuck you.

Your ass jiggled with each thrust against hips. The sound of your cunt swallowing up his cock as his silver studs massaged at your walls and rocked the moans out from your throat. It was almost a dream come true of what everyone had to witness at that very moment. Your words babbled out like an idiot, enjoying the way your body felt being watched as he used you like a cock sleeve. His hand held your ass cheek to help use you, the obnoxious sound of his skin slapping against yours and your sopping cunt fulling the train and the disgusting faint aroma you could sniff out if you were too close.

Dabi greatly got off to using you in public. Some sick way in the back of his head he enjoyed that people could see that you were his, even with how indirect it was. He longed for having you under his thumb, the thought and idea that one of the loser bystanders could do just that sent jolts of pleasure through him and motivated him to fuck you like this. Your mouth hung open as you could feel his tip press against your g-spot, your eyes rolling back and tongue hanging out of your mouth as trembled to keep yourself sane and grounded as he pounded into you like a hungry animal.

Still, those attempts were futile as he didn’t spare you a chance to even make you presentable, a small amount of drool that left the corner of your mouth signified just how gone you were, fully succumbing to the taboo of train groping and public fucking. Your body felt hot, the possibility of having your future ruined because of this was somehow exhilarating, the shallow comments of how much you were a ‘whore’ or a ‘slut’ made you tingle, loving every moment of being degraded and railed in public. You squeezed your walls around his thick and unrelenting cock, your skirt that was tucked still managed to stay in place as you bounced against him, the grip causing you to tense up.

He didn’t care to stop, ready to see you cum on his length and fill his seed deep inside you. It was almost as if he didn’t notice that you had, the only thing is when someone commented that white substance that came from you, the way your holes clenched and ground against his to finish. Your body was a toy for him as he used you, chasing his climax to meet yours. Thankfully your orgasm before had aided in the extra lubricant. He gave your skin a final pop before pressing his hips fully into your cunt, grunting as his cock twitched as he finished his load inside your walls. Your insides happily took in his length in cum, the excess amount making some spurt out as if a scene directly from hentai. I mean, technically this whole experience was a scene straight out of hentai.

“Look at the pretty little slut, full with my cum~” Dabi’s hands groped around your body before lifting you off his cock and spreading your cheeks to watch as the fluids dripped from your gaping cunt. He thought over his options, staring up at your dazed look, and brought you to hips down to rub his cock between your ass cheeks.

“What are you-” Your complaint trailed off once you could feel his tip slowly slip in, the rest of his length following in as well. Dabi gave you a playful kiss, having you take him fully until he bottomed out deep inside you.

“We’re going to give them part two~” He answers you curtly. His jaw clenched as he was able to keep down a groan of pleasure at how tight you wrapped around him. He barely gave you enough to get comfortable, the subtle feeling of his long and thicc cock thrusting into your ass was something you had only done a few times too little. Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to adjust to his obnoxious length, closing your eyes as you were forced to have other people watch you get used to his cock.

As much as you tried to find it in yourself to be upset… you loved it. You like that you had an audience to watch Dabi stretch your ass out, not sparing you a moment to catch up or feel good. The feeling of him showing everyone on that train your practically virgin hole was being used for the third time in your life. This time, it wasn’t with the help of lube either. You clung onto him like an injured kitten, trying to relax yourself to allow him to use your backhole as much as he wanted.

“That’s it…” He encourages once you loosened up making it easier to slap his hips into yours better. Everyone got an eye full of your submission, wanting to touch and prod at you as well. You weren’t even sure you were deriving pleasure from this, the foreign feeling of his cock in your ass was such a feeling you couldn’t shake off but one that did urge sounds from you. You tried not to grow embarrassed when he pulled out to show off your gaping hole, the necessitous feeling of needing him to fill you up again crawling across your body. Your silent prayers were answered when he maneuvered you back onto his cock.

“I’ll have to use this one till it's just like your cunt~” He teases in your ear, rutting into you as he gets closer. His fingers dug painfully into your body, the hold on your side nearly knocking the wind out of you. He tilted his head to the side as his hips stuttered up into you and emptied into your second hole. You shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of his thick spurting into you was not a sensation you thought you would be experiencing for the day or truly ever. You grunted softly when you felt him pull out, his dick finally limp from the hormones that have been pumped out.

Dabi eyed your disheveled state before fixing what was left of your school uniform, keeping your pair of underwear with him as he shoves it in his pocket. He pushes you out of his lap making you stumble. Your hands come up to gather your stuff quickly as you realized your stop was approaching, have no liberty to be dazed. Your cheeks were hot as you tried to ignore the stares that both accompanied gazing under your shirt and skirt, gathering yourself to hold your shirt together and pull down your skirt. Your eyes followed the material that poked out his pocket, the train doors opening.

“I’ll give these to you next time we meet~”

871 notes · View notes

funtimebunnyblog · 3 years

Text

.... It was a moment of weakness, I swear. 😅

And what started out as a simple list of headcanons may or may not have snowballed into 4 short stories of reader slapping Pillarman cake that I have been working on almost non-stop since I got the request on A03... 😳😇 Oopsie!

Pillarmen react to getting slapped in the cake unexpectedly...

(Under the cut for length!)

(Warning! Do not attempt with real life Pillarmen! Slapping ancient Aztec buns may result in death...)

Kars:

It was a quiet morning at the house, which wasn't uncommon, but Kars always welcomed the silence and any and all absence of chaos. Nose deep in his book, he greeted you as you sauntered in to the room, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the text layered pages as per usual.

Always perceptive, even when distracted, it was no big feat to be able to differentiate your footsteps from the others; you being much lighter and smaller played a big part in that, of course. Though, he didn't think to wonder why you were tip-toeing like that...

He turned the page, the quiet rattle of paper breaking the silence, when he felt you right near him. The Pillarman still didn't care to tear his eyes from the sea of words he was lost in as he simply stood there, rooted to the floor.

"Hello dear one," he greeted, the timber of his deep and quiet voice floated through the Livingroom like a breeze. "if you're looking for Wamuu he's out--"

S M A C K!

The words evaporated on his tongue in a sheer instant. His blood-red eyes went wide in their sockets, unfocusing as the world around him stopped turning for just a moment.

Did you really just...?

No. He had to be mistaken.

You couldn't have--

No. You WOULDN'T have--

A pregnant and deafening moment of silence had fallen over the room, this time he all but welcomed it, only punctuated by the sound of a little giggle that managed to escape your lips.

You did.

You really just did.

Not that it hurt him; if anything he felt more the jiggle of his right cheek rather than the sting of the slap itself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to peer down at you; a frown tugging at the corners of his lips and etching deep lines into his fair, chiseled features. You were biting your own lip, your body shaking with suppressed giggles that tried to force their way out. You had your hands folded neatly behind your back, looking up at him with eyes best described as "innocent" as you made an attempt to hide the grin trying to force its way across your face.

You looked the very definition of smug.

Though he was displeased, he actually couldn't help but admire your bravery to be able to simply walk up and do such a thing.

Especially to him.

You must've been bored.

Really bored.

Either that or Esidisi put you up to this...

It didn't matter either way, as he fully intended to get down on your level if you wanted to pull such a stunt like that.

He shut the book that he was no longer invested in with a loud and heavy "THUD". In barely half a second, you were grabbed and thrown over his shoulder making you squawk in surprise.

"So," he began, tucking the book under his other arm and starting up the stairs. His voice was low, almost a purr, but it held an unignorable bite to it. "You like spanking, do you, little one?"

Uh oh.

UH OH.

You realized, quite belatedly, that you hadn't quite thought that through, squirming in his firm hold as he carried you all the way upstairs and right into his room.

Kars continued, you could hear the smirk in his very tone as he spoke. "Well in that case, I do hope you're prepared for one..." The door slammed shut ominously behind him. "Act like a child; you get punished like one."

You swallowed thickly at those words, a terror only best described a primal shooting through your body like lighting.

You had a feeling you weren't going to be sitting comfortably around the house anytime soon...

Esidisi:

The massive man chuckled as you hopped up and down, lips puckered like a sucker fish, almost meeting his cheek this time but just missing it as he stood up straight again.

You have been trying (emphasis on trying) to kiss him goodbye for nearly 5 minutes now.

On the norm, you made an effort to kiss all of your housemates, the Pillarmen, goodbye on their cheek every morning they went out. It became a routine for you all, or perhaps just a healthy habit on your part.

You'd kiss them goodbye as they went out doing God-knows-what for a few hours while you worked around the house; doing chores, working on courses, doing work inside at the computer or outside in the garden.

But this morning, Esidisi insisted on tormenting you.

And for his own entertainment no less.

You kissed Kars on his cheek and he patted your head. You kissed Wamuu on his cheek and he responded by respectfully kissing your hand. You kissed Santana on his cheek and he butted his head softly against yours.

And finally, you went to kiss Esidisi and he pulled away.

He laughed at your doe-eyed expression as your lips met empty air, smiling innocently down at you when you looked up at him in confusion. You blinked and tried again, only to be met with the same thing. You thought he would cut it out there but no; he was taking full enjoyment out of your determination, not to mention your reactions, as he just kept stopping you by pulling away or pushing you at arms length.

At this point, he was really milking it.

"Oh c'mon, Esidisi!" You whined, starting to get a little frustrated.

You stood on your toes, standing as taught as a bowstring as you held onto one of his massive and muscular arms, trying to peck his cheek. He refused to comply, grinning and standing at his full height; which was inevitably well out of your reach.

"Oh, but this is fun, my sweet little Human." He laughed, tapping his cheek almost invitingly. "Keep up. Maybe you'll get it if you jump just a little higher."

Kars rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his broad chest. He and the others had also been watching this display for almost 5 minutes now.

"Esidisi, come on and get it over with." The purple-haired Pillarman sighed, his amusement towards these antics long gone at this point. "We're burning daylight."

Esidisi let out a sigh, rolling his own eyes. "Alright." He said, leaning down to your level with a smirk.

You pursed your lips, that gleam in his eye told you what exactly he planned to do and that plan was to pull away one final time, just to get your goat before he left so he could have a good laugh about it like the bastard you knew he could be.

Unfortunately for him; you were one step ahead of him.

Like lightning, you pressed a kiss into the palm of your hand and threw your arm back, swinging it to smack your smooched hand it as hard as you could against his bare asscheek.

C R A C K!

The sound was almost like a gun going off.

Silence fell over the room, Esidisi's eyes were as wide as saucers and his cheeky (tee-hee) expression was now nowhere to be found.

"There." You spat, your own cheeks burning hot, the feeling spreading all the way back to your ears. "That's a cheek I can reach." Clenching your hands into fists, also trying to hide the fact one of your hands was stinging like fire, you stomped out of the room.

Finally, you could get a start on the chores you needed to get done for the day.

Even though, you knew it hurt your hand more than it hurt his bum; it was worth it. Esidisi had been the one to teach you a very important lesson to live by, after all; "Don't get mad; get even.".

Kars laughed lowly, Santana smirking as Wamuu hid a grin behind his hand; all of them watching you make your proud departure. Esidisi watched you go, bug-eyed and holding a hand gingerly against the cheek you had smacked.

"They certainly showed you, Esidisi." Kars chuckled.

Wamuu:

Training with Wamuu was definitely fun.

He was very encouraging; tempering you with praise as you pushed yourself and ensuring you weren't overdoing it. But once in a blue moon, once he decided that you had become substantially stronger and your lessons were becoming to easy for you, he upped the intensity a little.

Making it just a little less than fun for you at those times, of course.

Today in particular, you found yourself on the ground more than on your actual feet.

"Wamuu..." you panted, trying to force yourself up after he pushed you down for seemingly the millionth time that afternoon. "...I--... I'm..."

The warrior however, was having none of it.

Folding his arms, the green of his double-ringed eyes burned like glittering emeralds. "Try again, little one." He said, his voice soft but stern. "You must remember to apply what I have taught you; if you rush, it will only open yourself to be knocked down first."

Today, he presented you with the challenge of trying to pin him and needless to say, it was going just about as easy as it sounded.

He watched as you shakily got to your feet, huffing and puffing. It made his heart swell every time the undeniable gleam of ferocity in your eyes caught his, a fine warriors trait in his own opinion. He took stance, spreading his legs as he hunched his back, keeping himself open and ready to defend. You came at him, like you had done several times prior, grabbing onto him and trying to find a foothold only to be swatted away easily like a house fly.

A few more tries (resulting in a few more throwdowns) and Wamuu finaly decided that you were finished for the day.

"You are too tired to continue," he hummed, peering down into your face where you lay with your back to the ground.

His huge hands slipped under you, gently picking you up almost like a Mother would her babe, and setting you on your feet. He cupped your chin to peer into your eyes as you still tried to force breath into your burning lungs, evaluating what remainder of strength you had left. "I do believe that is enough for today, my little warrior."

He turned away from you, walking only a few feet away to the change of clothes sitting along with the items you had brought along with you laying idle on the ground. You watched, still dazed and incredibly tired as he bent over to pick up your things for you, still talking away.

"You must also try to remember to strike your opponent where and when they are vulnerable," he spoke as he busied himself. "Look for any given opportunity to gain advantage at any given time."

Focusing was hard enough when you were this exhausted, however, it was downright impossible when you were on the receiving end of a view like this.

It never really bothered you that the Pillarmen chose to walk around half-naked the majority of the time but right now, with those two bronze globes in your line of vision and shinning in the sun, a wicked idea formed as his previous words echoed throughout your tired mind.

'Strike when vulnerable, huh?' You thought to yourself, settling your eyes on the prize.

Maybe it was time for a little payback for him being so relentless with you today.

Slowly, you sauntered right up to him until you stood directly behind the massive warrior. With the sun at his back, there was no shadow for you to accidentally step on and set him off; so it was safe for you to get as close as you liked...

Completely none-the-wiser of your only half-thought out scheme, Wamuu continued. "Perhaps tomorrow we can--"

W H A C K!

Wamuu's eyes swole to an impossible size and whatever suggestion he was about to make was lost as the words got stuck in his throat.

It was only then, when you caught sight of the little red hand print that was left behind on his buttcheek, you realized to the full extent of what you had just done.

"...uh." You broke the deafening silence that had fallen between you two. "Uh-oh..."

"A charming observation, little one." He said, rising to his full height and turning to face you. The red in his cheeks made it hard to tell where the lines of his warpaint began and ended.

If you weren't fearing for your very life in that moment, you would have laughed seeing him so very embarrassed for the first time ever. Also, if you weren't so very exhausted from being tossed around like a rag doll, you would be running for the hills right now seeing the fire burning in his eyes.

"Since you have applied the knowledge of todays leason so easily, I have now decided that tomorrow we are going to be doing some very extensive training." He said, making your stomach drop as his lips slowly curled into a little smirk. "Specifically training on the art of sneak attack, since you are so very keen on it as it is..."

Oh...

You were starting to wish you had accidentally stepped on his shadow instead...

Santana:

You were starting to wonder if he forgot how to sit down, watching him stalk out of the room again barely even a minute after he entered it out just out of the corner of your eye.

You supposed you couldn't blame him however, as you were getting quite restless as well.

It was the dead of winter and of course it was very, VERY cold out. The snow had piled up so high outside there really wasn't a lot to do in the yard or the ability to go anywhere in it at that. And on top of those things to only make it worse; it was snowing again today.

Your eyes turned to the window, gazing out to the thick white out storm raging outside with no sign of stopping.

However when the storm finally stopped, which would be tomorrow at best, you planned on going outside to shovel out the driveway (for the 2nd time that week) and burn off some energy. But for now, you and your Pillarmen housemates, were stuck inside.

You knew the weather was bad when even an ultimate lifeform had no interest in going out in it.

You sighed, picking up your mug and finishing the last mouthful of your tea as you set down your book, you just couldn't seem to get into it today. You were just as bored as Santana was but you weren't driven to restlessly pacing.

Here he came again, back into the room. He was walking a little hunched over, arms loose at his sides, his face radiating with gloom and boredom. He had taken a nap already this morning and he had spent the last few hours flicking through the channels on T.V before it finally bored him enough to drive him to... this.

It made you feel a little sad to see him so very dejected.

Santana tred right up to the big window next to your chair, stopping and pressing his forehead up against the glass to watch the endless swirl of white with glazed eyes.

You smiled sadly, "Bored?" You happened to already know the answer however.

He hummed in response, his shoulders slumping visibly.

Santana wasn't very talkative on the norm but today he had barely even said one word, only worrying you further.

He stood there silently for a few minutes, watching the snow dance in crazed little circles. You hoped he would maybe go upstairs and have another nap or check in on one of the others and see what they were up to but no, poor Santana let out one more deep and heavy sigh and went right back to his restless pacing from room to room.

As you watched him depart from the livingroom (again) you decided that you had enough of this. You needed something to spur a reaction in him, which was difficult in itself.

Santana wasn't very ticklish (you had tried that before) so that was out of the question, nor did he take much interest in watching something funny online as he didn't quite understand half of the jokes and memes, there was also nothing interesting on the T.V and the signal kept fuzziness in and out due to the storm. You mulled over the very little options on what could possibly get him to cheer up or at least distract him from his pure, object boredom.

At last, that lightbulb went off over your head as he trod past you one more time.

Oh, this was bad and you knew it.

But really, you could only blame whatever outcome this would bring on your own devious curiosity.

With only a seconds hesitation, your hand outstretched and swung, just as he passed, skin hitting skin hard as hand collided with bottom.

S L A P!

Santana stopped the very second it happened, his posture suddenly making a very dramatic change as he stood as stiff as possible, some of his hair standing on end.

After a long second, he turned to look at you, puzzled and just a little wide eyed.

"What...?" Was all he could say, blinking slowly. He realized, belatedly, that you had slapped him on his rear.

Both of you stared at each other for another long moment, him staring questioningly and you sitting there, nursing your stinging hand, looking quite innocent.

Santana blinked as you started to laugh a little, his dumbfounded reaction only fueling more laughter to bubble out of you helplessly.

Mission accomplished at least, as you had now definitely distracted him from his boredom, that was for sure.

Santana put his lips together, tilting his head to the side as he pondered why you had just done that and why you were just simply laughing about it. He blinked again as specific dots connected in his head.

Where you trying to wrestle with him?

As a child, many (MANY) years ago, when he or Wamuu wanted to initiate some sort of play-fight, one of them would simply walk up to the other and give them a shove or a slap. Then, if the other was in a similar mood, the other would push or hit back and confrontation of the like would go back and forth until eventually escalating into a full on wrestling match.

A slow smile crept across his lips, making you feel a strange mixture of pure joy and overwhelming dread at the sight. Nonetheless, you clamped up and stopped laughing.

You got him to smile but the question now was, what exactly was going on in that head of his?

In a matter of seconds, he was suddenly on top of you, making you squeak in surprise. He pushed you down onto the floor, butting you softly with the two stubby horns on his head before returning the little slap you gave him on his tush to your own behind, only making you squeal at the contact.

You finally came to the realization of just what was happening, only making your smile return as your heart fluttered in excitement.

He wasn't angry, he was trying to wrestle you.

Oh, so that's how he wanted to play it, huh?

You pushed back, trying to wriggle out from under him as he kept butting his head against you. You clamored on top of him with little to no grace, "Oh, I'll show you!" You grunted, trying to butt your head against his side like he had done, making him rumble with laughter as he pushed against you.

He held back on a lot of his strength, remembering you were Human after all but indulged in pushing you down a few times, laughing even more as you cursed and grunted and wriggled as mightily as he had ever seen you do. You were thankful for all that training with Wamuu, else you probably wouldn't know the first thing about wrestling with Santana.

From the staircase, your other 3 housemates watched with some amusement, and perhaps a little surprise, as the both of you rolled and pushed and headbutted like Pillarchildren.

They honestly assumed the worst upon having heard the heavy thumps and the screams and the laughter from all the way upstairs.

Maybe snowstorms, and boring house days (and let's not forget devious curiosity), weren't so bad after all...

#funnybunny #pillarmen #pillarmen headcanons #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #kars x reader #esidisi x reader #wamuu x reader #santana x reader #my writing

188 notes · View notes

metize · 3 years

Text

The Measure of His Reach

Zenos x WoL (AFAB) smut Tags: Consensual but not sane nor safe, Breeding kink, hate sex, name-calling, they/them pronouns for WoL, AFAB WoL,

Word count: 1 .332

A/N: Ok let's post last year's kinktober stuff now! I just.... thirst for Zenos so hard, it's embarrassing....

"You are a genocidal arrogant asshole, you don't deserve the place you occupy on this star." They barked at the villain before them. But their fierce, angry words were met with a satisfied smirk from the Garlean they directed them at.

"Such ferocity, my beast, so much passion and conviction in your words." His fingers traced the hero's cheek, caressing their soft skin lovingly "Only you could awaken this burn I feel inside."

"You're disgusting." They say, flinching away from his touch.

"We both are, I see it inside you, how you crave our encounters. I interest you as much as you interest me."

The worst part was that he was right. What was his deal? Did he have any sort of moral compass? Did he even care about politics?

His entire character was an enigma, but the Warrior of Light had no time to solve this particular puzzle, he had to die. They shook their head and grabbed the man's wrist.

"You die today, Zenos yae Galvus." They say, convicting him. "We will cross blades, you'll be a pain in the arse like you always are, but I will be victorious. Your time is up."

"You wish it didn't have to be this way" it wasn't a question. "What else two people interested in each other would do? In another world perhaps instead of fighting we could just fuck in the local inn?" He scoffed at the idea.

"You're… still disgusting" The Warrior of Light felt their face flush with embarrassment at the notion, but also at the crude way he spoke. They let go of the prince's hand and he proceeded to gently stroke their hair.

"Why don't you humor me for one last time, my beast" he proposes "let's play pretend for a while. Let's pretend you don't need to save the world and I don't need to stop you." He leans in to whisper to their ear "Just allow me to pin you against this wall and let me ravish you like a common whore."

A pause. The hero didn't dare breathe, the arousal inside them was building up since they finished fighting in the palace's lower floors. Hearing Zenos speaking filth like that made their excitement palpable.

"No." They said and Zenos sighed disappointed starting to back off before they reached for the front of his armor to make him stay "You will fuck me knowing exactly who I am and who you are."

They pulled him into a kiss just so they didn't have to look at his insufferable smug smile. They bit at his lip and kissed him with fervor because gods damn

they needed this.

Zenos allowed it for a moment before establishing dominance over the situation again, he grabbed the Warrior by their hips and pinned them against the nearest wall, just like promised.

"Is this what you wanted from me, my beast? Does it excite you?" The prince slid his hands into the hero's top "The fact that I am your sworn enemy? The danger of being completely at my mercy?”

He ended his phrase by groping the hero’s chest, his fingers brushing the sensitive nub but not quite playing with it just yet. They arched their torso into his touch instinctively and groaned at the feeling of his strong hands and its firm grip. Zenos’ other hand caught their throat and pushed it against the wall, ordering them to stay still without actually having to say it.

“You will use your words or else I’ll leave you like this” a threat leaves his lips and their answer followed suit immediately.

“Don’t you dare” they say before inhaling sharply as Zenos tugs at their nipple. “Fuck… I want it.”

Their words were coated with shame and yet it only aroused them further. Zenos was no better, the admission was music to his ears. He rewarded them with a thrust of his hips against their clothed pelvis, the friction felt delicious and a breathy sigh escaped their lips with relief.

“Is that you want? You want me to take you right here, sink my cock deep inside you and pound you full of my cum?” He spoke the grip on their neck getting stronger

"Twelve, yes…" they gasped with their remaining breath. Satisfied, Zenos lets go and moves his hand to pull down their bottoms and breeches, exposing them to the soft breeze of the Royal Menagerie.

He removes his gauntlet and presses his bare hand against their folds. He uses two fingers, sliding them upwards gathering the slick arousal that accumulated between their tighs. He brings them to his mouth, tasting his Warrior’s juices. The loss of contact made them groan, especially with this display of his, getting them needier.

“So wet for me, my beast. One would think it would take more to rile up the savior of Eorzia like this” and with that he plunged those fingers inside them without warning, stretching their walls. A desperate moan escapes the hero’s mouth at the sudden invasion. “Are you that eager to have me inside you?”

“Can you just- oh fuck, Zenos…” they gasped when his fingers crooked inside them and reached their sensitive spot “Can you get on with it already?”

“Ah, my beast is so very impatient...” He scissored his way further and decided it was probably good enough, he retrieved his fingers and undid the bottom half of his armor.

They felt the tip of Zenos’ cock against their entrance, Zenos pressing gentle kisses on their face as he pushed inside. They felt so angry at the gentle kisses and signs of affection coming from the prince, but the feeling of his thick member stretching their insides prevented them from complaining, choosing to moan out his name in between gasps instead.

“Still a tight fit, aren’t you? My beautiful prey, you were practically made to take my cock.” how could he say something so degrading and make it sound like the highest praise. He finally bottomed out inside, letting out a deep groan.

“Can’t you just shut the fuck up?” they breathed out hitting his shoulder with a weak punch, which made him grin.

Zenos finally started moving his hips, thrusting inside the Eikon slayer’s tight wet heat. He gripped their ass, his nails digging into the flesh. They wrapped their bare legs around the armored man, the only thing keeping them from falling being the prince’s body. They couldn’t keep quiet even if they wanted to, they were outdoors, the only witnesses to this sinful display being the flowers decorating the garden.

“You look wonderful impaled on my cock, Warrior of Light.” He leaned closer to them, their breath tickling their neck, and his voice resounding right against their ear “You would make a perfect cumdump for me back in the capital…”

That was an awful thing to get turned on by.

“You’d provide me with the strongest litter, my beast, how terrible would it be to carry a bastard Garlean inside your womb right now, hm?” Of course, he noticed that talk aroused them further. “Do you want me to come inside your tight little pussy, breed you with my seed?” They moaned at his thrusts, their cunt twitching with excitement, and struggled a bit with their breath before answering.

“You sick fuck. That- ngh… That sounds absolutely disgusting. I can’t imagine anything worse” They said shaking their head furiously, feeling themselves approaching their climax “Fucking do it.”

Zenos pulled their hair, forcing them to look at his blue eyes as he thrust faster into them. That was it for them, they came screaming Zenos’ name shaking under his grasp, their walls clamped down his dick making the prince come in a few more thrusts. He moaned as he released, his voice uttering ‘mine’, again and again as his cum filled the Warrior of Light.

They both breathlessly held each other, panting against one another. What they did was utterly regrettable and yet they had no regrets.

#zenos yae galvus #ffxiv zenos #zenos x wol #zenos/wol #smut fanfiction #ffxiv #ffxiv smut #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fic #ffxiv writing #ffxiv oc #zenos wol #zenoswol #ffxiv wol

133 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

In Name Only - Part 1

A/N: Ughhh, hi! I’m a whore for Oberyn Martell and cannot be stopped. This is gonna be a little series, only a few parts (at least for now), and I hope you enjoy. This was one of my many shower ideas that I couldn’t let go! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I will not marry a man that does not love me,” you cursed the gods for making you a woman. You cursed your mother for being the way she was though it was not her fault that you were her only daughter among six sons. You cursed the laws of men that determined your position in life, “I will not be tied down to man who does not care about me, to a castle that will never be a home, and bear children I do not want.”

“You are an insolent, silly girl,” she hissed at you, and for a moment you feared that she might reached and strike you across the face. She had been prone to doing so when you were younger, but in her older years she had calmed down, softening with the birth of each child after you, each son, each brother you loathed for how easy their lives were, “you should have been married many moons ago.”

“I will not marry a man almost twice my age that openly keeps a lover and already has plenty of children,” a fiery rage set through your bones, one that would probably be perfectly suited in the warm, desert homeland of the husband she insisted you take. In the Reach, your attitude was abhorred, and you were considered the lone deviant of your family, “I will not give up my freedoms because you deem it fit for me to do so.”

“You will marry him and bear him an heir,” she grabbed your hair and roughly yanked it and leaned in so only you could hear, “you are lucky any man will have you. You’re much too old to be unwed and your demeanor makes you almost unbearable.”

“I will not do it,” you gritted your teeth and tried to pull out of grasp, “I will not subject myself to a life of servitude-”

“When I was your age I’d already been long married to your father and had you and two of your brothers,” she reminded, pushing you away with a heavy sigh, “do you think I wanted to get married? I was no more than a child, and you at least are a woman grown. I could have married you off years ago, as I should have. You would have been out of my sight and perhaps tamed.”

“I refuse. I will not bend and break to your whim,” turning away you started to storm off, hoping that some fresh air would calm you down. Perhaps you could ride your horse through the open pastures and fields surrounding the castle.

“And just what do you plan on doing then? Will you wander through the kingdoms on your own, travelling without anything or anyone like a heathen?”

“Perhaps I will,” you shrugged, “it would be better than doing what you ask of me. If you loved me-”

“If you do not marry him, you will be cut off from this family,” her words were enough to cause you turn around and listen to her, “you will lose your name, your worldly possessions, and you will be penniless. Is that really what you desire?”

“All of this because I do not want to take a husband?”

“It is your duty. As it has been the duty of every woman before you.”

“Fuck duty!” your voiced reverberated around the castle’s stone walls as she stared you down, “I will not marry someone I do not love. Father would never make me do so.”

“And your father is dead,” she reminded you with venom lacing her tone, “and what do you even know about love? It is a fiction created to keep little girls happy.”

“I loved him,” your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest as you thought of him. Your mother scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes at you, “I loved him and you sent him away to certain death because you are a monster.”

“That horrid boy? He was a bastard,” she reminded you of the cruel little thing that kept you apart. How you rued the term of bastard; it did not mean anything, it did not determine a person’s character or heart, “he was never good enough for you. And you defiled yourself for him.”

“Because I loved him!” you insisted, “and he loved me! We would have been happy together, we could have built a life together...”

“He was a peasant, he tended stables-”

“That does not matter to me,” you reminded her, “he was kind and gentle and warm. I would have loved to have a life of tending stables if meant I was with him. Because I loved him!”

“You were lost in your girlhood fantasies of what you think love is,” she was cruel, each of her words twisting like a knife in your gut, “he was the first boy to show you attention and you fell for his little trap, and it has left you ruined for other men. You are lucky that Oberyn Martell does not know and he will not care, the one benefit of having a Dornish heathen for a husband.”

“I did love him, mother,” you tried hard to fight off the flood of tears that were pricked the back of your eyes, “and just because you can’t handle that you sent him to the Wall where he will live out his days and die. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“He was a bastard, it did not matter.”

“He was a good man,” your voice broke slightly as you tried to square your shoulders and stare her down, “his only fault in life was loving me. It’s gotten him the most cruel of fates.”

“I have had enough of you,” she steeled herself and strode past you, regal and noble in appearance as ever, “in two weeks time you will travel to Dorne and you will marry Oberyn Martell. You will either oblige and do it, as is your duty or you be expelled from this castle and can live out your days among the bastards that you love so much. It is your choice, whether you bring shame to this family or you disappear into the background as a woman should and become a dutiful wife.”

“Those are both horrible, vile options.”

“That is duty of being born a woman.”

“I wish I was born a man then,” you turned on your heel to walk away, wishing you were stronger, wishing you weren’t on the verge of tears, “maybe then I would not subjected to such a cruel fate, and I wouldn’t let any woman in my care suffer the same.”

“Aren’t you just the martyr,” she mocked you with such a ferocity that you wanted to give her a good whack across her own smug face, “you think you know so much, you know nothing.”

“I know what it means to be a good person, or at least to try,” it was days like that you longed for your father. He had been a kindhearted, generous man, one who did not believe in the stereotypes that divided men and women. He was the reason you had remained unwed for many years, far past the age of anyone of noble blood. He encouraged your wildness, your open heart and free spirit. Your mother had always been the exact opposite. You always wondered how they seemingly got along so well, but you’d come to understand that it was no more than an illusion. The only love they shared was that of their children, and sometimes you wondered how deep that truly ran.

“Enough,” her tone held the cruel finality, the singular word was as sharp as a dagger as she stood in the doorway, the soft light filtering in behind her. She was a handsome woman, and if you hadn’t known better, she appeared almost angelic. But you knew better, much better; she was no more a saint than you were a sinner. You remained steadfast in your spot, trying to channel the ferocity that your father always embodied, “in two weeks time you will travel to Sunspear and you will marry the prince.”

“I would rather die.”

“If you choose your own grave so be it,” she slammed the door to her quarters shut, letting the sound ring through the hall. You had flinched at the noise, but now it only served to anger you. Your whole life, the little joys it still afforded you would be taken away soon, all because of a name. All because you were a woman.

They often called occasions such as these little deaths, but you had a feeling that it would be a lot more than a little pain to make yourself subservient to a husband you did not want.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey from the lush green lands of Honeyholt and surrounding lands into the dry, red deserts of Dorne had been...miserable. While you would have relished traveling and seeing the new lands under any other circumstance, you experienced no moments of tranquility or peace. The landscapes meshed into one and the only thing signaling that you were entered the land of the Dornish was the stifling heat. The Reach was temperate, never an extreme in either direction, but Sunspear provided its first test through the scorching heat of the golden sun.

It would take some getting used to but you could understand why the symbol of the house you would soon be joining was a blazing sun. It never seemed to fade, casting its golden light across every inch of the land. The people that you spied in villages and smaller cities as you approached Sunspear looked as if they didn’t mind; perhaps only a lifetime of heat would allow you to get used to it.

Their curious glances were always trained on you, and your small retinue that would depart as soon as you arrived safely. You were an outsider from a strange land that the Dornish were reluctant to trust; it wasn’t common fro one of Northern breeding to step this far south. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter; you hadn’t thrown a fit, or cried, or screamed, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you so upset. Instead you had remained silent, speaking only a few words here and there as necessary, your true self hidden behind a thick veneer of steel. Maybe your true self would be hidden forever, dying a little bit day by day as you waited patiently for your death.

There would be no ceremony, no pomp, and most definitely no circumstance when you arrived to your new home and to meet the man who would shortly become your husband. You would be all but abandoned in the palace where you knew no one, trying to fend for yourself. It had been at your mother’s request and you knew exactly why she would treat you in such a manner; each of your brothers, all but the two youngest had been married off already, in a show of great festivities and celebration. You were all but kicked under the carpet, a smudge on the family name that she wished to forget.

Your mother harbored no love for the Dornish, whom she considered savages and uncultured; she must have been desperate to finally see you off if she agreed to a marriage proposal from the Martells. You wondered why they had even asked for you; there were plenty of other families in Dorne that could have produced a worthy daughter, or other Northern families that might have agreed. Perhaps they too realized that it would difficult to marry off a prince nearing middle age that housed a paramour and bragged about his bastard daughters. It did not phase you, or bother you in the slightest; you were pleased rather that they seemed to enjoy life to such a degree. But perhaps even the Martells were smart enough to know that they would need heirs, legitimate ones, to recognized by the Northern countries and carry on their name.

When you arrived at the palace in Sunspear, your jaw dropped slightly in surprise - it was a stunning beauty, a feat of architecture that you were loathe to find anywhere else in the seven kingdoms. It presented a sharp contrast to the home you had known your entire life; there was no bleak grays or beiges that met your eyes, instead colorful, brilliant shades of warm crimsons, oranges, tans, and bronzes met your eyes. it was warm and welcoming, despite the reason for your arrival. If this was to be your home for the remainder of your days, at least it was beautiful.

Your carriage came to a harsh stop and you almost slid off your seat at the sudden force. You groaned lightly as you straightened yourself, looking down at the green dress you were sporting and already wishing you had something cooler to wear. If you had been granted your way, you’d be dressed the same as the men that could spy all around the palace, sporting a pair of trousers and a loose tunic. Your father had never cared what you wore, but the day your mother found out that you had been running around like a boy, she had made you wear only the finest dresses. You’d still sneak off in trousers whenever presented with the opportunity, a small thrill running through your veins, knowing that you were directly defying your mother.

The small door was opened and you stepped out, letting your feet hit the warm the sand. You wiggled your feet about, trying to get a feel for it, bending over and picking up a handful of the small grains. It was a dark bronze color, different than the seasides of the Reach, and softer. You liked it, you immediately decided, it was much more comforting than stone and hard soil.

“Knock it off and put it back,” internally rolling your eyes at the septa you swore you were much too old to still have you, you let the sand trickle out of your hand and back onto the ground, “you’re acting like a child. You must behave and act like a proper woman.”

Sighing lightly, you remained wordless, not wanting to start an argument in the middle of your new home before you’d even made a proper entrance. The few items you’d brought from Honeyholt with you were quickly unloaded and brought into the palace. You hadn’t desired to bring much; you wanted a fresh start, a new one that you could call all your own, even if you weren’t here by choice. It felt like you could hang on to a little bit of autonomy that way.

Your most prized possession hung around your neck: a delicate golden chain that contained a small rose colored gem. It had been given to you by your father on your fourteenth nameday; he’d presented it to you with such joy and excitement, having it made just for you. He had claimed that the rose gem symbolized love and that you would always know how much he loved and adored you whenever you wore it. You hadn’t taken it off since his untimely demise; a small consolation for not having him around anymore.

You’d been so lost in your own thoughts, of your father, of your new life, that you hadn’t seen realized you’d stepped foot inside, until a pair of arms wrapped around you. Your body tensed in defense as you came back to reality and saw a young, dark haired girl grinning at you. She was beautiful, clearly of Dorne with her sunkissed skin and dark features, and animated smile. She was dressed in silks of gold and orange, much like the house she served. Appearing to be only a few years younger than yourself, she had a warm aura about her; it was the most kindness you’d experienced in some time.

“I’m Asha,” she had taken a step back when noticed your hesitation and held her hand out instead. You gave her the best smile you could as you gingerly shook her hand, still wanting to tread lightly as you gave her your name, “I’m your handmaiden. I’ll be helping you with whatever you need.”

“Handmaiden?” surely this must be a joke. Back in Honeyholt you’d had maids and servants, surely, but never one that served you in such a personal manner. Perhaps this was one of the perks of marrying a prince, even if he was one by name only, “I’m quite sure that I can handle myself...I’m sorry, forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. I’ve just never had someone...”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, taking your hand and pulling you further into the palace. You tried to get a good look at everything, but there was so much going on all at once that it was hard to keep track of everything, “I’ll be here for whatever you need and should you decide you do not need me at all, then I will remain as your friend, if it pleases you.”

“Friend?” that was the last thing you expected. It something you both had and hadn’t thought much about in the past few weeks. You’d had friends in Honeyholt, less and less the older you became, when they turned into mere acquaintances, tending to the families they were growing, but you’d resigned yourself to a life of solitude in Dorne. You weren’t sure what to expect here; you didn’t think the people would be so welcoming for the stranger that came to marry their favorite prince.

“Yes,” she gave you a dazzling grin, “like I said, if it pleases you. The prince wants to make sure you feel at home and that you’re comfortable.”

“He does?” you’d been there for such a short time, but already you’d experienced more twists and turns than you had expected.

“Of course,” she pulled you up a flight of marbled stairs and down a long hallway, stopping before a grand set of doors. They were beautiful, made of aged wood and intricately carved. You couldn’t stop yourself as you reached up and touched the carvings, letting your fingers glide over them, “ he’s traveled all over the seven kingdoms, the Summer Isles, Essos...so many different places. He understands better than anyone what it is like to be in a new, and often unwelcoming land. He wants you to know that this is your home too. The prince is very happy to have you here and finally meet you.”

“Huh,” you turned to her, searching her eyes for any signs of deception, but you found none. Her dark eyes were wide with excitement as she opened the door and revealed the beautiful interior of your personal quarters. It was a beautiful sight to behold, colorful furniture was strewn about, a large, soft bed with golden cloth over it, and open doors leading to a balcony that housed many plants. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains and rustled the leaves. This space, in the few moments you’d stared at it, felt more like a home than anything you had experienced.

“His quarters are on the opposite end of the hallway,” she explained and nudged her in the direction. Separate quarters, you thought to yourself, how strange, “he wanted to make sure you liked everything. If you’re unhappy with it or require anything else, just say the word and you will have it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, stepping into the space and taking a closer at everything, “Dorne is beautiful...I had not expected this much beauty in the desert lands. The way the Northern lords make it sound...it should be horrid and ugly. But it’s lovely.”

“There is so much in Dorne that they will never tell you about because they will not allow themselves to see the beauty in front of them. We know they see us as savages and heathens, we know what they say, but we are not as they claim. We are different, surely, but does not make us bad people simply because we do not share the same views and beliefs?” she asked as she started to drag in some of the small trunks containing your items. You shook your head with a small smile; no, surely it did not make them any less human. They were already a warmer people than any of the northerners you’d encountered.

Standing up and helping her, she looked at with you with a curious glance. You just carried on, not wanting to let her do all of the work; why should you?

“I can handle it, my lady,” she insisted, but you refused to back down. You repeated your name and insisted that she call you that, “even if you are to be the princess?”

“I take no joy or pride in hollow titles or unnecessary formalities,” you promised her, “you and I are not different are we? We’re both women, subject to the harsh reality of what that entails and the laws of the gods and men. I insist, please, that you call me by my given name. And I am more than capable of helping to unpack my own items. You musn’t do it all alone.

Asha gave you a big grin as she nodded, surprised by your genial approach. Those she had met from the lands north of Dorne would never dare to renounce a title so freely, or speak so candidly with her. But you did; Oberyn would like you, she thought to herself, “as you wish...I think you will like Dorne, it will suit you well. We do not believe that men hold any superior power over women, nor do we believe that women should be reduced to standing behind a man. Everyone is equal here, just as the gods willed it.”

“And yet here I am, to be married to a man I do not know and that does know me and give him an heir,” there was a slight tone of bitterness to your voice that you hadn’t quite intended. You sighed and shook your head in apology, knowing she had nothing to do with your fortune, “I’m sorry...I should not have lashed out at you.”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, “I know how it seems is harsh, but I assure you that not everything is as it seems. It must be shocking to come to a new home and be surrounded by only strangers, but I think you will be just fine; if nothing else you will provide a good wit to match Prince Doran.”

“Prince Doran?” you asked as she nodded, “and he is...”

“I dare they must have kept you quite in the dark about all of this,” you nodded as you allowed yourself to sit on the soft bed, testing it out and finding it just as soft as you liked, “Prince Doran is the ruler of Dorne, his oldest daughter Princess Arianne is his heir and Oberyn is his brother.”

“Oh,” you felt silly, and a bit dumb not being privy to any of this information before. It didn’t surprise you though; your mother did not care for the Martells and it was unlikely that she knew much of this information herself, “I apologize for not being as well versed in your land and people as I should be.”

“There is no need,” she laid out some of your dresses, placing them in the closet that stood against the wall, “one thing you will need to learn is that in Dorne we do not apologize. There is no reason to ever apologize for one’s true self, right? You were not to know this information, so how should you have known? You will learn in time. It is your home now and we are your people.”

“How is that I already feel so much warmer and lighter here than I have in years in my own home, the place I was birthed?” you let out a small laugh in spite of yourself and stood back up, spying some fine silks draped over the chair that was placed in front of the small writing desk, “what are these?”

“Silks,” Asha watched your face turn into a small smile as you touched the delicate fabrics and studied the colors, “they’re a gift from -”

“The prince,” you finished for her and she just nodded with a smile.

“He had a feeling that you wouldn’t be well prepared for the heat and wanted to provide you with something more suitable,” you lifted a few pieces up, holding them against your body. They were lovely, designed and crafted with care and expert stitching, “he asked about your coloring to make sure they’d suit you. And of course, some of the Martell gold and orange had to be included.”

“They are wonderful...absolutely beautiful,” a small sense of satisfaction worked its way into your bones as you realized that your mother would absolutely abhor the clothing, declaring crude and too revealing. But you loved the pieces, knowing they’d be perfect for the hot afternoons and warm evenings you’d come to expect, “this prince...he’s very kind.”

“He can...rough around the edges, but underneath the exterior he presents, he is a most kind and gentle man. His people love him and he loves them as well,” she answered, and you could easily sense the admiration she had for him. Maybe...just maybe, if this prince proved to be as fair and just as Asha made him out to be, things wouldn’t be a complete nightmare, “he wanted to be here to greet you, but unfortunately his duties have kept him away a bit longer than he intended. He will be back in time for your wedding.”

Wedding. Of course. You had somehow forgotten that little detail; this was just some sort of vacation or leisure trip. This was a whole new life you were walking into.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the nervous lilt of voice, but Asha picked up on it anyway. For someone so young, she was very attuned to your emotions. She stood next to you and slowly, as if testing the waters, put an arm around your shoulders. This time, you let her. You let her pull you into a hug and hold onto you tightly as you let your body relax into the comfort of her own. You were almost like clay, melting into her arms; it had been so long since you had experienced the touch of another. She smelled of fresh citrus and spices, a scent you already found comforting, “thank you, Asha. You have been more kind than I could have ever anticipated. It is not lost on me...I should be proud to consider you a friend.”

“And I you,” she insisted, you were quickly interrupted by a loud throat clear from the entrance to your new space. Your oldest brother, now the Lord of Honeyholt in your father’s absence, was standing there, an impatient look on his face. Asha pulled back and bowed her head in reverence, “my lord.”

“Come and make sure your goodbyes, sister,” he completely ignored Asha and turned his cold gaze to yours. Never having been close with any of your brothers, besides the youngest, you harbored no strong feelings for him. He was a fine man, a decent lord, but nothing compared to your father. The halls of Honeyholt were never the same since he sat at the head of the table, “we must leave soon to make it back before our visitors from the Crownlands come.”

“You just mean to leave me here,” it was not a question, but a cold statement of fact, “you do not intend to stay and watch me marry? It is only a short time away.”

“We do not have time,” he insisted already starting to walk away, “besides, what is there to celebrate? You’re married off far too late to...a Martell. Hardly calls for celebration.”

“Goodbye brother,” you called after him, not even bothering to follow and bid anyone else a farewell and a safe journey back, “if that is the way you feel, to leave your only sister thus, then so be it. I wish you, nor our brothers, nor mother any ill will, but I cannot say I will be amiss of any of you.”

“Watch your tongue,” he growled at you from the foot of the stairs, “you are lucky to be my sister or I would have you thrown out long ago. You taint our name and have no respect for decency. You’re just like father; weak and a fool. Always thinking without your brain.”

“So with my heart?” you spat at him, “how dare you take father’s name in vain! He’s more of a man, father, and lord than you will be ever be.”

“And look where that got him,” he reminded you of the harsh reality that your favorite person, the one that you had idolized growing up, was gone, “an early grave.”

“He was ill-”

“It does matter. I am lord now and you will obey me,” he shook his head, “you know, mother was smart to finally marry you off. At least you will be able to take the name of Martell and will stop bringing shame to ours. You are no sister of mine, you can join these...barbarians, become one of them,”

“If I see you again, it will be on your deathbed,” you insisted, feeling a tears of sheer anger roll down your cheeks, as your body trembled with frustration, “I guarantee it. You are no brother of mine.”

He glowered at you before turning around and storming off, his robes trailing behind him. You’d never shared a great appreciation or love for him, but this was a harsh blow nonetheless. Your family, the only one you’d ever know was so content to just cart you off. You wondered how long he had waited for this day - but it didn’t matter. Just like that you had no more home in Honeyholt. Sunspear, and Dorne, was your home now. Even if it was a life you did not desire, at least it would be your own.

“I’m sorry,” Asha appeared at your side, a concerned expression on her face at the heated exchanged. You choked back the few sobs that threatened to bubble up in your throat. You’d essentially just lost the little bit of family you had, “I did not expect such a response. Family means much to Dornishmen, sweet dove. You will never have to feel alone or unloved here.”

“Thank you,” you gave her a small smile, “I hope my family does not dishonor Prince Doran. I have not even meet the man who is to be my brother and already I bring chaos.”

“Prince Doran would never hold the actions of them against you,” she promised, “he shall be glad to meet you and welcome you into his family. As will we all. I can show you around the palace, if you so desire, and the water gardens. They’re most beautiful, especially during the peak of heat, such as this.”

“Will I meet Prince Doran today?” you were curious about meeting your new family, albeit the tiniest bit hopeful. It could be no worse than what you had just experienced.

“I’m afraid both princes will not return until tomorrow,” she explained, “however, they are preparing a feast in your honor for this evening. The Princess is here, and I am sure she will be delighted to meet you. She’s a brilliant combination of her father and uncle, and will surely revel in your company, she grows bored of monotony.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner had been an...interesting affair. You’d gotten to meet the princess, her mother, and many other members of the household and those who worked for and were dear to the Martells - to your family. It was a shocking contrast to the normally reserved and quiet meals that were had in the dreary dining hall of your former home.

The large tables in the garden were laden with delicious foods from all of Dorne, including the famed Dornish wine and everyone sat together, it did not matter their rank, station, or title. They were happy, kind, and jovial, welcoming you with open arms to Sunspear and their family. It was a warmth you had not known before, but not unwelcome. It was a sight to see everyone so happy, joking and laughing, teasing each other until late into the night; they had no reservations, no fears, no inhibitions. And you loved that about them immediately.

Your heart had almost stopped when the princess had presented you with a beautiful golden bracelet, containing the Martell sun entwined with the little dove of your own house. She had gently clasped it around your wrist, before kissing your cheeks gently. You would think of her, her generosity and warmth whenever you wore it.

But even the excitement and relief that the evening had provided was not enough to stave off the tears that found you late in the evening as you sat on the balcony connected to your quarters. You’d been studying the starry night sky, admiring how it glittered over the red dunes of the desert, when you were hit with a wave of sadness that you couldn’t ward of. A few hot, warm, salty tears dripped down your cheeks as you slowly repeated the names of the constellations you could see, stopping only when a small knock came at your door.

You dabbed at your eyes and turned around to see who the visitor was, but Arianne slowly let herself in. You gave her a small smile and she joined you on the balcony, without a word, but a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am sorry that you must see me in such a state,” you apologized but she shook her head. She was about to open her mouth, but you stopped her with a small smile, already knowing what she was going to say, “do not apologize for being your true self.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a small laugh, rich and musical, “see you’re learning already - you’ll fit in perfectly.”

You remained silent for a moment and let out a long sigh.

“What plagues you so?” she asked gently, “besides the loss of your family?”

“Today has proven it is no real loss,” you admitted, “I am...I do not know if I can do this.”

“Marry my uncle?”

“Yes,” you said quietly, “I vowed to myself that I would never marry someone I did not love, and I know this sounds silly, but my father, before his death, always promised me that he would never send me off to do so unless I desired it. And now...”

“It is not easy.”

“No,” you sighed, a fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, “I cannot bring myself to love someone just because I am required to, nor have a desire to be treated as a sow to be used for heirs. I do not know if I can do this, to myself or your uncle.”

“I realize this is very little consolation, but I do think I might know how you to help, if only a small bit,” she had your attention and you gave her a curious glance, “think of it as a marriage only in name.”

“Only in name?”

“Precisely,” she explained, “you will marry Oberyn, and that will the end of it. You do not owe him an heir and he would never expect one from you. He has eight daughters already, some nearing your age, and he loves them dearly. They keep him busy and if you do not desire children he would never force one on you. You do not have to love him, he knows you likely never will, but just respect him; for outside purposes you will be husband and wife, but behind closed doors, and to those here in Dorne, who not care about such things, it will not matter.”

“Oh?”

“Give it some time and you will find a lover, a man or a woman, or many lovers,” she explained, “love should not be contained so willfully, unless two people desire it. you are free to explore and take as lovers as you want. You give and take love.”

“Oberyn...has a lover,” why you suddenly felt shy, you did not know. Certainly it could not be jealousy? You did not know him nor care for him, and clearly did not love him, but something inside you panged slightly. How strange it would be to be married to a man with a different lover.

“He had a lover, a paramour by the name of Ellaria Sand,” she explained and you found yourself intrigued, “she’s a most kind, generous and lovely woman, and mother to four of his daughters. She is beautiful as she is kind and still comes around often, but she has left his bed sometime ago and has returned to her childhood home in Helholt.”

“Oh?” you wondered if it had anything to do with you, but you had your doubts. What power would you, a mere child compared to his longtime lover hold?

“It was amicable, I believe. They remain friends, and both love their daughters deeply. I think a strong bond and love remains between them, but nothing romantic,” she expanded, but it did not ease your nerves, “I’m sure you will meet her at some point, she comes around not infrequently, but you have nothing to worry about. She will love you, as we already do as well. She will understand what your position as Oberyn’s wife means.”

“Does he take other lovers still?”

“As far as I know,” she shrugged, not deeply concerned with her uncle’s affairs, “anything further than that you will have to discuss among yourselves.”

“I see,” you let out a long sigh and let your shoulders slump, finding little solace in her words. She was trying her best, but it did not chase away all your fears, “still I...”

“Remember,” she said softly, “name only. You will not have be with him, in his presence, any more than you desire. He will grant you many liberties and freedoms. The ways things work between a husband and wife are very different here in Dorne than in the North. You will not be confined to the palace or your husband, you will have your own voice here.”

“Such a strange concept,” you mused as she shrugged, “all my life I’ve been told that my only goal in life is to behave, marry a nobleman, and bear him children. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Welcome to Dorne, sweet dove,” Arianne pressed a light kiss to the side of your head, before moving to leave your chambers, leaving you alone with your thoughts, “and welcome to House Martell.”

You watched her go without another word, envying her easy going personality and liveliness. She’s known this her whole life, and yet she was so happy; maybe there was something to this Dornish way of life. Maybe you could find some purchase here and make a happy little life for yourself. With or without your husband at your side.

You straightened up and stretched, raising your arms above your head as you looked at the moon, shining among the stars. Maybe...this did not have to be as bad as you had originally thought; maybe Dorne could be your own sanctuary. Your head was swimming with so many thoughts, and you were overwhelmed with a tiredness you had not known in ages. You walked back into your bedchamber, leaving the doors open to let in the warm evening breeze. It was quiet now, a quiet that you’d never really experience. Peaceful.

Oberyn watched you moved back inside from his spot in the courtyard of the palace. He and Doran had returned early, at his behest, but not early enough for a proper introduction. He been curious to meet his bride, the wild girl from the North that refused to be tamed. He had overheard you and Arianne, listening intently to your every word, clinging on to them to try and figure out how to best serve you. He wanted you to be happy, he hoped you would be, and if you wanted nothing to do with him, then he would respect that as well.

Whatever you desired, Oberyn Martell was going to make sure you had it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @yourealegendroger @thesecondlastjedi @bitemerog @rogernroll @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @dinkiplier @starrystarrybabe @onexlittlespark @benhardyseyes @marvelstuck @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @wonderwich @a-kind-of-magik @lv7867 @itissnowingandimstuckinside @dessert-hardy @rogertaylors-lipgloss @rogerfxckingtaylor @queenbbarnes @drowseoftaylor @persephonesnebula @mamaskillerqueen @theimpossiblehologramtree @loveandbeloved29 @meddows-rose @onceitbubbles @wonderwoman292 @moondustmemories @spacedustmazzello @queenlover05 @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @el-lizzie @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @lavenderl3mons @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @rosetophighlander

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #prince oberyn x reader #got #oberyn x reader #reader insert #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #i miss my prince #in name only series

2K notes · View notes

jaggedlittleteacup · 3 years

Text

Part Three

Note: For @psychosociogentleman. Also, @call-me-moo, I hope you don’t mind me tagging you!

(Recap: Y/N has finally met John…with mixed thoughts on the encounter. Unfortunately, they don’t have long to consider it, because for some strange reason, Sherlock has just punched Mycroft…?)

Molly screams. Mrs. Hudson yelps and rushes to the kitchen, her hands raised in terror. Lestrade stands motionless. Harry says nothing.

You hardly dare to breathe.

John’s mouth drops open in surprise as you drop the water bottle while staring at your little brother, who currently has his fist raised in fury. It is rare to see Sherlock so worked up over anything, much less something to do with Mycroft. They always settled their squabbles with angry words and cutting insults, but never stooped so low as to resort to physical violence.

“What the hell?” John whispers, finally breaking the heavy silence that has settled around the room. Even Harry has stopped her drunken escapades to stare in horror. “What the actual, bloody, Godforsaken hell?! Sherlock, what- why?!” The last words are shouted as you watch John sprint over to Sherlock and pull him off Mycroft, whose nose is bleeding vehemently.

Sherlock is fighting against him with all his might, trying to lunge at Mycroft. In his ferocity, he resembles a wild animal interrupted from his next meal. It’s almost frightening to see the instant change that has come over him- flashing eyes, his hair mussed, his arms reaching for your elder brother as he shouts. “MYCROFT, YOU BASTARD!” he yells, still pushing against John. “TAKE IT BACK!”

You step forward, unsure of whether or not you should help. The room is still dead silent. You expected Lestrade to help, but he hasn’t moved an inch. Everyone present seems to be frozen in fear and uncertainty- everyone except John.

Mycroft looks to be expressing a combination of smugness and irritability as he daubs at his face with a delicately embroidered handkerchief.

You walk over to the thrashing Sherlock, a calm look in your eyes. This isn’t the first time Sherlock has done this, although it’s uncommon for you to be the one to stop his rage. One glance tells John to let him go.

Uneasily, John obliges.

Sherlock moves at first, but doesn’t push you out of the way. He seems hesitant, his aggression already fading.

“Sherlock,” you say sternly, looking directly into those multicoloured eyes of his. “Step outside, and let’s discuss this properly.”

Your brother still breathes heavily, glaring at Mycroft behind you, but you force his attention back on you. He slowly nods, all the while his gaze shoots to a worried and disapproving John for a moment. Sherlock doesn’t say another word as you lead him into the stairwell.

“Sherlock,” you repeat, “what happened?” You are curious, and even though you could probably deduce the answer for yourself, you decide to ask him instead. Whatever Mycroft must have said, it must have been triggering to the extreme. You needed to remember to hit your eldest brother once you returned home.

Sherlock exhales, regaining his composure and creating an impression of stoicism and confidence. You, of course, see right through his feeble façade. He clears his throat. “Mycroft…He…said something about you.”

You’re temporarily taken aback. “About me? Sherlock, I don’t recall a single moment in our lives that would call for such grievous acts of sentiment, much less an off-handed comment of little value.” You don’t mean any ill-will by what you say. It is simply a statement of fact, at least to you.

“Y/N, that…conniving, despicable, worthless excuse for a familial relation,” Sherlock snarls, a fracture appearing in his carefully crafted mask of indifference, “claimed that you should have died in Sherrinford to save us all the trouble of being in your presence.” His chest is heaving as he struggles to stay cool and collected.

You don’t say anything. Sherrinford? Mycroft would bring that up now? Such a dirty, shameful, hidden part of your past, and he chooses to use it against your youngest brother? For a moment, neither of you wish to look each other in the eye. A pained quiet has smothered you both like a heavy blanket, pulling all the oxygen out of the room and leaving you only with shattered glimpses of long-faded memories.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur weakly, unsure of what else to do or say.

Sherlock’s line of sight slides over to the front door of Baker Street. “He doesn’t believe you, but I do. It wasn’t you. It was never you.”

You nod, and bite back a torrent of thank yous. “Mummy won’t be pleased with us.”

For a brief, beautiful moment, the two of you are eight and six again, wondering how to tell your mum that Sherlock got in a fight with a bully again, revelling in the glory of a shared triumph.

And then it passes. Gone, like every single one of the fragile memories you should have shared with your brother. Lost, once again, robbed by Mycroft.

“John didn’t look happy,” Sherlock says dejectedly. “I suppose I ought to apologise to him, but I really don’t see a point.”

You chuckle. “I’ll talk to him. It’d be a shame to spend your birthday dinner with your best friend angry at you.”

“You’re staying?”

“Of course. I’d be willing to wager that no-one except John and Mycroft knows it’s your birthday, so as long as the venue is small…”

“Angelo’s. At seven.” Sherlock is already making his way back inside. He pauses, a hand on the doorframe, curious expression residing on his face. “You’d lose the wager, by the way.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “How so?”

“A dominatrix seems to have gotten wind of the information,” Sherlock says with a wink, before heading inside and leaving you with more questions than you had when you arrived.

#bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #jim moriarty #sherlock #johnlock #but just a little #mycroft holmes #sherlock fanfic #x reader #birthday #requests #sherrinford #secret past #oooooooo #i tried lol

24 notes · View notes

hutchhitched · 3 years

Text

The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

“Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

“What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

“Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

“What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

“Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

“I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

“I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

****

Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

“Hello?”

“So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

“Ms. Everdeen?”

“Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

“Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

“I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

“I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

“Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

“That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

“Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

“You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

“Your bone marrow?”

I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

“You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

“I am.”

“Oh…”

“So, you want my bone marrow.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

“Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

“Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

****

I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

“Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

“How do you feel?”

“Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

“I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

“A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

“I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

“I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

“He’s also an arrogant ass.”

“Speaking of arrogant asses…”

“Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

“Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

“I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

“Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

“He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

“Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

“He’s not—”

“Give him a chance.”

Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

****

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

“Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

“I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

“Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

“Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

“Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

“No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

“Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

“I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

****

It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

“Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

“Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

“If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

“I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

“Lucky you.”

“I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

“No! I can meet—”

But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

****

“And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

“No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

“You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

“Thank you.”

I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“I— I need to check my calendar.”

“I already did. No school activities.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

****

I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

“Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

“Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

“Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

“I think we burned dinner.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

“Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 17 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the marrow of the story

64 notes · View notes