#why did this turn out so saturated

[queenimmadolla]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

(dad!eddie x mom!reader)

Summary: Eddie has to shower before he can hold his impatient baby. She's having none of it.

a/n: i was attacked by yet ANOTHER cute baby tiktok so here we are with a little bit of grease monkey!eddie and another little drabble. set in the early days of the pennyverse. and yes, i've used this gif before but he's dead so i'm running out of them. mistakes might be fixed later, i dont know :)

“Are these your little fingers?” You asked your baby, tone saturated in honey and affection as you held the chunky palm in question, lips pressed to her pudgy fingertips. 

  Despite your aversion to it prior to your pregnancy, you’d inevitably developed a baby voice when Penny had come into the world and you couldn’t be blamed. Not when she was all squish, delicate cheeks holding so much chub they bulged, and rolls decorated her little limbs. She was a glutton, always demanding your milk and you couldn’t deny her; those big, gorgeous eyes she’d inherited from her father made it nearly impossible to, even when the wetness welling up in them were completely alligator tears. And those curls. 

  Regardless of taming them with some water, a brush and maybe some vaseline, they ended up wild, flying about or mussed and matted to her head with sweat because your baby was a little heater when she slept and napped. Just like her daddy.

  Your smile widened in size when you heard the sound of keys slotting into place at the front door, the lock mechanism giving away. It tripled when you realized your baby also recognized the sound, head turning to stare at the door as she bobbed in place, thick legs squatting and then popping back up as you held her by her waist with your other hand, assisting her with standing.

  The moment Eddie opened the door and came into view she began cooing and squealing in excitement, mouth parting in a wide smile as drool raced down from the corner of her mouth.

You laughed, and so did Eddie as he heard his baby welcoming him home.

  “You excited to see me, sweet pea?” He cooed right back, walking over to squat in front of the two of you, eyes raking over you momentarily in appreciation before focusing on the little one in your arms. 

  She let out another long coo that ended on an airy sigh, pulling her hand from your grasp to reach both of her pudgy ones out to him, practically begging him to hold her as she began wiggling in your arms.

  Eddie’s head tilted, lips curling into the most tender smile as he stared down at her with nothing but love swimming in those eyes he’d shared with her. 

  “Daddy missed you and mommy so much.” He whispered, a hand reaching out, almost close enough to caress her soft cheek but it hesitated before he could touch her. His rough, grease covered finger was a stark contrast to her clean, smooth skin. Clearly, you’d given her a bath before he got home because her mouth and cheeks were usually covered in the food you were starting to offer her (sometimes baby food, but mostly bits of your food because she wouldn’t accept any offerings of mushed up veggies and fruits if there was something else on your plate, hence why your diet had been pretty bland and not at all a result of the tight budget your maternity leave left you on).

The rest of his hands were no better, palms stained, streaks all over his arms as a result of shucking the top half of the monkey suit and rolling up his sleeves at the garage. 

  There were even a few streaks of grease and maybe oil on his face and neck. Your husband smelled more so of tires than he had the spicy cologne that surrounded you when he’d kissed you goodbye in bed this morning. 

  And he knew it.

  Penny didn’t let that stop her, still eagerly reaching out for him as she grunted to try and provoke him in swooping her up into his embrace.

  “As soon as daddy’s clean, okay? I’ll pick you up and my sweet girl can give me all the cuddles she wants.” He promised, hands on his knees before he stood back up, leaning over her to give you a sweaty, greasy oh so sweet and firm press of the lips kiss before he swiveled around and disappeared into the small bathroom as quickly as he could to be out of hearing range when Penny began whimpering at his absence. 

  You heard the shower start running at the exact moment she began to cry and you offered a sympathetic whine of your own as you adjusted your grip on her, bringing Penny up to your chest, your cheek smushed against her more plump one.

  “Shhh…it’s okay, my love. Daddy’s just showering. He’ll be back.” You stood up, hitching Penny on your hip as you walked to the entrance of the small hallway so the bathroom door was visible to her. Eddie’s humming floated out from underneath the crack of it. 

  Penny was Eddie’s daughter, alright, full of dramatics as her breathing remained heavy, chest rising and falling quickly with the hitches in her breath as a chunky fist gripped onto your blouse, lower lip curling out and wobbling. She didn’t seem satisfied with your explanation but that didn’t worry you. If Penny was awake when Eddie left for work in the morning, she’d start bawling. 

  The first couple of times she’d started reacting to his departure, he’d ended up full of guilt and late to work. It still wasn’t easy for him, even after you’d finally convinced him she’d have the same reaction whether he left in the morning, afternoon, or evening. Regardless of the time, she was going to be upset that she wouldn’t be able to see her daddy, probably convinced in her little baby mind that he’d abandoned her (he’d nearly quit the shop when you’d phrased it like that) but he’d always come home to her—and you—and that’s what mattered.

  You were positive she’d start yelling and shrieking when it came time for you to go back to work, too. She was just a baby, so she was being a baby.

  You carried your huffing and puffing daughter back to the living room, placing her down on the carpet in front of some toys she had been playing with earlier in the day. Maybe they’d distract her.

  Wrong.

  She sat on the carpet, chunky legs strewn out for just a few seconds before she was moving forward onto her belly and propping herself up. Then she was off, crawling as fast as she could towards the hallway while breathing heavily with exhilaration. You trailed after her, amused at how stubborn she was when she stopped directly in front of the bathroom door, propping herself up on her bottom.

  You watched Penny reach out with shaky palms, pressing them gently against the door. It looked like they were feeling around it before she began slapping them against it as hard as she could as she yelled her baby babble, no doubt demanding her daddy open the door, pick her up and love her right now.

  Giggles were muffled into your palm, as she kept up with it. 

  Eventually, maybe when she realized that wasn’t working, Penny leaned over, wiggling around until she was on her tummy and the side of her head was resting on the carpet. You realized she was trying to look under the door for him and your heart clenched, hand flying over your chest as if you could grasp the organ.

  You expected her to sit back up and go back to smacking the door but she remained there, a stubby finger absentmindedly trailing through the carpet as she stared through the thin crack, warm bathroom light and Eddie’s voice flooding out from underneath to comfort her as she waited.

  Picking her up had crossed your mind, and so did the idea of how loudly she’d probably start screaming and crying if you did. 

  The two of you didn’t have to wait for long, the shower shut off and you could hear the sounds of the shower curtain rings scraping against the rod as Eddie pulled them back. 

  Panic briefly filled your chest as you realized Eddie probably wasn’t expecting his baby to be lying on the floor directly outside of the bathroom—he’d step on her, so you called out, “Heads up, Eddie, you’ve got a visitor.”

  You didn’t hear a response, but a few moments later, the door opened to reveal your husband. Water droplets slipped down his neck and chest. He had one towel—that had definitely seen better days—wrapped around his waist and another (yours) he was using to scrunch up his sopping wet curls to dry them.

  Eddie had heard you, shooting you a smirk before he addressed the baby beaming up at him, “Shower’s free if you wanna hop in, stinky.”

  Penny had no idea what he was saying, it didn’t matter anyways because he said it in the same voice he used when he gave her kisses and held her to his chest so she was reaching up for him and he finally reached down—with clean hands—grasping her sides before she was hoisted into his arms. Penny wasted no time, mouth parting wide to mouth aggressively at his face and chin while she shook her head and wiggled about.

  She was giving him kisses.

  Or trying to eat him, she had little bursts of energy where she’d do that—attack you out of nowhere while you held her causing the both of you to break out laughing.

  Eddie let her get it all out, and when she cooed, resting her cheek on his shoulder, he retaliated. Her cheeks and little neck rolls were smattered in his smacking kisses as she squealed and shrieked and wiggled but there was no escaping her daddy’s clutches now that she was finally in them. 

  When every inch of her available to him had been kissed, he turned towards you and you suddenly found yourself victim to two sets of identical crinkly brown eyes. A deep chuckle rumbled from Eddie as he padded over to where you stood, mischievous smirk making another appearance.

  “Mommy’s turn.”

#Eddie Munson x reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #girl dad!eddie munson #pennyverse #dilf!eddie munson #dilf!eddie munson x reader #dad!Eddie Munson x mom!reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #Eddie Munson x black!reader #Eddie Munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things vol 2 #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #queenimmadolla #mechanic!eddie munson

[call-me-strega]

Dc x DP Prompt #8: Best Friend’s Brother

Preface: this prompt can be used with different characters but I’m writing it as Dead on Main bc that’s my favorite. Also the colleges I mention are real colleges from the DCU

~~~

Danny Fenton was 18 when he moved to Gotham for college.

It was the only place with a half decent engineering program that would take a kid with his record; drop in grades, unexplained absences, missing class, a disciplinary record, etc. Plus there was a decent saturation of both magic and ectoplasm in Gotham’s air. After he got accepted he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. They reacted surprisingly well all things considered. They were horrified to learn they’d been hunting their son but it quickly turned into acceptance to listen to what he had to tell them. Now they turned their obsession from hunting ghosts to learning more about ghost more humanely. He also managed to get his former rouges to agree to call off any major shenanigans in favor of less destructive outlets. (He got Ember a TikTok and a YouTube channel, he set up a drag racing circuit in the realms for Johnny and Kitty, let Technus enter the internet as long as he stayed within Amity’s grid or help Ember manage her stuff, allowed Desiree grant wishes for Make a Wish Foundation kids so long as she didn’t horribly twist them, etc.)

Now with the town not at constant risk of danger and his parents agreeing to really handle any rouge ghosts, Danny could leave Amity with a clear conscience. His friends were also growing up and heading to their own colleges. Tucker was heading to Ivy University in New England, which rivaled MIT in terms technological prestige, and Sam decided on Vandermeer University in Pittsburg, which had a reputation for being a very liberal, anti-authority campus. Although their trio would be spread out, Danny found comfort in the fact that they’d all moved from the Midwest to the Northeast.

With promises to stay in touch a visit. Danny got set up in GCU’s dorms, ready to move into the next chapter of his life.

~

Danny Fenton was 20 when Tim Drake (age 19 but nearing 20) officially became one of his best friends.

They had been introduced to each other by their mutual friend Sebastian Ives for a new Warlocks and Warriors campaign. Their friendship extended beyond WnW when they ended up on the same Applied Physics and Mechanics class. It was cemented when they got pair up for a project in class and had to spend lots of time around each other.

Danny didn’t mind that Tim tended to be a bit flaky and Tim didn’t mind that Danny was possibly not 100% human. They didn’t ask each other too many questions about that stuff. They knew the other had something odd about him and that was fine with them. It was nice to have a causal friend they could be normal with, without being questioned about their more peculiar behaviors.

They officially became best friends when the built a Rube Goldberg machine with a working trebuchet within an hour of the three they had to complete it for their Applied Phys-Mech final. Danny introduced Tim to Sam, Tucker and Jazz. Tim introduced him to Steph, Tam, and Cass. They texted and hung out fairly often. They truly did consider each other one their best friends.

~

Danny Fenton is 22 when he meets Tim’s family.

Tim’s 21st birthday is coming up and he has plans with his family the day of and is going out with his friends, including a couple from out of town, that night. They want to take him out for his first drink and it’s fortunate timing since it’s the weekend so nobody has to worry about classes. Everyone who was going was already informed that Tim would be spending most of the day with his family before Steph and Cass would bring to the club everyone was meeting up at. Which is why it’s purely a coincidence when he runs into them at BatBurger during the lunch rush.

Danny had just picked up the part-time job to earn a little extra cash to pay for his hobbies. Tim new about it but didn’t know the exact location he worked. That’s why they were both presently surprised when they heard each others voices in the drive through. When they pulled up to window Danny saw his friend leaning over a tired looking black-haired man, trying to stick his head out of the drivers window to give Danny a maniacal grin.

He quickly introduced the other passengers of the car as his dad, Bruce, and three of his brothers Dick, Jason, and Duke. He mentioned he had a fourth brother, Damian, who was still at home. Danny couldn’t really see everyone all that well on account of they were inside a car but he happily greeted them as well. They laughed and Danny wished Tim a happy birthday saying he’d see him at his celebration later tonight before handing them their food. He could the rowdy boys ribbing their brother as the car drove away and Danny resumed his work.

That incident seemed to have opened a gate because now Tim felt more comfortable inviting him over when his brothers were still around the house. He occasionally talked about his family more and Danny returned the favor letting snippets of his own family spill a little more. Occasionally, he’d see Tim’s family outside of his interactions with Tim.

He’d run into Damian, and sometimes Bruce or Dick was with him, at the museum or in the park while the younger had been walking his dog and stopped to say hi a couple of times. He chatted with Dick a couple of times when they were both in line to get coffee at a cafe. He saw Duke on a college tour once and waved at him.

The family member he probably saw the most other that Tim (and by extension Cass) was actually Jason. He’d ended up ditching BatBurger to get some more practical experience at an apprenticeship at the auto shop Jason went to to get his motorcycle serviced. The two of them got along pretty well and would often make conversation when Jason was waiting on his bike to be ready or to get his bill.

At first is was small talk about little things like how he and Tim were doing in class or how their days were going but they soon grew to have genuine interests in each other. Jason let Danny talk about space and mechanics and even gave his own thoughts sometimes, once helping Danny realize he was over complicating the circuit board of the device he was building. In return Danny let Jason ramble to him about literature, even taking the initiative to read a book Jason mentioned so he could talk to him about it better. Their conversation tended to be on the briefer side but were always enjoyable to both parties.

Danny actually liked being around Jason a lot but didn’t really bring that fact up a lot around Tim as it didn’t seem necessary. Tim was pretty glad that Danny got along with his family but he preferred to keep them in separate places in his mind. Danny knew and respected that, only really mentioning that he’d seen them recently and that they’d told him to say hi on their behalf (or die in Damian’s case occasionally).

~

Tim Drake was 22 when he came to a horrific realization.

Well, perhaps horrific was a bit of an exaggeration. Tim wasn’t necessarily horrified by the revelation. In all honesty he didn’t know how to feel. He felt an odd mixture of protectiveness, possessiveness, confusion, and optimism(?).

You see, Tim and Danny had been hanging out in the campus center, studying and goofing off when he got a text from Jason saying he was coming to pick him up for family dinner at the manor since he was closest and Dick was busy picking up Duke and Damian from their after school clubs.

“What’s up?” Danny asked him curiously.

Tim set his phone on the table and started putting his stuff away. “My brother is coming to pick me up for family dinner so I gotta head out soon.”

“Ah well I should probably get going too. Tell Dick I said hi.”

“Actually, it’s Jason. Dick is picking up Duke and Damian,” he said shoving his textbook into his bag.

“Oh? That’s nice of him. Hey do you wanna just head out together?” Danny asked, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

Tim noticed a slight strain in Danny’s voice at the mention of Jason but didn’t comment. He just nodded his head sure and walked outside with Danny. They got out to the street when Tim realized he’d left his phone in the library. He faced palmed and asked Danny if he could hold his stuff so it wouldn’t slow him down as he ran back to the campus center to get his phone. Danny agreed to and hold his stuff and wait for Jason while Tim went back.

After getting his phone Tim started heading back to where he left Danny when he saw that Jason had arrived that Jason had arrived and was talking to Danny. He was about to call out to them when he noticed several things in quick succession. Danny was fidgeting with his hoodie, something he tended to do when nervous. The tips of Danny’s ears were a light shade of pink (it isn’t cold out yet?). Danny looked deeply absorbed in his conversation with Jason in a way that reminded Tim of how he talked about space. And Jason seemed just as absorbed in the conversation as well.

The gears in Tim’s head went into overdrive and he realized ‘Ah- Danny has a crush on Jason’. His eyes widened as his head whipped around to examine Jason again. He saw a look of genuine fondness in his eyes. Thus Tim was confronted with the aforementioned horrific realization and complicated feelings. Tim didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both.

‘My dumbass best friend has a crush on my brother. And worse(?), my idiot brother returns those feelings.’

#dc x dp #long post #dead on main #danny fenton #tim drake #jason todd #jason todd x danny fenton #danny and tim are bffs #Danny has a crush on his best friends older brother #he hasn’t realized this quite yet #Tim isn’t sure how to feel about this #Jason probably likes Danny too but also doesn’t realize it #Tim is the only one who is aware and suffering #he has to make a choice: #wingman his idiot friend and idiot brother #or hoard his friend to himself #Strega’s dc x dp prompt 8

[maryangelex]

Let Them Know Who You Belong To

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f! Reader

Summary: You and Ghost had been having a secret situationship for a couple of months now. Lately, though, he had grown possessive over you, getting jealous at any interaction you had with the other soldiers in the base. And it was time he taught you a lesson about who you belonged to.

Warning: nsfw, jealous! simon riley, possessive! simon riley, unprotected sex, p in v sex, shower sex, established relationship, praise kink, dom! simon riley, bratty! reader, claiming, rough sex, smut with little plot, degradation kink, manhandling, not proofread

A/N: so that price fanfic did pretty damn well ;) and I thought I’d try my hand again at writing a smutty fic for simon cus I’m down bad for him. Promise this one will be shorter… hopefully… enjoy!!!

For the last couple of months, you and Ghost had been exclusively fucking each other. Ever since you gathered the courage to fess up your little crush and horny fantasies to him, he’d been kindly fucking your brains out every time you asked (sometimes you didn’t even have to).

But of course, a man like Ghost wouldn’t settle down for anyone, certainly not you; he wasn’t your boyfriend, he was just someone that thoroughly enjoyed using you like his personal whore. The two of you had set that boundary very early on and it had been working out since for both.

Which is precisely why Ghost was conflicted about his current feelings as he watched you swoon with one of the men in the base. He watched you from a safe distance, watched as you were cornered against the wall by some guy way below your league, he thought. You were too fine a woman to stand there listening to some average guy’s rambling. Still he watched you giggle at whatever he was saying, batting your eyelashes at him, nudging his arm when he made you laugh.

As he watched you his stomach recoiled, his gloved fist clenched and jaw gritted under his mask. What the fuck could this daft bastard be saying that’s making you laugh so hard?

You caught a glimpse of Ghost in the opposite end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with his eyes burning a hole through you. You looked at him through your peripheral vision, shooting him a devilish smirk because you knew it was getting under his skin that you were entertaining another bloke. Truth be told, you weren’t even listening to what this guy was saying; a lot of words and a whole lot of nothing. Regardless, you made a performance for him, laughing and touching the man’s muscled arm as if he was the most riveting man you had come across, all because you loved seeing Ghost’s panties get in a twist. You loved it when he became possessive of you, when he’d get all worked up and reminded you that you were exclusively, his despite there being nothing between the two of you except amazing sex.

He pushed himself off the wall, mumbling curses to himself as he turned away and left. He knew your smirk was directed at him, knew you were riling him up on purpose because he fucked you so good when you made him angry. What a slut you were.

Later that day, you waited for everyone else to hit the showers before you did. You liked having the whole communal space to yourself, so you were always last to take your time and enjoy the privacy. You hadn’t seen Ghost the whole day after that little performance. He must be sulking somewhere and waiting for you to come to him. But you decided you’d let it simmer, leave it for the next day.

You turned on the shower, letting it warm up as you stripped naked and stepped in once it was at a comfortable temperature. You saturated your body and hair, closing your eyes as the water ran down your head and face, enjoying the sensation of it, your tense muscles relaxing. You were blissfully unaware of your surroundings, unwinding from a long day of bullshit from your superiors.

Ghost had spent the whole day scheming about how he’d get back at you for your little antics. He knew your nightly routine of being the very last one to shower. So, he waited for you to enter the shower and he followed close behind you. He snuck inside the shower room, stealthily creeping in without you having a clue. As he faced the shower curtain, he stepped out of his boots, stripping silently and creeping on you covering your naked body in soap suds.

You were facing the shower, eyes still closed, running your soapy washcloth along your body mindlessly. Suddenly, you heard the sound of the shower curtain being ripped open, the sound of metal rings clanking on the bar and rustled plastic. You jumped, shooting your eyes open and looking behind you to find Ghost there.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ghost!” You scolded, keeping a whisper to not alert anyone outside the shower room.

He was standing there naked with the exception of his mask still on but rolled up to his nose. His eyes matched the scowl plastered on his lips; he was proper pissed.

“What, did you think I’d let you get away with that little show you put on for me today?” He growled, stepping into the shower with you.

“Wha— Simon, you’re not supposed to be here!” You ignored his question, genuinely concerned about his intrusion and the possibility of someone coming in. You knew he’d show up to put you in your place but didn’t anticipate it to be at a place like this.

“I asked you a question,” he insisted, grabbing your waist and turning you around to face him. He held your body close to his with a hand wrapped around your waist; you could feel his cock pressed stiff against your abdomen.

You gulped, looking up into his deep brown eyes; they were dark with anger and lust, couldn’t tell which it was more of. You looked at him like a deer in headlights.

“Answer me,” he said through gritted teeth, his grip on your waist tightening. His other hand flew to grasp your jaw, holding it tightly not letting you even try to look away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, looking at him with a smug expression, a twinge of a smirk curling at the corners of your mouth. He murmured a curse as his grip on your jaw slid down to your neck, holding it firmly.

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart. You know what you did wrong today… and you know the consequences of fuckin’ with me”

In a swift movement, he spun you around, making you face the wall again. You caught yourself from falling by holding your arms out against the wall. You felt one of his hands on your abdomen, keeping you pressed against his body, ass flush with his cock. The other hand entwined in the crown of your head, grasping and pulling your wet hair.

The way he held you drew a whimper from your lips. Your head fell back as he pulled your hair, and you felt his lips against your ear, his hot breath on your skin.

“You enjoy me punishing you, huh, you little slut?” He whispered, his words like poison seething out of his lips.

You responded with just another whimper. “Y-yes” was all you could muster.

“Yes, what? Address your superiors, soldier”

“Yes, sir”

You heard a pleased sound rumble in his throat, then felt his breath on your neck followed by the sensation of his teeth nipping at the tender skin on your neck, making you yelp.

“S-Simon…” You pleaded.

The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair migrated behind you, his palm colliding loudly against your ass, making you jump and whimper at the burning sensation of Ghost’s large hand smacking your asscheek red.

“That’s ‘sir’ to you, sweetheart,” he said, his hand on your ass squeezing and soothing the sensitive flesh.

“ ‘m gonna teach you how to behave, how to be a good girl for me…and everyone in this base is gonna hear it, understood?”

Your face turned bright red and hot. You nodded as best as you could with Ghost’s unrelenting grip on your hair still. “That’s my good slut,” he whispered.

Ghost released your hair, both of his hands sliding to the front of your torso. The two calloused hands moved to squeeze your breasts possessively. His mouth was on the crook of your neck, giving the skin a primal bite, then soothing it with a few tender kisses. You moaned at the sensation.

His fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching them and pulling them up, both simultaneously in synchronicity. He alternated between doing so and massaging the soft sacks. You turned to face him, to try and manage to kiss him. But he pulled away, the clasps on your nipples stilling as he tugged them in a punishing manner. You winced in pleasure.

“Uh-uh, you don’t deserve that,” he mocked you.

Ghost moved his hands up to your shoulders, pushing your torso forward. If it hadn’t been for your hands on the wall you would’ve face planted the tile in front of you with the force of his movements. Now your back was arched, torso leaned forward, and ass presented for him.

He caressed his hands down your back, the gesture felt condescending given how he was treating you. They stopped at your ass cheeks, squeezing them once more. Then, you felt the sting of his hand striking the right one, then the left one. He did that a couple more times, alternating between the two cheeks. You moaned and winced at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“S-sir, please,” you began.

“Please, what? Use your words.

“Just fuck me already, please!”

“Fuck you? I said I’d punish you, love. Good girls get fucked; dirty sluts like you get punished”

As he squeezed your ass he spread both of your cheeks, revealing your slick cunt to him.

“Look at you, your pussy’s glistening f’me. You like me treatin’ you like this, huh?” He chuckled maliciously. You felt two of his thick fingers run up and down the folds of your cunt; you moaned in response.

Ghost slid the two digits inside of you at a painfully slow pace. “Fuckkk, you swallowed them whole, sweetheart, this pussy’s so desperate to be fucked. Too bad ‘m gonna take my sweet time torturing you”

You let out a moan at the intrusion inside of you, then at the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out oh so slowly. It was driving you crazy, you just wanted him to ram them into you quick and replace them with his cock already.

“Please, sir, I’ll be good I promise, please just move faster” you sobbed.

“I don’t take orders from you, love” his fingers curled inside your walls, making you jolt at the tight feeling. His other hand kneaded at your ass while he stroked his fingers in an out of you, pace not picking up, and curling them up deep inside of you.

His cock was throbbing at the sight of his fingers entering and exiting you, at how good you looked begging for him to fuck you with your cheeks spread for him like this.

He pumped his fingers in and out, pulling moans out of you. You kept yourself still trying not to push your ass back to fuck yourself on his fingers. You tried your best to be a good girl for him like he ordered; you were just so obedient.

“See? You can be such a good girl for me. Good job princess,” he praised you, “you earned yourself this…”

Ghost reached his other hand around you, settling it between your legs at the front of your pussy, using his index and middle finger to circle your swollen clit. Now he was picking up the pace of the fingers fucking you as well as the two rubbing your sensitive bud. You basked in the feeling, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let out a breathless moan.

Your legs spread apart to allow him more access to toy your pussy. Your eyes closed as you relished the way he rewarded you.

“Th-thank you, sir” you moaned.

Ghost chuckled “You like that, baby? You like me rewarding you? See how good I can make my girl feel?”

His girl, you thought. You were his girl, you belonged to him. He knew the right ways to touch you, knew his way around your body; how to please you, how to torture you. You bit your lip at the thought and responded with a hum.

He fucked you with his fingers and played with your clit some more, feeling your walls clench around him, indicating that you were close to cumming.

You were a mess of moans and whimpers at this point, mouth agape, letting them fall out of it. Your eyes in the back of your skull and your head thrown back, back arched to the limit. You felt his fingers twist and curl into your pussy, drilling into you, his speed had picked up significantly; that mixed with the pressure on your throbbing clit sent you over the edge.

And soon enough, you were releasing choked out moans, pussy spasming around his fingers as you were getting ready to cum. A wave of pleasure was surging in you and you were eager to let it wash over you.

But Ghost had other plans, so he took his hands away from you, now gripping your hips. You practically sobbed.

“N-no, no, no, Simon— sir, please! Please, please, let me cum I’m so close, please!” You were crying at this point, looking back at Ghost with pleading eyes. You met his face that wore an evil smirk, his eyes dark with malice.

“That’s a good fucking girl. You’re so pretty when you beg for me to let you cum.” He chuckled, his hands massaging your hips, holding them tightly.

“You’re not gonna cum until I do, lovie” he said, aligning the painfully swollen head of his cock with your desperate cunt. He relentlessly slammed his cock inside of you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure. He was so rough but you were yearning to be filled by his massive member. He let out a primal groan when he felt your warm walls clasp his dick inside of you.

“ ‘m gonna fuck you senseless now, alright? That fucker you were giggling with would never fuck you this good, would he, princess?”

“No! Never, never like you, sir! No one’s as good as you!” You moaned, your walls clenched around his motionless cock to give yourself some relief. Then, you felt Ghost slowly pull out entirely, before ramming his dick back inside of you, making you cry out.

He pounded into you, slowly but firmly and deep. His grip on your hips was bruising as he slammed himself inside of you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin was louder than the sound of the water hitting the tiles. You moaned consumed by euphoria.

Ghost held your hip with one hand while the other slithered to the back of your neck, holding it to make himself slam into you impossibly deeper and harsher. Your tender ass cheeks were growing redder from his skin slapping against them. His pace was quick and rough, groans and curses falling from his lips.

“You’re fuckin’ mine, ya hear me? My girl, my pussy to fuck. This cunt belongs to me…only for my cock”

You responded with a string of moans and yeses, too cockdrunk and out of it to say any proper responses. Your climax was creeping up on you once again; the wave rising.

Then, you felt Ghost maneuver your body, twisting your torso slightly to the side, and lifting one of your legs by your thigh. You were now almost on your side, the leg in his grasp opening your cunt better for him, and you were standing on your other leg with some leverage from your arm on the wall. If it wasn’t for Ghost holding most of your bodyweight, you would’ve toppled over.

This new angle made him penetrate you deeper, opening yourself up for him. And now you could see behind you, him standing there thrusting deeply into you, huffing like an animal as he fucked you silly.

He was a sight to behold; muscles coated in water and sweat, glistening with droplets of water running down his body, his lips parted and juicy, practically drooling for you, and his eyes devoured you.

“There’s my girl, that face is so fuckin’ pretty,” he said as he thrust into you quickly and deeply

“Love how deep I am in your pussy…gonna make me cum soon… ‘m gonna cum in your pussy so you know it’s mine.”

“Gh-Ghost, ahh, I wanna cum, please” you moaned, tears running down your face.

“Cum for me, baby, you have permission. Say my fucking name, make sure everyone hears you.” He said breathlessly, possessively, with a hint of sweetness. “Make sure everyone knows who fucks you this good, who you belong to.”

And that you did. You moaned “Simon” loudly, practically screaming his name. You repeated it over and over like a chant as you came undone on his cock. You clenched around him, legs shaking as you came and sobbed out his name. Your body went limp as Ghost held you, fucking you and using you to attain his own climax.

His hips shook, thrusts faltering as he released hot, sticky ropes of cum that pooled within you. You moaned in unison as you felt him flood your pussy. He cursed under his breath, his thighs shaking as he came down from his high.

He held your tired body and accommodated you, helping you stand. You both panted in the shower. Cum was dripping down your leg and Ghost helped your rinse it away since you were too drained to even move. You were trying to catch your breath, legs wobbly and your pussy abused.

He loved the sight of you all fucked out like this. And you loved how he took care of you after fucking you like this. You turned to face him, using his shoulders to support yourself, and looked into his eyes; a tired smile on your lips.

“Do I deserve a kiss now?” You said innocently.

Ghost scoffed, unable to help how the corners of his lips curled. He cupped your face with one hand and leaned in to kiss you. He was hungry for it, definitely wanting to kiss you this whole time but holding back to drive his point home. You kissed him with as much pleasure and desire, humming into his mouth.

“You’re fuckin’ mine, ya hear me? Don’t wanna see you do that again” He scolded you in a whisper against your lips.

You let out an impish giggle, “I just love riling you up. But I’m all yours, Si.”

A/N: I’m sorry!!! It’s long as fuck again!!! But I tried!!! Anyways >:( hope you loved it you rascals <3

#call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #ghost riley #simon ghost riley #fanfic #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost riley smut #smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost Riley x female reader #simon riley x female reader

[toji-girl]

pick up | s. gojo

wc: 1.3k

tags: 18+ only - mdni + plug! fem reader + explicit smut + weed + frat boy! gojo + modern au + shot gunning + dubcon + car sex + fingering + pussy eating + handjob + teasing + creampie + nipple play + maybe a part two or something like a series I had fun writing this + reader is a little bitchy + thanks to everyone who voted 🫶🏻

Incoming Message: Satoru G.

1:18 a.m: can u get me a bag and a j? iou (´♡ヮ♡`)

As soon as it came in you turned your TV off then pulled on a robe covering your silk pajamas and stuffed your feet in your slippers grabbing everything needed before making your way to your car.

"Are you kidding me?" You mumbled looking at the text message from Satoru that sat as read while you waited for a response growing irritated that he was making you sit there in the parking lot for him.

It was nearing two now.

Your manicured nails tapped along your phone screen changing the song and rolling your eyes when there was still no text, you put it down sure it wasn't going to go off soon, and began to roll his joint.

Two pink ones because Satoru was always sure to eat your pussy for good measure and as much as you hated to admit he was the best to ever go down on you so you always threw in a freebie, for the sex too.

The third one was your own that you lit sucking in the smoke and letting it saturate your lungs for a moment before exhaling it in a white puff leaning the car seat back and humming to the song softly.

After it ended your phone lit up with a phone call.

You looked at it annoyed that it was an hour after he sent that, waiting until the last minute you hit the green button and clicked the speaker button. "You're an hour late. I hate that Gojo." You huffed.

In the background you could hear a loud party, and given that it was a Saturday it made sense for him to be late. "I know, I'm on my way now. Wait for me sweet girl." He purred, the music and people fading.

"I told you not to call me that, just hurry up because not all of us are partying away our education." You snapped and hung up hating the way the pet name made your belly break out in flutters of butterflies.

Fifteen minutes later Satoru's sleek car pulled up next to yours and a moment later he was sitting next to you, the smell of his cologne mixing in with the weed made your mouth water. "You waited for me."

The joint you rolled was halfway gone already and instead of answering him you gave it to him and changed the song. "Because you owe me, remember?" You replied with a shrug of your shoulders.

Satoru smiled smugly and reclined his seat tucking one hand behind his head, his white hair looked soft under the glow of the moon that shone down from your sunroof as your eyes followed the hair that peeked from his shirt that hiked up when he shifted taking a hit.

"I do. You're so good to me." He teased catching your look as he sat up to lean in sliding his hand to the back of your neck and leaning in to kiss you blowing the smoke in your mouth, his tongue dancing along with yours while his free hand untied the front of your robe.

Your hands buried into his hair tugging him closer with a soft moan before you pulled away to take the joint from him. "Before you drop it, and you are something else." You shot back ashing the rest of it.

He watched you and let his hands trail down the front of your chest until his long slender fingers reached the buttons of your shirt. "Is that why you answered my text at one in the morning?" He hummed.

Silence blanketed the cabin of your car as you watched him until your pj top hung open baring your breasts to him. "It was the heart eyes that did it for me but also the money is something I enjoy too." You replied trying to pretend that he didn't have a strong hold over you.

Satoru laughed softly.

"Don't pretend like you knew it wasn't going to end like this." He purred leaning in and brushing his lips against the column of your neck igniting the nerves that sparked like tiny fireworks.

While his mouth descended down your chest you let your hands reach over to rub his bulge over the soft fabric of his sweats before sliding under the band of his boxers feeling the soft pubic hair.

He wrapped his lips around your nipple suckling with precision making your back bow pushing more of your breast into his mouth that he cupped, his other hand tweaked your free nipple gently.

The weed had your body feeling pliant like clay that Satoru easily molded to his own liking. "I like you when you're bitchy but I also like you docile for me, so easy to mold however I want." He husked.

His voice was dark when he pulled away from your nipple, a string of salvia bridging from the bud to his swollen lips, blue eyes stared back at you with low lids, just like you, he felt hazy and high as hell.

Slowly his fingertips trailed under the band of your pj shorts, white eyebrows shot up when he felt no panties stopping him from rubbing your pussy spreading your slick that was warm and very sticky.

Your jaw went slack when he pressed his finger into your clit before tracing the soft opening of your pussy barely pushing in all the while your hand wrapped around the shaft of his dick jerking him off.

The both of you used your free hand to roam across each other's bodies while your mouth met in another heated kiss, his tongue stroked against yours before he began sucking softly with a moan.

Pre-slick pooled at the tip of his dick adding a little bit of lubrication to the action, the shlick-shlick sound roared in his ear as he added another finger inside you curling and rubbing just the right spot.

It didn't take long for the both of you to move to the backseat with you straddling Satoru, his sweats and boxers pushed down mid-thigh as you rubbed the head between your pussylips teasingly watching him with a smirk. His head rested against the seat staring back.

"You're so pretty." He whispered cupping your cheek before tracing your lips with his thumb letting it slip between them and watching you suck it as you sunk down on him slowly until he bottomed out.

Pretty crystal blue eyes rolled to the back of his head feeling your pussy choke him in a velvet heat that dripped down his shaft and sack making a mess on the leather as you sat still huffing softly.

His hands rested on your hips helping you ride him before moving to your tits, rolling your pert nipples between long fingers as you pressed your palms to the ceiling of the car fucking yourself on him.

Satoru moaned so prettily, soft pants and grunts as you bounced up and down feeling the band in your belly fray until it snapped, your climax coming a lot sooner than usual as you sat down all the way.

He looked down to where you two met thankful you slipped your shorts and panties came off when you moved letting him get a good view of him buried deep inside your gaping cunt that clenched around him tightly making him gasp as you started to move again.

There were no words able to be spoken as you rode out your high drowning Satoru in it as he came in hot thick spurts filling you and creating a sticky mess that almost frothed between your bouncing.

When you finally slowed down you nuzzled your sweaty face into his neck kissing it softly while he massaged your back keeping you close to him riding out both of his highs while kissing you softly.

#tw: weed #tw: dubcon #my pussy wrote this entire thing btw #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru smut #Satoru Gojo smut #jjk x reader smut w #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #Satoru smut #Gojo smut #gojo x you smut #Satoru x you smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #Satoru Gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

 “Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic

[msgexymunson]

thinkin' bout having to punish sub!eddie for cumming without permission. 😊

Ooh right I'm down with this! 

Warnings: MDNI, p in v unprotected sex, sub Eddie x dom reader, overstimulation 

A/N: this, this right here, this is my jam! I don't write sub Eddie a lot, so enjoy my beauties! 

Masterlist 

The slapping of wet skin saturates the space, the air itself humid and sweaty. You bounce on Eddie's cock, over and over and over, tight cunt perpetually sucking him in deeper if that were at all possible. 

Eddie's chest heaved, eyes seeming to widen on every bounce until he resembled some kind of bush baby, irises blown with lust. 

You could feel him twitching inside of you, the drag of your moistened walls answering him with spasms of their own. Soft whines and yelps are nearly held back by him, chapped bottom lip starting to bleed from his incessant biting.  

You flex your fingers stiffly around his throat, a threat of a grasp, capable of so much more. 

"I know you're close. Don't you dare." You glare at him as his face turns scarlet, Nodding under your villainous grip. 

"I, I w-won't, I swear, oh please" He practically drools, tongue beginning to lull from his mouth in an apparent display of submission. 

"I'm so close, pretty boy, you gonna be good for me?" You change your movements almost sluggishly, opting to grind down, slow and steady, pussy never leaving his slick covered skin. Your clit grinds harshly against his pubic bone as your eyes reel back in their sockets chasing your slippery release. 

"I- I'm trying, I'm really- oh fuck, I-" the rest is unintelligible as he releases inside you without warning, cum pebble dashing your insides suddenly and to his shame. 

Slowing your movements, you stop and stare down at him. 

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to, you just felt too good, and I-"

"I wasn't finished." 

Eddie's cheeks suffuse with blood, blush reaching halfway down his chest. 

"I know, I'm sorry, I could, I could eat you out-" 

Cutting him off, you speak softly, a hint of danger to the tone. 

"Do you think naughty boys get to go down on me?" Tilting your head with the question, your hardened eyes seek his. He can't meet your gaze, only looks down and away. 

"No." 

"See? So why did you say that?" As you question him, your hips start to move again, running slow and undeviating circles across his already hardening dick. You can feel it beginning to bloom again inside of you.  

Eddie hisses at the overstimulation, rough fingertips gripping your forearms. 

"I just wanted to help, fuck, I'm sorry." 

You watch him as his face scrunches up, too afraid to say anything to annoy you further, abdominal muscles stiffening. You soften slightly, if only for a moment. 

"This still OK, baby?" You ask, fingertips caressing his cheek gingerly. 

"Yeah, yes, please please-" He pants and whines, making you giggle. 

"Good. Because I'm not done." 

Grabbing the headboard with one hand, you hold his throat with the other, forcefully thrusting against him harder and harder. 

Staring directly into his eyes, you moan your release straight in his face, fingers flexing and finally loosening around his throat. He takes a gulp of heaving breath as he gazes up at you like you just hung the moon and stars in the sky for him. 

Smiling with relief, he cups your cheek. 

"I really am sorry baby." 

You bark out a mirthless laugh. 

"Who said I was done?" 

You watch as the colour drains from Eddie's face, whilst your hips begin their antagonising circles again. 

If you want to be on my perpetual Eddie list please give me a shout, it got a bit lost with Rumour!

@munson-blurbs @eddiesprincess86 @munsonology

#munson #eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #sub!eddie munson x reader #sub!eddie munson #sub!eddie #sub!eddie x dom! reader #dom!reader #dom!fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 smut #stranger things smut #eddie fan fic #eddie my baby #eddie fanfic #eddie my beloved #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson oneshot

[radiance1]

Ok, now hear me out here.

Giant plant lady Sam.

Now, if we go with that hc (iirc it is one) where ghosts like Undergrowth, Vortex, Nocturn etc are like gods or something.

Then we could say that Sam died, either by old age, sickness, or injuries either or, and Undergrowth decided to take her soul and turn it into something more.

As such, her soul becomes saturated with the magic of a god, such that she herself, becomes a god, well more of a lesser deity but meh.

Then he drops her off in the DC universe on a rather secluded island, giving her a few pointers to turn this entire island into her place of power and domain. There isn't a set time limit really, however long she needs to take to condense and control her powers is however long she'll take, so long as the entirely of this island becomes her domain.

Which it does, and overtime whatever people that live on the island come to regard her as a goddess and in response, start to worship her as one as well.

Why did Undergrowth drop her into DC on a secluded island? To keep her away from Danny until she properly cemented her power, of course. Can't do that if you get distracted by a figure from your past life.

Sam was just going about her (new) life, making the forest flourish, helping the crops grow in answer to her followers prayer, you know. The normal things a nature deity like herself is supposed to do.

Then one man suddenly dropped himself on her island, and she could practically feel the power coming from him, of many different gods at that, even from in her place in the center of the island.

So of course, she asked her followers to try and bring said man to her, and be careful when doing it.

When one Shazam was spending his time just flying around the world, he expected a lot of things. But one of them was not meeting a giant plant goddess lady on a secluded island.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp

[jobean12-blog]

Tortured Love

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 1,577

Summary: You and Javi have had a complicated relationship and the last time you saw each other you thought it was just that...the last. But now he's back and like always you find him almost impossible to resist...

Author's Note: So @ilovejavierpena posted the photo below and @lizette50 shared it with me and I nearly lost my mind (thank you both bunches). Why? you ask...just look at! The neck, the hair, the hands and thighs and the spread and what's between, well, it did me in so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension and some teasing, you're kind of mad at Javi but he makes it easy to forgive him, softness, p in v, happy ending, use of the pet name angel (just love this one for him)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Don’t turn around.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

You stop with the drink midway to your lips and give your friend a wide-eyed look.

She opens her mouth to tell you why but you whisper, “he’s back,” before she can.

You can feel his presence. His eyes are boring into your skin and with a deep exhale you finish off your drink and set it on the bar before squaring back your shoulders.

“Maybe he’s just here for a drink,” your friend muses with feigned hope.

Javi weaves through the crowd, his attention focused solely on you and his hands already twitching at his sides.

You turn and meet his eyes, watching his lips part with something unheard over the bar chatter as his gaze trails down your body.

Your friend gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and you tear your eyes away from Javi to silently let her know it’s ok.

Silence surrounds you as soon as you and Javi are alone even though the atmosphere of the bar is loud.

He breaks it with a simple yet powerful sentence. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, forcing a smile. “Why are you here Javi?”

He briefly turns his face away, your name passing his lips in a pained whisper.

Someone sweeps by you and nudges you closer to him, your chest so close now that he can feel it brush his with every breath.

His eyes roam over your features and he starts to lift a hand. “I missed you.”

You wet your lips and his eyes track the movement.

“You can’t miss something you don’t want.”

“Angel,” he murmurs. “You know that’s not…”

“Don’t!” you shout and place a hand on his chest.

At the feel of his warm skin under your palm your brain floods with images, sounds and thoughts. All of them saturated with his touch.

“Please,” he begs. “Just let me explain.”

He steps even closer, bridging the smallest gap that was between your bodies and settles his hand on the curve of your hip.

His thumb traces over a slight strip of fabric hidden under your dress and he looks down, sucking in a breath.

“What panties are these?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything!”

“I remember these,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a curse.

When he opens them again they drop to your mouth, soft and kissable. “Let me fix this.”

You lean toward him, unable to stop the way your body craves his. He lowers his head as he slides his free hand up your arm and cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing your upper lip before his fingers tighten and drag you closer.

The bell starts ringing behind the bar and the bartender yells, “LAST CALL!!! PAY UP!”

You startle and tug out of his arms, stepping back as your eyes dart to the door.

He growls out your name and moves back into your space.

“I’m going home,” you tell him and slip from his arms and toward the exit.

He watches you until you reach the door then takes off in pursuit, staying a few steps behind you as he follows you home.

“Why are you following me?” you ask without turning around.

“I have to make sure you get home safely,” he answers.

You don’t reply and keep walking, wanting to run but thinking better of it in your heels.

When you reach the door you unlock it and go inside, not bothering to shut it since you know he’s right there.

“I’ll leave,” he starts even as he shuts the door with a click. “But only if you tell me to.”

You don’t say a word and head toward your bedroom.

He follows.

You cross the room and grab pajamas from the dresser, laying them out on the bed before moving to shut the door.

You draw up short when you find him standing in the doorway, with a forearm propped high on the jam and his expression tortured.

“I need to change.”

He doesn’t move.

Frustration with him, with everything, takes over and you shove him in the chest and try to get him out of the room.

“Tell me to leave,” he says again.

“I want to change.”

He stays put and grinds his jaw.

“Fine Javi. Have it your way. You always do.”

You turn away from him and on your way back to the bed you strip your dress over your head. His shaky hiss of breath makes you smile to yourself and you bend over to grab the hanger from the floor.

“Fuck angel. You’re perfect.”

Every last nerve ending on your skin pops with warmth when you feel him behind you. When you straighten, your bare back lands flush against his heaving chest and you’re suddenly breathless.

You turn, the smooth movement of your hands climbing his chest derailed when you see the tormented expression on his face.

With a quick recovery, you grab hold of the open collar of his shirt and spin him around, urging him down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

His eager brown eyes land everywhere and his hands follow, the muscles of his throat working roughly when he swallows hard with a plea of your name.

“How much did you miss me Javi?” you ask as you slowly straddle his lap and meet the proof.

Your mouth ghosts over his, the hairs of his mustache grazing your soft lips and his hands close around your ass cheeks to draw you closer.

You pull your mouth away, the both of you breathing erratically.

“Did you strip for me just to be a tease?” he asks, his hips shifting beneath you until his generous length is pressed between your legs.

The action makes you whimper loudly and he drags you over him again.

“Whatever game you’re playing with me, stop angel. Just…be mine.”

Your fingers delicately trace his sharp jaw and you sweep the pad of your thumb over his plush lips.

“I’m not yours Javi…you don’t want…”

A possessive light brightens his eyes and he surges forward, catching your mouth in a kiss that silences you.

Your fingers rake through his hair as the kiss grows more desperate and you only break apart briefly to allow him to tug at the buttons on his shirt, sending most of them flying until you can push the fabric off his broad shoulders.

One long finger travels down your stomach and rubs against your dampening panties.

You’re no longer in control and your mind and body are begging for the full sensation of him, the stretch of him inside you…and you fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.

His lips hover just over yours when he breathes out the words.

“I missed you. I…fuck. I missed you. So much angel. Please.”

You draw him out and stroke him up and down, guiding him between your legs.

He grunts and pushes your panties aside, allowing you to position the tip of him inside you before slowly, slowly, taking him deep, both of you watching it happen.

You moan in his lap and buck involuntarily.

“Yes,” you whine. “More.”

He heaves a curse and digs his fingers into your skin making a slow groan deep in his throat.

His body flexes with tension and you rock your hips again.

“Don’t,” he gasps. “I can’t.”  

“You can’t what Javi? Stop?”  

He nods before clenching his eyes shut. “You feel so fucking good. I’ve needed you for so long. I can’t get enough.”

And with the last bit of his control his hips roll back and forth fluidly, filling you slowly.

His open mouth dips to your throat, exhaling heat against your skin and with smooth strokes he pumps into you, holding your ass to bring you up and down. His teeth catch the lobe of your ear and he brings a hand down to slap your ass.

You moan at the rough impact and the press of his body against yours.

“Touch yourself angel.”

He spanks you again. Harder.

“Javi…”

His mouth drops and hovers just above yours, his intense gaze focused and filled with warning.

“Angel…”

With parted lips you drag your shaky hand down from his shoulder and find the sensitive bud, biting your lip as you rub in circles, your eyes involuntarily fluttering closed.

“Look at me while you do it,” he demands.

Your eyes pop open and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, the dark hair hanging down in front wet and sticky.

“You’re all I want. I need you angel.”

His words break you wide open and your walls squeeze him tightly, taking him over the edge with you. With rough and desperate kisses, he grinds out the pleasure, hips pushing and pressing and his teeth dragging across your skin.

He falls flat on his back and takes you with him, your head resting on his shoulder. Calloused fingertips stroke up and down the curve of your spine as your breathing evens out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I was so afraid of losing you…I pushed you away instead.”

You kiss his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere Javi.”

He turns you onto your sides so that you’re facing each other and studies your face with such intensity your next breath catches in your throat.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m never letting you go angel.”

@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lorilane33

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal narcos #javier pena x you #pedro pascal characters

[snapscube]

Remember when people were calling you the "long lost McElroy sister"? Do you see the similarity at all, or do you think it's just because you share a similar creative niche (gaming/streaming/comedy) with the McElroy brothers?

Lol, "when" people were doing it.

I still get it to this day, friend, despite my constant protests.

I used to understand, and it was even expected initially if not personally encouraged! There was definitely a period of time where they were my biggest comedic/creative inspirations, and the truth of the matter is that I am a mannerisms sponge. I mimic people around me, and people that inspire me, and whether or not it's more than the average person I have no clue, but I will go through seasons of daily watching a particular personality or creator I'm fond of and/or inspired by and usually come out the other end having picked up certain tendencies VERY quickly, a large portion of those being speech patterns.

There's definitely a segment of my content around 2017/2018 or so where, yeah, you can very much tell I adopted a McElroy-esque speaking pattern directly (like what felt like 70% of other Tumblr users also did lol) and it was both because of how much of their content I was into at the time AND also because at the time I found their output inspiring as someone who was used to more... Loud Gamer forms of comedy, to put it bluntly. So at first I took the comparisons in stride and saw it as a signal of my own growth as an entertainer, and my ability to be funny in a way that wasn't just Loud = Funny.

But the thing you have to know about me, and my time as even a minor public figure, is that this comparison was not the first of its that was constantly levied at me, and it unfortunately was not the last one in the slightest. Some will remember the days in which I was a reasonably renowned "Bill Cipher" impersonator in the Gravity Falls fandom, and the pattern was very similar at the time. I dealt with people CONSTANTLY telling me that, despite all of my attempts to separate myself from the voice work I did as the character, I always sounded Just Like Bill even when I was just using my casual speaking voice. If this sounds familiar to those of you who have only been around since the dubs popped off, it's likely because I also go through the same thing ever since I became known for Sonic impressions.

And then outside of voice work I've had my style of content continue to be compared to the McElroy's body of work and even beyond to the likes of Jerma and other big-name-of-the-era content creators. And I have to once again stress: I am completely self-aware that it is not entirely unfounded. I mean, the most recent one I got was just the other day when on stream someone told me I had a speech pattern similar to Northernlion. And like, I even admitted right then and there.... yeah! That makes sense! I've had NL compilations going into my ears and brain for hours upon hours on end lately. So I don't mean to only complain and say "this makes no sense" with delusions that it's completely baseless. BUT, I guess if I do have to circle around to a point, it would be that, though I can occasionally understand comparisons, I would hope y'all in turn can understand why it might not be an easy thing for someone like me to hear, especially in the way it never really seems to go away? Even if one like Bill Cipher fades out, the whole "SnapCube is just a female version of [insert larger male peer in the content space]" thing is something that cycles along regardless. And I get it, it's human nature to compare and contrast. I do it too! But as someone who is always trying to stand out in what I do and make my own value as an individual known above the cacophony of content saturation, I do implore people to think twice about the language they use when making otherwise favorable comparisons. Recommending my content by saying something like "if you like Jerma/McElroys/NL/etc., then SnapCube gives off similar vibes" makes of a WORLD of a difference compared to "This stream is just something Jerma would do" or "Penny is just a female Griffin McElroy" (both things I have heard almost verbatim, constantly). They approach the same ideas, but one gives me so much more of a chance to like... start off a first impression as My Own Person and not just a derivative Girl Alternative, if that makes sense.

Whoops I talked about this way too much :) Can you tell I think about this a lot LMAO

Anyway here's the obligatory joke response that's been spread before

[saintsugu]

BAD HABITS. KINKTOBER DAY 2

rating: mature; mdni

pairing: rindou haitani x fem!reader

wc: 6k

content warnings: explicit content, bonten timeline rindou, sort of cnc/dubcon, drugs (pcp + laced weed) + a fairly unrealistic depiction of a high (rindou’s side), mentions of violence/murder, degradation, slight slut shaming, choking, oral (f!receiving), slight usage of a safe word/action.

author’s note: reposted fic !

You let out a deep breath as nicotine saturates your senses. It’s a feeling you’ve been familiar with for a while now. Your body feels lighter and your mind is more at ease. You know that it isn’t true peace, but it’s nice to feel it momentarily—even if it’s fake. 

Everyone has their vice, their own little escape from this wretched life that they lead. Drugs, sex, alcohol, whatever it might be. Whether we recognize it or not, we use it, and we abuse it to help ourselves. 

You haven’t really found yours. You’ve found small things that help you calm down and cope a bit, but you haven't found that special depravity. You’ve smoked several times with Sanzu— even dropped acid with him on occasion— but it never appealed to you as much as it did him. Ran’s invited you to go drinking as well, but you aren’t a heavy drinker like him. No matter what it is, nothing gets you off like it does with the other people here. Maybe it’s because you have a bigger chip on your shoulder— or maybe there’s no reason at all. 

The sound of traffic has always helped calm you, though. You figure that it’s because you grew up around it. Since getting high or drunk doesn’t scratch that itch, over the years you’ve found that the best thing you can do is go up to the roof for a smoke. 

“Thought I’d find you up here.” 

“I came up here for peace and quiet,” you don’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind you. “It’s no longer peaceful or quiet with someone else up here.”

“Funny.” It’s as if you can hear the way he rolls his eyes when he speaks.Rindou knows exactly why you come up here, so he sees straight through your answer easily. “Why’d you really come up here?”

“Sanzu’s high out of his mind and it’s annoying me.” He hums in agreement, but doesn’t say anything; as if he’s waiting for you to continue. “And I’m sick of all this infighting,” you begrudgingly admit. 

Today, nothing went as planned and everyone’s been blaming each other. Takeomi pissed Rindou off during the mission, so naturally, Ran is pissed at Takeomi. Sanzu somehow believes that Kakucho is at fault, and like usual, Kokonoi has done nothing but fuel the fire with his snide remarks. The worst part about it all, is that you don’t even care. You just want everyone to shut the fuck up— or for better lack of words, you just want some goddamn peace and quiet. 

“There it is.” Finally, you turn your head around, solely to shoot him a glare. “Come back inside with me. I’ll get your mind off things. We can fuck around, it’ll be fun.”

“Wow. Way to sugarcoat things, Rin’.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You hear his quiet chuckle decorating the words, and you swear your lips curl up in amusement at the sound. 

“So what, you have new drugs you want to try?” You raise an eyebrow, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. 

“Correct, but you don’t have to try them with me. Just want you to keep me company, in case I, you know, go into cardiac arrest or something.” A small laugh bubbles out of your throat, despite the joke really not being that funny. You worry about Rindou a lot— all of them, truthfully. Your feet feel heavier than usual as you follow him back down the stairwell. 

Rindou is a lot different when the lights go dark and you’re left to yourselves. He’s a lot less guarded. You figure it’s just because he doesn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances, with Bonten or his brother, but either way, it makes you feel good that he trusts you enough to be a little vulnerable around you. 

“So, what is Sanzu on for him to be pissing you off so much?” He muses. 

“Shit ton of acid,” you answer, cringing at the memory of the man talking in his circles. He was rambling on and on, yet you couldn’t even understand his words due to the speed at which they left his mouth. You nodded in your head out of pure confusion for nearly 15 minutes before escaping to the roof. “He was about to snort a line before I left, too.”

“I don’t blame you for leaving.”

Currently, you’re staying at Bonten’s base. Most everyone has their own place, but sometimes they still stay here regardless. Sometimes it’s safer, and for others, it’s just more convenient. For you, it’s the latter. 

The only current people occupying the building right now are you, Sanzu, and Rindou. Haruchiyo’s access to drugs is more limited when he’s at his own place— due to Mikey’s rules— so he ends up spending more time at the base. And Rindou is only here because his brother’s fling of the week is staying in their shared apartment. You, on the other hand, don’t really have a reason. Just like them, you have your own place and you go back to it sometimes, but it feels so lonely compared to here. 

The elevator stops on the fifth floor, which serves as a lobby and leads to everybody’s rooms. When the doors open, Sanzu is sprawled out on the couch. Little white lines decorate the glass coffee table, as well as a credit card and a few opened pill bottles. Sanzu isn’t going to die from a gun or a blade— you swear  his own addiction is what will kill him in the end; you pray that you won’t be around to see it happen.

“What do you have in store for us today?” You ask as you follow him into his room and he closes the door behind you. 

His room is fairly bland. The walls are coated with the same base of gray that decorates yours as well as every other executive. The room’s layout is similar to your own, but with his bed against the middle of the wall, it feels a little less spacious. Small piles of clothes clutter his wooden floor— taking up whatever space isn’t already covered by his rug. It’s not exactly messy, per say, but it’s not spotless, either. 

It’s probably because you were just outside, but you can’t help but notice how incredibly hot it is in Rindou’s room. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen, so you have no qualms about unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting it hang open. Still, you don’t miss the way lavender eyes flit down to the blue fabric for a moment. 

“Let me find it.” His words are mumbled together as he kneels before the nightstand beside his bed. “I hid it in case that little shit out there came looking for it.”

It’s noisy as he knocks around things in the drawer, not trying to even be remotely gentle as he looks for it. It doesn’t take long for him to shut the drawer and stand up with a small baggie of pills in his hand. 

“Ta-da,” he simply says, sliding onto the bed with you. 

You aren’t as knowledgeable as the two bonten executives when it comes to drugs, so you ask, “What is it?” 

“Angel dust.” There’s a small grin on his face as he opens the bag. “Knabbed it off the shipment from last week.”

“Ah,” you nod, watching as he pulls out three of the little white capsules. “You seem excited.”

“Cause I am,” he chuckles. “I’ve been wanting to try this shit for ages. Do you think three is too much?”

You softly nod your head in agreement. “Maybe a bit,” watching as he drops a pill back into the bag and the leftovers into his mouth. 

There’s a soft smile on his face as he turns his gaze to you. “Now we wait.”

For a while, you were against this—the drugs, but you learned to deal with it, even to participate in it. You’re a fugitive, a truth that came a little too harshly for you. You realized that in the end, it really didn’t matter for people like you. You’re able to gamble with your own life as much as you want because you have no idea the next time you’ll come home from the field. So, people like Sanzu and Rindou will find their freedom in little white pills, while you sit back and watch, silently hoping nothing will go wrong. 

A few minutes of silence pass before he speaks up in an alarmed tone. “Oh shit, I got something special for you, too,” he mumbles as he crawls off the bed and returns to his place on the floor. “I almost forgot.”

His search is faster than it was the first time, but as he stands up, you watch him stumble a bit. His hands are quick to grab the edge of his nightstand and you swear that his grip is so tight that he could splinter the wood. 

“Rin, you okay?” You figure the drugs are kicking in, but even so, neither of you know how thiswill affect him. 

“Yeah.” His voice is shaky and you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut; more than likely trying to focus on something other than whatever shit he’s currently seeing. “Just give me a moment.”

You’re sitting up now, eyes trained on him and chest filling with worry. He takes a deep breath and then returns to his spot on the bed. “‘m okay now.”

While he changes the cart in his wax pen, you settle behind him. You let your hand run up the sides of his arms until they reach his neck. He lets out a low and quiet moan as you dig your fingers into the skin. You continue on and when he drops his head, taking it as an opportunity to press a kiss into the side of his neck.

His voice sounds light as he chuckles, “Shit, you’re good at this.” You feel him shiver as you lick a stripe up his neck and he’s quickly turning his head away. “Stop distracting me or I’ll never get this shit done.”

He returns to the work he was doing and you lean your chin on his shoulder, eyes fixed on his hands and the way they move. He swaps out the carts and throws the old one into the trash can a few feet in front of him. “Here, it’s for you.”

“Ooh, lucky me,” you chuckle, taking the device in your hand and lifting it to your lips. 

You take three large inhales and return to your assault on his neck as you wait for them to take effect. 

In contrast to your usual highs, it only takes about five minutes for it to start to settle in your system. The hits wash over you like a tidal wave. Usually, three would barely be anything for you, but this… “Holy shit, this isn’t regular weed, is it?” 

“It's spiced,” he answers, words sounding tired and a bit slurred. 

Intense wouldn’t even be the right word to describe it. You can feel everything and it’s almost nauseating. Even the low-light of Rindou’s ceiling fan is overwhelming your brain. There’s an odd buzzing from outside in the hall, and it’s far too loud for your liking. God, even your clothes make your skin itch. In an attempt to feel better, you lay back down on the bed. As soon as your back hits the matress, he’s there right next to you, greedy hands pulling you closer to him.

You’ve had highs like this before, but never from a pen or weed in general. You’re too aware of everything going on. Rindou’s hands on your body, his warm breath on your skin, the cool draft coming from the vent in the corner of his room—hell, even the clothes you’re wearing. 

You flinch as his tongue makes contact with your skin and it’s no surprise that you’re also more sensitive. You suck in a deep breath, trying to focus on something in the room to calm yourself down. “You didn’t just bring me up here for drugs, did you, Rin?” You both know the answer to that question and it’s only confirmed when he chuckles into your skin. 

“Maybe not,” he mumbles, not giving you any sort of warning as he sinks his teeth into your tender skin. 

“Fuck,” you swear, eyes snapping shut as soon as you feel it. It feels good, yet it’s nearly overwhelming. For some reason, you think eliminating your sight will help rein yourself in. “Rin, you can’t just do that.” 

He doesn’t respond, simply flashing you a lazy smirk—that you can’t even see— and tonguing over the fresh mark. “Baby,” he slurs out, fingers beginning to dig into your waist. “Want you.” He lays a kiss on the base of your neck. “Need you.” Another on your collarbone. 

It feels so different from every other time you’ve been with him. You’ve been high during sex before, but it’s never been like this. Every touch lights your skin on fire, every word makes your mind cloud with lust. At this point, even if you aren’t voicing it, you’d do anything to fuck him. 

“Then take me.” What’s meant to be a statement, comes out as a quiet moan. 

If someone were to ask, you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when exactly this started happening. You’ve known Rin for years and it just  of…of…a happened. 

You aren’t able to remember the details, but you can remember the fact that you were both drunk and in desperate need of physical contact. It started off as a mistake, then an outlet for stress, and then somewhere along the lines, it morphed into a habit.

Deft fingers fiddle with the waistband of your slacks, and you can tell that he momentarily forgets about the zipper and button because he lets out a frustrated grunt as he tugs at them. You move to do it yourself, but he quickly realizes his mistakes. 

You lift your hips when you feel him clutch the fabric and he’s quick to tug the clothing as far down your legs as he can. You help him the rest of the way and your pants end up somewhere on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sits up, movements a bit sluggish from the drugs. A chill is sent down your spine as his hands grip both of your thighs, spreading them a bit and making you involuntarily clench at the feeling. You swear you can see him drooling a bit at the view. 

You try to close them, to push against his hands, but like every other time you’ve tried before, he’s far too strong. 

Today’s mission was especially stressful for the both of you. Unncessary killing took place, and while that wouldn’t normally be a big deal for someone as famous as one of the Haitiani brothess, he knows how you feel about shit like that. You aren’t proud of your ‘line of work’, no one here really is (with the exception of Sanzu, maybe), but he can tell that your moodin particulary gets affected by that. 

When you two got back— even though you weren’t sure when it would be— you knew you should be ready for him to pull you into his room and fuck you into the mattress. 

You made a point of putting on Rindou’s favorite lingerie: a lace and flowery set, a thong with a matching bralette, in a teal color that ‘reminds me of my hair in the old days’. Now, you’re starting to rethink your decision, due to that look in his eyes when he sees them. 

“Shit, Rin, give me…wait.” Words are failing you. Your brain feels very overwhelmed. It’s not that you don’t want this, you just don’t know how well you’re going to be able to handle it. 

He easily keeps them spread, pinning them to the sheets as if to prove some kind of point. “Gotta taste you ‘fore I go insane.”

He’s painfully slow as he licks a stripe against your clothed cunt. Even though he’s out of it, he’s still using his old tricks. 

With your eyes pointed at the ceiling and your stomach tightened out of pure anticipation, you feel the man tap his fingers against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Eyes on me, doll.”

Even his words are setting off something inside of you. It’s as if whatever you took opened up a whole new part of your brain and your body. Now your eyes are staring deep into his as he carefully pulls your panties down. The tips of his fingers drag alongside your hips, the calloused skin tickling your own in a way that makes you almost shiver. 

You can’t tell if it’s from the contact, the anticipation of what he’s planning, or just simply the look in his eyes. With the flimsy material out of the way, he runs his tongue over his upper lip and leans closer. 

It’s easy to feel his hot breath against your bare skin and it drives you crazy. He starts by leaving messy kisses on your inner thighs, sucking multiple bruises as he goes. He’s surprisingly teasing for a man who’s desperate. 

“Rin, fuck,” you swear, breath shaky. “Just do something.”

The first contact his tongue has with your clit, has you quietly moaning, head pushed back a little as you savor the feeling. Sadly, the feeling is short-lived as he quickly pulls away and presses a kiss against your thigh to get your attention. 

He stares up at you through tired eyes, and you swear that you have to hold back a moan at his words. “I gave you an order, didn’t I?”

Once your eyes are trained back on him, he returns to his previous actions. His tongue licks a long stripe in between your folds and then a few kitten licks against your clit. He repeats this a few times and it easily gets you borderline panting—especially with the added effect of the drugs. 

Your hand finds its way to his hair, and he lets out a deep groan as you grip the strands and push him deeper into your pussy. After one last lick, he takes the puffy bud into his mouth, eliciting a heavenly sound from you. He moans in harmony with you, fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your thighs. 

He finds it so cute the way you’re fighting the urge to close your eyes— the way you’re trying your best to obey him. After all, it’s the least you can do after shutting him out all day. He was really worried about you, and it’s up to you to make it up to him with those pretty moans of yours. 

You don’t question the way one of his hands leaves your leg, but your eyes shoot open when he pushes two fingers inside of you. 

“R-Rin,” you manage to say, the feeling more intense than it has been in a long time. “I don’t think—”

You whine at the loss of contact as he pulls his lips away to speak, resting his head against your inner thigh. “How do you think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, if you can’t even handle two fingers?”

You don’t even have a response, too focused on the way the pads of his fingers brush against your g-spot with ease. He’s sloppier than usual. He doesn’t have those precise and practiced movements that usually have you screaming his name. The drugs are probably responsible for it, but your own drugs are making the experience more than enjoyable. 

“Rin,” you moan out, barely even sure of what you’re about to say. 

“What is it, doll?” His voice sounds tired, yet it maintains that teasing lilt. 

While you struggle to answer what exactly it is, he busies himself by sucking on the fat of your thigh; no doubt littering it with marks. 

“I need more.” You barely choke out the words, eyebrows furrowed as you stare at the man in between your legs. 

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you can barely handle this.” To further get his point across, he abruptly presses hard into your sweet spot. 

You can’t control the loud moan that leaves your lips as your eyes roll back. Your hips jerk against his mouth and you know that you’re almost at your breaking point. 

“Besides, weren’t you just complaining that it was too much?” 

It’s that unparalleled confidence that has always drawn you towards him. Even though he’s probably tripping out of his mind right now, he’s still as cocky as ever. As an executive, you have a lot riding on your shoulders; a lot of responsibility and a lot of choices to make. So it’s nice to have someone take control every now and then, even if it’s just during sex. 

“Please don’t stop.” You can’t even register how loud your cries are, your mind too focused on him to worry about keeping quiet. “Please, Rin, please.”

He can feel the way your thighs shake beside his head and goddamnit, it’s really been way too long since he’s gotten you like this. There’s only been time for quickies before meetings or after missions. He hasn’t had enough time to get you shaking for him in a long time, and fuck, has he missed it. 

“R-Rin,” you whine. “Rin. Want to—shit.”

“What’s that?” He hums, a condescending tone clothed by faux sympathy. “What do you need?”

You sound high out of your mind when you slur the words, “I want to cum on your cock.”

He can feel himself twitch when you speak. On one hand, he wants to make you work harder for it, but on the other hand—the compulsive hand that currently has a lot more control in his decision-making— he wants to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you right now. 

“Fuck, you’re so needy.” The strangled grunt he lets out sounds animalistic as he pulls away from you. 

You whine at the loss of contact, but he successfully shuts you up with his mouth on yours. His hands fumble with his belt as he nips at your lips, too high to worry about how he’s wasting all of your arousal by accidentally getting them on his pants. The kiss is sloppy, all teeth and tongue as he leans his frame against you. 

You’re too busy entangling your hands in his hair to notice how far along he is in stripping, the only way you can know is when you hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor. 

“Gonna fuck you real good.” Everything he does and says gets you even more drunk. You’re drunk on his taste, his touch, just him. It might be an exaggeration, but you’ve never wanted to fuck him more than in this moment. 

You whine his name, hands grabbing at his jaw to pull him closer to you. You moan into his mouth when you feel his tip push into you, slowly starting to stretch you out. 

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” he curses at the way you tighten around him, making it almost impossible for him to even bottom out. 

If it wasn’t for the drugs numbing his senses, he might’ve not been able to handle this. The way you're squeezing him and calling his name, even in this drugged-up state, he’s going to need to get a grip or else he might not last for long. 

You arch your back against the mattress as he finally fills you up to the hilt. Your hands travel down to his back, and he moans when you drag your nails against his skin, leaving bright red lines in their wake. 

During the time you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned all of his little tells, and he’s done the same with you. You know what makes him tick, what his breaking point is, and how exactly to get him there. You also know that he has a fixation with pain. 

Neither of you have talked about it; there hasn’t been a need. It was understood that he liked it in a sexual sense, but for a long time, you didn’t know the nature of it. He can be sadistic when he fights and has always gotten a sense of fulfillment when his skin is painted red, but that doesn’t transfer over to the bedroom. When he’s here with you, he wants to be hurt. Whether that be you pulling his hair or digging your nails into him until he bleeds, it drives him crazy. 

His strokes are messy. It’s more of him rutting his hips against yours, rather than fluid motions. Even though it isn’t precise like it usually is, it still feels so damn good. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin. 

Your chest is pressed against his, nipples rubbing against him through the thin fabric of your bralette as you push your head into the pillow. “Rin,” you gasp out as his teeth bite down on your neck, quickly soothing the mark with his tongue. When his hand slips down and he messily rubs the pads of his finger against your clit, you cum on the spot. 

He lets out a growl into your neck as you clamp down on his cock, whispering words of how fucking dirty you are. He wants to cum so bad, wants to fill you up to the brim so much that it hurts, but due to the hallucinogens in his system, he needs extra stimulation to get to that point. 

His pace never falters, continuously fucking into your abused cunt. It doesn’t take long for tears to well up in your eyes. 

“Rindou, s-slow down.” Unfortunately, your cries fall on deaf ears. He’s too focused to listen to the weight of your words. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he grunts. 

It hurts but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t also feel good. You don’t know if you physically can take it, but goddamnit, you’ll try your best. You know that no matter how fucked out of his mind he is, he’ll stop if you say the safe word, so you’ll keep that tucked away until the last possible moment.

Tears fall down your cheeks and Rindou has to admit that it has to be one of the prettiest sights he’s seen. There’s part of him that feels bad for this, for pushing you to your limits, but seeing you like this makes him want to tear you apart. He wants to get you to those limits and push you beyond that point. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight. Acting like you don’t like this… dirty fucking slut.” His words are followed by a loud and almost pornographic moan. “Sucking me in like this, but bitching about how you can’t take it. P-Pick one—fuck.”

It doesn’t take long for you to cum again. It’s more forced and rushed this time, but it still feels euphoric all the same. Now, as he still fails to slow down, you think you might actually pass out. 

You’re sobbing at this point, moaning and whining, begging him to stop, but he doesn’t. He just keeps fucking you like an animal in heat— a beast.

“Rindou, please.” You sound pathetic, you know that, but if he keeps going, he’s going to break you. 

“Shut up,” he growls, his hand finding its way to your throat. “You’ve whored yourself out to the rest of Bonten, you can handle this.”

His palm presses against the skin, fingers wrapping against the sides of your neck as he applies minimal pressure. 

“I haven’t, please, Rindou..!” You deny his accusations, desperately shaking your head. 

“Stop lying to me,” he speaks through gritted teeth as he ruts into you. “You’ve slept with my fucking brother, so you’re gonna take what I give you.”

You and Ran fooled around a long time ago, and it was also a while before anything happened between you and Rindou. He knows it was purely sex and it doesn’t bother him that much nowadays, but sometimes, the thought of anyone else getting to see you like this sends him into a feral state. 

His speed picks up and his grip on you tightens. His release is close by, right there on the tips of his fingers, but in chasing it, he’s hurting you. He should feel bad, he partially does, but it feels so blissful that he can’t bring himself to stop. How can he when you’re sucking him in like this?

His palm squeezes your throat in an uncomfortable way, and just like that, your ability to breathe is out the window. It always feels good when he chokes you, but it’s not exactly rare for him to accidentally o a bit overboard.

You lightly tap your fingers against his wrist, three times to signify the ‘safeword’ just as you have every time before, but he doesn’t stop. Your eyes widen in surprise as he keeps applying pressure. At this point he’s pressing you down into the mattress. 

You repeat the action, a bit harder this time. You’re starting to panic but he continues. You trust that Rindou would and will never hurt you, not on purpose at least, but this is alarming. It’s never happened before and you don’t know why it’s happening now. Until it hits you. 

You didn’t calculate the drugs running through him. His senses are numbed, he probably can’t even feel it. You tug on his wrist with both of your hands, but it still doesn’t get through to him. You're losing your strength due to the foggy feeling in your head, and you’re starting to run  out of options. You don’t know what to do. You try and pull his hair, but his only reaction is a muffled moan into your neck. 

You’re scared. You’re tired, weak, and far past overstimulated. Now you can’t even breathe. You want to be done. You’ll suck him off so that he cums, but you can’t do this anymore—

All of those thoughts leave your head as he buries himself deep inside of you one last time and reaches his orgasm. As soon as you feel him start to fill you up, you’re cumming with him. 

“Fuck, baby—fuck, fuck, fuck,” he rambles, too lost in pleasure to make coherent statements. 

His grip starts to loosen up after his high peaks and you gasp for air as it does. Your body is still shaking despite the pressure on your throat being gone. You genuinely thought you were about to pass out. That’s…never happened before. Rindou has always been tentative and in tune with your reactions. The only other time you had to use your safeword, he was backing off in an instant. You let out a shaky breath as you try to gather yourself on the comedown from your high. 

When your eyes finally land back on Rindou, he looks scared shitless. Even though he’s exhausted, his energy comes back in the form of panic. He pulls his half-softened dick out as he leans back to look at you. “Oh my god, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I just—”

“I’m so sorry baby, I don’t—I’m sorry I was so rough. Shit,” he curses at himself. 

“Rindou, calm down.” You rub your finger against his cheek and the way he leans into your hand is fucking adorable. “You didn’t mean to, you just didn’t notice when I tapped your wrist.’”

“Fuck,” he groans, laying his head on your chest andturning his cheek to press it against your skin. “I’m so sorry, doll.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.” Okay isn’t the right word at this moment, but you don’t need him any more panicked or upset than he already is. All that will do is make you more upset in turn. You’ll discuss this again, once you’re both sober. 

“What can I do?” He nuzzles his head into you, laying between your legs. “Would a bath help?”

“Yeah, it would,” you smile at him, running your hand through his lavender hair. 

What started as a hookup and led to a habit, has now turned into something you genuinely couldn’t live without. 

In the end, 

Rindou is your vice. 

tagging: @chaoticmoonave @dilfhos @kkittycries @enchantedforest-network @seraphdreams

#rindou haitani #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #rindou haitani smut #rindou haitani x reader #rindou smut #tokyo rev #rindo x reader #tokyo revengers smut #.kinktober 2023 #.ezra’s writing #.file } rindou

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 [𝐀𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢]

Part 1

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: yandere!Argenti x fem!reader

Warnings: yandere, abduction, mention of suicide.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I didn't think that I would ever write a sequel and thought that the last work with Argenti was complete, but here I am (¬‿¬ )

art: @oririnxx(Twitter)

Argenti's heart is bursting with guilt and shame. Even in the short time that mutual understanding and love reigned between you, he managed to establish himself as a person who can really be trusted. His feelings and thoughts were always so pure, almost transparent, and you were never in doubt for a moment. Even when he decided on such a desperate act.

You know his house is your house, right? Probably so, since you without hesitation, although sighing heavily, but agreed to go to him, without even asking what exactly he wanted from you. You can always find warmth, care and understanding here, if necessary.

But this time you will find here only the remains of Argenti's conscience. He feels the rot getting deeper into his unscrupulous heart with each new second of waiting. How could everything have gone so far? How could his unconditional adoration and desire to make you happy be perverted to such an extent that he really decided to make you love him?

No, no. You have already loved him before, which means he does not force you, Argenti only… He is trying to awaken in you the old feelings, the seeds of which, he is sure, are still able to bloom again with velvet roses, the fragrance of which will immerse you in the same blissful haze as his.

Oh, you should know how he is tormented. Even when you are already standing on the threshold of his house, he just wants to take you in his arms and never let go, but he plays his role of a heartbroken person who now needs your support. But does he play? You really broke Argenti's heart, but he reassembled every tiny fragment so that the vessel would be filled again with awe and tenderness addressed only to you.

You, of course, can't leave him in this state, even if you caused it yourself. It's so mean to play on your guilt, but what choice does he have? You no longer look at him the way you did in the days when you both didn't mind being in this isolated bubble of love from the rest of the world, focused only on each other. You no longer touch his hand with tenderness, now your fingers are anxiously clenched around Argenti's palm to comfort. You no longer run your tiny fingers through his soft hair, letting the man's head rest on your lap, no longer smile at him with a sincere, really saturated with absolute happiness smile.

Why is that?

If you were happy, why is that no longer the case?

Argenti can't even admit the idea that there is even the slightest bit of your fault in what happened. Of course, it's his fault, so he's ready to sacrifice his own conscience, ready to disregard principles, and all this for you.

The knight seems to be looking at his own reflection in a mirror, in which he sees all the vices that have always been hidden so imperceptibly in the depths of his soul. He only has to touch such a disgusting Argenti reflection of the desires of his own heart, and there will be no turning back.

"For you… just for you…"

For your sake, he is ready to let the darkness completely take over his mind and body.

You are so naively kind, agreeing to stay at his house for the night. You probably haven't had time to enter into a relationship with someone else yet, which Argenti so vehemently prevented, and, he believes, it really paid off.

Yes, that's it, look at him, stay with him, share this bitterness with him, so that together you can drown it out with the sweet taste of reunion, which you also want.

Surely you do, because otherwise you wouldn't have come to him, wouldn't have followed the call of your heart when he needed you so much. You're still worried about Argenti, you still don't want to see him so broken, you're still gentle with him even when you let your relationship turn to dust. Oh, no matter how hard it was for him to admit it, you crushed them yourself. Argenti still doesn't understand what made you commit this unforgivable crime.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

The knight will ban any doors for you, whether it's the doors to the outside world from your new bubble or the doors to a new life in which he has no place. He is ready to accept your tears, ready to accept the words that wound him like a thousand blades that cut his heart. Now he is defamed, spoiled and deserved punishment for what he did. But it was the only way he could put everything back in its place.

What are you going to do, cornered? Oh, of course you're angry.

You curse him, beg him, cry, even lie about what you love. Argenti understands why you're acting like this and won't blame you. You are connected, of course, connected. The darkness that has taken root in the purity of his feelings has affected you, but together you will be able to share this burden. It may take days, weeks, or even years for you to accept what has become of you, but Argenti believes that in the end you will understand that this test is presented from above to both of you in order to strengthen your love.

✧ ✧ ✧

It hurts him to look at how nothing has changed after weeks.

It was stupid to think that you would be able to understand him so soon, but Argenti does not lose hope.

Although, something has changed… He no longer hears your screams, you are no longer banging on the door, desperately trying to get out, no longer crying. Now you look like an empty shell, devoid of any feelings. It scares Argenti so much, but he understands that this is how it should be. You have to get rid of what prevents you from loving him again. Anger, disgust, contempt, hatred — that's what the Knight fights day by day, steadfastly withstanding your attacks, and finally he got rid of most of the obstacles.

— Y/N, forgive me…

"You're not really sorry"

— I'm doing this for you…

"No, you're doing it for yourself"

— I'd do anything for you.

"Then just kill me"

— I love you…

"And I hate you"

Now you're silent when Argenti tries to talk to you. His perfect face, which makes you sick, is always distorted in remorse, and it seems that he really believes that he is sorry. But you know very well that this is not the case.

Most of all, you hate the moments when Argenti insists on helping you take a bath. Bile rises in your throat every time his hands touch your body, but you endure, swallowing the nauseating lump again and again, realizing that you have no choice. You always take one look at him while he gently soaps your skin, noticing how his lips are stretched in a smile, and turn away again, not wanting to see how your disgust for some reason brings him pleasure.

You trusted Argenti.

You always believed that his feelings were really sincere, so he would be able to understand and let you go, but now you were able to look behind the exquisite screen of love, hiding the slippery, stinking and rotting obsession that the man you once loved succumbed to.

Now you feel sorry for Argenti.

Really sorry.

If it weren't for the hatred that dulls all other feelings, you would want to grab his hand and lead him away from the wrong path that he chose, mistakenly believing that it would lead him to happiness. But, to your great regret, he dragged you after him. No matter how much he tries to cleanse your body, your soul rots along with his, soaked in the disgusting fumes of his mutilated care and tenderness, with which he tries to regain something that will never regain its former form.

✧ ✧ ✧

— Y/N, you haven't eaten all day… I brought your portion of dinner.

Argenti is standing in the doorway of your luxurious room, which he has filled with everything he knows you love, believing that it will make you stop hating this place. You don't want to meet his eyes, and you press your knees even harder to your chest, huddling in a corner on your soft bed.

The knight feels his heart constrict in his chest. It happens every day, every time you turn away from him. He wants so much to see your eyes looking into his for once, he wants to hear your voice, but he must be patient.

You hear footsteps approaching and already know what will happen next. Argenti will put the plate on the bedside table and leave you alone, as he does every day. No matter how much you want to stop it, sometimes your stomach is so unbearably twisted with hunger that you can't resist the instinct of self-preservation and force yourself to eat a little. But not today.

— Y/N… — this is something new. You feel it touching your shoulder, sending a sickening shiver under your skin. — I know you don't want to be here, but can you… at least have dinner with me tonight? I promise, if we sit down at the same table, like… — he wanted to say "like before", but suddenly stopped. — Your appetite will return if you share a meal with someone.

How annoying he is. Is he really that naive, or is it just a mask to lull your vigilance. You don't know anymore. You have long ceased to recognize in Argenti the one you once loved.

But you know for sure that the sooner you fulfill his request, the sooner he will leave you alone. At least until tomorrow.

That's why you let him wash you, let him dress you in beautiful outfits that he likes. Not you.

You nod reluctantly, still not moving from your seat, and you hear Argenti exhale softly in relief. If you had dared to look at him, his soft lips would surely have been stretched into a satisfied smile when he received an answer from you.

You wait for the nausea from his touch to finally recede along with the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, and you get out of bed in a doomed way, hearing Argenti take the plate from the table and go to the kitchen.

No matter how much you wandered through the corridors of his luxurious house like a living corpse, it always seemed to you that the walls were about to crush you, but, unfortunately, this never happened, so after tasting a new portion of disappointment, you stop at the kitchen door, noticing a candle on the table, whose dim light drives away the darkness rooms, two glasses of wine and two plates, displayed on exquisite snow-white napkins. Argenti stands waiting, pulling out a chair for you. Your gaze stops for a moment on his hands clutching the back, and the body again gets chilling goosebumps when memories of those hands touching your body pop up in your head.

He really did his best to make this dinner look like a fucking date. It's so disgusting that it almost makes you laugh.

You reluctantly accept Argenti's help, sitting down uncertainly and allowing him to pull your chair closer to the table designed for two.

The meat on the plate is still steaming slightly, as are the shiny grilled vegetables. The food looks delicious, but … for some reason, bile rises to your throat again when you take a fork and knife with trembling hands, preparing to pierce and cut off a juicy piece of your dinner.

Argenti watches with curiosity how you do not dare to try your portion without starting to eat before you do. To be honest, the Knight loses his appetite when he sees you so depressed, not trusting him so much that you are even afraid to eat in his presence. Do you really think he means you harm? Can't you see how hard he's trying for you? Even so, he's glad to finally see you taking even tiny steps towards him.

It's all so much like hunting. Argenti has created an atmosphere of security in your bubble, but has set traps here and there, patiently waiting for you to finally take the bait. He knows you can't hate him forever. Sooner or later you'll have to give up, you'll have to get used to a new life with him.

You hesitantly pierce the meat with a fork, watching the soft fibers displace the juices flowing onto the plate before nervously swallowing and starting to cut. Thoughts immediately flash through your head about how convenient it would be to use this knife to slit your stomach or cut your throat… Yes, it would certainly be better than opening your veins, because then Argenti could still have time to save you. You can see your own blood trickling down the shiny silver metal, instead of the cloudy pinkish liquid oozing out of the steak as you slowly separate a tiny piece from it.

These thoughts… really discourage your appetite, but that's all you can think about while you're here. What's the point of satisfying your hunger if you just want to get it over with? But you also have to play your part, you have to be smarter than Argenti, you have to set your traps, so you touch the meat with your tongue, feeling a slight taste of spices, before sinking your teeth into the juicy fibers and chewing, hurriedly sending a piece down the esophagus.

Argenti is delighted.

Although the corner of your lips twitched when you swallowed a piece of your dinner, he is pleased to see that you are finally eating a warm meal prepared for you with love and care. Usually you just wait for the food to cool down, stubbornly denying hunger before it finally gets the better of you. Argenti has always been frustrated by how you exhaust yourself day by day, but it would be too much to force food cooked by him into you, right?

The knight was finally able to relax, and happily started his own meal, doing the same thing with his piece of steak as you. After tasting the meat cooked for you, Argenti smiles gently.

— Is it delicious? — the man asks, but then with a quiet clink puts the dishes on the plate, seeming to think about something for a second. Of course you won't answer. — I hope I was able to please you a little, Y/N.

He was about to continue his meal, gently wrapping his long fingers around the stem of a wine glass, when suddenly his gaze caught on your frozen figure. Your gaze is focused on the next piece of meat. The silence in the kitchen is broken only by the soft sounds of pinkish drops of juice dripping onto your plate before your lips are pursed, but then hurriedly open when you finally lift your head for the first time in several weeks and look straight into Argenti's emerald eyes. Your piercing gaze seems to have pinned the Knight to the chair, and he watches with bated breath as you take air into your lungs. Your chest heaves slightly with a light breath, and the man's heart shudders.

— Yes… very tasty, thank you.

To hear your voice… oh, you're just killing poor Argenti. During your imprisonment in his house, you managed to teach him to enjoy such little things that he did not attach any importance to before. Your views on him have always seemed to the Knight something as ordinary as the sound of your voice caressing his ears every day spent with you. But now he was so happy to hear even the words you barely uttered.

Argenti will even turn a blind eye to the fact that you did it just to distract his attention.

Did you really think that he didn't notice how you stole a knife from the table with a skill that the best of thieves would envy? Well… he won't scold you for it. You don't know what's best for you, only he knows, so Argenti will definitely protect you from any threats.

But later.

For now, just let him enjoy this moment. Even if it's an illusion, even if it's a lie, even if he invented it all himself, Argenti wants to believe that you took a small step towards him, and this…

Damn. Now his patience is trembling, being held suspended by the thinnest thread that is about to break.

You won't hate him even more if his retaliatory step completely erases the distance separating you from each other, will you?

#hsr #headcanons #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #argenti #argenti x reader #yandere argenti #yandere #genshin drabbles

[oakbuggy]

Liar, Liar Chapter 5

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting, ANGST

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 5 (NSFW) ~9.3k words

AO3 Link Here!

Prev Chapter / Next Chapter

When Lo'ak woke it was through cold shudders and violent gasps, rousing Tsireya next to him awake.

"Yawne?" She called out to him so gently, "What is wrong?" Lo'ak couldn't hear her sweet tone but still his large hands grappled for hers, finding them within the darkness of the mauri and the night sky.

He could only think of the searing gaze of the brother he thought he lost so long ago and the grip of a knife he was actually so ready to use. The sound of the waves outside, mindlessly and rhythmically tumbling against each other, gave him some peace, so he breathed out hard, pushing beaded braids out of his face.

He could hear the water, yet why did it still feel like his blue skin was getting scorched?

"Lo." Tsireya's voice was louder and she willed his attention to her, her other hand cradled his jaw. The Sully's jewel-toned eyes flickered, anchoring their gaze on her blue ones.

"Sorry." He rumbled, voice still saturated with sleep. She shook her head and smiled softly, he could tell that her eyes were tracing all the stripes on his face, the star patterned marks of his forehead.

Lo'ak always liked her eyes, they looked like the sky.

He kissed her knuckles. "Thank you."

Tsireya nodded, her sweet smile dimpled and she pressed her lips against his brow, the hair tickling her. There they were, in their shared mauri, colorful and thick blankets adorning their bedspread and their limbs still tangled together in this safe harbor.

"What did you see?"

"..." The lump in his throat was heavy and painful. "I saw him. I saw Neteyam."

The Metkayina woman gasped softly. She couldn't believe it, she remembered too well how the eldest Sully son looked as he died. How she was there all too long with him, alone, as he bled out.

They didn't know how to feel, when they heard the news from the Tawkami alchemist, (tala full name). No one did, not when they saw the signs of struggle and blood in the Compass's photo album.

"Great Mother... How was he? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, he's... he's a completely different person now, 'Reya. Mom was there, he barely even looked at her, kept saying shit about dad and turning him in," Lo'ak covered his face with his other hand, fingers splayed as he willed himself to stop shaking. He could feel his emotions rising, he knew his tendencies now and all had seen how intensely Lo'ak blamed himself for Neteyam's death. Impulsivity, stupidity- "He hates me."

"Don't, Lo'ak. don't do this to yourself." Tsireya squeezed his hand, darker blue and with an extra digit and so comforting as it held hers.

"It's the RDA, the vrrteps [demons], they've poisoned his mind when they brought him back, just like Tala said. You know that Neteyam would never actually blame you."

Lo'ak smiled weakly. Yes, he knew his older brother, yes, the Neteyam he knew would probably stab himself again than even 'look' at his family members the way he did in the dream. In a sick way, however, Lo'ak thought he deserved it all the same.

"Enough of that. You're doing it again." His mate cut off his spiraling again and this time he chuckled, his thumb rubbed her palm.

"How'd I get so lucky with a girl like you, 'Reya?" He joked, though sincere. It's been years and he's grown, tattooed and proved himself as both warrior and adult. And yet still he didn't know exactly how to return truly how much he loved her, when her floral and oceanic skin calmed him, and her scent drove him wild.

Tsireya smiled brighter, dimples showing cutely. "How funny, I was just thinking the same thing." She answered. It made him laugh, made him pepper kisses along her cheeks and dimples, her neck and shoulder and arms.

"Now you're just being cute." He snickered and brought her dark curls to his lips again, intending to kiss every part of her and take in her scent. She calmed him, she knew it and she rested her forehead on his.

A moment. A quiet. Every moment like this felt perfect with her.

But heat still glowed in the back of Lo'ak's mind, his brain was just too active, as evident by the way his tail swayed behind him restlessly. He kissed Tsireya’s forehead again. “I’ll be right back. I just need to clear my head.”

“Alright, just don't take too long.”

Tisreya never got tired of the way he’d smile at her, fangs showing through upturned lips.

“From you? Never.”

A few more lingering looks, Lo’ak stepped onto the pathways of the camp, Txampaytsrul [Ocean Nest]]. A new wartime settlement was established between the forest na’vi and the ocean na’vi tribes, as a way to protect their homes yet keep close to Bridgehead. It made another home away from home for warriors and healers like Lo’ak and Tsireya, those from different clans that allowed their love to grow.

The Omaticayan male stared all around him, at Eywa’eveng, his brother’s words reeling in his headspace. Their dad doomed this place, this place still teeming valiantly with life and beauty despite the RDA’s efforts?

Tiny pebbles of sand became smoothened rock and Lo’ak settled onto one that hung over calmed waters. He heard something… above him, he looked up.

“Hey bro.” He greeted upon seeing Spider, hanging upside down along the fronds of the tree above the rocks. Gracefully the smaller maneuvered himself next to his younger brother.

“What’s up? You alright?” He said, jerking blond locs away from his face. Lo’ak shrugged.

“Bad dream. What are you still doing up?”

“Haven’t slept much since I ran out of Tala's sleep mix.”

“Kiri’s not good enough?”

Spider chuckled. “Tala got some secret ingredient she’s never told anyone about. Kiri said she knows it but… she doesn’t want to use it. It’s Tala’s thing, something like that.” Lo’ak hummed in agreement. It’s been many months now since the Tawkami na’vi’s capture, and thinking about Tala inevitably made him think about…

"Dream was that bad?"  Spider asked, a brown-eyed comforting gaze settled on his younger brother and Lo’ak sighed.

“I saw… Neteyam. And mom. It didn’t go well, it felt real and really hot, like it was burning.”

Spider’s eyes went wide.

“How... how is he?” He said, a lump forming. It had messed him badly enough to know it took Neteyam’s death to be truly accepted into the Sully family in the parents’ eyes, it was an awful reminder to him.

“Not good. It's like I could feel what both he and mom were thinking, we all could, and it wasn't... It was bad."

“What was he thinking about?”

“About how you were probably the only one he was sure he wouldn’t kill. Because of… you know,” Lo’ak shrugged and smiled at Spider in chagrin, “Quaritch.”

“Oh…” Spider starved carving into the stone with his thumb, “fuck.”

The mention of Colonel Quaritch still hung like a dead animal in the air between them, the body gone but the stench remained. Both men understood the emotions and rationalizing behind the choice, but Lo’ak could never forget it and Spider couldn’t ever quite forgive himself, even if some days he was sure there wasn’t anything to forgive. The smaller Sully sucked in breath through his teeth.

“Bro, I–”

“Brooo!” The younger groaned, “you already said sorry like a hundred times you skxawng. It’s not like it was ever going to bring him back. It’s been years.”

Relief soared through Spider’s heart instantly and he smiled.

“Right, right, yea.”

Lo’ak leaned back, both men more relaxed and sporting warrior garb and tattoos. They were brothers, they’ve already made their peace.

“Whatever Great Mother is planning, I hope she does it soon.” Lo’ak sighed, bringing a hand to his face.

“I wanna save him. What dad’s gonna say at the family meeting tomorrow though, I don't know.” Lo’ak huffed.

“We will. But yea, the family meeting...” Spider’s words were clipped, a family meeting was often a stressful affair, Neytiri could not help but look displeased with him there or for any other more intimate function within The People. Lo’ak noticed and clapped a large hand on Spider’s back. Their fingers matched in number and scars.

“That includes you, dude. Mom’ll lay off you, I promise, she’s been… okay.”

The smaller Sully scoffed but nodded. “By okay you mean no longer cursing under her breath whenever I’m near, then sure. She’s better.” Spider shook his head, admonishing himself slightly for his bitterness, “But if she had that dream too, I don't wanna upset her more. You know I would.”

Lo’ak snorted and tapped on the glass at Spider’s forehead. He was lucky he couldn’t give him a noogie for the dumb shit he just said.

“Spider. Bro. You’re a true Sully, look at how much the RDA wants to kill you! And Neteyam, even though he’s not allowed to!” the corners of his mouth raised, a laugh ready to bellow.

"Yeah, I guess that's what it takes to be a Sully, huh?" Spider joked and the two of them laughed, some stress finally leaving their young features. As the giggles quieted down and they returned to staring at the night sky.

"Maybe this will end the war." Spider broke the silence and Lo'ak hummed, agreeing. The end of the war, the  two of them hoped. The return of peace, and maybe selfishly that included the return of their brother and their family.

"You think we'll all survive it?"

At this the smaller smiled. "If even Neteyam's alive now, I don't think it's bad to hope for it,"

"We'll fight for happy times to return, and they will, you'll see."

---------------------------

Neteyam was not happy. Neteyam knew he had fucked himself over when his eyes cracked open and eh saw the long length of Tala's back, which he stared at in frustration.

He could feel his veins bursting. Fuck. Fuck. This was exactly why he avoided her, the curves of her body made him recall all too vividly the way he completely let go in front of her. How he praised and begged for her–to feel that much more of her skin on his. He tried to block it out, but the feeling of her bite, her first mark on him, triggered so many feelings of possessiveness and desire in his head and his heart–wasn’t she supposed to be helping with his headaches? 

His fingers grazed over the bandages she had applied the day before, still pristine and his overall condition did technically improve. But his digits twitched, Tala’s stupid little mark was right above the injury, on the curve of his neck.

It was barely noticeable, the bruise would purple up and disappear within the day. The soldier didn’t pay too much attention to how his tail thumped softly underneath the covers.

He had a full view of her striped back, they must have disconnected sometime in the night. With his hand, which Neteyam thought assuredly he was going to use to push Tala off, he surprised himself by tracing the line down her spine. His hand hovered over the fullness of her hips, pushing down the covers to reveal more of her, and his thumbs rested on the indents of her back dimples.

Tala… Tala… Li’Tala.

Remnants of their night together reached up and stained her ass, they had made such a big mess. He tried so fucking hard not to look at those swollen pussy ips peaking between her ass cheeks because they’d only be grossly caked in old cum–

Why was he hard. Why did that make him hard.

He internally groaned and quickly covered her body back up. The only silver lining Neteyam could figure in this situation was that Tala was working marvelously as a distraction of the usual mental battles he was forced to participate in every day of existence. She was just… too effective.

And that agitated him.

With a natural poise, the soldier kneeled up and grabbed at the starched lab coat without disturbing even a wrinkle of the blanket on her body. Quickly he searched through the inner pockets, carefully rolling the tiniest crumbs of herbs and plant matter. Not necessarily satisfying his need to prove her guilt.

The first outer pocket held only hard crumbs of honey he already knew of. It made his mouth water, he truly like he was a child again when she pushed the small piece of it into his mouth.

Her smile was nearly as sweet.

“Hmmmm…” Tala stirred, as if on cue, and Neteyam immediately hid the coat behind him, buried underneath his body as he resettled onto the mattress. Something in him saw this moment as peace and didn’t want to disturb it, not even with his suspicion active.

Just… not yet.

Tala sighed and turned and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. She yawned as she swore she saw a flash of dazzling yellow and heard quick movements of fabric but when her eyes focused on his form, he was breathing peacefully and sleepily.

Great Mother… She looked at the mark she gave him on his neck, her wrists and right ear feeling heavy. What had she done? What was she thinking? She turned to face him fully.

Tala was surprised to find herself still in his bed, all things considered. This was the first time she’s woken in warmth, in comfort even, she wondered how bad was his fever that he let this happen. Regardless, all the softness of the sheets or his heat didn’t stop a tightness developing in her chest, a pressure. She didn’t truly want her place to be a thing warming his bed.

Neteyam’s nose twitched and immediately Tala had to suppress a chuckle. Oh, how long had he been awake? Somehow he’d teeter on the line of just enough being adorable that it made tiny moments like this worth it, the fun she could poke at through his militaristic exterior. It was wishful, she knew, it was just pretend.

Tala planted her cold feet quickly onto his thighs and Neteyam snapped back.

“You skxawng!” He hissed childishly, the facade abandoned and she laughed.

“It’s what you get for trying to fool me, hona tsamsiyu [adorable warrior].” Tala replied teasingly, eyes too much mirthful. Whatever scathing dither he was about to spit out was unfairly interrupted when she suddenly sat closer, supporting herself on her side as she hovered her face above his.

“Good morning.” She purred musically.

Neteyam swallowed, her curtain of hair covered him slightly and it reiginited him, he breathed in her scent. Heady healing roses and charred honey now.

He pursed his lips, “...Morning.” The taste of honey sprung forth and the fact that she was not too unlike it. Her taste.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

His reply made the corners of her smile rise. “See what happens when you let a proper healer take care of you?” Her voice dipped low and nearly saccharine, her tail swayed behind her in self-satisfaction. The male na’vi’s nose twitched again, irritated, and he rolled his eyes. Impossible.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Around you? Never.” Her words held an unspoken insult but her smile made it teasing and humorous, Great Mother he hated when she smiled like that.

Tala examined his injury, checking and complimenting herself on her work, and used the back of her hand to check his fever. Still warm, but not nearly as bad as before.

Meanwhile Neteyam was struggling, her leaf green eyes were so inviting and kind that he thought he was going to melt. Did she know how tenderly she was looking at him? Did she know the way her eyelashes framed them made him only want to stare longer?

He grabbed her by her shackle and those infernal green eyes only widened.

How many times did his heart find necessary to trick him into liking this woman?

“Is something wrong, Corporal?” Her using such a name made him grimace and jerk back, letting go of her wrist.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Tawkami.” He replied, a sneer felt so much more natural to him now than soft words.

“What game?” Tala whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, his eyelids too naturally closed. Except, to the utter demise of his ego, she only hovered in front of his lips.

Oh, she did deserve some fun, didn’t she?

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Damnit.

"Seems like you want me to." He murmured.

"Only if it's like last night."

"And how was it last night?"

'Like you cared for me.' Tala sighed pettily, "Fine, nevermi-"

Neteyam obliged so easily, the warm contact of her lips made him sigh, both of their bodies relaxed. He reached to bring her closer, curling his arm around her torso as Tala settled her hand on his cheek, their legs tangled together once more. Heat surged between their bodies, Neteyam almost dug his fingers into her flesh but Tala pulled back.

“No. Soft.” She whispered then pushed back into the kiss without letting him reply. He got the memo through, his hand splayed on her hips and near-affectionately massaged her softness.

Their kiss was slow, gentle, plush lips squeezed against each other. It was an entirely romantic kiss and both wholly melted into it.

Tala was as much lulled into Neteyam’s warmth as he was in hers and notes of regret and self-contempt seeped in. She knew it was wrong, her eyes peaked open when Neteyam gently held her jaw. Large and scarred hands that weren’t trapped in cuffs and surely had killed their own.

Tala was foolish, she always accepted that fact.

“Why did you call me Li’Tala last night, Neteyam?” She whispered softly into the kiss but all Neteyam heard were words that damned him.

He broke off the kiss and swallowed.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” He challenged.

It made her scoff, "If you were to be my mate, why aren't you crying tears of gratitude right now?"

She remembered that? Of course she did, he did too. He chuckled dryly.

"I can call you whatever I want, you are my toy."

"You said you wanted to pretend."

He froze.

Tala closed her eyes and sighed. Of course, he wouldn’t give her an answer, it was probably too much for him to admit to wanting to feel loved, no matter how fake it was, no matter who it was with.

She pushed him and turned away and it flummoxed Neteyam. He was stunned by the quickness of cold surging through his body without her in his arms and his hands chased for her waist to hold her closely. It was as if he was the one being discarded and Tala wondered if he’d ever realize the depths of his immaturity, his neediness.

What was he doing? Neteyam couldn’t find it within himself to let go of her.

“Would you rather I call you syulang? Is that it?” He murmured meanly, a smirk on his lips, trying to distract.

“You’ve got many nicknames for me, don’t you, Corporal?” She replied with her own smirk. His dropped.

“Stop picking a fight with me, filtsyíp [little toy].” His voice had an experienced razor-sharp edge but it was tinged in pleading. Tala bristled at it all the same. She poked his nose, mockingly affectionate.

"You are needy."

Neteyam’s ears raised in complete offense, his brows went up so high, Tala couldn’t count the wrinkles on his forehead. "Needy??" He scoffed, not him! No, what the fuck?

"You are needy and stubborn and you find me irresistible, just admit it, you."

Her smile was irritating him now.

"You're crazy."

She giggled, "And you," She poked at his cock that was awake and at attention, he didn't notice before, "are hard for me."

Neteyam cursed in his head.

“That’s not for you.”

“Ahuh.”

She was supposed to be helping with his headaches, not being one.

He reversed their positions with ease, hand spread against her throat. He pushed her down by her neck and growled.

“Filtsyíp, you forget yourself.”

Her hands went up to cradle his face and it felt more like he was being ensnared. Her legs locked around his waist, bringing their hips together and Neteyam had to bite back a moan at his cock head perfectly pressing against her folds.

"Am I? Are you sure about that?~" Her singsong voice forced a shudder through his body.

Yomioang [chalice plant]. She was fucking dangerous.

Neteyam gathered his arms around her and just when Tala was thinking how predictable a man he was, he stood up, holding her, and walked towards his connected bathroom.

"Neteyam! What are you-!" He ignored her squawks and wiggling. This bathroom had a shower head affixed to the ceiling and Tala's eyes went wide. She screeched.

"Don't you dare!"

He dared. Neteyam turned the water on and it soaked them both, her tail pointed up violently, the water was so cold!

“Neteyam! What is wrong with you?! Let me go!”

He didn’t let her go, he let the freezing water ground him. He'd almost let her do whatever she wanted with him.

"Oh, poor Tala. Can't handle a little cold water?" He taunted, standing straight proudly as he cupped her ass to support her weight better. He held her up around her back, with his stupid strong arms. She closed in on his face with a petulant hiss, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Happy with yourself, soldier?"

He looked at her, watched the way the water streamed from her face, her hair, onto the valleys of her breasts and her tummy, creating a perfectly little triangle down her pelvis. He smiled, showing his fangs.

"Yes, thank you filtsyíp."

OH, he said it was such a smirk, she wanted to slap it off entirely. Great Mother, she wanted him to drop dead. Tala steamed for a good few seconds, the water slowly turning warm, and she watched dirtied water flock and swirl over the drain. Her tail was swinging back and forth, enraged.

"Seems like you needed to cool down, and took me with you because you're a..." Tala's reply devolved into grumbling curses and Neteyam laughed.

Soon the soldier turned off the water and sat her back down on his bed, now shivering. He contemplated giving back her lab coat, but it's not like the material would do much to dry her off.

He threw her an extra towel carelessly. 

"Finally. You trying to get me sick now too?" Tala scathed. She continued to glower at him as she worked to dry herself off, looking away from him as she patted at her dark hair.

Neteyam rolled his eyes and walked close to her, kneeling towards her as she sat at the edge of his bed. The corners of his mouth were raised but Tala could hardly call it a smile, not with it brimming with arrogance like that.

"Want another shower, filtsyíp?"

She tightly frowned.

"Then keep that mouth shut."

--

Like a wet cat, Neteyam unceremoniously handed Tala off to Private Patty a few 10 minutes later.

"Corpor-aluhhhhh." Patty's composure was compromised, seeing two very wet na'vi as she stood in front of Neteyam's quarters. Her yellow eyes darted between the two, each face had irritation practically glowing from their features.

"Just take her back to Lab 12 now." He said tiredly and handed Tala off to the guard.

"Sir, yes sir."

The door closed and Tala sneered at him the second before it completely shut. She stood up straighter, a towel still covering her and she looked up at Patty.

"Do you even want to know?"

"No. Let's get going, troublemaker."

Tala sighed, her ears flat against her head in irritation. She followed Patty, casting one last glance at Neteyam's door. This was another lesson, it seemed, that she really should stop being so willful and think ahead for a second.

Because no amount of humiliation and guilt was worth the treatment of being HIS little toy. She prayed for his sake that he would not get hurt again, because surely, she would NOT be helping this time.

--

Neteyam fell back into his bed, slowly dressing back into his usual uniform now that that yomioang was out of his space. He wanted to welcome the usual drumming in his head, the usual migraine but Tala's scent was unfortunately everywhere still.

He wanted to punch something, so he figured getting up and getting some sparing done would do him immense good.

As Neteyam put on his headband he realized that the main source of her scent was still on his bed, her lab coat. He had forgotten to return it to her, having had too much fun mocking her towards the end.

With only little expectation now, Neteyam dug into the last pocket. Might as well, it was more about the principle than actually finding anything-

He felt the prick before he could see it and there it was… a thin and crude titanium needle, tiny and unnoticeable at the bottom of Tala’s pocket. The tips of Neteyam’s fingers held the needle in place as he excruciatingly slowly pulled it out, letting it glint even from the low light of his room.

Ah.

He should have known.

--

Patty turned first, hearing loud footsteps behind them as Tala walked ahead of her, wrists clasped together once more.

"Corporal Tom?"

Fingers poised as claws and it latched onto Tala's neck, her scream died as the hand began to squeeze at her windpipe. Her own hands flew to it, digging her nails into the skin but nothing deterred him.

“Change of plans, Private. I'll take her back myself." Neteyam husked and Patty knew immediately how pissed he was.

"Wha-what's wrong, sir?"

"None of your concern, Private. This won't take long." He roughly turned Tala to face him. His eyes looked like suns burning into her but he was emotionless. She was just so good at pretending, wasn’t she?

“You never did answer my questions, filtsyíp. It’s fair for me to get them now.” He discretely slid out the end of the needle from underneath his watch and Tala balked. Oh, shit.

"I-I can-"

Her words were interrupted when a larger group of prisoners shuffled across his path, a pair of guards to every few shackled na’vi. Their blue skin was drenched, still shaking and freezing from the pouring rain outside. They created large puddles as they walked on the otherwise immaculate Bridgehead flooring. There Anke’ti was, amongst the miserable group, having just returned from the dark and cloudy outside from digging useless trenches around Bridgehead. His body may have been numb to the bone but he could smell his best friend and his head snapped toward her

Green met green, Anke'ti's eyes widened at the scene he stumbled upon. That resurrected soldier, the Sully, hand squeezed around Tala's throat.

"Tala...!" He gasped, breaking the formation of the prisoners. It caused confused and agitated mumblings, hisses, from the other na'vi and the guards yelled at them to keep in line!

"Yayo!" Tala reached out for him, making Neteyam's sneer only worsen. Him again.

Against a well-rested soldier with minor injury, a starved and exhausted captive was definitely no match. Neteyam elected to sidestep Anke’ti and use the force of his leg to kick him back to the floor, next to the other prisoners. Tala screeched, a panicked voice bubbled from her constricted throat.

"Don't hurt him!"

“Don’t do this.” The soldier warned Anke'ti, ignoring Tala. He noticed another soldier about to strike at the group with a powered up baton and he opened his mouth to order them to stop when another voice bellowed out instead.

“You wanna blow out the entire facility? Turn that shit off, boy!” Quaritch’s growl and thunderous footsteps hushed the aggravated soldiers and warriors. Soldiers stood straighter, their batons turned off but at the ready as the prisoners huddled closer together, snarled and ready to strike back.

“The fuck’s going on, Tommy?” The older man barked, eyeing the entire group. An apprehensive prisoner, a strong grip around a smaller female, her smell strong on his Corporal. Oh, just great.

"I can handle this." Neteyam gruffed out. Quaritch snorted, golden eyes landing on Tala and instantly it made her cower, lowering her eyes back to Anke'ti.

"Anke, stop." She whispered hurriedly, eyes gazing at the rest of the prisoners. These were not warriors, perhaps she and Anke'ti may have been the only ones in that hallway, and that meant whatever her friend did, they would follow.

Anke'ti glanced at her, conflicted.

Neteyam noticed and with a silent huff, he let go of Tala's neck. He took a small step away, closer to the Tawkami male now, fingers lazily draped in the air.

See? Now get back in line.

Anke'ti's ears folded flat against his head, but after his friend nodded at him reassuringly, he straightened his posture. He no longer radiated aggression, and shuffled back to the group.

The other na’vi took notice, they too calmed their stances.

Quaritch sighed and jerked his head at the nearest dreamwaker. “What’re you waiting for? Take them away.”

Neteyam kept his eyes on the Tawkami long after the rest of them shambled away, though again the Colonel casted his stare on him.

He scoffed at his appearance and the little love bite, “Careful, revenge is a good motivator for a prisoner like that. A bit of stress relief ain’t supposed to get you killed.” When he called her stress relief Tala's ears pointed down, embarrassed and fearful. Was he going to tell him now about what she's done, especially about Halloway?

“We live stressful lives, Colonel. Everything we do can get us killed.” The soldier cooly replied. It made the old man's expression pinch.

“Jesus Christ, if that aint the truth… Regardless, glad to see you’re up and about, finally. That looks like that smarts.”

He glanced down, the blood through the bandage was no longer bright red.

“I’ve handled worse. If you'll excuse me, Colonel.” Neteyam glanced at Tala, who resolved to watch Anke'ti's back disappear into the distance. She was so worried now, he looked thinner still.

"Keep it short. Mission briefing’s at 0-900 hours." Quaritch started to walk away, leering at them both. "Private Eastin, follow me."

"M-me?" Patty owlishly blinked but nodded. "Sir, yes sir!" She scrambled to follow the older Recom soldier, she looked back only once at Tala and Neteyam. When they finally disappeared down the winding halls of Bridgehead, Neteyam's grip returned, now on her braid.

"Now, where were we?"

Tala hissed from the pain, forced to quickly follow the soldier's lead into an emptied and dark lab. He roughly pushed her against the wall as soon as the doors locked shut, seething. Neteyam's eyes looked like they were boiling through hers.

"Did you hope your yayo would save you now?"

The air was knocked out of her chest, his arm pushed against her harder onto the wall. The room was dark, darker than his room, and Tala felt suffocated further by the way his eyes glowed gold in the shadows.

"I-I don't know-"

Neteyam again pulled out the needle and she huffed. "That's literally nothing, Neteyam."

"It's what you used on Halloway, isn;t it? You wouldn't be dumb enough to have only one, would you?" He pulled her kuru back, making her whimper as it forced her to look up at him more.

“There’s a symbol being spread around the facility here. Was it you?”

Tala’s breath hitched, even if she hadn’t seen him for three weeks, he was still around Bridgehead. He must’ve been informed. Her brows pinched together.

"What are you even talking about?" She struggled to choke out, fingers gripping the metal wall. She tried to find any purchase, any bit of relief.

The towel fell from her shoulders and onto the floor. Without it, the na'vi was completely bare so she moved her legs closer together, only for Neteyam to kick them apart once more. He dug his knee between her thighs and she hissed at the friction, her skin against his rough camo-pants.

"You're just a little whore, aren't you, Tala? What, changed your mind? Decided you only wanted my cock?" Neteyam taunted, riding his knee further up so it directly and roughly rubbed against her cunt. Tala breathed deeply and quickly.

"J-just get to the point, Neteyam. Are you really this angry over a tiny piece of metal?" She laughed meanly, because she knew too well how to. "Or was the cold shower actually not very helpful?"

He growled above her and with both hands he forcefully dug into her hips, grinding her down against his clothed thigh. Tala mewled, shuddering violently.

Slick was already coating the waterproof material and the Omaticayan buried his face into her wet hair. He growled his amusement against her ear. 

"Look at you... answer me and I can help you, little toy. It looks like you need it."

Tala squeezed her eyes shut, her fangs prodding into her bottom lip. Her handiwork, the mark she’d given him and her treatment on his chest, mocked her so vividly. She did forget herself.

"I-mmm!-I didn't..." She whined, balling her fists up against Neteyam's chest. He was fully clothed, now sporting a black tank top that let her lean against his bare neck. His scent, she hated that she was becoming addicted to the tree musk and sunlillies on his skin.

"I-there are metal scraps in-in the lab. I don't have any more." She explained, though she found it hard to focus as he continued rhythmically sliding her up and down his thigh. He was her only source of warmth now and she quivered as she chased it.

He sighed, suddenly stopping. Tala squeaked, supporting herself on her tippy toes as she gawked up at his smug expression.

"Were you planning on using it on me, little toy?" He asked, noticing though that she was struggling not to move at all. The material of his pants were driving Tala crazy, stiff wrinkles kept pressed against her sensitive vulva.

But the question knocked some sense back into her and she glared at him.

"Why would I do that after I just finished treating you? I didn't plan for you to get shot and then somehow I be available to heal you, if that's how far you're thinking."

Grumbling, Tala tried to step out of the muscled thigh. Her scent was heavy, it felt like it was almost suffocating him and Neteyam roughly held onto her ass cheeks now, commanding attention again. Her leaf-green eyes were dark, it made him think of lightning in the jungle.

"Who knows, maybe you've already flirted with some other guards while I was gone. Maybe you got yourself your own little group of rebels willing to fight for your escape. Your yayo was about to."

Tala's ears strained, his comment baffled her.

“How badly did the vrrteps mix up your mind, hm? One moment begging for me, the next stranglin–”

She couldn't finish the sentence when suddenly Neteyam forced them both into a large storage locker, he locked the cabinet from the inside and covered Tala's mouth. She was about to struggle when she heard a familiar click and whirr of the doors opening.

"So how much do we need?"

"Only like 30 kilograms, it should be somewhere around here." Tawtute voices rang through and Tala tensed.

Neteyam kneeled behind her and very slowly and silently, he led Tala's body to also kneel, able to disperse her weight on top of him--

She jumped away when she suddenly felt the delicious lick of pleasure of her hard cock against her shiny pussy lips. She whined but that only caused Neteyam's hand to clamp around her face harder.

"You hear something?"

"Huh? No?"

Tala dug her nails into her palms as they sweated against the inner metal walls of the storage locker. She tried to resist when Neteyam's other hand started forcing her down, squeezed against her clavicle and neck.

Her thighs trembled when once again the tip of his cock slid against her wet cunt, she couldn't even turn to see his expression. All she knew was that he was horny and insane and angry at her.

Slowly and carefully, the soldier moved his hand away from her face and she breathed as deeply and quietly as she could. His tail came in front to wrap around her waist, coxing her  hips to lower more.

She shook her head, knowing he would be able to see her.

"You stay quiet and I'll forget the whole thing, hm? Besides," Neteyam mocked, whispering into her hair now as he embraced her from behind fully, "You like riding me, don't you?"

Tala cursed more expletives than she realized she knew in her head. Neteyam knew what he was doing was overwhelmingly unnecessary right then, that really he should have reported the entire affair and dust away any bitter feelings.

And yet, it crushed his ego to realize she was right. The cold shower did little and now her tight cunt was mere centimeters away from his weeping cock. He wanted to fuck her and fuck away all these strange feelings of betrayal, indecisiveness. All those feelings that swirled whenever he was around her.

Tala bit her lip as finally her hips lowered. Neteyam used his other hand to adjust his cock into her entrance, she stopped at the bit of resistance of her folds.

He squeezed her neck to kill her squeal as he pushed her down further on his ridged length, stretching her out in one thrust.

Her shackled arms reached in front of her, fingertips willing to not make any sound as she needed to keep her balance and sanity. Something about being in this extremely confined and dark space was making her nerves go on fire and her walls immediately squeezed around his ridges. Neteyam bit his own lips, he continued pushing her body down until her ass was flush against his hips.

Great Mother, his hard cock was pulsing warmth inside her, Tala couldn't control her inner walls spasming despite them not moving.

"Be good." He strained and Tala nodded, still unable to speak with his hand on her throat. Unknowingly, her tail wrapped around his forearm tightly. Oh, she felt like she was going to cum from him just being inside her now, what was happening.

Her eyes were fluttering open, eyes rolling back and her knees were shifting her position slightly, letting her rut tiny movements on him.

He couldn't help himself, she wasn't being good and in this situation, she would be far more mortified than he in getting caught.

So he let go of her neck, which let tiny sounds spill from her closed mouth. He brought both large hands to start playing with her tits, teasing the stiff peaks carelessly.

She hated this, she hated this. She felt so humiliated, how easily she became putty in his arms. She thought she'd gained some sort of foothold over him, but he knocked her down so easily and now his cock was so pleasurably rubbing against her sweet spot over and over, heating her up from the inside. Oh, she hated him, she hated him--

The voices outside stopped, the door whirred loudly closed and instantly Tala crumpled on top of him.

"NNnhg!" She moaned, high pitched and whiny.

"Was that the best you could do?" Neteyam teased from beneath her but before she could reply he fucked up into her harshly.

"I-MMM!" Tala brought back her bound hands to her mouth, trying to muffle the wanton moans as she tried not to fall over from his powerful thrusts. It was nothing like last night, he fucked her to dominate her even though she was on top.

"You wanted me to beg, hm? Wanted me to kiss you all nice and soft?" He pushed her face against the locked cabinet door, rutting into her even faster and rougher, their bodies smacking against each other in the dark heat.

"fuck,, fuck fuck!" She cried tightly to herself. Her tongue rolled out of her mouth, mind was getting hazy now...

"C'mon, ma'fil [my toy]. You want to do good for me, yes?" He groaned as he watched her fucked-out expression and the way her pussy squeezed and sucked in his cock hungrily. He could see all the details of her blushing flesh so easily in the dark, he enjoyed smelling their scents and their juices mixed together inside the locker.

"Ahh, ahh, mmg, gonna-gonna cum, please!" She whined, eyes rolled over. Her hands clasped together tightly, legs were beginning to shake from how roughly he was fucking her.

He just wanted to hear that pretty pussy make all of its pretty noises, wanted to make it squelch as it came from his cock.

But he had an idea, and as excruciating as it was to stop, he did. Tala gasped.

"Bu-what, please!" She whined, trying to grind her hips back on him but he suddenly fully sat down, caging her body in his arms. He leaned against her back, licking at the light sheen of sweat.

"Mmmh, please, Neteyam, please I need to---"

"Only good girls get to cum" He drawled out, he could feel his length twitching inside her and it drove him mad but he resisted.

"Good girls don't make sneaky little weapons or flirt with other men."

Tala cried out, "But-but I didn't~!" In the haze of her desire, the lies sounded extremely true even to her. Well, she never flirted with other men at least!

"Your poor yayo, wonder how he'd feel seeing you begging me now? How did he feel seeing my mark on you?" In place of his lust, Neteyam's cruel words were growing. Tala fidgeted, confusion laced in her every breath.

"W-what are-"

"Or your little mark on me?" He bit into her skin and desperately she squeezed his thick cock head inside her. It made him involuntarily buck, it's true, but it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.

"We're not lovers, if that's what you're trying to say!" Tala huffed, frustration beading up. "M-maybe I did only want you, you inside me, okay?"

She twisted as best as she could, at least to make eye contact with him and he could see little droplets cling to her eyelashes.

"I’m your toy. Please let me cum~!" It was her final whimper, the only thing she could think to say in that moment and by Eywa, was it the best thing she could've said.

For Neteyam's yellow eyes widened, his pupils contracted even bigger as his possessive nature was stroked to perfection and he basically purred. She was his toy, wasn't she?

"Now you finally get it." His fangs gleamed even in the dark when set Tala against the floor of the locker now, ass raised up.

"OHH, MMMM!" Tala screamed when Neteyam plunged back into her hot and wet core, haggard moans and breaths punching out of her lungs.

He fucked her so hard she thought he was willing her to become part of the floor, but that didn't stop her juices from flowing out of her nonstop or her orgasm from skyrocketing.

"Ahh, ahh,-MM,MM oh, oh, great mother I’m gonna--"

"C'mon, cum for me, Li'Tala."

Tala screamed into her arm as her body convulsed, she was seeing stars as she came so hard she instantly felt numb. Neteyam growled loudly and his hips stuttered, her walls strangling his throbbing length and it coaxed his cum to coat her insides again and again.

A few moments later, Neteyam kicked open the locker door, letting in refreshing air to cool their skin as he cradled Tala against his body. They panted hard and in sync, their bodies twitching from exhaustion and ecstacy and now sticking together, sweaty.

Tala was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She didn't even register how Neteyam had entwined his tail with hers, otherwise she'd surely jump at the opportunity to tease.

"No more of these metal things." Neteyam huffed out.

"Okay..."

"Or those symbols."

"Alright..."

Neteyam shifted, nuzzling into her neck. He liked her perfume too much.

"And don't forget what you said... you're MY toy. Mine."

Tala weakly glanced at him, though his face was still hidden away in her hair. She bit her lip and looked forward, the way their legs tangled together.

"Yours..."

The word felt heavy and bitter in her mouth.

----------------

It’s been a week and Tala had found herself at an impasse.

By no means did she keep any such requests Neteyam had asked of her, Orlek’an simply insisted on her being more careful and that the Anurai woman handle the rest.

She sighed, Neteyam was becoming… overzealous. They had seen each other every day since that incident and each day increased in both intimacy and confusion.

“Something wrong?” Tala turned in her stool back to Dr. Hanson. She smiled cheekily, of all the scientists he had become her favorite. Extremely easy to annoy.

“My ass hurts.”

He choked on his coffee and Patty chortled loudly behind her. Tala sighed louder and stretched out onto the table, prompting the scientist to quickly move his coffee mug and digital pad away to make room.

“Can’t you spare me any zoslu paste? My hips feel like they’re about to break.” Tala whined softly, though truly she was not expecting any charity. Patty howled even louder and Dr. Hanson sputtered.

“I gave you advil! And Jesus Christ, get up! We still have 18 more samples and variations to look through!” Dr. Hanson yelled. Tala rolled over and looked up at him with fluttering eyes.

“Please, a break? I’ll be very cooperative after, I promise.” She asked meekly, her voice small and sad, and Dr. Hanson sighed into his mug.

“Fine. 20 minutes, and then back to work!” He grumbled. Tala smiled and purred against his arm, from 5 minutes to 20, she had done a good job wheedling him to be nicer and nicer.

She took off her new coat, for some reason Neteyam had permanently kept her old one, and laid it flat on the floor. It would be her only cushion and yet it was enough for her then anyway.

As Tala curled onto the floor, her ears could hear the soft whirring and vibrations of mechanical components and people walking and talking. She didn’t have many solid clues of how long since she’d been captured, a few months now at the very least.

It felt like a new lifetime. Eerily comfortable and constricted, Tala increasingly felt a weight settle on her chest with each new cold day she woke up to.

Tala looked down at her hands, inhibitors heavy on her wrists. How long has it been since she’s seen the skin underneath?

Why does she worry about these tawtutes, these bare acquaintances?

How much longer did she have to stay a toy for someone who obviously despised her?

Was there nothing she could do but wait for Eywa?

Tala sighed, she could feel her face heating up. Oh, she’s tried so hard not to think about any of this, she needed to compartmentalize it all, yet the moment she relaxed everything bubbled to the surface.

Not to mention everything with Neteyam. Especially after what had happened the week before, Tala wished desperately for his face to disappear from her thoughts. But it never did.

He was ruining her, though perhaps she was giving him too much credit. 

The Tawkami put her focus back on listening to the machines clicking and vibrating. It was calming, she could get lost in this rhythm, she just needed to calm down. It reminded her of water and rain, and she wished she could see it again–

“GET UP, NOW!”

Patty violently hauled Tala up by her shoulder and only then did she pay attention to all the other noises. Shouting, some screams of panic. Tala snapped to Dr. Hanson who was cursing and gathering materials left and right as Patty impatiently punched in codes for the lab doors to open.

“Wh-What’s-?”

“Flooding in Sector C. It’s been raining hell for fucking days, and something’s punctured the fort!” Dr. Hanson yelled and scrambled after them as Patty dragged her to run down. Rain?

The hallways were filled with scrambling scientists and some guards barking orders, soldiers quickly clearing out rooms. Tala passed by the opposing hallway that led to the prison. “Wait!” She hissed, pulling at Patty’s kuru. The soldier yowled and glared at her.

“What the fuck!”

“Orlek’an, my friend!! What about my friend?!” Tala shouted over her. Patty made a face and looked towards the prison.

“I’m sure the guards cleared her outta there, now let’s move!”

“We have to check! Those guards are skxawngs, they barely even remember to feed us!” The Tawkami girl seethed desperately. “Please, Patty!” She begged loudly over the alarm now blaring through the compound. The lights went out and Dr. Hanson screamed more curses. She could hear Patty curse loudly. Tala yelped when she felt liquid spilling onto the floor and it only made her cling tighter to the soldier to beseech her.

“Please!”

The emergency lights came back on, shining green. Patty glanced at Dr. Hanson, obviously as scared shitless as they all were, and then back at Tala. She cursed again and hit some buttons on her wrist tech and Tala’s hands were freed apart.

“I’ve deactivated the magnets on your cuffs, and I've allowed you full access to the floor. Just hit this code on the door and you can get your friend, follow the blinking lights for the exits. My priority is the safety of Dr. Hanson.” Patty explained quickly and Tala nodded.

“Wait, you can’t just let her go-”

“We’re getting you out of here, Lloyd, no questions!”

“Patty!” Tala yelled.

She turned to Tala.

“Thank you.”

Patty’s mouth was tight as she nodded and she picked up Dr. Hanson, bounding the other way.

Tala looked for only a second until she too was running fast, making large splashes with every leap, basically tearing her lab coat off. She was trying to take care not to slip, but the water level was rising surprisingly quickly.

The water was up to her shins when Tala arrived at the prison doors and punched in the code.

“Orlek’an!!”

“Tala?!” The Anurai woman screamed out, her hands raw from scratching at the cages. Tala sped to Orlek’an, seeing her clearly for the first time.

“How did you-”

“No time!” The younger quickly punched in the code for Orlek’an’s cage and she breathed out in relief when it blinked white and the metal doors opened.

For the first time, Tala looked at her Anurai cellmate fully and wholly, she was older than her, she had already known, and beautiful. Her eyes glowed amber and quickly the two women held each other tightly.

Tala let out a watery laugh, the Anurai woman was so much taller than her, and she smelled like yovo fruit and waterfalls.

“Here, quickly.” Orlek’an handed her a bundle of darts, and bandaids to hold the sharp and rough metal by. Tala almost hesitated but gripped the darts carefully. Much bigger than the needle Neteyam had confiscated, these ones were coated in the nonlethal poison Tala managed to create behind the scientists' backs.

She nodded, finally, it was time to enact something they’d been preparing for weeks together, just them two. 

“Let’s go now, young one!”

Orlek’an grabbed Tala’s hand and the two waded as quickly as possible away from the prison.

Tala strained her eyes between the dark and bright green, the lights blinking. She gestured for the Anurai to follow her and the two swam and paddled desperately.

This must be the disaster, the first one of Eywa’s Revenge. By Water.

They dove, a light at the end of the hall. When the women resurfaced at the exit, soldiers herded scientists and prisoners, scrambling all around in the chaos. 

The rain made it still so difficult to breathe but Great Mother…

Tala inhaled deeply, the rain and the seawater, the mist and the dirt.

Finally, she was outside.

But only just.

Orlek’an and Tala ran behind more facilities as they made their way to the docks, which was no small feat. Though the sea wall was massive and easy for them to locate, Bridgehead was even bigger and water sloshed all around, making it difficult for any one of them to gain footholds.

The force of the waves was enough to topple over the people in large exoskeleton-machine suits and every so often, Tala or Orlek’an would throw their paralyzing darts. The rain was on their side, never did a droplet deter a dart from its trajectory and each throw left a dreamwalker or tawtute soldier falling to the ground, stunned.

When they neared the sea wall, they were not the only ones. There were multiple prisoners, each had risked their escapes by the raging ocean than by attempting a crossing of the RDA’s Kill Zone.

Tala’s eyes blinked away heavy raindrops as they strained, she turned to Orlek’an. “Why way?!”

The older woman also searched until her eyes landed upon the edge of the seawall, implanted into a rocky cliffside next to the edge of the sea itself. The older na’vi gestured for Tala to follow her as they sprinted towards the edge, losing their footing as the waves that tumbled inside Bridgehead city only increased in violence.

Tala gasped, eyes locked onto a figure already on the sea wall.

“What is it?” Orlek’an shouted.

“It’s– It’s my friend, Anke’ti!”

There he was, already deep in the water and crashing with violent waves, trying to scale over the sea wall. Each time he got closer and closer to the edge, and each time his blue body was more and more visible against the cement.

Tala clasped Orlek’an’s shoulders.

“Go on! I need to help him!!” She shouted and then hugged Orlek’an tightly.

“Goodbye, my friend. Eywa be with you.” She whispered with all her heart. She could tell tears were streaming down her face already, despite the torrent of rain. Her first friend, her only friend here.

“Eywa be with you, Tala.” Orlek’an kissed her cheek and they looked at each other for what could be the last time.

Tala squeezed Orlek’an’s hand, tried to smile, then dashed past the woman. Eywa, she prayed, she prayed deeply for all her friends to survive and to see them again.

She ran breathlessly toward the closest edge of the sea gate, enclosed by natural hills and mountains. She started climbing, feet singing as they crunched on the wild grass underneath. It was wonderful, but she could not stop to admire it! She needed to go faster!

Tala kept her eyes on Anke’ti as she climbed, he was so close, so close to reaching the edge, and – yes! Anke’ti grabbed onto the edge of the sea wall and started climbing himself up. The strain of everything, his thin body shook in both the wind and exhaustion. He had already been experiencing the pressure of rain on his back for many days now, he looked so tired.

“ANKE!” She screamed and she could feel herself smile for that briefest moment when his tail raised, ears flicked. Anke’ti continued his struggle, continued pulling himself up.

Hope filled Tala’s heart, she just needed to see him off, follow him once she knew he was over—

A spot of black in her peripheral vision, a malicious shine through the torrential rain, a gun – NO! It was pointed right at him!

Tala changed her direction towards the soldier, trying to climb faster but it simply felt too long, she felt too slow, she wasn’t going to make it in time, the soldier started to squeeze the trigger and–

Tala prayed to Eywa with a scream.

.

.

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#liar liar #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #fanart #fanfic #atwow neteyam #neteyam x oc #smut #doodle #recom neteyam #AU #rda neteyam #avatar 2

[its-time-to-write]

i think we could do it if we tried

So I misread a prompt, and didn’t realize until halfway through the fic. This was the result and it ended up being weirdly personal? If you hate it or think it’s unrealistic, I know, it’s just wishful thinking, ok?😭

i think we could do it if we tried

You’re sure Jamie’s expression will be burned into your mind forever. After all, you’re the one who put it there. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say, tears streaming down your face, “I’m the one who’s breaking up with you.”

Jamie just laughs wetly. “Not your fault, though, is it?”

That just makes you cry harder. 

You and Jamie had been friends for a long time, and he’d been in love with you forever. You didn’t return the feeling until you turned eighteen. It was on your birthday, actually. He had insisted on wearing a birthday hat all day, despite that fact that he was at training and you were at home, so you didn’t see each other until the end of the day. Something about seeing the sparkly cone on his head did something to your heart, and there it was; you loved him. 

You suppose the love was always there, lying dormant, but now it had arisen. It took you a week to muster up the courage to tell him, but you did and now it felt like the world made sense. 

Now, a month later, you’re breaking up with him. 

Jamie had been playing football for a while now, and he was really, really good. You were beginning your studies as an undergrad and had your life mapped out until grad school. He was moving away soon and you were leaving tomorrow, but that wasn’t the reason you were breaking up. 

It’s because your parents didn’t approve. 

“I can’t make them understand,” you tell Jamie, willing yourself not to cry. “And… I know I’m eighteen, but they’re paying for university. They said they’d pay all the way through grad school, and I can’t afford it on my own.”

Jamie nods and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“God, it’s fuckin’ shitty, ain’t it?” he says. “Me ‘n you, finally figuring it out too late.”

You can only nod and sniff. Your parents told you that Jamie was a good friend, but nothing more. 

“You’re only projecting feelings onto him because you know he likes you,” your mum had said. “And besides, he plays football. Can’t support a family on that, can you?”

Any protests you made fell on deaf ears. Your parents never explicitly said they’d pull their financial support, but it was hinted. It hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere in the house. Your mother’s displeasure saturated the building, affecting everyone inside. 

So here you are, standing in the dim light of Jamie’s mum’s porch, breaking up with him at 10pm. 

He knew it was coming, too. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, yeah?” he’d said two days earlier. 

You just nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting football,” he continued, “Get a real job, stay closer.”

You had protested vehemently. He loved football, and he was good, like really good, and how could you ask him to give it up?

So yeah, it wasn’t a total blindside. 

Still hurt, though. 

You stood there, a long time, without speaking. You were memorizing each other’s faces and the way it felt being together for the last time. 

There’s a light on in Georgie’s room, and you wonder if she’ll still love you despite the fact you broke her baby’s heart. 

Jamie finally breaks the silence. “You should go,” he says, “before your parents figure out you’re gone.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just reach out and squeeze his hand. He pulls you in for a hug, the tightest one you’ve ever received, and you never want to let go. But you do. 

You fight the urge to say I’ll wait for you. I’ll find you when I’m done with school. We’ll make it work. But you don’t want to give him false hope. You don’t want to hurt him more than you already have. 

So instead, you whisper “I love you, Jamie Tartt,” and force yourself to walk away. 

— 

That was six years ago. You pushed yourself through school, got out with your BA in three and a half years, and scraped through your MA in two. There were times it felt a little like hell, but you persevered. 

You’re pretty sure the worst moment was during your third year, when your roommate, a football aficionado, started talking about Man City’s hotshot new player.  

“Oh my god, he’s like, so fucking sexy. The things he does on the pitch… he’s like, revolutionized the game.”

“Hm,” you say noncommittally, lost in a textbook. 

“Yeah, heard he’s a bit of a prick though. Grew up in Manchester, and he’s about our age. D’you reckon you knew him?”

“What?” you say, finally lifting your eyes from the page. “I didn’t grow up in Manchester, just lived there when I was a teenager.”

Your roommate shrugs. “Did you know a ‘Jamie Tartt?’ Dating Keeley Jones?”

And there it was. The worst moment of your whole university career. 

You turn back to your book in order to hide your face. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” you say, and your roommate doesn’t push it. She’s too busy telling you how Jamie and Keeley are the hottest, most perfect couple she’s ever seen. 

You’re past that now. It still feels like a stabbing pain every time you hear his name or see his face on a screen, but for the most part, you’ve shut down that part of your brain. 

You might have shut it down a little too successfully. 

In the last six years, you’ve been in exactly two relationships. Both short-lived, both leaving you with a sense of apathy. 

But, your parents approved of both of them. Didn’t matter that they were shallow, self-absorbed dickheads; “He’s cute and has a good job!” your mum had said, oblivious to the fact that she was replaying the exact same pitch to you from before. 

You had felt a rush of relief when the news hit that Jamie and Keeley had broken up. You hated hearing about all his escapades, and how much he hurt her. It made your heart ache, knowing he was burying himself in his prickish attitude the same way you were burying yourself in yours. 

Well, maybe that’s too harsh. You aren’t a prick per se, you’re just… cold. Emotionless. You felt very little this days, because every time you felt the tiniest bit of anything, everything threatened to overwhelm you. 

After school, you just… kept moving. No sense in going home, you loved your family but they made you feel like you were drowning. And you couldn’t make yourself go back to Manchester. 

Georgie called you from time to time, checking up on you. Turns out she didn’t hate you. She was actually rather worried. She never, ever mentioned Jamie. 

“You can’t just stop living life, love,” she had said one time. “That’s all it is: love and loss. You just keep moving forward.”

You took her advice literally, securing a good job that allowed you to work remotely. You moved to the east side of London, West Ham, but were never at your flat longer than a week. After all, you were hot and had a good job. Why not travel? You had no strings keeping you anywhere. 

Now you’re back in West Ham for two weeks, getting ready to go to Barcelona. A friend has a timeshare that she can’t make it to, so you volunteered to go. After all, it’s better to be apathetic in Barcelona than it is in West Ham, right?

Whatever the case, you’re here for much longer than you’d like to be, but you’re going to make the best of it. You have a friend from uni who lives near you, so you’re going out tonight. She wants to go to some upscale restaurant a couple minutes from your flat with a few other girls, and you decide that you’d rather not be alone tonight.

You don’t mention that it’s your birthday. You stopped celebrating them at nineteen.

Your hair and makeup are done, you’ve put together an appropriate fancy-dinner outfit, and you’d say you’re looking classy. You grab your bag and head out the door.

It’s only a ten-minute walk, and there are all kinds of people out. You wonder why, then remember it’s Saturday. That explains it. 

There’s an especially rowdy bunch of guys up ahead, seemingly corralled by a middle-aged man with a mustache. As you draw closer, you hear his accent. American, specifically mid-Western. You breeze by them, catching snatches of their conversations and a mix of accents.

Your ear tunes into someone saying, “…not what really happened,” with an accent that reminds you so much of Jamie’s, you find yourself rooted to your spot in the sidewalk, turning around to confirm that it is not, in fact, him.

You make eye contact with the middle-aged mustached man, who smiles at you and shrugs. “Footballers. What a rowdy bunch,” he says, “Wonder where their coach’s at?”

You surmise by his jocular tone that he’s their coach.

You give him a small smile and he comes over to you. Your feet still won’t move, because you haven’t confirmed that the voice was not Jamie. Or maybe because this man is a gaffer, and you want him to say something, anything about possibly knowing Jamie Tartt.

“I’m Ted,” he says, sticking out his hand.

You shake it and give him your name. At this point, his team have noticed that their coach is talking to someone new, and they descend like a flock of curious children.

There’s a chorus of hellos and one hola, but it’s all a little lost because all you can hear is one soft, “hey.”

“Hi,” you breathe. 

One look into Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes and you’re a goner, even after six years.

Ted looks from you to Jamie. “Oh, do y’all know each other? Jamie, why didn’t you say something?”

“Dunno,” Jamie says, keeping his eyes on you.

Ted, great man that he is, assesses the situation with alarming perception.

“Alright boys, why don’t we let Jamie catch up with his lady-friend, and we’ll just text him where we end up, sound good?” 

It does not sound good to them, because they can tell something interesting is about to happen, but Ted and another bearded American herd them away and down the street, leaving you and Jamie alone on the sidewalk.

“How you been?” he asks, looking awkward as you feel.

“I’ve been…” what word is there to describe how you’ve been? You settle for a shrug.

He nods and huffs out a single chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up, don’t it?”

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to lightly tap his arm. “Heard you were some hotshot footballer.”

Jamie imitates your shrug. “Heard you were some hotshot something or the other.”

You crack a small smile at that. “Georgie tell you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, “Felt the need to keep me updated. Don’t fuckin’ know why though.”

That hurts a little bit. This is a mistake, you think. You begin to realize, perhaps for the first time, that your pining after him was pointless. And one-sided.

That is, until Jamie says so softly you almost miss it, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

There it is. 

You open your mouth to say, I love you, but what comes out instead is, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jamie asks in surprise.

“I’m just… sorry. For everything. For walking away. I don’t know, I feel like I should have fought it or something… I think about you all the time. I wish that I would’ve done something different, I guess. I know I can’t change it, but…” you shrug helplessly. 

Jamie just looks at you, head tilted. 

You huff out an awkward laugh. “Anyway. I should probably go. Meeting a bunch of girls for drinks and dinner.”

“You hate that shit,” Jamie says, and it comes out the exact same way he would have said it six years ago. Like he’s comfortable with you, like he knows every single tick in your brain.

“I do,” you agree ruefully. “Just couldn’t get out of it, I guess. Didn’t have a good excuse.”

“Go out with me,” Jamie suggests, impulsively. But then, he was never one for forethought. 

Your mouth opens to decline, then shuts.

“You’re done with school, yeah?” Jamie continues, “Mum said you haven’t been home in ages. Said she knows more about you than your parents. What if… what if we gave it another go? We’re fuckin’ adults, ain’t we? Let’s just fucking try.”

He’s looking at you, so full of anxious hope that it makes you want to cry. You can feel a few tears fighting their way forward.

“Jamie,” you say, “Jamie I don’t know. I mean- I hurt you. I knew what I was doing would hurt you and I did it anyway. I could hurt you again.”

Jamie replies, “Weren’t your fault though, was it?” and you’re taken back so vividly to that front porch.

You look at him, really look at him for the first time in six years. He’s older, you realize, and you think that he must think something similar about you. He’s calmer, almost- gentler? Still the same Jamie though, with the blonde highlights and the slit in his eyebrow. Outrageous sense of fashion, one that is no longer dulled by the ominous presence of his father. He’s more sure of himself, you think, and you realize you’re more sure too.

There isn’t anything hanging over your head threatening to take your livelihood away.

It’s poetic, really. You, him, in the dim streetlight. Deciding to begin again exactly six years after it ended.

“Jamie,” you say again, because you love the way his name feels on your lips, “I didn’t ever stop loving you. I don’t ever want to stop loving you.”

He’s taken a step closer, and there’s mere centimeters between you. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, right?” you whisper, “Been thinking about stopping traveling. Maybe settle down closer, focus on my job more.”

Jamie smiles. “Go out with me,” he says. “Skip your dinner. You’d have a shit time, anyway.”

You smile back and reach out for his hand. It still fits perfectly in yours. Maybe even better.

“I would love to.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. Fluffy skinny dipping with Loki. Tell me something better than that, I’ll wait. Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 2568 Warnings: skinny dipping, implied smut, fluff

The air in Asgard smelled different. Fresher. Richer. You took a deep breath, inhaling not only oxygen but also that foreign Asgardian vibe. Summer felt a hundred times more intense around here. The heat was on the verge of unbearable, the glistening water right outside the palace inviting you for a swim to cool down. The whole planet felt like an Instagram filter—like someone had turned up the contrast, the saturation and the brightness all at the same time.

“How do you cope in this heat?” you complained, fanning air to your face with your right hand. You were sat in the lower parts of the palace with Thor’s friends Volstagg, Hogun and Fandral and of course, Lady Sif.

Odin had commanded you remained under supervision at all times. You didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about—it wasn’t like a mere Midgardian could wreak havoc among this realm but then again, he was probably just traumatised from the time Thor brought an Aether-infected Jane to Asgard a few years back.

But the company wasn’t so bad, especially upon learning new things about Asgardian culture. One person was missing though. You’d hardly seen Loki since your arrival even though it had been him to promise to keep you safe.

Boom—it had been like a heartbeat, like an explosion and just like that, you had fallen in love with the God of Mischief. It had started with a crush. A purely physical attraction that made you see beyond the things he had done on Earth all those years ago. Then you had gotten to know him and witnessed his wit and sarcasm day in and out. Soon, you began to see past the cheekiness and mischief until you had discovered a vulnerable god who would die for the ones he loved, an intelligent and kind man who might not have been a superhero and leaned toward a little selfishness every now and then but a good man nonetheless.

Loki had never been evil and you were now determined to convince everyone else of that mind-set as well. Especially now that you had been brought to Asgard for your own safety.

“It’s not so bad down here. I feel sorry for Idunn and her workers. The apple orchard is a sauna at this time of the day but the work won’t do itself.”

“First of all… you have saunas on Asgard? And second of all, if this is a realm of magic, why is there any labour at all?”

Volstagg’s cheeks reddened as he fought to explain it to you. “Well, let’s just say Idunn’s apples are special. They require skilled hands to handle them.”

“Right…” With a court nod, you emptied the rest of your drink and carefully put it back on the table—like hell you would smash it to the ground and scream “Another” like Thor and his friends did.

“Where’s Loki, actually?” you asked, attempting to sound non-chalant.

“Who knows? Causing some mischief somewhere probably. I for my part am glad I don’t have to see his face.”

“He’s been nothing but kind to me so far, Volstagg.”

“Hmm…” Hogun began, “He’s like a flesh-eating plant. He lures you in and then traps you in his claws. Be careful. We have known Loki for a lot longer than you.”

“Maybe you guys should stop giving him reasons to stab you in the back. Think about that.” Checkmate. That shut them up for a good minute.

You sighed. Well, in the end, you’d likely have a lot more work to do for them to accept the cheeky God of Mischief for who he was and why he behaved the way he did, it seemed.

“If you say so… I’m gonna go find him.”

“You can’t wander through the palace alone.”

You chuckled. “Watch me. I know where Loki’s chambers are. And I promise to scream if I’m getting murdered.”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Hogun insisted.

“I’m trapped on a different planet surrounded by gods. If I don’t joke about it, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I am still going to escort you.”

You rolled your eyes. Always obey Odin. “Fine.” Hogun wasn’t very talkative, at least.

It was a lot cooler in the palace—but then again, sacrificing a wonderful day that you could spend swimming and tanning and exploring to hide within some palace walls wasn’t all that appealing.

“Loki? Are you there?” Hogun was waiting around the corner with his hands clasped behind his back when you knocked.

Silence. You cleared your throat. “Loki, your hearing is a thousand times better than mine, I know you can hear me.”

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine when you heard a dark chuckle behind the door. A sliver of magic tore through the heavy wood of his door and it swung open, revealing him sitting in the shade on his bed with a book on his lap.

You blinked. He was dressed so casually. Bare feet, a green and soft-looking shirt with sleeves ending right below his elbows and wide black trousers reminding you of a comfy pyjama. Summing up, he looked hot.

“What are you doing here?” He was practically purring when he spoke your name, pulling a pleasant shiver from you. Something told you that Loki knew you were absolutely infatuated with him and boy, was he having fun with it. You sighed, letting it go for now. It was too hot to complain.

“I want to go swimming.”

“You want to go swimming?” Loki frowned at his book as if you’d suggested going rollerblading on the Bifrost bridge. Although… that actually sounded like a fun idea as well.

“Yes, Loki. It’s summer, it’s hot and I am melting. You’re a Frost Giant, how on Earth do you cope?”

“By staying inside where it’s cool, reading and most importantly, keeping my mouth shut.”

You grunted, closing the door behind you. “I’m gonna pretend like I was unable to take the hint to leave you alone. What are you reading?”

This time, it was Loki who sighed.

“Why don’t you ask Thor and his foolish friends? Are they giving you trouble?” he asked instead of responding to your question.

“No. Just… Because I want to spend time with you. And because they’re boring, obeying every single word the oh-so-allmighty-Odin says.” You threw your hands to demonstrate how ridiculous you found the whole situation.

Finally, Loki looked up from his book, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “What makes you think that I won’t?”

“Please. You are the God of Mischief. And rules are made to be broken, right? You remember that pretty lagoon west of the Bifrost Bridge that you told me about? The one with the cave? I want to go there. Please, Loki. Pack your book and let’s go. If I’m on a different planet, at least I want to explore it a little.”

Loki considered you for a moment, almost as if he was trying to figure out whether you were just mocking him. Then, finally, he shut his book and elegantly stood from the bed. “Very well. Let’s go.”

His smile was genuine—it had to be. His book vanished into thin air the very moment his door swung open again.

“Quick. Before Hogun realises we are not really headed to the kitchens for a cool drink.”

Loki escorted you through one of the servants’ exits to avoid the guards and more importantly, Thor and his friends. The earthy path was steep as you followed him down further and further away from the palace until you reached the shore and the ground to your feet turned into warm sand.

A small boat was swaying in the water, tied to a rock in the sand with a thick rope. Loki, however, did not make a move toward it. Instead, he offered you his hand. Intrigued, you took it. Next thing you know, he transformed into an eagle, his talons gripping your hand tightly.

You cheered when you took off and he flew across the water towards the lagoon, your naked toes grazing the cool ocean water in the process. The landing, a few minutes later, was smooth and then, just like that, Loki’s eagle aspect disappeared again.

“That was incredible! Can you turn me into an eagle as well?”

“Potentially. It takes years to master transfiguration like this. Your body would have to adjust to the new form and you would have to learn how to fly. If I transformed you now, you would quite possibly drown.”

“Right.” You turned around, taking in your new surroundings. The lagoon was stunning. It looked like the inside of a volcano, a hollowed-out rock with a pond with the clearest sea water you had ever seen in the middle. Vines, trees, and flowers all grew around it, spreading a lovely scent, and the small cave at the opposite end looked like the perfect spot for camping. The waterfall was by far the best part of it all though. It was gushing and loud, drowning out all noise from the outside and reverberating within the lagoon.

“This is beautiful. How come no one ever comes here?”

“Well… Asgardians are not too keen on swimming. Most of them never even learn it unless they’re training to fight battles. It is considered impure and in some cases, disrespectful to swim in open waters.”

Loki waved his hand, letting a dark green picnic blanket appear in the sand that mixed with green grass where you stood. Along with it, he conjured up a golden plate full of grapes, apple slices, strawberries and other fruit you didn’t recognise. He sat down on it with his book in hand.

It was then you realised you didn’t actually have any swimwear.

“What? Why is that?”

“Ah, well, you see, according to our lore, the giant Ymir was slain so the worlds could be built. His brains became the clouds, his bones became the mountains and his blood became the oceans.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m about to swim in someone’s blood?”

Loki chuckled. “Something like that.”

You suppressed a grin. Should you? It was only the two of you here after all. And what sent a clearer signal for “I like you, I’m attracted to you and I want to have sex with you” than skinny dipping? You shrugged your shoulders. You were on a different planet. Things couldn’t exactly get any crazier from here.

You pulled off your shirt and then peeled yourself out of your shorts. Your bra came off first after that. With your back turned to Loki, you could still practically feel his blue eyes boring into you. By the time you stepped out of your knickers and revealed your arse to him, he sucked in air so loudly you could even hear it over the waterfall.

Unceremoniously and gathering all of your swimming training from your school days, you dived head-first into the clear water as gracefully as you could muster. The water was divine. It was cool and salty enough for you to float without too much effort and the little fish you saw swimming past you didn’t even seem to be scared of you. You’d have to ask Loki for some fish food for them.

“I could have conjured you some swimwear, you know.” His blue eyes were glued to you. You grinned, swimming in his direction. The clear water did very little to conceal you and it was even clearer that the God of Mischief was having a hard time not to look down.

“And where would have been the fun in that? What are you doing, come in! It’s lovely! I dare you,” you added. “Oh no, whatever will all those fancy royals at the palace say if they find out one of their princes is skinny dipping with a peasant?” Dramatically, you brought the back of your hand to your forehead and then disappeared underwater for a moment.

When you emerged, Loki was standing and taking off his clothes. Yes.

“Last time I caused an uproar, I was in the middle of a feeble attempt at taking over Midgard. They’ll be relieved to hear I have resorted to less scandalous activities.”

Seeing Loki shirtless was quite possibly the highlight of your entire day. But he didn’t give you much time to drool over his muscly pale chest and those strong arms. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. When those comfy trousers came off, he was naked and damn, was he glorious even in a flaccid state. You didn’t even bother pretending not to stare.

Loki smirked and then, much more gracefully than you, dived into the pond. He looked downright gorgeous with wet hair when he emerged only a few inches away from you, so much so that you almost forgot to keep yourself afloat.

“Cat got your tongue? You aren’t going to back out now, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Loki.” For a split second, playing Marco Polo with him crossed your mind but now that you had him naked in the clear water, you could think of more… adult activities.

“Can I ask you something?” You just needed some confirmation first. He’d promised to keep you safe but did that mean he reciprocated your feelings? Not necessarily, right?

Loki raised his eyebrows at you—in a gentle, teasing manner this time.

“Why did you agree to come here with me? I mean… the others… they’d never let me be alone with you. If they knew, they’d drag me out by the hair. Or you, whoever they manage to grab first. I guess… after everything that happened between you and the entire planet Earth, I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with a human beyond a genuine promise to make up for the past.”

Loki’s face fell.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head. “You did not. Let’s just say I forgot for a moment that you are mortal.”

Oh. “Is that bad?”

“I will have outlived you in a matter of decades. So yes. That is bad, pet.” Pet. You sincerely hoped he wasn’t able to hear the moan that escaped your lips. “I am not a villain. And it took a lot of convincing to make me realise that. So why would I not? I have no reason to meet you with hostility if you don’t either.”

You smiled at him. “That’s what I told them today, you know? That you wouldn’t have betrayed them if they hadn’t given you a reason to do so. And… That just means we’ve gotta make use of the time that we have even more, no?”

With that, you took the leap. You leaned forward, clung to him like a monkey and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your naked skin against his felt heavenly, even more so underwater. You kissed him as if your life depended on it, teeth clashing, tongues battling… your entire being lost itself in Loki, how good he tasted and how skilled of a kisser he was.

When you broke apart, you were both out of breath and a little surprised by what had just happened. Your eyes fell on his swollen lips.

“Admit it,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Admit it. You like me.”

Loki chuckled. “I wouldn’t put up with you if I didn’t, pet.”

A/N: Come say hello on my blog for more Imagines and my novels! ♥

#loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #loki fluff #loki x female reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #thor #thor imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #tom hiddleston #loki series #loki series imagine #loki show #loki show imagine

[thecuriousquest]

You Know You Love it Part One

Yandere!Bully KiriBaku x Reader

Warnings: Bullying, bondage, violence, degradation, masturbation, masochism

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Checkout my Master List here.

————————————————————————

Today is a bit different. You wake up, put on your glasses, get dressed, have a quick bite to eat, and then head to class. You’re early as always by thirty minutes.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turn around to see who’s invading your personal bubble. It’s someone you don’t even know. You can’t remember if you’ve ever even met this guy before.

He shoves your back into the locker before you can question him, hard. It knocks the breath out of you.

This boy gets up in your face and hisses, “I heard you do people’s homework. Looks like it’s my lucky day.”

You sputter and wriggle around in his grasp, but his hands don’t falter as they keep you pinned to the metal lockers. “I’m not doing your fucking homework!” Feistiness pumps through your veins, giving you enough energy to try to fight off his strong grip.

“You will do it, or I’ll beat you every day until you do,” he threatens.

You close your eyes. His breath smells awful. You could vomit right in his ugly face.

Out of nowhere, you don’t feel his hands on you anymore. Peering through your glasses, you see Katsuki and Eijiro pull him off of you and push him to the floor.

“Picking on our little mouse, hu? That’s our job,” Kirishima tells him while Bakugou delivers a hefty kick to the boy’s stomach.

“We. Own. Her.” Every word is accentuated with a stomp to his corpse.

The redhead and blonde finish up beating this guy, and your heart flutters at the masculine energy they emit. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, attempting to create a bit of friction.

Kirishima turns to you and pulls you by your hand. He seems as though he’s checking you over for any bruises, but he never asks if you’re okay. “You’re so weak and helpless,” is all he says as he finds a bruise on your wrist.

It’s Katsuki who is more determined to get this message through your head. Taking a chunk of your hair in his grip, he pulls you in close. “Why did you have to go and get bruised by some fucking extra? Hu? Can’t even fend for yourself? Fucking pathetic. Bruising you is our right, nobody else’s. You got that?” His gruff voice sends shivers down your spine.

You want to moan. By God do you want to let such a naughty sound escape your mouth. Your scalp burns horribly in his punishing hold, but it hurts so good you can’t even comprehend why.

“Fuck off, Bakugou!” Is what comes out of your defiant mouth instead.

It’s Eijiro who gives you a malicious chuckle. He puts a hand on his best friend’s shoulder and tells him, “How can such a little nerd have such a big mouth?”

“Beats me, but we oughta do something about it.” His grin grows wider with an idea.

———

They use the tie from your school uniform to bind you to the shower head. Frightened yet completely turned on by what’s about to happen, you struggle to fight your way out of the situation your loud mouth got you into.

“Please, don’t do this. Kirishima, Bakugou, you don’t have to do this. Please?!”

You watch Bakugou reach for the faucet right behind you. “Don’t you do it! Don’t you dare fucking do it! Gah!”

Cold water rushes over your skin, drenching your clothes. It shocks you, and for a few seconds, you forget to breathe. Then, you’re crying out pleas for them to turn off the shower because the temperature is biting through your flesh as it saturates your uniform. You stomp your feet, you pull on your binds, and you beg at the top of your lungs, but they just watch you with amusement on their faces.

The utter dominance. It riles you up.

It’s sickening how this kind of shit gets you off. You never know what to think about it. How can your tormentors make you want to fall to your knees and masturbate until you’re so exhausted that you fall into a mini coma? That’s probably what you’re going to do when you get off to this little scene later on tonight if you’re being honest with yourself.

The frigid water washes you horribly, making you tremble. They love to talk about you like you’re not even there.

“I guess we should turn it off now,” Kirishima says.

The ash blonde shrugs. “Give it another minute.”

By the time they turn the water off, your teeth are chattering. You have slight burns from where your wet tie rubbed against your wrist, but you don’t pay any attention to it as you try to warm up your arms. Shaking and rubbing your long sleeve shirt is all you can do to try to gather warmth.

“Aw, look at her, Kirishima. She looks so cute, like a little mouse caught in the rain.”

The redhead walks over to you and brushes your chin with his knuckles, making you look up at him.

“Learn your lesson?”

“Y-y-yes,” you barely manage in your current state.

“That’s adorable.” He laughs at you.

They both laugh at you.

———

You have just enough time to run back to your dorm and change into a new uniform. Your hair is still wet, and you’re afraid you might catch a cold, but your grades are much more important than your health.

Hating having to rush, you make it back to class just in time for the bell to ring.

Katsuki and Eijiro corner you at your desk and demand their homework. You comply, giving them the papers that will ensure a good grade.

They leave you with that fluttering feeling in your wet pussy.

#my hero acedamia #yandere #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo my hero academia #yandere katsuki bakugou #bully bakugou #yandere kirishima #yandere kiribaku #bnha eijiro kirishima #eijiro kirishima #triggering content #bullying

[aealzx]

Striding forward a few steps, Raphael wasn’t bothered at all when Leon scrambled to detach Lil Mikey from himself and herd him near Donnie so he could turn to face Raphael with his hands held in a defensive barrier between his brothers and Raphael. Crouching before the three, Raphael raised a hand in offer, noting Loen eyeing it, then him, warily.

“Hey. Sorry for scaring you. I don’t want to fight anymore, okay?” Raphael apologized simply, keeping his hand out for a handshake. Leon could only look at him suspiciously, blinking at the offered hand, and then squinting suspiciously at Raphael. Was he trying to trick him somehow? When was the last time someone other than his family had apologized to him for scaring him?

While Leon was considering his options, and Raphael’s motivations, Raphael decided to change tactics, carefully raising his hand towards Leon. The kid’s eyes widened for a moment, and he looked about ready to dart. But thankfully he stayed relatively in place. It could have been because Lil Mkey had whispered to him that it was okay, but Raphael liked to think that Leon was taking a leap of faith that Raphael didn’t mean any harm. None of them had meant him harm in the first place, it was just a habit for them to be ready to fight when there was an intruder. But after realizing they were probably dealing with another cross dimension sibling they’d just wanted to get him to sit in one place long enough to talk, while not getting hurt themselves.

As Raphael’s hand got close to him Leon’s eyes snapped shut and he turned his head away with a soft hiss, as though he expected to get smacked. Raphael couldn’t blame him for reacting that way, and instead just motivated to be even more careful than he had already planned. There was a bandage on Leon’s head that hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Raphael was careful to avoid it as he tenderly rested his hand on the kid’s crown, gently rubbing back and forth. “It’s okay kid. I’m not mad,” Raphael assured, giving a rare, soft smile. “And I’m not going to hurt you, or any of your brothers. Okay? You’re safe here. We just want to help.”

He wasn’t sure how many more times they’d have to repeat it before Leon started to believe them, but he just kept gently petting the kid’s head. And when Leon opened his eyes again to peek at him, Raphael just smiled a bit bigger. “There you are. See? All good.”

The comment barely calmed Leon’s nerves, having fully expected to get scolded in some manner. But his shoulders did droop somewhat, and he finally turned more towards Lil Mikey to nuzzle his nose against Lil Mikey’s head in silent comfort. “...What happened? Why are you hurt?” Leon asked quietly, wrapping one arm around Lil Mikey to hold him close once more while the other arm did his best to do the same with Donnie.

“A nasty witch kidnapped you guys from another dimension,” Mikey chimed in, bouncing behind Raphael and causing Leon to flinch. “We went in to rescue them, but they ended up getting hurt while we were there. Don’t worry though. My awesome brother and best friend are patching them up just fine.” Don had to give a mildly embarrassed snicker at the compliment, and Leatherhead could only give Mikey a small smile.

Leon’s expression scrunched in a grimace of confusion and borderline offense at that response. Did Mikey think he was four? “Hurt how? What did you do to take care of it?” Leon persisted, brow furrowing in frustration. What kind of report was that? He didn’t even mention what injuries they had at all. He wasn’t a child that needed everything glossed over in such a vague manner.

“Uhhhhh….,” Mikey faltered, having not expected Leon to ask for details. He wasn’t even sure what all of the details were. 

Luckily Don took that as his queue to step forward and kneel next to Raphael, concern saturating his form but his hands decidedly held back in his lap. “A government agent that we’ve been monitoring to keep her from achieving inter dimensional travel accidentally triggered a reaction that brought you and your family here from your dimension. It also grabbed our Leo, and they sent Raph a message to try and get him to return what we’ve stolen. We broke into her base since there was no way we were going to let her keep any of us, our brother or yours. But your Mikey got caught in the crossfire, and ended up getting shot in the back of his arm,” he explained quickly, partially to be open with their guest but also to see if his inference about Leon was correct.

With the sucked in hiss, and quick, analytical, and repeated visual examination of Lil Mikey’s bandages that Leon did, Don had his answer and gained a small smile. Leon was gathering medical data for his own mental documentation, and Don was happy to provide. “I had Leatherhead surgically remove the bullet, clean the wound, and stitch him back up. Both Leatherhead and I have done the procedure many times before. Right now he’s probably still numb from local anesthesia, but we’ll be sure to get him on painkillers once that starts to wear off. He and Lil Donnie were also both also exposed to an airborne toxin that breaks down cells when inhaled. We’ve dealt with it personally many times before, so we had an antidote ready that we’ve already given them. It’ll just take some time to heal what was already damaged, but there should be no further degradation.”

Leon was mostly quiet as Don, and sometimes Leatherhead, continued to give a detailed explanation that had Raphael raising a brow at him. It was more of an explanation than Raphael was used to getting, other than when Don was rambling in a distracted daze, and he briefly wondered if it was pointless or not. But when he looked at Leon he had to marvel at how the kid seemed to be understanding everything. The kid was even asking questions like what the toxin was, and what antidote was used and how it was given, what antiseptics were being used and if they used any antibiotic salve on Donnie. The responses Don gave earned satisfied nodding for the most part, and Raphael could only grin in amusement as he shifted his weight back to somewhat pull out of the conversation, the others settling around Master Splinter behind him. Looked like Leon was the medic of the other group. It was an interesting difference, and Raphael was wondering what had caused it. But the conversation was way over Raphael’s head, so he ended up tuning them out for a moment. It wasn’t until Raphael heard Don’s words fill with reluctance to be voiced that Raphael started paying attention again.

“...He hasn’t woken up since we left the base. I’m not sure if that’s normal for him, so it has me concerned…” Don was apparently talking about Donnie, who was still unresponsive to external stimuli. Raphael and the others had to agree with the voiced concern since Lil Mikey had been quick to wake up again once they’d landed, but it almost seemed like Donnie was sedated.

“It’s okay. He does that sometimes.” Leon responded easily. “We started calling them reboot naps.”

“...Reboot naps?” Raphael repeated, raising a brow. Why did that sound like something that would be done with a computer and not a person.

“Yeah. You know how sometimes a computer gets overloaded and starts to overheat and stop functioning properly? And the best thing to do is just turn it off so it can stop running programs and cool down?” Leon explained, sounding like it was one that had been used at least once before. After the others gave somewhat confused nods that they understood so far Leon continued. “That’s kind of what it’s like, I guess. His big brain just works overtime all the time and sometimes everything becomes too much, so he takes a huge nap to recover. He’ll wake up eventually.”

“...Hm… I guess that makes sense,” Don responded, voicing the thought all of them had. The analogy made sense, they just hadn’t dealt with anyone that did this before. Not without serious physical injury to go with it. “How long does he usually sleep for?”

“I dunno. Depends on how stressed out he got before. This time will probably be a longer one though,” Leon responded, shrugging.

Raphael had to furrow his brow in confusion at that combination of comments. He knew Donnie had probably been incredibly stressed out from everything, but none of them had mentioned anything to Leon about what had happened other than the injuries. “How do you know that?” Raphael asked, not able to keep his voice from being incredulous.

“I just do,” Leon huffed, shrinking back slightly in a physical show of avoidance. He was quick to change the subject as well, so Raphael knew his reason was something he didn’t want them to know. “Anyway, where’s his battle shell? I’m surprised he’s not wearing it.”

“Uhhh…” Don faltered, glancing at his brothers. He didn’t remember then having a truck with them. So that probably wasn’t what Leon meant. ”...Battle shell?” Don repeated in question. Luckily Little Mikey spoke up for them from where he was sagging into Leon’s lap, mumbling slightly in his increasing sleepiness. “It’s in the other room. Where we were before,” he explained, forcing back a yawn while trying to not completely fall over. “Told them not to take it off. But he insisted he shouldn’t wear it while sleeping. And needed to check his back.”

That was enough to que Don in on what they were talking about, giving a small gasp and dropping a fist lightly into an open palm. “Oh! The device he was wearing on his back. Yes, it’s back in the infirmary. I haven’t done anything with it other than take it off. Augustine’s employees took samples from Donnie’s back too, so I had to make sure those were clean as-”

“They did what?” Leon suddenly hissed, gaze becoming borderline furious as he latched onto only one thing Don said. “Where is it? Where is that base?” he demanded, moving to get to his feet. Don had only mentioned that Donnie had been cut before, not that he’d been some science lab pet.

“Woah, hey, relax kid. There’s nothing left of the base, your brother made sure of it. He set off the self-destruct as we were leaving,” Raphael spoke quickly, raising his hands to halt Leon’s movement without actually grabbing him. “We’re going to make double sure of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Augustine herself ended up with brain damage after how hard fearless over there kicked her in the head,” he added, jerking a thumb over at Leo, whose eyes widened slightly in surprise at being called out so suddenly.

“It wasn’t THAT h-... Okay maybe it was- She had a gun pointed at Donnie. What was I supposed to do?” Leo sputtered, gesturing awkwardly.

Don winced at the mention of the gun, and quickly looked over to Leon to see his reaction while Mikey hissed and clamped his hands over Leo’s mouth. He wasn’t surprised to see the lad shift protectively towards Donnie again, a glower shadowing his gaze. “....Show me what happened…” Leon demanded, his tone not leaving any room for debate. “All of it.”

“Show you?” Leatherhead prompted for further clarification. Did Leon really want to see everything that had happened?

“Are you saying you don’t have a database of every video feed from the government agent you’ve been monitoring?” Leon shot back, missing the real reason Leatherhead was questioning him and thinking they were trying to avoid showing it to them.

Don was stunned into silence for a stretch, surprised Leon had made that connection. While they had only found Augustine’s main base recently, downloading all of her data was one of the first things he and Mom April had done. “Huh…” Don voiced, the only hint to his pleasant surprise. Then again, this was just an alternate dimension version of all of them. Donnie probably had similar habits. “Let me get a tablet,” he requested, getting to his feet to hurry to the main computer. “Also Mikey don’t forget you’re cooking,” he reminded on his way passed.

“My stew!” Mikey squawked, jumping to his feet and leaping over the edge of the upper level to run back to the kitchen.

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I rewrote this part so many times, and fussed with the image so much/was so slow on it and it still doesn't feel right. But I'm to the point I don't hate it so it's good enough and I'm gonna throw it out here. =v=;;

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #cross dimension kidnapping #rise + 2003 crossover #writing #long post