#He has a vested interest in making himself hard to find for Reasons like that

[thaylepo]

Definitely the bit about consequences over punishment and the emphasis on support for becoming better, but also consider that, literally canonically, this is a lego world where devastating collateral damage can be fixed very quickly, on the regular.

"We gotta get better about not smushing the city" is not the normal reaction after an enormous explosion took out the downtown core during the New Year's Festival.... unless the fallout from that and every other major disaster can be fixed with lego physics, in a similar manner to cartoon/episode conventions, where things go back to normal between each ep, except when they don't for story reasons XD

LBD's attacks were more devastating because she froze everything as she destroyed it, people included, to keep it from being fixed. She was trying to remake it, after all. And the entire universe cracking apart at the seams in s5 is terrifying for the same reason. Legoworld physics lets you rebuild a street pretty quickly after Pigsy's ping pong rampage, but it takes a lot more to rebuild reality itself.

That, and the show just doesn't have time to show the fallout of every single thing that happens or who it happens to, it has to keep the optics on its main story pretty tightly. Macaque definitely cleaned Ao Guang's clock in season 3, and for sure left the Dragon Kingdom of the East Sea in underwater shambles. But I would not be surprised to find the damage of that was less permanent than say, Flower Fruit Mountain's brand new configuration following Azure's battle XD

Wukong definitely "got more light up in there" like he wanted lolol

Do you think narrative wise,wukong gets more punishment than macaque,since macaque hasn't gotten much punishment in current show,not even got punishment for what he did to the dragon of the east sea kingdom in s3,wukong gets punishment for his past mistakes and fuck up more then macaque,wukong also get call out more for what he done,while macaque doesn't or bearly any at all.

[burst-of-iridescent]

I hate when people say(*writers*) when zuko is an emo bad boy. When zuko acts "emo" and "badboy" as they say it's him reacting to his trauma and abuse as a kid(most of time. Zuko is still badass. But badboy no). Is it an excuse? No. But when zuko is acting that way in canon, his obsession with honor, his yelling, his moodiness, his short temper. That is the product of having his empathy literally beaten/burned out of him by his father(and mocked and emotionally abused by Azula). The reason Zuko is doing this whole thing is because he wants to please his father. Become someone he's not. His struggle of who his father wants to be with who he is. It's because of the abuse of his father and his family. As the series goes on you get more and more flashes of the person Zuko was and the person he can become. By the end of the series it's such a great contrast and Zuko is much more happier because he's with the gaang. His family. He got out of that abusive situation he was in and finally became himself. A dorky, empathetic, caring, skilled swords men, a balanced person. Does he still have moments of anger? Yes. But over all Zuko becomes a fully balanced person.

gasp! but if we don't call zuko a bad boy, however will we make sure people don't get any ideas about shipping him with katara?

jokes aside, you're absolutely right and i roll my eyes so hard when people point to bad things zuko did, or his behaviour pre-redemption as indisputable proof of the kind of person he'd be post-redemption. like you said, a lot of zuko's actions and mannerisms before day of black sun is a direct result of the trauma he suffered, and though that doesn't excuse him - and neither does the show allow it to - discounting it entirely is to erase the abuse zuko endured and how that shaped him.

using the first half of book 3 as evidence of zuko being a supposed bad boy irks me in particular because a) the narrative makes it pretty clear that this is zuko as the worst version of himself, the opposite of everything he actually is and could be, and b) he is stuck in an abusive household at the mercy of his abusers, in an actively life-threatening situation.

zuko knows that he is in a situation where he has no real agency, freedom or control. he knows that aang is alive, that azula has turned him into a scapegoat and that his life will be forfeit if his father finds out the truth. that is an incredibly terrifying and stressful situation to be put in and it's worsened by the fact that he can't even admit it - not just because doing so would mean accepting that he gave up everything that actually mattered in the catacombs to gain nothing in return, but also because no one around him will allow him to do so.

his girlfriend can't understand his experiences or his turmoil and doesn't seem to particularly want to, brushing off his anxieties and encouraging him to stay the course. he is manipulated by his father and gaslighted by his sister, aware deep down that he is entirely under their control and that they have a vested interest in keeping him helpless, yet forced to pretend as though nothing is wrong. he is isolated from the one person who could help - his uncle - physically and emotionally, both because visiting iroh puts zuko in danger, and because zuko's choices have created a rift in their relationship.

all of this compounds the psychological stress zuko is experiencing, forcing him into a constant state of fight-or-flight, and this context is vital to understanding many of the decisions he makes and how he behaves in the first half of book 3.

(this is why i don't agree with the take that hiring combustion man is an ooc moment for zuko because even though i think the idea of combustion man himself is stupid - not to mention disrespectful to the hindu origins it's pulling from - it's a fundamentally desperate move, and zuko at this point is more desperate than he's ever been.)

that's why it's unlikely that zuko post-redemption would behave similarly since many of the factors that contributed to his anger, hostility and moodiness would no longer exist! judging zuko's future behaviour based on a time when he was constantly abused, gaslighted and threatened is just not an accurate or fair means of measurement, especially since we know what he's like at his best. the zuko we see with the gaang still has a bit of a short fuse, sure, but he's also sincere, honest, awkward, shy and far happier than he's ever been. because shocker, people tend not to act the same way in healthy, supportive environments as they do in abusive, traumatic ones. who would've thought?

people who make this argument also usually tend to compare zuko to aang, especially to glorify how aang remains cheerful and peaceful despite his trauma, and... no. just no. first of all, the show barely gives a fuck about developing aang's trauma the way it does zuko's so of course it seems to affect him less, and secondly, there's something to be said about how trauma responses like aang's are a lot more palatable and comfortable for audiences than responses like zuko's, or even katara's in the southern raiders.

anger or moodiness, or wanting to punish the people who hurt you, are not inherently wrong ways to react when you've been wronged and traumatized. praising aang for remaining cheerful and forgiving while calling zuko a bad boy for being angry and moody implies a sense of moral superiority that comes with reacting to trauma in the "right" way, which is both inaccurate and insensitive.

zuko will never be aang, and that's fine. he doesn't have to be. he ends the show reclaiming everything his abusers tried to take from him, having found himself and his destiny, in a place of healing that is all his own. that is an incredibly meaningful and powerful narrative, and the last thing zuko deserves is to have all of his complexity and development stripped just to be reduced to the tired trope of a "bad boy" when he was never one in the first place.

[2demondogs]

You, Covered in Spring | Hosea/Dutch

Tags: Drabble, fluff, young VanDerMatthews, drunk foolery Word Count: 753 A/N: Hosea seems like a piano guy. Finding GIFs is fucking hard bee tee dub dubs.

The small piano is old, although it is new to the saloon. Hosea had struck up an unfortunate conversation with the barkeep on the matter; it sobered him painfully from the comfortable buzz he'd been drifting on for the last hour.

He was tipsy, didn't give a damn who Shelby is and what his Pa sold the thing for; he just wanted to play the godblessed piano.

Fingers feeling as rusty as the key levers beneath the top, the extra shot of whiskey is the only thing staving off a rather uncharacteristic anxiety. 

Dutch went to the restroom, and Hosea supposes he'd gotten lost around the staircase, considering it's been a half hour with no sign of that brand-spanking-new, gaudy purple vest of his. It fits him nicely, so nicely — he cracks his knuckles as he slides onto the bench, shakes his hands free of the moderate ache it sparks in his joints — his neck warms at the thought of how it hugs his ribcage like a second skin.

Dutch knows how fine he looks, is especially aware of it as drunk as he was when Hosea last saw him. He doesn't worry he'll bed someone else; he doesn't really mind, so long as he gets a piece.

The cringe as he presses a key is hard to fight off — it is loud, and makes a few saloon-goers turn their heads. Thankfully, it's dim inside, and they can't see the burn of his neck; it's less excusable by drink than the flush on his cheeks, and for some reason the shame in his skill seems shameful in and of itself.

Closing his eyes, he lets his hands wander, feel. The gentler he presses the keys, the louder they seem, and he punches them instead, perhaps too rough. He readjusts when the ivory hits the wood too loud, too many times.

Soon, muscle memory has taken over his fingers and his mind. Clementine was the first song he'd learned all the way through, decades ago in his very first theatre group — they needed an organ-grinder, so to speak, and at the time he was the least convincing face they had on deck.

Late-teenaged Hosea was fine with that. He liked learning, although he would've preferred to learn how to lie with his eyes.

Eyes that must be glazed over, now, unwatching of the wall in front of him and instead seeing in his mind the cluttered costume closets of that backstage and the young, bright faces of the fresh adults he'd somehow found himself scowling between; he wishes, at times, he'd been a little—

"Thou art lost 'n' gon' for'ver."

Hosea nearly jumps out of his skin, overwhelmed with the saloon coming back into shape around him. That gaudy purple vest is by the piano, and he skips a note in his surprise; really, he should've seen Dutch standing just at the edge of his vision, but it's his voice that shocks him more.

He's never heard him sing, he realizes. Hosea is not a musician, not truly, and he does not play guitar or harmonica at their campfires. Neither does Dutch. The only music he ever seems interested in is wordless, or operas.

Now that he thinks of it, he'd pay good money to hear Dutch try to belt out one of those.

His voice is rich with alcohol and smoother than usual. They meet eyes, Dutch grinning broad around the words of a song not worth a smile; herring boxes with-out topses. He's gotten another drink, leans himself on the top of the piano as if it is belongs to him and Hosea is his paid entertainment — though the look in his eyes would suggest he were paid for something quite different.

Hosea returns his gaze to the keys; drove she ducklings to the water. Now that he's focusing, although not very well given that he cannot pay too intense an attention without fumbling the notes and rhythym, he hears other, very slurred voices join Dutch's. Fell in' the foamin' brine, ruby lips above th' wah-ter.

His own partner's words are sloshing some, his voice cracking handsomely around every few lines. How Hosea loves his crackling timbre, how it makes him sound his age for once instead of tired and dreadful like himself.

It loosens his collar, and he smiles wide when Dutch holds his glass to his mouth — wine, not his choice, but it burns pleasantly and the bitterness offsets just how sweet he feels meeting Dutch's crinkled, drink-bleary eyes.

[awritingcaitlin]

Ship: Nathaniel x Riela

Nathaniel and Riela meet during a bit of a chase. Riela's been sent to retrieve Nathaniel and the other men he's with. Nathaniel doesn't trust her one bit. They get off to a very rocky start.

Adler was still not in a trusting mood, so he aimed his pistol at the girl as he backed up to put himself between the unexpected help and the Captain. He took the time to examine his rescuer as he tried to think of what to do. She was a half-elf of medium height and a slight build, that was obvious. She was dressed for a fight in tight, but not constricting, breeches and a padded leather vest. Her belt held several knives in scabbards and a snub-nosed pistol in a holster.

Riela, too, is not exactly in the habit of trusting people she doesn't know, but she also isn't going to let people get themselves hurt, either.

“It seems I’m going to need to bring you up to speed on how things work around here.” “Has anyone ever told you that you’re tactless at best and rude at the worst?” She snorted. “Please, I’ve been called worse. But you and your friends need to understand that the Nidtrins here are no fucking joke and you can’t just go shooting until you know exactly who you’re shooting at. Because people who kill Nidtrin Priestesses also find themselves dead.”

Both of them are very stubborn, and pretty equally matched, too. When it comes down to it though, Riela is more stubborn and Nathaniel is more realistic.

They argue and bicker a lot as coworkers, but grow closer after sharing a few adventures and some interests together. They both have a passion for reading, which helps matters.

“What kind of books do you like?” Nathaniel asked. Apparently, she wasn’t going to escape small talk. “The ones you’re standing in front of.” He started laughing. She glared at him. He turned to the shelves and coincidentally pulled one of Riela’s favorites. “Are you the reason this one’s so well-loved?” She shifted her weight and slid another book back on its shelf. “Perhaps.”

Nathaniel and Riela both live and work at a tavern. And Nathaniel wasn't afraid to call Riela on her bullshit when she got it in her head that things had to be a specific way, either.

“Seriously?” Adler interrupted. “You’re full of it. You’re not the only one making this place run. I’d believe that of Mama Cass, but not any of the rest of us. We all are working hard here.” “You…!” Riela spluttered. “You think you can…?” Adler calmly put up the rest of her orders. “I think you need to get a strong drink or something from Mama Cass because you’re being entirely unreasonable, and quite frankly, a bitch.”

Still, Riela intentionally kept her distance, partially because she didn't trust him, and partially because she didn't want to get hurt.

She stood and stared him straight in the face. He was only a few inches taller than her, so it wasn’t hard. She narrowed her eyebrows.  He didn’t flinch at her glare. However, he stepped back to allow her into the hallway. Clutching her things to her chest so she wouldn’t drop them again, she stalked down the hallway to her room. “Good morning to you, too, Riela,” Nathaniel called after her.

They eventually open up to each other and call that they like each other, but move slowly physically.

“Do you… do you need a hug, Riela?” he asked, softly. She started to shake her head. She didn’t know what she needed. She needed to drown every priestess and slit the throats of all the guards. She needed to get away and never look back. She needed a drink. She… She turned to Nathaniel and nodded, ever-so-slightly.

They also connected over the more tragic experiences, of which both of them have in abundance.

“I’m sorry,” Riela said. “It’s not your fault.” “I’m trying to empathize here.” “You don’t have…” Adler began. “But I can,” Riela argued.

In addition to spending mornings together in the library and they make a game of sneaking up on each other.

“Hello!” she said brightly. She was in a great mood for someone who had come a half inch from getting her throat sliced. She was beaming at him.  Adler glanced down to find that she had gotten the end of a wooden spoon to within a hair’s breadth of his windpipe. She lightly tapped the skin and giggled. “I guess we got each other.”

They love reading adventure novels and that's partially what got them talking in the first place.

And yet, even when they both admit they care about each other, it's a complicated situation.

“I shouldn’t care,” Riela said, cutting him off. “You’re gonna leave anyway and you don’t actually…” Nathaniel silenced her by putting his hands on her shoulders. “Do us both a favor and shut up, okay?” he said. “I care, too. But I can’t promise I’ll be in Berthingtonn forever.”

Nathaniel and Riela danced around the whole issue of what they were forever and by the time they were kissing, they were desperate.

As soon as the door was locked, Riela and Nathaniel wasted no time crashing into Riela’s chair by her bed. Their mouths found each other and Riela was incredibly excited with how forward Nathaniel was being.

Nathaniel likes how realistic Riela is. Riela likes that Nathaniel wants to share time with her.

Riela works a customer-facing job so she looks extroverted, but she definitely is not. This works really well with Nathaniel, who is also an introvert. In fact, both of them could be described as introvirtuous - "Someone's got to do it and I guess it has to be me."

A romantic day for them looks like spending the day in reading, or going to a bookstore, followed by a nice romantic dinner.

Nathaniel and Riela's short-term goals do conflict and while they are enjoying each other's company now, they are arguing about what the next several months and beyond will look like. Riela at least, is determined to see them stay together, even if Nathaniel's realism gets in the way.

Nathaniel and Riela don't see an outcome where their relationship survives the oncoming conflict. They want to make it work, but they can't figure out the logistics.

Later, they'll talk, somewhat, about getting a home together. But that's ultimately a couple of books away. Similarly, they're dealing with too many other things to talk about kids at the moment. Neither of them is even sure if they want kids.

Eventually, Nathaniel will bring Riela home to his parents, and they'll all get along, but that's... a future thing.

[autumnalwalker]

Interesting question. Two questions really, as traits easily spotted in a crowd are not necessarily the ones that stick out most when meeting one on one. Then again, sometimes they are.

Here's some answers for the Empty Names cast:

Lacuna:

Standing out in a crowd: She's an awkward, gangly, 6'3" (190.5 cm) beanpole, and self-conscious about it. The height is slightly offset by poor posture and sometimes intentionally curling in on herself to try to look smaller, but if anything that just makes her even more conspicuous.

First thing noticed one-on-one: Utter lack of eye contact. It's not that she's uncomfortable with it (although she is an anxious bundle of nerves) so much as she genuinely can't comprehend what "eye contact" is or if she's currently doing it or not, so she just sort of looks in the general direction of the person she's talking to and hopes for the best. And that's assuming she even remembers to put up that pretense of masking.

Ashan:

Standing out in a crowd: The typical reaction to spotting Ashan is something along the lines of "Oh wow, that's an extremely pretty woman with an elegant and pristine ankle-length white dress that is (9 times out of 10) super out of place for the context." Nevermind the fact that Ashan is a cis man. At this point he's sort of resigned himself to the misgendering assumptions, but the repeated mistaking of his wizard robes for a dress does get under his skin (however well he hides it). In nerdier circles, he instead gets mistaken for a cosplayer, mostly because his mentor whom he's styled his appearance in homage to is terrible at memory wipes so now there's a popular manga/anime going around inspired by the time she saved the artist from some monster or another.

First thing noticed one-on-one: Other than the aforementioned prettiness, anyone having a conversation with Ashan picks up pretty quickly on how his face and voice remain almost unnervingly calm, even, and expressionless the entire time, save for brief flickers of emotion when something catches him off guard. At most generous one might call it "practiced serenity."

Eris:

Standing out in a crowd: She's 6'1" (~185 cm) and muscled like a 90s comicbook antihero or early-part JJBA protagonist. Frequently gets mistaken for a man from a distance until someone hears her voice. Absolutely looks like the sort of person who could wrestle a werewolf to the ground and win.

First thing noticed one-on-one: Mostly physical appearance, but beyond that, it depends on the context. If she's at ease, then she generally comes across as casually friendly and eager to get to know new people. If she thinks she has reason to be on guard, then there's an obvious vibe of "Give me a reason and I'll rip your arm from its socket."

Sullivan:

Standing out in a crowd: He rarely goes out without wearing the most obnoxiously, eye-wateringly yellow vest you've ever seen. He actually has like a dozen of them, all in different shades of yellow and gold with identical embroidered patterns, and he actively makes a point of picking out whichever one is going to stick out the most in whatever surroundings he's expecting to be in that day.

First thing noticed one-on-one: Other than the fact that the cut and material of all his clothes scream "money" and the embroidered pattern on his vest gives you a headache if you stare at it for too long, it's the ever-present smug grin like he's in on a joke and you're not that tends to stick with people.

Road:

Standing out in a crowd: They don't stand out in a crowd. Unless they want to be seen, in which case they're nearly impossible to miss and you find yourself wondering how you ever could have. Just don't think to hard about what it was that drew your attention or else you might realize you don't have an answer.

First thing noticed one-on-one: Physically, it's usually either their jacket (purple with green highlights) or their smile (warm, reassuring). But maybe it's just that those are the only two physical features that anyone can distinctly recall when pressed so that's what people instinctively latch onto without thinking about it. What often isn't consciously noticed until those that encounter Road think back on it is a sense of "everything's going to be alright now" (or at the very least a lessening of fears and anxieties) that often accompanies meeting them.

Blorbo Blursday #1

Welcome to the first of the new generation of Blorbo Blursday, brought to you by @athenswrites! Reblog this post or tag this in your responses, however long or short they may be!

What is the first thing others tend to notice about your character? What makes them stand out in a crowd?

Taglist (DM me to be added or removed): Taglist (DM me to be added or removed): @interroblog @muumysworld @afusiek @the-ravens-requiem @sender-paulson @everthewip @bluberimufim @amaiguri @akiwitch @thetruearchmagos @autumnalwalker @gracehosborn @cljordan-imperium @aether-wasteland-s @saintedseraph @deanwax @berristrawberri @owlbearwrites @the-down-upside-finch @stridingwriter @dandelion-jester @johnmurphysgirl @ghostsofchernobyl @alexsidereus @innocenthedgehog @oh-for-a-dream @unmellowyellowfellow @oh-no-another-idea @druidx @ibuprofen-exe @shay-creates @aquadestinyswriting @loopyhoopywrites @n1ghtcrwler @writingonmymind @wardenred @void-botanist @dyrewrites @sm-writes-chaos @iishmael @romances-not-tragedies @inscrutable-shadow @athenswrites @uraniumwriting @pigeonwhumps @stesierra

[isaacathom]

As is my want, I was presented the question of 'would my ocs make decent parents' and ran with it

Naielle - Of the three, Naielle has a big advantage, which is that she has a partner, and she has siblings with children. These are only minor advantages as there are Extenuating Circumstances, but still!

As an aunt, I think she'd be alright. She's got a generally friendly demeanour, and she's got a lot of knowledge about a bunch of fields that she can use to tell stories. And her instinct to lie by omission would be decent for storytelling, since she would naturally omit more unsuitable stuff. She wouldn't be the most exciting aunt, but she'd be nice. That said any niblings of hers would probably prefer Xistina's more relaxed and charismatic energy. But also, Naielle's competition for best aunt/uncle/entil(?) is not very competitive, barring her twin brother, who would be an EXCELLENT uncle.

As a parent, the advantage is that I know her wife, and so I think that collectively the two would be good parents. Naielle would be the somewhat stricter one, the sort who would double and triple check that you've packed everything for school today, and Xistina would be a lot more relaxed and also absolutely the one you'd turn to if you need a mum to go yell at a teacher. I wouldn't be surprised if any kids tend to divulge more to Xistina than Naielle, but I don't think Naielle would be offended by that, and she'd just try and support her kids the best she can, in her little ways. I think as a duo they'd work well.

Florian - Ignoring the fact Florian has no siblings and taking uncle as more of a state of mind, Florian would be an exceptional uncle. He has a vested interest in keeping kids safe and letting them explore and fuck around and fuck up, because of his own childhood experiences. He might not be the most charismatic guy, but he'd be very genuine, and he'd absolutely be willing to play house or whatever with the kids. And he tries very hard to present himself well around kids, trying to be careful with his language, and he doesn't always succeed and i think that'd be very fun for a kid. like :O! Uncle Florian said a bad word! and he's desperately trying to shush them before they gleefully go tell their parents about it while he dies inside. Also he'd spoil his niblings rotten, he might not buy the best gifts but by god he buys gifts!!

As a parent, this is complicated by the fact Florian is notably single and has never had a partner. I'm not sure he'd be great as a single parent, without anyone else (doesnt have to be a spouse, just like, Some Folks). It would VERY much depend on who he has as support, because I think his instinct to try and play it safe around kids would translate into a very overthinking and overworried approach to parenting, particularly as he would try VERY VERY HARD not to become his own father. So it'd be important that there's at least one other person there to be a bit more relaxed about the whole affair.

Ignoring the worry, I think he'd be pretty good? He'd be very earnest about it, and he'd try very hard to support his kids' interests. He strikes me as the kind of dad to offer to help with homework and then it turns into the kid teaching him how to do the math, which is a WAY of helping with the homework but probably not what Florian had in mind. Depending on how things go he'd probably feel a bit insecure about not being able to properly help the kid due to his limited knowledge, and he'd be trying reasonably hard to NOT have his kid grow up to be a mercenary.

He also strikes me as the sort to adopt an orphaned kid, maybe not with that as the intention at the outset but that's absolutely how it'd go. Intervenes in some bandit shit, finds a kid, escorts them back to town, oops ive adopted a child, that's the vibe.

Zimri - ???????? Zimri would be an okay entil (? pls gender neutral aunt/uncle i suffer), especially if the kid is a nerd. That said, Zimri has siblings, and their entire family are nerds, so Zimri's specific niche of being a dispensary of random knowledge and a finder of good kids books isnt especially unique. Outside of their specific family, Zimri would be a good entil for a nerdy kid, and would be especially good if the kid hates being talked down to. Because Zimri wouldn't adapt their speech for the kid at all. You want to know how boats work? Well I know a few things (insert ramble about the various kinds of sails). Smth of that nature. And if the kids interested in something Zimri doesn't know much about, they'd be the type to go buy a book to do some research so they can talk to the kid about it!

I'm unconvinced they'd be a good parent, though. Partly because I don't see Zimri as the type to settle down and have kids, which is mostly bc Zimri isn't a very charismatic person or like. good with people? So you have to engage via knowledge. Idk. It'd depend on who else is there, what village erects to raise the children, but Zimri themself isn't an exceptional parent, I don't think.

[poppy-metal]

I come out of my Tumblr hiatus to bring u a thought. Pirate! Eddie. Him with the jack Sparrow look. The eyeliner. The clothes. The hat. He fucks u into practical unconscious bc 1. The dick is heavenly and 2. He doesn't know when he's gonna see u again bc 3. Your a royal and not supposed to be sleeping with the enemy. Idk just some food for thought

hey this physically did something to my brain it has stopped working. i also made it soft im sorry.

sneaking on pirate eddies ship to escape your marriage to lord creel (heh) nd his crew finding you and dragging you up to his chambers. you're terrified, you've heard the rumors about how ruthless a pirate munson was, how he and his creq ravaged villages and ships. but you were more scared of your life back home.

being brought to him and forced to kneel at his feet, where he sits in a makeshift throne of sorts, a big ancient looking thing. he's a beautiful and intimidating man. both everything like the legends and nothing like them at all. his white open vested shirt parts at his chest, revealing dark tuffs of his chest hair, and the start of inked lines that you guess are tattoos. his hair is long and wild, eyes soft a doe like, despite the kohl liner rimming them.

he taps his fingers idly on his the arms of his chair as he assesses you, quiet as he takes you in, dark eyes roaming over your tattered wedding gown.

a hint of a smile, "a runaway bride?"

you keep your head held high despite your racing heart. outside of his room his crew is tripping over themselves to see what's going on. "im no one's bride."

one of his eyesbrows lift, and you realize, despite his appearance, how nicely he presents himself. the whole get-up is purposeful. looking as feral as he unhinged as he does, he still gives off an air of superiority and regalness. "well." he says slowly, tap tap tapping his fingers. "i suppose you aren't now." he looks you over again, "did you hide yourself away on my ship hoping I'd keep you safe from your beloved?"

as he speaks he flips open a metal case near him, plucking a cigarette from the tin. he lights it as he waits for your answer.

"i just want safe passage." you hedge, watching how his rings glint as he cups his hands around the cig when it lights, fanning the smoke as he leans back comfortably. "i know i can't get that for free. i sought you out on purpose for that reason."

a plume of smoke blows from his lips. he looks intrigued, motioning towards you broadly, "go onnnn."

at this, some of your maidenhood returns, your eyes turning downcast. you're still wearing your engagement ring. the damn thing was too hard to get off when you'd tried before.

"m'not naive enough to think any pirates will do me favors. especially when im Henry Creels bride." you make yourself look at him, seeing the recognition of that name light his face. many people are scared of that name, but munson just looks curious, flicking ash of his cig as he listens. you lick your dry lips, "which is why....i plan to be of service. I know where my fiancé kept his investments. i know where he's kept hidden jewels."

even eddie munson isn't above greed. he's a pirate after, all. he licks his lips, and he stubs the cigarette out. standing, his heeled black boots thump against the wood of his floor as he comes to you.

you meet his eyes as he looks down at you, hair hanging down around his face is waves. pretty, you think.

when he holds his hand out for you, you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. he grins at you then, mishevous, and dimpled. "i think we have eachothers best interests at heart, little runaway. welcome aboard hellfire."

BRAIN BUZZING!!!!!! letting eddie lead you across sea, getting close with his crew after that, late nights in his chambers playing board games and teaching him how you and your childhood friend prince!steve used to dance (prince!steve whos currently scouring the very sea you're on to find you because hes in love with you. he's hitched a ride with pirate robin, his new best friend) at balls. he's clumsy and always steps on your feet but you think its endearing. finding out the rumors about him are basically just that, rumors. because eddie munson has a heart of gold.

and when you let him take you to bed weeks later, you're both feeling heavy with the fact that your journey is coming to an end. he'll have the treasures you promised him soon, and you'll be far and free from henry.

you let him lay you down and strip off your silk gown, run your hand down that smattering of hair down his chest until you reach that hard cock you've been craving between your legs since you first stowawayed on his ship.

he makes love to you, its your first time, sweet and intimate and hot, trading sacred murmurs you'd never speak out loud in the heat of the day. the bed rocking with his motions as he takes you, cradling you to him, lips pressed to your ear, your temple, your cheek.

"love you, my sweet little runaway. I'll never forget all that you've given me. your light, your laughter, this precious cunt. I'll take it all with me, forever."

[cookinguptales]

why do you think nadja and laszlo dislike guillermo so much?

Hmm. I thought about this one for a while, and I have to be honest... I think it's mostly just a difference in personality.

I think the larger issue isn't even that they don't like Guillermo. I think it's that, for over a decade, they didn't respect Guillermo. That's hard to get past. And... Guillermo, I love you very dearly when I say this, so don't get mad. But I kind of get it. Desperation is not attractive.

Some of this is that Nadja and Laszlo do seem to see most familiars as being largely disposable. They didn't even remember the names of some of their familiars when they died, and they haven't always seemed that interested in replacing them even when they probably should. (See: when Guillermo left and no one had any clothing.) With the exception of Topher, they haven't seemed particularly interested in any of their familiars, and I guess Guillermo is a part of that.

So then let's compare and contrast Guillermo with the only familiar they did like. Topher. Topher's personality is pretty much a 180 from Guillermo's, and I think that's telling. Topher was laid-back, cheerful, confident, encouraging, fun, and obedient -- but not in a pathetic way, more like a somewhat sycophantic PA way. Most of all, he didn't want to be a vampire. He was doing it for a gig, not because he actually wanted to join their world. There's something appealing about someone playing hard to get, perhaps, and Guillermo certainly never, ever did that.

Topher didn't really ask much of Nadja and Laszlo, and I think that was one reason they liked him. In fact, a lot of his personality traits mirrored theirs, from his largely laissez-faire attitude to his confidence to his slightly slimy business methods. I think in the end they just found him to be a lot more fun. Contrast that with Guillermo, who was always kind of a nag and a scold and a downer. Sure, that's because Guillermo had a vested interest in keeping them the fuck alive and Topher didn't, but I think that's a lot of why they don't like him. In early seasons, Guillermo is more a twitchy little rabbit to Topher's house cat, and I think both Nadja and Laszlo (and to some extent even Nandor) find that off-putting.

More than that, Guillermo really is kind of appallingly desperate. It's like he has no self-respect whatsoever, and how are they going to respect him if even he doesn't? I think that Laszlo and Nadja pick up on Guillermo's early self-loathing (and the way he pinned all his hopes of betterment on becoming a vampire) and they find that kind of icky. He's just so, so invested. That makes him a great familiar, because he has kept them alive when many other familiars would not have, but I think that also makes them respect him far less. He's extremely needy, and they have repeatedly pointed out that they don't like that.

He expects things of them, too. He expects them to be smart or honorable or responsible or to do the right thing (by him if by no one else) and like?? gross. Way more fun to chill with Topher, who never asks for anything because he's not actually invested.

I think in the end, Guillermo always sort of positioned himself as the straight man of the group (...so to speak) and tried to be the voice of reason. In a group of deeply and innately unreasonable people, this always came off as depressing and annoying. They specifically talk about what a downer he is all the time. And considering they all have kind of an inflated sense of importance and invincibility, I think his acknowledgment that they could get hurt or die does probably come off as annoyingly negative to them. (Even though he is generally correct.)

The thing is, though, Guillermo is not actually a reasonable person. He is, in fact, just as bugfuck insane as the rest of them. That's always been kind of apparent in his neediness and codependency, but it's become increasingly obvious as the show's gone on. And as he's come to own his insanity and lean the fuck into it... what's happened? Nadja and Laszlo have finally started to respect him. Nadja might even like him a bit. (I think Laszlo might actually like him less now than he did in s3, but that might be more due to personal squabbles. And the fact that someone expecting something of you feels even shittier when it's regarding a child you both love.)

But as Guillermo becomes more confident, more self-reliant, more unpredictable, more intuitive, more feral, I think they are finally starting to see the fun guy that has always been lurking within. He talks back now. He goes on insane adventures with them. He holds his own. He is anything but desperate for their approval. And I think that makes it much easier for them to respect him and accept the more annoying parts of his personality as a sign of love. Like, they seem to trust his ability to keep them safe now rather than just seeing his concerns as deeply annoying and overblown.

So I think it's less Guillermo as a whole that they don't like, so much as the way that Guillermo always made himself smaller when he was around them. The way he followed them around like a puppy. The way he'd whine at them when they were doing something he didn't like. Honestly, from their perspective, he wasn't much fun. He was kind of a wet rag with self-esteem issues and that's nagl.

But as he comes into himself more, I do think things are going to get better between them. Laszlo still has an innate distaste for anyone trying to hold him accountable for anything, but I think even he can acknowledge that Guillermo's right sometimes. So that's a big step right there.

And Nadja... might actually be becoming a little fond of him? I think she'll be even fonder of him when she realizes what an opportunistic little gremlin he actually is. c:

be gay, do crime, watch mamma mia, etc.

[donnerpartyofone]

Today's thought process is about how if you find yourself in certain repetitive arguments throughout your life, it can insidiously wire your brain to think that they represent a very important battle for you to win, and then whenever they come up it triggers all sorts of inappropriate panic and urgency that can become damaging if left unchecked. For whatever reason I have to have regular fights with various people about what my personality and abilities are, and there seem to be various motivations for this:

Someone thinks I must feel bad about the way I am, so they spontaneously try to convince me that I'm the opposite. They think I will feel better if they convince me that I'm extremely competent, ambitious, and outgoing. These people are essentially well-meaning and USUALLY don't know they're being frustrating and dismissive. But it's really like, I think most people assume that the goal of life is to be sunny and extroverted and you must feel terrible about yourself if you're not. But I don't have any problem with being introverted (except that it makes certain essential functions challenging), I like my own company, and I don't feel bad about my lack of career hunger. If I seem to be hustling it's because it's almost impossible for me to find a job due to my competence deficiency and poor professional and academic track record, and it doesn't make me feel better to have somebody try to talk me out of the fact that this quantifiable thing is happening unerringly.

Someone doesn't like me the way I am, and has a vested interest in convincing me that I'm different. I could get into some grim dating scenarios regarding this, but it's somewhat easier to talk about my grandmother who had these very strict, mostly subconscious social standards that she forced on everybody. It would have been one thing if she just rejected me and let us go our separate ways, but the real situation was more like: She doesn't respect my disposition/interests/activities -> We speak less -> She gets really sad about this distance, has no idea why it is happening, acts like I'm hurting her on purpose (family possibly agrees) -> It's my fault this old lady is so sad and lonely, so I agree to pretend to be the sunny, outgoing, ambitious person she needs me to be in order for her to love me--at least until I slip up again by i.e. admitting that I have a hard time paying rent or some other crime. She will offer me direct verbal cues like "You love a challenge, don't you!" so I know how I'm supposed to act, even though we both know that I barely graduated from college and I'm chronically underemployed.

Someone sees my similarity to them as a competition, and has to beat me at it by convincing me that I'm totally different. I've experienced various versions of this and it's very odd, but I'm forced to conclude that a lot of people who are depressed, anxious, and/or introverted see themselves as being in a competition with each other, which is funny if you think about it but very annoying if you experience it. Like I find it totally bizarre to be accused of being a social butterfly by someone who has a major extended network that regularly attends special events in large groups, which includes being in a trivia league, but I have to remind myself that it's not socially useful to fight about it. I've had friends who reliably tally up every time I get a gig so I don't starve and every time I have to perform maritally-mandated social functions, as if this means that I'm actually just faking being awkward and anxious--for what reason would someone fake these things, I do not know, but I promise I am reaping zero benefits from being easily exhausted and wary of human contact. But I used to have one specific friend who would openly compete at being the saddest wittle boy in the whole wide world and it was really insulting, which I think he knew; I think the whole point was to test loyalties and belittle and alienate others so he could make himself as lonely as he bragged about being. But you couldn't even commiserate with him, which would otherwise be the go-to strategy for being someone's friend, to say "I know just what you mean, I've been there," because then he would immediately go to great pains to prove that you don't have any real problems and only he had all of the world's problems. I once told him I thought I'd been roofied and and his immediate response was to tell me he thought he was coming down with a cold but maybe he was just tired. Boo hoo! But yeah I wasn't really allowed to say I was sad or nervous around that guy. You can imagine what would happen.

At least in America we have this intense ethos about how it shouldn't matter what anybody thinks of you, and I think there are two versions of this:

1. Pre-adulthood base level: Letting go of whether or not other people think you're cool, and realizing that trying really hard to make people think you're cool is invariably deeply uncool.

2. Adulthood level you may struggle with throughout your life: Realizing that someone else's delusions about the reality you experience do not actually affect that reality, and it is not actually (usually) urgent for you to force them to see things your way (usually impossible in any case).

[wroteclassicaly]

May I Taste Your Sin

(Michael Langdon x Female Reader)

Pairings : Michael Langdon x Female Reader

Warnings : Language, smut, blood, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blood play, & period sex.

A/N : This fic has been a loooong time coming! I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but now that I have inspo I wanted get this out for y’all! The warnings are obviously self-explanatory, so skip this if you don’t like the contents it’s gonna contain! Michael Langdon eats human hearts, and he’s a demon, before anyone starts to fuss over this, lol. I’m sure menstrual cycles with his partner would be a dessert to him!

Enjoy! This one is pretty intense, so I’m nervous about it! I also have more installments with different characters coming in the next few days! :)

Check out where I first posted the teaser for this fic, and check out these period sex headcanons I wrote for Michael!

~*~

He keeps staring at you. You try to move about, do your tasks, even attempt conversation with people you’d tried so hard to avoid these past several years. Your abilities to function like the human being that you are, seemingly vanish whenever the tall honey blond is within your exhausted proximities. You aren’t sure if you’d like to let out the loudest echoing scream and see where it ends up in this place, or let your wildest carnal urges guide your hormones into a literal sticky situation. Or, at the very least, let yourself fantasize about seducing him in your own self-created version of reality.

You’ll have to settle on the latter, unfortunately. Pocketing the cream colored dish rag, you place the last row of finely printed novels on the book shelve. Your fingertips linger, attempting to find a portal through their leather cover tops. Your tongue slicks your parched lips, neck stretching to crack out the tension. You aren’t trying to do anything but stealing some relaxation, when a largely hot hand is pressing a knot-out in a knead on your shoulder - clasping, settling a risky purchase.

You don’t have to make an educated guess to know whose hand that belongs to. He practically spews out his control and ownership of this place every chance that he gets. Biting down a venomous sigh, you coerce yourself into a turn around - gathering an eyeful of Langdon’s fancy black vest. That’s not good enough for the King, apparently, as he fits his pointer finger underneath your chin in a tuck, thumb pressing against your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own.

“Did you forget your manners, Miss Y/L/N?”

The way his shining eyes are sizing your attention, captivating your unwillingness to comply to how Langdon makes you feel - it can’t be humanly possible, can it? There’s that possessive ache that begs you to launch ownership over him and his entire body. Why is everything so widely dramatic whenever he’s around? Is he just full of himself or is it something way more than you’re aware? A crackling parch winds its pathway around your throat, sealing your breath in.

Nothing comes from between your lips. You’re frozen solid, legs a weightless press. Each touch this... man brings upon your body is like a bass thump - pumping you towards his secretive rhythm. All you can do is sway with the beat. Langdon smirks coyly, his other hand resting behind his back in an idle grace.

Neither of you dare utter a word. However, Langdon is seemingly content in making you squirm and you try to focus on everything but his perfectly crafted jawline, and how eagerly you’d suck on it if asked. You swear you can hear your heartbeat galloping off, so strong that it can tear your heart right out of your chest along with it. His colorful eyes glance over you in a brief stamping sweep, lingering at your sore breasts and your waistline.

What is he even doing...?

“Excuse me, but Ms. Venable did not authorize any private conferences with the help.” A cold and steel - grasped voice chills your bones down, dusting your cheeks with a reddening humiliation.

You haven’t even so much as spoken to Langdon, yet it feels like you two have been clawing and scratching at each other all over this fucking outpost, riding one another until you can’t fathom walking upright. You still can’t speak, but Langdon takes care of that for you.

“Interesting, and did Ms. Venable give you permission to waltz in here when you weren’t requested or required, just to give a meaningless order?” Langdon is mildly amused in his question, his hand still paused on your chin, thumb now swiping in a tickling drop with his fingertip - along your jaw.

Ms. Mead looks comical in her brief attempt at forming a snappy comeback, only to go silent in defeat. You take this tension as your escape line - quickly edging from the sacred confines Langdon has built for you two, and you all but run out the door. You’re clutching your shirt collar, punching a two pounce path up the staircase and to the help’s quarters.

Chores now, panic later.

~*~

Five minutes. Five fucking minutes in this place that you’ve served without question, complaint, for nearly two years - is all you want. But as the heavy handed rasps of Mead’s knuckle bones beat on your bathroom door, you know that is a simple pipe dream. Her low voice is harsh with you, making your headache unfold into a full blown migraine. You shift uncomfortably, knees knocking together, thighs sore against the cool porcelain seat below you.

Langdon must’ve massively pissed her off... Good.

Your palms collect purchase to your cradle your face, your eyes glistening with tears, throat burning with frustration. It hurts too much to stand upright this time. Normally women would lose this in stressful situations. Add the apocalypse and barely eating, you’d peg it normal to receive nothing. However, your predicament is much worse, fucking you over once more.

Your body welcomes Mother Nature each month. Unpredictable, yet there. Heavy, excruciating. You could list on and on reasons that don’t amount to much. You’re stuck with a part of you that won’t ever come to fruition.

Not in your former life, especially not in this one. Another reminder that carries an award winning irony. Sighing, you peer down at the red dish rag you were given. Literally on the rag, what a joyous harmony. The elites of course, are given the tampons and pads.

You have to use scraps of fabric you’re forced to wash in the bathtub if you move too fast or sneeze. And on your heavy days when you haven’t the time to stop your duties to wash and air out the towels, things are much harder. At least before the apocalypse you had chocolate, feminine products, a warm shower to take your time in, movies to curl up with, and a place of your own to cry where no one could hear you. You sniffle, hormones locking down your heart.

Most recently the outpost had welcomed the cooperative leader Langdon. He had interviewed everyone but you, uninterested, only flustering you a few times. Him being here just makes your period a more unwelcome storm. This morning as you were passing him on the landing of the staircase, delivering the bath towels to elite rooms, he stared at you. Right into you, nostrils flaring, tongue rolling out to slick his plump lips, blue eyes darkening.

Then there was this afternoon. How could I forget...?

The encounters were over quicker than they took place. Still, his acknowledgment of you didn’t bring your interview, nor did it promise your application for the sanctuary he preaches about. Forcing your tears to bank, you stand with your dress skirt and apron held up, staring at the stained rag in your panties. You turn and flush the toilet, eating back around to the shock of your fucking life. There, just feet in the from the doorway, is Langdon in all his glory.

It makes you swallow harshly, stomach drawing off the butterflies that have grown claws. You feel winded. His ring covered fingers bring an object to your sights. A thinly wrapped stick. You don’t answer, you don’t move, you don’t protest him approaching until he’s directly in front of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You try, a mere whisper betraying your bravery.

“Helping you,” He answers simply, a heated slide crossing his mouth. You can practically taste him, damn near swaying forward.

You start to snap back into your senses, ready to cover your remembered modesty back up. He grasps your wrist, a hungry look soft in his features. “Will you let me?”

You’re shaking, body on fire at him touching you, you try to keep your legs from clenching, that want. You know what will occur if you let yourself. He is gentle with you, admiration clear. Why? You don’t understand this.

“You’re bleeding, I know.”

Jaw unhinged, you stand upright, his fingers still ghosting your skin. An unlucky movement on your part, the warmth spills from you and you look down between your thighs in horror at the red lines running down your legs, pattering against the floor. Langdon is breathing heavily, practically panting, stunning you once more. His other hand grips your cheek, thumb swiping your lip, eyes not breaking contact from yours.

“Do you know how good your cunt smells? Every pathetic person in this outpost is starving and you have the best meal between your fucking legs.”

When your silence stretches on, Michael nudges forward, careful with you. “May I feast?”

It’s all too much to handle. Having him talk to you, you speaking to him. And now this? How? You begin to grow dizzy, hands trembling as you try to pull your clothing back up. Langdon’s hands grip your wrists.

“Please don’t do that.”

You want to stun him incredulously, backhand him. None of that is happening, not even the urge. Instead, your want for him is magnifying beyond any feigned ignorance. Your tongue slides out across your lips, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a brisk chew. Langdon hooks his middle finger between your teeth, releasing your lip and combing the blood across in a coppery gloss.

Your chest is startled, rising and falling in quivering quakes, ears hearing a static rush. Everything inside of you is alive and crying out in need to be sated. Langdon grips you around the waist, lowering his forehead to rest atop your own, his middle finger - still doused in your blood - slithers past his own lips, which close in a sticky suckle. A vibrating moan pummels his throat, causing a constricting swallow that showcases his Adam’s apple.

If I could only just lick that...

Langdon is sly and devilishly cunning to a fault - fast in his next movements. He presses a designer boot down over your skirts, successfully preventing them from being made up. “Leave them here for someone else.”

“I... I can’t. This is too much, Langdon —“ He chuckles at the formality.

“Since I can see your womanhood running from between your legs, I suppose it’s only fair that we skip some formalities, don’t you agree, Y/N?” Your eyes are probably wider than necessary - a cartoon like sight. He’s used your full name in an authoritative command, leaving no room for question. “And you may call me Michael.”

It’s all a little more frantic from this point. He gives the slightest of information, and you see your skirts and panties gliding across the floor in a winded push. Michael brings that wrapped item back into your eye-line. “We won’t be needing this for a while.”

“I didn’t say yes.” You try, swallowing a weak, whimpering stifle.

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” That shit eating grin. He has you and he is all too aware - elated to the brimming brimstone of hellfire you’re about to bestow upon yourself.

Your insides melt into the trenches of red hot, raw ravishment. Michael drops his left arm down, hand palming his hardening cock through black slacks, eyes encouraging you in a chained bind. “Let’s go and make a mess in my room.”

Now or never. No more of this, back to reality, maybe some place better. You’re spinning in a foiling encasement, precipice wide and open - hungry to pull you under. And you dive in, you let it all go. Michael looks satisfied, sharing something with himself that you don’t know... yet.

Taking Michael Langdon’s hand, you’re led into the unknown.

~*~

Langdon leads you down his own separate corridor, your free hand scolded for trying to hold yourself over your uniform.

“I want you to make a mess.” Michael says.

You hope that you’re not the one who will be paying the cost for your own said mess, or cleaning it up. If it’s up to Venable - you’ll be licking it, all the way to her high heeled boots.

Once inside the confines of Michael Langdon’s bedroom, you take the time to look around, enjoying the perks this situation is bringing. The room isn’t any different than what the purple elites get here, it is bordering on a more... lived in feel, which is ironic when you consider that Langdon hasn’t been here like everyone else has for the past three years.

Guess he’s just more comfortable? He does look like an English vampire half the time..

On that note, a particularly harsh cramp antagonizes your uterus, causing you to clench your abdomen, choking out a acidic slice. “Fucking demonic cramps.”

Michael - now clad in his all black ensemble, minus the overcoat - chortles, knotting his fingers together behind his back and strolls forward, wetting his lips as the firelight crackles a sparking soundtrack. “It’s ironic how you refer to it as “demonic”, when Satan really has nothing to do with this. I mean, it’s not on him that humanity failed their pitiful guidelines for sobering temptation. Wasn’t it your lord and savior that bestowed this curse upon you?” He finishes, giving a head tilt to your unhinged stun.

“Are you religious?” Is all you can come up with.

Michael sneers, looking slightly offended. It fades seconds later. “Depends on your definition of religious, and then there is what one believes in. But I guess you can say that I’m devoted to... a certain cause.”

“Were you this mysterious before the apocalypse, or is that why the cooperative gave you the job?” You try, a discomfort crackling at your inner thighs.

They’re probably smeared... And not just with blood.

“I bet you’re uncomfortable.” Michael teases, snapping his fingers at the fireplace. Did your eyes betray you, or did the flames flicker?

You want to give a snappy comeback, but it feels unwise. You nod like the sap that you are, nails biting your palms. Your heartbeat has begun to accelerate, a visible sight beneath your apron. Langdon guides himself to step in front of you, leather shoes drumming across the floor beneath. Every sound in this forsaken room is flowing through your eardrums - Michael’s scent on the tip of your tongue.

You need him. More than your body has to have the air that filters underneath this mausoleum. You’re so unsteady, eyes brimming with the smoking arousal, blocking common sense. Michael catches you as you collide with his chest, wrapping your fists into his vest. His blue irises are disappearing to a canyon of night sky - lavish black so sinful that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Drizzling off your tongue is a hesitation. “Won’t we get into trouble...? Venable -“ Those rough fingertips hold a softness that hushes your lips, denting.

“Can watch me with my face buried into your cunt. The humiliation will arouse her.” Michael answers in his own finish.

You aren’t sure why, but that grates your mouth into a sneaky grin, shared with Michael’s, sensing that slapping throb at his phrases. He pinches your chin, nuzzling your head to the side, his lips sloping a map across your neck. His towering physique backs you by knocking his knees into your thighs, delivering you to the edge of his bed. You drop like wild weights, looking towards the ceiling, trying to take a deep inhalation. Langdon crouches, pants rustling as they tighten around his temptingly thick thighs.

He tuts in a scold, chiding you furthermore. “You will watch what I’m getting ready to do to you! Is that clear, Y/N?”

You don’t answer fast enough, Michael’s hand wrapping around your throat, eyes burning hellfire through you - dusting your bones to ash. Your throat is wet with the clingy, unshed tears. Fuck, you have to be filled up until you’re hollowed out. Michael is languid in grace, hand toppling into your lap, joining his other.

“Take down your hair, Y/N.”

Like a puppet, you obey your new owner. Unwrapping the pointed bun, you shake your locks free, sighing in an eased tickle.

“What a good and obedient girl that you are. Those who obey, shall reap the riches.”

“Why are you doing this?” An ignorant question on your part.

“Because,” As if it’s the most simple answer in this broken world, Michael let’s his hands start to unbutton his vest, carelessly sending it, his attention not wavering off you in the slightest. “I’m hungry.”

A literal moan comes from you, making Langdon hiss through his through his milky white teeth. He resumes his former position, hovering.

“Spread.” Michael says, a quaint wonder adorning him, his palms sliding up and down your legs to feel you part them. The blood is mixing some fucked out potion with your creamy arousal for him, and he knows it, has it right into your tremble from the exposure.

Your skin is steaming in scrapes, responding so vulgarly to Michael, that he is hooking his wrists under your knees, bouncing the flesh into his awaiting hands, and claiming. He hoists your legs over his shoulders to arch you to his idea of perfection. You should be protesting, in a shambled shyness. That is gone, no place here. Michael let’s his nose rest in the crease of your thigh, crudely sniffing like some beast.

His sopping tongue finds a striking stroke along your ruby red, damp thigh.

Closer... He’s getting closer...

When you can’t feel that warm and snide air he possesses, you lock to load a question. Michael is shedding himself of his remaining clothing in a cocky crawl. His hair curtains his face as he sees you seek out his cock - thick and heavy, weighted and wet with pre-cum.

“Finish taking off your clothing.” You’ve never done something so fast in your years alive.

You have to admit, being so vulnerable like this - naked and bleeding, it has you buzzing.

Michael outstretches a veined forearm, the back of his rings swirling in desiring dances across your breasts. “Do these hurt?”

Your lashes are slicked in perspiring tears, the tired soreness harassing your chest. He has his truth. His trim form bows to you once more, placing your legs back where they belong. He knuckles a pressing push into your abdomen. “Bear down.”

It isn’t an accident this time, it’s not a discreet secrecy. Michael wants you this way. All of you. Finding a confidence, you give yourself a high and sink your fingers into his hair, toes tickling his shoulder blades in a forwarding nudge, doubling down on your muscles. That warmth spills out of you and Langdon takes you, tongue parting your swollen folds. He regulates his tongue in wet paints, licking and sucking everything you give him.

“Please—“ You’re already begging. It’s so fucking intense and intimate that you can’t formulate your own damned name.

“Are you really going to ask, or would you just like to feel good?” Michael vibrates, his mouth visible and shining crimson as he seeks you out between your slippery thighs.

It’s outright feral. His irises are coal black, blue lost in some combing canyon that’s crumbled around sin. His digits prod at your sensitive opening, being accepted moments later. His lips close over your clit, tongue slithering back and forth to assist his beckoning fingers. He gathers more from you - his purpose.

That quenched fold starts to seize you early on, your pattering breaths signaling the orgasm that is about to tear the screams from your fucking diaphragm. Michael’s hand smacks and rolls your swollen breast - permission granted. That’s all it takes and you’re falling back onto the mattress, back arching in a lined drag, pussy flattening against his mouth. He jerks you impossibly closer, your vision whiting out into dark spots. You tangle your fingers further into his luscious strands, holding, pulling.

In the midst of close recovery, Michael is plowing you with a short lived let down, his mouth leaving your pussy. You can’t complain, no time available, as his hips slot in a frazzled fit between your legs. His pelvis is tense, sheathed in sweat. His chest smashes your breasts, his hand reaching down to guide his cock inside you. You can’t speak, but cling tightly to his back. He growls a sound that you’ll never forget, the fire bursting behind him, flames licking the rocked cove that houses them.

His mouth is covered in your essence, your cunt bathing his dick with each violent thrust. It’s pouring in drenches, salty perspiration, pooling blood - both of you losing yourselves in the mess. Michael props himself up, digging into a dipping slam, meeting your mouth in an ending kiss. His hair tickles your shoulders, nose nudges your now blood caked mouth, and he gives the warning.

“Spill your fucking curse all over me!” And you come undone, glued to him in puzzled entrapment.

Your thighs are wrecked, his bedsheets useless, and then there’s Michael, who forces you to look at him and really see him. There’s only black in his eyes. You sputter a disbelief, bracing. His mouth parts, tongue flicks across to gather more, leveling off into his jagged movements. He swells inside your cunt, dousing your walls in his warm cum.

He doesn’t leave you, not even when it’s over. He simply takes you with him. You aren’t sure where you get the courage to speak - body shaking and shivering.

“What... Michael, who are you?”

He cups a hand over your cunt, rolling onto his side, keeping you held to him. He lightly blows away a pesky lock of your hair, then maneuvers another behind your ear.

“I’m the man who’s going to save your wretched existence.”

Tag list : @littledemondani @dark-mei-rose @fckinsupreme @angelicmichael @icylangdon @ritualmichael @sojournmichael @celestialrequiem @instinctsxbaby @infernwetrust @ferndolan @9layerdevilfoodcake @bloodcoatedeclipse @wormycircumstance @antichristsxbox @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @ramona-thorns @lovelylangdonx @langdxn @codyarchives @dailylangdon @codyfernuk @langdonsjoyy @7-wonders @blakescoven @holylangdon @bitchchatter @suspiriva @taskmastter @kitty4860 @ladynuwanda @langdonsexual @sammythankyou

[littlegodzilla]

Hey, I read a lot of your stories and I really love it, It's amazing. Can I have Daryl Dixon smut, where Daryl and the Reader are dating since they met at Atlanta, until they reached the prison. When The reader finished her task she overhears Daryl talking to Rick that he had dream of her being kinky (like tying him in the bed while she wears his vest and kept teasing him), and The reader decided to turn his dream into reality. Make it smutty please😅😅😍😍 BTW you can named her Juliana if you want.

Hi anons!!

Sorry if I was late, but I wanted to mix your requests because I love the two ideas I had a hard time seeing Daryl putting the reader in an uncomfortable situation, but I think I got what you both wanted.

I hope this request liked you two as well as I enjoyed writing it!

As always sorry for my english, it isn’t my first language!

Wet dreams and a possessive Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon x FemReader.

Era: Prison and Woodbury people.

Words: 1900

Warnings: JealousDaryl, wet dreams, bikes, nude, SMUT.

Requests: Anon requests, Daryl has wet dreams with the reader and she want to make them reality and the same time Dary is jealous because the woodbury guys don’t stop to flirting with the reader and he wants to make know them to whom she belongs.

Taglist: @phoenixblack89 @browneyes528 @pncnsc @lilythemadqueen @twdeadfanfic @purple-serenity

Daryl Dixon talked in his sleep.

You discovered it one of the nights you slept together that the archer was off guard. You woke up startled with a constant mumbling without knowing where it was coming from, when your mind cleared from the dream you discovered with surprise and some amusement, that it was Daryl who was mumbling in his sleep. They were not normal dreams.

Apparently he was fantasizing something about you. Something about you and his vest.

You wanted to wake him up and ask him directly what he was dreaming about, but a much more interesting and exciting idea crossed your mind. You knew that it was hard for the man to get rid of his vest without a good reason and that if you took it off or borrowed it from him he wouldn't stop asking questions until he finally got you to reveal your plans to him and everything would lose its fun. So you took advantage of a day he was coming back from a run to take off his vest when he went to the prison showers to take a shower and wash all the blood and guts off his body.

Daryl feels weird, naked, he's lost his vest and it's bothering him more than he'd like to admit. He was sure he had left it with the rest of his clothes when he got into the showers after returning from a patrol, but he wasn't able to find it again.

He didn't want to make a big deal out of it, maybe they had taken it to wash it since it was just as dirty, if not dirtier, than himself. He looked to his companions to see if anyone had taken it without warning and when Carol said that he had seen you with it on, storing the bike in the small pavilion he had found to shelter it from the bad weather. Daryl frowned in confusion.

What were you doing with his vest and bike? Something tightened in his chest when he decided to go looking for you to find out what you were up to.

On his way to the small warehouse where he kept the bike he discovered several new members of the prison. Since the Governor left his people to their fate and they had stayed in the prison with you, Daryl felt that too many eyes were on you. Your relationship had been slowly forged since you left Atlanta, he felt he had to protect you and that protection turned into something more that you soon reciprocated, now that you were safe there you could spend more time together, get to know each other better, but there were always vultures near you that made the archer's blood boil. It was evident that they did not want to understand that you already belonged to someone.

The door of the small warehouse opened then. You trembled all nervous and excited. It was risky your plan, you had been thinking about it for days and your whole body was about to explode wanting to see Daryl's face, waiting to know what he wanted to do with you, what were those dreams he mumbled when he slept. At the same time you were afraid that someone other than him would walk in there looking for Dixon and see you, but it wasn't like that. Daryl's figure appeared through the door when it opened and his surprised gesture made you smile proudly.

There you were, leaning back on his bike, completely naked except for his vest that barely covered your body at all. Your arms resting on the handlebars, your bare breasts brushing against the still warm gas tank since it hadn't been that long since the man had returned, your hips swaying slightly, rubbing against the leather seat of the bike.

Daryl was in shock.

The last thing he expected going in there was to find you in that situation. His voice caught for a second in his throat.

"Wh-what?" he stammered without taking his eyes off you.

"You talk in your sleep." You explained with a mischievous smile. "I really didn't expect you to have these kinds of fantasies..." A giggle escaped you and her cheeks reddened violently.

Your hips sway against the bike again and a suggestive sigh escaped your mouth. Daryl's body tensed at the sight of you dropping the crossbow to the ground to get closer to you. You wanted to sit up from the bike but he grabbed your cheeks and kissed you intensely taking the air out of your lungs for a second. Your hands roamed his body with need removing his sleeveless shirt. Daryl pulled away from you as the air started to go out of both of you. You looked up at him biting your lip seeing his erection marked on his pants.

"Why...?" He started to ask and you kissed him again getting off the bike.

"I wanted to surprise you..." You whispered in his ear, his hands brushed your bare sides under the vest. "Now you can do to me all that stuff you've fantasized about." You assured him and moaned low as his hands tightened their grip on your hips and a growl came from his throat.

"Tell me Daryl... Tell me what you want me to do..." You could see him roll his eyes and his fingers clawed your skin from your hips to your ass.

"Get on the bike." He asked you pulling away from you to finish removing his pants, his rock hard cock rising up towards you.

Your eyes roamed all over him, your hand closed over his length stroking him up and down slowly watching him tense his jaw each time your fingers tightened around his glans.

"The bike." He repeated, his voice hoarse and dark, holding you by the wrist to stop you.

You obeyed without complaint. You kissed him once before swiping one of your legs over the body of the motorcycle as he was asking you to do.

You rested your hands on the gas tank again and watched as his gaze swept hungrily over you. He was serious. Normally Daryl wasn't especially talkative during sex, he was concentrating on what he was doing making sure he was making you enjoy it. He got on the bike standing behind you, his hands caressing your back, you sighed and your hips moved rubbing your ass against his hard cock. You heard him hiss and bit your lip as he spanked you before he sat you on his lap and his fingers caught your nipples squeezing them, stimulating them, twisting them without hurting you, causing several moans and sighs of pleasure to come from your mouth. The angle that the seat and the body of the bike had was perfect, your pussy allowed Daryl easy access, by lying you forward and fucking you using the handlebars as a fulcrum or he could let you move on his cock yourself, only resting his hands on your hips to guide your movements.

He snorted like an animal at the idea, why choose? You had told him yourself that he could do with you whatever he wanted. His hands left your breasts to go down between your legs caressing your clitoris, stimulating it rapidly as two fingers of his free hand slipped inside you. You arched at the over stimulation, throwing your head back to lean against his body as you spread your legs wider to give him easier access. Your orgasm was near, Daryl could feel it by the way your legs jerked and your walls tightened around his fingers, but he had only just started with you. Feeling you completely soaked and ready for him he pulled his fingers out of your pussy hearing your moan of protest, but he wasn't going to leave you unattended for long.

He moved your body over the bike so that you lay back against it, he lifted your hips up enough so that when he joined behind you, the head of his cock was in line with your slit, he rubbed against your folds leaving his length wet with your fluids and pushed himself inside you slowly. He gasped against your ear as you purred as you felt him stretch inside you until he was completely inside you. His hands squeeze your body against the rounded shape of the tank of the bike and he slowly pulls out to ram hard again. A moan of pleasure comes out shockingly from your mouth, Daryl continues to hold you down and each time he moves, in and out, your clit rubs against the tank increasing the stimulation and pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, your hands gripped the handlebars of the bike and Daryl continued to thrust inside you, your feet barely grazing the ground with your thumbs.

Voices were suddenly heard near the small warehouse. Your body tensed like a rope and you open your eyes in fear. You didn't want to stop, you were on edge again, Daryl was fucking you really good, but you didn't want to cause a spectacle.

"Da... Daryl... someone's coming..." You tried to get his attention but he just hummed in the affirmative.

"I told them to come..." He gasped in your ear, you wanted to say something about it, but a new lunge pushed against your cervix nipping your thoughts in the bud. "I ain't stupid, ya know, I know how they look at ya...the men of Woodbury..." His voice sounded dark, menacing. Your skin crawled with goose bumps.

"No... there's nothing, Daryl..." You wanted to talk some sense into him, he sank back inside you, his fingers digging into your skin. You moaned again, covering your mouth with your hand so no one would hear you.

"I didn't want to do it this way... but it's clear they'll understand." He whispered in your ear and shifted so that he was sitting back on the seat of the bike.

He guided your body, turned it so that your gazes connected and sat you on his lap so that his cock slid back between your wet walls, squeezing you around his cock at the new angle that pressed against your G-spot each time he made you move over its length. He thrust from below, held your waist and hid your face in his neck. You held onto his shoulders to keep thrusting knowing Daryl wasn't going to stop. At least in that position you would avoid the embarrassment of seeing them.

The voices were closer, your pleasure was swirling for the third time in your stomach, Daryl's thrusts were starting to become erratic and his fingers were digging into your skin, he too was reaching his limit. The door opened and the group of men who always used to intercept you to talk to you, to flirt were locked, watching the scene in a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

Daryl had his gaze fixed on them, his darkened eyes flashing in a mixture of pleasure and menace. He tensed his jaw as your moan grew louder and longer letting you take in your climax, your pussy clenched his cock and he grunted trying to control himself one last time.

"Mine..." He said in a broken voice, an octave lower than normal.

"Yours..." You gasped in response, trying to catch your breath.

The End.

I hope you liked the mix and that it fulfilled the wishes of both of you!

See you in the next story!

[bestworstcase]

on ‘villainy’ and varian’s and cassandra’s moral codes

for all that varian’s and cassandra’s villain arcs get compared to death they’re really more different than they are similar, and i think one of the more interesting distinctions is the characters’ moral perspectives on their own actions--namely that varian recognizes his own choices as villainous and consciously self-identifies as a ‘bad guy’ and cassandra not only…doesn’t do that but appears legitimately taken aback when varian says she’s ‘become the villain.’ from this we can infer that varian is transgressing his own personal sense of right and wrong while cassandra isn’t.

and… well with varian i think it’s pretty straightforward: he’s a kid who desperately wants to make the world a better place and make his father proud, but his impulsivity and recklessness and general disregard for lab safety foil his plans and get him into trouble. then one of his accidents puts his dad into what is essentially a magical coma and varian becomes singularly focused on reviving him--and, when he realizes that the king is more invested in covering up the problem than fixing it and his only hope lies with a zealously guarded relic belonging to the kingdom, he decides that the only way to achieve this goal is to start breaking the rules.

so he asks rapunzel--his friend who promised to help him--to retrieve some information the king is trying to steal from him, and then persuades her to help him access the sundrop vault; then when she balks at stealing it he makes it clear that he no longer trusts her and escapes with the flower. at this point he’s in the morally dubious zone; being strategic about what he tells rapunzel to make sure she helps him, spiking cookies with truth serum to sow chaos and get information he needs, and doing things that are crimes on paper but also largely victimless. i think these were things varian could probably rationalize as okay--not exactly good, but no one got hurt and he got what he needed.

except the flower’s magic is gone. he drugged the palace, manipulated rapunzel and broke her trust in him, and committed treason all for something useless because the actual magic of the sundrop is in rapunzel herself. now he’s in trouble, because he needs rapunzel’s help but his desperate measures guaranteed she won’t be willing to help him again. and this is when varian realizes that his only options are 1. give up on saving his dad and turn himself in and hope rapunzel takes pity on him, or 2. accept that no one is going to help him now and do whatever it takes to free quirin himself.

so--mutating ruddiger, attacking the city, kidnapping arianna and threatening her with encasement in amber, building an automaton army to defend him while he works--these are all things that varian feels are wrong, but chooses to do anyway because he doesn’t trust that anyone else will even try to save his father. despite his anger and his rationalizations, at the end of the day varian sees himself as doing bad things for good reasons. (“Believe me, I know/I’ve sunk pretty low” & “I’m the bad guy, that’s fine”)

and when his reasons fall through--when he fails to free his dad--he falls quickly into guilt and despair over having hurt people for nothing. he stews for a year in how unforgivable and ashamed he feels, and even when he teams up with the separatists, he’s doing it in, basically, pursuit of a reset button: he wants to take back what he did. and when rapunzel shows him that he can be forgiven, he can have a second chance, he does have people who are willing to help him and trust him again, he drops the memory-wiping idea and his alliance with the separatists without a second thought--because what rapunzel actually does is give him a way to pursue his goals without sacrificing his conscience, which is what he really needed the whole time.

now, cassandra, on the other hand…

cass is an interesting character in this regard because, while she does want to be a hero, she’s not at all altruistic. she’s consumed by her lack of autonomy and she craves not only control over her own life but also respect from the people around her--her desire to be a hero is very self-interested, at its core. and moreover she has a somewhat fatalistic view of the world wherein some people (not her) matter and some… just don’t. 

moreover cassandra, despite her ambitions of becoming a guard, doesn’t so much as blink at eugene’s or the pub thugs’ criminal pasts--she is suspicious of lance at first, but on the grounds that he’s an unrepentant thief who showed up out of the blue under suspicious circumstances to ‘reconnect’ with his old partner in crime; eugene is also distrustful of lance, for the exact same reasons--and of course she doesn’t think twice about breaking the law herself. literally one of the very first things we see cassandra do is commit treason to make her friend happy. cass doesn’t care about the law, and she only wants to be a guard because she associates getting the job with having her dad’s approval and it’s also her ticket out of lifelong servitude.

on the other hand, cass does seem have a strong sense of right and wrong where people she cares about are concerned. she is constantly putting the desires and well-being of her friends ahead of not just her ambitions (e.g. in beginnings for rapunzel, or great expotations for varian) but also her own safety (e.g. risking her livelihood and home to sneak rapunzel out for the night in bea, or setting aside her misgivings about the sketchy bird people in freebird). 

which is all to say--cass isn’t exactly amoral but the moral framework through which she sees the world is… more complicated than varian’s. she doesn’t seem particularly motivated to help strangers but she’ll move mountains to help people she cares about; she doesn’t care much about rules or laws except insofar as she doesn’t want to get caught breaking them, and she has this hierarchical mindset that some people matter--meaning, they get to make decisions for themselves and have people care about what they need and want--and some don’t, and that she herself is stuck in the latter category despite her best efforts to climb out of it.

which brings us to the subject of the moonstone, and cassandra’s villain arc, and why cass, unlike varian, doesn’t consider herself a bad person.

i think what it comes down to most is this: taking the moonstone is an act of defiance against not only rapunzel but also fate itself. waiting in the wings sets up cassandra’s resigned acceptance of this hierarchical order and her own cosmic insignificance, and then in crossing the line she REJECTS that same order. she’s raging against rapunzel but also against the cultural and legal and destined systems that put rapunzel on top and forced cass into subservience. she is very literally fighting for her freedom against the universe itself.

and when cass was not an altruistic or heavily morally motivated or even particularly law-abiding person before, and when her conscience has always been predominantly oriented around taking care of her friends first and herself second, and when the thing that drove her to this breaking point was her friends spitting that back in her face… well.

it’s easy to say “cass literally tried to murder rapunzel a bunch of times, how can she possibly believe she’s the good guy?”--but rapunzel maimed cass, blamed her for it, and consistently prioritized her destiny over cassandra’s wellbeing; and rapunzel represents the cosmic order that cass is fighting to liberate herself from. and while i know that the -popular- take on be very afraid is “cass is terrified of hurting rapunzel,” i submit it’s actually “cass is terrified of having to fight rapunzel, because she still believes that fate is literally tilted in rapunzel’s favor and she can’t win a direct fight with rapunzel.” that’s why she’s so scared; that’s why rapunzel seemingly deleting the red rocks hardens her resolve; that’s why she marches into corona with maximum drama and bluster and builds a fortress and tries so hard to mess with rapunzel’s head before the battle begins. she’s trying to even the odds. and that’s why, when rapunzel stomps her into the curb, cassandra’s immediate response is “i need an army.”

cassandra isn’t scared for rapunzel. she is scared OF rapunzel.

we do also see cass trying not to harm people she considers to be innocent bystanders; she uses the truth serum on varian bc she needs the incantation, but afterwards she doesn’t even bother to restrain him until after he starts pestering her, she says flat out that she doesn’t want him to get hurt when she fights rapunzel; similarly she is willing to hurt calliope to force rapunzel to comply, but--despite her deep personal dislike of calliope--uses a minimum amount of force and again verbally expresses that she doesn’t particularly want to hurt her, that it’s a means to an end and nothing more. attacking rapunzel? that’s fine, rapunzel is her enemy. attacking eugene? of course, he’s rapunzel’s closest ally. mind controlling the brotherhood? that kills two birds with one stone--eliminating powerful enemies with a vested interest in taking the moonstone away from her and turning them into allies who can level the playing field between her and rapunzel. and when she does finally snap and raze corona to the ground? the people of corona attacked her first. i think cass ABSOLUTELY sees herself as fighting a purely defensive war against people who have or will hurt her.

and this is, of course, ultimately why varian failed to get through to her during ‘nothing left to lose’--he appealed to her sense of morality and her sense of morality shrugged. 

as for the thing that snaps her out of it? the moment that forces her to question whether she’s really as right as she thinks she is? it’s learning who her new friend really is. it’s the shock of finding out that she’s been allied with, confiding in, taking advice from a legendary villain, from a monster she likely grew up hearing stories about. cass takes it as a given that zhan tiri is evil--and if she’s friends with zhan tiri, what does that make her? and even then, cass is resistant to the idea that she might be a villain--“No, no, I’m nothing like you. Just because I’m pursuing my destiny doesn’t make me a bad person!”--which is, ultimately, very telling of her whole mindset. she’s not a bad guy, she’s fighting for her freedom. she’s not a bad guy, she’s protecting herself against people who want to exploit her. she’s not a bad guy, she’s just putting herself first for once.

and OAH generally, i’d argue, is not actually about cassandra trying to reconcile with rapunzel or redeem herself or be a better person, it’s… literally cass trying frantically to prove she’s NOT the bad guy. it’s “oh yeah? you think i’m a bad person? well could a bad guy do THIS? *lies and impersonates a former coworker and gets up on a stage to justify her own actions in front of a crowd*” it’s “a bad guy wouldn’t apologize, rapunzel never apologized for anything, and to prove i’m a better person I’M going to apologize! see? SEE!?”--and then everyone in corona attacks her and she goes “FINE, i’m the bad guy, fuck you all” and wrecks the place.

only then--only in plus est en vous--does cassandra get into a mindset similar to varian’s, of “i am the bad guy but if i can pull this off it will be worth it.” she’s not sorry. she still sees rapunzel as an enemy trying to get her under control again, and the only thing that’s really changed is cassandra acknowledging that she has in fact done bad things too.

and… i would argue that by the end of plus est cassandra… feels some guilt but isn’t sorry. “i’ve failed” and “i’ve done terrible things” and “i tried to prove i was more than everyone thought but they were right”--her anguish is not like varian’s anguish in RR, where he was consumed with despair because no one could possibly forgive him for the things he did. cassandra is upset because she did awful things and failed and she perceives that failure as proof of her own worthlessness. she’s right back to feeling how she felt in waiting in the wings but with a hefty new helping of self-disgust and shame for having been stupid enough to believe she could change anything for herself. 

she’s not sorry. she’s not pleading for forgiveness. she just wants rapunzel to give up and leave her alone--& then, after rapunzel convinces her that she’s wrong, and she does have worth as a person, and she does have a destiny of her own, cass does what’s necessary to clean up the crisis she created and then… just bounces. she gets the freedom she wanted and leaves without a backward glance.

(which. good for her.)

tl;dr: varian’s villain arc explores his moral scruples and what it takes for him to be willing to ignore them, whereas cassandra’s villain arc explores her incendiary reaction to a lifetime of injustices; she isn’t amoral but her sense of right and wrong is, unlike varian’s, very contextual and personal. varian is a pragmatic idealist who wants to be lawful good but is capable of setting his own morals aside in pursuit of a goal he considers to be important enough, and cassandra is one radicalizing incident away from realizing that her grievances are not a unique personal failing but a systemic problem and then leading a class uprising.

[goingmorry]

ONE PIECE [Headcanons for Everyday Life - Monster Trio]

Synopsis: How Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji spend their daily life. (Source)

Word Count: 1,866

MONKEY D. LUFFY

Daily Routine

Does the future Pirate King have a specific routine he follows consistently? Hell no. He's as impulsive and scatter-brained as they come.

His lack of a routine causes more stress to his crew than himself. Luffy can't follow a plan to save his life, much to the dismay of his crew but, having known him for so long, they've adapted well to his shenanigans.

He's the one reassuring the more nervous members of his crew, specifically Nami, Usopp, and Chopper, that everything will be fine.

Whatever interests him at that moment, he'll do. If Usopp invites him to go fishing, he'll compete for who can catch the biggest haul. If he's hungry, despite having eaten a substantial breakfast 30 minutes ago, he'll call for Sanji to cook some meat. If Franky instructs him to assist him with a new invention, he'll happily comply.

Waking Up

Luffy doesn't have a set schedule for when he sleeps - he just does.

He doesn't require as much sleep in the first place - averaging about five hours every day - unless, of course, he's recovering from injuries. In which case, he'll sleep for however long it takes for his body to recover, be it 12 hours or three days.

Be prepared for him to straight-up pass out regardless of the time or place.

He'll make sure he's surrounded by someone he trusts that can protect him, so he doesn't inconvenience them as much, but when he can't prevent himself from getting some shuteye, he'll do it irrespective of consequences.

He wakes up of his own accord, without the prompting of his crew or alarms.

When he wakes up, that's it. He's off to his next adventure. He doesn't need time to get dressed; he proceeds to start the day, wearing the same signature red vest and blue shorts he wore the day before.

First Thing

It doesn't take much for Luffy to get ready when he wakes.

Meat's the first thing he thinks about, stomach growling in anticipation as he rushes off to the kitchen.

The smell of Sanji's delicious cooking is enough to make him alert. He doesn't need any further motivation to start the day.

Eating Habits

Luffy has the most voracious appetite of the crew. In the wise words of Nami, his hunger is absolutely limitless.

On multiple occasions, his appetite had gotten the crew into trouble when he ate every single piece of food that was supposed to last them the journey to their next destination.

If he physically could, he'd eat every second of the day.

He needs meat. That's it. Though, he'll eat pretty much anything.

He's not a picky eater and doesn't have any food allergies.

Hygiene Habits

Luffy puts off showering as much as possible, only doing so once or twice a week.

He prefers lukewarm showers and won't even entertain the idea of a bath.

Showers are quick, about five minutes tops. He's not willing to spend any longer bathing. It's just something he does when Nami and Sanji start complaining about his smell.

He shaves when he showers since he doesn't grow much facial hair. He combines both activities simultaneously.

When shaving, he'll grab whoever's razor is available in the men's shared baths - most likely Zoro's or Usopp's.

He'll grab the closest shampoo or bar/liquid soap, too, applying both to his hair and body. Some days, he'll wash his hair with body soap. Some days, he'll wash his body with shampoo. He doesn't care.

He loves to dry himself with soft and fluffy bath towels since they remind him of Chopper's fur.

He brushes his teeth whenever it occurs to him, thanks to Chopper for reminding him every so often.

And that's the extent of grooming he'll do.

Flossing's pretty much out of the question.

Skincare is non-existent. He washes his face when he showers, which is rare enough as is, using the same soap he uses for his body on his face.

RORONOA ZORO

Daily Routine

The only thing consistent in Zoro's routine is his morning workout. Everything else is fluid.

His training, however, does change depending on what he feels he needs improvement on.

If, for some reason, his morning workout gets interrupted, he gets annoyed though he doesn't hold it against anyone.

He takes great pride in his goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman, so when circumstances arise where he misses training, he can't help but feel mildly peeved at that moment.

He recovers quickly. After all, he finds strong emotions to distract him from his training. He'd rather resolve the issue himself by working out as soon as in his free time.

Waking Up

Zoro's sleep schedule is not too dissimilar from a cat's. He naps throughout the day, never longer than three hours at a time.

He doesn't use alarms. He'll wake up whenever he wants to.

He has selective hearing when he sleeps, able to discern true danger from the careless bickering of his crewmates.

When he feels unease, he's immediately awake, hands grasping the hilts of his swords, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

If he's recovering from injuries, he'll sleep five hours at max before he regains consciousness. If the injuries are severe enough, he won't move as much, but he'll remain coherent for a while.

First Thing

When Zoro wakes, usually after resting in the crow's nest or on the ship's deck, he starts the day off with a morning workout.

He has incredible self-discipline, refusing to eat breakfast until he completes his workout. Because of his work ethic, he's usually the last person to join the crew for a meal.

He puts off grooming himself until he needs to.

Eating Habits

Zoro prefers drinking alcohol to consuming food.

He understands the need for proper nutrition, however, so he eats whatever the curly brow bastard makes.

Somehow, in their time together, Sanji discovers that Zoro prefers eating rice meals with Sea King meat. Zoro doesn't ever comment on this and just quietly eats.

He eats three standard meals daily - breakfast, lunch, and dinner - with the company of his crew. In between the day, he drinks copious amounts of alcohol.

He hates sweets, so don't even think of giving them to him. It's going to be fed to Chopper or dumped into the trash.

He doesn't ever have food cravings outside of strong alcohol.

His guilty pleasure food is sour gummy candies. Chopper fed it to him once, and Zoro couldn't find it in him to say no, so he took a bite and found it surprisingly enjoyable. He only eats it when Chopper sneakily hands it to him.

Hygiene Habits

Like Luffy, he puts off properly showering as much as possible, doing so only once a week.

This may seem disgusting, especially considering Zoro's inclination to sweat profusely during his intense workout sessions. He does, however, soak in saltwater when he does swimming laps in the sea.

Zoro likes to be clean-shaven. He owns his own razor, and he shaves his facial hair in the bathroom sink every other day. When he has a proper shower, he shaves in the shower instead.

He uses standard liquid body soap and two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, something that Sanji bought the boys to share.

If the soap and shampoo/conditioner runs out, he doesn't say anything. He'll make-do with water.

Usopp has to ask Sanji to buy them new hygiene products when they reach the next island.

You'll never catch him having a bath unless the entire crew goes to an onsen.

He'll slap on some deodorant after a workout as an alternative to showering. It only takes him a few seconds, preferable to spending a few minutes underwater.

Surprisingly, he consistently brushes his teeth and uses mouthwash due to Chopper's insistence. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he does so without complaint.

SANJI

Daily Routine

Without fail, Sanji prepares for bed at 11:30 at night and wakes up when his alarm rings at 5.

His morning routine consists of spending 20 minutes every morning brushing his teeth, washing his face, shaving his facial hair, moisturizing, dressing up, and applying cologne.

His nightly routine is similar with the inclusion of flossing and rinsing with mouthwash. He also prepares his clothing for the next day.

Sanji cares deeply about his appearance, and it shows with the way he grooms himself.

As the chef, he has to abide by a strict schedule since his crew relies on him to prepare everyone's meals.

Waking Up

Sanji's alarm rings at precisely 5 in the morning, and he quickly gets off the bed.

He never snoozes his alarm. It rings no more than three times before he turns it off. He's a morning person.

He has plenty of time to get dressed, having pre-selected his suit the night before.

First Thing

Sanji loves to brew himself a coffee, only with creamer and no sugar, as the first drink to start his day.

While his coffee brews, he prepares a light meal for himself before the rest of the crew wakes.

At 5:30 AM, he's in the kitchen, hard at work preparing everyone else's breakfast.

He is meticulous about his schedule, so if it gets thrown off for whatever reason, he'll feel frazzled.

Eating Habits

When Sanji prepares food for the crew, he quickly eats his own portion immediately after cooking.

He's tried eating after everyone finishes, but it never works out due to Luffy's monstrous appetite. He's had his food stolen by Luffy. Every. Single. Time.

He doesn't eat full meals per se since he taste-tests his food along the way, but he does prepare a decent portion afterward, so he doesn't get hungry.

He rarely eats together with the crew, making sure to cater to everyone's needs during mealtime.

He never wastes food. Ever. He quickly learns everyone's appetite and makes enough food, so there are no leftovers.

With him in the crew, everyone will always taste fresh food.

Having experienced starvation, he never skips the traditional meals, always eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He doesn't have any food allergies, but he does dislike unhealthy and non-nutritious food.

Hygiene Habits

Sanji is the only man in the crew to shower daily. He has to since he's an avid smoker and cares deeply about presenting himself well to the ladies.

He also handles everyone's meals and is extremely particular in keeping a clean working environment where he cooks.

He has a complete set of hygienic products, ranging from shampoo, conditioner, facial toner, shaving cream, moisturizer, serum, and sunscreen.

He keeps his hair, body, and facial products close to him and refuses to share with the other boys, taking them with him when he's ready to use them and keeping them stashed away in his locker when he's done.

Once he's done showering, he applies deodorant and cologne. The mixed scents work well together and aren't overpowering. Sanji smells damn good, and he knows it.

He likes to shave his facial hair before he showers, perfectly shaping his goatee.

He's not opposed to taking long baths but does prefer cold showers.

He brushes his teeth, flosses, and uses mouthwash every day without fail.

Thanks for reading! 💖

[aerialflight]

Fic Rec (it's been too long and I read a whole lot of fics)

I've read so many fics these past couple of months and my need to share them to the world has seized me by the throat. Please enjoy and support these fanfic writers! They are the best. XD

-

[Naruto]

Nine-Tailed Foxes are Dead by RowlettLesbian

Ship: Shikamaru/Naruto

For Konoha, it's been one month since the preliminary Chunin exams. For Naruto, it's been six. And he wasn't in Konoha.

At the end of his ordeal, Naruto walks into the Chunin Exam finals without his left arm.

Shikamaru is very concerned. And, eventually, very precious to Naruto as they work together to solve the mysteries of Konoha and bring kindness to the Shinobi world, one adventure at a time.

(I would die for this fic. I know the summary sounds doom and gloom but IT'S NOT. This fic made me fucking cry, I don't think I've ever read a fic that characterized Naruto so right. He's so full of hope and love and develops into the best version of himself and I'm so HERE FOR IT. And it's not just Naruto, Shikamaru is absolutely amazing here along with Kakashi and surprise surprise Ino, I can't BELIEVE it took me this long to stumble across this fic. Also THE WORLDBUILDING IS TO DIE FOR!!! And the plot! Is! So! Interesting! Just, everything about this fic is just amazing so please PLEASE read this!!!)

The End of the Uchiha by RowlettLesbian

Ship: Naruto/Sasuke

“I promise, little electric spirit of this shrine,” he whispered into the soft dirt and fallen leaves, “I will never gain the eyes. I will never pass them on. And I will make sure the eyes end in my brother, so that they can’t hurt anybody anymore. I will be the last Uchiha, and see to the end of the Copy-Wheel Clan. Then all of the hatred here can stop, and my family can rest peacefully. I promise, little shrine.”

Sasuke is more than his brother thinks he is. He's more than any Uchiha has ever been. He will kill his brother, but it will not be vengeance.

It will be mercy.

(Same author as the one above, they are the gift that keeps on giving. Seriously, HOW did I NEVER FIND THESE FICS before now??? One of life's greatest mysteries. The author's sense of humor is so on point here along with the atmospheric writing that's so vivid in the mind. Their writing style is so recognizable to me now and makes me fall into the world they're creating, it's stunning. Sasuke here makes me want to hug him and the idea of him living like a feral ghibli character has me LIVING. Check the tags of the fic, all of it is true, hand to god. Please give all of the author's fics a shot, it's a rabbit hole I'm thankful I fell into!)

mil fantasmas (gritan en calma) by LegaciesandMemories

Post-Tsukuyomi, something in Uchiha Sasuke's mind shatters. The same night, Yamanaka Ino falls asleep and doesn't wake up for 15 days.

---

In which Ino and Sasuke both wake from the aftermath of the Uchiha Massacre with the ability to see ghosts, and no one is prepared for the fallout.

(This fic has arrested my curiosity and eagerness to know what will happen next. These poor kids need so many hugs and Ino is getting the spotlight she deserves. I am so excited for this fic and what it has in store! Please read! XD)

Lichtenberg Figures by Asteroid_Duck (JustThatOneGirl1815)

Name: Kakashi Hatake Rank: Jounin Status: Missing Nin Missing Since: June 15th, 271 AD Note: Flee on Sight . . . Haburashi looked his team in the eyes— three, fresh out of the Academy genin— and resolved to teach them as best as he could. And right now, his lesson was simple: “Stay. Away. From. Kakashi. Hatake.”

(Dimension travel fic with a slice of Kakashi being an absolute troll and dealing with the shitty hand he's been dealt with. Seriously, the man has the worst luck in all of Konoha. Also, the mystery of the other Kakashi's history has me leaning by the edge of my seat, I need to know.)

The Governess by Ysmirel

Ship: Kakashi/OFC

"“What,” he finally asked, “is so funny?”

Ibara bit her lower lip to keep the chuckles in, still smiling and making absolutely no effort to get more space between them, seemingly perfectly at ease within reach of a trained shinobi. Her self-control wasn't all that good, as she ended up snorting and was overcame once again by another fit of laughter. “I just- It's just-” She struggled to speak, trying to catch her breath and wiping away tears of mirth with the hand that wasn't still holding onto his vest. Finally, she looked him in the eye and said, with a smile that was all teeth and without a hint of her previous drunken stupor, “and who's going to believe you?”

As he stood there, stunned by her words and change in demeanor, he realized with dawning horror that she was right."

In which Kakashi finds himself at the other end of the troll shtick, and he doesn't appreciate it all that much.

(It's so hard to find self-insert fics with a fresh concept these days, especially in the naruto fandom. Not that I don't enjoy and devour a lot of self insert fics like it's going out of style, but it's just so nice to find something new and shiny and really damn good. I'm so pumped for this fic and how it's going to develop so please join me in rooting for this fic!)

half a league (until the valley of death) by SpectersShadow117

Kakashi can think of no reason for Sasuke's inexplicable and drastic change in behavior. He doesn't like the desperate, haunted gleam in his student's eyes, and he also doesn't like the nagging feeling that he's missing something very important. Aka: Future Sasuke goes to Past Sasuke and gives him a reality check with Specific Intentions, but as with most Uchiha, his methods leave much to be desired. (Featuring: Childhood trauma FTW, Konoha's shitty care of orphans, and absolutely no one having a fun time.)

(Sasuke wanting to change the future out of complete and utter spite has me LIVING. Sasuke is such a Mess here and the twist on the time travel premise is so good and the kid is so Traumatized and Desperate and Not Having A Good Time. Naruto and Sakura developing as better ninjas and Kakashi trying his best makes me want to scream. Also, how Sasuke thinks about Itachi makes me want to cackle. I am 100% down for this. I am rooting for this kid, go get them! XD)

-

[Harry Potter]

fruit loops in time (circle around me) by justprompts

Ships: Harry/Draco, Remus/Sirius

"This is Crabbe, and Goyle," the blonde boy says, pointing at the two boys next to him. "And I'm Malfoy, Draco Ma - "

Ron laughs, and Malfoy immediately bristles.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Malfoy says, angrily. "No need to ask yours - "

"You're honestly so cute," Ron interrupts, yet again, shaking his head. "So tiny. And so angry, all the time. It's adorable."

Alternatively Ron Weasley, Time Traveller Extraordinaire, is stuck in the same seven year Hogwarts Loop, repeating the same thing over and over again. Naturally, he's so done with everything.

(This is the greatest hp fic I've ever read. I LOVE RON WEASLEY and by the time you read this fic SO WILL YOU!! This is the fic I WISH I have the ability to write. I read this entire fic aloud to my brother and we spent literal hours howling and talking about how utterly insane and incredible this fic is, it's amazing. This is hands down my favorite Ron Weasley. You Can Pry This Fic From My Cold Dead Fingers.)

-

[Boku no Hero Academia]

Kacchan's Cult by Ourliazo

Pro Hero Ground Zero is attacked, originally meant to be de-aged out of existence by a desperate villain but is instead launched into his 14-year-old self.

But Katsuki is a fucking pro so whatever, time to fuck up someone's day. And sure, maybe he's only one man, but that's why he conscripts the entirety of the UA student body into tearing down some criminal empires.

(It's time travel, crack, and Bakugou being his usual explody, competent self. What more in life do you want? Seriously though, please read. I'm obsessed with this fic and having a Good Time!)

Cleaning Crew; Teaching Kids to Value their Safety, for Fun and Profit by Reavv

Takenaka Hideo is a thirty-two year old, in mild desperation for money, who has just been hired as a new janitor for UA's support staff. He has a quirk that lets him find lost objects, a liaison with the police because of it, and desperate desire for competent co-workers.

Oh, and he's already lived a previous life, in a world where quirks and heroes didn't even exist.

Not a big deal, though. It's not like you ever see the janitor playing a big part in action movies. He's here to get paid, and that's it.

On the opposite side of the equation, class 1-A has to wonder at the new UA cryptid that always seems to show up when things are on fire, and who keeps trying to convince them to let the adults handle the fire extinguisher.

(A great deal of fun packed into one fic. That is how I title this fic and nothing will change my mind! Hideo just wants to quietly do his job and not get in the way. I Relate. Please read!)

Poltergeist by WriterGreenReads

Class 1-A is haunted.

Well, not really.

I AM dead, though.

World's friendliest poltergeist, at your service.

(I don't know how I got so sucked into OC fics, but I found some fantastic fics along the way so I have no regrets. The author really tries to push the premise and I just love all the interactions and dynamics that form as the fic gets further in. And the OC character and all the hijinks they get up to cracks me up! At the same time, it's pretty heartwarming and it's practically a friendships galore fic! Definitely recommend it!)

invincible by supercrunch for Engrin

Ship: Bakugou/Midoriya

This is the way the world works: the sun rises in the east. The strong come out on top. Bakugou Katsuki rockets through life like a comet and Midoriya Izuku stumbles after. If he believed in such things Katsuki would say it was written in the stars. That some god of war had looked at him and said this one. That he’d been passed along a line to get his blessings – genius, willpower, fearless ambition – and dropped off on earth.

Then, of course, there is the question of Deku. The spitfire runt. Deku, no matter what the world does to him, never stops hoping.

Until, of course, he eventually does.

(Katsuki broke him. Snapped him in half like a twig and now has to scramble to put Deku back together. “We can do this, Deku," he says slowly. "There are so many mysteries that never got put to bed. Criminals roaming around looking to hurt people and you and me, we can fix that.”

There’s a long pause. The comforter slips a little off Deku’s skinny shoulders and drowns him. “You mean like a team?”

In that split second, Katsuki makes a decision he’s never even considered. He swallows his pride. “Yeah, Deku. We’d be a team.”)

(If there was any other way canon could've gone, this is the story I would've wanted. It's perfect.)

Inadvertent Wilderness Therapy by Cacid

Following an unfortunate encounter with a teleporter on the last day of internships, Bakugou Katsuki and Hakamata Tsunagu spend some quality time in northern Canada.

In no particular order they will: build ugly survival shelters, stalk rabbits, run from polar bears, reflect on the chemical composition of trees, insult each other, and complain about krumholtz.

(THESE TWO. TOGETHER. IN THE WILDERNESS. IN FUCKING CANADA OF ALL PLACES. I still can't believe this fic actually exists and just how INVESTED I became in their relationship. Blue Jeanist instantly became my favorite ranked hero with this fic alone. HIS SENSE OF HUMOR IS TERRIBLE, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH FNIEWOPAF. BAKUGOU DOES TOO. IT'S FUCKING INCREDIBLE. *incoherent screeching into the wild*)

-

[Stranger Things]

Baci D'aria by RabbitDarling

“Love is worth the sum of itself, and nothing more.” ― Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

Steve learned a lot at his Aunt's side before she passed but his favourite thing she taught him was baci d'aria; special little spells that you created from the heart and put into the food you shared.

In opening his heart and gifts to those around him Steve slowly finds himself a family in a way he never thought he'd get to experience. One by One he collects pre-teens to trail in his wake like ducklings and Steve can't even refute it by the time he realizes what has happened.

(This fic is so soft and Steve is just collecting people and winning them over with his magical food (literally). I am always a sucker for heartwarming, good for the soul fics so if you want to make yourself hungry and feel all warm and gooey inside, read this!)

(Don't Fear) The Reaper by TeaFourTwo

Ship: Steve/Billy

He looks down at the blood on his hands and on the floor and wonders why the memory hasn’t broken yet, why he isn’t back in Starcourt mall with control of his body again, wonders if he's even still alive at all. Is this hell then? Or perhaps purgatory? It certainly isn’t heaven, that’s for sure. None of this makes any sense…but then what's new—nothing in Billy’s life makes sense anymore.

Billy laughs then, loud and long and unhinged. It's the only sound in the whole house, and it bounces off the walls like a fucked up echo, like the world is laughing with him.

“Jesus christ you’re insane…” It’s Max’s voice and it’s shaking. It only makes Billy laugh harder, because Max has it all wrong. Billy isn’t crazy, it’s the rest of the world that’s insane.

--

Billy dies a hero of sorts. He wakes up back in his bed on Saturday morning, the third of November, 1984...nearly nine months earlier.

(Billy is stuck in a time loop and it's slowly driving him crazy. And the fic shows just how much influence Billy did have in the plot and how doomed the world is without him in it. Great character exploration with Billy's character and all the ways he's so messy and human. Definitely recommend it!)

-

[Knives Out]

The Road Less Traveled By by UisceOneLove

Ship: Marta/Ransom

If Harlan wants to leave Ransom to be on his own, fine. He'll show him just what Ransom Drysdale is capable of.

or, where Ransom chooses to prove his abilities through means of the non-homicidal variety and finds himself becoming exactly what Harlan was hoping he would.

(I found this fic out of sheer chance and god, Ransom is just, so fascinating to me as a character. Marta of course is the Best here and I will forever stan her. Seriously, this is such a good fic! Please read!)

-

[Haikyuu!!]

Sky Full of Stars by grilledsquids

The Hinatas are twins. They're practically identical.

But while Shouyou seeks out Karasuno's volleyball team to become the next Little Giant, Natsu is scouted to to play soccer for Shiratorizawa. While Shouyou sets his eyes on playing volleyball at the highest level possible, his sister wonders how much longer she can play soccer... and if it's worth it to keep going.

A Natsu-centric story featuring: Shiratorizawa VBC shenanigans, too many soccer OCs, mild teenage drama, a little bit of plot, and Semi Eita not knowing what a period is.

(It's just!! So cute and wholesome!!! The Shiratorizawa volleyball team is so fleshed out along with the OC characters for the girl's soccer team and I swear, it's been a long while since I've laughed this much at the sheer shenanigans that happen in a fic. It's surprisingly hard to find good gen fics in this fandom so finding this gem made me so happy! If you want a fic that brings a smile to your face, read this!!)

like water by speakingincode

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, and when Tooru looks at him, he can read My best friend’s an idiot off the crease of his eyebrows. “Are you telling me you spent the last three years weirdly obsessed with Kageyama – I still remember the time you made us play him on a dumb whim, you know – and now you’re at his beck and call? Are you okay? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m— I’m not at his beck and call! I said no last week. It’s… It’s like you said. I get bored easily. I saw him at the park a couple weeks after they played Nationals and called him a perfect little tyrant, and he pestered me into spending time with him after,” Tooru says. “I’m not a monster, Iwa-chan. If he wants the company of his cool, handsome ex-upperclassman that badly, who am I to begrudge him?”

Or: Oikawa doesn't know why Kageyama keeps asking to meet him on Saturdays. He also doesn't know why he keeps saying yes.

(The fact this fic is canon-compliant and covers post-canon too makes me want to shout to the heavens. Fucking incredible! One of the best Oikakage fics ever and it's a crime how it's not at the top of the ship tag. Please please read!!)

twist into your shape by kakkoweeb

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

The only thing better than sweets were sweets containing paper that told you whether your future would be good or bad--or in Kageyama and Oikawa's case, paper that somehow caused you to live inside each other's bodies.

(Everyone probably already read this fic but it needs to be said, you need to read this fic. How these two try and manage each other's lives and slowly start to care about one another is so beautiful and sincere and I am ready to wrestle anyone to the floor and comply them into reading this fic. Doesn't matter if you like the ship, you will become a fan if you read it, I promise. Please please read!!)

Take the Long Road Home by pepperfield

Ship: Kuroo/Sawamura

When Azumane Asahi goes missing before his engagement meeting with Kozume Kenma, what other option is there but for Daichi to impersonate his brother and fake his way through a first date with Asahi's fiance?

Okay, let's be realistic - there were probably at least four other options.

Unfortunately, Tetsurou couldn't come up with any of them either, so now he's here flirting with Kenma's future husband while trying to keep his web of deceit from collapsing.

It's going to be an eventful day.

(I got obsessed with this ship alongside Oikakage and SO WILL YOU. THE POTENTIAL. THE BANTER. THE FACT THEY'RE BOTH DORKS AND THE FIC HAS IDENTITY SHENANIGANS DANCING ALL OVER IT!! I had so much fun reading this and these two are MEANT TO BE FENIWPAF. If you don't see the potential of this ship, you will now.)

a misunderstanding a day keeps the boyfriend away by bartallen for betuls

Ship: Kuroo/Sawamura

Kuroo doesn’t fall in love hard and fast like many others do – he falls slowly, and very very softly. Most of the times he doesn’t even realise he’s in love with someone until it’s too late.

(Kuroo is the dumbest man alive and I've never related to someone so hard in my life. God help me.)

You like me. by roseknight

Ship: Daishou/Kuroo

Kuroo nearly lived a Daishou-free life, and sometimes he looked back and wondered how much better and how much worse that would've been.

(I didn't even know who Daishou was until I read this fic and now I can't unsee the potential this ship has. I'm a ruined woman and I regret NOTHING.)

Kings of the Road, Kings of the Universe by EzzyDean

Eight magical captains, one bus, an entire summer (and country) waiting for them.

What could possibly go wrong?

(The magic of friendship meets the magic of a summer road trip meets pure magic.)

(CAPTAIN SQUAD IS THE BEST SQUAD SOMEBODY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME SOME CAPTAIN SQUAD FICS I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS SQUAD IT'S A PROBLEM AAAAHHHHHH!)

宿縁 : See You Soon by MissKiraBlue

Ship: Oikawa/Kageyama

Upon arriving at the train station of death, an impure soul is granted a second chance at life against his will. Reincarnating into the body of Kageyama Tobio, a 15-year-old boy who recently committed suicide. Tobio's soul will depart at death and the soul needs to slip in to replace it. If the soul's reformation succeeds, he’ll reenter the cycle of rebirth and regain the right to be reborn. He will have three months to accomplish this task.

“Even though you had enough of life,” the soul whispered into the void of the room, “you were still afraid to hurt your hands, Tobio.”

Afraid of giving himself a scar, if he survived.

He touched his pulse and grasped life and couldn’t help but pity Kageyama Tobio.

"You wanted to die and now I’m here making you live again," he whispered into the night.

(I'm not even exaggerating when I say out of all the fics in this entire goddamn, too long list, this is the fic I'm anticipating and heart eyeing the most. It's only starting, but I already cried on chapter fucking 2, the power of this fic, holy shit. The author also wrote the hq time loop Every Tomorrows series, which I have an undying love for and am full on praying for the day it updates, so you KNOW this fic will be just as good. (Anybody who hasn't read this series, where the hell have you been?? Read it!!) Just, everything about this fic hurts me and something in my chest just aches when I read this fic. Go into it blind with an open heart and I swear to you, it's going to change your life. I'm already calling it. Seriously though, please please read!)

-

[Crossover]

Learning to Fly by Asteroid_Duck (JustThatOneGirl1815)

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia, Naruto

The number three hero is a walking (well, flying) contradiction in every sense of the word. This includes his teaching skills. Why had Tokoyami agreed to this internship again? Oh right. He’d thought he was actually going to learn something. …….remind him to never be so optimistic again. . . . OR, Kakashi Hatake is reincarnated as the pro hero, Hawks. Tokoyami Fumikage suffers as a result.

(The reincarnation fic I never thought I needed and it's so good!! I've never really paid attention to Tokoyami and this fic sent me headfirst into loving him. Their dynamic is so interesting and I just love how their relationship develops. Also, Kakashi trolling the poor kid made me cackle, it's great! Definitely recommend it!)

Si Vis Pacem by athenoot

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia, John Wick

Everything has a price. That's what John has always known and will forever remember, even in death.

Which is pretty ironic considering his current circumstance.

Instead of a grown, scarred, weary body belonging to a man as cruel and broken as him, he's inhabiting a younger, smaller, unblemished one belonging to a child with strangely colored hair, and is living in what seems to be a superhuman society.

Well. May it never be said that John isn't a strategist. He can live with this. Maybe.

(Somewhere out there in the universe, he's certain he could hear the laughter of his enemies from beyond the grave.)

-

Or: John Wick is reincarnated as Midoriya Izuku. The world should probably watch its back.

(This should be one of the crackiest fics I've read in a while, but it's taken so seriously and I'm so HERE FOR THIS. John Wick being John Wick in a world of quirks and heroes is the GREATEST, honestly, he's so badass. Bakugou, I feel for you, you must be so fucking confused lol. Bakugou trying his best to be a good friend is one of the best things about this fic. Trust me, this fic will make your day, promise!)

A Girl's Mind is a Dangerous Place by clenastia

Fandoms: Naruto, Fairy Tail

Natsu wakes up in Sakura's body. It only gets worse from there. Also known as: In Which Natsu has No Idea what to do with Boobs.

(I binged this in two fucking days, I couldn't put it down. This fic reminded me why I liked fairy tail when I was younger and why Natsu is honestly such a great protagonist, god. And the fic does that thing, you know, the Thing where when two worlds collide, the characters struggle to acclimate and adapt to a completely another world with different rules and mindsets against their own. This fic is seriously one of the best when it comes to that aspect, it's incredible. I am going absolutely feral over here for this fic to update, I'm waiting in the wings, ready to pounce like a tiger, all the metaphors man. For the love of god, read this fic.)

Give me a landscape made of obstacles by Melise

Fandoms: Naruto, Natsume's Book of Friends

Kakashi Hatake isn’t who he says he is.

Because the truth is that he’s actually a youkai in disguise, a wolf spirit named Madara who stumbled across the Hatake clan during the Warring States Period. Intrigued by the shinobi he saw, he’d proposed a temporary alliance in which he would offer the clan protection in exchange for their teachings.

Decades later, Madara is surprised to find himself inadvertently summoned to Konoha by the last living member of the Hatake clan. Sakumo Hatake, who is mourning the recent deaths of his wife and stillborn child, doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So with his permission, Madara takes the place of Sakumo’s deceased son in order to watch over the last Hatake.

(Fusion in which the youkai of Natsume’s Book of Friends all exist in the Naruto world. No knowledge of Natsume’s Book of Friends required).

(Before this fic, I only had a very vague idea of what Natsume's Book of Friends was, and honestly, I still don't know much about it. But I didn't really need to know to get into this fic. I love the worldbuilding and the relationships Kakashi forms, both supernatural and mortal. I love how Kakashi's inhumane ways affect others around him, whether to stress them out or become used to the strange. You can go straight into this fic without knowing anything and absolutely still have a fantastic time. I definitely recommend this so please read!)

[piratesfromspace]

Training Day

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 2k TW: knifeplay, mention of death and violence, gun, sexual tension, mention of alcohol

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Please keep in mind that in real life knifeplay should ALWAYS be discussed with your partner before anything, and that you should play with the safety of your partner being a priority. Stay safe.

“Again”

You scramble up on your feet, with a little bit less enthusiasm than at the beginning of your lesson. It was at least the 6th time you had fallen hard on the ground. You’re starting to seriously question what seemed like a very good idea at first. Who would pass the opportunity to be trained by such a competent fighter? By the Punisher himself? Definitely not you. 

You, the little rich girl forced into the streets and into hiding after your estranged father - a shady politician - messed with the wrong mafia boss. Your privileged life had fallen apart in a matter of seconds a year ago, half your family killed in the process, and since then you had learned that any valuable lesson usually came the (very) hard way. So when the vigilante had run into you while investigating said mafia, alone and in dire need of some help, he had wordlessly offered his protection and you had gladly accepted. Despite his brutality in a fight and his very unique moral code, you understood very quickly it wasn’t really the first time he chose to protect a runaway.

And here you are, on the floor of his small modest apartment, trying to apply the self defense techniques he taught you. You’re not the best student and it’s beginning to be a little bit annoying, the feeling of failure gnawing at the edge of your already pretty low self-confidence.

“Come on, try to catch this gun, I know you can do it.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, you shake your head a little, and without any warning you throw yourself toward him with all the strength you’ve got left. He dodges your attack with a surprising speed considering his massive frame, grabs your shoulder and throws you forward. You fall on the floor - again - and before you can get up, he’s on you, both knees on either side of your lean figure, his hips straddling yours. Gun pointed at you. You try to squirm to the side despite his legs caging you and you literally punch into his hand holding the gun. There’s a grunt of surprised pain, and the gun clatters to the floor. A small victory. Although it is kind of a cheat, knowing very well the nasty bruises and cuts already covering his right hand (he earned them in a fight against some tenacious gangsters a couple days ago) gave you an unfair advantage. But you’re not done yet.

Your secret weapon - a small pocket knife - has been hidden in your jacket sleeve, and you finally have the opportunity to take it out. With a grin you press the blade over his jeans against the inside of his thigh, where the artery would be. At the same time there is a metallic sheen in your visual field, and you unexpectedly feel the cold of steel against your throat. Of course, Frank fucking Castle has a knife of his own. And you were too caught in what you thought was the idea of the century to be wary of him striking back.

The blade of his combat knife is resting on your neck, barely touching your skin, but raising goosebumps anyway. He holds the weapon with a steady hand, careful not to hurt you.

“Not fast enough.”

his voice is always so impossibly deep, the tone confident. No trace of effort in it, while you’re trying to catch your breath under him.

“But I like the spirit. Keep it up, little one.”

You expect the exercise to be done, but he doesn’t budge, still straddling your hips, keeping you pinned to the floor. His blade flush against your throat. To anyone else, it would be a deadly threat, but not to you. You find it almost comforting to surrender like this, even though you know it’s not him who has the upper hand in the entirely different kind of game you’re both entangled since you met.

His body so close to yours, the adrenaline of the training, the thrill of the sharp edge of steel against your skin: it’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’re still trying to calm your breath, but now it’s for another reason than earlier. There is a moment of hesitation, you can feel it in the way his jaw clenches while his eyes look for yours. But whatever Castle has in mind, you don’t want him to stop. You bit your lips, raising your chin higher, baring your neck even more, just like animals do when they submit to a stronger one. The primitive display of submission awakens something feral in him.

He grabs slowly your wrist, the one threatening his thigh with the blunt pocket knife, and squeezes, just hard enough to make you let go of your weapon. It falls in a muffled thud on the carpet next to you as Castle lifts your arm above your head until he’s able to pin your wrist against the floor. He’s closer to you now, leaning over you, and you suddenly feel so small under him. He’s taking all your space, filling all your senses with what makes him him .

The heady scent of after-shave and smoke and a faint tangy smell that’s probably gunpowder.

The roughness of his denim and the delicious pressure of his fingers around your wrist.

The way he’s the only thing in the room you’re able to focus on, authority and confidence radiating from him.

The scars adorning his body - they are everywhere, some you can’t see, but others pretty obvious, and your eyes are going from one scar on his face to another, before landing on his lips.

When you meet his gaze, he’s already intently looking at you, and you can feel the dilemma playing in his mind. You’ve known him only for a couple months, but it feels like it’s been your entire life.

Frank Castle is not a very complicated man. He’s been hurt and betrayed in ways you unfortunately can relate to. He’s not a good man, he has killed and tortured too many to deserve to be called “good” - he’s not even interested in doing good himself. But, buried deep under the violence, the misanthropy and the anger, lies a sliver of hopeful belief, almost naive, that some of humanity can still be good. That somehow some of us can shine some light in the darkness of this world, and that those people need to be protected at all costs. Because they’re too pure to do what’s really necessary to fight off evil, he will do it. He will sacrifice his soul if it means a few can be saved. His conscience will never be clear ever again, so the least he can do is put to work his own wicked mind to support the good ones.

And for some misguided reasons, he thinks you’re one of those.

Compared to the fury he unleashes when he fights, the patience and softness he never fails to show you makes your heart flutter. It’s like he’s afraid he could hurt you more than life already did, no matter how many times you assure him he won’t. You’re pretty sure he would do anything you ask him to - he did kiss you that one time you asked, a few nights ago, both of you drunk on cheap whisky. Plush lips finding yours, callused hands gently holding the side of your face, his breath hot on your skin. The memory is brought back at the front of your mind, heat settling low in your belly.

This time it’s different though, he’s the one initiating whatever this is.

He moves his hips ever so slightly, unwillingly bringing your attention to his crotch and you can see how tight the fabric of his jeans has become. He follows your gaze but before he gets embarrassed, your eyes dart to his and in a bold move you lift your free hand to touch his thigh. Your own way to say this is ok. His lips part, and he shifts a bit again, unconsciously, pressing against your pelvic bone, the feeble friction enough to send a pleasant tingle in your body. You admire his calm and his sense of self-control though, because despite the now very visible desire burning in him, the blade on your throat is steadier than ever. Your hand leaves his thigh and slowly but surely wraps around his fingers on the handle of the knife. The tension is thick, the silence is deafening, the only noises your shallow breaths and the sound of fabric each time Castle is grounding your hips harder with his own.

You guide his hand with your own, removing the blade from your throat and as his pupils go wide, you bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss against the smooth steel. The gesture is both obscene and pious at the same time, like you’re paying respect to some holy relic, worshipping his own ability to take lives, revering the dark God he is.

“Fuck, girl…” he lets out in a growl, voice laced with admiration and with something else, something very unholy .

You’re actually surprised he allowed you to move his own arm, letting you take some control. The realization emboldens you. Maybe this will work . Frank Castle is too busy processing the aching fire that consumes him to anticipate your sudden attack. A mean twist of his wrist brings the knife to his own throat. The surprise makes him let go of your other hand, and you’re able to push him hard in the middle of his chest, your upper body surging up, legs coming out from under him. He tumbles backward, he’s swearing and laughing at the same time, like he’s actually amazed you managed to unsettle him. I can do it. You crawl on the floor as fast as you can, quickly grabbing the previously discarded gun and you turn around, aiming at him. I’ve got you Frank Castle, I won . He chuckles and raises his hands, surrendering to you.

“Not fast enough” you taunt him “but I liked the spirit”. You get up on your feet, and lower your aim. “Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two.” This time you’re pushing your luck and you know it.

Frank smiles, and he gets up as well. He’s not wearing his Punisher gear, just his civilian clothes, a simple black shirt with sleeves rolled up, the thin fabric taut over his firm chest. Even from across the room, even without the kevlar vest, it’s impossible to forget how tall and broad he is, how the muscles of his forearms flex when he rubs the palm of his hand, how the bulge in his jeans leaves nothing to the imagination. You’re not the only one to stare though. Dark eyes are roaming your body, making your cheeks go red under his searing gaze.

A few seconds ago, you thought your training session was over but now you’re afraid your little stunt has done nothing to make him want to stop. And truth be told, you don’t want it to stop. Don’t want him to stop.

“Never lower your gun.” he breaks the silence, husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You still have a lot to learn, little girl.” he adds darkly, a smirk on his handsome face.

“Show me, then.” you reply too quickly for your own sake.

In a heartbeat, he’s on you, prying the gun from your hand, crushing you against the wall. There’s a split second of hesitation before his lips are on yours. His strong body pressed flush against your trembling figure, the tight knot of repressed desire finally snapping. And it feels good, so good you’re pretty sure your legs will give up under you. But it doesn’t matter because he’ll catch you, he’ll get you, of that you’re sure.

You know you’ve lost this round. But defeat has never tasted more like victory than now.

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.1)

Title: Lost in Zero Gravity (Part One) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don't like to share. Words: 2,823 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: I know for sure this is going to be two parts at least

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“Where did you get this skirt?” your coworker, Elisha, asked touching the black fabric when you came up to her side.

“Online. Do you like it?” you asked giving her a spin.

“Yeah, just don’t move too fast or the whole room is gonna get an eyeful of your ass. Isn’t this supposed to be a classy event?” she joked. “I love the top too, the long sleeves and off the shoulder. From the back, you’re very covered but then you see the front and it’s like bam! Titties and leg slits straight up to the hips.”

“I liked the off the shoulder myself,” you commented. You touched her dress and said, “The satin is nice. And you’re one to be talking about titties showing.”

“Isn’t that what draws these idiot rich men in?”

“Too true.”

Your face must have fallen because she asked, “You alright?”

“I’m a little uncomfortable about this party,” you admitted.

She nodded, “I know. Me too.”

“Really? I felt stupid for being worried.”

“No. Don’t be. There are a lot of dangerous people in there. Rich, but dangerous.”

“At least we know Tatiana will cut someone off if they show they’re violent. Too bad one of us has to prove that first but still… it’s a comfort knowing you hopefully won’t be going back with a sadist who wants to just beat someone up.”

“In a bad way,” Elisha chimed in, a smirk playing on her lips, giving you a nudge.

You laughed and agreed, “Yes, in a bad way. I like getting beat up, just in a certain way.”

Elisha held out her arm and asked, “Shall we? Make sure the other girls don’t get all the good ones?”

The two of you walked in, arms looped. The room was decorated beautifully. Shimmering garlands hung from the ceiling setting a low glow to the room. The two of you were offered slender glasses of champagne upon entry. You knew to sip, it would not serve you to be drunk. That was a rookie mistake. Servers moved in and out of the crowd with small plates of appetizers and Elisha dropped your arm to stop one, making sure to grab two of the toothpicks to get you one as well as a plate went by.

“That’s deep fried,” she said holding it out to you.

“Can’t pass that up,” you replied, taking it and biting into it. “Mhm, crab.”

“You know I sign up for these high-end parties for a reason,” Elisha intoned and you smiled as you tossed the toothpick into a plant. “Y/N!”

“What? I’m not gonna carry it around like a little weapon.”

She could not stifle her laughter and she followed your movement, tossing it into the plant. The two of you took a drink of your champagne and then linked arms again, moving away from the plant, shooting a look around to make sure no one had noticed.

“I wonder who you’re going ‘home’ with tonight,” you teased, your eyes moving around the room.

You caught eyes with a man and you crumbled under his intense gaze. You inhaled deeply, staring anywhere but at him.

“What’s wrong?” Elisha asked you, leaning in close.

“Um, think I got one,” you said quietly, turning with her to change direction nonchalantly. “But I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like about it?”

“He’s probably one of the most dangerous people in this room. I was hoping to land a small fish.”

Elisha muttered underneath her breath, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You mean whores can’t be picky.”

“I was being polite to us.” She nudged you slightly. “Who is it though?”

“Tony fucking Stark.” She inhaled sharply and you breathed out, “Yeah, bitch. I know.”

“Wanna disappear?”

“Does that ever work once they get their eyes on you?”

“No.”

“Right. So… maybe just keep acting normal. Keep going in a different direction than him. And maybe he’ll lose interest and find someone else?”

“Does that ever work?” she asked you now, snorting.

You inhaled deeply and shot her a look, which she only returned a smirk. “No.”

The time moved on and you tried avoiding looking over in his direction. One, it would look desperate, and you were trained to not look desperate. And second, well… you did not want to draw anymore unnecessary attention to yourself. Yet, out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone approaching you and you had a pretty good feeling who it was.

He came to your side and you turned your head to look at him.

“Hi,” you smiled calmly even though you were doing somersaults inside.

“Fine night isn’t it?” he asked, saying the code phrase. It was for the customers to make sure they were actually speaking to one of you and not some random girl who would take offense if they asked them to come back with them.

“It’s splendid,” you responded, nodding. Elisha’s embrace fell from yours and you knew she was leaving like she should. You wished she would not though. He was terribly handsome but he made you nervous.

Tony’s eyes were light at hearing you were who he thought you were. He stepped closer, saying softly into your ear. “How would you feel about coming back to the room with my friend and I?”

That was not an unusual request, you had had threesomes before. They brought in more money, not that you thought that would be an issue for them. You had just not had someone like Tony fucking Stark asking you to have a threesome.

You took his arm, smiling sensually. “I’d love it. This party is getting boring anyway.”

Tony chuckled, “Isn’t that the truth? Everyone in here jacking themselves off about helping the next hurricane by stuffing their faces and donating money without actually lifting a finger when the time comes.”

He took your champagne from you and placed it on a server’s plate who was walking by without batting an eye. You did not miss the server’s jaw clench at him putting a dirty cup on it, but they said nothing, moving on like nothing happened. Tony took your hand and led you out of the room. He made small talk and you reciprocated; arms linked in the elevator. His cologne smelled delicious and his eyes were beautiful. You wondered where his friend was though? Maybe in the room already.

The room was a suite, beautifully designed in architecture and aura.

“Drink?” Tony asked you, moving away from your side towards the mini bar.

“What do you have?”

“Bourbon.”

You shrugged, “Not really my thing but thank you all the same.”

“Polite,” Tony mused, pouring himself a glass. “The bedroom is through there. I’ll follow shortly.”

You followed the direction he pointed and walked through the doorway. You stopped only for a moment seeing a man sitting in a plush armchair near the bed.

Oh Christ, you thought to yourself recognizing the man on sight.

Steve Rogers.

Not only were you with two men but they happened to be two of the biggest mob bosses in the city. You could not fuck this up. Who knew what men like them did when they were upset.

You brushed your shock off quickly and cocked your head. “What did I do to deserve this honor?”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile and he said, “Looking as beautiful as you do, I would say that we are the one being honored. Not the other way around.”

Despite your nervousness, you smiled at this and said, “A charmer. I like it.”

He had taken off his suit jacket and vest, sitting there with his tie loosened. He had a drink on the nightstand next to him and picked it up, taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. You felt like you could melt underneath his salacious gaze.

Tony entered the room from behind you, an envelope in his hand. He held it out to you and you took it, getting the business out of the way right off the bat. You did not dare insult him by checking to see if all the cash was there.

He held out a couple more hundreds and your brow furrowed. “No protection.”

Your eyes moved between the two of them before you asked, “You’re clean?” Tony cocked his head and you said, “That’s a risk. You know I have to ask.”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled. “Yeah, clean. But, baby, you were going to be sucking our dicks. Does your cunt really matter if it was gonna be all evident over your face?”

He had a point. “Touche.”

You snatched the bills from him and shoved them into your clutch. He took the purse from you then and placed it on the dresser. His large hand came to your waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin there.

Nodding towards where Steve was sitting, he suggested, “Why don’t you get him worked up?”

“Is he not already?” you asked coyly, eyes flicking down to where his dick was outlined in his slacks.

Steve’s lips curled into a smile, repeating your words to you, “Charming. I like it.”

You left Tony’s grasp, coming to stand in front of Steve. You wasted no time taking your clothes off with a flair, coming to stand in front of him in your lingerie. Steve’s fingers toyed with the strap at your hip, his eyes raking up and down your frame. You moved into his lap, feeling his length through his slacks, brushing your thigh. His lips were soft, but his kisses were rough, his hands slipping down to cup your ass, squeezing tightly. You grinded your pelvis against him and his breath caught against the friction; he really was already that hard.

Pulling away from him, your hands ghosted down his neck and onto his shoulders. Slinking out of his lap, you sunk to your knees before him. You pulled his belt off, tossing it over the arm of the chair and helped him shimmy his pants down, freeing his length. Starting slow, you teased him. He tasted salty as your tongue traced the vein on the bottom of his cock. At the head, you ran your teeth gently across and he moaned, tossing his head back.

Your mouth was full of him, feeling him at the back of your throat. Increasing your speed, you moved more shallowly making sure to swirl your tongue as you sucked. When you made eye contact with him, he gave a groan, his fingers wrapping up tighter around your hair. You pulled away with an audible pop, saliva trailing from your mouth to his head.

Steve leaned forward, his free hand grasping your cheeks to hold you tightly as he smashed his lips to yours.

“Fucking slut,” he growled, his eyes blown wide with lust.

His hand came down, shoving the straps of your bra off. He fumbled with the clasp and he tossed it across the room. He pulled you up towards him, his mouth wet along your nipples. He gave a hard suck and you gasped. Steve chuckled and nipped, sucking your nipple in again. His hand smacked your ass, drawing another strangled gasp and he fell back against the chair, a wolfish smile on his face as he stared up at you.

To your right, you caught sight of Tony who had gotten undressed during this.

“Come here,” Tony said, beckoning you with two fingers as he moved towards the bed.

He laid back down on the pillows, waiting for you. Coming to the bed, you took your underwear off before crawling on, bending over his erect cock. You ran a tantalizing lick up his length, keeping direct eye contact with him. Your mouth enveloped him, sliding down slowly. The bed shifted with Steve’s weight and you felt his head at your entrance. He slipped in with ease, his hands gripping your hips.

Tony held your head in place as you bounced with Steve’s thrusts. You choked against his cock which only made him more aroused, him biting his lip, holding you tighter. Steve was driving deep and Tony gave you a breather as Steve’s thrusts became unbridled.

Your mouth was rubbing up against his dick and he demanded, “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir,” you gasped, before he shoved his dick right back in your mouth.

You could barely breathe with his cock shoved down your throat.

“You fucking like that? Choking on my dick?” You hummed a response against his dick as he continued ramming into the back of your throat. He chuckled darkly, “Couldn’t quite catch that. But I’m assuming it was good.”

Tony’s precum coated your mouth and you only thought of him finishing in your mouth. You would happily swallow every drop.

Steve came with a shout, his cock twitching inside you. You tried to lurch away from the feeling, but he held tight, emptying fully. You moaned, your mouth still full of Tony’s cock. You heard Steve sigh with relief at his release from behind you. His grip fell lax and he moved away from you and off the bed.

Tony yanked you away from his dick. “On your back,” Tony ordered, twirling his finger in the motion.

You did as he asked, flopping back. He was on you in a second, entering you swiftly. It did not take him long to find release after you had been giving him out of this world head. Forehead pressed against yours, he emptied, strangled moans leaving his throat. You were dripping cum from both men, it no doubt leaking onto the sheets.

The two of you laid there panting for a few moments. You were still so wound up, wanting release. But that was not something you were always granted, and this seemed to be one of those times. At least you had given them both great orgasms. Happy customers, happy life.

That is until, Tony pulled away and his hand slipped to your sex.

“Let’s make sure you leave satisfied, darling. I wouldn’t wanna leave a bad impression,” Tony husked, stroking your clit.

You were not going to complain, letting him work you towards release. You knew it was not going to take long considering how close you had already been. You gripped his forearm, your pelvis thrusting towards him, broken cries leaving you. Your head fell back against the pillows and you came down gasping.

Tony was grinning down at the sight of you coming undone around his fingers.

“Aren’t you just a beautiful sight,” he said, running his eyes over you once more. He tore his gaze away from you and backed off. “I’ll give you some air.”

You laid on the bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. That went way better than you had expected. You had fallen into it so easily and not let your nerves get the better of you. Showed you were damn good at your job.

The shower was running in the bathroom where you assumed Steve was at because Tony had thrown on his boxers and grabbed a cigar, going out onto the balcony. You slipped out of bed, thinking briefly if it would be appropriate to clean yourself up in the bathroom. But you did not want to bother him.

Tugging your underwear back on, you tried to be quiet. You pulled your skirt back up and snatched your shirt off the table, pulling it back on.

As you were grabbing your purse, you saw your phone was lighting up with texts. Elisha was texting asking if you wanted to ride home with her cause she was done with whoever she had gone home with. You texted back quickly telling her you would meet her just as you heard the sliding glass door open back up and Tony come back inside.

“You don’t have to run off,” Tony commented, coming back from the balcony.

You held up your phone and said, “My friend wants company on the ride home. She doesn’t like riding alone at this time of night.”

“Hmm. Pity. But understandable.”

“Do you need me to stick around to say goodbye to your friend?”

“You know his name,” Tony chortled. “And no.”

“He didn’t properly introduce himself.”

“That is true. Neither did I.”

“Like you said… I know your names,” you said, raising your brows. You checked yourself in the mirror, making sure you did not look like a total trainwreck.

Tony came up from behind you, pressing up against you. You looked at him through the mirror as he traced his hands down your sides. He was taking you in slowly and you did not mistake the hunger in his eyes.

He locked eyes with you through the mirror and said in a low voice, “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

Your heart was pounding as you left the hotel suite. Did you just become a go to for them?

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21