#ENJOY NONNY

[brattylikestoeat]

lately when im high my favorite thing to do is scroll thru ur fine men and fine women + fine food tags its just such a fun and rewarding viewing experience

That’s like such an awesome compliment.

[3amfanfiction]

You wrote this about Simon: “At this lieutenant, already chewed up and spit out by the world. More scars than skin at this point. You wonder how many people only see the scars and not the shivering body underneath it, waiting for a soft touch.”

I’d LOVE to read more of this - i wanna be the one to offer him the soft touch he wants so badly, maaaan! He’s just so big n’ strong but i want to let him curl up against me while i pet him until he stops shivering

This came through at the perfect time. I had the desire to write but I was picking at all my wips half heartedly bc none of the them were what I wanted.

But this? This I wanted.

So thank you again and please enjoy 1.5k words of acclimatizing Simon to soft touches.

<33

Ask referencing this post.

~~~~

He scared you, the first time you saw him.

Not because of how big he was (tall, thick, muscular) or the look in his eyes (cold, dismissive, too watchful), not even because of the scars themselves (numerous, expansive, tragic).

It was because you knew any interaction would come across as a threat. He had that look in his eyes that said he'd seen the worst of what the world had to offer and he persisted through luck and spite equally. Now he was sat in front of you, too disciplined to let his skin shiver but hating being seen. Hating that you were looking.

When you met him it was through a friend of a friend sort of thing. One of your friends was seeing a Scottish boy and invited you out for drinks with them. You had no reason to say no so you found yourself sitting at a high-top doing your best not to bother the man sitting quietly to your right.

His gruff, Simon, during introductions was the only thing he had said in the last hour, content to sit quietly and watch. Almost outside of the group even though he was sitting at the same table. You made sure to include him when you were speaking to the group, your eyes darting to each person as you spoke, not leaving anyone out. But you made sure to never direct a hard question at him that required an answer. It was all, I bet you never have a problem seeing over the crowd. or I'll grab everyone a drink while I'm up or Sorry, I'll be out of your space in a moment, my jacket was getting a little warm.

He would look at you. Every time you spoke to him he wouldn't shy away from eye contact but that was where his involvement ended. Never a head nod or shake, never a verbal answer.

By the end of the night you were positive he didn't like you. He didn't dis-like you but he didn't like you, you were pretty sure. That was okay though. You'd done your best not to infringe on his space, not wanting to step on his toes. You thought you had done a good job all around and put it out of your mind, the interaction over and done with and no longer needing to be reviewed.

What you never realized was Simon's shoulders lowered a whole inch throughout the course of the night.

\\\

You called your friend out on the number of times she invited you to hang out with Johnny and Simon, flat out asking if she and Johnny were trying to set you and Simon up through subtle double-dating.

"No!" She leaned forward grabbing your hand, her eyes looking earnestly into yours, "I promise it's not like that. Johnny told me he's pretty much all Simon has. Well, their team is. So they're always together when they're home. I don't want Simon to feel like a third wheel or left out or anything."

And you believed her. This was one of her strong suits, always looking out for others. That's probably why you two got along so well, a pair of givers, the both of you. And she had a point. The idea of Simon sitting awkwardly with the other two as his only companions made something twist in your stomach. You didn't want that for him.

So you kept seeing Simon and you kept doing your best to give him space but include him at the same time. You were shocked the first day he spoke to you but the fact that it was a bad joke made a sort of perfect sense.

"What's the best way to carve wood?"

You looked over at him in shock that this was what he chose to break the ice with. At the same time you were delighted and you couldn't help but feel giddy at the prospect of Simon telling you a joke. A bad one by the sound of it.

"How?"

"Whittle by whittle."

"That was absolutely terrible."

He smiled to himself if his eye crinkles had anything to say about it. That giddy feeling bubbling up inside you was getting unsettlingly big right about now. You looked at the ground and bit your lip to keep from a cheesy grin of your own breaking out.

Before you knew it he had no problem speaking to you. While never particularly verbose, he would respond to comments directed towards him, offer his opinion if options were offered, and kept telling awful jokes.

You were hopelessly charmed.

You broke your own rules and reached for him first.

You were sat next to him on a bench, the sun setting and the evening air cooling further. He had told you another one of his god-awful jokes when you unthinkingly swatted out with your hand, brushing his arm. His muscles jumped and his arm tensed right before you made contact as if bracing for a hit. An involuntary reaction to someone reaching for him. It was a horrifying realization.

You sobered quickly and your chuckle died off awkwardly. You turned to face forward, looking out at the street, watching for any sign of your friend or Johnny who had stepped into the store for a quick moment leaving you and Simon to find a bench while you waited. You hoped that if you didn't draw attention to it then your faux pas would pass unmentioned.

You let out a relieved sigh when Simon continued with another comment, not taking your overstepping to heart. By the time the other two had rejoined you the whole situation was forgotten, water under the bridge. You didn't think of it again until it was the end of the night with everyone about to go their separate ways.

When you said goodbye to Simon he said it back, reaching out to brush his hand down your arm in return in almost the exact same spot as where you'd touched him earlier.

Your heart skipped a beat before picking up a double pace. You couldn't help but beam at him, a wide grin splitting your face even as he grunted and turned away, likely embarrassed by your show of emotion.

Today had been a good day after all.

You thought you had ruined it for a moment there, thankful when Simon seemed to brush past it. You hadn't expected him to reciprocate in the same manner though.

Maybe he really did like hanging out with you. You never doubted it for a second.

\\\

It took time–a slow steady build to where you ended up, curled up on the couch together with Simon laying on top of you. You both had your tops off to bask in a little skin-to-skin time.

You'd been together for a few months at this point and it was like night and day to compare him to the Simon you met all that time ago. This one couldn't keep his hands off you to save his life. It was a slow warm-up to get past his walls in a way that wasn't upsetting to either of you. Soft touches that slowly built, leading to hand holding, to hugging, to kissing, to this.

You dragged your fingers slowly up his back, fingertips catching on raised scar tissue before continuing on, ever moving. He hummed into the crook of your neck where he had buried his face when you switched from fingertips to nails, gently scratching the skin.

You loved spending time like this, feeling Simon melt into you, eager for every touch he could get. If you were sitting still and Simon was in the vicinity you could bet that he would be pressed against your side before too much time had passed. Eager for the soft caresses you always had for him.

He was starved for touch and you wanted to feed him.

So you offered, again and again in the beginning–most times with no luck, to let him touch you. On the couch watching TV? Your arms would open, inviting a hug when he walked by. At the table? Your head was tilting up for a kiss if he wanted one. Passing each other in the hallway? You'd raise your hand and hold it in front of you, letting him press his big barrel chest into your palm if he wanted.

It was a slow acclimatization that brought you to today and the taste was all the sweeter for the time you had poured into it.

You lifted a hand to drag it through the spiky hairs at the back of his head, enjoying his groan of contentment. It sounded like he was already halfway asleep and you knew you wouldn't be leaving this spot for a while.

Might as well settle in and get comfortable. You familiarized him to gentle touches, now he was insatiable for them. He would be consuming them from you greedily for as long as you offered.

[zorosdimples]

mdni. cw: hybrids, oral fixations, spit. my (not so) long-awaited return to the tiger hybrid yuuji-verse.

Sunday afternoons are usually spent like this: lazing on the couch with your tiger hybrid, his broad frame curled around yours as he shields you from the stress of your impending work week. Your face is buried in his strong chest and his chin rests atop your head.

Yuuji chuffs in contentment when you reach up to scratch his rosy ears; the vocalization puffs against your hair as his soft tail gently bats your hip. When you try to withdraw your hand, he whines, chasing you with his nose. As you let him nuzzle into your touch, he begins lapping at your skin.

You chuckle; you’ve grown fond of his clinginess. “Hm?”

His affection dances from the center of your palm to the tip of your pointer finger, and he wraps his tongue around the digit before nipping the pad. He pulls away from your comforting scent and warmth—barely, as his breath ghosts your flesh—and his striped ears twitch.

“You know how you told me to come to you when I need anything?” Yuuji asks.

You hum. “Of course.”

“Well,” he gulps, cheeks blooming a ruddy color that matches his hair, “could you, um, play with my mouth?”

Unsure of where he’s headed with his request, you quirk an eyebrow.

“The vet said I had to stop chewing so much ice—remember?”

“Yeah. It’s bad for your teeth if you do it too often.”

He nods. “And I've chewed through all of my toys.”

“No new toys until next month, Yuu. They’re too expensive to replace on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, I’m not made of money.”

The hybrid’s ears flatten against his head. “I know. But my mouth feels so empty.” He shifts a little, now fidgeting with the fuzzy tip of his tail. “I—um, just need something to occupy it. My gums ache, and my jaw hurts because I keep clenching. I try to work everything out on my own, but I… I thought maybe you could help.”

Wide, sweet, earnest, Yuuji’s gaze is rich caramel. You feel a little flustered by his request—you aren’t exactly sure why—but you couldn’t possibly say no to him. You offer Yuuji a reassuring smile. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed; I’m always happy to help. Now: open wide for me.”

Your willingness draws a pleased chuff from him, and he complies, baring his maw. Accentuated by glinting incisors, rows of honed teeth would be a frightening sight for an onlooker. But the hybrid would rather wither away than hurt a fly (unless the fly was trying to harm you). You begin by running a finger along his slick gums, gingerly massaging the pink tissue.

Garbled whines flutter past Yuuji’s drooling tongue; his eyes water, irises hazy with relief. By the time you reach his molars, you have to hold his tongue down with your middle and ring fingers, using your index to rub around his teeth. Spit pools at the bottom of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. A pleased sigh leaves his stretched lips, and his hips jerk forward, something firm brushing against your belly.

Blood rushes to your face. You swallow dryly, acutely aware of your intimate position. “Are you hard, Yuuji?”

The hybrid doesn’t try to deny it. “Thowy,” he pants with your fingers heavy on his tongue. Dew collects at his temples and his neck is blush. But instead of putting space between your bodies, he squirms closer—until his bulge presses against you, his syrupy gaze slowing your mind and seeping into your limbs.

Arousal knots itself deep in your core as you stare at your companion—hot, needy, eager. Against your better judgment, you grind against him. Losing focus, he roughly grabs your hips, mouth closing around your digits to lave and suck. He rolls onto his back and hoists you on top of him, angling you so that his throbbing length rubs you right where you need.

“Fuck,” you hiss, unable to do anything but roll your hips and chase pleasure. You extract your fingers from Yuuji’s mouth, cradling his burning face before melting into him, a heap of spit and teeth and tongue.

“I’m s-sorry,” he groans against your lips as he kneads your ass, tail grazing your ankle. “Gonna make it up to you—promise.”

[utterdrip]

love my smoother-than-average brained lover

[laenyrasdarling]

Hiii! Can i ask for an Haelena/ fem! Targaryen reader headcanons? No nsfw but romantic. Reader is the daughter of Rhea Royce and Daemon

.ೃ࿐helaena targaryen x fem!targaryen/royce!reader 

✦ some notes on the setting; pre-dance, with helaegon and the twins (+ aegon’s debauchery) still present, daemyra being alluded to whilst he’s married (frostily) to rhea and she to laenor, vizzy t’s in a somewhat fortunate state of health, i am here for helaena her only and the worldbuilding Shall reflect it

ׂׂૢ having spent much all of your formative years residing in the grassy hills and wild thatches of runestone with your mother and her family, your varyingly absent father’s request to depart to king’s landing not long after your coming of eight and ten felt like something not very far between a dare and a terror. 

ׂׂૢ as abbarantly furious as this suggestion had initially made your dear mother and grandsire, over the course of some weeks your gentle insinuations that some winters in the red-roofed capital may be of benefit to a silver-haired, violet-eyed lady such as yourself before she returned to her homeland to continue her path ontoward ruling runestone in her mother’s footsteps, you successfully found enough cracks in your doting family’s bronzed armour to see them abate. 

ׂׂૢ so armed with enough belongings to last you from late spring to the following summer and the strongly pressed guidance from your grandsire that this temporary dalliance was only so you’d return equipped with better skills and knowledge with which to one day rule over your true homeland, you set sail for king’s landing. knowing all at once that you were only permitted to embark on this journey for varying ploys that were not yours - your grandsire’s to see you evolve to a competent ruler, your father’s to better his standings in your all but estranged uncle viserys’ eyes - you tried to not let these meddling hands of fate dissuade you from also using this time for your own endeavours.

ׂׂૢ and none so prevalent was that mission made to you than when you first laid eyes on the princess helaena upon your arrival to the red keep.

ׂׂૢ this was around the time you first found yourself thankful for your father’s meddling, as his suggesting in his letter that you make yourself of use to your hosts and aid the lady helaena in her childrearing and courtly duties meant that you arrived pre-prepared with a reason to find yourself in her company so often. as frostily as things began, with you nervously hovering around the edge of the room as the twins played and she sewed stiffly, with suppertimes just as cold with the added intrusions of her fool husband and snide-tongued younger brother, summer had barely begun to depart on your first year when things began brightening.

ׂׂૢ your transition from outcast to dearly-held began in benign ways - jaehaera growing familiar with your shadow-still presence in the family’s quarters and growing bold enough to beckon you forth with a chubby-fisted hand, that held aloft a dragon figurine for you to join her in play with. then came your wine-fuelled back-and-forths with aemond at the dinnertable, earning you both your cousins’ delicately-balanced respect, along with that of ser otto - and later, when helaena would find herself peering from over parapets to catch a glimpse of you besting even some of the kingsguard in the training yard with your bow skills.

ׂׂૢ the gradual quality with which you immerse yourself into her life escapes even her, until she begins to find herself noticing when your relentless energy and imaginative ploys are absent from the twins’ mornings and when you deem to take ale with aemond and his goons instead of joining her and alicent for supper. 

ׂׂૢ her status as a crown princess, and one betrothed to the king’s eldest son at that, taken into account, means that it’s probably once in a blood moon that helaena needs to ask for anything. which is what makes it mean all the more than it already does when she starts asking for your company.

ׂׂૢ and oh, how unendingly glad is she that she did.

ׂׂૢ her droll mornings become filled with your endlessly interesting talk of runestone, and your studies, and the things you’ve noticed since your arrival here (much of which she may not quite understand, but loves to listen to all the same). you’re by her side for each meandering stroll through the gardens that seems to take longer and longer each passing day, for every family meal that you manage to instill life and laughter into, for each lavish ball that she no longer fears now that she has you on her arm to keep her grounded and safe.

ׂׂૢ it’s the confident ease that you carry yourself with that endears helaena to you so much. how no task, no conversation, no idea is below or above you; that you’ll see the good and the worth in everything and everyone like it’s as easy as breathing.

ׂׂૢ so really, it’s no wonder that when it’s drawing late one night and you haven’t swung by her quarters with that darling smile of yours to wish her goodnight like you always do that when she goes in search of you, she finds you having dismissed the handmaids for the night and taken to tidying up the twins’ toys and study materials yourself. in the light of the still-flickering hearth, you look as heavenly a woman as helaena’s ever seen; so she’d be forgiven for finding herself kneeling so very close to you on the stone floor as she helps you stow figurines and charcoals away, and for losing herself in your lilac eyes that she doesn’t realise she’s leaning in until her lips are already on yours.

ׂׂૢ from there, it’s another slow descent - but helaena ensures not to miss a second of it this time around.

ׂׂૢ linked arms as you stroll through the gardens become held hands and guiding palms on the smalls of backs when no-one’s looking. the sewing lessons she’s insisted on walking you through end up looking more like you sitting back against her legs, as she loops her arms around yours and guides you through each stitch with her own hand, and now it’s a heatwave in the north before you’ll trade an evening with her for drinking with her fool brothers.

ׂׂૢ and you best believe, that’s only the very beginning.

ׂׂૢ she has dreamfyre saddled for two, and laughs through your terrified screams as she takes you so high into the clouds that you fear she’ll never possibly find her way back down. but really that’s your fault, as if you didn’t hand so tight onto her waist and bury your face into the crook of her neck, she would have no reason to delight in your flights as much as she does.

ׂׂૢ none of the articles of clothing you arrived with are now without alterations from her hand. a tiny, glittering arrow on a dress sleeve, a bronze-threaded neckline that seems to merge with an emerald-toned green as it sweeps down your back, all so subtle but done with love that they ease a smile onto your face every time they catch your notice again. and that’s not even taking into account the garments that are her design and commission alone, which now make up more than half of your wardrobe - rich, silken robes in every colour you could dream of, soft undershirts better suited to the warm climate of king’s landing than the heavy cotton ones you brought with you, gowns to match hers for all the balls she now drags you to on her arm.

ׂׂૢ her demure nature accounted for, she personally rejects any talks of vows for your hand - right down to seeing to it that all visiting noblewomen who appear to find too much interest in your bright eyes or warm laughter won’t find themselves having any business being in your company again.

ׂׂૢ on nights where she really just can’t bear to part with you until the morning, she’ll have her most trusted maidservants beguile her guards with a lie about her feeling poorly and asking you to stay with her for company; ensuring there’ll be no questions if anyone were to find the princess and a noblewoman entwined in bed together, cuddled so close it’s doubtful they could ever be parted.

ׂׂૢ it’s in moments like those, so sweet and so sacred, where the safety of your arms emboldens her so that she’ll dare to speak beyond the here and now. about her dreams of renouncing aegon, of taking the twins and you and flying as far as dreamfyre will take you, until you find a place that’s safe. safe for her to take you as your wife, for all the issues of succession and war to be a distant memory, where she can be a seamstress and you a farmer and the twins whatever they so want to be.

ׂׂૢ and torturously, those moments where she feels brave enough to speak plainly are the ones you find you just don't have the heart to give her the same honesty. so you kiss her forehead, brushing back silvery strands of hair as you settle in against one another and pray that your dreams lead you both to the same place where you may be able to live out that fantasy if only for a night.

[windser]

conflicted contrast (3/?)

pairing: mc x sylus (soulmate!au) wc: 1.6k+ rating: t

a/n: i have so many drafted ideas for this and few other sylus dynamics. but here is a direct continuation from this work! i doubt future additions will remain linear, ill probably just bounce around scenes but i love them a lot already!! honestly, feel free to send questions or specific requests about this dynamic to help me explore more

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

'sorry, I'm not into subs.'

it's probably not your shining moment, especially not with your supervisor less than half a foot away. there is a cough from your right, definitely from the officer trying to reign in his reaction.

yet, the leader of onichynus—your soulmate—finds humor in it all. his laugh, strong but low, isn't as shocking as deep-bellied amusement, but it may as well have been, given the guard's surprised reaction. apparently, outside of his request to see you, this man had given them nothing.

this man who—

"sylus."

you look up, your eyes having subtly mapped out his body in curiosity about where such a phrase could be etched. it obviously wasn't as prominent as yours.

he waits until your eyes meet. "my name," he says, as if reading your thoughts. a hint of a smile curls his lips. "as for my mark, perhaps that's a show for private times. but I assure you, i have been waiting for those words for a long, long time."

and you understand because even when you had given up, you too had played the waiting game, always wanting to at least know what the words 'you're beautiful' sounded like on fated lips.

but now...

well, there wasn't much left to this story. your soulmate was a criminal captured by the UNICORNS organization, and that was the end of it.

this moment was likely the most private and last opportunity the two of you would have together. and it wouldn't even be just the two of you, as the other two parties in the room were likely desperate to use this chance to get what they wanted from him.

you were just a proxy.

akey to his lips.

"sylus, are you indeed the leader of the illegal organization onichynus?"

despite the words leaving jenna's mouth, sylus's gaze never leaves yours.

"is that what you really want to know?"

the sigh that escapes your lips is heavy, carrying the weight of how difficult he plans to make this for everyone involved. shifting your weight to one foot, you meet him with an equally measured look.

"do you need my permission to speak to others?"

his answering grin tells you everything you need to know and opens the abyss to more inquiries you didn't realize you had an itch to know.

feeling prompted, you ask the same question.

"yes."

now it's confirmed what everyone already suspected, but sylus doesn't offer more than that, leaving jenna to ask more about the operations. unsurprisingly, he only acknowledges the questions when you mimic them.

"we deal with the movements of the N109 zone that you all are too pure to taint yourselves with."

it's likely not exactly what jenna had in mind, but it was something. so she asks another inquiry about specific attributes of such dynamics, to which sylus waits patiently for you to repeat. this goes on for the next few questions until you're both irritated by the redundancy and vagueness of it all.

nothing he has said has exposed itself as more than what the UNICORNS already had on file. at most, all they got out of this operation was a face.

Sure, they had the leader, but what was a figurehead when the heart of the organization was still running rampant within its own borders? at least it could be said that what he build was competent in his absence. though more could be said about the lack of rescue attempts.

"why are you modifying protocores?"

this was the first question of your own, and because his gaze had never left yours, sylus acknowledges it with a raised brow.

"because it makes them better." your frown deepens, and in noticing sylus yields more information. "If protocores were to be left in their current state, it would be similar to extracting a gem and leaving it unrefined. to truly want to extract its beauty, it must be cultivated." it's common sense really, goes unsaid but his tone holds the intent.

jenna doesn't propose the next question, so you take the opportunity to poke more.

"and what do you do with these advanced protocores?" it's not meant to be a compliment, but acknowledging that they were better than anything the UNICORNS had in inventory was a simple fact.

sylus doesn't answer immediately. he seems to be rolling his response around his tongue before deciding on the preferred taste.

"the wanderers are an issue to both sides, along with the other unsavory characters that associate themselves with the entire mess. we utilize our resources as we see fit."

with that, he confirms what had been speculated—that onichynus wasn't the only force making waves in the N109 zone and, by the sound of his distaste, they were not pleased with the fact.

"and what is the end goal of said resources?" jenna enunciates her question by stepping further into the room. it's an obvious authority play, something even sylus acknowledges with a barely-there smirk.

whatever is written on your face is easily read by him, so he humors her by responding directly for the first time, "whatever we want."

and that was the last of any relevant information either of you were able to get out of the man. he would always give you some sort of response, or at least his lips always moved with sound.

but questions like "how many members are in onichynus?" were met with answers like "i enjoy chocolate mousse cake but hate when they add cherries on top. what's your favorite dessert?" to the point where jenna decided to call it for the night, to sylus's humored dismay.

"we were just getting to know each other."

which was hilarious because, aside from knowing his apparently favorite confectionary sweet and his preferred exercise routine to blow off steam, he was every bit of the mystery of the man you'd walked in on.

it was a shame, really, because at the end of it all, you were finding your soulmate to be interesting, to say the least. a shame that intrigue came from the fact that he was a notorious criminal with more affiliations than UNICORNS could ever hope to pin on him.

you suppose you could at least admit to yourself that he was attractive. the pale, ashy hair complemented his eyes well. he was certainly built like a leader who liked to get things done on his own terms rather than delegate.

the biggest folly, really, that he just wasn't your type.

which is odd, because why would the stars align your lives with incompatible dynamics? If you needed a man to look at you for permission every time he spoke, you'd just get a dog.

perhaps it was best he was locked up, otherwise, you'd be the one forced to collar him.

"if I am to accept this will be my 'last meal,' could i at least get one request of my own?"

jenna pauses in her monologue of reading of rights, a long, drawn-out literature of things that are hearsay and probably won't even apply to a highly classified criminal such as him.

it's fair for her to be affronted by the inquiry, because not only has he not yet been offered his 'last meal,' it's the fact that it's you he's looking at.

he seems to wait for everyone to reach that pinnacle before he continues, "nothing untoward, i promise, as I am very much secured." as if the steel walls weren't enough, he makes a flimsy attempt to shake the handcuffs at his wrist.

reminded, your eyes flicker to the affronted restraints before raising to meet his. "what?"

his grin should have been the first warning.

"if you could at least humor the facade of privacy by coming closer."

it should be a threat. and definitely should not be considered.

but outside of the truth of him being a criminal, he is also, unfortunately, your soulmate. and while your spirits are not bound through mortality, you doubt he would do anything regardless.

it's Jenna who gives you the longest look before leaving the rest to you.

and from there, all that is left is a metaphoric cat and it's curiosity.

it doesn't take many steps for you to close the distance. as you approach, the man spreads his legs wider as if in accommodation, but you stop before accepting the obvious offer. it earns you the first proper smile rather than his muted smirk.

he leans forward instead, to close the distance himself, arms still held at a certain angle due to them being locked in a loop around the chair. from this position, the best he could do was tilt his chin up from a bowed head.

"are you disappointed?"

he's talking about himself. his attachment to you. the twine that intermingles your souls. and it's the first genuine set of words that you hear from his mouth besides his name.

"aside from the obvious, i'm not sure. if you'd chosen a different profession, perhaps you could have had the opportunity to prove me wrong."

which, down the road, or perhaps in a few moments, you would learn was both the wrong and right thing to say.

for in the next breath, his chest evened out, and behind his back, his pointer finger twitched once, and you all heard the clink of the cuff unlocking.

"well, with an opportunity like that, how can I resist, sweetie?"

[joanna-lannister]

3x06 // 8x05

requested by anonymous

[sgiddings]

hiiiii, do you have any jossam hcs you've never talked about?? I love your blog btw <3

hello lovely anon! oh, thank you so much! it means the world to me. of course, i've had some headcanons brewing up in the back of my brain for years now;

i don't think josh is a lady's man or what have you by any means possible. i think he has always been a loner whether that be romantic or platonic wise, rami said on josh himself that he's a loner. i think josh has always had a crush on sam from the day he met her, it's always been hard for him to feel anything for anyone else in that regard. has he fooled around a little? sure, but nothing with anyone that ever lasted long. i think further proof on his lack of experience with women or romance in general is the way he talks to chris about ashley. oh boy. he's been whipped for too long, the flings he's had with people would make his skin crawl by the end of it, he didn't want them. he wanted sam.

josh isn't really a massive social media person, he'll only create an account for something if sam asks him to. like instagram, he's really only there for sam (@evildeadgf inspired this headcanon, she has a very cute jossam ig edit) and will only post yearly if at all, but he's always liking a post whenever sam uploads something there. he's not chronically online per se but his presence around his girlfriend is known. back off!!!

speaking of sam's instagram, she's always taking very handsome photos of him and adding them to her stories and her "dump" photos, you know the ones where people will just post a random monthly post with a bunch of different photos from that month, a lot of those photos include josh and her and josh together, and them with their dog.

fairly new headcanon for me inspired by unused audio file of sam talking to her mum. sam's mum would always hound her about chris, sam has no idea where her mum even got this idea from, or how she even thought of it to begin with, but her dad's always had an inkling of what's really going on. he notices the way josh stares at his daughter. sam knows that he knows, and they don't say anything about it, they just have a silent sort of agreement to respect each other's peace. post mountain, josh is one of the first people her dad asks sam about. sam can barely keep it together.

i think to keep himself sane a little more tethered to the world, helping him to wade through his own problems, josh would have to keep his focus on something, maybe starting a new creative project - nothing too out there, could be just to keep his hands busy. making props? who knows, the world is his oyster and he is very intelligent. sam loves to watch him create, she loves the determination in his eyes and the way his brows furrow together whenever he's working at something. josh notices, throws a little "checkin' me out?" joke at her, and she can't help but laugh.

sam wakes up early and josh does not wake up early. sometimes sam will get up around 4 in the morning just to go hiking and take the dog for a walk, and she'll find josh still awake in the living room. "oh c'mon. go to bed." "not tired yet." "you're gonna wake up dead in the afternoon again." "fine with me, gives me more time at night to do what i want." "like what?" "stuff." "what stuff?" "like watch you sleep." "(laugh) okay edward cullen, shut it. i'll go make you some tea before i leave."

[getonite]

fav black butler fics of all time? 💕

ahh!!! i apologize for not responding when i 1st saw this. however, im glad u asked ^.^ these r almost all smut, bc well that's what i was into in the peak of my hyperfixation soooo...along with the fact that s*baciel is so prominent that i fear reading anything else bc of jump scares.

( already said this but... ) Please Keep My Secret by The_Littlest_Raindrop on a03.

they also have a whole bunch of fantastic works!

( this isnt a chaptered fic but a one-shot ) 'Night Steps' by @/z3nitsugf on here and on a03

( im kinky so... ) 'Little Minx' by The_Littlest_Raindrop ( again )

'The Phantomhive Diaries' by DCUnitedFanfics

this is one where the dynamics were both interesting a new to me so i enjoyed it.

can't think of anything else at the moment, so this is all i got! honestly, any of the older ones that started in like 2017-2019 where my favorite. and ofc, sebastian is my muse so...all x reader fics :D

[petit-etoile]

hi! :) i love your writing!! Could i request an Astarion fic based on the Mahmoud Darwish Quote “they asked ‘do you love her to death’ / i said ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’”?

it's  our  last  chance  ( we'll  get  it  right  )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 2,902 content warnings: canonical discussions of death, spoilers for astarion's act iii romance, spiritual interlude to this fic, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, an exploration of how s.ex can be healing, the faintest hints of a mortal!tav but that's up to the reader, what if s.ex cures vampirism ? other tags:  canon compliant,  character study,  introspection,  codependency,  religious imagery & symbolism,  p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ Astarion tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

This is a night reminiscent of the day he died.

The sun has faded out over the horizon. The streets are bloodied once more, and hundreds of shadows have transformed into the shape of a bat.

Astarion’s grave is very old and covered with moss. You watch as he kneels in front of it and brushes his fingers across his name in reverence. You join him and cross your fingers together in prayer. You don’t know what you’re praying for but you mumble the words under your breath. It isn’t until you start digging that you begin to understand why you’re really here. You dig and dig and find relics of a life you never knew  —  dead flowers and childhood toys, tears that you cry. A mother and father’s love.

Astarion looks so much younger now that Cazador no longer hangs over his very being. The tension around his eyes has lessened, and even though he’s feeling something you can’t imagine, he wears the smallest smile as you uncover the gifts left behind by his family. Proof that Astarion lived, proof that Astarion existed. You dig until your fingers reach nothing and then you turn to him. He means to plant a seed and watch it grow.

He hands you seeds from a flower you can’t remember the name of. You pour them into the depths of this grave and fill it back up with dirt. You drop handfuls and wait for it to rain. You turn your chin up to the sky and wait for the storm clouds to release rapture.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says suddenly.

He looks at you like a man learning to see for the first time. The softness of his features only intensifies the longer he looks at you. Astarion is always made up of hard angles and harsh lines but tonight, he looks upon you with an earnestness you haven’t seen for him in quite some time. You’re caught off-guard when he caresses your cheek.

If Baldur’s Gate were to weather a storm tonight, Astarion would be the warmth from the cold of the rainstorm. You close your eyes at his touch and lean your cheek into it, nuzzling his palm. Astarion decides that it isn’t enough. He’s selfish, manipulative, roguish and cruel, but when he leans forward and kisses you with his plump mouth, you forget about all those things. It’s healing. You open your lips for him.

‘I love this,’ he murmurs, snaking a hand down to the small of your back. ‘And I want it all.’

The storm breaks overhead, but Astarion covers your body with his and you forget that you hate the sound of thunder. He kisses the very soul of you, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. There’s something about the way he nips at your skin that infinitely thrills you. How could a man so determined to be dangerous, so keen on becoming the most powerful man in the world melt at the sound of your voice? Had Astarion always been this weak for you, or was this a new transgression in his never ending quest to crush his desires?

Astarion kisses you.

He is the only thing that quenches your thirst.

He knows that.

When you first fell from the illithid ship, you had felt a hunger unlike any other swell up in your gut. It was freedom you had never experienced, and somehow, you came out on top. What happened after that was only like the romances you had read about. When a beast hunter falls in love with their bounty, when a mortal loves their immortal despite the difference, when an angry vampire becomes softer and softer the more he learns about kinder touch. You’re a romantic, after all.

You think that you should talk about it. You want to ask Astarion if he’s sure. But of course he’s sure, he’s never been surer of anything. Asking him now would be a disservice, you think. He’s worked so hard to come this far. You don’t ask. You kiss Astarion back like you’ve never kissed anyone before.

His mouth is yearning. Astarion pines for you like a prince pines for a sweetheart  —  and his mouth and his tongue and his teeth are so overwhelming that you can’t help but cling to his shoulders, using him as a lifeline.

He turns his cheek against yours and sighs wistfully against your skin. Slowly, carefully, Astarion presses his fingers between your legs curiously. He does it just to hear you gasp. You meet his eyes, and your cheeks burn so hotly you think you might be dizzy. Astarion consumes your soul. He presses you down in the flowers you planted above his grave. Clover, daisies, and asters grow around, twirling in your hair as Astarion collapses into your arms. You hold him as he shakes.

‘I was dead before I met you,’ Astarion whispers in the crook of your neck. ‘I was a ghost.’

‘You’re alive now,’ you promise. He cradles your soul in his hands. ‘You’re alive now and you’re the sun, and I love you.’

Maybe it’s not that you aren’t sure Astarion is ready. You’re nervous about the setting. It’s not that it’s inappropriate or dire, but that anyone could see at any time and you were a selfish creature. For so long, it has always been you and Astarion and everyone else. Now, Astarion presses into the space between your hips and mouths at your chest. He tastes your skin and your nipples, and you shiver at the touch. He eats your heart. You’re grateful.

‘I’m not convinced,’ Astarion says roughly. ‘Should I die, where will I go?’

‘You will go where I go,’ you say as he sinks into your flesh. ‘You are half my soul. I’ll beg the gods. We can never be one without the other.’

‘And if they deny you?’

‘I’ve already killed gods,’ you say. ‘What are a few more if they deny me my love?’

Astarion lets out a satisfied hum, content with the fruit you have given him. He ripens you with his fingers and you turn your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and allow him to caress your sides, closing your eyes as he touches the more ticklish parts of your body. He nibbles at your collarbones

You say, ‘This isn’t your grave.’

Astarion’s mouth ghosts over your skin, and finally, he sinks his cock into you until you’re gasping for air. It pushes and fills and causes lights to dance in the corner of your eyes. You touch the little hairs at the nape of his neck to distract yourself.

‘You’re right,’ Astarion says softly.

‘A place of rebirth.’

‘A place of happiness, my love,’ he says. ‘Now when I see it  —  ’

‘More,’ you whisper.

You feel a rush of tenderness sweeping through your veins. You are drawn to it like a moth to light, and you chase Astarion as he flees from you, sliding your hips back against his so that he’s never gone for too long. You waited patiently for Astarion. Every touch, every kiss is a feeling so rare that you can’t help but savor it. You admire the vulnerability he shows you, and when he leans back to lift your hips higher for a better angle, you moan softly and cry.

Astarion’s fingers burn holes into your skin. He leaves a wildfire against your skin. It leaves you wanting more. But you’re always going to want more, aren’t you? Even a lifetime of Astarion is not enough. You seek the warmth in his gaze.

You aren’t sure how long you’ll last. The time between your trysts and the sheer passion causes you to be needy. He likes it that way too. Likes the way that you’ll always seek him out first. The first in your heart. The first in your soul. You wish you could pour yours out of your body to give it to him. He’s half your soul regardless of what he might say. You never understood the concept of an immortal soul until now. You pull Astarion back to you and kiss him, teeth to teeth.

But it’s not enough.

You don’t think it will ever be enough. You dig your nails into his spine and hold onto him. You cry weakly. It feels too good and like it’s too much at the same time. You part your legs wider and drag him further, hypnotized by the feel of his thighs beneath yours. Astarion shows an enthusiasm you haven’t seen in a while, and you’re reminded of how much you’ve craved him. The knife at your throat, the scowl on his face, the night at the party… Astarion is all-consuming. You never thought it would happen.

At first, you thought Astarion was primed to ignore you forever. You were kind and good and sweet, and now you knew that was everything Astarion was looking for. He tastes your kindness and goodness and sweetness and becomes drunk on the taste of your shared fate.

Astarion bites you on the shoulder but for once, it isn’t to draw blood and feed upon what makes you who you are. It’s a lover’s bite. An inquisitive nibble. That part of sharing is what this is about. He meant it when he said you were more than blood, more than a fling. You always thought about it…

Astarion proving his love to you now was welcomed. You summon a new life for him here during this pale evening. A life where he will not know hurt. A life where he will not be betrayed by those he trusted. Astarion was in your hands now, a crow on your wrist. He sings you a pretty song against your neck. He’s vocal now, content with moaning and mewling as he takes his pleasure in the warmth of your body. You wish you could bottle up his pretty song and take it with you forever.

You press your mouth to the sharp curve of Astarion’s ear, sneaking a kiss against the pointy tip. ‘Come closer to me, my love,’ you whisper. ‘No one must know.’

‘Everyone must know,’ Astarion disagrees softly.

‘Even the birds?’ you ask. ‘Even the trees?’

Astarion smiles. You can feel it. ‘The entire world must.’

‘Are we in love?’ you ask him softly, looking upon him fondly.

‘We are,’ he says, laughing.

You are in love like you have never been in love before. Astarion is a romantic and he cherishes this new world with you. He’s intoxicated by the freedom of your scent. And it’s not as though it’s any different for you. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and keep him there, and when his arms shake and tremble, you accept his weight.

You kiss his throat and he raises his chin so you can kiss it more. You’ll pretend that it doesn’t entice you. You want to sink your teeth in like he has, to share with him that quiet exaltation. Astarion gives it to you more and more, and finally, you can no longer tame that part of you set to rupture. Your pleasure causes your vision to burn almost.

There is a world where you and Astarion have never met. A world where the mindflayers never devised a plan and you were still searching for enlightenment. The thought of it scares you so you cling to him and you climb into his sternum, holding onto his skin while the world is remade in your image. A world without Astarion is not a world worth living. You know that to be true. That’s why you’re here now.

Astarion follows suit in quick, frantic strokes. He loses himself in the quake of your core and digs his fingers into the dirt next to your head for stability. You watch as pleasure overtakes him and he wavers, choking on a ragged moan. You press unfocused kisses against his shoulders and sink beneath the earth.

It’s a good thing Astarion finds his confidence in the taste of your bones. He eats from you an essence that would make him strong. When he sits up, eyes soft around the edges and mouth swollen from your love, you can see the change in him. Have his shoulders always been that wide? Has his back always been that straight? Has the majesticness of his attitude always been so grandiose?

Astarion holds out his fingers and you kiss the tips of them. You give him a blessing and watch as his skin begins to glow. Cazador had unmade a proud man. You have rehabilitated a broken man.  But Astarion is not defined by his brokenness, not authenticated by his terrors and trauma, but by the whims he has shown you tonight.

When Astarion pulls you from the bed you made in the grass, you can see a dim light filtering through the overhead tree. A familiar sight, like the first time. You pull his jacket over your head to avoid any more mess and become acutely aware that Astarion is watching you breathe. He listens with that frightening vampiric hearing as your lungs exhale. He smiles as your heartbeat settles.

You distract yourself as he enjoys his orgasm by making him a crown of flowers. You twist them expertly like you once did in your youth, and when Astarion turns his head, you give him a kingdom. The fresh green of the leaves accentuates the paleness of his hair.

You know what you’ve done even if the world does not. It was an objectively stupid thing to do, Astarion said so himself. Life is a challenge, and you were not a quitter. If anything, you knew that you deserved it. A ghost called your name and you answered, unfrightened by the specter’s cold touch. Slowly, you replaced that frigid air with your own heat until there was nothing but fog in the aftermath.

‘Sometimes,’ Astarion begins when he’s ready, ‘I still have these cruel thoughts. This fear still consumes me but… It’s so unlike before I hardly recognize it.’

‘You’re not his first son anymore,’ you say.

Astarion smiles and slides the crown from his head. He twirls it between his fingers. ‘Not  —  Not that fear, no. Something else.’

‘What else could frighten you?’

‘Everything,’ Astarion confesses. ‘I listen to your heart when you sleep for any change. I check your face every day for any extra wrinkles.’

You laugh. ‘I’m still young,’ you insist. ‘We have time, Astarion. I am with you every moonrise.’

‘The worst thing about loving you is that I will never stop,’ Astarion says, staring at his headstone. ‘I don’t want you to die in a world where I could still love you.’

You think you’re going to be sick. You don’t mean to cry, but you do. You burrow your face in your hands and weep so hard Astarion wraps his jacket around you and kisses your head, shushing you until you’ve let it all out. It’s…not how you wanted to end the evening.

‘You didn’t let me finish, my love,’ he murmurs against your forehead.

‘Then go on,’ you say miserably.

‘I will never stop loving you,’ Astarion says again. ‘For a thousand more years and one.’

You twist the knuckle on your middle finger anxiously. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to feel.

‘Gale asked me tonight if I loved you,’ he tells you. ‘He asked if I loved you purely. I’ve never loved anything purely in my life, but I knew what he meant. He asked, ‘Will you love them to death?’ That’s why I brought you here tonight.’

You look at him suspiciously, and his ardor steals your breath away. His jacket slips from your shoulders. You watch as he fixes the carvings in his headstone and adds to them in a sprawling language you’re almost too exhausted to read. Eventually, you find your voice again. You lean your cheek against his shoulder, and if your eyelashes are wet against his skin, he says nothing about it.

‘Tonight,’ Astarion says, ‘and on top of my grave, you have brought me back to life. That is a debt that cannot be repaid.’

You turn to him and this time it is your turn. You take Astarion’s jaw in your hands and lift his mouth to yours, kissing him so sweetly you’re almost certain that he swoons from the touch. It’s like kissing him for the first time, a kiss that sweeps over and over, until the ocean of night sweeps over you and you melt into his sinew.

 ‘You love me?’ you ask him just to hear him say it again.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says.

Love is not always in the eyes of the goddess. Love is buried somewhere most will never find it. It is healing, it is sweeping, it is gratifying. It is watching your lover’s hair turn grey strand by strand every morning. It is chasing the sun before it falls beneath the stars every evening.

You think you get it now.

Astarion rests his cheek against your palm, and for the first night since he was turned into a vampire, he slumbers in your touch. He dreams of a future where you are both mortal and laughing.

‘I love you too,’ you confess, and Astarion smiles in his sleep.

[galvanizedfriend]

Hi!! do you have any new(ish) klaroline canon fic recs? i feel like i’ve read everything out there 💔

Hi, nonnie! Sorry it took me a bit to get to this. I was going to be a sad disappointment because I have not been reading that many new fics and so didn't have much to offer. :(

BUT! I decided to ask around for some recs to offer you some options. :) I haven't read most of these, but some of my mutuals did and they vouched for it. So hopefully you can find something new to enjoy here.

From me, I can tell you that Grazing by @notalittlebutalottie has been finished and it is absolutely phenomenal! If you haven't read that yet, get to it!

The Little Wolf by @morningstargirl666 has undergone a recent rewriting and gained new chapters. It's one of the best prequels to the Originals (not the show, the family) I have ever read. And i swallow the sea, which swallows me by @definedareasofuncertainty which a canon-divergent fic where Klaus and Caroline meet earlier on with Luiza's typically stunning and evocative writing, incredibly sensitive in addressing some of the rougher issues.

✨ @the-road-betwixt recced:

throw my heart off the edge by @impossiblekryptonitecolor

Persistence of Memory by @helpless-in-sleep

Who put Bella down the Wych Elm? by for_darkness_shows_the_stars i looked around in a blood-soaked gown (and saw something they can't take away) by @purplesigebert

in vain she wills, to run, fly, swim, walk, creep by @the-road-betwixt

✨ @purplesigebert recced

and if I bleed (you'll be the last to know) by justanothermess

spit the blood back, baby by generousheart

I'll be your mirror by @marxandangels

These Violent Eyes by ArtemisRavenCourtney

✨ @idreamofspring1 recced

sweet present of the present by VintageLilac

[whatlovelybones-if]

I'm on my knees!! Thank u so much for letting me play as a murder-happy protagonist for once, I'm finally living my true crime dreams. One question, will there be any love triangle routes here? I can't help but think the drama will be extra scrumptious here

thank you, dear bonnie! i exist to present a door of escapism for all you dexter/hannibal/true crime fans out there ���🏻

to answer your question: yes, i do have a love triangle route plan and suffice to say that it’s gonna be juicy asf 🤭

at first, i planned to make it between J and sebas but upon reflection, i think sebas will have too little self-confidence to even try pursuing MC when he finds out his opponent is their borderline insane childhood best friend. the real deal will be J vs the detective because J isn’t about to lose to a two-penny hotshot detective and the detective will have too much fun rising to the challenge of making the MC choose them.

do i think it’s going to become an angsty little emotional shit show as everyone gets too involved and hearts break one by one? yes, but i will never turn down a challenge to make my characters suffer as much as possible 😈

[oldworldghost]

Telling stories to Pinochio fron Lies of P about Fairytales or whatever crap reader made when reader is bored !!

[Preferably former librarian Reader x Pino :3]

Tell me a story and I'll tell you I love you

↳ Anon I absolutely love this prompt, so I had to write a little something for it. This is definitely more focused on Pincchios' feelings for you as opposed to the actually story telling bit, and I think by the end especially it kind of stops being about the request a bit I am so sorry LMAO. Let me know if you want hcs or something else instead! :D

↳ This is currently unedited, I’ll do that tomorrow!

Pinocchio sits beside you, head resting limply on your shoulder as he finds himself falling deeper in love with you.

You’re sharing one of the many stories in your knowledge with him, something old and undoubtedly picked up from your time as a librarian. Something – Pinocchio thinks – that only you know now, expect maybe Antonia, but he’s seen you catch even her by surprise with fanciful worlds and characters. It’s an insurmountable act of love, to hold so much in your mind and with such care. No details [at least from his knowledge] forgotten, no characters left aside for fear of boring the crowd. Every bit just as important as the other, no matter how minuscule it is.

Some part of him wonders if you do the same for everyone else, collect the lore of the hotels final inhabitants with the same wonder you share for characters. What do you remember about him? Pinocchio likes to think that you hold onto everything he’s shared with you, sprinkle him across the stories of your own making. Maybe he’s something that inspiration can be found in, someone you admire more than anything. Built up in your mind like the greatest of heroes. You could care that much, he thinks, and he could even be your favourite.

Maybe you’ve even found Pinocchios’ love for you spread across his pages. He doesn’t see how you could miss it, there’s so much that he doesn’t even know what to do with it except sink in it. Day after day, night after night. He’s sinking even now, nestled into you side in one of the hotels many unused rooms.

It’s your voice that keeps Pinocchios’ attention. You’re onto the part of the story where a great battle takes place, the last defence of mankind against a dark and terrible lord. Both the lords strongest servant and a king have been slain, and yet despite the story nearing its peak Pinocchio finds himself unable to focus on your words. He catches phrases, can understand your tone and the pronunciation of speech, but it’s difficult to put the meaning together. Any other day and he’d be engrossed in it, hanging of every syllable like a starving animal, but today his mind is preoccupied.

The feeling in his chest is growing unbearable, and he wonders if his gears will simply cease to work as a result. It might not be the worst thing in the world, to die by your side. He might even be able to call it a pleasure, a privilege.

Still, Pinocchio doesn’t particularly care for the idea of his own death, especially not when there are more pressing matters on his mind, and so with a bout of almost uncharacteristic boldness he sits up. You don’t pay him any mind, not until hands – rougher than he means them to be – turn your body towards his. Lamely your sentence finishes, head tilting to the side and eyebrows knitting together in a look of confusion and mild amusement.

Pinocchio takes the opportunity to look at you, really look at you. Blue glass eyes take in every detail, every curve and dip and mark, your breathes growing shakier as he leans in. There is a mole under your left eye, he notes, a faint scar running across your mouth. He traces it with his finger and your breath hitches, an incoherent mumble of something that feels like it’s his name. Moonlight shines in above your head like a halo, and Pinocchio thinks you couldn’t look anymore gorgeous than you already do. He wonders if he looks as beautiful to you as you do to him. The sparkle in your eyes, the glint of what could be called awe suggests that he does. Pride and love fill in Pinocchios’ chest until he’s moving without thought, leaning – sinking, always sinking - into you. Lips, clumsy and adoring, press against your own in a fleeting kiss, pulling away before you’re given the chance to respond.

You see the man before you grow from confident to timid in the moonlight, as if coming to the realisation of what he had just done.

“I-” Pinocchio cuts himself off, going to speak only to be met with his own silence.

He doesn’t know why words aren’t forming, and for a moment he wonders if something malfunctioned in him during the kiss. You can see the gears turning in his head, a question forming on the tip of your tongue. This time, Pinocchio cuts you off instead of himself.

“I’m in love with you. I’m sorry to be so sudden, but I,” he takes a moment to steady himself, “I could not be quiet about it any longer.”

A breathless laugh bubbles in your throat in response, a smile curving its way on your mouth as you go to speak, “I was wondering if you did. For a puppet you’re not exactly the most subtle person I’ve met.”

It’s Pinocchios’ turn to be surprised.

“You knew?”

“I was hoping I did. Never said anything because I didn’t know if you felt that way or if it was wishful thinking on my part. Hell, didn’t even know if you could actually feel such a thing. I mean, I know my stories are good, but I didn’t know if they were that good.”

“You... feel the same.”

“Of course,” the smile on your face is crooked and it takes everything in him not to kiss you again, “you’re a very hard person not to love.”

“Say it, please.”

You laugh once more. It is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“I love you, Pinocchio. More than anything,” his heart feels fit to burst, “now can I please get back to my story? We’re nearing my favourite part and I’d like to be done by morning.”

“Yes, please. I would like that.”

As Pinocchio settles back into your side something in him clinks into place. He is unsure what it is, but as your hand slides into his and your fingers intertwine Pinocchio thinks that this is what it means to feel at home. The feeling of love only deepens, tearing it’s way further still into the recesses of his being. It will leave him bare and broken before you, he is certain of it.

Listening to you speak; Pinocchio can’t think of a better way to be swallowed whole.

[im-bored-so-i-draw]

silverreign. now please.

hai anon :DDD not so now but you can get some doodles :3

[uncaught-coolfish]

"adam is so narcissistic because he cares about his own pain"

adam's identity was born from his pain. he was treated as an expendable thing and as if his life was worthless. his ego is a way of affirming his existence and reclaiming his own life and identity. down to his "personalize everything or die with nothing to your name" appearance he's constantly fighting a system that taught him he was nothing. the curse? now it's his. a monster? now it's him. fear? now it's him. if we follow ren's words about the belief that semblances = reflection of souls, adam weaponized his own soul. he doesn't absorb the pain, he returns it, and thus he's not powerless anymore. and with power, he can change things, unlike other 'weak' faunus. he will change things—he has to believe it because it's his identity now

cinema (also you’re so right)

[b1mbodoll]

hii it’s me again I’m back currently thinking about cockwarming jay while he has a full bladder, or honestly just fucking him while he’s bursting, grinding and bouncing his poor cock on your thigh because he’s so desperate

pairings: park jongseong x f! reader

warnings: omorashi + handcuffs + daddy kink

💌: lets talk asap ☝️ hihi thank u for this omg ur brain is so big for this also i was gonna do a lil cockwarming scenario but then i couldnt help myself so i hope this is to ur liking ^^ ps i didnt know how to end this so sry if it seems rushed :x

while jay is usually the one taking the lead in the bedroom and pleasuring you, he’s not opposed to letting you use him to get yourself off which is how he found himself handcuffed to your bed, cock leaking as he begged you to let him go.

but how could you when he looked so delicious?

“don’t worry daddy, ‘s okay ‘m gonna make you feel good.” you purred, straddling him and slipping his thick cock inside your cunt.

he bit his lip, handcuffs clanging against the headboard as he struggled to contain himself when you clenched around him. “d-don’t move princess, please, oh fuck! i cant-”

he cut himself off with a moan, mouth hanging open while you rode him, dragging your nails down jay’s chest before harshly pressing down on his abdomen.

“let go daddy, wan’ you t’fill me up so bad, i need it,” you mewled. the sound of your wet cunt filling the room along with your soft cries of pleasure and jay’s breathy pleas to stop moving, but you couldn’t help it!

you were so close and the thought of making him feel so good he pissed himself as he fucked you was too enticing.

a choked out groan escaped him and he started to thrust into you, matching your pace in an attempt to help you cum faster. “fuckfuckfuck, feels soso good daddy ‘m gonna cum!”

jay felt like he was losing his mind as you rode out your high. he couldn’t hold back anymore, a continuous stream flooding your tight walls as you milked him for all he was worth.

you can tell when he’s done and you’re so overwhelmed by how full you feel. “god, you’re evil, sweetheart. you’re a filthy little thing aren’t you? takin’ advantage of your daddy like this,” a faux pout adorning his face as you unlock the cuffs, leaning down to press a quick peck to his lips, “‘m sorry daddy, jus’ wanted to make you feel good.”