#I WISH I COULD WRITE MORE all i do now is learn my silly little organic chemistry reactions and do my silly little physics example problems

[grimmweepers]

even before i started reading i was SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG at the content tags. it’s so up my alley and i knew i was going to love this. i wish i could idk take this all in and rub it all over my body and eat it hehe.

but courtney!!!! where has your writing been all my life!! i can’t believe this is your first time writing sukuna. you write him so amazingly and you have such an eloquent way of setting the scene and describing feelings that i just feel so immersed. it genuinely feels like i’m getting pulled away when i have to stop reading. and a whopping 8.3k words… you have spoiled me 🥹💖

i also really appreciate how you characterised reader (me… i can’t believe it!!!). every dialogue reader says just has me nodding and agreeing and cheering her on because i, too, would say those things. while i was reading i made a list of parts that made me unwell /pos because i tend to do that when i read and if you do not mind, it does involve screaming so be prepared !!!! :

They carry the weight of something unspoken a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity it will not be done poorly.”

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate

HE IS SO LOVING IN THE MOST SUBTLE AND SUKUNA-ESQUE WAYS IM SO GOOEY RN!!!!!!

i’ll just be including this entire thing because it’s so beautifully written and i still can’t believe it’s about me.

YOU ARE SO THOUGHTFUL AND I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I ACKNOWLEDGE AND AM OBSESSED WITH THESE EASTER EGGS. love changes people and if this isn’t the most crystal clear form of proof….

the whole hansel and gretel scene made me giggle. his nodding of approval when they spoke about eating the kids and luring them in lmfaooo!!!! i’m crying KGVAJAHAAJABNWJWAHAN and i love the way you characterised his tummy mouth to be like a lil puppy. it almost makes it endearing, especially imagining it dusted with cookie crumbs and frosting hehe so silly

“This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

I LAUGHED OUT LOUD

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

ANOTHER FAVE. he can sound like such a baby sometimes HAHAHAHHAHAAH poor ‘kuna getting hot and bothered by christmas

OH AND THE PART AT THE SOFA WHERE WE WHERE WE WHERE WE AHGQBAJFQBHANHABAJQHQBWNJQVABAJWHWVWBJWHWBWKJWBWNWKWJWBWNWKHWBWNWJWBWBWJWJBW WJWJWBWNWJWJWBW SKWKWJBWWKWK sigh that’s all i have to say about that

AND WAIT THERES MORE…. WITH HIS TUMMY TONGUE KISSING ME NOW HFFGABAJAJQHABAJAJBANAKAJABAJAKAJANP. that scene was so absolutely HOT. it’s only 12:30pm here but i just woke up and wow what a way to start the day. i never thought i’d say this but sukuna is so adorable trying to guess what i’m gifting him

OH MH GOD HE GIFTED ME PERFUMEEEEEEEEEE THAT HE CRAFTED HIMSELF AND IT SOUNDS SO PERFECT AND ETHEREAL I WISHED I HAD IT IN MY HANDS RIGHT THIS INSTANCE 😭😭😭 the blends the notes - i wish it were real. courtney this is the best!!!!!

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction

the sheer rawness in this paragraph. i’m in awe. i’m also hushed because the way you write makes me cry. you really explain him in the same way i view him :(

“And I see you, Ryu.”

AND WHAT IF I DIED WHAT THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM TEARING UP. THIS IS TERRIBLE. MY HEART IS JUMPING OUT OF MY CHEST

The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

hehe what can i say… spiders scare me… monsters don’t … like sukuna

AHFDHFHFJJGBA AND THE END. thank you so so so so much for the gift. i can tell you really did your research and i am eternally grateful and will be keeping this close to my wee heart. i don’t talk about sukuna all that often anymore but he was my first ship and first comm ever EVER! so he will always remain special to me. and lately i’ve been feeling a little doubtful about that ship. only because i begin to wonder if our personalities would even mesh well which would inevitably lead to me getting insecure about sukuna becoming soft for me. but the fic - your gift - showed me that even after all these years, ryukuna can still work. that he can love me. and that i can love him while still being myself. i’m so sorry this is so rambly and long. i woke up with my heart a lil heavier today for unrelated reasons but this just made me feel 1999999616161881 times better. you have such a way with words that scratches an itch in my brain and i know i will be coming back to this when i miss sukuna or when i’m feeling sad. every time you referred to me as Queen i get a little giddy. because even without sukuna, that is the type of confidence i should have. that’s how i should see myself. i am a fiery woman by nature so it’s a huge affirmation seeing myself depicted this way. in fact reading this might give me the confidence to talk about him more and even write about him again. what a wonderful thing gifts can be :[

courtney thank you for your time and kindness and thoughtfulness and talent and all of the above ! may YOU have a merry christmas and may YOUR heart always be full <3 i am elated!! on cloud 9!!

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

[star-girl69]

New Romantics

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you and clarisse meet during a capture the flag game, In A Good Way prequel!!

a/n: IM SO GLAD EVERYONE LIKES MY CLARISSE FIC ☹️☹️☹️☹️ i have so many planned but i just wanted to say thank you all sm!!!! this one is so silly….. i hope you all enjoy!!

LMK IF YOU WANNA BE ON MY CLARISSE TAGLIST!!!!!!

New Romantics - Taylor Swift

warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of death and blood, insane clarisse bc she gets a LITTLE too into capture the flag, protective clarisse obvi i will never write a fic without her showing up, clarisse makes me SWOON if you couldn’t tell, not proofread we get turned into pine trees like thalia over here, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Your legs ache. You’ve been at Camp Half Blood all your life, but you just spent the entire school year doing absolutely nothing. It was an adjustment. You’re already being forced into the horrible tradition of capture the flag. You met up with your favorite and best friends Jackie and Tyla at the beginning of summer, and you’ve all been attached to the hip ever since.

The three of you thought you could escape to a random part of the woods and skip out.

It’s not like you were lazy, or couldn’t hold your own in a fight- but you had just taken turns doing each others nails yesterday, and it would be such a shame to see them all smudged and broken.

You were on the red team, so you watched as the incomparable Clarisse La Rue ran around instructing everyone what to do- completely skipping past the three of you. Jackie took it to heart, complaining about how she had lasted two minutes sparring with Clarisse once, and she had no right to label all Aphrodite kids as weak and useless.

You remember the night you finally made it to the crest of camp, blood staining your hands, your satyr protector dead on the ground behind you as some monster you didn’t know the name of chased after you.

The three of you thought maybe a nice walk at the edge of the woods would be nice, when suddenly a squadron of the blue team came running out trying to catch you as prisoners. It wasn’t a rule of the game, but it was generally expected that that the winner had more prisoners, or else the victory just didn’t seem right.

The blue team saw Aphrodite kids as easy targets to pick off.

This felt all too familiar to that stormy light, your pounding heart, looking around as everything crashed around you. One of them even jumped down from the freaking trees, and you screamed at the top of your lungs as all three of you sprinted off into different directions.

There was only one chasing behind you, a Hermes kid you didn’t know the name of, but he was fast on your tail.

Just as you had reached the crest of the hill, you screeched at the top of your lungs as you saw four figures in front of you. A satyr. Two girls. One boy.

“Not another one,” the stayr moaned, before beckoning you towards them. You stayed frozen in place. The monster was big and slow, but you could hear it approach.

The boy held out his hand.

“I promise,” he breathed, locking eyes with the smaller girl, maybe a year or two younger than you, before looking up at the older girl. You could tell she was battle hardened, she was ready to win this. “We’ll all make it to camp.”

Both monsters chasing you let out ear-piercing roars, and you quickly slapped your hand into his and sprinted away.

Thalia, you would later learn her name, didn’t survive that night. But you did. Luke did. Annabeth did.

The three of you will forever be bonded by that, even if you’re on different teams in capture the flag. Gods, you wish it was Luke chasing you right now- but it’s not.

You’ve forgotten everything about swords and fighting in exchange for the Russian Revolution and the Periodic Table. You hate school even more in this moment.

He reaches out towards you and you’re distracted by his hand touching your shoulder, heart pounding in your ears, and you trip right over a root and stumble before falling to the ground.

You faintly see the flash of bronze armor pass you, then you suddenly hear a body slam into the ground. You whip around, only to find a girl wearing a red-tipped helmet on top of the boy chasing you.

“Clarisse!” she shouts. “I got him!”

You breathe heavily, watching at the boy yells and tries to buck her off of him, but you faintly remember seeing her constantly around Clarisse. She must be another Ares kid, which means there’s no way she’s letting this Hermes kid gets away.

Clarisse saunters out of the woods on your left, looking between you and the boy on the ground.

You sit up on your hands, watching it all play out, not able to catch your breath.

She smiles, slow, like a cheshire cat.

Gods, why does she have to look like that? Why does she have to smile like that? Why does she have to make you feel this way?

Why doesn’t she just drop the spear and make out with you?

“So, this is the dummy who thinks it’s funny to chase around Aphrodite kids,” she says, slowing walking turns him. The girl holds up his head so he has to look at Clarisse. She places the end of her spear into the dirt. She leans down in front of him. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Aphrodite cabin is on the red team, right? Right?”

The girl tugs his head up and he winces, but nods.

“And who captains the red team? Cause I think it’s me, isn’t it?”

He’s learned his lesson. He nods quickly, now.

“I’m feeling nice today. Why don’t you apologize to the pretty girl, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

His eyes lock with yours. He says nothing.

“I said apologize, dumbass.”

He glares at Clarisse.

“You’re fucking insane.”

She laughs a bit. “It’s capture the flag, Zander, why are you not getting a little crazy? Chasing after Aphrodite kids is just embarrassing, honestly.”

“Fine,” he spits. “Fucking fine. I’m sorry.”

“Was that so hard?” she coos. She nods, and the girl let’s him go.

Holy Hades if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

He runs straight off into the woods after a moment, when he realizes they’re not gonna chase after him, not now at least.

The other girl turns to you. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dust off your knees. “There’s more of them by the edge, just so you know. Just north of the river.”

The girl smiles. “Gods, yes. Fuckin’ love destroying the Hermes cabin.”

Clarisse turns to you. She tilts her head to the side, watching you breath heavily on the ground. She sticks out your hand. Your grab it quick, scared she might pull away, and her hand is so warm and fits perfectly with yours. She pulls you up and you dust off your knees.

The other girl takes off running, following the boy, yelling for Clarisse to hurry up.

She smiles a bit, and you swear to Zeus her cheeks are a little flushed, you swear she looks at your lips for a second.

She brushes her thumb across her cheek.

“You’ve got some dirt on your face, gorgeous.”

She runs off before you can say anything, electrical spear crackling to life.

Oh, you fucking love capture the flag.

—-

clarisse “you’ve got some dirt on your face, gorgeous” la rue the woman you are

—-

[sordidmusings]

Age Gap (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: for @soft-mafia since she wanted more age gap Buggy! Mostly bulleted like a headcanon but has two little drabbles sprinkled in cuz I couldn't help myself. I will be posting a continuation of this actually writing out the scene mentioned at the end, but I wanted to get this out now.

Word count: ~2.6 k

Warnings: obviously an age gap but the younger one is mentioned to be in their 20s, fem!reader, NSFW mentioned at the end, alcohol consumption, probably (hopefully) silly humor, the touch starved shows hardcore for a second there, tried my best to get Buggy right but you know how it be especially because he exists as an amalgam of LA and anime Buggy in my brain

Now come get y'all dopamine

I imagine you joined Buggy’s crew largely looking for that found family goodness then found out how much you’d never been taken care of and how much you craved it

One day while going through the different acts you were learning from the crew trying to find what stuck, you took a decent fall. Not the kind that breaks bones, but the kind where you just gotta lay there a sec and recalibrate how you got to this point

After some laughter (I mean come on it is a crew curated by Buggy and they could tell it wasn’t serious), the nearby crew surrounded you to check on you. While you were breathlessly saying you’re fine from your position on the floor, they parted to reveal the Captain coming to your side:

Buggy bent down to loom over you. The shadow he cast over your face was a welcome break from the bright overhead lights. You just wished that the way they haloed him didn’t make it so hard to see the laughter on his face.

“Good form! I think we could just throw you around to see you flail like that as your act - you’d be our finest comedy routine.” His voice was thick with sarcasm and giggles. However, his detached arms were gentle when they lifted you from the floor. They changed to posing outstretched with his hands on your shoulders and he walked into them to reattach. He looked you up and down before circling around you, all the while his hands were nudging you this way and that for his inspection. Once he was back at your front, he changed to brushing some dirt from your arms and shoulders. You didn’t speak for fear of interrupting this attention you were receiving from him.  He seemed to suddenly snap to clarity anyway.

“RIGHT.” Vocal control? Who is she? Buggy doesn’t know her. “So either get better at what you’re doing or actually fall on purpose. Wouldn’t want you fucking up that money maker.” He was already walking away when one detached hand gave your cheek two brisk pats and he made himself scarce.

It was obvious to you and everyone else how much you ate up his attention. The soft look you were still giving the direction he went in was damn near sickening. It was then you understood your purpose here - becoming Buggy’s spoiled lapdog.

Luckily for you, that was also the moment Buggy realized how his body buzzed when he touched you and how he lit up when you looked up at him with pretty, wide eyes. 

Unluckily, he also decided that being near you would lead down a dangerous route of him needing more and more of you and he was positive that he was just being some old creep over a pretty little thing like you.

This led to a game where Buggy would try to keep you at arm’s length while he battled both his own desire to be around you and your seemingly supernatural ability to just appear next to him at all times.

He wasn’t great at the arms distance thing even when he thought he was nailing it because nailing it to him was being in his natural space as the center of attention and only checking (immediately and desperately) that you were watching and approving of whatever he was doing. The way his head would always snap to you for your reaction was neither subtle nor discouraging to your rapidly growing infatuation.

You decided that orbiting his personal space wasn’t working well enough. Sure, he’d give you a hit of what you wanted with some fleeting touches and mostly disguised compliments but you needed more. Hurting yourself intentionally so that he would take care of you didn’t seem like a sustainable option, so you settled on playing his own game. Time to practice owning a room.

This could be a dangerous game to play. You were certain that blatantly taking the spotlight would just make him upset with you not that you’d mind him taking that out on you. You settled on more subtle things like spreading your attention more through the crew instead of mostly on him, being more focused and daring in your training, participating more in the many games that broke out when the alcohol did, and dressing a bit more intentionally (whether that’s flashier colors, eye-catching accessories, bold makeup, new or intricate hairstyles, etc.) 

The boldest card you played was feeding more into any of the flirting you received.

He has a freak show, yes, but have you ever seen how fine circus performers are?? Full fun costumes are It and also the tasks they have to perform either help them get conventionally attractive bodies and/or the rizz that comes with performing feats (just look at the traction Fryboy has gained with women like damn why he kinda-). Due to that, you’re around attractive people all the time.

While the flirting is for the purpose of pushing Buggy’s buttons, you must admit that it wasn’t a hard habit to keep up and may help inflate your ego.

Your attempts have mixed results. Buggy’s desire to claim you grew but so did his insecurity

In his mind, you look more natural next to one of the younger lookers in his crew while he’s certain the pair of you must look ridiculous together. It’s this very insecurity that’s gonna make it necessary for you to bluntly and shamelessly throw yourself at him both repeatedly and with no room for questions:

You have no clue what else you can do to get through that thick skull of his. You’re on your knees, quite literally at that. You figured that kneeling in front of that circus throne while he’s laid himself all over it would be enough to break the man. Enough to break any man, really, but he’s still finding ways to deflect you.

Buggy nodded his head to a nearby open seat. “You know they made chairs to be comfortable and your dumb ass is on the floor. That drunk already?” he snorted. Maybe choosing to do this during one of the many celebrations (you think this one is for one week of no one pregaming for show runs. ironic.) was a bad idea. You had been banking on some drinks loosening up whatever was holding him back.  It always made you snicker when you entertained the idea of it being from a sense of propriety. Checking in on the situation, you could see how all the chaos going on around you two made it easier for him to keep his eyes off of you and his ears unfocused. Earlier, you had counted it as a plus that working up a buzz would help you bulldoze through his stubbornness. You had forgotten that any alcohol in your system would make for the perfect excuse for him to write you off.

“I’ve barely started my third drink,” you started with a pout, “and I’d be ashamed if that’s enough to get me drunk after all the time spent on your crew.”

“Then you are just being stupid.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. Okay. Attention didn’t work. Compliments didn’t work. Kneeling didn’t work. Time for some big guns.

You shifted to the side so you’d be sitting towards your left hip with your bent legs beside you. Your drink found its way to your right hand but, most importantly, your chin found its way onto Buggy’s left knee. It brought you so close to where you’d really like to put yourself to work, and, man, was the temptation strong with the way his right leg was slung over the armrest of his seat. How did he expect you to stay away when he was serving himself up on a platter like this?

Buggy was definitely giving you his undivided attention now. His gaze was dark and slightly accusatory. The lighting matched with his makeup made him look more dangerous than usual. The nerves it sent through you might have had you back right off. Instead you held your ground because you saw his pulse hammer against his neck. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed. You saw his pink tongue contrast with red as he licked his lips and gave a shaky exhale.

While you were starting to settle into your bold move, Buggy was becoming more and more antsy. His grip on his glass became white-knuckled under his gloves, and he tried to give himself time to think by taking a huge gulp of his drink. Why did you have to look at him like that? So pleading? The angle from his lap made your lashes darken your eyes and it was impossible for him to keep the image of your hooded gaze about a foot closer to him out of his head. What did you want from him? You’d denied his accusations about money or intel so what the fuck could it be? Was this a game? Get in the pants of the Captain for preferential treatment and go back to whoever else you had in your palm on the crew to laugh about him falling for it?

You noticed his mood turning sour so you decided to interrupt whatever was tumbling around his head. “I think I could get much more comfy right here.” To prove a point, you dragged your chin to his inner thigh, right above his knee, and snuggled your cheek into his leg. His pants weren’t the softest against your skin but he was so addictingly warm through them. Your eyes briefly fluttered shut to enjoy the sensation before you looked back up at him and flirtatiously said, “I’m comfiest next to you.”

His hands itched with the need to grab you by the hair and force your face right where he needed you. Instead he scoffed at you. “Suuuuure. And why’s that, princess?”

“You make me smile,” you admitted immediately. His startled gaze met your lovesick one and you realized what you said and how quickly you said it. Too close to emotionally vulnerable; time to backtrack a touch. You want to get the role as his trophy before you even attempt to approach the title of Love of His Life. “You also said that you take care of your crew and I’m on your crew, right? So you’ll take care of me.”

The cheeky smile you spoke through melted him. An achingly deep sigh left him while his right hand detached from the arm to deposit his drink on the floor next to you. Quickly, it flew back to its limb. Both of your hearts pumped fire through your chests as he reached that hand out towards you. Buggy took his time stroking his fingers from your forehead into your hair. When his palm came down to join the gesture, you were very happy to realize that his hand was just as warm as the thigh still under your cheek. You shuffled closer so your legs squeezed in between his foot and the left leg of his throne. Buggy shuddered when he felt your fingertips graze the back of his calf and spread out like a star so you could grab it. Using your new grip, you snuggled more firmly into his leg and let yourself buzz off of getting this new touch from your Captain.

Ulterior motives be damned, Buggy couldn’t give them any credence when you looked so happy to sit at his feet and receive such a simple touch. He should probably laugh and call you a needy puppy to regain some control over the situation. Instead, he slipped his hand down the side of your head.  He massaged his fingertips into the base of your skull and said, “I’ll take care of you, little star.”

Once he has accepted that you’re serious there will be jokes about the dynamic but do not be fooled - he can only dish it out and WILL spiral if he receives any type of comment about how much older he is (the word geriatric is punishable by death)

Sometimes the joke is him patronizingly treating you like a child (you almost socked him right there at the dinner table when some food came at your face with accompanying airplane noises)

Sometimes it’s calling you a gold digger (“then where’s my allowance, huh?” “OH so my gIFTS AREN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW? YOU were the one ACTUALLY CRYING over me buying you that wonky ass stuffed seal with the lopsided face!!” “HIS NAME IS JERRY AND YOU WILL SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT”)

Sometimes it’s just dumb shit like pointing at the type of girl’s clothing store that has made a contract with God to own all the pinks and pastels the world has to offer before turning to you straight faced and asking if you want to stop in to look. Any way this man can think to goof, he will.

And it’s tooooootally a coping mechanism to process the fact that he’s nearly forty and dating a twenty-something and not at all because joking around with you has become one of his basic survival needs

The dynamic ends up helping both of y’all feel special - you have a hot, boisterous, spotlight-stealing pirate captain pampering (and then making a mess of) you while he gets a beautiful, capable, eye-catching young thing looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky

Nothing goes to Buggy’s head more than when you walk into a room full of people, attractive ones especially, and only see him.

He loves anything that makes it obvious to others that you are his, whether that's him draped over you, you draped over him, red stains on the back of your hands, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead, your neck, having his jolly roger on your outfit, having you in his hat or coat

This very much extends to him wanting anyone and everyone to overhear you in the bedroom. Everyone should know you're his and he's the only one who can make you feel so good

Don't worry, they'll also get the message that he's yours from all the moaning and praises

He gives you endless pet names but always comes back to “sweet stuff”, “sweets”, “princess”, “star”, “prima donna” (affectionate), “prima donna” (derogatory), and anything preceded by “little” (“little showstopper”, “little tease”, very rarely “little girl” if he feels especially like exerting power over you)

He prides himself on making you feel cared for and safe. Instead of feeling like a chore he has to do because he’s in the ‘older man’ role, he loves the way you preen under his attention and how you happily return the favor.

When in the Cross Guild Era, Buggy started going to all meetings with you by his side then on his thigh. It was a good defensive strategy because the other two seemed more hesitant to throttle him if you were in the way, but lets be real this man is also clingy and loves showing you off too.

At first he found it offensive that Mihawk and Croc were so disbelieving at the sight of you happily perched on your captain’s lap but then it made him the smuggest motherfucker when he would see their eyes trail over you knowing that they can only look and he can touch however he wants. This leads to him pushing until he hit your boundary at leaving very visible marks on you

One time he fucked you stupid right before a meeting so that you wouldn’t think about the bite mark surrounded by red makeup that kept playing peekaboo with your shirt collar (or the red smears between your thighs that showed whenever you shifted your legs)

[moonandstarshyuck]

"Always."

lando norris x gn!bf!reader

notes: I haven’t written since 2019, so bear with me. I’ve found myself thinking about a little blurb for Lando recently (actually a lot of ideas, but this one is sticking with me more than the others at the moment).

For some context, Lando’s been receiving a huge amount of hate online (and in-person) recently. I haven’t been a fan for that long—I got into F1 this summer, in 2024—but I’ve grown to care about him. I was there for Lando losing the championship, and while I think we all knew it would come to this (Max winning felt inevitable) but I’m proud of Lando for pushing so hard this entire year.

Still, with all the hate directed at him, I’m seeing a new side of him, and I’m learning that he’s a person with feelings like anyone else. I can tell he doesn’t always have the highest opinion of himself and tends to take the blame for anything that goes wrong during his races. What struck me about this is how much I relate to it. I blame myself for things out of my control or when I mess up. What sucks with Lando is that his small, human errors are what so many people focus on to criticize him—whether it’s why he didn’t win the championship or why they think he’s a bad person (which he absolutely isn’t).

The inspiration for this came from an interview he did after the Brazilian GP. At that point, everyone knew it was almost mathematically impossible for Lando to win the championship, and he talked about struggling in the aftermath: “I literally couldn’t sleep for the first two days…So I did like, what, 36-40 hours straight. So that probably made everything worse. When you’re tired, you’re more moody, and that kind of thing…I was just sat at home alone. It probably would have been better if I had been with my friends. But they don’t live in Monaco. They also have lives and are busy doing other things. And I’m a big overthinker, so like the whole flight home, the whole week, it just played over and over in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I do that? Why did I not do this? You start thinking of all the scenarios that you kind of blame yourself for, why it’s now not possible, that kind of thing. And yeah, because I overthink and I struggle with that kind of thing, that took a bigger toll in the days after. It wasn’t an easy time.”

And I keep on finding myself wishing someone could have been there for him in person, so that he was okay. So, I wrote this. The reader in this is dating Lando but is written as a gender-neutral character that uses They/Them pronouns. The reader also has a service dog, a Bernese Mountain Dog named Thunder, to help with their own depression and anxiety (I’m not an expert on service dogs, so this many not be 100% accurate).

They woke up that early morning to the sunlight shining on their face, streaming in from the window outside. The bliss of sleep clung to them as they lay there, cocooned in warmth, the covers snug around their body. They stretched lazily, blinking their eyes open.

Instinctively, they turned to look beside them—only to find the space next to them empty. It’s too early in the morning to be anywhere else but in bed, even for training, they thought. Lando should still be here.

The realization pulled them out of their sleepy haze. The past couple of days had been not kind to Lando. They knew that he had a tendency to keep his feelings bottled up and beat himself up over his perceived failures. They understood that feeling all too well—the guilt, the constant sense of disappointment, the nagging thought that were never good enough. They had wrestled with those feelings since they were a child.

It wasn’t something that had an easy fix. If they had found the answer, they would have shared it with Lando years ago. But they had learned that the best way to fight those thoughts wasn’t isolation. Talking to someone, writing feelings down, even simple positive affirmations—thought they might sound silly—could help push back against the negative spiral. They had told Lando this countless times.

But Lando had a problem with not wanting to “inconvenience” anyone with his emotions. No matter how many times they reassured him that they were always there for him, he struggled to let himself. They didn’t blame him—it was human to struggle against your own mind.

What made everything worse was the constant online hate. Every little mistake or sarcastic comment from Lando seemed to turn into an avalanche of criticism. They remembered the first time they’d seen him like a hateful comment about himself on Instagram—the little heart next to a cruel statement, paired with note: “Creator liked this.” It had broken their heart. How could the Lando they loved ever believe such awful things about himself?

After Brazil, it had been clear that he wasn’t okay. He’d barely spoken since coming home, choosing instead to himself. They had given him space, hoping he’d find a way to process his feelings. But by the second morning, when he still hadn’t come to bed—almost forty hours after returning home—they knew they couldn’t stand by any longer.

That morning, they rose slowly from the bed, a plan beginning to form in their mind. Lanod needed someone to step in—someone to remind him he didn’t have to face his struggles alone. They were determined to be that person for him.  They couldn’t take it anymore, seeing the person they loved so badly, punishing himself over his ‘failures.’

The first step was to confirm where he was. Grabbing their phone, they opened Twitch and navigated to Max’s stream. After a few moments of watching, they heard Lando’s voice—tired, strained, but unmistakably his. He was joking with Max, his words clipped, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. It was enough to break their heart. They opened their messages with Max.

Thunder's Owner

Lan’s streaming with you rn?

Sent at 7:48 AM.

After a few seconds, Max replied.

Maximilian

Yeah he’s on voice-only.

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Gonna do something about him?

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Max knew. Of course he did. He probably heard the exhaustion in Lando’s voice, the edge self-loathing that came with overthinking. They typed back quickly:

Thunder's Owner

Yeah

Sent 7:52 AM.

Going to unplug his setup and drag him out of there.

Sent 7:52 AM.

Maximilian

Lol.

Sent 7:52 AM.

I’ll keep an eye out for when he disappears.

Sent 7:53 AM.

Thunder's Owner

Thx

Sent 7:54 AM.

They quietly made their way to Lando’s gaming room and eased the door open. Lando sat at his desk, controller in hand, headset clamped over messy curls.  He looked worn down, his shoulders slumped as he focused on the screen. His voice through, muted put playful, as he bantered with Max.

For a moment, they just watched him. Even now, he was handsome, but the tiredness in his expression made their chest ache. He deserved rest. He deserved to feel okay. And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting here punishing himself.

As soon as Lando died in-game and leaned back in his chair, they seized the opportunity. They crossed the room, catching his attention when they came into view.

“Why’re you—” Lando began, frowning, but they didn’t let him finish. Reaching down, they unplugged everything from the wall.

“What the hell—” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair.

“No,” they said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m not you hurt yourself anymore. Get up.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback. “You can’t just do that!” he protested, but they were already tugging gently at him arm, urging him out of his chair.

“Angel, what are you—”

“No,” they repeated, their voice steady. “Get up,”

Lando hesitated for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and standing. They took his hand, leading him out of the gaming room and down the hall to the living room. He didn’t resist, but he followed like a man in a daze. Once they reached the couch, they turned to him. “Sit,” they said, pointing at the cushions. Lando raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue, but they shook their head. “Stay.”

They turned to Thunder, who had been waiting for them in the hallway, and told him, “Thunder, guard,” while pointing at Lando.

The dog immediately moved into position, standing alert in front of the couch. Lando’s eyes widened slightly as Thunder fixed him with an unblinking stare. He shifted as if to get up, but Thunder’s stance didn’t waver.

“Jeez, I wasn’t going to get up,” he mumbled to Thunder, but Thunder just sat there and watched him until he fully relaxed back into the couch.

The thought ran through Lando’s head, how he had honestly forgotten how menacing his own dog could look. He knew Thunder was trained, saw reminders of it daily with how he interacted with his partner, but he was still shocked at how trained Thunder really was at that moment.

Thunder was still staring at him when he pulled out his phone from his pocket, opening up his texts with Max.

LN

I was just dragged out of my gaming room and told to sit on the couch and like a dog.

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Not against it, but how tf did they get so determined?

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Thunder’s watching me right now.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

I forgot how menacing he could be.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

*Picture attached.*

Lol.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

He’s like ‘try me, I dare you’

Sent at 8:06 AM.

LN

Yeah, I don’t particularly want to try him

Sent at 8:07 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

They told me before they did it

Sent at 8:07 AM.

I just let them. Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

LN

Helpful. What if they were trying to  kill me?

Sent at 8:08 AM.

They wouldn’t have had to if you kept doing what you were doing.

Sent at 8:09 AM.

Lando’s let out a quiet sigh, Max’s words sinking in. He glanced at Thunder, who hadn’t moved, and felt a pang of guilt. He’d pushed himself too far again, and this time it had clearly worried his partner.

A few minutes later, his partner walked back into their living room. He thought they looked beautiful, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of boxers. They were entirely focused on the bowl they were carrying, and only looked up when they got close enough to hand it to him. He gently took the bowl, looked into it and saw it was one of his prep meals. While not his favorite breakfast, he knew he just needed to eat first, so he started taking bites.

He glanced up every so often, and each time he did, his partner was just sitting there and watching him eat. Lando almost chuckled at his own thought that they looked just like Thunder when watching him, and he smiled into his bowl at the thought. His partner didn’t see his smile, but he continued to eat until he had finished the bowl.

When he was done eating, he set the bowl down, and his partner again pulled him up by the crook of his arm. He just let them do so, having a thought of what was going to happen next.

His partner led them both down the hallway to their bedroom, and opened the door, leading him to sit on their bed, then they turned around and went to close their blinds and draw their black-out curtains to cover up the sunlight from the window. They had turned on their bedside lamp earlier, and the soft orange glow of the lamp permeated the room. They walked past him again, going to close the door after letting Thunder in, then they walked back to their side of the bed, and pulled him to lie down against them.

As he settled against their chest, he felt a bit odd, it being a bit of a difference to feel how much he was loved by them. How much they cared for him. And he finally spoke again, “Thank you.”

“Always, Lan. Always.” They replied, pressing a kiss to his hair.

And for the first time in days, he let himself sleep.

author's note: got inspired to actually write something for once...ty @koalapastries for the inspiration (unknowing inspiration but ty) (also sorry for using your layout outline

comments & reblogs appreciated

and i made the dividers :)

[melodic-haze]

Hellooo!!

I wanted to ask if you make content about Furina (I love your writing and Furina, so seeing that combined would be the BEST 😻) and if you do, could you write to needy!sub!Furina that after going through all that suffering for 500 years, she just want her girlfriend to take care of her and love her like she always needed?

Thank you!! :33

(and sorry for the bad English 😭)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Furina x dom!fem!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: None

☆ — NOTES: FIRSTLY THANK YOUUUU I'M FLATTERED YOU LOVE MY WRITING OMG???? And yes, I do make Furina content I love my silly thespian lesbian girlfailure :3 DON'T APOLOGISE DAWG your English isn't bad!!

I'd like you all to know I converted a Furina hater first of all with my extensive knowledge of ouji lolita clothing. But that's not what you wanted to see here

Being Furina's lover would be. Very much in need of constant attention, you right!!! Wish I could generalise it all but this is ME that's making this and ME making this means I have to actually Put My Mind into this 😭😭😭. Being in a relationship with her is NOT for the detached and the unavailable bc of just how needy she is

She's very! Attached to you! I think eventually she does learn to latch off and act independently without fear of losing the ones she loves (read: you), but it'd take a WHILE before she's at fully at peace with herself.......but rn she NEEDS to catch up on YEARS of intimacy

That DOES translate beyond a simple want for companionship however 😄

You wake up in the middle of the night to soft sounds from your beloved, whose back is turned towards you.

"'Rina..?" Your hands reached towards her in an attempt to let her know of your presence, "Babe, what's wrong?"

You see her shoulders still at your touch, her blanketed figure highlighted by the stream of moonlight escaping from the small gap between the curtains. You took it as a sign that perhaps touching her right now was a bad idea, so you draw your hand back.. but her hand darts to hold yours, squeezing desperately as she turns to look at you.

And oh, you could feel your heart shatter at the sight—tears streaming down her face, eyes glassy and a horrified expression that swiftly twists into relief at the sight of you.

What she says after breaks your heart even further as her voice cracks and loses its usual bravado, eyes meeting you and searching for something—reassurance, perhaps—in your moonlit gaze, "I'm not... This isn't a dream, right? You're-- you're here, I'm here, this is.. this is real. Please tell me this is real."

A former archon, no matter the authenticity, is pleading to you as if you were the god. Praying for some form of reassurance that she wasn't going to wake up cold and alone, doomed to be on the outside looking in as she performed and performed and performed for more times than she could ever possibly count.

"Yes. Yes, of--" You swallowed your initial response (saying that 'of course it's real' would do her no good), "I'm real. This is all real. And I am not going to let you go until you believe it yourself."

"I need-- I need to feel you, to know you're not just saying what I want to hear," her free hand frantically went underneath your shirt, grasping onto your waist as she ducked her head and mumbled into your collar. You could feel fresh tears dampen your skin.

"..Are you sure?"

"Mhm."

"No, no, come on." You gently combed through your hair with her fingers, "Look at me."

No answer.

"Furina. Please."

..It takes a little bit, but she does end up following through.

"Are you completely sure? I don't want to do anything if--"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"..Okay." You moved above her, placing your knee in between her thighs, "But if you need me to stop or you want a break, do not keep quiet."

"Thank you."

NeedneedneedNEEEEED to take care of babyyyy :(((

She's veryyyyy needy PLEASE take care of her. NO rough sex this time, I need her to be treated juuuust like the girlprince that she is :((((( which means giving her so much love to the point where she CANNOT handle it❗️❗️ Poor girl doesn't know what to do when she's been basically in isolation for so long, only to now have someone so undeniably special to her REASSURING her that she's not going to be alone. If that meant overwhelming her and winding her up in the best possible way, well. Who's complaining, really 🤷‍♀️

Shower her in kisses, worship her body. She might be ticklish at first (which is good bc it distracts her :3), but then you get to more sensitive spots on her body and it has her bucking up into you, even tearing up at just how utterly devoted you're being to her

HOLD HER HANDS. OHMYGOD. Keep her laying down as you finger her, let her watch your desire for her translate to reality, let yourself feel just how close she wants you as she tugs you even closer while begging for more. Whatever baby wants, baby gets 😊😊😊😊😊

"Good girl.. good girl, there you go, just... Mmm, keep sucking me like that-- fuck you're so tight, you needed this, didn't you?"

You ask, and yet you expected no answer from her. Why would you, when you had stuffed her mouth with one of your tits, offered it for her to do whatever she wished as your fingers prodded and explored the insides of her wet cunt?

By god, she was trying her best make the most of what she was given, interchanging between her tongue swirling around your nipple and her lips suckling as if she were starved.

And perhaps she was, with the way she had grasped onto you so tightly as you brought her to the peak over and over again in an effort to show just how much you treasure her just for who she is.

Along with the fact that she was here in the present, sharing this moment with you.

You see her eyes go glassy again (it was hard to count just how many times it's happened throughout the night, not like you cared to), and you press a tender kiss on the crown of her head—a stark contrast from your hand's harsh motions, "Let it all out, baby... Let me hear you."

Her mouth lets go of your nipple as she let out a cross between a sob and a dumbed-out whine, her hand moving as a stand-in to squeeze your chest. "Ffffaster, pleeease-- yesyesyesthank you--"

"You're still so polite, you lovely little thing!" You curled your fingers up, in the same direction at which her hips rose up to, "I'll show you just how much I appreciate all of you."

By daybreak, you know your loving partner, however insecure she is now due to the lasting damage done to her after hundreds of years of doing nothing but perform to a grand audience with a role that is much too big and lonely for herself, would be more than assured that she is now accompanied by the present—she is accompanied by you and those who she deems special.

After all, if you were nothing but a dream, then however could she truly feel the raw sensation of every overstimulated nerve in her body?

If this were a dream, then however could she truly feel, for that matter?

Gotta GOGOGO until she's way too exhausted to go on. Furina is built for extensive dramatics, which means that she's going to have stamina, but she wasn't built to FOCUS on stamina, so at some point she Does pass out. Doesn't help that she's so unbelievably touch starved to the point where a LOT of her body's Extremely sensitive to intimate touches soooooo 🥰🥰🥰

And by the end of it? I pray to fucking GOD you both cuddle. She will forever be little spoon so hold her, have your legs all tangled together and make sure she can feel your warmth and the way your chest expands whenever you breathe :3c if this is a dream, then may it be a long-lasting one for the both of you🫶

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Kinkuary ‘23 by wolfpants

Next up in my tour of binds I made for wolf: Kinkuary ‘23 by @wolfpants

When I first reached out to wolf to ask permission to bind their fic, I asked if there was anything in their fic that they wished they had bound. They mentioned their Kinkuary fics but immediately said "oh but that's impractical because it's a whole collection" or something to that effect, which of course I took as a challenge. (Authors, be warned. I will almost certainly bind the thing you say I should not try to bind.)

Anyone who is wisely subscribed to wolf's works on AO3 probably had the same delightful experience as I did throughout February 2023: namely, waking daily to a little notification that there was a small kinky gem awaiting consumption at one's leisure. Wolf writes sex incredibly well: the viscerality and immediacy of it, but also the thoughts and turn-ons and how it lights up each character's brain differently. They have a gift for making me love tropes and kinks I might not ever think to read or write otherwise.

All that being said, I felt slightly weird about being like HERE IS A BOOK OF YOUR KINK THAT SAYS KINK ON THE SPINE so (as wolf has noted) I went all Victorian and made a dust jacket to cover up the bind if wolf ever wants to make it look a lot more innocent than it is.

So many firsts in this one for me: first dust jacket, first index, first collection of fics, first table of contents... It was a blast from start to finish and I learned SO MUCH.

Materials and process chat under the cut.

Materials:

Ye olde wooqu bookcloth off Amazon, HTV vinyl, 24 lb cream letter (wrong grain, forgive me) folios, machine-made endbands, black cardstock end papers.

The dust jacket is probably the only newish thing for me: I did a print using Staples' online service (which probably contributed to my choices because I also use this service for actual work things...) It was a poster print on matte paper.

Process:

This was a pretty straightforward bind but the typeset was full of learning curves. I use InDesign for typesetting and figured out how to set up a TOC and index. Wolf is a GREAT tagger so once I realized I'd either have a seven-page run of front matter listing the tags for each fic, or an index condensing them down, it was a no-brainer. And because wolf is so brilliant with tags, this led to my favorite index entries ever under Draco's listing (see photo.) I also figured out how to use styles to make every story have a header of its title, etc.

The great artwork of Eros is from rawpixel.

The other new thing for me was, of course, the dust jacket. I was disappointed to realize I'd messed up the measurements somehow once I printed, but it was close enough, so I went with it. I tried to rub some beeswax into the cover to help preserve it a bit but not sure it did much. If I were doing it again now, I'd use some Mod Podge matte aerosol fixative.

The dust jacket artwork is from the Smithsonian online collection of vintage seed catalogues. (S/O to my librarian spouse for the tip!) I created the spine matching the style as closely as I could, and then I went to town with silliness for the flaps. (This is probably a downside to having a fic writer also be a binder. I have trouble not writing something when the opportunity presents itself in the course of binding...)

The cover design is, of course, just a whole bunch of cursive X's. I'd hoped to have the title and author be a knockout from that pattern but it proved too hard to weed/read, so I ironed black HTV over the red pattern instead.

This is the only one of the set of four binds that I haven't (yet) bound for myself as a personal copy, but I think I will probably do so at some point! I was running out of black bookcloth at the time, so I prioritized wolf's copy for obvious reasons.

[buggyboba]

✦ October 24th | sex pollen

AN 𓏧

↳ ○ | AN| Hi, hello, we are going to pretend that this isn't three days late. I was FIGHTING for my life with this one, I'm not going to lie. We got there though, I'm not 100% happy with this, but that might be me being real nit picky. The Master is a real ass in this one, it feels a little non-con, since a few things happen, I'll throw it in the TW too, but it's not really, just kinda vibes briefly. I'm only going to do one more, (well two because treat won for trick or treat, so I will be doing a Dhawan!Master x Reader one and a Kate Stewart x Reader one for Halloween, to finish it out. Once again I will keep the rest of the ones I didn't do for Kinktober and maybe release them slowly. This was a big big challenge for me, the whole kinktober thing, and that's on me for thinking a week or so before October that I could certainly do 31 fanfictions, even if they were supposed to be short little smutty drabbles. I have quickly learned, I can't just write short little things...I won't apologize for that though, because that's the roleplayer in me...I was absolutely one of those long-ass novel writing role players. I LIKE WORDS IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU LET ME HAVE MY PROSE AND STUFF! Anyway I once again tried to keep it rather gender-neutral, but it's implied female anatomy, but if you squint maybe not? I tried, I SWEAR I will do Master x male reader sometime. SMUT MDNI

SUMMARY𓏧

↳ ○  how was he supposed to know the flowers on this planet were in bloom this time of year. How was he supposed to know how they would effect your human body? (Spoilers he knew.) 

PAIRING𓏧

↳ ○ Simm!Master x Reader

TW𓏧

↳ ○ mentions of hypnosis, sex pollen, so consensual, but at what cost? sort of vibes. unprotected p in v sex, semi-clothed sex, the master is a right asshole, cumshot. petnames.

WORD COUNT𓏧

↳ ○ 3100

A03 lINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

MASTERLIST LINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

You were suspicious when he brought you to this planet; he called it Hevides, said it was a nice little flora planet, perfect this time of year. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets, looking around as he exited the tardis, which aptly was pretending to be a tree. That wasn’t going to cause problems later, you were sure. He explained that there were a few rare plants on Hevides that he wanted to get his hands on; he wouldn’t tell you what for, but you assumed it was for a nefarious plan; it always was. You followed after him; it was a beautiful planet, you would give it that, but you also had a deep, nagging fear that a man-eating plant or something was going to get you, and that would be a terrible fate, just this giant piranha plant from Wish looking thing eating you. You were careful where you stepped; thick vines were littering the forest floor, which definitely didn’t help your imagined scenario of being eaten by a plant while there. 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” you finally asked, but his annoyed scoff told you it was the wrong question to ask. 

“Ye’ of such little faith,” he muttered as he walked past you.

“I mean, do I have to remind you of the fish people?” You started.

“Fish peop—you mean the sea devils? Come now, pet, that’s xenophobic.” He teased you. You stammered and tried to back petal, to which he chuckled and kept walking. “They weren’t fish; they were more like turtles if anything,” he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it in a—I didn’t know they were called that." You stammered out, “And wait, wait, you don’t get to call me that; you are the most—” He cut you off and shook his head.

“Just because I think everyone is beneath me? Because they are, and you silly little apes are no exception, little backward things you are,” he tilted his head watching you. “Now don’t pout, pet; I picked you, didn’t I? As my companion,” he smirked his tone, teasing on the word companion. He disliked the word, but it was the best word to describe you and your relationship. 

"Yeah, moving on; we don’t have time for all that right now; you told me the sea devils were safe, and then they tried to kill us.” You pointed out.

“Miscommunication, and perhaps some old hard feelings.” He waved it off and clapped, making a victorious sound as he spotted what he was looking for. It was a large purple and orange flower; it looked similar to a sunflower if you had to compare it to something; the middle was covered in thick red pollen. He motioned you over, and you shifted, walking a bit closer. You hadn’t noticed how careful he had been stepping around it. When you got close enough, he flicked the back of the flower, making the pollen fly into the air around you. You coughed and sputtered, trying to cover your mouth so more of the bitter pollen didn’t get into your mouth. You looked at him with a look of disbelief as you doubled over coughing harder. 

“Don’t fight it; just breathe normally," he instructed as he observed you. “I just want to see how it affects you,” he said almost nonchalantly. 

“An experiment, right now, with a mystery plant!” You used the sleeve of your jacket trying to breathe. You felt funny, but not in a funny way; more like your body was slowly getting hotter, your blood was on fire, and your skin felt uncomfortable, like your clothing touching it was too much. The feeling was overwhelming quickly. Then the heat pooled, and you felt an ache between your legs. You blinked, trying to determine the feeling and will it away. Your head was hazy. You took a step back, your pupils dilating more; he moved forward, catching you before you almost fell in your attempted retreat. 

His fingers pressed against the side of your neck, on your pulse point, feeling your heart racing, pulsing against his fingers, he hummed. Your hand wrapped around his forearm; you tried to look angry, but your body was on fire, and his cold touch felt good; it would feel better lower. You blinked at your own thought; you felt your mouth water, and he pulled you up carefully. “Talk me through what you are feeling,” he smirked. “I mean, I can see some physical signs, some delightful tells, but I want to know how it feels for you.” He said like he was a scientist, and this was all a very ethical experiment. 

You almost didn’t want to tell him; you felt squirmy. Was that a word you could use? Was that a scientific description? “I’m on fire,” you breathed out. His hand grabbed your throat, letting his thumb brush your jawline before he moved your head side to side to look you over with that cocky grin. You let out a softer sound, “I don’t know, I mean, it’s overwhelming really; I am shaky, and there is this..." You paused, not knowing if you wanted him to know about the ache, but he looked at you with an expectant look. “I just...feel horny,” you muttered out the last word, looking away from him, but he tsked and pushed your jaw with his thumb so you would look back at him. “I just, I need..." You sighed.

“Need what? Go on, tell me... I am all ears.” He grinned at you again; you could tell he had a sort of satisfaction about this reaction. You wanted to stay mad, you really did, but your mind was so hazy now that you couldn’t think about anything but getting rid of this ache. It was nothing like you had ever felt before, and you were worried, scared almost. What was this pollen doing to you? 

“I just want the ache to go away. I just want—” you muttered out, locking eyes with him. His honey-colored eyes took you in. He studied your face, how flushed you looked, and how desperate you sounded. He looked down at you as your hips arched subconsciously against his, and a snider grin took his lips. 

“Such a needy, desperate thing.” He teased, “And why should I help you?” He asked like this wasn’t completely his fault. 

You blinked and looked at him almost in disbelief, “Because you brought me here! Because you made the pollen come off the flower?” You said shortly, his free hand left his pocket and moved to grab right above your hip. “You knew this would happen!” You accused, to which he gave you those puppy dog eyes.

“I didn’t know this exact thing would happen; I mean, I could have hypothesized about the effects on your silly human body, but I wasn’t completely sure, well, until now.” He nodded. “It won’t kill you, so stop worrying so much; just feel a bit.” He grinned, “You are adorable like this...all needy.” He mused a bit; he found this whole thing amusing, and you let out an annoyed strangled sound; you were getting so worked up, and he was just standing there being amused; you could strangle him. 

“Why isn’t it affecting you?” You sighed, trying to focus. You had a lot of willpower, so maybe you could work through this, maybe. 

“Respiratory bypass... held my breath when I flicked it.” He shrugged like it should have been common knowledge to you by now. "Plus, I’m sure it wouldn’t have affected me anyway.” He let your throat go and stepped back. “Come along. There really was something else I needed to get here.” He said and started to walk. You didn’t move; however, he paused when he didn’t hear you following him. He turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “Well?” You stayed still; you didn’t know if you could trust your legs to carry you properly. He rolled his eyes. “Are you playing disobedient now? Should I make you follow me, pet?” He asked, and you knew he was implying he was just hypnotizing you; maybe that would override what you were feeling. 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” you muttered. You took a deep breath and forced your legs to move; even though they shook a bit, your whole body did. You didn’t like this feeling, this sheer feeling of need; the heat was almost unbearable. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you slowly followed him, glaring at the back of his stupid head as he leisurely strolled through the forest looking for what he was really after. You walked for what felt like ever; the effects were getting worse, your body shook more, and you had to stop and lean against a tree to hold yourself up. "Master,” you breathed out. He paused, taking note of your breathy call. He turned around and looked at you, taking in your appearance; it seemed the pollen was in full bloom in you now. He tilted his head, noticing how you were leaning, how you subconsciously clenched your thighs together, and how one hand gripped onto the stomach area of your jacket. You looked weak now, shaky. He inwardly sighed like you were a nuisance before he turned on his heel and walked towards you. 

“You humans are so fragile,” he muttered and moved to pin you against the tree; his hands ran through your hair, forcing you to look at him again. The touch made you breathe out, “You aren’t going to be any good to me if you can’t keep up.” He mock pouted at you, “I suppose I, once again, have to take care of you.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, moving to let his hand trail down your stomach, stopping at the button of your pants. He looked at you for a moment, taking note of how your eyes were hazy, how you had the look of pure need, and how he could smell how aroused you were just by the air around you. That pollen made short work of you, and it amused him more than it should have. It melted your reservations, so much so that you were shifting a bit, trying to get him to undo your pants; it was like your mind couldn’t think of anything but getting off. “Oh and out here in the open, the great outdoors, how scandalous of you, bunny.” He mocked a bit. You felt your cheeks heat up more. He was right; you would have never done anything like this in public, not that this was public; this was in the middle of an alien forest; you hadn’t seen signs of civilization or anything of that sort, though that didn’t mean there wasn’t. 

You choked out a whine; you didn’t want to wait anymore, yet here he was being his normal mocking, snarky self, taking his time because he wanted to annoy you; that’s what it had to be. He finally pulled the button free, and with a delicate movement, he unzipped your pants, letting them fall past your knees and pool around your feet, but he didn’t touch you yet; he let his hand slip under your jacket, pushing it and your shirt up as he stepped closer, his mouth pressing against your neck, his hands groped at your chest, kneading the flesh there, listening to the lovely needy sounds that were spilling from your parted lips. He pressed against you more, keeping you snuggly pressed against the tree, the bark scraping your back, but the pain from it didn’t translate; it almost felt good. Your hand gripped and your nails scraped at the bark; your other hand grabbed his arm, gripping the fabric of his black jacket. Each kiss and nip caused you to whine and groan out; it felt so good; everything felt so enhanced; someone could be making a killing using this as one of those ‘enhancer’ pills, a funny thought that was quickly pushed from your head as his hips rolled against yours, grinding against you. He let a soft growl escape his throat as he sucked a dark mark into your skin before his hands slid down and grabbed your legs, easing them up to sit against his hips. You wrapped your legs around him, your body so hot, your blood felt like it was boiling, you whined out, you felt so damn needy, you didn’t like it, your senses were on overdrive. 

"Oh, what fun little sounds you make,” he muttered against your throat and pressed an open-mouth kiss against it before letting his teeth graze again. All these little touches and nips were driving you mad.

“Master! Please!” You choked out, pressing against him more, well, as much as you could in this position. As you pathetically rutted against him, he arched his hips up some, and you could feel his arousal, the bulge in his pants growing. He moved one hand down to undo his belt, and you gave a soft, needy sound. 

“Down pet,” he smirked, kissing your neck again as he pulled his belt some and then undid his pants. “So needy, I bet you are dying to get fucked.” He growled in your ear. The growl sent a rippling shiver down your spine; you had never needed something more than in this moment. “I’ll admit, this was a very insightful experiment.” He said pulling himself free from his boxers, slowly stroking his cock, teasing against you with the tip, “like a dam broke.” He teased you; you hated that, but you couldn’t help it; the pollen thrummed through you still. You were about to say something, anything to get him to just help you, but he pressed the tip into your dripping entrance. Which caused a breathy sound to escape. He slowly sank in, pulling you against him, One hand moved to cup against your ass, and the other was held against the tree by the side of your head as he started a deliciously slow rhythm. It was clear he was milking this to see you so desperate that you would do anything. It made perfect sense to you; with who he was, you knew he was going to make you beg, even though this was all his fault. Acting like it was an inconvenience, and he was so benevolent to help you, to fuck you. 

Your hips rolled against him, trying to get him to stop being so teasingly; his mouth found your neck again, sucking against your pulse point; he could feel how hard your heart was pounding, and you panted out. A deep thrust pulled a long groan from your throat, which made him smirk against your neck. You clenched against him, a diabolically delightful feeling for both of you, which made him grunt against you, biting your neck. He got the message and moved, pressing you harder against the tree, picking up his pace to something rougher, something faster; he wasn’t being playfully teasing anymore. 

“I don’t think you really mean it; maybe I should stop and let you think about it some.” He pulled his hips back, but you tightened your grip around his waist; there was no way in hell you were going to let him stop. 

Your nails scratched into the treebark behind you, the hand against his arm tightened more, your breath ragged as you groaned and moaned out, the feeling intense, the pleasure making you dizzy thanks to your already hazy mind from the pollen, you felt your muscles tighten and a pooling in your stomach, from your tensing and how your core pulsated around him, he knew you were close. He slowed suddenly, causing you to make a pathetic sound. “You can cum when I say you can,” he nipped below your ear. You couldn’t even think; your mind was swirling. How could he be so cruel and control this right now when your body needed this? “Oh, you want it so badly; listen to you, whining,” he smirked and made a mock whine in your ear. “You know what to ask for.” He breathed out and rolled his hips slowly, pulling almost all the way out, before slowly pushing back in.

You weren’t even sure you could form proper words right now, and he wanted you to feed into his control; he wanted you to beg for him to finish you. There was another low whined sound that he pulled from your throat. You thought about not playing his game, but he would stop, and you certainly didn’t want that. “Please, please let me cum, please, I need to,” you begged out, in the best tone you could manage, even arching and writhing against him, making sure to lock eyes with him. He studied you and shook his head with that cocky grin.

“Master please!” You slid your hand up from his arm to the back of his neck, keeping him close. “I’m sorry! Please! Please, I need you. I’m sorry, please! Please let me cum.” You breathed out in an almost panicked breath; this seemed to please him because he returned to the rhythm that he had been at before. “Please!” You doubled down. The stream of begging words and praises fell from your lips as you clung to him. You choked out a loud screamed Master, as you felt your body snap, the pleasure rushing your blood. The feeling of need was there but not as strong as it had been. He hissed out as your walls clenched against him and flexed milking against his cock. There was a moment he considered marking you as his in the most primal way, but he reluctantly pulled from your divine heat, rutting against you, holding the base of his cock as he groaned out, painting your stomach with strands of hot cum; it splattered against your bare stomach and the bottom of your jacket. There would be time for anger about that later. After a few long silent moments, he let you down to lean against the tree he had just fucked you against as he fixed his pants and redid his belt, making a face as he looked over your appearance. “Messy,” he said, like he once again didn’t cause the problem. 

You took deep breaths trying to come down, you slowly fixed yourself, and your gaze flinted up to him. You could feel the prickle of the pollen still, but it certainly wasn’t as bad as it had been. “Do you think you can focus and keep up now? Tell you what, darling, we finish this up, and maybe if you are good and keep up, we can have some more fun when we get back to the tardis; dunno how long the pollen is going to control your silly little human mind, but I would love to study the effects more closely.” He smirked, and you nodded weakly, looking down at the mess he had made of you. It was going to be a long adventure, that was for sure. 

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

Taglist𓏧 ↳ ○ @bees-fart-too , @bakusquadobsessed , @anastasa-mslfedit , @cabinedepapel , @asteria237 , @suckerforcate , @bingewatchingmylifegoby , @toastvogel , @starbucks-06 If you want to be added to the rest here is the l x

[madeby-meru]

Thoughts on Episode 10 (Jason Route)

Now that I am chill after losing both the illustration and the route and having to watch it somewhere else, I can give my thoughts on this episode! ^^

I wanted to upload this sooner but had no time to finish it lol

beware of spoilers under the cut!

Overall, my main feeling while playing and after finishing was that i was tremendously bored for 90% of the episode. And honestly this makes me sad! I really like filler episodes, i love silly little moments that don't add much to the story itself but that let you see the characters in different situations and learn other tidbits of information about them. For example, I liked going with Brune and Elanda to look for Thomas, seeing them in a situation where they're worried about a friend that could be in serious trouble and how they reacted differently to everything. It adds depth and personality (which these characters desperately need). I have seen Roy's route in this episode too and i liked how it added a bit to his characterization of this very sweet and caring man. I have to say that i also loved seeing Thomas' mom again and im soooo happy that she got a redesign! (even though I wish she looked like an actual 60 year old woman, girlie looks addicted to botox). I would have loved to see Iris too but we got a couple more characters from the MCL games so I'm happy with that. I like seeing that we are, indeed, in the same universe lol.

However, in my opinion anything good or interesting in the episode was completely overshadowed by the sheer *absurdity* of it all.

It's the same issue as always, the "plot" doesn't make sense and unintentionally the characters end up being depicted terribly and (usually) Devon and Thomas suffer the most.

Devon looks like an irresponsible boss that doesn't keep his empoyees in check and lets them do whatever they want even if it harms the job or other emoplyees's work. He postpones the meeting with the town hall (would he even be allowed to do that? i'm sure this would have negative impact on Devenementiel) to look for Thomas, which honestly that's a good friend move so respect for that... but that is a full grown adult, not a child, and you dont even know if something actually happened to him. I'm sorry but here the job should take priority, it makes no sense for everyone to halt their work day and waste time (with a relevant project !! with the town hall !! in their hands !!) cause someone didnt come in.

Sending everyone to just look around the city is... so stupid? how big is Amoris? 1km square? for them to think that they can wander around and magically find him? ????

Now the ending was just... what the actual fuck.

I don't think the writing team is truly aware of how badly Thomas is portrayed. First of all, if you have a motorbike accident that is serious enough to leave the morotbike destroyed like they describe it: you do not walk away like nothing happened! Talking from experience, even a relatively small accident can leave you badly injured. And from what is being described in the episode Thomas should have been hospitalized! It makes no sense. Second of all, who in their right damn mind leaves a demaged vehicle in the middle of the street and walks away to buy a replacement? That is a fine, that is a public safely issue, a general safety hazard and a traffic obstruction, who does that ?! "He is socially unaware!" no, that is being straight up stupid and a jerk.

Y'all are portraying Thomas as an egocentric, careless, and self centered guy that does not care for anything or anyone around him other than himself, an irresponsible person that does not care if his actions are detrimental to his job or colleagues. And if we put this together with episode 8 showing him as someone with zero respect for boundaries or privacy and that will stalk coworkers with no remorse, yeah you're making a wonderful love interest.

And this pisses me off, this feels out of character. Thomas is such a fun and interesting and cute love interest, he could have one of the best romance stories in the game, why would you paint him like this? I'm sure that the intention was a "haha silly guy doesn't understand!" moment but y'all definitely don't know how to write that.

And I don't think this is "reading too much into it", cause you can see it all in plain sight. And also, analyzing shit and "reading too much into something" is fun for me.

This episode could have been so fun. It could have been a silly misunderstanding with some days off that Thomas takes to go to a competition (maybe we initially could think that he had an accident because a similar bike had one that morning! or because he had been complaining about motor issues and being wary of a potential accident!). In his route we could go see him and he could tell us about his hobby, and in other routes we could do something related to the other character's interests. We could get to know more about them, its an appropiate episode topic for the place that we are in in the relationships and its just cute and fun.

But anyway, I unfortunately could not play Jason's route myself and I had to watch it somewhere else instead, which honestly pissed me the fuck off cause i can't afford a replay at all. The special scene was cute, I liked the tone and how Jason sounded like he was trying to play it cool with all the "heh i just did it to show im better" (i can see right through you silly man). Ngl im sad i dont have the scene to replay it u-u

Thomas' illustration was my favorite by far, both him and Ysaline look gorgeous fr fr

[lesbianphan]

I know this is gonna be mushy and overly emotional and I'm sorry for oversharing a bit, but I feel like it's necessary to put into words what rewatching We're All Doomed means to me personally. I watched the kiswe premiere event live and it was one of the most fun nights I've had in a while, even though my life felt extremely hopeless at the time.

And, look, here's the thing: when the WAD premiere dropped, I had completely given up on improving things. In fact, I was very much in the 'doomed' mentality. I had long accepted that there was no way my life would get better. So Dan's message really resonated with me: it's easy to settle for being at rock bottom and thinking that's all there is for me. I was happy to see Dan doing better, but deep down I didn't truly believe his words either, not really. I did want to, but I wasn't quite there. And I don't believe them all the time, as he himself said he doesn't, and doing the show many times hammers the point home into his head.

After experiencing it, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could stop only embracing the void, but start having the courage to exist as well. Putting myself out there more, trying to make a world for myself in which I'm not the :/ emoji all the time. So I applied for the jobs, I wrote what I wanted, I unapologetically embraced the nerdy things and the fandoms I enjoyed. I decided I can choose happiness in the smallest of ways, even when it sounds silly and unimportant. Because it isn't unimportant really if it means something to me.

Rewatching the show last night showed me how much it changed my life and the big leaps it helped me take in life. I have so much more to learn, but I keep telling myself to be brave (lmao sorry had to sneak the Phil reference) and have the courage to exist. Really truly exist out in the world, not hidden inside my room. And sure, some days are harder than the others, some days I really don't like myself at all. Even in those days, though, I tell myself: all I have to do is have the courage to exist.

I went in to watch WAD with no expectations, and I feel like the message of appreciating the little moments was so monumental, it truly absolutely had a huge impact in my own life. I have a job now, and some financial stability. To be honest, I never thought I'd get this job, I might not even have applied if I wasn't in this mindset. In so many ways, Dan and Phil have profoundly changed my life, and I think WAD is just one of those big examples.

I doubt the real humans Dan and Phil will ever understand the impact they've had on this world, but I'll forever wish them the best. I'll always support them, because their creations have irrevocably changed me as a person, and as much as I like joking around and stuff, I'm just thankful that we share this existence, and we get to have fun and be forever changed by it.

Thanks @danielhowell, you'll never know how huge the impact of this show was, but I am truly crying writing this and I hope one day I get to tell you in person how much you inspired me to keep going when no one else would.

[mothandpidgeon]

Aunt Flo's First Visit [pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader]

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Sarah gets her first period, Joel is determined to be a supportive parent despite the fact that he doesn't know the first thing about menstruation. But when he goes to the pharmacy to shop for supplies, he finds himself in way over his head.

Words: 2k

Rating: G

Warnings: period stuff and everything that comes with it

a/n: This is really fluffy and a little silly. I saw a tik tok by a menstrual product company about a customer trying to find the right thing for his daughter and it just gave me such Joel energy this happened. I haven't finished any fic in MONTHS because I'm working on my book and that's not finished either so it feels really good to complete something. (If you want to keep up with my publishing journey, I'm mainly documenting it here.) Please enjoy.

Also, I challenged myself to write in present tense bc I never do and I really was struggling so pretend the grammar is all correct. Thank you.

Joel knows how to do a lot of things. He can manage a crew, change a flat tire, and build just about anything. He never considered himself smart by the classical definition but he knows how to make a car battery from scratch despite the fact that he got a C in chemistry. 

If somebody had told him a decade ago that he’d one day be paralyzed with fear in the feminine hygiene aisle, he would’ve laughed. But right now, Joel would give all his knowledge along with his left arm if he could just figure out what the hell he ought to buy for his daughter.

He knew this day would come eventually. It’s his own damn fault he never prepared himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he must’ve expected Sarah to just know how to handle it. Being a single dad wasn’t a walk in the park but he couldn’t imagine how much harder it would be if Sarah wasn’t so damn self sufficient. Even at 13, she can get herself fed and dressed and off to school without help. Of course she could figure this out on her own.

But Joel was reminded that Sarah’s still just a kid when she finally told him that she’d gotten her period for the very first time. She was so embarrassed to admit it, Joel practically had to drag it out of her. 

He was angry with himself. He should’ve been ready, wished that he knew the right words to say. Joel promised himself he would put things right so she wouldn’t feel like she ever had to hide anything from him. 

That was a lot easier said than done, he realizes now.

Joel stands in the aisle overwhelmed and confused. Boxes and soft packages in friendly, pastel colors stare at him from the shelves. He’s never spent much time with the feminine hygiene products, not unless he was scooting by them to pick up a little carton from the family planning section. He hasn’t bothered to learn about that stuff. Women’s stuff. He’s not disgusted by menstruation, isn’t afraid of it. It’s just one of those things he never had to deal with. 

Without Sarah’s mom, though, he’s had to figure out plenty of girl things. He can remember the lesson on managing Sarah’s curls from the kind woman at the hair salon. Names of Shampoos and oils that felt foreign were now routine and he’s mastered using the combs and clips that looked more intimidating than some of his power tools. But he struggled for a good long while before that kind stylist took pity on him. 

And here he is again, flying blind into the female whirlwind. 

There’s so many options on the shelf. Words like HEAVY and gentle and sport. And the prices. Christ! He thought the hair stuff was expensive.  

Joel’s head is spinning but he has to get it together. He’d vowed long ago that he would be Dad and Mom too. That’s what his daughter deserves. 

Just a year ago, he hovered outside of the dressing room at the mall as Sarah tried on training bras. 

“Did you find one? You were in there for a while,” he said when she emerged.

“Dad,” she replied in that tone she was using more and more often, the one that told him to shut up.

It isn’t the changes to her body that scare him, all of the subtle ways she’s becoming less familiar. His little girl is growing up and he mourns her childhood. It won’t be long before she’s driving, going off to college. Maybe she’ll have a daughter of her own but Joel hopes she’ll wait longer than he did, have a chance to make a life for herself.

Speaking of which, he realizes he’s going to have to sit her down for a real talk about boys next. He better get ready for that one. Explaining where babies come from hadn’t been too difficult. Condoms and venereal diseases are a whole different ball game. Teenage boys are gremlins– he’d know– and Sarah’s so smart and pretty, she’s going to have to be careful. 

Joel doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the shelves when a woman appears in the aisle, another shopper. She’s got her keys looped around a finger, headed straight for the tampons, her flip flops smacking against the bottoms of her feet. Joel has a box in his hands. He doesn’t even know what he’s picked up, it’s just got the least intimidating packaging and the price is reasonable. He can’t help but catch the woman’s eye and the look she gives him is a little wary. It must be obvious that he’s out of his depths. But she gives a polite, tight lipped smile and proceeds to ignore him as she approaches the pantheon of period products. 

He watches as her eyes dart around the shelves and quickly she makes a selection, plucking up a box clad with pink and purple silhouettes. So easy. Well, it must be easy for her. He wonders how many times she’s visited this part of the pharmacy, if her mother brought her to the store when she was Sarah’s age and showed her all the options. 

His free hand fidgets at his side and he swallows dryly. He feels like an idiot but he reminds himself that he’s got to do this. For Sarah. The woman is already half way back to the end of the aisle by the time he’s found his voice. 

---

“Excuse me, miss. Could I trouble you for a second?” you hear from the man behind you. 

You turn around, confused, but there’s nobody else that he could be talking to. Here you thought you could get in and out quickly. You’re cranky and tired and all day you’ve had toe curling cramps. It hits you like a ton of bricks every month. All you want to do is get home to your couch to watch some crappy reality tv. 

But this lumberjack of a man– broad shoulders wrapped in a flannel shirt– is giving you puppy dog eyes. You’ve never been hit on while holding a box of Tampax Pearl but there’s a first time for everything. 

“I apologize. This is real awkward,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck with a big hand. “I’m trying to get something for my daughter but I’m a little lost.”

His voice is warm and sweet and he’s handsome as hell but you keep your distance. 

“Didn’t she tell you what to get?” you ask. 

His expression grows even more bashful and his voice lowers. 

“I’m afraid it’s, uh…well, it’s new territory for both of us,” he admits. 

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that forms on your lips. Some poor preteen girl just got welcomed into the cruel arms of womanhood. It will be all downhill from here. Wild mood swings, angry breakouts, blood leaking through her favorite pair of pants. At least, it seems, she’s got her dad on her side. It takes a lot of balls for a guy to pick up a box of tampons let alone stop a stranger and ask for help. 

You’d like to tell him that you’re too busy to help– you can hear your Haagen Dazs calling you all the way from the freezer– but you at least owe it to this kid to help him out. 

“What’ve you got?” you ask, nodding towards the powder blue box in his grasp. It looks so little in his big hand. You walk back towards him and take a look. “Oh. Nice try but I wouldn’t go with that.”

He regards his choice again. It’s kind of adorable, the way the corners of his mouth frown as he squints at the words on the front. “What’s wrong with these?” His words aren’t defensive, he’s genuinely curious. 

“Tampons can be pretty tricky when you’re that age. And those don’t even come with an applicator,” you explain. You remember trying to use a tampon that first time. You’d never put anything up there before and it stung like hell.

“Applicator?” His brows furrow and you can see fear in his brown eyes. 

“So you can put it…in,” you tell him and motion with your finger, jabbing your pointer upwards. 

His cheeks go pink. Ears too. You try to suppress a giggle as his brain short circuits for a second. His throat works as he swallows and places the box back on the shelf— gingerly, like it might explode. 

“Which are the ones that don’t…go inside?” he asks. 

It’s impossible to keep from grinning. 

“Pads,” you say. 

He nods. 

You choose a package and place it in his hands. It’s a multipack, everything from light to heavy, and no wings so she doesn’t feel like she’s wearing a diaper. 

“Try this,” you say. “She might not like them. It takes some trial and error.”

He reads over the circle in the corner that claims it’s 100% Leak Free! You can see he’s still overwhelmed but he’s far less nervous. He really is good looking and you have to wonder how he doesn’t have a woman in his life to help him out.

“This many?” he asks. 

“She might need more.” You shrug. “Just stay away from the scented ones. And you have Tylenol at home?”

“I think so.”

“How about a heating pad?”

He shakes his head. 

“Go get one,” you advise. 

He blows out air and then steels himself with a nod, ready to face the red menace. 

“I’m awfully grateful for your help,” he says and you can tell by the look on his face, he means that. 

You feel your own cheeks heat. 

---

Joel ends up behind her in the checkout line after securing an electric heating pad and grabbing an extra bottle of Motrin. 

“What do you think?” he asks, showing her what he picked.

“Good job,” she tells him. Her smile is tinged with amusement but his chest still swells with pride. Maybe he’s not such a failure of a father after all.

Now that he’s less bewildered, Joel can’t help but notice how pretty this woman is. She’s dressed for comfort without any make up as far as he can tell but that smile and the kindness in her eyes is what does it for him. If they met under different circumstances, maybe he’d try to flirt. Not that he’s had the opportunity to practice recently. It’s for the best, though. There’s absolutely no way the combination of bumbling idiot, single parent, and menstruation makes for a romantic connection. Besides he’s here on an errand for his daughter.

Joel tries to keep his eyes from wandering over her as the teenager behind the register rings her up, the pink box and two bags of M&Ms. She gives Joel one last smile before leaving the store. 

He thought he might feel embarrassed buying nothing but period supplies but he’s too busy thinking about how helpful she was. Sarah would just about die from mortification if he told her a complete stranger gave him a crash course in maxi pads. He chuckles to himself. 

“Hey!” someone calls as Joel approaches his truck.

It’s her, the woman from the pharmacy, crossing the parking lot. Joel smooths his hair.

“These are for her,” she says, handing him one of her bags of candy. “Chocolate helps.”

Joel gives a soft laugh as he weighs the M&Ms in his hand. “That I knew,” he says. 

“And, uh, here,” she tells him, holding out the long receipt. 

Joel takes the paper. On the back she’s scribbled her name and phone number. 

“You know, I don’t know. I just thought– if she has any questions. Or maybe if you do,” she says, shrugging. She’s much less confident now than she was in front of that endless selection of menstrual products. It’s cute and makes Joel feel a little less like an idiot for the way he was fumbling a few minutes ago. 

“I owe you one,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Just be patient,” she warns. “She’s gonna be a bitch but don’t take it personally.”

Joel grins. 

“You’re a good dad,” she tells him and he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

She’s already backing away towards her car and waves again. 

Joel looks at her number, once again finding something he doesn’t know. He’d give his left arm to figure out how soon is too soon to call. 

---

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[maxwellatoms]

Where did you learn to write for tv animation? Were you always interested in writing? Do you ever wish you could make something with deeper themes than what you write now?

I don't think that working in Kid's TV Animation prevents me from dealing with deep themes. We weren't really allowed to deal directly with death as a theme in Billy & Mandy, but it was in there. Along with fear, (ultimate) power, responsibility, and growing-up-as-horror. On Jellystone we've got episodes in Season 2 that deal with the pandemic, politics, and justice... if you're willing and capable of digging through the satire to find it.

When you're pitching shows, networks always want something "from the heart". Meaning that they get a lot of pitches from hacks looking to earn some cash who may or may not have a vested interest in making a good show. I don't have that problem because my one mission is to get what I want. That's my Mandy side. Put me on a show that I think is a destined-to-fail crapsack, and I'll still find a way to please myself and squeeze in every theme, character type, and gag that I wanted to... one way or another. Because that's what I care about.

Would it be nice not to have to fight for every little thing I want to say while also jumping through hoops to meet unreasonable schedules, to protect my crew, and to process external feedback from people who are more worried about looking good within the company than making good TV? Sure would. That's where my renewed desire to do something indie comes in.

Looping back around to the first question, I've always loved writing (and drawing). For me, it really did all start with silly comics and storyboards for amateur movies. I guess (like most things) I just learned along the way because it's what interested me. I read a bunch of books on writing and took creative writing, literature, and screenwriting classes in high school and college, but a good bit of it probably came from learning on the job and trying to improve.

[simpingland]

I WILL BE SEATED FOR YOUR ZALAGON FIC!!!! (plz take all the time u need!!!! I love your writing sm <3)

The Duty To Protect // Aemond Targaryen x Male!Reader. Part 2

Summary: after years as lovers in Essos, the peace is ended when they call for war. Aemond is left with the task of staying in the castle while he has to see the love of his life leave for battle. Angst +fluff. Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sharp sound of clashing swords had become distant in your head. Still sweaty from training, the king's words were hard to take in. And you could only think of one person, Aemond. In your imagination a thousand things happened that ended up throwing him to the ground, wounded and dead. And then you felt that you could die too, because then you would never be able to walk around your castle again, or your mountains, or even breathe like before. For more than three years now, all you breathed in and exalted was his essence.

"Son..." said your father, in the sweetest tone you had ever heard him use. "This is your duty, to protect your people. Tell me you understand."

"I understand, father." Something came back to you at the word protect. "And I will do it well. I swear this. But I have a request, and only you can order it."

He accepted your request and patted you lovingly on the shoulder and let you go. But you didn't know where to go. You wanted to go back to your Prince, but on the other hand you wanted to let him enjoy the peace that remained in his mind. So you decided to watch him from the top of the tower, where the view of the training yard let you see how he was still training. You could tell him he was training too hard, but when you trained together, he was anything but productive. You were always his biggest distraction, because you were all about talking, playing with swords and shields, and besides, Aemond felt incapable of causing you any harm. And that also included saying "no" to training together. There were few things he could say no to. And it was for that very reason that you now debated whether to tell him the news now or to delay it. There had to be a way to stop him from flying with you into battle, but Aemond would not leave you alone, and that did not reassure you.

You saw your little sister scamper around the castle, kicking you as she passed behind you and laughing on her way to kick Aemond again. Aemond was able to catch her foot, stopping her and capturing her in his arms.

"Another princess bent on distracting my training, I see," Aemond said as your sister laughed.

"Can you teach me how to fight this time?" she asked, that was her daily question, she asked it at every opportune occasion and the answer was the same.

"You are still very little, but I swear I will teach you." The prince spoke to her as if she was an adult, taking her wishes seriously.

"You always say that. But you only help my brother..." then your sister looked in your direction, and you saw Aemond turn his head as well. You saw his mischievous grin appear.

"That's because your brother doesn't have much talent. He needs it more than you do. And you need to learn to read before you learn to fight."

That made you smile. Many nights, Aemond was slow to return to bed (or often to your bed) because he entertained himself by helping your brothers with their reading. His soft voice soothed them and he had much more patience for them than the maester and septas. Sometimes he would read to you on nights when you found it hard to sleep, and of course, any lesson explained by Aemond was much easier to understand, and you were distracted by that magnificent face of his.

You went down to where he was, and he began to pick up his sword. Your sister disappeared again as she found a playmate.

"I'm sorry she's such a pain," you apologised.

"Don't be silly, I like that she has initiative. You could learn it from her..."

You helped him pack up, and inside the vast weapons store, you and Aemond found yourselves alone. Then, with the morning light streaming in, the solitude of the place and both of you glowing from the exercise, you couldn't help but grab Aemond's cheeks to close the distance with a kiss. It was more intense than those you gave each other outside the walls of your rooms. It was a serene, deep kiss, and your need was palpable. Normally, between training sessions, you were also given to displays of affection, with calculated rubs on his shoulder or face, and the occasional peck when no one was looking. And in the face of that affection, Aemond would only blush and promise to repay you for the distraction in private. But you weren't flirting now.

"What is it, my prince?" Aemond had broken off and watched your face for whatever it was that had affected you.

"Nothing, it's just... I wanted to kiss you."

"Yeah... but there's something else."

You had to tell him. There is no person better qualified in those matters than Aemond. He had noticed it himself, and he would know better than anyone what to tell you to win a battle.

"Braavos doesn't want to negotiate any more. And neither does my father." It was enough for him to understand. And Aemond kept a distance.

"Are we at war?"

"Seven days from now there will be a battle. My father believes we outnumber their men and that the dragons will secure us--"

"Don't go," he interrupted.

"What?"

"Don't go. You can't go, they'll kill you." His tone was curt, bordering on insult.

"I must go. It's my duty as heir." You tried to forget his lack of faith in you.

"Then I will go with you."

"You can't. You must stay here, taking care of my siblings and my mother."

"What am I, a fucking septa?" He began to raise his voice.

"Don't get offended, It's you who thinks I'm not ready for battle."

"The reality is that you shouldn't go, especially not without me."

"The reality is that I am the one who will reign here and I have the power to decide about you."

"Are you ordering me to stay here because I have offended you?"

"I'm ordering you to stay because I don't want to look like a weakling in need of protection in front of the men I'm supposed to protect." That was a half-truth.

"For my duty to you is to be honest with you, and I know that if you leave you will not return."

"They won't dare to kill me on the back of a dragon."

"You could do it. They'd find a way to bring you down. You are distracted, clumsy, and you have never faced men willing to kill you before." Aemond's eyes seemed unwilling to look at you, and he remained overly serious, forcibly serious.

"This is what I have been trained for, and there is nothing that will stop me. Least of all you." You spat that last word at him as an insult, for he was offending you with his every word.

Without looking back, you left that room that held good memories except for this scene. It had not been your first argument, but Aemond had never been one of the dozens of people who doubted your ability. And to see that his biggest complaint at seeing you go was that he thought you were useless was painful enough. The rest of the day was spent avoiding him in the corridors, turning a deaf ear to your name on his lips when he saw you. In the evening, gathered in the room where your father conducted his business, he was able to sit across from you.

You paid little attention to the map, nor to your father's words, but when you turned to look at Aemond, he was attentive. He would certainly make a leader a thousand times better than you, too bad life wasn't the other way around.

"Prince Aemond," your father addressed him, "I presume you have been informed that we wish you to remain guarding the castle and the family."

"Aye, my lord. And so I will. Though it is not a role that makes me feel satisfied, your son needs reinforcements."

"I do not need them!" Your loud voice surprised the others, you were not known for your anger, nor your hostility towards the prince. And yet only Aemond seemed to put on a calm face.

"I need a proper rider," your father continued to speak, trying to ignore your anger. "And you, Aemond, are a competent swordsman, and my family trusts you. Though you may be sure that I also agree with you that my son should be helped...he is barely capable of paying attention."

That was what ended up causing you to leave the room. Ignoring your father calling you back. You wished Aemond had left behind you, but only your footsteps could be heard, and Aemond stayed in the room, with a pain in his chest at seeing you hurt and knowing that he was a cause of it.

Alone in your room you found no distractions, the sheets were still disheveled and you found a belt decorated with a dragon. You picked it up with the intention of throwing it out of sight, but ended up sleeping with the silver in your hand. And that's how Aemond found you. His weight was noticeable on the bed, and his scent made you open your eyes. Your back was turned to him, so you could only notice his hand stroking your hair and his lips planting a kiss on your neck.

"Are you sleeping?" he asked in a whisper.

"Not anymore" you whispered back.

Then he pushed you gently, turning your body to face his. Immediately his face was on top of you. And any anger was stupid in the sight of that image.

"Your father doesn't know what he's doing."

"It's not my father who offends me."

"Well, he does to me." Aemond returned to his serious and annoyed countenance, but not looking at you.

"You are very much alike. I discovered today that perhaps you are too much alike." Your tone remained unsympathetic.

"You know that's not true. Everything I do here I do for you, not for him."

"Because I'm useless..."

"No, that's not why, listen to me!" he put his hand on your cheek, begging you to look at him carefully. "It's so easy to spend my days helping you be a good heir. Teaching you things, waking up with you and sleeping with you. Being by your side makes me happy. So happy that I forget that this won't last forever. And when someone reminds me that we're not the same, that I can't protect you, that I can't help you...I feel like dying at the thought."

Then a tear fell and ended up on the collar of your shirt. You had never seen him cry before, though you had never been sent into battle before. You sat up, as if to remind him that he could lean on you.

"Aemond..." you could think of no words of comfort. It had always been you who annoyed him with displeasure and he always had the right words. He fiddled his hands on the sheets.

"We have to run away!" He said suddenly. "Let's fly away from here, explore Essos and create another dynasty..."

"And let my ancestor's die?" You interrupted him. He then seemed to snap out of that strange fantasy. "We may have been alone at first...but not anymore. I know you're nervous, but you're not thinking about my siblings. Nor my mother."

Aemond was slow to speak, the tears continued.

"You're right. I just disgraced myself..."

"Don't say that, it's not true." You took his face in your hands then, his eyes shining and one of them drenched in tears. "I'm scared too."

"Then let me go with you."

"No!" You put your forehead against his. "No...they need you, and I need you. If something were to happen to you in battle rest assured that I wouldn't survive much longer...you said it yourself, I'm distracted and clumsy." You said it half-jokingly, but Aemond felt a twinge of pain at the memory of his words.

"I don't want you to go...there always has to be another alternative. We'll come up with something..."

"I don't want another alternative. I want to protect my people. I want you to be proud of me."

"I'd rather be ashamed of you for years if it will keep you in this room with me forever."

You smiled at his comment, and he missed it. You gave him a short kiss, tasting his salty tears.

"That's not true, you're not like that. A great man deserves another great man. And I like that. A Prince with the mind of a king and the will of a warrior. I want you to be proud and look at me with that sternness and calmness of yours."

Then he smiled, shaking his head. You already knew what he was like perfectly, his sincere smiles were only for you, but his respect and affection showed in the seriousness he took in dealing with the people in question. To none of your siblings did he speak condescendingly, always taking into account their intelligence. With your mother he was gentle, and listened to her patiently and quietly. And with your father, he smiled, falsely, a short, toothless smile. And when you were finally back in your intimacy, his hair would fall down on his back, his laughter would be strange but familiar, and you would let him be awkward and bulnerable. And back in the daylight he was still as graceful and grand as the first day you met him.

He let you take off the ribbon that held his hair, and he also let you unbutton his tight clothes. That night, as on many others, you made love. But mostly, as you stroked his hair, he touched and twirled the rings on your other hand, talking until the sun began to appear. He always fell asleep first, and that night you saw him wake up too. Almost for a while you could forget the dangers that lurked.

In the days before the battle, every occasion was appropriate to steal a moment of each other's time, kissing in the corridors, studying in the library, exploring the woods, bathing in the rivers... and when you saw him eating dinner with your family, you found real comfort, for you knew well that they would be safe, and happy too.

"Is your armour heavy?" he asked as he put it on. Already the horn had sounded, warning of the enemy's arrival. His gaze was focused on the bindings and chains, avoiding your face.

"No...but of course the way you're tightening it, I'm going to need help getting it off."

Aemond let out a breath, and began to loosen it. You could see his sadness. He too was protected, and dressed to fly if need be. His hands were still nimble, but you knew he was taking his time on purpose. When he finished, he put his head on your chest and his arms around you, stroking your back, and you enjoyed his closeness.

"I'm coming back, Aemond...and everything will be even better than before." Your lips brushed his hair, and he closed his eyes in a nod.

"If you ask me right now, we can run away from here," he suggested again.

You pulled up his face to kiss him as an answer. An intense kiss that brought you closer together. Aemond tugged at your armour, and you felt his silver hair fill your hands. His tongue sought yours, and were it not for the trumpets outside, you would have spent yet another day lying in bed.

You said goodbye at the castle gates, where your mother embraced you, and where your siblings had to be separated to let you go. As your only farewell to your lover, under the gaze of the court you had to settle for pressing your foreheads together while he caressed the back of your neck and you caressed his cheek. You managed to whisper a few words in his ear.

"When I come back I will tell you of the glory and how much I love you" and you kissed the sapphire that decorated his face.

With your brothers clinging to his waist, Aemond looked up to watch you fly, Zālagon roaring in response to the roars of Vhagar, who was begging to fly with him, missing him as much as Aemond already missed you.

[sout999]

adhd talk

the third truly unsung project alongside my film and dissertation was the weird amount of targeted effort i had to put into Completing Anything Big As A Neurodivergent Person Whose Brain Is A Crazy Off The Rails Train Staffed and Patronised Entirely By Multiple Exact Copies Of The Squirrel From Ice Age

which is a description like 99/100 people reading this can relate to, but i think a sentiment i see less often and therefore feel kind of stupid and stubborn and lonesome about is "adhd is innate but is also exasperated by hectic lifestyle/modern instant gratification machines so if i fix my habits around those i can cure myself forever". which is silly and wrong but also i feel abit disconnected from adhd social media culture and cant cope just relating to it (which is all it seems to be sometimes) but learning to harness or tame it to do the things that are really important to me

i felt really cringe tbh having to look up youtube videos of HARVARD STUDENT REVEALS PRO STUDY TRICK and then narrowing it down to specifically adhd-focused study videos and keeping a planner and setting aside specific time to study studying and practising anti-academic meltdown journaling techniques and reading fucking atomic habits but i really didn't want to contribute to my abhorrent academic record following me all through undergrad. in fact i wish i had done this sooner but i was not self aware enough to consider the fact

probably the best change i made was severely cutting down or being mindful of social media time, i don't backread my tl anymore and have more moments of awareness when i find myself dumbly scrolling and realize i dont want to be doing this, and then wondering what i actually Do want to be doing. i keep a book nearby to read, and have also swapped a lot of social media time to sketching-off-pinterest time. reading about the psychology behind social media apps is also super interesting, although i always feel like a paranoid wacko conspiracy theorist talking about it. stuff like how negativity and judgemental behaviour is good for engagement (and therefore ad revenue), and how if all posts on your tl were interesting you wouldn't be as addicted to social media as you are, therefore microblogging employs a slot machine/gacha system where you "roll" for posts by logging on and hope to get a good one. it's a little full on but the more i think of it as a revolting and evil machine the more incentive i have to do something else with my time ^q^

a harder thing to do was, in the late stages of the project, the real crunch time month, avoid everything that could become a huge hyperfixation, and then eventually even minor distractions or fixations. because i know if i got super obsessed with something i'd just be up posting about it or drawing fanart. i had to bar myself from persona 3 remake and elden ring dlc and all these other shiny new releases, and the mobile games i was playing... i look forward to catching up on them now. i took up reading books a lot more because unfortunately thats just not as exciting. in the last month of film work i stopped listening to music on my computer so i wouldnt get drawing or animation ideas to distract me from film work. as of writing this i havent listened to music in like 40 days guys 😱 at the same time i am the kind of person who needs background noise to work, so i have:

watched novum's four hour hereditary video essay three times

watched novum's seven hour midsomar video essay three times

watched that one five hour bojack horseman retrospective twice

listened to audiobooks of the Britney Spears biography, Jennette McCurdy biography, three Playboy Bunny biographies (i was on some sort of lady bopgraphy kick i guess), and a few fiction books

rewatched all of bojack horseman

started on House MD and got a few seasons in before i finished the project, amazingly the perfect show to look away from bc of all the medical stuff, how many lumbar punctures do you need to show like seriously

honorable mention to the learned skill of communication and being honest and picking your battles and killing your darlings which is a larger part of managing mental illness than i cared to admit but one of the hardest ones because it involved confronting things and making big painful drastic changes and then having to tell the faculty about them. sometimes i'd be stuck on a piece of animation work for weeks/months, then go back and change the underlying idea to one i'm actually passionate about, and do the animation work in one day using newly found magical hyperfocus passion power. it's crazy! but being able to be confident about taking those steps rather than keeping on with what you're "supposed" to do went a long way.

i very much look forward to listening to a music and playing some video games properly now and being pulverized like a small victorian child from the sheer amount of fun i'm having. i'd say it was all worth it and a fun experiment in channeling the magical humours of passion and boredom and i hope it will help me with future projects too. i Am super burnt out though x__ x thanks for reading and for all your support up until now!

[moodymisty]

Hiya! Could I request some Magnus / GN! Reader shenanigans? Like the reader is trying to learn a spell (to impress Magnus), does it by "The books are just guidelines anyways", and it works. Then they go to show Magnus and confusion hell breaks loose Blease and thankyou <3<3<3

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Magnus time! I was actually working on something just like this, so this gave me the motivation to really spruce it up and finish it. But I really apologize because when I reread your request I realized I might've gone a bit less silly than you might've wanted. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationship: Magnus the Red/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None apart from this being my first time writing Magnus so please forgive me figuring him out I'm sorry if he feels off

Word Count: 1220

Sorcery is by it's very nature, finicky.

It has no solid answer, no yes or no. It's not as if it's a machine you can turn on or off, or a star you can see is alive or dead. It's an ebb and flow- something you feel.

But how do you feel something you've never felt before?

These tomes are largely nonsensical to you; The scribblings of madmen, words with no translation and sentences backwards.

You'd once again today attempted to make sense of it all, to tempt your better judgement that kept saying it maybe wasn't your most intelligent idea, but nothing has happened yet. So now you sit in bed, flicking through pages of tomes scattered across the blankets; Attempting to perhaps make enough sense of it and not bring anymore embarrassment to yourself than you already have.

In your fussiness you've already given yourself two different paper cuts, licking your wounds both physical and mental. You should probably be sleeping, the stars are out bright, and the wind gently raps against the windows as you study.

Magnus' tower is so ethereal, you look towards the window for a moment and see nothing but the midnight sky illuminating everything underneath it.

After thinking, you look back towards the oversized tome in your lap, lying on your thighs over top of a blanket. You'd picked many of the books not necessarily at random, but attempting to find the most basic of starting places from a collection that puts most others to shame. Magnus has many shelves up here, filled with his personal collection of tomes and scrolls. You sort've wish he was here to help guide you, but at the same time, you wish to surprise him to some degree.

You try just one more time, attempting to light a small ember in your palm. You follow every word exactly as the instructions- if you could call them that, and mange to hold it for only a few moments before it flickers away as if blown out by breath.

"Ugh!"

You drop your head, it coming quite close to hitting the pages of the tome.

"What is this?"

Your head suddenly whips upright, seeing Magnus himself standing in the doorway across the room. You don't know how you hadn't heard his footsteps, though you suppose you were far too distracted for your ears to prick to any other sound than what was right next to you.

Entering the room and closing the massive door behind him, Magnus takes in the scenery he's missed while aboard Photep, traveling the stars. After his quick glances he focuses on you cross legged in his bed, surrounded by opened and unopened books.

"Magnus!" He slowly walks closer to the beside, one finger brushes a tome he's clearly familiar with and opening it to a particular page; Glossing over it before he lets it gently fall back shut.

"Now, what are you concocting in that little mind of yours that requires so many spell tomes?"

Magnus watches amused as you close the book in your lap, legs cross underneath it and look at your slightly burned palm.

"I was trying to call fire. But it seems it's a bit harder than I thought." His smile fades a bit softer, watching your expression. The fabric of his robes is weaved with gold string that shines in the soft candle light.

"You seem to have had it, from what I saw."

You can feel his long red hair brush against your arm as he sits beside you, his massive height and weight difference forcing the appropriately massive bed to dip heavily to his side. It almost makes you roll, but you quickly adjust to prevent that. Now in your atmosphere it's a bit easier to look him in the eye, but you still have to crane your next a decent bit.

"I was following the tomes exactly like they said, and the best I can do is a little baby kindling. I'd have trouble even setting a letter alight."

You look up towards him, hands playing with the edges and filigree of the old, worn tome in your lap. Magnus speaks up, his tone curious and a bit surprised.

"Exactly?"

His eye glances down to the front cover of the tome in your hand, and recognizes that one instantly. With one hand, he gently reaches underneath the covers and gently clamps the tome shut, the top of his hand laying against your thighs before he pulls the tome towards his chest.

"Then you are taking it all far too literally." Perhaps the book shouldn't be written so literally then, you rebelliously think. He lays the tome aside, and uses the same hand to gently cup your jaw between his fingers and look up at him.

"it's far more of a feeling that anything, my love. If you keep just following the tomes, you might end up burning something down. Or as you've noticed, burning nothing at all." He lets out a laugh, feeling your cheeks move under his finger tips.

"I never thought you to be so studious in following directions. Perhaps you'd prefer Primarch Guilliman to myself?" You let out a harsh puff of air through your closed lips, making an insulting noise. Your hand grips his wrist and tries to pull it away, but to no avail, and instead you just grip the massive muscles of his arm and scowl.

"Funny."

He smiles wider. How you speak to him so casually now, compared to months ago. Perhaps his teasing makes it easier for you to forget who he is. He doesn't mind it.

A testament to your determination, you'd been able to cast something despite a lack of knowledge; But you could do well in having someone set you on the right path. Afterall, Magnus knows simply treating something with such an ebb and flow as sorcery as rules you can memorize will never bear any fruit.

Magnus can guide you, and truthfully, he would love for nothing more than to.

His sons don't need to be taught. They learn from his actions, and most are more than capable of progressing on their own and honing their own skills. To be able to teach his beloved something that is such a core part of himself, to guide your hand and your mind to touch something greater- he finds himself almost, dare he say excited.

He's rough on his sons, he knows they can take it. That they're built for sorceries and touching the warp. But with you he'll have to be gentle. The thought of it, to sit with you and show you wondrous things that your home planet kept from your eyes, he would start right now if not for one thing.

Magnus lets go of your jaw. He leans down and gently brushes a kiss against your temple, his fire red hair brushing against your skin again.

"Now, as much as I don't wish to part you from your reading, I have returned from Terra at my absolute wits end and desiring some rest." He smiles and vaguely gestures to the mess you've made of his bed during his absence. He can see other little messes throughout his chambers, as well.

"So my love, perhaps you could move your research, off the bed?"

[anundyingfidelity]

PLEASE if you find the time could you do perv!adam warlock x reader i would literally go feral also i love your work you’re amazing<333

oFCOURSE, i'm happy to know you like my fics! 🥹 i also received these other 2 requests about perv!adam so yeah. i am making short headcanons, hope you enjoy it! under the cut for you... 😼

if you'd like me to write a long fic just lmk, and i'll see if i can do it 🤓

pairing: adam warlock x fem!reader.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

warnings! corruption kink, fantasies, rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification, manhandling, slut shaming.

adam now knows a lot about the universe, life and ofc sex.

when he met you, you woke up something inside him.

you were cute, kind and naive but strong and smart and gorgeous. you were the perfect warrior and the perfect addition to the team once rocket asked you to join.

after you were rescued from your long destroyed planet, you absolutely said yes.

and there's where adam saw the chance of his life to approach you.

he got to know you and teach you the things he learned.

and you were so excited and happy adam was there.

but as time went by, he couldn't stop thinking about you.

he couldn't stop thinking about your laugh, your pretty lips, your beautiful face, and your body, all of him just wanted to ravage your perfect, tiny, silly being and make you his and only his.

his dirty thoughts started to become usual little by little.

you'd be preparing some breakfast in the ship in the middle of a mission, wearing your comfy clothes, shorts and a tank top on and adam's mind would go wild, yearning for you. he would restrain himself to grab your arms and force you on your stomach on the counter, rip your shorts and panties and just fuck you right there, while he whispers how much of a dumb slut you are for him.

or when you're having the ice scream or popsicles quill taught you to prepare while he was visiting knowhere before going back to earth. his dick twitches at the way you lick and your tongue rolls around the flavored ice, wishing your mouth could take his cock as good as that.

but of course you're none of what he thinks and fantasies about. you're just too innocent to give into him and to let yourself go for carnal pleasure, right?

until one night, you're up because of the same reason as adam: you cannot sleep.

he talks to you and he feels something different coming from you. you're nervous, more than ever and he senses that.

"you don't have any idea of what you do to me, do you?"

only one question was enough for you to let him in your bed.

you become addicted to his touch and his roughness.

the first night he made you cum at least four times and ohhhh, once you began this, it never stopped.

he loves your hands all over his golden skin, when you caress his hair and pull him for a kiss, but he is always a step ahead, pinning you down to the mattress - or any surface in the room - to fuck you hard and rough, for you to experience the longest orgasms you ever had, all that while he whispers the dirtiest shit in your ear.

"this is what you do to me, you dumb fucking slut," adam continues to pound into you, your walls pulsing and squeezing his cock after another breathtaking orgasm he gave you. "i wish i fucked you earlier."

each time, he leaves you exhausted and aching for more.

nobody knows the new cute, little naive girl is being fucked by the most powerful man in the galaxy.

you're so cockdrunk and such a slut for him, he points it out each time he's fucking you and you certainly love it.