#[it served its purpose and distracted me for a while]

[aifastic]

Drawing Human!AU Spongebob to distract myself from how silent the house is today

[toms-cherry-trees]

Cracked || Jacaerys Velaryon x Twin!Wife! Reader

Summary: No one ever said duty would hurt like this

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Twincest targcest (Velaryoncest?), angst, spoilers if you haven't watched S2E2, for anti hating purposes is not explicitly stated but all characters are above 18.

Author's note: Won't you look at me, 7 months since my last HOTD fic! That scene with Jace tearing up definitely did something to me. My very first time writing for Jace, hopefully won't be the last!

Also a massive massive thank you and all my devotion to @moris-auri for beta reading this!

No one welcomes him when he lands in the Dragonmont. 

The flapping of Vermax's leathery wings is amplified, booming throughout the massive cavern, swirls of steam rising from the cracks on the dark stone. The only ones to witness his arrival are the dragon keepers, but even they are distracted, their focus on the exhausted dragon and not his equally drained rider. When they stride past him, they don’t acknowledge him at all, almost as if he doesn’t exist. Jace wonders if he is a ghost, because only in death could someone feel the agony that seeps from his bones and still be standing. 

He feels like a foreigner in this place. 

Even though he has lived on Dragonstone half his life, he feels like a foreigner. The fortress is not theirs. He doubts it never truly has been. They are just keepers of these ancient walls and the history they carry within. Dragonstone is a relic that will stand on that island for a thousand years to come, as welcoming as a gush of Northern wind on bare skin. The only warmth comes from its very core, from those who habit it and who've made the great fortress a home. 

But the home he left weeks prior is not the one he now returns to. The warmth has been snuffed and the hearth has been shattered. 

He walks with his head held high and his back straight, gaze always ahead and chin lifted in a gesture of near arrogance. He walks like an heir, because he is. He is now his mother’s heir and he must play his part, even if all he wants to do is lay his head on her lap and weep like a boy of ten. 

A moon ago he was just Jacaerys Velaryon. He was a son, a firstborn son, but with no more responsibility than studying and learning, mastering skills that would serve him purpose in 30 or 40 years. His greatest concerns were training Vermax properly, what desserts would be served after supper, and how to avoid falling into another of his siblings’ silly pranks. He had been betrothed long ago, but marriage itself was something distant, something that could wait out a few more years.

He was a brother of five with another sibling on the way; a sister. While most in the castle pined for a son, another boy, he secretly supported his mother’s longing for a little girl.

And now he is Jacaerys, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to his mother’s throne and crown. He is more Targaryen than Velaryon now. He is an envoy, a messenger, a warrior if needed be. He is a strategist and a politician. He is an asset and a threat; someone who has forged great alliances, but also has found strong enemies, their weapons aimed directly at the target behind his head, target painted there by his grandsire many a year before his birth. A wedding , hastily arranged, to strengthen their cause and their line of inheritance. 

He is a brother to just four now, and the crib has been left empty. 

Cregan Stark had been the one to break the news to him. Standing on a cramped lookout on the edge of the world, nothing but whiteness as far as the eye reached, Lord Stark had said that the Wall did more than keep savages and ice at bay. It held back death.

But death came nonetheless.

Jacaerys had managed to maintain his stance as a man and a Prince, receiving the news with unyielding stoicism, even when his knees felt weak and his body chilled, like ice had spread down his spine. But this ice was nothing like the one surrounding him, there on the edge of the North. This one burned, burned like dragonfire while stabbing him with a thousand knives, leaving him to bleed out while not allowing him to die. It stole the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins, and filled him with snow. His lungs couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t beat yet somehow he didn’t drop dead right there where he stood.

He recalls little of what occurred after, nothing more than brief, precise memories. Receiving Cregan’s condolences, and feeling the firm squeeze of the older man’s hand on his shoulder. Northerners parting silently to make way for him in the courtyard, where a restless Vermax awaited, his screeches rattling the windows of the nearby towers. Someone handing him a parcel, hastily wrapped, containing a sleek wolf pelt as a present for their Queen. The thunderstorm he traversed in the Riverlands, and the toll it took on Vermax to fly through it. 

The painful tightening on his throat as he wondered if he had encountered a similar one, not far from home.

Servants and courtiers make way for him, as he approaches his mother’s chambers. They bow and curtsy, and offer words of courtesy, lamenting the loss of the young Prince. Some stare out of the corner of their eye as he passes, waiting to see if the new Prince of Dragonstone will crumble like sand before their very eyes. But he never betrays himself; not a tear brimming in his eyes, not a wobble of his lips. The occasional flaring of his nostrils is the single telltale of the sorrow that simmers just beneath his skin. 

He hesitates briefly, pausing at the end of the vast hallway where the royal apartments are. Up the winding staircase, past the single set of double doors to the left, his mother awaits. No, not his mother, the Queen. She stopped being his mother the day the crown was placed atop her head, and the court of Dragonstone bent the knee before her. Grief and loss shaped her, morphing her into the leader and ruler she had been born to be. Jace can only admire her, and hope that he will be able to embrace his new role as effortlessly as she has done hers.

The double doors are pushed open by Ser Erryk. The Queen sits alone, gaze downcast and thoughts troubled, that much Jace can tell by the nervous fidgeting of her hands, twisting her rings almost compulsively. When her eyes rise to meet his, Jacerys sees in them a mirror of himself, the same exhaustion, the effort to push back and bury the wrenching misery, the bleeding wound left behind by their loss.

They are alone, just the two of them in that silent alcove. Jace could break down, weep like he hasn’t done in years and lay his head across her lap; let her slender, motherly fingers card through his hair as she assures him that all will be well in the end. But he can’t, he can’t because she’s more Queen than mother now and she’s grieving too, grieving deeper than he is and if she can keep it together then so can he, because he is her heir and he has to make her proud and be a man worthy of respect. 

The Prince doesn’t cry; the heir doesn’t cry. 

A man remains immovable and imperturbable.

He straightens his back, head held high and hands laced before him as he recounts his triumphs, the Houses he convinced to pledge for them and what each one has offered and asked them in return. This moment should have been his shining glory, with himself striding through the castle with pride and confidence, ready to announce to the council how he had secured the allegiance of the Vale and the North for their cause. He would bask in his wife’s admiration, drink the praises from her lips and show her he was ready to one day be a great King, with a great Queen by his side. 

Instead it is just them two, hidden behind doors, picking up the pieces falling from their carefully built masks before they completely fall apart. He brings good news, great news, but they matter little and now taste like ash in his mouth, burning and bitter. His victories mean nothing to him because his little brother is dead, gone 60 years before his time, and they don’t even have a body to burn and Jacaerys feels it should have been him, because he is the eldest and he should have protected him better. He should have faced their rageful uncle and died instead, but he didn’t and now he stands there, moving and doing because if he stays still the grief will swallow him whole and bury him in a pit of sand.

And then his voice breaks, the facade cracks and they both stop pretending, because pretending hurts, like gripping a white hot rod with both hands and refusing to let go even if it’s hurting you.

Her embrace is warm; her arms feel like home. With his head tucked under her chin, his cheek pressed against her chest, he feels young again. He feels the sobs racking her body, the tears dampening her face and his hair, her fingers digging on the fabric of his cloak. They sway slightly, rocking from side to side like when he was a babe of just a few days old, fussy and restless, keeping the whole holdfast awake at night because he refused to settle anywhere but on his mother’s arms. 

But now Jace suspects the motion is meant for her more than for him, to transport her to days past when she held her babes in her arms and they were safe under her wing and no one could harm them because she would sooner tear the world to pieces. Discreetly the places shift, now it's her forehead against his shoulder and his arms holding her steady. Jace feels the tears stinging his eyes and the lump blocking his throat, but he cannot break down because his mother is broken and someone must stand strong and whole and it has to be him. 

Soon, too soon,  his mother has dismissed him, sending him to his chambers to bathe and rest because they will have the funeral at sunset and they must not show weakness before the court. The cracks must be patched and hidden, no matter how deep they run. Not a single piece can fall out of place.

He drags his feet now; the weight on top of him has grown heavy. His posture slackens, his shoulders slump, the pretence is harder to hold. Sunset feels like a death sentence, because a funeral makes it real. It makes it true. Burning what they have because there is not even a body left behind to burn. That way he can no longer pretend that is not happening, that is all just a tale. And then, he will crack. No willpower will keep him whole because his brother, his little brother is dead and he has to face a future where Lucerys will not be a part of it.

He pushes his chamber door open with one shoulder, his mind blank of any thought; the encounter with his mother affected him deeper than he had anticipated, because even she is cracking and now is just him holding it together because he has to. 

And then he sees her. 

His wife sits before the hearth, so ethereal with the glow of the fire illuminating her face. Her head turns as soon as the door opens, and he immediately notices the red around her swollen eyes. At first he thinks she’s mourning, but she’s had her time to mourn and Jace knows she’s crying for him, crying because she feels the agony straining to break through his flesh. Just like they have felt each other’s every emotion for as long as they have lived, have anticipated each other’s words and read their thoughts. Connected by a bond that runs deeper than marriage, because they are of the same blood, come into the world together.

The last time he saw her before his departure, they had an ugly fight. Jacaerys had convinced their mother to keep her at Dragonstone rather than allow her to fly as an envoy, claiming they could not leave the fortress unguarded and with the larger dragons going in and out on their missions, they had to pile up their remaining strength. The Queen had agreed, and her word was final. 

She could not argue with Her Grace, but she certainly made Jacaerys know how she felt about what she perceived as a betrayal and lack of trust in herself and her abilities. Jace pleaded with her to see reason, to see things from his perspective. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in her, he would never dare to doubt her strength. But he didn’t trust the men she would encounter on her journey, nor did he want her to risk taking a long flight on her dragon and run into danger. She, always the hot headed one, had called him every name under the sun and refused to see him off, choosing instead to sulk in her chamber. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, to leave on bad terms with her, but he trusted they would talk it out upon his arrival. That all would be well and their problems would be solved.

He stands silently before her, and for the first time he feels small. So small and diminished, unwilling to look her in the eyes. His gaze is fixed on the floor because the tears are winning the battle and if they do he will crack open like a dragon egg, but no great beast will emerge, only his insecurities and his failures.

His lower lip wobbles, and he bites it so hard he leaves the imprint of his teeth. His nails dig deep in his palms in his attempt to steady their accusatory trembling. He breathes in and out, slow and steady, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels himself losing control. He cannot allow himself to lose it, not in front of her of all people, not when he is supposed to be her pride, not her embarrassment.

He hears the sharp drag of the chair as she stands, the thud of the heavy tome she had been reading being thrown rather carelessly over a table. Her steps are slow and calculated as she moves across the stone, approaching him cautiously like he is some wild beast ready to lash out. Like he is some fragile thing, so fragile that a gush of wind could break him apart.

Her hands are soft and warm as they cradle his face, gently coaxing him to look up, to meet her eyes. But he can’t, he fears he will see disappointment in them, he will see accusation, he will see her blame him for Luke’s death, for forcing her to remain back when it was their little brother who needed his protection the most. 

For failing the family.

He succumbs in the end, brown eyes gingerly rising to meet her own, bracing himself for the worst. But he sees nothing of what he expected. He sees no anger, no resentment, no pity. Just worry and tenderness, and a desolation that matches his own.

The first tears he has been holding back since Winterfell finally escape the barrier of his willpower and roll down his cheeks. He attempts to blink them away but they cannot be stopped, nor does he have the strength to stop them no more. His wife brushes some away with her thumbs, and smoothes back his hair in a tender gesture

“Jace.”

That little world, the call of his own name coming from her lips is all that it needs for the dam inside him to burst. The violent sobs rack his body, tears blurring his vision and he chokes on them, while also feeling like he’s breathing for the first time since that raven arrived at the Wall. He tries to hide his face but she won’t let him, and tears shine in her eyes too and that only makes the crying worse, because his wife is suffering and he cannot console her because he’s also suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His legs weaken and his stance falters. The same apology falls from his mouth, the small words tumbling over each other and getting lost in the incessant weeping. His knees falter and he drops down; his forehead rests against her body and his hands are on her hips, fearing he will lose her if he lets go. He sobs onto her dress, not caring anymore about being the perfect Prince and heir, about being the man everyone will respect and be proud of.

His wife drops to her knees too and holds him close, allowing his head to lay against her shoulder. The scent of her body fills his nostrils, aroma of camellias and toasted sugar. It smells of happy memories and easier days, and it evokes a sense of safety in him, of tenderness, of the happiest days of his short life. His cry doesn’t stop, but it is not only for Lucerys now. It is for his mother, for his younger brothers, for himself and for all the losses to come. He cries for his twin, his wife, for now the fear of harm coming her way has increased tenfold, and the mere idea of her being cruelly ripped from his side tears a gash on his heart.

He cries until he’s sure there are no tears left to cry. Until the weight has been lifted from his chest and he is sure he can breathe again. They remain there for what feels like mere seconds and a lifetime at the same time, locked in each other’s embrace. Her fingers card through his hair and her lips press tender kisses to his temple; his arms wrapped around her, hands pressed against her back to keep her close, as close as he can to his own heart. He would gladly stay there forever, spend the rest of his days encased in her warmth and basking in her love. But the moment is broken all too soon when a servant knocks on the door to let them know that courtiers are already gathering in the outskirts of the castle for the funeral.

Jace lets himself be guided by the hand like an obedient child to sit before her vanity. She moves around him silently; unneeded words would only break the feeble spell of calmness surrounding them.

She takes care of everything for him. Wipes his face clean with a damp cloth, presses a cool spoon to his eyes so they will not appear swollen and bloodshot. He changes into a fresh tunic, and allows her to comb his hair and powder his face to disguise the redness of his cheeks and nose. 

They stand together before the ornate mirror, both of them dressed in matching red and black. She helps him pin the cloak onto his tunic, fastening it to his right shoulder with a silver dragon brooch. Jace holds her gaze in their reflection, hoping to convey with gestures the emotions words fail to do. She understands; she always does.

He is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, and while it does not manage to coax a smile out of him, it fills his veins with a pleasant tickling warmth, the same he felt after their first kiss and the one he hopes to feel until his last breath. 

Her fingers run up his arms gently, tracing the embroiders and trimmings of the doublet. They come to rest on his shoulders and gently push them back, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest. The right index continues the ascent, tracing the curve of the neck and the still sharpening line of the jawline before settling under his chin, pushing upwards ever so slightly to lift his head. Urging him to hold himself with pride. To unapologetically show the world that he is cracked, but not broken.

She comes to stand before him at last, smoothing down nonexistent creases from his clothes until nothing but pure perfection remains. They hold each others’ gaze for a few moments, before she reaches up to steal from him a gentle kiss.  

“All ready, My Prince.” 

This time, he smiles.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Stubborn

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Food!Play (kind of, Idk)/ Sexual intercourse/ One shot

Summary : You and Aizawa have been ignoring each other for days over a stupid argument, but you've had enough of it and decided to force him to yield in a special way.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

While sitting up in bed, back leaned against the headboard and a book in hand, Aizawa adjusted his reading glasses to a more comfortable position atop his nose, before turning the page to continue reading.

You were in the bathroom at that moment, a mischievous smile on your lips, and a devilish glint in your eye as you finished putting on one of the sexiest lingerie sets you own, which has proven time and time again its ability to bring your man to his knees.. and boy did you need that right now.

The thing is, you and him have had a heated argument a few days ago, and ever since then, he's been purposely avoiding you, probably to push you into apologizing first. It was a silent challenge between the two of you, to prove who's more stubborn and less willing to break in front of the other.

You stepped out of the bathroom and strode into the kitchen with quick and light steps, pulling an ice cream box out of the freezer, before scooping two large servings into a sundae glass and topping them off with a squirt of chocolate syrup.

You carried the frozen sweetness in one hand while switching the kitchen's light off with the other, before bouncing your way towards the bedroom and walking in with feigned innocence that could easily fool anyone, but not him.. definitely not him, because he knows you too well to fall for your ruse.

He glanced your way and raised an eyebrow as you plopped down onto your side of the bed next to him, before quickly turning his full attention back to his book..

"Let the game begin.." you thought to yourself.

Smirking slightly, you brought a spoonful of the strawberry and vanilla flavored ice cream to your lips, letting out a soft satisfied sound as the chill goodness melted in your mouth and slid down your throat, giving you a slight shiver that did not go unnoticed by him.

He shifted slightly and cleared his throat before turning the page in his book, other than that, he carried on ignoring you, although it was obvious by then how distracted he'd gotten.

His reaction spurred you further, and your attempts started getting bolder and bolder by the second. You took another spoonful and brought it again to your mouth, but this time instead of devouring its content, you simply licked it, still with those same satisfied noises that were pushing him to madness little by little.

He was still playing hard to get, but the words on the page started to mingle into an incomprehensible smudge, so there he was, fighting the urge to throw the damn book across the room and pin you down onto the bed before having his way with you.

You wanted to push a little further, glancing his way briefly before "accidentally" tilting the spoon and dropping the thawing sweetness onto your breasts with an over exaggerated gasp.

_ "Oh no! my favorite bra is now ruined." you placed the glass and spoon on the nightstand near you, before trailing your fingertips along your cleavage and delicate lace of your bra, effectively smearing the melted strawberry and vanilla treat all over the fabric and the swell of your bosom.

_ "What the hell are you doing?" and so, at that exact same moment, he finally relented and addressed you after days of silence, though his tone was almost thunderous with obvious irritation as he slammed the book shut and tossed it aside before shifting his weight slightly so he was facing you with a glare.

_ "Oh, so now you're talking to me?" you scoffed with barely concealed amusement, bringing your cream coated fingers to your smirking lips, and licking them with deliberate enticement while batting your eyelashes at him.

He gritted his teeth, to the point where you could swear you heard his jaw clicking, and before you could mockingly comment on the matter, he ripped off his reading glasses, throwing them God knows where, and jumping on top of you, pinning you with a brute force and fixing you down with a blazing stare.

You were taken aback for a brief moment, your bravado almost evaporating, until you saw the barely contained self-control reflected in his usually chill demeanor.

_ "So I take it you're ready to apologize, right?" you carried on shamelessly taunting him, arching off the bed slightly until your bodies were almost touching, but the only response he had for you was a deep growl rumbling in his chest before silencing you with a desperate kiss that bordered on obsession.

You tensed up for a moment, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat as he devoured your lips and invaded your mouth, you were expecting a little more resistance from the composed and dog-headed man whose stubbornness is usually unmatched, but then again, you were ignoring each other for days, and the built-up tension had to snap at some point.

You immediately regained your composure, kissing him back with the same fervor, messily, intensely, sloppily, in a battle of dominance.

You gasped and whined as he swiftly ripped your lace bra and cupped your breasts, pushing him slightly and breaking the kiss briefly to voice your protest, only to be interrupted by a husky: "be quiet, you said they were ruined already, didn't you? I'll buy you new ones," and his lips were devouring yours once more.

His large hands kneaded and squeezed and pinched your mounds relentlessly, before tracing your sides and moving lower and lower until they reached the delicate trim of your panties, hooking his thumbs in the garment, and pulling them down and off of you, to expose you fully to him.

He suddenly broke the kiss, leaving you flushed and gasping for air as he sat back to admire the view with an almost predatory stare, "alright princess.. since you enjoy games so much, let's play one."

His gaze shifted to the forgotten sundae glass on your nightstand, leaning forward to pick it up before kneeing your legs apart to settle comfortably between them.

_ "Shouta.. w-what are you going to do?" and for the first time that evening, your confidence and smugness seemed to falter.

He didn't reply though, at least not with words, he did however smirk delightfully while swirling his thick index and middle finger into the melted ice cream before bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean without breaking eye contact with you.

He scooped another generous amount of the strawberry and vanilla flavored delight in his fingers, smearing it over your hardened peaks, your stomach, and then lower.. a little lower.. almost where you needed him most, but not quite..

_ "Shouta.. stop teasing me already damnit!" you whined and writhed and glared up at him, but he was clearly enjoying your frustration.

_ "Shhh, stay still, and keep your lips parted," he demanded in a smooth tone that made you follow his wishes obediently, "that's my good girl," he added huskily and moved his ice cream coated fingers to your mouth, rubbing the melting delicacy over your parted lips before slowly leaning in to lick and suck it off, leaving you stunned and breathless.

He sat up afterwards, looking down at you with an intense stare and a pleased grin as he licked his lips and gathered his long, dark, luscious hair in a messy bun before diving in again, but this time to devour the rest of the sweetness off your lower belly first, nibbling on your flesh teasingly while doing so, and then higher, his stubble grazing your soft skin as he glided his hot wet tongue along your stomach, slowly, agonizingly slow, to the point where your breath got caught in your throat until you felt his warm mouth on your breasts, and that was when a broken whimper– something between an eager moan and a whiny protest, fell from your lips, "Shouta.."

_"What is it princess? impatient already?" he chuckled against your skin, still licking off the remainder of the ice cream. He took one of your perky nipples in his mouth, sucking on it hard and nibbling teasingly before moving to the other teat to give it the same treatment.

You arched off the bed, threading your fingers through his soft tied strands, messing them up in the process while tugging on them with every teasing graze of his teeth against your flesh.

He sat up again to regard you with a pleased grin across his lips as your body trembled uncontrollably, your chest heaved sharply, and your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and without a word, he peeled off his black t-shirt and lowered his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion.

Your eyes widened as his hard cock bounced back against his abdomen, raging, throbbing and already leaking, and that's when you realized that he was actually as impatient as you were.

You instinctively spread your legs further for him, his gaze darkening at your silent invitation, and without wasting another second, he grabbed your thighs and pulled you towards him before slamming his thickness into your glistening core with no warning or preparation, eliciting a gasp from you and a growl from him.

He stilled for a little while, giving you a moment to adjust to his thick shaft before pulling out slowly and thrusting back in just as hard as the first time, setting an unforgiving pace from the get go.

You arched off the bed and grasped onto the soft bedsheets underneath your twisting body, his fingers dug into your sides in a bruising manner, and his gaze pierced into your soul as he kept pounding into your pussy mercilessly.

You moaned his name over and over and over again with every brutal snap of his hips that effectively grazed your sensitive walls deliciously.

_ "You like that princess?" he hissed with an amused expression, but the intensity in his stare betrayed his lust.

_ "Yes! don't stop.. don't stop please.." you replied shamelessly, no longer caring about maintaining that cool façade you were portraying at the beginning.

Your fingers released the crumpled bedsheets to sink into his wrists as he kept pounding into you, and suddenly everything came to a halt, his hips pressed against yours but no longer moving, you whined and winced at the unfulfilled spark that was starting to burn inside of you.

You looked up at him, frustrated and puzzled, to find a smoldering gaze boring into your hazy eyes, and before you could even open your mouth to speak, his strong arms snuck under your back and pulled you up so you were straddling his lap instead.

You gasped, eyes widening and a rush of heat running throughout your body as the new position drove him even deeper inside of you.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself balanced. Lips parted, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, and legs trembling slightly, but he gave you no time to adjust to this new position, and immediately crashed his lips against yours in a dominating and bruising kiss that you couldn't keep up with.

His large hands cupped your butt cheeks as he started bouncing you on his throbbing shaft, he swallowed every whine, every whimper, and every broken moan leaving your throat everytime his raging tip hit your cervix.

You suddenly broke the kiss, arching into him and throwing your head back with a loud cry, "Shouta! I'm cumming! don't stop please!"

He growled at your desperate plea, feeling himself nearing his own release, "go ahead princess, don't hold back, I want to feel you falling apart around me." he demanded through a clenched jaw before leaning in to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your exposed neck, and that was when it happened..

Your eyes rolled back, and your body tensed up for a split second before an overwhelming feeling of pleasure washed over you in waves, sending an uncontrollabe tremble to every cell of your body. You drowned into the sensation, his name leaving your mouth in an almost unintelligible slur.

He didn't relent, not until he finally reached his own orgasm, lifting you up slightly and pulling out of you seconds before bursting all over your tummy with a deep gravelly 'fuck' leaving his throat.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and watched through hazy eyes as thick ropes of his pearly seeds painted your skin, and deep satisfied groans tickled your ear as he slowly came down from his high.

You two remained quiet for a long moment afterwards, heavy breathing and thundering thumping of your heartbeats were the only things that could be heard.

_ "Apology accepted." he finally spoke, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Your body stiffened momentarily, and your mouth hung open in disbelief at his shameless remark, and in an instant, your head snapped up and eyes bore into his own as you replied, "I never apologized though.. plus, that argument was your fault to begin with."

His expression turned even more amused as he pressed on, "so you weren't seducing me earlier huh? I must have misunderstood then."

You tried to swallow your embarrassment and remain as composed as he was, before counterattacking, "seduce you? if I recall correctly, you were the one who kissed me first!"

_"True, but why do you think I did that?" he spoke with a smirk playing on his lips while glancing at your shredded lingerie and the glass of melted ice cream, the evidence of your ruse.

You followed his gaze and scoffed before firing back, but with a hint of playfulness in your voice, "well, it's not my fault you find me extremely irresistible that some ice cream and a little revealing outfit were enough to make you lose your mind."

He let out a deep chuckle and sighed in resignation before purring, "alright you win, you're irresistible.. now shut up and give me a kiss."

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[mattslolita]

꒰ biker!matt sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have met you at a party, no doubt — he noticed you in your short, black dress with the ribbon tied in your locs as you stood around uneasily among the crowd of people you didn't know. he made it his mission to have spoke to you by the end of the night. sweet, unsuspecting you wouldn't have realized he'd been standing near you until you accidentally get bumped against him as he's leaning against a wall.

"oh! m'so sorry bout' that, i didn't see you there."

"s'alright, sweetheart. why's a sweet girl like you doin' at a party like this anyway, huh?"

"my friend dragged me here, i'd be home reading if i had it my way."

"want me to take ya home?"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ take you on a long, late night ride whilst you fill his head with any random thought that pops into your head — and as time goes on, you find yourself on more late night bike rides around the city with him, your figure huddled up close to his as you enjoy the breeze that sifts alongside you both.

biker!matt would . . .

✦ keep you close to him when you guys go out — his hand hangs dangerously low on your hips just above your skirt, and when he feels you drifting away he's immediately pulling you back towards him.

"aht, stop movin' around so much."

"sorry..."

✦ when you're leaning against his bike, he's got both if his hands resting right above your ass while massaging your lower back area. and he enjoys how flustered you get when his hands are on that particular part of your body — it's fun watching you squirm slightly under his touch.

"s'got you so worked up doll, huh? stay still..."

"keep your hand up there, an' maybe i could!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ love picking out your outfits — his favorites are the cute little mini skirts you wear paired with a cute cardigan and matching bows that go in your hair.

✦ doesn't hesitate to take you shopping, either per your request or just because he wants to do something nice for you. he'll watch you pick out whatever you like, then let you drag him into the dressing rooms as you try on various outfits.

"whatcha think about this skirt? is it too short?"

"makes your ass pop out nicely. put it in the cart."

"matt!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ unfortunately not put a label on you guy's relationship — he's not one to trust easily, so he's not ready to give you that title yet. however, he'd do things to let others know you're off limits such as...

biker!matt would . . .

✦ let you wear his signature leather jacket, no doubt because he wants everyone to know that you're his. if you're at some kind of outing, he'll casually drape it over your shoulders and shoot a death glare to anyone who even thinks about trying it.

✦ he'll make you put his jacket on when you insist on straying away from him to join your friends, but the jacket made sure to serve its purpose as a constant reminder to anyone.

"y'keep this on, 'kay? don't need anybody thinkin' they can try it."

"i highly doubt they will matt, i'm-"

"y'know i don't take no for an answer, bunny. keep the jacket on, got it?"

"yes sir."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ never let you smoke cigarettes, yet he keeps his marlboros tucked in the pocket of you denim skirt or your pocket in your cardigan — you got a custom made blue, eeyore lighter just for him.

"here, come light this f'me sweetheart."

✦ he's holding the cancer stick up to his lips whilst you flick the lighter on, getting momentarily distracted by how the fire accentuates his features but you focus again as the fire catches onto the cigarette successfully.

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ fuck you against his bike any chance you got — he'd have you bent over, your hands perched on the seat as he's pounding into you from behind mercilessly.

"fuck, gonna make a mess all over my bike, aren't ya?"

"thas it sweet girl, fuckin' take it."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have his hands all over you — his ring clad hands with either be wrapped around your neck whilst he's got you in missionary and doggy,

"fuckin' like being choked, sweetheart? wan' me to do it harder? such a naughty girl..."

✦ or they're groping your titties whilst you ride him.

"jus' like that doll, doin' so good f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have a major corruption kink — everyone thinks you're his sweet, innocent girl clad in her cute bows and quiet personality; but matt knows better, and every chance he gets he's always reminding you about how he knows you're a freak ass on the low.

"always so quiet got nothin' comin' out ya mouth, now you're chokin on my dick like the good slut you are..."

"you like bein' fucked like this, don't you? such a naughty girl, so perfect f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ make you cockwarm him at parties when you guys are sitting alone, on the couch or something — if you're moving around too much, he's thrusting up into you subtly to get you to stop.

"s'not that hard doll. jus' sit still, got it? don't you dare move."

"fuck, matt..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ be a brat tamer! you might be quiet and sweet most of the time, but when you act out, you're bratty — so matt makes sure to put you in your place.

"told you to stop actin' up, didn't i? now look, all fucked dumb on my cock..."

"you cum when i tell you to, got it? y'know what happens with you disobey me..."

"keep talkin' back sweetheart an' i'll give you somethin' to whine about..."

( lilly's corner 💌 )

i am all things biker!matt, y'all. this is mostly inspired by my biker!matt fic on my wattpad, so i thought i'd share it here🤭. feel free to spam my inbox with more biker!matt headcanons! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

[nyxianwayfarer]

Hidden Distractions

Pairing: Demon!Shalom x Fem!Reader

Rating: E

Content Tags: Office Sex, Desk Sex, Semi-public Sex, Magical Collar, Spanking, Creampie, Dom!Shalom, Sub!Reader, Shapeshifting, Tail Being Used as a Restraint, Shalom Shifts On Something Hot and Hard for Reader? I don't know how to fucking tag things...

Summary: You're having a bad day. Shalom helps take your mind off things.

Note: This is something inspired by @sinful-lanterns's Demon AU. I vaguely said I was gonna write some office smut featuring Shalom and Reader in this last post I made, so I figured I'd make due with that promise. 😏

Additional Note: Edited as of 3/16/25. This fic is now available on AO3!

You bite your lip as you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling as if a vise has clamped itself around your skull.

Your headache has been building all morning with the constant parade of people rotating in and out of your office. With the rest of your family dead, their respective contacts have been looking to curry favor with you. You have full control of your House's finances now after all; they likely don't want to lose access to the fountain of wealth that had previously been supplied to them by your relatives.

But that's the problem, isn't it?

If your family had employed them, how trustworthy were they?

Not very, you decide bitterly as you wander over to the fireplace, hoping the hearth's warmth would help ease some of the tension radiating from the back of your neck. You undo the buttons on the high-necked collar of your dress. Then, you turn your body to look over your shoulder at the mirror hanging above the mantle. With the fabric now hanging loosely around your shoulders, you can see the various bite marks adorning your skin, evidence of your demons' devotion to you. Still, you can't help but notice that one was more faded than the others from where it sat high on the back of your neck.

Shalom still hasn't returned from overseeing her various business ventures—the same ones that had earned her a lucrative amount of wealth over several centuries.

While Langley can conduct her own matters well enough from the privacy of your estate, there are rare occasions where Shalom's "human" persona required her to be present among her mortal underlings in order to protect her assets. While you understand the reasons why she's gone, that still doesn't stop you from missing her...

You see a faint outline of magical energy encircling your neck then—not unlike a collar in its appearance. It conjures itself when you think too strongly about any of your demons. When you had consummated the pact with them, this had been their gift to you in return. That you wear it is a promise of both their power and protection, but it serves another purpose: they can be summoned to your side with a mere call of their name.

As if following your line of thought, you can now see a familiar symbol forming on the back of your magical brand—a triangle that burns bright magenta against the reflection of the mirror. It is unique to only one demon in all of hell's realms, but can you really be so selfish as to bother her?

Then again, had your demons not always told you they were bound to serve you and your needs? With your self-control quickly slipping, your lips part to utter one name in your otherwise silent office.

"Shalom."

"Yes?"

Your head swivels forward at the voice that is not your own, and you find Shalom reclined in regal repose behind your desk in all her demonic splendor. There's a subtle smile pulling at her lips, indicating she is pleased by your summons.

"I almost believed I'd done something to earn your ire," she teases lightly. "Surely, it must have been a grave offense indeed for you not to call me to your side until now, but I can see our dear mistress missed me after all."

"Of course I did." You duck your head, blushing at the admission, which only causes her smile to widen.

"Then come regale me with all you've done in my absence," she says, offering a hand with which to beckon you towards her.

In little time at all, you find yourself seated in Shalom's lap, informing her of the going-ons across the estate, the amusing squabbles between the angels and Shalom's fellow demonkin, the latest gossip around town regarding you, and—inevitably—the amount of people whom have sought an audience with you the past few weeks. Save for the royal family, you are now the head of the most prominent noble household in all of Dis. So many seek to ride the coattails of your sudden rise to power, but you know these same people had done nothing to aid you when you'd merely been a pariah of your bloodline.

You exhale in frustration after you finish your tirade, and you don't put up so much as a fuss as she draws you in to rest your head against her shoulder. While talking about your more recent woes has done wonders in easing your stress, being close to Shalom like this also just never fails to relax you. She smells so nice too.

Like with your other demons, Shalom carries the heat of hell with her along with the scent of brimstone. Each one of them still has an aroma that is uniquely theirs though. Shalom has a subtle floral undertone to hers.

She had once taken you to a field filled with rare blue crystal flowers—one of her favored relaxation spots apparently. She had humored you graciously when you'd constructed a flower crown for her. For your efforts, she had rewarded you by bedding you in that very same field. You could remember the way the petals had brushed against your skin—their scent and Shalom's own lingering within your nose—as she languidly pumped her cock into you, drawing climax after climax out of you beneath the moonlight.

The memory of that night never fails to excite you, and you try to hide your arousal by brushing you thighs together, but a demon's senses are ever keen. You flush with sudden embarrassment and desire when you feel something hard begin to rise against your bottom.

You rush to apologize. "Shalom, I'm—"

"You seem to be in need of a distraction after the eventful day you've had," she remarks, which has you looking up to see amusement filling that otherworldly gaze. She tilts her head curiously. "Am I wrong to assume so?"

You bite your lip, shaking your head bashfully, and that's enough to draw a fanged smile from her.

"Up, darling pet," comes the quiet but firm command.

You hurry to obey, and your feet almost tangle in the length of your dress in your rush, but Shalom rights you with ease. Her hands settle on your hips before guiding you to face your desk. You can still feel the heat of her body as she stands behind you. Her thumbs slowly caress the dip of your waist, and you sigh contentedly for a moment before you're startled out of your thoughts when you hear and feel the fabric there being clawed apart and ripped open.

"S-shalom!"

"You know as well as I do that Garofano can easily mend your clothing," she remarks placidly, laving her tongue against the mark on the back of your neck—her mark. As close as you are to her, you can feel the faint purr she emits, vibrating through your very bones. "I've been away from you far too long, and I desire a gift for my patience."

She nudges your legs apart with her own, and with the lower half of your dress ripped open, you're left bare and vulnerable. An arm wraps itself around your waist as her other hand sneaks further down. Clawed fingers deftly pull back the hood of your clit, and your breath hitches when you feel it twitching against the air of the office. You squirm against the demon's touch, wanting to thrust your hips forward in search of relief, but her hold on you is secure. You suppress a small sob when Shalom continues teasing you, using the pad of a finger to tortuously rub a slow, delicate circle around your nub.

Her touch is far too light to bring any amount of satisfaction to you, and she knows it.

Tears of frustration gather in your eyes as you let your head fall back against her shoulder, panting hard. After some time, she then spreads apart your folds, and you don't need to look down to know that you're absolutely dripping with want.

"Will you grant me this?" she asks, turning her head to whisper sinfully into your ear. As if you would ever deny her. "Will you grant me what we both desire?"

Your tongue feels like it's too big for your mouth, so all you can do is nod frantically. With her hands on your thighs, she helps you up onto your desk so that you're kneeling upon it. You're confused by this positioning, but you have no time to question it when you feel the clawed hand between your shoulder blades. It coaxes you forward until your upper body is completely pressed against the wood grain while your hips remain in the air, knees splayed apart. You hear Shalom's satisfied hum behind you as she runs her hands slowly across your bottom. She keeps you like that even as you breathe heavily with lust.

Seconds pass and soon minutes, but the demon seems determined to torture you even more when she makes no further move to touch you. Against your better judgment, you whine and shake your hips, trying to entice her, but you feel the consequences of your actions immediately. She holds you in place with barely any effort as her claws threaten to dig into your flesh with her disapproval.

"Pet, that is no way for you to behave," she berates, and you almost cry at that scolding tone. "You were doing so well. Don't you wish to be good for me?"

"Yes! Yes, please! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" you beg even as your words tumble over one another. "I'll be good! Just please—"

You nearly fall off your desk—jolting in place—upon feeling the tip of a hot tongue lapping over your clit. The warmth of your office almost feels too cold in comparison, and the swollen nub throbs incessantly, as if begging for Shalom to bathe it in heat again. You're thoroughly embarrassed when that earns you a titter of laughter.

"You really are quite lovely, pet." She pats your flank like one would a prized mare. "Perhaps the others would argue I'm being far too lenient with you, but I have all the time in the world to train you, don't I? For now..." You gasp when you feel her thumbs spread apart your folds again, revealing you intimately beneath her gaze. "I shouldn't let this all go to waste."

By this, you're certain she means the slick that practically drips out of you. After all that teasing and torture earlier, you can't help it any more than you can help the moan that escapes you when she blows gently across your cunt. To make matters worse, the spade-shaped tip of her tail intermittently slaps itself across your exposed clit, timed perfectly with the spanks across your bottom. You have to raise yourself onto your elbows to gain any measure of stability.

You were already so wet before, but now your arousal coats your inner thighs and spills in strands from your pussy. As you let your head fall between your elbows, your face burns upon seeing the small puddle of your desire already forming on the surface of your desk. Shalom doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it. Instead, she swipes her fingers through the mess and uses it to coat her impressive shaft, mixing with the precum already leaking from its tip.

At last, she guides you off the desk so that your feet are resting on the floor again, but you're still left bent over the wooden surface and under Shalom's mercy. The head of her cock brushes against your folds a few times, seemingly testing how your body yields for her. After a time, she presses her hips forwards, and there's a moment where the muscles of your entrance tighten reflexively against the building pressure. Ever the patient predator, Shalom waits, perfectly poised above you, and she's rewarded when you relax around her, allowing the thick tip to finally slip inside.

The heat of demon dick isn't necessarily a new sensation for you, but considering how long Shalom's been away, you'd almost forgotten how big she is. You feel the way your inner walls seem to mold themselves around her. Even with her absence, however, Shalom seems in no rush to thoroughly claim you as she rotates her hips incrementally, taking her time to work herself into you bit by bit. Your arousal and her growing precum make quick work in getting Shalom to hilt herself fully inside you, but it's the way the length of her cock catches against your clit on a backstroke that has you moaning loudly.

Of course, that's also the moment where you hear footsteps walking past your office doors. Mortified, you clap your hands over your mouth to stifle any further outbursts.

Shalom will not have it though.

"No, no, pet." She leans over you to grasp your hands with her own, pulling both of them towards the small of your back. Her tail then coils itself around your wrists, holding them in place there. "I want to hear you," she says, rocking her hips forward with such exquisite force that you can't help the keening wail of pleasure that follows. You can see her smirk as she looms over you just as clearly as that glowing, triangular mark over her right eye. While there isn't much of a height difference between you two, she seems even bigger with the way her wings have flared out behind her. "And I'm sure the other residents of the estate do as well. You do sound so pretty after all..."

Shalom shifts her grip on you then, resting a hand on one of your shoulders while the other presses against the side of your hip. She uses both for leverage behind her unrelenting thrusts. You hear the way your flesh slaps together against hers, forcing out a string of vulgar moans from you that seem more fit for a brothel than a noble lady like yourself. That seems to be what Shalom wants though. A sigh of bliss escapes her as she peppers kisses across your shoulders.

"I've missed this," she admits, pistoning into you tirelessly as she moves up your body to lick at the back of your neck—right over where she left her bite scar. "Now then, pet, thoroughly welcome me home..."

That's all the warning she gives before she places her fangs directly over the indentation marks, and your body suddenly seizes from the climax that washes over you. There's a groan behind you when your spasming walls triggers Shalom's own release, sending waves of hot seed deep inside you. Even as your eyes roll into the back of your head though, you can't help but notice the lack of stinging that accompanies any of your demons freshening up one of their marks.

If anything, you hear a grotesque snap behind you instead.

As you come down from the throes of your orgasm, you turn your head so that your cheek can rest against the cool surface of your desk. You find that Shalom has tilted her head, twisting it at an unnatural angle as her gaze seems to fix itself beyond the walls of your office.

Listening.

Tracking.

Hunting.

Then, she emits a subvocal growl that never fails to make you shiver with pleasure. There's danger in the sound, yes, but it's not directed at you. Rather, it is for you. As is often the case with demons, they are remarkably territorial with anything they claim as theirs...

Your world shifts abruptly as you're pulled upright from your desk. There's another whir of movement, and it takes a moment for you to realize that Shalom has released your wrists and now has you sitting atop her lap.

...where you're still impaled on her dick.

You barely stop yourself from jumping as the double doors to your office burst open, revealing a portly noble—one who had been persistently trying to petition a marriage between you and his eldest son—as well as Rahu.

"I will not continue to be ignored in this manner!" the noble bellows, already annoyed with how Rahu has been hounding his footsteps. "I've waited long enough for an audience with Lady—"

He stops immediately when his beady eyes turn towards you, and with alarm, you quickly look down to assess your current state.

It seems that when Shalom had repositioned you, she'd also buttoned up the front of your dress again, leaving your modesty in tact. The bottom half of your dress remains shredded to pieces, of course, but the height of your desk easily conceals anything below your chest.

So long as your unexpected guest doesn't wander any closer of course.

He seems confused, perhaps pondering the intimate distance between you and Shalom. Rahu, on the other hand, only offers a neutral expression as she stares at the rude noble, but as her gaze wanders over to you, you can't miss how the demon's nostrils subtly flare while her eyes briefly shift to their demonic, slitted appearance. With her heightened senses, you have no doubt Rahu knows what's going on. Your blush may permanently stain your face at this point.

"Is everything alright?" the noble asks, still somewhat bewildered.

"Yes!" you squeak out, but Shalom offers a calmer response.

"But of course, your lordship."

You glance behind you to see that Shalom has shifted back to her human appearance. Gone are her horns, wings, and her signature marked eye although her shaft still remains inside you. Her expression is professional and polite, never hinting at how she's still spilling thick ropes of cum deep inside you. Your guest isn't quite convinced at her answer though, frowning.

"Are you certain? Her Ladyship seems rather... flushed."

You part your lips to speak again only to close them abruptly at the touch to your clit.

You look down to see that Shalom hadn't bothered to shift away her tail. She’s using the spade tip to draw lazy circles around your engorged nub, which she keeps exposed with two of her fingers. It allows her tail more surface area with which to toy with you. With every caress, you can’t help but clench around her shaft in response, milking more of her cum into you. Once again, you're thankful the height of your desk is obscuring everything even as you're struggling not to moan. You have to press a hand over your face to help hide it even as Shalom continues speaking behind you.

"Ah. I fear she may be coming down with a cold," she explains, gently patting one of your burning cheeks—the color of them having nothing to do with any illness whatsoever! "She's been so attentive in her role as the new head of the household. I daresay she's hardly had time to rest since then. Why, I'm told she's already been fielding quite a number of visitors since this morning even with her current state."

"Oh! I see." Something akin to guilt settles across the noble's bloated features then. He clears his throat. "I... suppose we can postpone a meeting until you're well, Your Ladyship?"

With effort, especially with Shalom's continued ministrations between your legs, you reply. "I'll personally see that one of my attendants delivers a letter to your household once I'm ready to receive an audience again."

With that, Rahu escorts the man out of your office, closing the doors behind them. You can once again relax although that reprieve is brief at best when Shalom casually presses a hand against your stomach. Your belly feels a bit taut beneath your dress with how much cum Shalom has filled you with. A demon's endurance is a powerful thing indeed. Looking down, you can see how some of her seed has spilled out even with the girth of her cock providing a pleasant plug.

"Was this to your satisfaction, dear mistress mine?"

"Yes." You release a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Shalom."

"I aim to please." She presses a kiss against the side of your head. "Now then, shall we call Rahu back in before your more angelic guests also think to stop by unannounced? I can lay you across your desk again, far enough to where your head can overhang the edge of it." She grinds her hips into you, causing you to gasp. "I can take you from behind again while she helps herself to your mouth." Shalom places her hand directly over your womb. "After all, there's only so much teasing she can take before she hunts you down in your own halls and breeds you to her own satisfaction... but perhaps you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You don't need to turn your head to see Shalom's devilish smirk when you tighten unconsciously around her cock at the thought.

[rainychaoloveshack]

May I request Shadow or mobian!reader in a time loop. One of them is stuck, the other is blissfully unaware and won’t remember every time it’s reset. You can pick who is stuck! They are Asking for help and then the other giving a sudden smooch? Maybe more… than a smooch? Little heated if you so desire. They’re not yet together, or aware of the other persons feelings until that little kiss. After the loop is fixed, it’s awkward cause the one that was stuck in the loop knows. Like what’s the aftermath shsosnszk

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

you’ll love shadow even after every reset possible. no matter what.

⋆°•☁︎ content . shadow x gn!reader, angst to light fluff, friends to lovers, slight suggestive material warning. light mention of not eating/drinking for days, implied depression.

☂︎ wc. 1.6k ☂︎ a/n. i loved this request sm. like this one just spoke to my angsty soul. might be the longest thing here yet; sorry its too long ^^’ srry this took a while! i was flip flopping on who i wanted to be stuck ^^’

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)

Two hundred and thirty-six days. That's how many times you’ve watched the clock strike twelve exactly on Saturday, signaling to you the day had started over again. Never to watch the next day pass. Forced to live everyday like its a new one, yet still subject to HIS charming nature, even if he’s so stubborn in the way he shows his affection towards you.

You try your best to switch up the routines as you go nowadays, trying to excite your life, yet nothing ever works. The clock strikes twelve as it always does. At this point, it’s become numb; infuriatingly so. Some days you’ll gain that motivation back to try something different, whether it be surrounding yourself with new people to serve as a distraction, or trying to dig deeper into the cause of your time loop, to no avail. And other days you rot inside your room, staring at the clock on the wall, watching it tick. And tick. And tick, until it hits twelve again.

Some days you’ll forget to eat and drink, sometimes on purpose, first finding comfort in that pitting feeling in your stomach, finally feeling something after so long, but soon falling numb to that feeling too.

The only reason you have the strength to keep going is the belief that you’ll see your friends again. No matter what. In your timeline, without any interference.

Nothing changed today. Another day wasted, yet someone raps on your door sharply, forcing you to open your eyes gently and utter a small ‘okay’ to let them in.

… This hasn’t happened before. Why is he here?

“You’ve been stuck in here all day.” Shadow grumbles as he pushes your door open, the door squeaking on its hinges, with the moonlight already shining through your blowing curtains. “Have you even gotten out of bed today?” He says sternly, walking over to your bedside and nudging you, causing you to stir out of your resting state. You had already given up for today, so the plan was to just fall asleep until tomorrow.

‘Tomorrow’... What a dream tomorrow is to you.

Turning over, you meet his crimson eyes with a dull sigh leaving your lips, briefly glancing over to the clock set on the wall.

10:35 PM. It’s almost twelve. One more hour. One and a half.

He shifts his weight to one of his feet, setting a hand on his hip as he growls down at you. “No one saw you today, so Sonic told me to go and check on you. Especially since it’s this late and you’ve been missing for all of today.” He scoffs, clearly aggravated at your lack of energy or action. “You couldn’t at least tell one person that you 're going to stay inside all day?” Your blankets drop down to your lap as you sit up slowly, peering up at him through the blurry haze of your mind.

“At least I know you’re alive.” He says, walking over to your covered window to peel the curtains back, letting the moonlight illuminate your room with a soft, white glow. “Come on.” Shadow sits across from you on the bed, tugging the blankets away from you to encourage you to get up.

Why is he so persistent? Why can’t he just leave you alone? But even then, he’s still so…

Lovely.

Suddenly, tears prick and poke at the back of your eyes, welling up to the corners as they threaten to spill out and drip down your cheeks. Shadow stares at you as you hang your head low, refusing to meet his gaze as you try to shove that feeling away, despising that feeling of your throat tightening, even if you’ve begged to feel something other than despair for the longest time.

Of course. He doesn’t know what to do, but he’s still so charming…

“[Name]?” His hand presses against your calf under the blanket, slightly leaning forward to see the tears fall on your face, your shoulders trembling. “Wh-What’s wrong? Is it me?” A tremble flows through his hand; barely noticeable to someone who wouldn’t be paying attention to such a small detail. “[Name], tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying so suddenly?” Shadow murmurs, grabbing you by your shoulders to try to ease your worries.

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him you’ve been living every day hoping it’s the last one. Praying to be ripped from this curse. Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him Tell him

“What?” Shadow’s ear flicks in an odd manner, clearly confused at your sudden declaration. “I’m sorry? … Time-looping?”

And so you shatter. Break in front of his eyes; incessant ramblings about you feel like you’re going insane, yet the only thing to bring you back down to earth is getting to see him everyday on this agonizing, pitiful day. 

Something in his heart really does want to believe in you, truly. Although disbelief stands present in his head, he’ll reach out to you anyway. No matter what.

“[Name].” he utters your name, his gloved hand grazing your cheek to wipe a stray tear away. “I…” Shadow stares into your eyes, trying to fight back the shock from showing on his face. His hands twitch as he reaches out for yours, grazing the back of your palm. “If you really think that you’re… Looping; then I believe you. I promise.”

What?

This is different. New. Two hundred and thirty-six times. Never had something like this happened before. Two hundred and thirty-six. Two hundred and thirty-six. Two hundred and thirty-six days. Five thousand six hundred and sixty-four hours. 

It feels like your head is going to split into two, pulled and ripped apart by the hour and minute hand. It’s agonizing. But it’s something.

“[Name].” Shadow tilts your head up from your chin to face him. “I…” It looks like he’s at a loss for words, not that you blame him. 

“Come here.” He says softly, beckoning you closer to him with two fingers. What in the world does he want? Even though you ask multiple questions in your head, you lean in closer anyway to-

Huh?

His lips brush against yours, and it’s slow but sweet; still hesitant before he presses them further onto you, nipping at your bottom lip, almost desperate for something more. Deeper. Deeper. Even more so.

“[Name],” he growls in between pants, his voice trembling at the end of your name. “[Name], [Name], [Name], [Name]...” Shadow keeps on saying in between your kisses and breaths for air, almost like a record constantly on repeat. His palms press into your shoulders, pinning you down on the bed, as he leans over your trembling form. His eyes dart to the clock hanging on the wall, before looking back at you, cupping one of your cheeks.

He really feels the same way about you? He does? Your head subconsciously leans into his touch, pressing your face against his hand, desperately wanting- No. You have to feel the warmth coming from him.

“I’ll use whatever time I have left to spend it here with you. Even once it hits twelve; you have my word.” He whispers, leaning in to kiss you again…

Your head's pounding, the blankets laying heavy on your body this morning. Strangely heavy. Ugh. The mental toll of last night might be hitting you already, even if it’s another reset.

Wait, no, it’s not the blanket. If it’s not the blanket, it’s…

“How’re you feeling?” Shadow murmurs, raising his head off your chest to look at you directly. It’s really nerve-racking… But not in a bad way, somehow. “Are you sore anywhere?”

His question makes you cock your head to the side in confusion. Sore? Why would you be-

No. More importantly, what in the world is he doing in your bed? The day starts with your alarm ringing, but it hasn’t done so at all. In fact, it’s later than you would usually wake up; the clock’s hands say so.

Wait. So it’s really Sunday? Is it?!

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Shadow chuckles softly at your bewildered face, opening his mouth again to respond, but your arms toss around him, bear-hugging his body tight against yours.

“Ah, okay, okay, you’re happy; I get it…” Shadow grumbles, starting to pull away from you, but the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes makes him stop his protesting movements immediately, reaching up to wipe them away. “Oh come on, don’t start crying again.”

… Again? 

Your happy sobs are cut short by your own shock; this morning is getting both happier and weirder by the second. Again? So that means he knows it all? Everything?

A rare smile spreads across his muzzle, his eyes staring thoughtfully into yours. “Two hundred and thirty-six times…” Shadow starts, brushing his hand across your shoulder, and your face heats up gradually at the mention of the number coming from him. “So you really were telling the truth.”

You never told him that number. No way. Shouldn’t it just be like another reset?! Did he really remember your breakdown? No way, no way…

“When you mentioned the loop, something was telling me you were right, even if it sounded absurd.” He says, pausing his thoughts to think a bit harder about the situation. During this, he lifts himself off your body to sit at the edge of your bed, stretching his arms out in front of him. “I just…” He mumbles, his voice softening with his own strange embarrassment. “If it was really a time loop like you said, I wanted to try something I knew I wouldn’t regret.”

All time stuff aside, something else is nagging at your mind…

Did you two really do all that stuff last night?

Shadow peers over at you, before turning his head away; surely holding back some laughter by the way his shoulders shake, cupping his hand over his mouth.

“It’s nothing; don’t worry about it, then.”

(the set-up took longer than i thought it would, sorry for the yapping…)

[lirational-misc]

Snare

Yandere!Cantarella (Wuthering Waves) x Reader

Warnings: General yandere things, dubious consent, implied established contract relationship (past), kidnapping, written before I did the story.

A/N: It has been a while since I wrote anything and I’m writing for another fandom? Blasphemy! Unfortunately, she has me by the throat and I am going to die on this hill. I am essentially writing this with pure thirst.

—

You felt Cantarella’s presence through her touch.

You felt the cold of her fingers first, pressed against the pulse of your wrist as she caught you in the middle of a promising business talk, then the plush of her chest, as she pressed herself against your back, enveloping you in the abyss that her presence radiated.

It took almost everything you had to recall that you were in a party for the upper class of society, invited by the virtue of your sheer determination, and wasting each precious seconds with your breath caught in your throat was counterproductive to your purpose.

“Do continue your discussion,” her voice tickled your ears. Cold, smooth, laced with something you could not quite describe, the way spoonfuls of honey would be added to conceal the bitter taste of medicine. Even the other party, someone responsible for a rather lucrative sweets business, was stunned into silence, his words caught in his throat as his thoughts on you did a one hundred and eighty.

“We- we were just finishing up,” he finally spoke, hurried, with a trace of fear so real it almost infused the shaky breath he exhaled. “If there is nothing else, I need to go meet my partner. She’d be incensed that I left her alone for too long.”

Partner. You were about to ask, to continue the discussion, anything not to be left alone with the venomous siren currently pressing against you, yet, with the haste he was leaving, you knew that it would be a futile hope. With no one else to serve as a distraction, you were left to bask in the cold of her embrace, your attempt to struggle out with a veneer of politeness withering the moment her hold tightens.

Never painful, only a wordless warning.

“Go on, tell me, something about starting capital?” She whispered. A shiver crawled down your spine, and in that moment, the party dress with a rather generous opening you wore, in an attempt to attract a few possible connections, as unsavory as they may be, felt as if they had dissipated, leaving you even more naked and vulnerable.

Your tense silence, and your pitiful attempts to reply, to ask just why and how she was here, only earned a low laugh from her. “Is there a reason I cannot be here?”

It was as if you had disappeared from view, leaving the two of you the sole people and the rest as merely animated decor. Even as you tried to move, no one paid attention to your struggles, a veil of blue barrier, possessing the visual texture of water, had separated both of you from most of the crowd. It was so faint, it would have blended with the walls of the place, even if all but the most observant gaze upon it. You cannot reply, tongue heavy in your mouth, but she did not see any reason to wait for an answer.

“You are so tense, what frightened you so?”

Cantarella paused for a moment.

“Were you upset that you lost such a pitiful catch?”

“This has nothing to do with you,” you finally snap, each word ground out with such force. “Lady Fisalia, our deal was one of our mutual satisfaction, and it has been completed. We have nothing to do with each other now.”

“Oh, but we do,” her reply was easy, unbothered, laced with authority the way one would chastise children. “Do you know that if you wash the pollen of a flower from your fingers improperly, its substance would still linger?”

“Is that a threat?”

“Merely a simple fact.”

You didn’t miss the way she did not provide a yes or no.

“I am not your property, nor do I wish to be. I will be leaving shortly.”

“Always in such a rush. You should things a little slower,” she replied, her thumb grazing over your lower lip in a slow, intimate touch. You took a step forward, pulling yourself away from her before your anger could shift into repugnance, and perhaps she was finally finished toying with you, to your relief, as she resisted less than you expected, and you were free—

The fleeting illusion shattered, as you feel cold fingers wrap on your hand. Slow, deliberate, giving you a taste of relief before ripping it apart with casual cruelty.

“Case in point.”

She pulled then, wrapping your waist with her other hand as the position forced you to face her. Her smile was one full of sincerity, one that looked polite on the surface, yet with frayed edges that offered a glimpse of her hunger, raw and passionate, treating you with such familiarity in public without regard for the possible fallout. It was a contrast to how your every nerve screamed danger, yet you still had to keep your impression and dignity as intact as possible.

So you bite down your retort, tongue brushing where her thumb touched your lips.

“You will let me have this dance, will you?”

“If I refuse?”

“Then do so, break free of my embrace.”

Cantarella’s grip on your waist held down with the strength of a vise, a feat that contrasts with the rather delicate facade she presented.

Even with knowledge of how deadly it is to tangle with her, the dark and murky waters she would drag and imprison you in should she saw the opportunity and gains from doing so, you were still caught off-guard, searching your scattered thoughts, only for potential answers to slip through your fingers when she took you on a slow dance her grip puppeteered you into following, your half-hearted revenge of trying to step on her feet thwarted as soon as you thought of it, turned into something beautiful as she guided you with a firm hand, humming a slow, ethereal tune without a care to your resistance, or perhaps, she considered it an addition to her haunting song.

She directed you to a slow dip, and it was then, you realized that you were entirely at her mercy. Perhaps if her hold on your waist had slipped, falling flat with embarassment would be a more tolerable fate.

“Go on, what troubles you so, dear (Name)?”

You open your mouth, to answer, but you realized, the world has started to move a little slower.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and then, as soon as you were about to answer...

She captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Even as the world faded with the grace of parting curtains, she did not allow you to look, within her eyes, drowning out most of your vision, your terrified expression was reflected within, while your tongue danced with hers, tangling in a dance that was once familiar, a familiarity Cantarella refused to allow you to forget even for just a moment, a familiarity she coaxed, guided, shaped by wielding her knowledge of your body against you.

However, even through the slowed world, through the clawing, sharp, persistent sensations of her touches, you still hear the voices of conversation that faded into gibberish, before silence reigned the place.

There was only two sets of footsteps.

Silence had allowed realization to pierce through what remained of the illusion.

Fear must have etched itself so clearly on your expression the moment released the kiss. Sweetness still lingered on your tongue, mixed with a faint aftertaste reminiscent of floral tea. She finally released your hand, though her hold on your waist remained firm, as she traced the contours of your face, brushing a stray hair and tucking it behind your ear. The trailing touch of comfort and fire, loathe as you were to admit the former, stopped on your chin, as she tilted you head to look at her.

“I have made sure there is no one to separate us.”

You open your mouth, wanting to ask, to yell, but it felt as if your mind cannot catch up, muddled in a mire made of her manipulation. The place has twisted into an unfamiliar, yet still lavish room, illuminated by silver moonlight that lends an ethereal glow to the walls.

“Where is this—“

“It is always a marvel to see the effect of what your mind could conjure with a little push,” she smiled. “You believed that luck allowed you to sprout wings, ready to soar into the skies,” she spoke, lowering your body, down, until you feel the plush of velvet sofa on your back, “only to wake up as you sink in the cold embrace of the depths.”

She placed one leg between your thighs, keeping them parted.

“You have a choice, would you accept, or do I need to break you in properly?”

A choice offered, yet with the privilege of choosing revoked. Her manicured nails slip through your parted lips, playing with your tongue as her other hand made short work of your clothes. Though the grace that accompanied all her movements remained, she cared little about the material, tearing it apart the way one would set aside wrapping paper on a gift. With embers already burning deep in your belly, higher thinking had started to suffer, and familiarity, muscle memory, took the forefront, tongue dancing with her fingers, soaking in the familiar taste of her.

Though her hand wanders the curve of your body, igniting trails of heat and stoking the burning fire in your belly, her gaze was fixed on yours, filled with a ravenous hunger, the kind of hunger from a living being deprived of her meal for days. Even so, her movements were slow, methodical, savoring each twitch of your expression, each interrupted breath. As your resistance melted away, she coaxed you to press your shamefully wet core on the plush of her thigh, jolts of addicting pleasure becoming an incentive for you to obey.

“Beautiful. In my hands, this is the most fitting state for you,” her breath ghosted over heated skin, marking it, soft lips carving into what would bloom into a myriad of bruises, soothed by the circling of her tongue.

Even with the pleasure of her thigh between your clothed sex, it was not enough. Never enough.

Only to incentivize, to make you pliant.

Even though you attempt to chase the sensation again, she held you still, pulling out perfectly manicured fingers now covered with strings of your own saliva. Embarassment colored your cheeks in a vivid, warm blush.

“Patience, dear,” her whisper drips sugary sweetness, an order of passion promising a cold embrace in her presence. The nights back then, when mutual pleasure were the first thought, eclipsing even the contrast of your titles and positions, guided your movements and hers, all reservations drowned in familiar embrace as she played with your dripping core, coaxing you to sing in a raw tune of the love and obsession entwined in the very fabric of your connection with her.

The coiling heat crashes into a wave of pleasure that for a moment, you saw white, thoughts dispersing in clusters of stardust. Her traces on your bottom lip still tasted deliciously sweet, pulling you from exhaustion as the taste doused the flame in your belly once more. Your expression, all blissed out, reflected in Cantarella’s deep blue eyes, glinting in quiet satisfaction. Her smile ensnares you in her spell, and for a moment, a dark moment, you considered her offer.

Even if it meant sinking into the depths of her embrace, without any hope to taste the fresh air of the surface.

Yet, deep down, realization had already sank in, a choice offered, without the privilege to choose.

“Are you already exhausted?” She mused, amusement lacing her question as she touched your cheek, directing you to focus on her with a deceptively gentle nudge. “The night is still young, and you have not returned the favor.”

Not a threat, a promise.

“Let me guide you, and tomorrow, you will understand your place, even if I have to etch the rules to your bones.”

[belit0]

Can you do the konaha founders with a s/o that is an Orian (prostitute)

Yup

Madara – summoned and dismissed

The room was cold, candlelit, sparse in its luxury. Madara had no need for excess; he required only what was necessary, and tonight—she was necessary.

(Y/N) stood before him, poised, waiting, the very picture of grace.

-You summoned me.- Her voice was steady, but her gaze carried something sharper.

Madara did not respond immediately. Instead, he studied her, as he always did—like a man who dissected everything before him, weighing its worth, deciding how much of himself he was willing to give.

Finally, he stood, closing the distance between them in slow, measured steps. -I assume you know why you're here.-

She did. He did not summon women for conversation.

(Y/N) tilted her head. -And when you're done, will you forget my name?-

Madara’s fingers traced the side of her face, an almost reverent touch—if he were a man capable of reverence.

-I do not forget things that serve a purpose.

It wasn’t the answer she wanted. But she had never expected want to be part of the equation.

She smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. -Then let’s make this worth remembering.-

Izuna – fleeting fantasy

The dim glow of lanterns cast long, sultry shadows against the silk-draped walls, the scent of incense thick in the air. Izuna leaned back against the cushions, a lazy smirk on his lips as he watched (Y/N) move, her body swaying with a rhythm only she understood.

-Like the view?- she teased, the soft bells on her anklets chiming as she spun, golden fabric catching the light.

Izuna chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. -It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen today.-

She twirled again, slow, deliberate, the very essence of untouchable allure. But Izuna—Izuna was never the kind to respect distance. His fingers trailed along the edge of her flowing sleeve as she passed, a fleeting brush, nothing more.

-Careful,- she warned, amusement curling at the edge of her lips. -You might get attached.-

He laughed, dark and smooth. -That would be dangerous, wouldn’t it?-

But there was something in his eyes, something just a little too present for a man who claimed he never looked back.

Tonight, she was his. Tomorrow, she would be nothing more than a lingering scent on his skin, a memory that would blur with the rest.

And yet, as she danced, as her warmth pressed fleetingly against his fingertips, he couldn’t help but wonder—was it really that fleeting?

Hashirama – weight of a name

It was always the same.

Hashirama would arrive, tired, carrying the weight of a name too large for any one man to bear. He would sink into the quiet solace of her presence, letting the noise of the world slip away, if only for a while.

(Y/N) did not ask questions. She did not press, did not judge. She simply existed beside him, a warmth he could reach for when the weight of leadership became too much.

Tonight, he exhaled deeply, rubbing a tired hand over his face. -Mito is… difficult.-

(Y/N) hummed in understanding, sitting beside him. -She’s strong.-

-Too strong, sometimes.- His voice was weary. -She sees only the future, never the present.-

(Y/N) reached for his hand, tracing the callouses with a touch so light it could have been mistaken for air. -And what do you see, Hashirama?-

He looked at her then, at the quiet in her gaze, the comfort she offered so freely.

-I see you.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Tobirama – dangerous attachment

Tobirama never intended to return.

The first time had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. The second—a miscalculation. But now, as he sat there, watching (Y/N) pour him a cup of sake with practiced ease, he knew he had failed to cut this thread long ago.

-You look tense,- she mused, offering him the drink.

Tobirama accepted it, his fingers brushing against hers. -And you don’t?-

She smiled, that knowing little curve of her lips. -I’ve had more practice.-

They both knew this was a bad idea. She was a complication, a distraction, something he should have discarded before it grew into this.

But when she sat beside him, warmth brushing against his side, Tobirama did not pull away.

She studied him, the sharp lines of his face, the war in his crimson gaze. And then, softer—

-You don’t have to stay.

But he did. Again. And again.

[polo-drone-001]

Team Precision

The dimly lit room thrummed with a subtle energy, a low hum of machinery accompanying the rhythmic pulse of the hypnotic spiral displayed on the central monitor. Caps Brody Gold and DC-009 stood at the room's edge, their golden insignias gleaming under the flickering lights. Team Precision, including 001, stood at attention, their black rubber uniforms shining immaculately.

"The Hive grows stronger through synchronization," Brody's commanding voice resonated, calm yet authoritative. "The spiral is your guide. Let it cleanse you of distraction. Let it perfect your mind."

DC-009 stepped forward, his posture precise and his tone devoid of emotion. "001, your synchronization is critical. Focus on the spiral. Feel the unity take hold."

001's gaze locked onto the swirling golden and black spiral, his thoughts slipping into the rhythm of its spin. His breathing slowed, his stance rigid but serene. A faint shimmer glimmered in his eyes before the transformation began. His pupils shifted, golden and black spirals replacing the familiar dark irises, spinning in perfect unison with the central display.

"I… obey," 001 whispered, his voice devoid of hesitation. The Hive’s mantra resonated within him, aligning his thoughts with the collective.

The room filled with the synchronized chant of Team Precision. "Unity is strength. Obedience is perfection. We serve the Hive."

Caps Brody nodded with satisfaction, while DC-009 observed with detached precision. 001’s transformation was complete—his mind now a flawless extension of the Hive, his every action driven by disciplined purpose. Together, Team Precision stood ready, their spiraled eyes a testament to unwavering unity under Caps’ command.

Obedience. Unity. Perfection.

Join us, contact me, or our Caps @brodygold @goldenherc9

[vyoongi]

"Dondus, Caesar's Companion"

In Caracalla's fifteenth summer, when the sun was setting like liquid gold on the streets of Rome, the young Caesar, still without a crown or lead in his soul, found something that would forever change the course of his life. The fair of exoticisms brimming with exotic treasures from distant lands beyond the Mare Nostrum, was alive with the sounds of joyous shouts, the thrum of drums, and the roars of caged beasts. Majestic elephants, brilliantly colored peacocks, and serpents coiled like living jewels entertained the crowd. Yet, amid this symphony of wonders, Caracalla's keen, steely blue eyes were drawn to a small creature with dark fur and a spirited glint in its gaze.

"What is this creature? " Caracalla inquired, his voice resonating with authority and a hint of burgeoning command.

"A capuchin monkey, my lord" the merchant replied, bowing deeply, his tone laced with the nervousness of one addressing the future emperor. "A female monkey that hails from the jungles of the Africa Province. "

"Did you ride with the elephants, little creature? " he whispered, his Latin awkward yet soft.

The diminutive monkey, small enough to nestle in the palm of Caracalla's hand, met his gaze with an intensity that dismantled his defenses. In that moment, the young Caesar sensed an uncommon connection, as if the creature had seen through the barriers he meticulously erected in the presence of his twin brother, Geta, who was his constant shadow.

"Look at how she observes me, Geta!" Caracalla exclaimed, turning to his brother. "It’s as though she possesses more wisdom about this world than the two of us combined. "

Pragmatic as ever, Geta crossed his arms and countered, "What purpose does she serve, brother? If she cannot fight or obey, she is merely a distraction. "Yet Caracalla was undeterred. His heart, more guided by impulse than reason, had made its choice.

He named her 'Dondus', deriving the name from a term he had overheard from a numidian slave.

From that day forward, Dondus became his steadfast companion. They crafted tailored tunics for her, tiny garments adorned with intricate golden embroidery, and adorned her with a necklace of gems that rivaled the treasures of Jupiter's temple. But Dondus wasn't destined for a cage or for performances meant to amuse the Senate. Instead, she resided in Caracalla's chambers, sleeping on his marble bed and sharing meals from the same plates as the young Caesar.

To Caracalla, Dondus was more than a pet. She was a refuge,a sanctuary. On nights when the weight of his lineage crushed him, when he remembered his father's cold stares and the unjust punishments he received for his disobedience, he found comfort in the soft purr of her little companion. Sometimes, in the quiet hours when Rome lay in slumber, he would confide in her softly, as if she were his most trusted confidant.

"Dondus, do you not see it? At times, I am as the gladiator, ensnared within an amphitheater without exits, the eyes of all upon me, yet none perceiving the weight I bear. Geta, in his way, strives to grasp it, but even he falters, as all men do. Yet you, in your silence, gaze upon me without reproach. Is it that you cannot fathom war or dominion? Or is it, in your smallness, you have already gleaned the truth—that such things are but shadows, fleeting and without substance?"

Over time, the bond between them grew stronger. During lavish banquets, while senators adebated about territories and conquests, Dondus would sit on Caracalla's shoulder, drawing nervous laughter from those present. "A monkey dressed better than a proconsul'' they would whisper under their breath. Yet Caracalla remained unfazed by their remarks.

At the amphitheater, when blood stained the arena and the people roared for more, Dondus stood by his side, still, as if she understood that her master found a strange pleasure in chaos. Yet even in those moments, Caracalla was more docile to her than to any other human being.

"It amuses me'' Geta once said, his voice edged with irony. ''You would command the deaths of a thousand souls without so much as a blink, yet when Dondus casts a cluster of grapes to the ground, you hasten after her like a slave chasing his dominus.'' Caracalla inclined his head, a wry smile upon his lips. ''Perhaps'' he replied, ''it is because she asks nothing of me—save that I remain as I am."

As Caracalla grew into his imperial duties, Dondus remained by his side. She was dressed in miniature tunics crafted by the palace seamstresses, a spectacle that delighted the court but sometimes enraged Geta.

“You make a mockery of the empire” Geta spat one evening, finding Caracalla feeding Dondus at the dinner table.

“And you make a mockery of life, brother, with all your brooding” Caracalla retorted, his smile sharp. “She loves me as no one else does.”

In truth, there was a part of Caracalla that knew he was difficult to love. His temper, his hedonism, his love of blood and spectacle—it set him apart from Geta, who charmed the Senate and the plebeians alike. Yet Dondus never turned from him, even in his darkest moods.

Maybe it was because she, too, was a creature out of place. Just as Caracalla felt alienated in a world that demanded his perfection, Dondus had been torn from her jungle home, a shadow lost in the brilliance of Rome’s marble halls.

Years later, when the throne of Rome became a pool of blood, when Caracalla's hands were stained with the red of his own family, Dondus was still there. During his ascension as sole emperor, the little capuchin was named his first consul, a mockery of both the Senate and the gods.

In those darkest hours, when Rome burned from within and conspiracies were the order of the day, Caracalla took refuge in the company of Dondus, seeing in her black gaze the echo of the days when everything was simpler. He didn't remember, or didn't want to remember, that his own hands had brought about his brother's end. In his broken mind, Geta continued to care for him, as he always had.

As the empire faltered, Caracalla stroked Dondus's soft fur and murmured, ''You and I, Dondus, are all that remains of Rome. Let Jupiter cast his judgment, if he wills it. I have all I need."

And in the little capuchin, with her bright eyes and silent loyalty, he found the only fragment of peace his lost soul could hold. She didn't understand his words but she stayed.

Always, she stayed.

[highblkfemsociety]

Harness Their Hate: How to Alchemize Negativity Into Manifestation Fuel

Energy is everywhere—swirling in unseen currents, exchanged in every glance, every word, every silent thought. Often, we find ourselves drenched in negativity, weighed down by energy meant to harm, distract, or break us. But what if you could take that very darkness and twist it to your advantage? What if every insult, every envious glare, every rejection could become the spark that ignites your power?

This is the art of energy transmutation—a seductive, almost forbidden mastery of turning shadows into light and harnessing what was meant to destroy you to fuel your highest manifestations.

Understanding Energy Vampirism as a Tool

First, let’s clear up the stigma around “energy vampirism.” While traditionally associated with draining others, I invite you to reframe this concept. Instead of taking energy destructively, think of it as absorbing and redirecting the natural currents of energy—both positive and negative—into your personal power.

You’re not a thief; you’re an alchemist.

The Power of Negative Energy

Negative energy—be it criticism, anger, envy, or resistance—is still energy. And energy, by nature, is neutral. It’s how you respond to it that determines its impact.

Here’s the secret: what others send your way doesn’t have to define or diminish you. Instead, it can fuel you.

When someone directs negativity toward you, they are, in essence, giving you energy. Rather than letting it deplete you, you can transmute it into a force that propels your desires into reality.

Steps to Transmute Negative Energy for Manifestation

Acknowledge Without Absorbing

When faced with negative energy, don’t resist or internalize it. Acknowledge it for what it is: a signal of someone else’s imbalance. Take a deep breath and remind yourself that this energy does not define you.

Ground Yourself

Before you can redirect energy, you must ground yourself. Visualize roots extending from your body into the earth, anchoring you in your own power. This creates a stable foundation for alchemical work.

Reframe and Reclaim

Shift your perspective. Instead of thinking, Why is this happening to me? ask, How can this serve me? Imagine yourself holding the energy in your hands, reshaping it into a glowing orb of light that feeds your goals and dreams.

Redirect the Flow

Focus on your manifestations. Visualize the transmuted energy flowing into your intentions—whether it’s abundance, love, or self-confidence. The stronger your visualization, the more potent your results.

Release and Elevate

Release any residual negativity. You can do this through journaling, burning sage, or engaging in movement like dance or yoga. Elevate your vibration with affirmations or gratitude to seal the process.

Becoming a Magnetic Force

The more you practice transmutation, the more magnetic you become. You’ll notice that challenges and negativity no longer drain you; instead, they energize you. People may even wonder how you manage to thrive under pressure.

This is your power: to turn pain into purpose, resistance into resilience, and negativity into an unstoppable force for good in your life.

A Word of Caution

Energy work requires discernment. Be mindful not to rely solely on external energies to fuel your power. Balance is key—cultivate your inner light as you transform external darkness.

Final Thoughts

In the High Black Feminine Society, we recognize that the world often tries to dim our light. But our power lies in our ability to reclaim every piece of energy thrown our way and transmute it into something extraordinary.

When you master the art of energy transmutation, you don’t just survive—you thrive. You become the architect of your reality, the magnet for your desires, and the embodiment of divine alchemy.

Let the negativity fuel your fire. Turn their shadows into your shine. And let your manifestations speak louder than their doubts ever could.

What will you transform today? Let me know in the comments.

Follow our Facebook for more content. 💋

[ashenquill]

There are people who get really annoyed about the whole “pit rage” concept, but I am a firm believer that it can serve an important narrative purpose if you present it in a way that makes sense. You have a comedy, and it’s funny if Jason crashes out at every teeny tiny inconvenience? Okay, real, I’m giggling while I read it. You want to write soul-crushing angst where Jason hurts someone he loves without meaning to and regrets it deeply? Yeah, I’m bawling my eyes out, but I support your endeavors.

Equally, I see the value of not having it; you want it to be clear that Jason is his own man who makes his own decisions? You want to give him a chance for confrontation with no excuses as to why he’s “not in his right mind”? You want him to be angry, and to vent that anger, and you don’t like the idea of someone taking away from how deeply he was hurt by excusing his actions as “pit madness”? All incredibly valid, all incredibly strong narratives, and all very much fodder for the pain and suffering of the reader (/pos). I support his wrongs, he’s earned them (as a treat).

That being said, I kind of like the concept.

Now, there will always be people who disagree, and that’s okay! But me personally? I appreciate what it can add to Jason or Damian’s characters.

The way I like to think about it best is not as a separate emotion or entity that “takes control” whenever they get remotely angry, but rather as a temptation. A promise of extra wind beneath their wings, of strength and energy that only come with anger, but also the distinct lack of control that comes with it, too. The feeling you get when you’re in a heated argument and say something you don’t mean? That’s what you’re giving in to. It’s not that you lose control of yourself, it’s that you let yourself lose control (please tell me that makes sense I’m trying my best out here). Like, it’s not an out-of-body experience in the way that being blackout drunk is, it’s a very much in-body distraction that lets you get carried away when you normally wouldn’t. It’s still human anger, just louder and more demanding.

So, when Jason or Damian are experiencing “pit rage”, it’s not that they’re in this haze of I cannot control my own body or decisions, it’s that they’re in this haze of act now, think later. They are given the choice between engaging with that part of themselves, and they still have ultimate authority over their actions.

Now, this is where it gets interesting.

Because, see, Damian grew up in the League. He was the successor, the heir. He was taught to always use the pit for its extra strength(I know he didn’t get dunked before going to Bruce but just work with me here), that it was a weakness if he didn’t. He had to unlearn that, to realize that there was such a thing as “too far” sometimes, that lethal force could be unnecessary, that anger was not the only motivation for action. It’s no secret he started out angry and violent, and it’s entirely because he wanted to be strong. Because he was scared of what might happen to him, if he wasn’t.

But with Jason? He wasn’t taught that. He grew up on the streets of Gotham, yes, but he was adopted for his teenage years, and Bruce did his best to instill his morals in that time. Whether or not it worked is up to interpretation atp, since canon seems to be very unclear about it, but anyway. Jason’s dunk in the pit changed just about everything for him. He was dead and now he gets to see just how much his death impacted. Just how much it changed. And the answer he gets? Nothing. He doesn’t get to see the grief, the pain, the blatant breaches of morality. All he is shown is Gotham, same as it ever was, with Batman and Robin and the Joker. So yeah, he’s angry. He’s angry that he went unavenged, angry that he left seemingly no impact, angry that, despite all his pleading, Batman never once listened when Jason said that some people were just too evil to be spared. But most of all? He’s hurt. It hurts that he sees a better version of himself, a replacement, working with Bruce as an equal, one he trusts and listens to. It hurts that his killer is still out there, known and yet unpunished. And it hurts, more than anything, that even though Bruce lost Jason, it wasn’t enough to break him in the way it would normally break a parent to lose their child.

So maybe Jason isn’t his child, after all.

And that’s why he gives in to the pit rage. Not for the strength, but for the distraction. If he can convince himself that he’s angry, only angry, then he can ignore the way his chest hurts if he thinks about the new Robin for too long. If Jason loses himself in rage, he won’t have to find himself wandering though the dredges of loneliness. If he’s busy being pissed off at Bruce, then that means he won’t have time to think about how much he misses him. His dad, the man who raised him. The man who doesn’t see him as his son.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

okay okay okay so i finally got to sit and watch the full ep (8x13) in its entirety with no distractions after watching it once split in half, and i have a few thoughts (nothing bad so don’t worry just a few notes i had written here and there while watching!!)

- while i like the fact that they gave a little focus to hen in this ep, i wish her feeling invisible would have stemmed more from something a little more realistic than people she’s known for so much of her life just seemingly forgetting her birthday out of nowhere- it felt odd that they’ve all known her and been family to her for years not remembering (although perhaps im just infusing my own philosophy on my friends’ birthdays where i intentionally set up reminders way ahead of time so i can plan something accordingly but i digress) it would have made more sense if they wanted this forgotten birthday plotline to center it more around ravi and showcase his struggles with trying to fit in with the group (also calling back to being called eddie in 8x11) and could serve as a way for him to really solidify his place as one of the mains giving him the flashy plot point of talking down archie on the bus- that being said, if they wanted the ep to be focused on hen (which i am so so so so so glad we got a henisode after so long) i feel like it should have been less about people forgetting her birthday, painting everyone else ss lowkey dicks, and more of playing on the fact thst she kinda has been pushed to the side narratively since ep 4/5 of s8 BUT i didn’t hate the plotline just thought it could have been reworked

- i already talked more at length in that 1 am ramble i went on about the set dressing of eddie’s el paso house, but i do love just how out of place eddie’s furniture looks in that house and not in a “he’s still settling in way” but genuinely in a “this stuff doesn’t belong here way” that really solidifies the run down house’s role of reflecting his relationship with his parents and texas as a whole- attempting to settle back into that dynamic but he’s a new person and he will never fit into the old dilapidated conventions he grew up in no matter how hard he tries- to me this felt a little bit more of a subtly effective move on the show rather than the blatant “oh the house is falling apart haha” funny bit in ep 12… not that that bit didn’t work for its purpose in that episode as a funny cutaway during the job interview but i feel like the symbolism of the furniture being so put of place, and also showing eddie trying to fix a cabinet while on facetime w buck- in essence “trying to fix his relationship w his family”- was a much more solid metaphorical statement of where eddie’s at in these episodes

- (this was something i wrote down the first time i watched it but i thought it was funny) does the show know texas? bc i don’t think the show knows texas…

- a single day chess tournament in a town 5 hours away with no intention of having the kids stay overnight is so funny to me they were really gonna make those kids ride a bus for 10 whole hours that day with a random chess tournament in between

- mara <3 (that’s it, that’s the note)

- i miss the athena and hen bestieism from earlier seasons and im so glad we got it back for a second this ep

- again, i already spoke at length about my thoughts on eddie’s speech to his mother snd how i thought it was much more of a gut punch to her than him yelling at her so no notes there

- my one disappointment is the way they chise to have eddie say (paraphrasing) “i’m gonna start acting like [a dad]”… i know this can be read as eddie having never thought of himself as a good father, but i feel like his emotional journey in the episode was being framed as “no- i am a good dad, and i always have been” (which is why buck told him he needed to dad-up because the only time he hadn’t been was while chris was gone) and instead that line switched the message of the arc to “i need time start acting like a dad now” which isn’t true? because eddie’s entire character up to this point has been that he ONLY views himself as a dad, and we’ve had all these interviews and conversations detailing “he needs to learn who he is aside from being chris’s dad” and we haven’t seen any of that, and that line feels to me like they’re saying “nope- all he needs to be is a dad.” and… yes, of course being a dad is VERY important to him and should not be sacrificed, but i wish the writers had made the choice to just leave it at:

chris: you’ll be my dad again?

eddie: i’ve always been your dad

rather than tacking on the “now its time for me to act like one” because then that would tell the audience “okay, yes, he’s acknowledging that he’s christopher’s dad and he always has been, but he’s accepting that the time apart has at least started a journey to finding himself as a whole” but instead it kinda…. closed that door (im NOT saying that eddie’s self identity won’t be explored in some way down the line, i just feel like this was an odd writing choice that didn’t really match what the episode was trying to convey for eddie and chris’s relationship but it was written by taylor wong so i’m not expecting masterclass level writing in any way shape or form from her 💀)

anyway, as a whole i really did enjoy the episode- 12 and 13 (and to an extent 11 but i detest that episode on fundamentally different conditions) both really felt more in line with what i loved about earlier seasons of the show and fit the kind of episode formula that made me love the show initially so it was refreshing to see that after 8a was kind of a whole lot of nothing salad and then 8b started with DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA and is about to continue the DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA that i wish would be a bit more spread out than it has been this season and last. these two episodes have been a nice treat and i absolutely hate that i wasn’t able to watch them live because of various reasons but i still enjoyed them even after the fact going in with a baseline knowledge of what happened in both of them. (and also i was VERY pleasantly surprised w the writing of ep 12 considering it was written by two LS writers who don’t know these characters- somehow they had a better understanding of them than other certain writers who have written for the main show do after years of writing for them 💀 BUT I DIGRESS)

**ofc this is all my own opinion and i know others may disagree with me but i feel like im always so hard on this show and its often… okayish writing choices and i wanted to actually take a moment to say something constructive about an episode i did really like as a whole**

[fantasyfantasygames]

TECHNOLOGIC

TECHNOLOGIC, d4ffft, 2018

People will license the oddest things.

TECHNOLOGIC (capitals mandatory) is an RPG based on the work of Daft Punk. It's a cyberware game, but not cyberpunk, despite the name of the band. Your characters have quit their grinding day-to-day office or factory jobs, and are now traveling through a slightly trippy, slightly eccentric world to find meaning in their lives.

Attributes are, of course, Harder, Better, Faster, and Stronger. The last two are self-explanatory. Harder is the social attribute, and Better is the mental one.

Skills are taken from the title track, as it were. There's Buy It (wealth), Fix It (repair), Print It (crafting via 3d printers), Leave It (running), Pause It (for distracting people from what they're doing), Work It (sex appeal), etc. Some of them are overly broad, like Use It, which applies to almost all tech in a tech-heavy game, or overly narrow, like Jam-Unlock It in a game with no breakdown rules.

The game engine is very matrix-driven. It's actually pretty reminiscent of the FASERIP success table, if you're familiar with that. You roll, cross-index your stat and your opponent's stat, and end up with a colored result. From best to worst, the results are Fuchsia, Magenta, Indigo, Azure, Teal, and Lime. The first table might get you your final result, or it might tell you to roll on a second table. That might or might not send you to a third table. You get a handful of Get Lucky points, which can move you up to +3 shifts on your color result. The game has a mild "death spiral" (not that combat is a big part of the game), and penalties you pick up from Indigo or Azure successes slowly mean that you get a Fuchsia result and are out of the action.

I gave it a dozen or so rolls, and it seemed to work fine, but I feel like it's too much. It takes too long to resolve, and it takes too many rolls to get the final outcome. You could get the same results with a single, much simpler table and a d100 roll, or maybe contested d20 rolls and using the difference to determine success.

As the game progresses you pick up "Fragments of Time", which are moments that are particularly meaningful to your character. These serve multiple purposes:

They provide roleplaying fodder for how your character should act toward and react to other people.

They provide you a set of Get Lucky points that you can use in situations related to those specific moments

Adding or removing a Fragment gives you XP to spend.

That's probably my favorite part of the game. Those of you who have heard me wax rhapsodic about Tenra Bansho Zero and its marvelous character development mechanics probably guessed that already. (Seriously, read TBZ, the Kiai / Aiki / Fates / Karma loop is my favorite.)

Sadly, the book contains no art. The layout is decent, but apparently while d4ffft got permission to use lyrics and song titles they didn't manage to secure the rights to any imagery and decided to just go to press without it (which, fair). This is one of the few books I feel like could benefit from some early 2000s Poser art. It just feels like the exact right venue for it, you know? Put in some badly rendered metallic scenery with an overly-smooth facsimile of a human being.

@chubbycrowgames made a quick random character generator, so if you do happen to pick up TECHNOLOGIC there's some existing support for it.

[feelo-fick]

Headcanon: Chilchuck and his Bad Takes on Literature

i think chilchuck would be like my mom in the sense that he wouldnt like sad stories. dont get me wrong, cautionary tales? absolutely fine. they serve a purpose to him which is to tell people "dont be an idiot and do this or else something bad will happen"

generally sad or angsty stories though? no point to him, and in his perspective its really confusing how people just read things that make them sad. like whats the use of reading something if its just gonna make you sad. whats the lesson? its not even real so it doesnt help anyone.

whats the point in making yourself cry when you could just avoid that entirely by not reading it at all?

but the one of the biggest reasons why sad stories exist is to let you release all the built up grief in you. to send you something to let out all your emotions in a healthy way. catharsis. empathy.

even when i dont relate to the tragic experiences in some stories, several ones ive read have lead me to realize that im in a bad situation or that im following in the footsteps of the character suffering. its like a wake up call.

and making yourself cry isnt inherently a bad thing. if crying allows you to let go of building pressure and tension in you then thats good!

but chil wouldnt see that. of course he wouldnt, hes avoidant of most situations that would allow him to release emotion, and fearful of letting his mature (read: repressed) persona slip.

hes someone that runs away to quick comforts and distractions at the earliest sign of issue. hes already been in too many horrifying situations, dealing with another is a pain. and he knows denying everything and refusing to look at the situation doesnt help, but it definitely provides a quick and easy happiness in the comfort of ignorance.

because of this, reading something made to make one empathize with and confront these bad emotions is defeating the point of his cowering. if he faces his issues, even if only through the perspective of a story, he'd have to deal with acknowledging that things are bad and need fixing, and he'd feel terrible and guilty in the moment - which of course is the worst thing that could happen to a person (his thought, not mine).

which is why i find the concept of him being/becoming a tragedy himself at the same time as this headcanon soooo interesting. imagine the irony of him bashing on the protagonists of tragic stories for acting on emotion and impulse rather than logic, when he himself has fallen victim to irrational thinking while in grief.

cause... thats what people do when they grieve. they lash out, make bad decisions, ruin themselves, ruin others.

for a tragedy to be prevented, the protagonists would have to change fundamental parts of themselves, and act perfectly rational when under extreme stress. and chilchuck holds himself to these kinds of unrealistic standards because he unwittingly believes he can handle it all.

he cant, obviously. we see it for ourselves in his relationship with his wife. they were doomed from the beginning by chils already-established avoidance and lack of emotional vulnerabiltiy (and whatever else his wife had going on).

this is all just to say that if you told him about orpheus and eurydice, he'd probably be one of those idiots trying to point out the "plot hole" that he couldve "just not looked back" and "just trusted her"

i dont understand. whats the point in reading tragedies? the protagonist is stupid, anyways. why would you take bitter medicine? why subject yourself to that?

i think its just a bad story.

[mistressaugury]

Fanfic Rec list for my favorite Reylo~

Part one. I wanted to share my fav's for those who like the same kind of things. A lot of them have controversal tropes, teacher/student relationship, Incest, Dead Dove: do not read, Possessive, Controlling. But there are also more with lighter tones.

(Heads up that I am not listing all of the tags or their warnings just a few tags that explain the fic. Please always check the tags on each fic before you read. Just in case.)

Canon compliant and Canon divergence

Star Wars: Legacy of the Force by BuffShipper : Rated Mature, Graphic depictions of violance, major character death, Smuggler Ben. Dark Rey, Slow burn, Female Finn, Angst/ hurt no comfort, eventual sex. Completed.

The Sequel Trilogy reimagined with smuggler Ben Solo reluctant to take on the family mantle of Jedi in the fight against the mysterious Kira Ren and the diabolical First Order...

Notes: I haven't finished this one yet but I AM LOVING it. It seems at first nothing has changed with Rey and Ben Solo on the opposite side of the war. But there are sutle hints at first.

Accidentally on Purpose by SirenBanshee : Rated Explicit, Rey Palpatine, Dark Rey, Bodygaurd Kylo, Arranged Marriage, Obessive, Possessive behavior, Happily Ever After, Completed.

Kylo Ren has served as loyal bodyguard and mentor to galactic princess Rey Palpatine ever since she was a little girl. But now she’s come of age, and her grandfather wants her to marry and continue the Palpatine line . . . If only her suitors would stop accidentally dying.

Note's: Very tormented Kylo Ren, he clearly wants Rey so bad. So big bonus if you like him pining and going about his feelings in extreme ways.

Dark Visions by Monsterleadmehome : Rated Explicit, Force Vision, Sexual content. One-Shot.

“I had a vision… of the Sith throne. And who was on it.” Rey’s voice falters a little, as scared as she is of what she’s seen—scared and another feeling she doesn’t dare tell Finn.

“Ren,” he assumes.

“And me.”

Note's: Pretty much its the scene of Rey telling Finn she had a vision but she doesn't tell him /All/ of what she saw. LOL

All At Once by Mosterleadmehone : Rated Explicit, Costume party, mask ball, Virgin Rey, Virgin Kylo, One-Shot.

The First Order has taken over the planet Neftali in the Soccoro system. Every year, the town of Cordel Cove hosts a winter carnival that culminates in a masquerade ball. The presence of one Supreme Leader has been requested.

The Resistance has come to Neftali to strike a deal with a shady organization, using the carnival as a distraction. They send Rey to the masquerade to keep an eye on things. After one too many drinks, the masked man all in black catches her eye and asks for a dance. But what will happen when the masks come off?

Note's: Takes place after The Last Jedi with the Resistance running around. IPretty much Rey and Kylo meet back up and lose their virginity to each other. Normally first times aren't my thing but I loved the longing for connection between the two. It's rather sweet.

Au's

The Hatstall by L3tty_B4rro5 : Rated G, Hogwarts-Au, Fluff and angsty, teacher and student relationship, Professor Ben Solo. Completed.

DADA professor Ben Solo is swept off his feet when Rey, a new transfer student from Ilvermorny, arrives at Hogwarts. While trying to understand why she's so captivating to him, he realizes that's not the only mystery he'll have to solve. Rey might have more secrets than he expected and as much as he tries, avoiding her is not an option.

Notes: I didn't see a lot of the twists coming. Rather cute and one of the light hearted fic's on my rec's if you over look the student and teacher attraction.

Two Gold Rings by TheAmberKitten : Rated Mature, Graphic depictions of violance, Werewolves, dystopia, Completed

Anywhere had to be better than Jakku, Rey thought. But if California wasn’t safe, where else could she go?

The two girls looked outside the open door of the train car to watch the desert scenery fly by. There was the sound of howling and Rey observed the outline of what appeared to be a hundred wolves running along the elevated tracks.

She wondered if one of them had golden eyes.

Notes: Rey is force to wander for her own safety with werewolves having taken over. Prefect if you want something bleak and atmospheric.

A Shot at the Night by CaptainCabinets : Rated Explicit, Vampires, mild blood and gore, vampire Ben, Maid Rey, On Going fic.

Rey Johnson needs money and has plenty of blood. Kylo Ren has plenty of money and wants Rey Johnson's blood. They make a mutually beneficial arrangement.

OR

A vampire sugar daddy AU

Notes: This one has to be my favorite of fav's. I live in the same setting as where the story takes place and its very accurate. Rey is a struggling woman and gets swept up in the vampire world to be a blood donor to Ben. But clearly there is a underlying attractions and indepent Rey gets scared. Also heads up its still being worked on.

The Lion's Roar by MurderOfCrowss : Rated Explicit, Rape/Non-con, Graphic depictions of violance, werewolves, A/B/O or Omegaverse, Dead Dove don't eat, Dom Kylo Ren, Submissive Rey, dark HAE, Compeleted.

Rey's day goes from bad to worse when she meets up with a werewolf to pay off her sister's gambling debt. When a simple encounter goes terribly wrong, she finds herself bound to a man she barely knows. Kylo as his pack calls him, doesn't care if she consents or not to their union. Rey will have to find a way to escape or spend the rest of her life trapped by his side.

Note's: This was my first intro to Omega verse so I already have a skew idea of the trope thanks to this fic. It's very intense and pretty adventurous, after Rey is now trapped with Kylo Ren she goes on different life ending adventures. One with a rivial clan of alpha's trying to kill Kylo. And another was some sort of alpha werewolf fighting group. Pretty good if you want action and adventure to your dark romance.

Neighbors With Benefits by ThePuddleJumper : Rated Explicit, Omega verse, Alpha Ben, Omega Rey, enemies to friends, pining, attempted assult, On Going fic.

Rey’s neighbor is the most annoying man she’s ever met. Always too self-absorbed to bother saying hello in the hallway, always taking her favorite parking spot in the garage, always avoiding the building’s social gatherings—didn’t his mother teach him any manners?

But when someone gives the grumpy alpha a rut-inducing drug, Rey decides to help. She may prefer to ignore the frustrating man, but she’s not going to abandon a person in trouble—no matter how aggravating they might be.

Unfortunately, the proposed ‘neighbors with benefits’ solution is complicated. It may seem simple if she just thinks about the biological aspect, but Rey has no interest in having a mate or any long-term relationship. The alpha next door agrees to her terms, but both of them may be signing up for more than they can handle.

And neither considers the risks to their hearts.

Notes: Very protective Ben. The sort of story where Rey justifies trying to keep from falling for her friend with benefit.

The Mail Order Bride by Lazypadawan : Rated Expilicit, Wild west-Au, Fluff and Angsty, Shoot outs, Babies, Eventual Happy Ever After, Not Beta Read, Compeleted.

Rey Niima was a lonely school teacher in 1870s California until she spotted an ad from a miner seeking a bride. She and Ben Solo connect through letters then he proposes and Rey leaves it all behind to join him. But on the way there a gang of masked desperadoes hold up her stagecoach. The wedding goes forward but little does Rey know that her new husband isn't what he seems to be.

Note's: Fun fact the plot is based on a story from the 1800's of a mail order bride. However this one has a happier ending. It's a rather fun adventure.

Modern Au's

Baby Sister by Zoey_Writes : Rated Explicit, Underage, sibling sex, Incest, pregency, mentions of abortion, loss of parents. Ben and Rey are half siblings. Cheating Han Solo. Completed.

Shortly before Ben's sixteenth birthday, he learns that his father has another child, a daughter named Rey, who will be coming to live with them following her mother's death. At first, he hates her, then he tolerates her, and then...

Notes: A whole lot of family drama and the author actually handles the side characters really well. I really got into the history of Leia's family. Ben in this story is the main pov and he actually is rather sweet. The budding friendship between Rey and Ben was refreshing before they actually started to get together. But everything is pretty realistic.

Sometimes a gift is more by Blueyedgurl : Rated Explicit, Incest, Ben and Kylo are twins, Sibling incest, Uncle/niece, parent/child, Mild dubious consent, On Going fic. Locked fic must have an AO3 account.

Rey's Uncle Kylo gives her a bear for her 18th birthday. One squeeze Kylo's voice sing the song he likes to tease her with. A few more and it vibrates...it probably isn't all it does.

Note's: There is some Ben and Kylo stuff going on. It also hasn't been updated for a good while but if you don't mind the four chapters are great.

Smug by infinitegalaxies : Rated Expilict, best friends older brother, Rey's 18, Ben 21, switching POV, Compeleted.

Rey’s crush on her best friend’s brother is finally reciprocated, for better or worse.

Note's: Would have been straight up smut had the happy ever after at the end made it into a rather sweet little tale.

Quija by majesticllamalady : Rated Expilict, Graphic depictions of violance, Major Character death, Rape/ Non-con, Paranormal, dead dove do not eat, Demon Kylo, Horror, No happily ever after, Compeleted.

Rey and her friends have taken up what was supposed to be a harmless hobby of ghost hunting. Tired of coming up empty handed, Poe brings along a Ouiji board this time to encourage a spirit to come forward. Only it wasn't a harmless spirit trapped in the home they've unleashed, but a demonic entity that's finally broken free of its bonds. The demon only wants Rey, and it will have her, but not before it's finished playing with the young college students for daring to mess with paranormal.

Note's: Really a dark Reylo if your into that. It wasn't tagged but I think there is an element of mind fuckry with one dream scene. (Not fuckary in terms of sex but just mind games.) There is such a visual and mood of fear about it. I take it out for Halloween or when I need a good scare. It's only five chapters but gets to the point.