#I liked that one so much that is the only one I drew in a clean piece of paper while the rest were drawn in notebooks

[sweetshuga]

✰ 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝑰𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ✧

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆»

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. English is not my first language!

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇.ᐟ𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕... loves to see your cock-drunk face as he pounds into you while hugging your thighs with your back flush against the fogged up mirror.

𝒘𝒄. 337

✰ Matt’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he held your thighs tightly, your legs up in the air on one side of his shoulders and his arms wrapped in an iron grip around them—rendering you immobile. Your moans echoed throughout the bathroom as he pulled your hips forward, changing the angle and every thrust from him hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl. Your hands scrambled to hold onto anything you could, your shoulders flush against the fogged up mirror behind you. The overwhelming pleasure making your mind go numb.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓... You had just gotten out of the shower when he suddenly walked in. Matt’s face flushed when he saw your naked form, even though he’s seen it plenty of times by now. "Sorry—" you chuckled when you heard the slightly panicked tone, "hey, it’s fine, should’ve locked the door, but since Chris and Nick are out I thought it was alright, no?" He nodded slowly, his eyes raking over your body appreciatively before snapping back up to your face. A sheepish grin plastered on his lips as he shifted his weight on one leg, trying to discreetly hide the growing arousal in his pants. You raised your eyebrows, noticing the telltale signs of his desire right away.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕... You struggled to keep your eyes from rolling back as he worked his magic. The thick head of his length hit spots that made you let out sounds even you didn’t know you could make. The sounds of your pleasure spurred him on, grunting in exertion as he surged forward with renewed vigor. Determined to please you. "Fu—ck sweets, you feel me?" His arm left your thighs, and with gentle fingers, pressed on the bulge appearing and disappearing on your abdomen from his cock. His gaze momentarily shifted from your stomach to your face, a groan leaving his lips when he saw the look of pure ecstasy on your face. "Look at you, so fucking drunk on my dick, mffh—" ✰

𓆩♡𓆪

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇.ᐟ𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔... loves when your ass recoils against his hips when he pounds into you from behind, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulling on it until you look up at your fucked-dumb reflection in the mirror.

𝒘𝒄. 362

✧ Chris groaned lowly as he drew back before slamming hard into you. Your backside recoiled from the force and your legs trembled, loud moans spewing out of your parted lips. He bit his lips, putting his hand on the small of your back and firmly pressing on it. The edge of the countertop in front of your upper thighs only made it easier for him to go as deep as he wanted without your body bouncing away. Your eyes rolled back in your skull before closing shut and reopening a few seconds later, widened like saucers when he increased his pace. Your hand travelled back in a futile attempt to slow him down, your moans nothing short of pornographic.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓... Nick and Matt had gone to get food. They did ask you if you wanted to tag along, but you just wanted to stay in and Chris being Chris, your sweet boyfriend, decided to stay home with you. As much as you wanted to keep cuddling with your boyfriend on the couch – cozied up in blankets – you really had to pee. And so, you disentangled yourself from Chris with a heavy sigh, "I’ll be right back, gotta piss." You could hear him chuckling and shouting an "okay" from his place on the couch as you walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door opening while you washed your hands. A pair of hands pushing you down to bend over the counter.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕... Chris’ free hand tangled in your locks, gripping it into a make-shift ponytail before pulling on it. Your head involuntarily leaned back, your thoroughly-pleasured expression reflecting in the mirror. Chris’ pace quickened, the sound of wet squelching filling the air as he pounded into your sopping pussy from behind. "Look at that, baby," he cooed as he saw your face in the mirror, "look at yourself, the fucked dumb look on your face." He grunted as he pulled your hair with more force, making you look at yourself and a loud shaky moan left his lips when he felt your walls flutter rhythmically around his pistoning cock. ✧

𓆩♡𓆪

taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao

© sweetshuga

[cathnospam]

Content Warning: College MHA AU, Oral (F! Receiving), Bakugo being Bakugo, Reassurance, SoftDom!Bakugo

You cried during sex and it freaked Bakugo out…

“B-bab—-y/n?!” The soft concerned look on his face in contrast on what he was just doing between your thighs was almost enough to make you break into a chuckle.

Not knowing what personal space is he cupped your chubby tear stained cheeks with his warm sweaty palm and rubbed the wetness away the best he could, “Why didn’t you use the safe word?!”

You blink, you could feel your high slowly wearing off if it wasn’t for his knee rubbing up against your clit. He didn’t even realize he was so close. “Huh?”

“Did I hurt you? Why —why didn’t—“

The tears just flowed naturally from your face, this was your first time with him and this new feeling of passion left you overwhelmed, his kissed, his curious touches, the groans and pants coming from you both as you rolled around in the messed up sheets of his bed.

His mouth was just as curious and intense as his hands, and in Bakugo fashion he gave it his all, looking up over the valley of your pretty breast to take notes of your reactions; to watch your face change when his tongue flicks in a new area, his lips practically made out with your lower ones which drew out a slurry “Katsuki~” and whine, which turned him on so much he kept doing so until he slid his thick muscle inside you, his ego inflated in ways he didn’t think could hearing you whine and moan for him, he grew confident, shaking his head back and fourth, in circles softly groaning while the slick mixture of his drool and your arousal. His forearm holding down your thighs to get a wider view of your his pretty pussy.

Who knew he was such a messy eater.

But he stopped, you started crying.

The blonde would first hurt himself before he ever hurts you, especially after giving him the chance to share such an intimate moment . He panicked.

“Katsuki, it’s okay.” You cut off his stammers, his voice was already cracking, you tend to forget how sensitive he really is under that hard exterior. You rose your back up on the headboard and pulled him down, his arms changing you in on the side of you, “I wasn’t in pain. It was the opposite.”

“How, dumbass you fucking—“

“Shut up.” You try to keep a deadpanned face, but the scent of your pussy on his breath made you subtly bite your lip, it was hot. “Well first off you were overstimulating me. Secondly, sometimes we can instinctively cry when something feels good or overwhelming, kinda like when you see people cry during weddings. They’re…happy tears.”

His face was pouted, small beads of sweats trickling down his forehead, and cheeks so warm and squishy you pinch ‘em to get a reaction out of him, “Tch….i knew that.”

“….I was really making you feel good?”

You smile, landing a slow kiss on his slightly thinner ones and tugging his fattier lower lip, you nod, “You made me feel really good. So good I cried. It’s a compliment.”

Bakugo ponded for a few seconds,finally relaxing his body to let you hold him for a moment, your heart beats laid in sync with each other, enjoying the quiet ambiance of his dorm , naked and comfortable.

“Do you still wanna keep going or wanna try again later?”

“Only…only if you want to—-I mean I do obviously, but I don’t wanna make it weird.”

“You couldn’t make it weird if you tried I wanna keep going….i was close.” You fake pouted at him, a crack of the smile came from Bakugo, he sighed in fake annoyance rising up,

“Then lay back,” He says as he pulls you by your thighs so you can lie flat on your back, “his time don’t cover your mouth when I eat you, okay? ….You sound hot.”

“We won’t hear the end of it in class tomorrow…”

“I don’t give a fuck.” His last words were muffed by his lips pressing against your sticky gooey pussy.

[beezelbubbles]

She trudged along behind her girlfriend at a relatively safe distance. A full moon meant babysitting duty supervising her. This was decidedly less sexy than she thought having a werewolf girlfriend would be. Centuries of proximity to humans and civilization meant that werewolves had undergone a bit of domestication that they would never admit to and were now closer to weredogs. But she'd never tell Tessa that. Domesticated or not, she could still rip the throat out of someone before they got more than one syllable into "Who's a good girl? Who loves bellyrubs?"

Up ahead Tessa was snuffling at the brush. most months she just wanted to run, maybe chase some deer. Sue clamped down firmly on the thought, Just like Aunt Nell's mastiff. Suddenly, Tessa stopped, ears alert. Sue caught up to her and closed her eyes, and willed herself to hear what Tessa was hearing. Finally, for a moment, the wind dropped and she caught the cadence of what seemed like chanting from the direction of the cemetery. Oh no. Tessa took off at a run and Sue scrambled to keep up. The ground leveled out when they got into the cemetery proper and it was easier. The chanting had resolved from a murmur to clear Latin. Sue groaned. Latin being chanted in a cemetery at night was never good.

There was a deep throated "wuff" and Tessa leaped into the circle of candles. Fuck fuck fuck. Candles? No no no. Sue drew the machete she kept at her hip. The chanting turned into screaming.

"No! No! Bad dog! DROP IT!"

Tessa was shaking her head and gnawing at something, but there wasn't the sort of screaming that meant it was alive, so that was probably okay. As Sue came up to the circle, the robed figure whirled at her and pointed accusingly. "Call off your dog! Do you know what you have interrupted?"

Sue looked them up and down and then squinted at the runes drawn in white chalk. "A reanimation spell? Not like a good one though."

The robed figure gaped, then seemed to remember themself. "Call off your dog, or I will deal with it myself." They waved their ceremonial dagger. It looked silver, but Tessa was ignoring it, so it was maybe silver plated at best.

"Not a dog," said Sue absently, looking around the circle, "and if you like your throat where it is, you'll stop saying that."

The figure froze and stared at Tessa with dawning realization.

"Hey, how far were you into this spell anyway?"

"It was done," said the figure in an attempt at portentously. "I was just repeating for, you know, ambiance."

"Uh huh. Uh huh," said Sue. ''Babe, drop it, you don't know what this dummy coated that in."

Tessa looked up from the femur she was gnawing on and cocked her head questioningly.

"They were trying to raise that thing."

"I did raise it. It's just... inert because I haven't given it any commands yet."

"You missed a line on the third rune. It's never gonna work like that." She sniffed. "And are those Bath and Bodyworks candles?"

"There was a sale and they're the right color."

"Riiight. Okay, well good luck with this. Tessa, let's go before this dummy's consequences start turning up." She scrapped the missing line in on the rune with the toe of her boot and muttered the final line of the incatation.

The aspiring necromancer watched them walk away. "They'll see! They'll all see."

Behind them the bones rattled and began pulling together. The necromancer cackled in delight until the skull began to elongated into a wolf's skull.

"No no! Sit! Stay!"

And then there was only a brief scream before the were-skele-wolf raised its bloodied muzzle to the sky in a silent howl.

Sue and Tessa watched this from the treeline. Tessa growled.

"Don't worry," said Sue. "It'll fall apart when it leaves the circle. I didn't put that much into the spell. Let's go home. We'll come clean it up in the morning. After you make me pancakes."

I guess this is what would happen if a werewolf bit a skeleton.

[cozylittleartblog]

idk if I've said it before, but your portrayals of both Rouxls and Queen are among my favorites, and the way they are when you combine the two is the sole thing that got me to say "yes" to queenkaard. When I first saw it in the game and it started catching on as a ship, I was like "nooo I hc him as gay," but then after seeing your stuff I was like "oh nvm I totally see this now."

i think hearing "i didn't see this ship before, but after your art i understand it and/or even ship it myself" is one of the nicest compliments i get, because it makes me feel like i'm representing something meaningful and sweet about a pairing and having people understand what i think is so great and captivating about them. i've gotten a couple asks like this and sometimes i forget to respond but i always really appreciate them :) thank you very much

[solxamber]

ive been relistening to the villains' songs like be prepared and poor unfortunate souls and it got me wondering if i could request for the overblotted boy reacting to a reader, whos usually pretty docile and a textbook example of a "good person", singing their respective villains' songs. Except that reader's extremely expressive through their voice and movements. so much so that they look and sound so villainous that its a complete 180 from their usual self. maybe reader was just vibing to themselves and their inner theater nerd came out and was just having the time of their life and the boys just so happen to be around and heard them. how would they react? :D

Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil reacting to reader singing their Villain songs

a/n; i know overblot gang was requested but evil queen, maleficent and hades don't have villain songs so i hope this is fine!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle wasn’t sure what drew him to the courtyard that afternoon. Perhaps it was the faint melody drifting through the air, or the infectious energy radiating from the sound. But when he turned the corner, what he saw rooted him to the spot.

There you were, standing on one of the stone benches with an invisible spotlight illuminating your every move. Your normally calm, good-natured demeanor was gone, replaced by a commanding presence that demanded attention.

You sang “Who’s been painting my roses red?” with a voice that was equal parts theatrical and menacing. Your gestures were grand, your expression shifting effortlessly between outrage and cruel amusement as if you were a monarch addressing trembling subjects. It was captivating. It was terrifying. It was… perfect.

Riddle’s breath hitched as he watched you embody the very spirit of the Queen of Hearts. The fervor in your movements, the intensity in your voice—it was as though you had stepped out of one of his cherished childhood storybooks. You pointed an accusatory finger at a nonexistent offender, your voice dripping with venom as you declared, “Off with their heads!”

His heart pounded against his ribcage. Was this the same person who handed out snacks to dormmates without asking for anything in return? Who was always ready with a kind word, a helping hand, or a soft laugh?

And yet… this was you too. A side of you he’d never seen. Bold, commanding, unyielding.

Riddle swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck. It was almost unfair how effortlessly you seemed to channel the Queen of Hearts he revered. How could you embody such power and poise when you were usually so… so… docile? His admiration mixed with a bewildering flush of pride.

You didn’t notice him, completely immersed in your impromptu performance. With a dramatic flourish, you ended the song, holding an invisible scepter aloft as if ruling over a kingdom of trembling subjects.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It was only then that you spotted him, his wide eyes and flushed face a dead giveaway that he’d seen the entire thing. Your mouth fell open, and you scrambled off the bench, your cheeks burning as you sputtered, “Riddle! I-I didn’t see you there!”

His lips moved as though he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, after a long moment, he managed, “That… was remarkable.”

“Remarkable?” you repeated, unsure if that was a compliment or a polite way of saying What on earth was that?

Riddle stepped closer, his expression torn between awe and embarrassment. “You—you truly embodied the spirit of the Queen of Hearts. Your intensity, your conviction…” He paused, his voice softening. “It was admirable. Inspiring, even.”

You blinked, stunned. “I was just messing around… You really think so?”

His cheeks burned brighter as he averted his gaze. “It’s… rare to see someone honor her so… naturally. I admire your passion. It’s…” He hesitated before meeting your eyes. “...beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you both stood in awkward silence, the weight of his words settling between you. Then, with a nervous laugh, you scratched the back of your head. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show, Your Honor.”

Riddle’s lips twitched, almost into a smile. “I did.” Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “I always do.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Not intentionally, anyway. But when he heard a low, familiar melody echoing from one of the quiet courtyards, his ears twitched involuntarily. Curiosity got the better of him, and he sauntered toward the sound.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

There you were, pacing back and forth on the edge of a stone fountain like a monarch surveying their pride. Your voice rang out—low, powerful, dripping with calculated malice—as you sang “Be prepared!” You punctuated the words with dramatic gestures, your arms sweeping through the air as if commanding an invisible army.

Leona’s tail flicked, his sharp green eyes narrowing. Where was the soft-spoken person he knew? The one who gave others the benefit of the doubt even when they didn’t deserve it? The one who, annoyingly, always had a kind smile ready for anyone in need?

No, this was someone else entirely. Someone confident. Dangerous. Mesmerizing.

“Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, decades of denial…” Your voice grew stronger with each line, rising and falling in time with your movements. The sneer on your lips, the glint in your eyes—it was uncanny. You weren’t just singing the King of Beasts’ song. You were the King of Beasts.

Leona’s chest tightened as he watched you embody everything he admired about his ancestor. The cunning, the ambition, the audacity to demand a throne that should have been his by right. He knew those feelings well, knew the fire that came with them. And yet, seeing you channel them so effortlessly… it struck a chord he hadn’t expected.

And damn, if you didn’t look good doing it.

You reached the final verse, throwing your arms wide with a triumphant grin. “Yes, our teeth and ambitions are bared—be prepared!” Your voice echoed in the empty courtyard, the last note lingering in the air as you struck a dramatic pose.

Silence followed. Then—

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Herbivore.”

You jumped, nearly toppling into the fountain. “Leona!” you yelped, whipping around to see him leaning against a pillar, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.

“How long were you standing there?” you demanded, your cheeks heating up.

“Long enough.” He pushed off the pillar and strolled toward you, his gaze sharp and appraising. “You’ve been holding out on me, huh? All this time, you’ve been playin’ the meek little herbivore act, and now I catch you out here auditioning for the role of a lifetime.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I was just goofing around! It’s not like—ugh, I can’t believe you saw that.”

He chuckled, low and deep. “Relax. I’m not complainin’. You nailed it, by the way. The whole ambition thing? Kinda suits you.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, unsure if he was teasing or being sincere. “You’re not… weirded out?”

“Why would I be?” He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “You were channeling the King of Beasts, weren’t you? ‘Course you looked good doin’ it.”

His words made your heart skip, but before you could respond, he leaned in closer, his green eyes glinting. “Still, you’ve got guts pullin’ that off. You keep surprising me, Herbivore. I’ll give you that.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well… thanks, I guess.”

He straightened, hands sliding into his pockets as he turned to leave. “Don’t stop on my account. You wanna belt out another song, go for it. Maybe I’ll even join in next time.”

And with that, he walked away, his tail swaying lazily behind him.

You stared after him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t quite understand. “Join in?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

But the thought of Leona singing Be Prepared with you? You couldn’t help but smile.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul always prided himself on keeping a calm, collected demeanor. It was part of the image he'd cultivated—smooth, sophisticated, and utterly unflappable. But today? Today, he felt his composure teetering on a knife’s edge.

He hadn’t meant to stumble across you in an empty classroom, where you apparently thought you were alone. The soft hum of music drew his attention as he passed by, and curiosity had compelled him to take a peek.

And there you were.

The typically sweet, mild-mannered person he knew had vanished, replaced by someone utterly commanding. You were perched on the edge of a table, one hand gesturing grandly as your voice rang out:

"Poor unfortunate souls, in pain, in need!"

Azul froze, the words sending a shiver down his spine. Your tone was rich, dripping with confidence, and paired with the way you moved—calculated, fluid, like every motion had a purpose—you were magnetic. You swept your arm out with a flourish, mimicking the sea witch herself, your voice curling around each word with wicked glee.

"This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl..."

Azul’s breath caught. You weren’t just singing the song. You were the song. The sly glances, the theatrical gestures, the sharp, knowing smile—you were embodying the Sea Witch in a way that made his heart race.

How had he never seen this side of you before?

"And do I help them? Yes, indeed!"

Your voice climbed, bold and commanding, and Azul’s mind raced. The way you seemed to channel the Sea Witch—the cunning, the control, the sheer power—it was breathtaking. You reminded him of everything he admired about the Sea Witch. The very traits that he also had.

But seeing you like this? It felt... dangerous.

"Now it’s happened once or twice, someone couldn’t pay the price...”

You leaned forward, your expression devious, and Azul’s chest tightened. He suddenly felt like one of those poor, unfortunate souls, utterly captivated and completely at your mercy.

The song ended with a flourish, and you threw your arms out, basking in your imaginary spotlight.

That’s when you noticed him.

“Azul?!” you yelped, nearly toppling off the table. “What are you doing here?”

He took a moment to collect himself, smoothing his expression into something neutral—though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “I was just passing by,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Your face turned red as you scrambled to stand. “Oh, I was just... uh, messing around! It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” His voice came out sharper than he intended. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That performance was incredible.”

You blinked, startled. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt.” His voice softened, but his gaze remained intense. “You… embodied the role perfectly. The confidence, the cunning—you channeled it all flawlessly.”

You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Thanks, but I was just having fun. I didn’t think anyone would actually see me.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “If you ever decide to pursue a career in theater, you’d be quite formidable.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You really mean that?”

Azul’s smile was small but genuine. “Absolutely. Though, if I may… I’d suggest not showing that side of yourself to just anyone.”

“Why not?” you asked, puzzled.

He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Because power like that can be… intoxicating. And there are those who might exploit it.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The way he looked at you—like you were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve—made your heart skip.

Azul cleared his throat again, stepping back as if realizing how close he’d gotten. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your… ‘messing around.’”

As he turned to leave, you called out, “Azul?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to, like, hold this over my head, are you?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Now, would I ever do something like that?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Why did I even ask?”

His laughter echoed down the hall as he walked away, leaving you to wonder if you’d just made a mistake—or if you’d unintentionally gained his admiration. Either way, the image of Azul’s flustered expression was one you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had long mastered the art of blending into the background, observing the world from the sidelines without drawing attention to himself. It was how he kept control, how he stayed one step ahead. But today, his usually composed exterior faltered.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to stop by the empty classroom, but when he pushed the door open, his entire world shifted.

You were there.

Gone was the gentle, kind presence he had grown used to. Instead, you were standing atop a low table, your expression sharp and commanding, your hands sweeping through the air as if conjuring storms with your words.

"Prince Ali? Yes, it is he, but not as you know him!"

Jamil froze. Your voice was rich, dripping with mockery and power, a far cry from the sweet tone you usually used. You stalked across the small space, throwing your arms out dramatically as you continued the song, your movements perfectly embodying the calculated, theatrical confidence of the Sorcerer of the Sands himself.

"Read my lips and come to grips with reality!"

Your voice curled around the words, biting and sardonic, and Jamil felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. You were into it. Every gesture, every word carried weight, as if you were performing for an audience of thousands instead of an empty room.

He had always admired the Sorcerer of the Sands—not just for his cleverness, but for his ambition, his cunning, the way he refused to settle for the scraps the world threw him. Watching you now, it was as if you’d plucked that same spirit from the pages of a storybook and breathed it into life.

"His personality flaws give me adequate cause..."

You spun dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at an imaginary audience, your expression fierce. For a moment, Jamil almost believed you were chastising him, and his heart skipped a beat.

He should look away. He should leave before you noticed him. But he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, utterly captivated.

"To send him packing on a one-way trip, so his prospects take a terminal dip!"

You ended with a flourish, holding your arms out as if soaking in invisible applause, a self-satisfied smirk curling your lips.

And then you saw him.

“Jamil?!” you yelped, nearly losing your balance in surprise.

He stepped forward, trying to look impassive even though his heart was still racing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever that was.”

Your face turned a deep shade of red. “I was just, uh, messing around! I didn’t think anyone was here.”

“That much was clear.” His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They lingered on you a moment too long, taking in the faint flush on your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes, the way your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath.

You fidgeted, smoothing your clothes. “It’s nothing, really. Just a silly song.”

“Silly?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “That performance was anything but silly.”

Your embarrassment deepened. “You don’t have to mock me, you know.”

“I’m not mocking you,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat, glancing away. “It was… impressive. You captured the essence of the character perfectly.”

“Really?”

Jamil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. The confidence, the control, the edge of menace—it was all there. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were plotting to overthrow a kingdom.”

You laughed nervously. “Guess I just got carried away.”

“Carried away...” he murmured, his gaze softening. The truth was, watching you like that had shaken something loose in him. Seeing you embody the cunning, ambitious traits he admired so deeply—it was almost too much.

“Anyway,” you said, hopping off the table. “I’ll just pretend this never happened if you will.”

Jamil smirked faintly. “As you wish.”

But as you walked past him, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, watching the way you moved, still radiating the energy of the sorcerer you’d been channeling moments ago.

Masterlist

[gtgbabie0]

-Vi x Reader

Synopsis: {Date night gone slightly wrong but in the right type of way}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

!!-18//MDNI-!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

Vi was hotheaded, it was as simple as that, no matter how many times she laughs off the comment whenever you call her out for her behaviour, It was undeniable. The way she took the bait every damn time, which landed her with bruised knuckles and tiny cuts on her face, was almost impressive— she didn’t take shit from no one and you swear it would come back and bite her on the ass one of these days.

“Just sit still.” You tell her, pushing on her shoulders to keep her down on the kitchen chair with a small huff to which she groans in response.

It was meant to be a nice night, the pair of you going down to a bar in Zaun for a couple of drinks— and it was all dandy, to begin with… until some drunk idiot started running his mouth, sending Vi off on one.

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.” She shrugs, looking up at you with those powder blue eyes of hers that make your heart skip a few beats and butterflies flutter in your stomach. But you wouldn’t give in to her… not yet at least.

“That doesn’t make me feel better Vi.” You reply sternly, standing in between her legs as you tend to the nicks that were peppered over her face— the bridge of her nose and her bottom lip.

The sound of your tone makes her slouch back into the chair, a small pout pursuing at her lips as she rests her hands over the curves of your hips— sliding them across your ass that was accentuated by that tight dress, she just wants to rip it right off.

“Come on baby, please… I’m alright.” She tries once more with such a soft almost pleading tone as she grazes her fingertips along the backs of your thighs— trying to not so obviously pull you down on her lap, she just wanted to feel you against her, to kiss those pretty frowny lips of yours.

“Stop trying to distract me so I can clean you up properly.” You tell her with, your brows cinched together in a mixture of concentration and faux anger, trying to be as stern as possible despite how much you just want to cave in and let her run her hands all over your body.

Vi groans once more, for what has to be the one hundredth time tonight, letting you move her head to the side with your fingers curled around her jaw— wincing slightly when you press the antiseptic wipe to a small cut above her eyebrow.

“And you’re not ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.” You add under your breath, noticing the small cut on her lip not to mention her split knuckles that you still had yet to tend to.

She looks up at you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan of your reprimands. “I just wanna kiss you,” she whispers roughly, letting her hands run along your curves slowly.

Vi knew she couldn’t convince you to drop it but maybe she had a better shot at persuading you…

“No, it’s your punishment for not behaving tonight like I asked you to.” So that would be a no.

It was all so unfair in her eyes, the guy was being a complete dick anyway. She drew the line at insults being thrown at you and that asshole completely catapulted over the line so in her mind it was only fair for her to catapult her fist into his ugly mug… she’d do it again without hesitation.

Vi’s blue eyes flicker up to your face as you press the antiseptic wipe to the cut on her lip but her mind isn’t focused on what you're doing— not when you’re leaning so close to her with your cleavage on show, that dainty necklace of yours dangling in front of her face and your sweet perfume that wisps around her, tantalising her.

It was so unfair.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” She points out, glancing at your chest as your fingertips press into her cheeks. “Shovin’ your perfect tits in my face.”

A small smirk ghosts against your lips at her mumbled words as you lean over her to rummage through the first aid kit, looking for nothing imparticular, just wanting to really give her a face full of your boobs— her fingertips dig into the fat on your hips in response, a slight warning.

“Yeah?— well you should’ve kept your fists to yourself.” You scold her, leaning a little closer just to tease her.

“Maybe he shouldn’t have been a prick to us, baby.” She rebuts, grunting at your movements. “Was askin’ for a punch.”

“Do you know how much trouble—” you go to start again, keeping that stern tone that you so stubbornly refuse to drop and she’s just about had enough, her patience wearing impossibly thin.

Without a second thought, she’s standing up from the chair, immediately reaching out for you by your hips and pulling you back towards her— she relishes in the gasp you let out as she pushes you up against the kitchen table, looking at her with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s get you outta this pretty dress, yeah?” She breathes, pushing a curl of your hair behind your ear before holding your face to keep you from turning your head— her thumb brushing along your bottom lip.

You fold almost immediately, it’s a little pathetic in all honesty, how quickly you nod your head with a glint of desperation in your eyes, mumbling a small, “Okay.”

Finally, after far too long spent humouring you she steals that sweet kiss she's been longing for. Her lips slotting in between your own like they were made for her, slow and greedily, with her tongue running along your bottom lip and into your mouth.

Your fingers grasp her shoulders, slipping into her hair in an attempt to ground yourself as she trails hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck— paying extra love to the special spots that have you arching into her toned body.

It all feels so dizzying as if the world was spinning on its axis— that familiar heat of excitement pooling in your lower abdomen, sending a tingle down your spine which is only accentuated by the feeling of her fingertips grazing along your spine as she tugs on the zip of your dress.

“There she is…” Vi mutters into the crook of your neck, pulling back only slightly to watch in awe as the silk of your dress ripples down your curves, to pool at your waist leaving your bra-clad chest on display.

The sight sends a tingle through her body, her fingers instantly brushing over the delicate lace. Vi can’t help herself, leaning forward to nip and kiss along your collarbones and across your chest. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Her words muffled slightly by your cleavage.

It felt so indescribably good, the roughness of her palm caressing along your inner thigh so agonisingly slow that it makes you whine— the sound sends Vi’s heart into a frenzy and even though she wants to make you wait for it as payback she just can’t.

Her hand dips beneath your dress as you instinctively spread your legs from where you’re perched on the edge of the kitchen table, leaning back on one hand as the other cups the back of her head— you tighten your grasp on her hair as her fingertips brush along the damp fabric of your panties and you can feel her smug smirk against your shoulder.

“Did it turn you on baby?— seeing me beat that guy up?” She whispers huskily, kissing up along your throat to brush her lips against the curve of your jaw.

“Yeah, yes, Vi… turned me on,” You breathe the confession, tilting your head backwards as an invitation for her to leave more kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Mm, can tell— you’re fuckin’ drenched.” The words are whispered against your ear, a sense of pride bursting through her chest and bleeding through her tone as she continues to rub you over your underwear.

Vi pushes the wet fabric to the side, her fingers brushing through the coarse hairs of your mound and across your wet slit, coating her fingertips with your essence before pushing them against your clit— rubbing slow circles against you.

She whispers praises into your skin as she continues to leave marks all over your chest— her free hand unclasping your bra with ease as she continues to toy with your sensitive bud. “So fuckin’ wet, huh?” she mutters, drinking in the sight of your breasts.

You let out a breathless moan, whining some words that she can’t make much sense of— but she’s sure you’re just mindlessly agreeing with her, nodding your head as she kisses along your chest.

Vi dips her ring and middle fingers into your wet heat, pushing them deep up to the knuckle as your slick walls clench around her digits— curling them with slow deliberate strokes to draw out more of those sweet moans from your pretty lips, your hips bucking up into her hand.

You let out a pleasured cry as your clit catches on the heel of her palm, grinding a little more desperately against her to feel it again. “Oh baby, such a fuckin’ greedy girl f’me.” She chuckles, flicking her tongue across your nipple as she continues to slowly pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, the squelching of your wetness drives her insane.

“Gotta taste you— need your pussy all over my face babe.” With that, she’s tugging your panties off and dropping to her knees, causing the dining chair to fall over but she can’t bring herself to care, not even in the slightest, especially when you’re spread out on the kitchen table looking so delicious.

Vi grabs a handful of the fat on your thighs, holding them apart before practically nuzzling her face against your sex— her tongue licking a wet stripe along your folds, sucking and kissing at your clit, causing your hips to stutter against her mouth in reckless abandon.

“Feels s’good— oh Vi!” you whimper, one hand curling at the edge of the table and the other still buried in her hair.

She moans into the sensitive flesh about how “fucking amazing” you taste, her hands sliding from your thighs to press down on your hips in an attempt to keep you still— which in all honesty turns out to be a little pointless because you’re so possessed by the pleasure she’s giving you she’s pretty certain you don’t actually have control of your body.

Especially when her nose prods against your clit as she teases your needy hole with her tongue, lapping up your taste— drinking from you like you're some sort of fountain of healing. She could drown in you and die a happy woman.

“That’s it, baby, grind on my face.” Vi concedes, letting out a low chuckle into your wetness whilst she runs her tongue all over your cunt— dipping it inside your entrance as she brings her thumb to circle your clit. “Cum f’me baby, fuckin' drench my face with it..” she groans, feeling you get closer and closer until you’re tugging on her hair to bring her impossibly closer, grinding your pussy all over her mouth to chase after that high.

Vi drinks up your orgasm, every last drop until your hips stop rocking and your back lays flat against the oak table with a whimper— eyes fluttering close with a trembling breath. She presses a kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back, her lips and chin glistening with your release as she stares down at you with a lazy smirk.

“Fuck Vi—” you breathe, letting your legs drop over the edge of the table as she rubs your hips soothingly.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” She teases, watching as you push yourself to sit up— your arms looping around her shoulder as she steals a kiss from your lips, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“Mhm, if you carry me.” You whisper the words into the kiss and without missing a beat she’s hauling you up, your legs wrapped around her waist as she carries you up the stairs, far from done with you yet.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

[dreamertf]

College Changes You

/includes: jock tf, getting handsomer, getting taller, gay to straight

Danny looked at Chris in shock. They hadn't seen each other in months, but they both had come back to their hometown for Thanksgiving. Since they were both in town, they decided to catch up over dinner.

Only the man in front of Chris wasn't the same 5'5" twiggy computer science major. The man in front of him was at least 6'3" nearly a foot taller than the old danny, and incredibly buff. Danny was never horrible looking to Chris but it was like a hollywood casting agent had replaced him. He was recognizable if you squinted enough, but the sharp jawline and giant brown eyes just drew you in.

"So what have you been up to man?" Danny was the first to break the silence.

"Uh not much, just school yaknow...."

Chris couldn't stop staring at his huge pecs. Not fully being able to make conversation

"How about you?"

"Oh not much! Recently I invented a new device that lets me change the fabric of reality."

Dan said with a smile, casually. His sensual voice singled out in the loud restraunt, it was like it was the only thing that Chris could focus on.

Chris didn't know how to respond, he watched danny pull out a small device that looked much like a normal smartphone. He tapped a few things and put it back in his pocket.

Suddenly he grew a few more inches to 6'10". His aura becoming much more enchanting, like he was the only thing in the universe thay existed.

As the waitress came over, she couldn't help but only look at the muscular adonis and not Chris.

"What can i get started for you guys?" She said, only looking at Danny.

"Actually, i think we changed our mind, we're gonna go somewhere else. Thank you so much for your help, heres a tip."

Danny said as he got up, gesturing for Chris to do the same. Chris hadn't seen him at his full height yet, it was stange to see his once best friend be a full foot taller than his own 5'10"

The waitress couldnt stop blushing as she just nodded and walked away, as chris stood up he realized he was fully erect.

"Haha already gunnin for it huh?" Danny said as he smirked, flexing his pecs.

---

They walked around a nearby park, chris dumbfounded unable to speak by the giant hunk next to him.

"So, i actually came to meet you for a reason."

Danny wanted him? He couldn't believe it. Chris looked up at him, surprised and blushing.

They both stopped walking as danny held chris' hands.

"I want you to serve me, Chris."

Suddenly, the ground dropped from underneath him as he buckled into himself, pure bliss and euphoria came over him as he came right there.

His limbs elongated and his shoulder broadened as they filled out with muscle. He moaned as his voice dropped a few octaves.

"I want you to take on the persona of a dumb straight frat bro."

Chris clutched his head as he felt his hands grow bigger, his mind losing memories of being any sort of intellectual. He had gotten by with his looks and athletic ability alone, and thats all he needed.

He stood up as his package slithered down his newly formed sweatpants.

"Now look at me pretty boy."

Danny grabbed him by the jaw as his face reformed into a much more appealing form. His jawline sharpened as his eyes lightened. Cheekbones rising as his face became perfectly symmetrical. Danny whispered in his hear one more time

"We're gonna be a couple, but you will be in denial. Girls dont do it like i do."

Danny gave him a long sloppy kiss as he trailed down his new muscular body, making sure to trace each nipple as he licked his way down his taut muscular defined torso.

Chris moaned as he felt danny start bobbing on his 10 inch member. He had never felt anyone's tongue be so skilled. This was far better than any girl he's ever had sex with.

Danny was pleasuring himself as sucked chris off, his huge 18 inch python calling for Chris' hole.

As chris came over and over again he looked down at his bro. Covered in cum.

"Now its your turn to serve me, turn around."

Chris fell into the grass. Pulling down his sweats, his muscular ass straight up in the air, pulsating as it felt it's master so close to it.

Danny felt his slick in his hands as he continued to massage it. He flopped it around a little as he held it by the thick veiny base.

"No homo though though, right?"

"No homo bro"

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[alllgator-blood]

The actual real answer on why his neck is so long is because over the course of his imprisonment he strained so hard trying to move he just got longer

IMAGINE WHAT HE'LL LOOK LIKE IN 1000 YEARS IF THIS IS ONLY 500. I literally drew this the same day you sent this ask and forgot to post it, the concept of him starting off fairly normal and just stretching into a balloon animal/worm on a string esque creature through sheer determination to escape is SO fucking funny to me.

I HAD TO KEEP THIS ONE A SKETCH CAUSE NO MATTER WHAT I DID WITH MY LINEART I JUST COULD NOT CAPTURE THE ENERGY OF THE FIRST DRAFT. A LOT OF MY NARINDER ART IS LIKE THAT WHICH IS WHY I DON'T POST HIM MUCH, he's best depicted with shaky lines and an unhinged disregard for anatomy

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

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

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

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

[oaksgrove]

No Surprises.

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x female!Reader

synopsis: What starts as Simon’s small act of kindness—leaving flowers on an abandoned grave—takes an unexpected turn when he learns the dark truth about the man buried there. A chance meeting at another grave, however, leads to a connection he never saw coming.

warnings: mentions of death, grief, murder (briefly described, not graphic), guilt, emotional vulnerability. Mostly fluff with humor and a touch of angst.

word count: 1367

a/n: Inspired by a hilarious, and slightly dark, Twitter thread that I stumbled across (this one) and written while listening to Radiohead—so, yeah, heavily inspired. This spiraled into something bigger than I planned, but I loved how it turned out!

Simon visits his mom pretty often. At least once a week when he isn’t on deployment.

He would buy her bouquets and her grave was the most well-taken care of all Southern Cemetery, it frequently resembled a solid third place at Chelsea Flower Show.

But the guy next to her didn’t have much luck. His grave was abandoned and never received flowers, the only readable information about the man was his name and that he died on christmas day at age 33.

There was something unsettling about the headstone that Simon couldn’t shake. Maybe it was the way the chiseled name seemed to fade quicker than the others around it, or the date etched so starkly—Christmas Day. It felt like the grave itself bore a story too heavy for time to carry.

Every week, as Simon walked past that abandoned grave, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Not for the man, but for what the man represented—a life wasted, forgotten, abandoned by time and loved ones. It was as if Simon could almost hear the echoes of the man’s lonely final days, a voice in the silence that reminded him of his own lost moments, his own griefs that had never been healed. He was doing it for both of them, in a way—he was making up for something he couldn’t even name.

No one ever left him flowers and each time he passed the grave, his eyes lingered on the wilted weeds and worn stone, an ache settling in his chest.

The feeling was eating Si alive.

He thought of his mother, resting just a few rows down, her grave adorned with flowers he could no longer place there himself. Maybe, just maybe, this stranger’s memory deserved a similar kindness… when he looked outside the iron gate and saw the pop-up florist and had an idea.

That's how Simon started buying flowers for a deceased man he had never met. And after some time Simon even started adding little touches—fresh soil to the base of the tombstone, cleaning the headstone when the rain left stains, sometimes even rearranging the flowers into a new arrangement.

Simon didn’t know why he cared—it wasn’t like the man would notice. Still, an odd sense of duty settled on him, as though he’d become the custodian of a memory long forsaken.

It was like he was making the world better, one bunch of flowers at a time. He did this for quite some time, but never told it to a soul. He knew it sounded weird, kinda lonely but he came to think about him as a friend. The loneliness of it all gnawed at him. He wondered, was he doing this for the stranger—or for himself, to fill some silent void he couldn’t quite name?

As Simon approached the grave that week, the familiar pang returned, sharper than before. He stood still, the wind teasing the edge of his jacket. The flowers in his hand felt weightier than usual, as though the guilt he carried seeped into their petals.

“What am I doing here?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. But no one answered—not the man beneath the stone nor the ghost of his own regrets.

He wondered if there was a hidden connection between them, something that drew Simon to him. Maybe they went to the same school, or maybe both supported Manchester United football club or whatever. So he decided to google his name.

Finger hovering over the enter button, he hesitated. It was silly, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to unearth something better left buried.

When Simon first Googled the man’s name, he found nothing.

But, just like Price says, “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

The days had passed, and curiosity gnawed at him until, one night, he gave in. With a few beers in a pub with the 141 clouding his judgment and hours of searching through online records, he finally found a Newspaper article.

His pulse quickened. When the article loaded, Simon froze. The words blurred together at first, the screen swimming in his vision.

‘Family Tragedy Ends in Suicide on Christmas Day.’

“Murdered her…” he whispered aloud, his mouth going dry.

The words clawed their way up his throat, and the details stood out like jagged shards—murdered his wife and in-laws on a Christmas night. His hands shook as he scrolled, the bedroom suddenly feeling too small. The man he’d been honoring wasn’t a victim but a villain.

His wife didn’t leave him flowers because he murdered her on christmas day. After murdering his wife he also killed her parents and then jumped in front of the only train passing in Piccadilly Train Station that christmas night.

His stomach churned as he read on, his hand trembling against the mouse. By the end, he wasn’t sure if the nausea came from the man’s actions or the realization that Simon had spent years tending to the grave of a killer.

Simon’s heart sank while reading all the news, he felt like a terrible person and felt so sorry for his wife and parents. He felt he needed to do something to soothe the guilty and that's the situation he found himself in, he wouldn’t buy them flowers for almost two years but he was going to apologise.

After searching where they were buried he bought them flowers and drove to the Blackley Cemetery.

The smell of damp earth and fresh-cut flowers hung in the air, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional distant crow. It was quiet, reverent, a sanctuary—and yet, under it all, a gnawing sadness.

Standing in front of their graves, Simon’s hands trembled. The flowers he’d brought felt heavy, like a physical manifestation of the guilt he hadn’t even known he was carrying.

What right did he have to apologize for a crime he never committed?

The flowers became more than just a gift; they were a ritual. With every petal he placed, Simon felt as though he were piecing together something broken—not the strangers’ lives, but perhaps his own. And when he laid that last bouquet at the foot of the victims’ graves, it was less an offering and more an apology whispered through the blooms.

Kneeling before the graves, Simon fumbled with the bouquet, his fingers clumsy and unsure. He cleared his throat, but his voice cracked anyway. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, the words escaping like a confession.

The headstones didn’t respond, their silence deafening, but Simon kept going. ‘I didn’t know. I should’ve…’ His words trailed off, swallowed by the damp air, leaving only the faint rustle of trees to answer him and a nudge on his shoulder.

‘Hi,’ she said, her voice calm but mildly woolly. ‘Why are you leaving flowers for my aunt and grandparents?’

Simon was startled. He turned, finding a woman standing a few feet away, arms crossed but her expression more puzzled than angry. His throat tightened. ‘I, uh… it’s complicated,’ he stammered, his face flushing under her steady gaze

Her eyes were full of something he couldn’t place—curiosity, disbelief, maybe even a little amusement. The words he’d rehearsed in his mind felt silly now, but he said them anyway, rambling about flowers and apologies.

Simon shifted, glancing from her face to the graves. “It’s… a long story, one I’m not even sure makes sense.”

She tilted her head, lips quirking into a half-smile. “You know, weird as it is, those are usually the best stories. So, how about you tell me over coffee?” Her face softened, the tension easing as he listens, there was no judgment, only a quiet understanding that unsettled Simon more than anything.

He blinked, surprised. ‘I, uh… yeah. I’d like that.’

As they walked away from the cemetery, the weight in Simon’s chest lightened. Maybe it was the fresh air, or maybe it was the odd sense of peace that seemed to hang between them now. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had shifted. The ache in his chest had faded, replaced by a soft, unfamiliar warmth. It was as if, in trying to make the world a little better for a stranger, he’d found a piece of something he’d been missing too.

[marauders-bs]

do-do-do-do-do i am gonna make an alt ending for this >:) it will be sadder be prepared

"Go away," Regulus said, head bent over his book so his curls cover his writing.

"I want to know why that happened."

Fucking James Potter. Of course it's Potter.

"It didn't," Regulus said, dipping his quill in ink. "That didn't happen, Potter. It was a reflex."

"It was a reflex to kiss me back?"

"That's what I said," Regulus muttered, thinking of the curses his friends knew for when they figured this out and almost smiling at what Potter had coming to him.

Potter rolled his eyes. "What, so you stick your tongue in people's mouths anytime they kiss you? Who are you kissing, anyways?"

"Barty gives pretty good tongue," Regulus said casually, enjoying the way Potter's eyes widened.

"Why are you kissing your friends?" Potter asked, very clearly trying to play nonchalant.

Regulus looked up, putting as much Black sarcasm into his face as he could physically muster. "Bat's kissed all of us. We were high, anyways. He's got-"

James sat forward, leaning over towards Regulus. "Oh? Who's he got now?"

"If I told you," Regulus said, closing his notebook, "We'd both wake up in May in the States. Bat doesn't fuck around."

"How would he know?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow in Potter's direction. "He knows."

"Your friends are so strange," James says. "I'm almost glad I don't know them."

Regulus shook his head, picking up his quill and fishing Advanced Potion Making out of his bag. He'd stolen the copy from Sirius, who hadn't even noticed it was missing yet.

"If I were one of your friends," Potter asked, clearly unable to stand the silence, "Would Crouch have kissed me?"

"Probably," Regulus answered. "But we're not friends, so it doesn't matter."

"You don't think we could ever be friends?"

"No," Regulus answered, trying very hard not to think of James's hair or his shoulders, or the way his arms were now folded on Regulus's shoulder.

"That's good, I think," James whispered, bringing his head to rest on his hands, which was still on Regulus's shoulder. They were eye-to-eye now.

Regulus could've shoved him off. It was probably what James was expecting.

He didn't.

"Why?"

Regulus turned his head and found James's face mere inches from his. He couldn't help but be reminded of the day before, when James had surged forward out of almost nowhere and kissed him.

"Friendship," James whispered, eyes dropping to Regulus's lips and back up again. "That's not exactly what I want from you."

Regulus's hands felt useless. He wished he could do something with them.

He remembered yesterday, when James had kissed him. Sure, Regulus had kissed him back and fled, but-

In the moment.

This time, it was Regulus who leaned forward. He let his eyes flicker closed in their little corner of the library Regulus had casted a concealment charm over once James had arrived.

He leaned back, just a little, when Jame was unresponsive.

"Why'd you stop," James murmured, smiling a little as he drew Regulus by his neck, and Regulus had no idea how his hands had ended up there but they were warm, and-

Sweet Salazar, James was warm. He was like a little sunbeam personified. Regulus wormed his hands to James's back, doing his best to turn his shoulders so they could fully face each other.

They broke away only to kiss again, and Regulus had to open his eyes.

James was smiling, yes, Regulus could feel that, but his eyes were closed and he looked relaxed. Regulus hadn't realized either of them weren't relaxed until they both were.

"Was that a reflex, too?" James murmured against Regulus's lips.

"Oh, fuck you," Regulus replied, leaning in again. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips.

[pandasmagorica]

Reblogging this loooooong (that's stretched out "long" not the Thai word for uncle) thread which is totally worth reading.

I did love seeing both Ohm and Singto with different actors (well actually I never saw much of Singto with his branded pair Krist because I tend to abandon shows featuring hazing), and enjoyed seeing Nanon in 55:15.

I am enjoying Kidnap so far (I've completed through episode 5), and my relatively low expectations for it may be helping. I definitely have lower expectations for romcoms than for serious dramas like Not Me or 10 Years Ticket. I do notice plot holes and accept them as long as I'm entertained. For example, He's Coming to Me was wildly inconsistent in following the ghost rules and Thun's abilities, but I still love it and have watched it probably 3 times.

I wonder whether the shows end happily because of the branded pairs or whether the branded pairs get cast because the show ends happily. It does kind of serve as a spoiler though.

@waitmyturtles, you asked "have there been GMMTV shows that you yourself have been disappointed by?"

Heck yeah! By disappointed, I'll skip shows like SOTUS, Theory of Love, or Cooking Crush that I abandoned almost immediately for one reason or another and focus on shows that drew me in only to crush my soul at or near the end.

Only Friends for doing Boston wrong.

Last Twilight for abandoning disability rep or even consistency.

23.5 for that outing and the wrong person apologizing.

I believe I've already written about all of these.

While I wasn't happy with Ter's redemption in Wandee Goodday, it wasn't enough to turn me off to the series.

I do think keeping low expectations for romcoms helps, but that doesn't mean you need to keep silent (not that it's my place to say you should - it isn't).

Hey,

I'm not 100% sure how this works. Also this is more of an opinion than a question. I just feel the need to brain dump. You are under no obligation to reply. 😁

I fear that First and Khaotung are being wasted at/by GMMTV. They're both stellar actors and seem to have the sensibilities to tackle more serious material.

I feel like coming off Not Me, the themes in The Eclipse kinda went over my head. My fear was and still is that I didn't understand all the nuances. And that's why I felt like the show was lacking. Also I think the very first preview set it up as an entirely different show (more supernaturalmystery/thriller) in my head, so there was a disconnect there as well.

Their next project was Moonlight Chicken where both of them shined as actors but negligibly as a BL pairing. Having said that, they seem to be on very solid ground in the BL fandom - I am referring to their fan meets.

Only Friends was a masterclass of acting as far as FirstKhaotung were concerned (i was all about Ray and Sand), but I think the overall reputation as show that fell flat on its face overshadowed or at least took away (for me) from the gravity of FK.

And now we're here. With The Heart Killers and I am very wary of how Ota all going down. I see that the final trailer got over million views and I'm happy for them, but based on I think the absolute travesty that was OF, my expectations for this show are on the ground.

I really want more of an insight into how projects are picked up and distributed inside GMMTV (if you ha e any, I'm dying to know). I feel like they would benefit greatly from being on a show like PS I Hate You or something like Peaceful Property.

It feels like they're backsliding in terms of material given. Which I am sure is a) not their fault and b) me possibly being weird and dramatic in the wee hours of the morning. But I wanted to get it off my chest and I was reading your previous reviews when I felt, and then gave into the impulse to write to you.

Also I'm a MaxTul girly too and somehow, you made me want to give Make it Right another chance.

Have a great week ahead and keep up the absolutely exceptional work! ❤️

NIHILISTIC! It's great to hear from you! And thank you for the compliments!

TW for girlies out there who are not Nihilistic: this post will contain criticisms of The Heart Killers trailer. Read at your peril, delicate hearts!

I'll go backwards to save the biggest stuff for last. If you write anything about Make It Right, please tag me! @bengiyo and I always give a little DJ air horn to each other when we've nabbed another one into the broader cultural reconsideration of this AMAZING show. MaxTul, man. Nobody beats them! (Okay, almost, Tul admits he wasn't the strongest actor, but. We'll let it slide, dahling!) Chemistry, humor, pride representation, everything, they're great. I yelped when I saw them in Triage!

Okay, so you are a FirstKhao girlie, and you're worried about what The Heart Killers bodes. (Out of transparency, I have The Heart Killers tag filtered because of Only Friends PTSD. I'm gonna filter my own post!) For you, Nihilistic, I just watched the trailer for it.

I will get to all your questions about the GMMTV model in a moment.

Now, out of even MORE transparency, I am watching the MESS that is Kidnap right now, and listen, it's NOT GOOD. I'm fucking not even writing about it anymore, I'm just reblogging the sessy gifs. I am watching it to support Ohm Pawat, and am hoping that this partnership with Leng Thanaphon will hopefully lead to better scripts.... somewhere. (Or at least, better scripts for Ohm at a place like One31 or Channel 3. I also hope Ohm keeps up his anti-branded pair stance, but if GMMTV forces him to pair permanently with Leng, it won't be a fucking surprise, and more on that below.)

To focus specifically on THK for a sec: the THK trailer evoked a lot of what's gone utterly wrong in Kidnap for me. I think writing Thai BL/Series Y scripts to be different, fresh, and innovative, is just going to be really fucking hard, especially for stories featuring branded pairs that MUST end up together in the end. Because we, the viewers, KNOW that they MUST end up together in the end, what kind of mystery and conflict can a script convincingly evoke to keep us, the viewers, engaged and interested in the drama?

A few of us Ohm girlies were excited that Kidnap could have had non-romantic plot points (CRIME!!!) to drive concurrently with a romance plot. There are Series Y that have done this BEAUTIFULLY, particularly Sammon's stories of Manner of Death and Triage.

I'm sorry to say that I didn't get that from the THK trailer, and that THK smells a lot like Kidnap to me. The trailer itself is giving an indication that the "jobs" these guys have as double agents are going to be compromised due to them falling in love. And after the debacle that was Jojo Tichakorn's Only Friends -- a show premised on the exploration of mean, icky, really horny humans, a great place to start an interesting show! -- knowing that THK will HAVE to end up in a romantic place, with FK and JoongDunk being in memorable and memeable entwinements... that's a lot to ask of a show that already isn't making sense by drive, emotion, and tone in its trailer alone. What matters more to these characters? Their work, or their need to be in monogamous relationships? Seems like the latter to me by way of the trailer, which makes me wonder what the point of the plot is. (Joong's chest, probably.) (Gahddayum.)

(I haven't watched the latest episode of Jack & Joker, btw, but I understand that THIS WEEK's episode is ALSO going through something similar, with dead-end and uncommitted plot points all to get to a kiss. Oy.)

To summarize these points and to touch at your question about how GMMTV chooses scripts: GMMTV has an economic model to sell in giving happy endings to their branded pairs, which I wrote about at length in my Old GMMTV Challenge rewatch of The Eclipse. No matter where a script goes, the ending must be memorable and monogamous to satisfy the retweeting hunger of the branded pairs' fandoms, in order for GMMTV's artists to increase online engagement and to maintain earned media values to sell products.

The wonderful @flowerbeasblog noted to me recently that Tha Sataporn, the CEO of GMMTV, said in an interview that as the productions of Series Y in Thailand continues to increase, there is a greater need for more scriptwriting talent across this niche genre, creating competition for more excellent writing. (By comparison, in the States, when streaming services like Netflix and Hulu starting commissioning more original series just about a decade ago, the demand for scriptwriters and excellent writing also went up by incredible scale -- only to come crashing down recently with pandemic and strike-related losses in revenue.) GMMTV's recently announced script competition, Y Find, updated itself last week with a notice that the company would need more time to sift through scripts to judge. In other words: the demand for creative plots is so high at this company that they are literally fielding entries from the general public.

At the same time, Tha Sataporn has been blunt in indicating that "good shows" are not the priority of his GMMTV, and that talent, management, and engagement are his indicators of success. So, economically -- as long as a show hits that happy ending, and gets the girlies excited online with commentary and purchasing power, then the studio has won, in GMMTV's eyes.

ULTIMATELY, Nihilistic: what we are dealing with regarding your concern, as fans and/or critics of Series Y shows, is a conflict of values, among critical fans like ourselves, other fans who only watch shows for romance and shipping, and the economic bottom lines of the studios/agencies themselves. Some of us just want narratively good scripts, like Bad Buddy or He's Coming To Me. Others are content with having a show end with their fave pairs confirmed together in the end, no matter the process of how they got there. Those are different values we hold in watching shows. I appreciate that while you're a fan of the FK branded pair, that you want stronger scripts for them. I do, too, but that's not a value that every fan -- and GMMTV itself -- holds. And I believe that's why we've been seeing more and more mediocre scripts from that studio in particular.

I actually want to note maybe something positive about FirstKhao. Other than The Eclipse, it seems like they haven't been locked into high school or university settings. Only Friends, Moonlight Chicken -- these are shows that show First's and Khao's characters as young adults, and THK is going there, too. I hope they can avoid the university settings as they continue to work.

Is stellar acting wasted at GMMTV? Oh, yes. Besides First and Khao, who I truly think are good actors, we have Gun Atthaphan, Nanon Korapat, and Ohm Pawat -- these three guys are on my list of the best Thai actors out there who have done BL, and they haven't had great scripts in years. (Gun, arguably, has had the best pickings of decent shows recently in Cooking Crush and The Trainee, but they weren't high art; and Nanon's Dirty Laundry was the last Jojo script I was truly impressed by.) All three of these guys were in MOVIES at one point. Those ambitions, on behalf of these actors by GMMTV, seem to have gone by the wayside in preference for a huge economic push to boost branded pair-based series insteads, with their plot holes and guaranteed romances.

I hope the genre's tide turns for the sake of quality scripts, especially at GMMTV, but my hopes are low for this agency at the moment. My joy in Thai shows recently has been in watching past shows for my OGMMTVC. I've been on a lakorn kick lately, having watched The Miracle of Teddy Bear and I'm looking forward to watching Khun Chai soon. Other agencies and studios, like One31 and Channel 3, are breathing down GMMTV's neck and producing more interesting shows, sometimes with branded pairs and sometimes not. Triage only came out two years ago, and that show's trilogy (along with Manner of Death) will end with this year's airing of Spare Me Your Mercy, starring the very likely one-time pair of Tor Thanabob and JJ (Jaylerr) Krissanapoom, two gigantic artists in Thailand who are circling BACK towards the much smaller genre of Series Y for SMYM's sake. I have VERY high hopes and expectations for that show -- and that show is well out of the purview of GMMTV.

I think what you're smelling about the THK trailer is right, Nihilistic -- to me, the trailer isn't cohesive, and jumps already to its forgone conclusion of a romantic end. Unfortunately, for those of us familiar with Jojo Tichakorn's work, we know that if he was given more leeway, he'd likely come up with something more interesting. But now that he has to work with branded pairs -- who are shipped in the eyes of their fan beholders -- he's got a lot less room to be creative and interesting, which ultimately stifles the otherwise excellent acting we'd see from these young men.

[slaaverin]

Okay why are Jikookers literally elder people? 30 is not old at all, but I've seen children and teens in other shipper fandoms, not this one ...what brings y'all together like this 😂

But happy birthday love 😘 may you grow to see your generations 😊

Ahhh thank you so much for the birthday wishes anon 💜

What you're saying makes me wonder.

I have a jikooker friend who is 70+ 😂

But I believe some jikookers with greater levels of maturity can truly understand jikook's bond on a deep level, having been themselves in serious relationships and having more experience with relationships in general. So that's probably why.

It is true that tkkers are usually way younger and more immature 🧐 you're raising an interesting point!

People with some years behind them can understand better the human behaviour. Usually when you are in your teen years it is very common to experience toxic behaviours because young people don't know how to put up personal boundaries yet and if they weren't raised with a lot of love, well they lack self-love as well.

So in fact they have no idea what a healthy relationship looks like, that's why we see so many toxic narratives about the members and their relationships.

Of course I'm talking generalities I am well aware some older fans are also involved with other ships and fuel those narratives. But it's usually fans who even in their adult lives continue to have distorted perceptions of what is good and healthy.

My view on this might be quite radical but nobody in their right mind could be a serious taekooker. Nobody.

Their ship is based entirely on falshood and toxicity. When you are not distorted in your views it is impossible to get behind a ship such as this. (Except if its for just fun I guess)

I think for a balanced adult the only relationship that makes the most sense is jikook. Because they are themselves balanced and healthy and there is absolutely nothing toxic about them.

But not everyone grows in the same way and not everyone can have a balanced point of view and have enough experience to understand the subtleties of human exchange.

That's why there are so many disparities. And that's why I think a lot of jikooker are mostly older.

Jikookers do not have the shiny object syndrom. We do not think jikook are in a relationship because "it's hot" or "it would be cool".

We simply observe them and drew conclusions from our own personal experiences that made us go "Ok I see what this is" and that's it, literally.

That's why I think sometimes we should not take what tkkers do so seriously because some of them are really young and yes sometimes children. They don't even understand what they are doing and what they are believing in.

But it's true jikook draw people with certain levels of maturity, and I think it's quite indispensable to truly understand the depth of their relationship. Nothing beats personal experiences to compare lol

(Again it is all general statements and I know there are exceptions)

I answered quickly but I hope you see now why some jikookers might be older.

Thanks again and take care 💜

[yaut-jaknowit]

How bout getting a look at Vic’tao’s and Uihoy’s first time doing the bedtime tango, given how they first I can see this being a slow build up till one of em snaps and makes the first move kek

- 🥤

Burst

Character: Vic'tao (Male Yautja) x Uihoy (Male Yautja)

Warnings: anal sex, knotting, rough, marking, biting, clawing, possessive yautjas (duh), mlm.

Word Count: 2871

Summary: After getting over their major differences, both Yautjas agree to team up for hunts. In close quarters with only each other, tensions can run high. And what's the best way to get rid of those tensions? Fucking them out of their system.

Author Note: Yasssss, they don't know what to do with each other up till this point. All they needed was a small... push. You give the best ideas, thank you so much!

P.s. Happy Thanksgiving yall. I know not every celebrates it. I personally don't. I just like getting together with my family and having delicious food. If you have a shitty family, don't worry. I can save you. Just gotta read some gay smut to make your day better!

P.s.s. Requests are closed. So sorry!

Masterlist

Ao3

Fleeting glances had both Yautjas tensing and snapping their heads away from each other. This continuously happens nearly every day now for the last month. Neither can figure out why they keep looking over at the other. They are desperate to find the source of this distraction. A distraction that cannot happen while preparing for a hunt.

Deep, sharp clicks rolled off of Uihoy’s tongue. The yellow of eyes glowing lightly in the dimmed room of the cockpit. A feeling of an insect crawling its way underneath his skin forced the male to shutter. The purple Yautja pulled his mandibles tight over his mouth and focused solely on a spot on the metal ground.

It’s just a hunt, he chanted over and over in his mind. They were solidifying plans for the moment. Any backup plans in case the hunt somehow turned for the worse. Retreating to live and fight another day.

Yet, Uihoy couldn’t get Vic’tao off of his mind. His thoughts were consumed by the yellow base and blue tinted Yautja. The way the male stood at the console, fingers gracefully typing away. His lethal, lean form stole his attention. Uihoy drew his mandibles tightly inward and gritted his jaw. The muscles that lined his neck flexing at the strain.

These two were brought up to despite the other, even challenge to the death. Except, they’ve gone against their upbringing to live amongst together on Uihoy’s ship. Uihoy could even say he enjoyed Vic’tao’s company. Even going to the fact he thought about wanting the younger male to be around more often than not.

Any opportunity to watch they male move with grace.

His purple scales shuddered. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting away from the floor and up to Vic’tao. There was the yellow Yautja meeting his gaze all over again. Uihoy had to bite off a groan and clenched his hands into fists. Anything to stop himself from tearing about the console in front of him.

Something in the back of his mind clawed for the surface. A thought that made him turn it almost instantly down. This was enough he could do with right now. (Wanting to woo Vic’tao into mating with him)

A sigh sounded from Uihoy. Said male slipped out of his seat and marched straight out of the cockpit. He needed space, time, and fresh air before he did something he may regret later.

After the fifth time of meeting Uihoy’s bright yellow eyes, Vic’tao vowed to never look at him again. It’s not like Vic even liked Uihoy one bit. Everything he did irradiated him to the bone. It grated at his nerves watching the bulky, stout Yautja work the console like he was born with the knowledge. Muscle memory allowing Uihoy to glance over at Vic’tao’s staring self.

Each time, Vic was caught red handed. Both looking away at the same time. Not in a challenging way. All he wanted to do was admire Uihoy from a safe distance in a common area. Where he won’t be thought of as strange or rude for constantly finding his eyes on the older male. He didn’t think Uihoy would catch him every single time. The Yautja was good.

With a shake of his head, tresses swaying with the movement, Vic’tao refocused on the hologram in front of him. This was considered an average hunt for the average hunter.  At least, the prey was. But the lands weren’t something he was used to. Mountain terrain may drag his form down.

He may be lean and great at climbing towering, monstrous trees. These were a different obstacle to overcome. The face of the mountain terrain they were trekking through was like claws jutting out of the ground, tearing through the sky.

Many call it Paya’s hand. It wasn’t a place on Yautja Prime but a well known planet that those that decide to visit use it for training. The prey are well and plentiful, leaving a snack to a hungry, tired Yautja after a day full of training. Or to those looking to stock up for the next week.

Movement caught the yellow Yautjas attention. His head snapping over towards Uihoy. The male stomped his way out of the cockpit. Vic’tao furrowed his brow once the door slid shut behind Uihoy.

“What just happened?” he muttered to himself then shook his head. The mysterious ways of the homebound Yautjas will forever puzzle him. Mothership born are always much simpler.

That very next day, a pair of yellow and a pair of orange eyes found each other in the kitchen. Fresh meat stock the cooling box. Plenty to keep their bellies full for the next week. Vic’tao chirped quietly to himself, muscles freezing up. Not this again! The Yautja couldn’t believe it was happening all over again.

Vic’tao heavily ignore a burn that settled in the pit of his stomach. The logical sight of his brain shouting, demanding for Vic to take his life by the reins and actually do something!

In reality, the younger male continued to stand there. His feet felt rooted in the spot, molded into the  very metal floors they stand upon. All he was able to do was move his gaze down towards the ground at his feet. Focus on another else besides Uihoy. Don’t look at him. Vic’tao had to constantly remind himself. Uihoy distracted him. It’s all what he’s been doing every time they are near each other.

This time, Uihoy didn’t remove his eyes from avoiding Yautja. Actually, he narrowed his gaze and leaned forward on the kitchen island. Uihoy support more of his weight on his palms.

The small twitches of Vic’tao’s mandibles told Uihoy a wordless story. The younger male avoided his powerful, direct gaze. Uihoy even felt that he may have crossed into challenging territory but didn’t stop. Maybe, a small part of him wanted for Vic’tao to take up the challenge. What could possible turn out in the end one pins the other? Uihoy stood there, consumed by his thoughts for a few long seconds until he realized what had just pass through his mind.

His head jerked back, eyes wide and blinking more times than necessary. This time with Vic’tao… Being in the same ship for weeks upon a time. It as driving him insane! A mothership born and homebound can’t. It’s not logically possible. The differences in culture.

Let alone the thought process. Uihoy is used to nearly dying everyday from a predator on Yautja Prime. What did Vic’tao had to go through?

The anger he attempted to force into his system swiftly washed away. Uihoy rested back on his palms and let his head hang. What was he supposed to do in this situation? His hands curled into fists. This wasn’t the plan. Everything is jumbled mess of emotions he truly didn’t understand.

In his blood, his instinct, he wanted to tear apart the thing created all of these issues for him. It wasn’t the time for talk. There was no words in the moment to quell him. It was time for action.

“Uihoy, are you angry at the counter or something?” the youngster quipped with a short snort afterwards. The words snapped him out of his thoughts. His plan falling apart right before his eyes.

Uihoy raised his head and blinked a few times at the other male. Then, he finally found his voice. “No,” he drawled and tried to a reason from the depths of his mind. “I’m just… thinking.” If Uihoy could, he would’ve face palmed at the stupidity he just displayed.

“Huh. Well, what’s causing you to be upset?” he asked once more. Vic’tao had turned around to face Uihoy, head tilted fully to the side. The blue-gray, thin tresses falling off his shoulder. A singular brow was raised at Uihoy’s direction. “I can smell your anger from all the way over here, you know?”

Ah, there was no denying or hiding such a fact. Uihoy usually has a good control on his scent and emotions. Yet, this was new territory for him. A female… he could understand. The many children he’s sired are evident enough. With Vic’tao, Uihoy stumbled like the first time a combistick was thrust upon in his hands; told to fight for his life.

Was that what he was going? Trying to… mate with Vic’tao? Same sex isn’t seen normally. It does happen amongst Yautjas. At their base root, they must produce children for the next generation. So many don’t follow that route for a same sex mate. Some clans frown upon it, discouraging it for the next for the next generations.

Yet, all of this dancing, all of this toying, avoiding the issue has only caused more issues. The tension between them only building the longer either Yautja dismissed the feelings in their chests.

A snarl tore from the elder’s throat. Vic’s eyes jumped wide, mandibles twitching. His body reacted by preparing for a fight. Uihoy was on him in a flash, quicker than Vic’tao could comprehend. A mighty, purple hand wrapped around the taller, leaner male and held him against a wall. Vic’tao didn’t struggle. His eyes watched every twitch, every muscle that moved.

H'dui'se. Thick, heavy in the air. Both Yautjas tensed up, tongues darting out to taste each other’s scent in the air.

Nearly glowing eyes bored into the other. Uihoy could see it in Vic that he too struggled with these unknown emotions. Not unnatural… just new, unsure about how to feel. Uihoy was done fliting around.

“Strip. Now.” Deep from Uihoy’s voice came a sound that had Vic’tao’s scent doubling. It nearly made the older Yautja dizzy and lose his grip. He growled again and redoubled his firm grasp on Vic’s throat. The younger male didn’t move for a few, long seconds. Uihoy tightened his hand again. “Strip.” And he wouldn’t say it again. He would do it himself.

The seriousness in Uihoy’s eyes had the yellow Yautja undoing the knot on his pants in record time Neither looked away from each other. The clothe had been pulled off to reveal the entirety of Vic’tao’s well sculpted body. Uihoy laid a hand on Vic’tao’s chest and ran his lethal claws down to palm at his wet sheath. He toyed with it by running his thumb between the folds. Vic’tao keened and rutted his hips forward. His hands landed on Uihoy’s shoulders and gripped tightly.

“Don’t you pauk-de toy with me, home-world born,” he seethed and glared at Uihoy from underneath his brows. His hands twitched to turn the tables and pin Uihoy to the wall. Each touch on his sheath prevented him from committing to the thought. “Uihoy.”

Said male grinned wide, mandibles flared out in display and enjoyment. Able to knock the high and mighty youngster made his blood sing. “What was that?”

Sharp nails dug into Uihoy’s shoulders. Neon green blood began to drip freely from the new wounds. In a flash, Uihoy took Vic’tao down to the ground and placed a foot on the yellow Yautja’s chest. When Vic made a move to move, Uihoy added his weight. “Stay.” Vic’tao listened to the older male and watched as he stripped himself as well.

The little clothing he wore as well was discarded somewhere in the kitchen. Each male naked like the day they were born.

Uihoy lets his cock slip free from his sheath. A hand wraps around his girth and gives a few firm strokes. Underneath him, Vic’tao growled and tried to get up on an elbow. But, Uihoy bellowed a warning and verbally forced him to lay back down. Vic huffed and could only watch as the brightly colored shaft twitched against the older male’s hand.

Pleasure and need pooled at the base of Uihoy’s spine. The need to pin the other down was far too great for him to handle. With a snarl, Uihoy flips him around onto his belly and hikes his hips up. Vic’tao claws at the metal kitchen floors at the sudden change. His own cock slides out of its sheath and meets the warm air. It was already soaked and dripping onto the ground.

A thumbpad touched at his tight entrance. Vic tensed up with a yelp before getting a hold of his nerves. He didn’t care if he was on the receiving end. All he wanted was to be connected with Uihoy in some way or another. He shook his nerves off and rutted his hips back. Uihoy got the signal.

The pointed, wet tip was lined up. Uihoy didn’t waste a second on theoretics and shoved his hips forward. Pain and pleasure exploded inside of Vic. His claws tug into metal and scrapped against the floors. His eyes were screwed shut as he attempted to control his erratic breathing. Uihoy groaned at the feeling that ran up his spine.

He tugged his hips back in a fluid motion and rocked forward again. A steady, fast pace was set. All he wanted to do was take and take and take from Vic. Get all he could from the yellow Yautja. Uihoy wanted all of him. He needed all of Vic’tao as his own.

His mate.

As the thought hit him, he didn’t slow. He didn’t stutter. No, his pace increased. The fluid from his sheath aided him. Wet, obscene noises filled the open space. Every thought was consumed by the need to have this Yautja be filled with his essence. He wanted Vic’tao. He wanted his heart.

Once the pain quickly gave way to pleasure, Vic’tao reached for his aching shaft and wrapped a hand around it. “Pauk!” He toyed with the tip and pushed out more pre-cum to use it as lube. Then, Vic set the same pace as Uihoy the best he could. But the older Yautja was going wild, loosing himself in the pleasure and need.

Uihoy hunched over Vic’tao and locked his arms around the yellow Yautja’s waist. This anchored him to Vic’tao and let him keep the same pace. He was able to go harder. The stinging slaps of Uihoy’s thighs to Vic’tao’s butt and thighs only drowned the younger Yautja in more ecstasy.

“Mine. Pauk-de mine. My mate!” Uihoy declared with a roar. Vic’tao didn’t fully comprehend the purple yautja’s words and only went along with it. A heady whine left his throat as he could feel closing in fast.

Cum painted Vic’tao hand and the floor underneath him. He felt like he was bursting at the seams. The pleasure overwhelming to the point he couldn’t think or see straight. Vic’tao yelled out, hand squeezing his tip to push every drop out.

Each clench around his already sensitive cock sent the purple Yautja into overdrive. He didn’t care about the force or the speed of his thrust. He needed to knot him. All Uihoy could think about is marking the whining Yautja underneath him.

Uihoy’s eyes narrowed on the perfect place. Without another moment, Uihoy latched his fangs into Vic’tao’s exposed shoulder. Said male reared up with a cry of pain. Blood pooled around Uihoy’s teeth creating a scar that would bond the two of them. Vic’tao squirmed underneath him. Uihoy only tightened his jaw and mandibles with a thick growl.

It only took two more thrusts for the male’s knot to expand pass the stretch ring of muscles. Vic’tao sobbed into the floor. The ball of flesh pressing against a bundle of nerves inside of him. Uihoy continued to rock his hips the best he could, pouring what seed he could inside of his new mate.

Once the last of the buzzing of energy finally dispersed, Uihoy unlatched his teeth. Both of hands were on either side of Vic’tao’s head to lift most of his weight off of the limp male. Vic’tao was purring away, dazed and content. Uihoy snorted then used a hand brush away Vic’tao’s tress on his shoulder. His mate mark fresh and evident on the younger male’s shoulder. Uihoy couldn’t be prouder of himself at the sight. He could feel his cock twitch inside of Vic’tao.

He leaned down and nuzzled carefully above the wound on Vic’tao. “You did so well, mate. I’m gonna keep you. You’re mine now.” Uihoy purred his own tune to calm down Vic’tao’s wildly beating heart he could hear. One of his hands petted at Vic’tao’s side. “Stay with me, Vic. Please.” Yes, he could make all the demands he wanted but it all mattered to Vic’tao if he wanted to stay after this.

“As if I would pauk-de leave after such a dicking down,” Vic’tao mumbled underneath Uihoy. The purple Yautja couldn’t help but snort at his words.

The hand petting Vic’s side stopped at his hip. With an experimental tug, he was able to slip his knot out of Vic. Said Yautja groaned and tensed up. Cum oozes out of his stretched hole and leaked down onto his thighs then the floor. Uihoy tightened his hold Vic’tao for a moment at the beautiful, delicious sight. 

“Want another?” Uihoy toyed with him.

Vic’tao tensed underneath him for a different reason. “If you don’t get your penis back in me, I swear…” He wasn’t needing to be told twice.