#White gold rope chain

[arielsoicyjewel]

Top 7 Gucci Link Chain Trends In 2025

Here are the top Gucci link chain trends, giving you ideas to update your personal styling this year or choose the best for yourself or a partner.

1. Chunky Gucci Links with Iced-Out Pendants

Forget subtle! 2025 is about making a statement. The thicker gauge Gucci links, often in 14k gold Cuban chains, and adorned with eye-catching pendants.

Think custom-designed initials dripping in diamonds, oversized religious symbols, or even miniature replicas of your favorite luxury items.

The key is to choose a pendant that reflects your personality and amplifies the chain’s inherent boldness. A Gucci link necklace like this screams confidence and individuality. These designs are known for their maximum width, substantial carat weight in the pendant, and bold design.

Pro Style tip: Keep the rest of your outfit relatively simple to let the chain and pendant be the focal point.

2. Delicate Gucci Links with Minimalist Charms

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have a trend towards refinement. Think thinner, more delicate Gucci links, often in white gold, paired with small, minimalist charms.

A single diamond stud, a tiny initial, or a sleek geometric shape are all excellent choices. This look is perfect for those who appreciate understated elegance and want to add a touch of luxury to their everyday style.

Many choose to use a White gold rope chain as the base to build from. These jewellery pieces feature Thin gauge links and lightweight, subtle charms.

ProStyle tip: Layer this chain with other delicate necklaces for a chic, bohemian look.

Must Read: The Ultimate Guide To Watch Sizes: Find Your Perfect Fit

3. Mixing Metals in Gucci Link Designs

Why choose one metal when you can have two? Two-tone Gucci link chains are set to explode in popularity in 2025. Imagine a chain with alternating links of yellow gold and white gold, or even rose gold and platinum. There is a high contrast between the two metals, alternating link patterns, and a unique design.

This creates a dynamic and visually appealing contrast that adds depth and interest to the piece. This is especially popular with mens gold chains as they aim to add contrast to their looks.

Pro Style tip: Match your other jewelry to one of the metals in the chain to create a cohesive look.

4. Jade and Emerald Accents in Gucci Links

Adding a pop of color has never been more stylish. Natural gemstones like jade and emeralds will make a splash within Gucci link chains.

You’ll see designs with emerald-studded links or jade pendants accentuating the gold. This trend is a fresh take on traditional luxury, injecting vibrant color and a touch of nature into your ensemble.

High-quality gemstones, expert setting, vibrant green hues are the primary characteristics of these Gucci links.

Pro Style tip: You can pair these chains with neutral-toned outfits to let the green accent shine.

Read More: Selecting The Best Gold Chains To Gift On Valentine’s Day Gift

5. Fusion of Gucci and Cuban Link Elements

The iconic Gold Cuban chain is getting a Gucci-fied upgrade! We’re seeing designers experiment with incorporating elements of the Cuban link into Gucci link designs.

This might involve using a thicker gauge chain with a more pronounced Cuban link profile, but incorporating the signature Gucci interlocking pattern. The best of both worlds! You get hybrid design, robust construction, a blend of two iconic chain styles.

Pro Style tip: This bold combination works well with streetwear-inspired looks.

6. Ethically Sourced Materials in Gucci Link Production

Consumers are increasingly conscious of the origins of their jewelry, and this trend is set to continue in 2025.

Expect to see Gucci link chains made from recycled gold, lab-grown diamonds, and other ethically sourced materials. Brands that prioritize sustainability will gain a significant competitive advantage.

If you prefer recycled metals, conflict-free gemstones, transparent sourcing practices, then this jewelry trend suits you the best.

Pro Style tip: Make sure to research and inquire about the origin of the materials when purchasing your chain.

7. Bespoke Gucci Link Chains with Unique Engravings

 In 2025, expressing your unique personality is paramount. Customization is one of the most popular trends this year, that allows buyers to create a truly one-of-a-kind Gucci link chain.

This could involve engraving your initials, a meaningful date, or a personal motto onto the links. The possibilities are endless. The key features of these bespoke Gucci link chains are personalized engravings, custom link designs, and bespoke creation.

Pro Style tip: Choose an engraving that resonates with your personal values and beliefs.

Also Read:  Top Jewelry Gifting Ideas In Gold, Silver, And Diamond

Conclusion

These Gucci link chains and other jewelry trends make it clear that 2025 is all about embracing classic styles with a modern twist.

Whether you’re a fan of bold statement pieces or prefer more subtle accessories, there’s a Gucci link chain trend to suit your style.

By incorporating these trends into your wardrobe, you can elevate your fashion game and make a lasting impression.

However, it is essential to choose a reputed jewelry brand that can offer a versatile range of quality crafted Gucci link chains. We at So Icy Jewellers, promise the same and more with our extensive jewelry collection, including Gucci Link chains, necklaces, rope chains and more.

Explore Our Versatile Range Of Gucci Link Chains At So Icy Online Store

The Original Blog is Published at the Top 7 Gucci Link Chain Trends For 2025

[wjdexclusives]

Discover the Best Gold Chains for Men at WJD Exclusives

https://www.wjdexclusives.com/blog/discover-the-best-gold-chains-for-men-at-wjd-exclusives/

Discover the Best Gold Chains for Men at WJD Exclusives

If you're searching for the perfect gold chain for men, WJD Exclusives offers an unmatched selection of quality, style, and value. We understand that choosing the right gold chain can enhance your style and make a statement. Our extensive collection features a variety of designs, ensuring there's something for every taste and occasion. Explore why WJD Exclusives is the go-to destination for men’s gold chains and necklaces.

Why Choose WJD Exclusives for Men’s Gold Chains?

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Popular Categories

Gold Chains for Men

Discover our best-selling gold chains, available in various lengths and styles. Perfect for any occasion and versatile enough to suit any outfit.

Men's Gold Rope Chains

Our rope chains are a classic choice, offering timeless elegance and exceptional craftsmanship. Available in different thicknesses and lengths to suit your preference.

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[pricetagged]

fool's gold (pyrite)

Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~

Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift

*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.

---------------------------------

It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.

Not the baby, no. The lie.

You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-

It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.

You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out. 

Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.

It did little to cool you.

Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–

You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.

It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.

"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears.  "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"

They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.

You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.

'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'

You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.

The priest took it as shame.

You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.

You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.

It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.

But so was he.

A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits. 

And now you heard him for real.

The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.

It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.

–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–

                                                 –it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–

–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–

                                                                                                                                    –taboo–

The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.

A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.

"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."

That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.

It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.

The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.

You risked a glance up.

He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.

The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.

"Well, g'nna show me?"

You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.

Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.

Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.

Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.

He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.

"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"

That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–

–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–

He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.

–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–

There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–

–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–

Wishful thinking.

He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.

He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.

"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."

He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–

But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.

You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.

The jig was up.

"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"

He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–

You'll make it so.

As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.

Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.

You worry that it can't handle the weight.

Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–

He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.

"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.

Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–

It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.

At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.

Eventually, he must grow bored.

"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."

"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.

"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"

He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.

And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.

And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.

You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–

Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.

It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.

You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–

"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"

"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.

He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.

You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.

"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"

Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–

---------

At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.

He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.

He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.

(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.

He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–) 

He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.

When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–

For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.

He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.

He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.

(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)

---------------

Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖

[evilmenarehot]

Rafe the Protector

Frat!Rafe x reader (established relationship)

Summary: At one of Rafes frat party a guy gets a little too handsy and Rafe comes to the rescue.

Themes : Mainly fluff! Slight angst cause of gross boy who can’t take no for an answer 🙄

*this is my second time ever writing so once again cut me some slack😭

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

You could already hear the music blaring from inside the party when you stepped out of your uber. Tired from your long day at school you start to regret showing up, but your promised Rafe. Plus it’s nothing a little bit of liquor won’t fix. You look around and notice that the line to get in is at least 30 people deep, but luckily you’re the Tri Delt’s frat sweetheart. Meaning you get the lovely power of skipping the line. A perk you get when you’ve been dating the frat president for almost a year. You approach the door where two of the pledges have been given bouncer privileges where you wait for them to finish talking to the girls at the front of the line. Once done you step up and clear your throat to get their attention. “Hi my name should be on the list” you smile at them.

They look at each other as the smaller one hands the taller one their clipboard and give you a look that is probably supposed to be intimidating. However considering they’re barely legal adults is just kind of funny. “What’s the name?” “Oh it’s y/n, y/n l/n” you patiently wait for them to find your name as you hum along to the song playing inside, once your name is found they cross it off, and wish you a good time while opening the velvet rope. There wasn’t a velvet rope last year so I guess these guys take their jobs very seriously.

As soon as you step inside you’re hit with the smell of sweaty men and weed. What a glorious combination to be met with. You make your way around trying to spot your freshly buzz cutted boyfriend, but this place was packed. Luckily you see a familiar face in the crowd and make you’re way up, “hey topper have you seen Rafe? I just got here.” He looks down at you and his eyes are bright red, meaning that someone’s having fun. “Omg y/n hey, uhh I think I saw him out in the back boutta play some pong” he basically yells in your ear trying to overpower the music. “Okay thank you” you give him a smile and make your way to the back deck.

As you approach the sliding glass doors you can already see him playing pong against two pledges, and winning while doing so. You take a moment to appreciate his looks, wearing a gold chain and a tight fitting white t-shirt, he’s the epitome of sexy. You slide open the doors and make your way up to him sneaking your arms around his waist from behind. He jerks around in surprise until he’s met with your eyes. He puts his arm around your waist and sneaks down for a kiss. “Hey baby” he says with a smile. He lets go for a minute to give his attention to the beer pong in front of him but as soon as he lands it, he turns back to you. “Did you just get here?”

“Yeah I did, came straight to you.” You smile up at him,

“Okay I have one more cup to sink and then I’m all yours.” You let go and step back to let him focus on doing his thing. The crowd around goes silent while he takes aim, he shoots and lands his ball in the cup with a little splash. As the crowd erupts around him he turns around to pick you up and spin you around in victory. You giggle in return and wrap your arms around his neck. When he sets you on the ground he gives you a quick peck on the lips and ushers you both off to a quieter place of the house.

You end up in the kitchen where he puts you up on the counter and starts to prepare you a drink. He turns back around and hands you a red solo cup with some sort of red liquid in it. You give him a look of distrust, “ what is this?” “Just try it baby you’ll like it I promise,” you look down at it hesitantly and take a small sip. To your surprise it tastes rather good, like strawberry or something. You look up at him and give him a soft smile.

“Okay that is actually kind of good.” He smirks in response, “now why would I make you a drink that’s anything but.” You giggle and take another sip of your drink while Rafe gets a refill of his beer. “So how was my beautiful girl's day?” He asks while leaning on the island that is opposite of you. “It was good, just long, glad to have a night to relax, what about you?” He lets out a chuckle and takes a sip of his beer contemplating his day's events. “Uh I skipped class, bought some kegs, threatened some pledges, you know, just a typical Rafe day.” You chuckle to yourself and look at him to see he's smiling like a fool and staring at you.

“What, why are you looking at me like that?”

He steps closer to you and wraps his arms around your torso.

“Because I just love you, that's all.”

You sigh in his embrace, and after a moment you slightly push him back so you’re looking in his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be big bad frat president Rafe Cameron, if people hear you talking like a love sick dope your reputation might be ruined” you joke at him. He hums in response and looks around the room.

“Well luckily no one is here to find out my secret. Now come on, it's a party, let’s go party!”

He picks you up from the counter and sets you on the floor, giving your ass a little slap as you walk in front of him. You look back shaking your head with joking disappointment and make your way out to the crowd.

You spot some of your friends and lean back to tell Rafe you’re gonna go say hi. You walk towards them and after catching up you guys make your way onto the dance floor. You guys dance for a while throwing back more drinks and eventually you notice a few guys come and start dancing with them. Your friends seem to be fine with it so you look around hoping you’d find rafe to come join you so you’re not dancing by yourself. Instead of finding rafe some random guy walks up in front of you blocking your view.

“Hey sweetie looking for a dance partner?”

You back up from him allowing for some more space and continue to look around the room. “Um no thank you I already have one.” He cuts the distance again and leans down to talk into your ear “is he a ghost or something because I don’t see him here” he says with a laugh. You take another step back bumping into the person behind you and push him further away. “I think I’m just gonna go get some water and fresh air.” You turn to leave this weird situation when he instead grips your wrist and pulls you back in.

You frantically look around for rafe hoping to be saved from this moment, but the creepy guy continues to talk low in your ear. “I’m just trying to be nice. I don't get why you’re being such a bitch, it’ll be fun. Come on darling.” You try to find your friends in the crowd only to realize they’ve all disappeared. You realize you’re completely alone in the situation.

“Please just leave me alone” you say as you try to pry your wrist out of his grasp but instead he takes your hips and tries to force you to start dancing. Right when your fight or flight response is about to kick in you feel his hands being violently ripped away from your body.

You look over to see Rafe towering over them holding the guy by the collar of his shirt.

“Hey I don’t know if you have hearing problems or you just have a low fucking IQ, but I’m pretty sure the girl said to leave her alone.”

Everyone around goes quiet to watch the scene unfolding in front of them. The guy starts sputtering in response unsure of what to say, but Rafe doesn’t let him get a word in. Instead he turns the man around to face you and puts him in a headlock so he can’t go anywhere. “I’m going to need you to apologize to her before I take away your ability to breathe, got it?”

The guy shakes his head violently understanding the repercussions if he doesn’t listen. “I’m sssssorry” the man stutters. Rafe clearly not pleased with that pushes further, “you’re sorry for what?” He tightens his arm around the guy's throat waiting for the man to respond. “I’m sssorry for fffforcing myself on you,” Rafe looks down at the man in his grasp, still not fully satisfied with the apology. He then looks at you realizing how uncomfortable you are. Rafe decides it’s best to end this now so he can comfort you, even though he’d prefer to beat this guy unconscious, you’re the priority right now. He lets the guy go and looks at Topper giving him a nod towards the door. Topper then takes the guy by the shoulders to lead him out to the front door, and makes sure he gets his name to add him to the ban list.

Rafe then walked up to you wrapping his arms around your shoulders pulling you into him. “Are you okay?” You silently nod into his chest not wanting to break apart. Seeing that everyone is still staring he covers your ears before he yells as not to hurt your head.

“THIS IS A PARTY SO STOP STARING AND GET BACK TO IT”,

he lets go of you and grabs your hand leading you to the stairs at the front of the house. He then leans down to whisper in your ear, “why don’t you go up to my room, change into something comfy and I’ll meet you up there in like 5 mins.” You nod your head in compliance, no longer in the mood to party, and make your way to the third floor where his room is.

You approach his keypad locked door that he put in place due to the always too many roaming strangers in a frat house. You enter the code, your birthday, and make your way into his room. You make sure to close the door behind you and immediately head to his dresser. You rummage through his shirts until you find one you like and you start to strip off your party outfit. You slide the large shirt over your head leaving you in just his shirt fitting you like a dress. You go into his adjoined bathroom and start to wash off your makeup needing to wash off the night's events. Once your face is nice and clean, you take your place in the middle of Rafes bed and scroll on your phone waiting for him to come back.

After a few minutes you hear the door click open and see Rafe walk in. In his arms is an abundance of snacks and some water bottles. He places it all down on the bed in front of you and then looks at you in your curled up position. “I thought we would just have our own little movie night here instead. The party was boring anyways.” You smile up at him opening your arms, waiting for him to come into your embrace. He lays on top of you for a few minutes, the two of you just enjoying each other's company. Then he eventually stands up to grabs his tv remote off of his nightstand and passes it to you.

“Since your night was traumatized it’s only fair that it’s your movie pick.” You gladly accept the remote with a giggle. You hear him sigh from beside you and say, “I am really sorry I let that happen, I’m not letting you leave my side for now on, I should have been there.” You look over at him to see how beaten up he looks. You put your hand on his check and lightly caress his face to comfort him. “This was not your fault, and I’m not going to make you my bodyguard, we each should be allowed to do our own things and see our own friends. I’ll just be more careful on the dance floor.” You grin at him hoping to lighten the mood.

He removes your hand that’s resting on his face and gives a kiss to your palm. “You’re right, but I meant what I said about someone needing to watch you.” You roll your eyes knowing he is not going to let this go.

“New pledge duty, y/n bodyguard. I’m not letting you out of the pledge's sight for now on, and if they let something happen to you, no frat for them.” He crosses his arms looking proud of his new idea. You scoff in amusement . “ You can’t just assign a random freshman to follow me around everywhere, I can protect myself.” You stare him down hoping he’ll loosen his resolve and give up this crazy idea. He pretends to think about it for a minute before speaking up,

“yeah as much as I believe you, tonight didn’t prove that. Plus it’s too late I’ve already decided, you need a bodyguard. Can’t have anything happen to the Tri Delt First Lady now can we.” He slyly moves his arm around you pulling you in as you two snuggle up and prepare yourself for your impromptu movie night. “ I will stop complaining as long as we can watch pitch perfect” you bat your eyelashes up at him hoping it’ll help sway his mind. He looks at you with annoyance, but ultimately gives in.

“Fine, but y/n pledge duty starts tomorrow.” You chuckle at him and grab onto his bicep to get comfortable as you press play. “I love you Rafe” you mumble into his arm. You feel him give a kiss to the top of your head and hear him whisper

“I love you too baby.”

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

*should I do a part two where she has to deal with a pledge being her bodyguard?! Let me know 💖

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

[rhaegonthinker]

happy rhaegon week!

{day 1: all tied up, whether that be rhaenyra or aegon’s blood ties that keep them tethered to each other, or the rope, the chains that keeps them in bondage to one another.}

bonded and bounded by blood {mature, 950 words}

Rhaenyra traces over the scar her stepmother inflicted on her all those years ago. the mended flesh her father’s catspaw dagger sliced through, tarnishing her porcelain flesh. The same dagger revealing Aegon the Conqueror’s dream she wished she had within her grasp, wanting to run her hand along the Valyrian blade, reveal its secrets once more to her. Of fire and blood.

But another of her blood, one with fire swirling through his veins, holds onto it no, grasps onto it tighter, not afraid to cut his own flesh upon it—her half-brother. One named after Aegon the Conqueror, the second of his name. Second in everything Rhaenyra was first in: first born, first loved, first, first, first.

Thoughts of her consume him daily, memories of the night when his own mother cut his sister with the curved dagger, once her filth, her sins, had been revealed for all to see. All because he was jealous of her, of the attention and love she got from their father wholly. even from his mother. He envied that his sister’s bastards got kisses to their foreheads, a comforting touch to their bruised cheeks, while all Aegon received was a harsh, swift slap to his own cheek, marks his mother left—for never being enough. For always being too much.

Aegon cried himself to sleep that night dreaming of a younger version of his older sister, dressed in white and gold, intricate braids piled on top of her head, rubies placed like bloody tears drops amongst them. He was marrying her, he was placing a cloak of his protection around her—one of black fire and crimson blood. And Aegon smiled down at her, his dreams coming true. But Rhaenyra was crying, looking at him with misery in her lilac eyes, disappointment. She held the dagger to her young flesh and carved an A into it, then she carved an R into his arm, joining her blood to his. This is what you wanted, brother. Now we are one and the same, our blood and fates forever linked. Rhaenyra licked the blood of the blade, kissing him, sharing the taste of both of their blood with him. She bit his lip, injuring him strikingly. And Aegon awoke from that nightmare, that dream, harder than steel. He pleasured himself to the memory of her copper and saliva, how sweet, how metallic it tasted. He imagined fucking her on their wedding night, how she would bleed on his cock, once he pierced through her maidenhead, officially making her his sisterwife.

Aegon always imagined it was her each and every time he fucked another, drinking until he was dizzy and couldn’t differentiate a simple whore, picturing the sister he craved in place of them. And at least with actual sisterwife who favored his Rhaenyra, he could imagine more easily, effortlessly, especially if he fucked her from behind, imagining her tears and moans of pain were those of pleasure. For he knew Rhaenyra would find pleasure in the pain he could gift her, give her always.

As the years went by, without his sister’s presence in his life, learning that she had an Aegon of her to own now—with their uncle of all people, Aegon’s love turned to rot, beginning to loathe, while still harboring the lust that that twisted sickly inside his soul. Still believing she was his, that she owed him.

The day he saw her before the throne, belly full and festering with their uncle’s seed, Aegon smirked at her, salaciously, sinfully, wanting her to hear the filth in his mind. Of how he thought of fucking her in front of their uncle, her sons, their father, his mother. Of how he thought of ruining her, giving her wounds along her perfect flesh to match the wounds he felt inside himself, never able to heal. Not since that night she started haunting him, that his blood began to hunger for hers. He couldn’t help but act out, taunt and bully her bastard sons. Take out his frustrations on them, when she was jovial, smiling and laughing, all joy, no hurt.

And when the dagger was finally placed in his hands for the first time, he felt a thrill holding the curved blade. The same steel that cut his sister, that drew her blood. He almost envied the dagger. He wanted to lick the edge of it with his tongue. See if it tasted like her.

Aegon holds onto it now, tightly, obsessively, never letting go. A piece of her always with him, never out of his sight, always in his grasp. He's tempted to use it on his flesh, to make himself bleed, hurt. To feel it slice through his pale skin and cause him pain, like she causes him everyday. But Aegon is patient, and he is king now, his father's rightful heir. And he knows Rhaenyra will come to claim her rightful place; that his sister will come with fire and blood to take what is undoubtedly hers. And Aegon eagerly awaits the day she does, for he will graciously give her her throne, made of iron and steel swords. As long as she submits to his steel carving into her flesh once more, making her bleed for him and only him. A fresh bloody wound signifying his mark on her, his claim upon her pristine flesh, branded onto her body by her brother, on her very soul for eternity.

In life and even in death. For her fire will always scorch and burn through him, for they share the same blood. Are bonded and bound by it, wounded and stitched, sewn back together by the veins that intertwine their destinies, their fates together. 

[ur-mousey]

Strawberry Worries ~

Yandere! Husband! Nanami Kento x Curse! F!Reader

summary Anxious Nanami Kento is a recipe for fucking you hard with strawberries in your mouth. 1.6k warning mature, smut, dub-con, implied kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, feeding kink. ..............................

Worriedness is contagious. It tanks efficiency and threatens to eat at one's productivity. And, it piles high out of eyesight, waving a red flag to be seen and pondered on. It could be needy like a scorched enemy or as tempting as one's lover. Oh, what he would give for his worries to vanish. Nanami Kento does not have time for such a disease.

Yet, worriedness never leaves his furrowed brows. It guided his work, the restless pen against paper, the precise hit of his knuckles to skin, and it brought you to him. He must have been infected all his life, for the feeling carried him home once again.

It wouldn't be the first time, that worriedness thrummed its delicate cords within Nanami's lungs. He knew your plight. Curses do not fare well in gilded cages. But adjustments take time. That tune -so thick- emitted in his veins. And it pressed its lips against his neck.

Soon, his inflictions would be your own. It's contagious, after all.

Worriedness is frightening. His heart sank further when his lover had failed to greet him at the door. You were as precious as firelight. Why would he not worry over you? Alone at odd hours, awaiting his return from situations deemed trifled. Nanami awaited you at the entrance while he bolted the many locks on the door. Did you leave?

But, the apartment wasn't devoid of your messes. Nor were there any less signs of your energy.

Sighing, he said. "I sense you, Wife." Nanami ran his fingers between his neck and collar. "Come greet your husband, or I will punish you."

When would you come to your bitter senses? He has left you with no binds of chains or ropes. Nothing should tether you from flying away. But you don't. Nanami worries more than ever that he'll come to find you afloat in the clouds. Out of reach for all eternity. He'll stay among the infected. While you remained pure of his demanding worriedness.

You couldn't understand Nanami's devoted inclination to tether you to his humanity.

He would grow strawberry fields to taunt you out of the sky. Waving the fruit high in the air if it meant he could grab your wrist to his. He would force-feed the tart fruit past your lips in the hope that it'll lure you home. Nanami would do more deplorable things in the name of love. Things that would have you despise him more.

Yet, his cultivated calmness would remain, fortified by the desire to dominate your entire being. A barren room. No means of escape. It's what Nanami expected the situation to escalate to. However, you're exceedingly passive about your predicament. Curses live eternally if unchecked. What's a decade in your eyes? Insignificant. It drove him mad knowing that you'll reside here as a pass time more than to fall in love. To handle unwillingness means to break them.

And, within that brokenness, the hollow husk of a person, one could be molded to fit a new purpose. Even curses could be hollowed. You couldn't.

Boundless, Nanami thought it described you. Then your voice floated in the air, "Husband? Ha. Funny.”

There you were. In all your splendor like the first time you meet. Your eyes swirled with sweet white lies that you weren't prone to masking. A tentative smile adorned your face, filled with tricks. Nanami's cock swelled in his tight breeches. He tugged his tie from around his neck, roping the fabric around his knuckles. You, too, took notice of what it was that ailed him. His darling fairy bristled, and your lips twitched.

However, he became more concerned about how the shadows sat on the sidelines. It allowed for your ethereal skin to glitter gold flecks.

Oh, how it would be daunting for him to taste each beautiful mark on your skin. But, it would chase his worries farther back until tomorrow.

You scoffed at a distance, "I don't claim you. You haven't earned me." You hid yourself in his casual tee, pulling the fabric taut against your fat thighs. You are a curse, Nanami thought, a retched little thing he should've killed. He couldn't. When your cheeks blushed the deepest of reds like a strawberry, and your dragonfly esc-wings reflected light like bubbles on an ideal summer day, he couldn't possibly kill you.

"I haven't?" Nanami slipped his shoes off. "Yet, you are still here." He stepped up from the tiled genkan onto the wooden floorboards. "To think you would stay, willing. It baffles me, Wife." He stalked through the narrow hall where his imposing build threatened to graze either side of the wall. Your breath hitched as his laced hand slithered over your collarbone. "Would it be rude to assume that you like me?"

Another scoff pressed out from your chest. "I'm not helping you with your boner if that's what you want."

"Little one, that's not what I asked." Nanami pinned himself over your frame. The wall supported your trembling back. His tongue lulled out to caress the helix of your ear. "Do you like me?"

"No." You sucked in a breath, and the pointed tip of your ear passed in between his teeth that he proceeded to nibble on. "It was either be killed or stay here. You reminded me that in plenty."

"Of course, the curse should know her place." Nanami whispered. "I do think though... that the little fairy should be honest."

"Aren't we known for our honesty?" You sneered.

"Perhaps." Nanami shrugged and brushed away the hairs sticking to your reddened face. He stared through you before slinking away into the depth of the apartment. "What's your adversity with lights?"

You rolled your eyes, following close behind.

>>>

Worriedness was abandonment. It takes the distraction of something small and blows it out of proportion till the full-scale image is muddy. Shouldn't you be mad? A curse of your rank didn't need to live the life of a housewife. Curses couldn't love, you feared. Therefore, what this man is pinning for is a lost bet on you. You had more to gain whether it concerned him. All you needed to do was play house.

The bare minimum. You tilted your head towards the dimmed kitchen lights. Your legs hung limply over the counter's edge, and you caressed Kento's, your husband's, thigh with your twirling foot. He had rolled his sleeves to the crease. He wielded a knife valiantly so that his muscles tensed. Strawberries were beheaded. And you wondered when you'll be at the receiving end of his blade. Why were you still here?

"Nanami?"

Kento pops the red fruit into your awaiting mouth. The slight tang of the fruit's juice sent tingles through your wings. No one had ever fed you before. And, if they did, you weren't sure if you'd be moved.

Your worries were trivial as long as you remained immortal. Absolute. Untouchable. Yet, worriedness made time greater spent debating. All these distractions don't change who you should be. This husband of yours kept you from fulfilling your duties of carnage.

Curses have a single purpose, destruction. Kento was a distraction, a friend of worriedness.

When you awoke to an empty bed and realized the overhead lights would remain off earlier that morning, your one concern was whether he would leave for good. Even death would be a betrayal. You wanted to pretend that a creature like you should be capable of love. But, this was a break, a false reality that never belonged to you.

"Little one, are you ready?" Kento cleaned the kitchen. The knife and cutting board were discarded and sheath into their respective places. You nodded as he took your waist to his hips, balancing you there as he fed you more. With each strawberry eaten, a kiss would be stolen.

And with each swallow, your dutiful husband guided your hips over his full erection. You could be human if only briefly, you thought, to please him and be taken care of.

You unbuttoned his trousers, reaching past the belt to grip his shaft. It sprang free from its binds, eager for your sopping hole. "Bite half," Kento grumbled. "Spit on it." You followed his every demand.

The fruit rained wonton bliss on your growing arousal. Your body was aware of what was to come. Slick gradually built and passed over the rim. Panties, forsaken months prior, couldn't hide the mess you were. Or soak up

Your vaginal canal squeezed around nothing while anticipating the dim world to get brighter. Kento was methodic. He stared into your gaze, guiding the half-bitten strawberry back and forth along your tongue. "Not helping, ha. Spit again. Wife~" 

You did. All white and frothy. And like pre-cum, it was massaged into Kento's dick. Strawberry juice trailed to his tucked balls as he fucked himself into your favorite fruit. The bulbous head knocked your clit in repeated jabs as he edged himself. You only had the counter to brace your upcoming plunge into a bright world, away from worriedness.

Kento bucked his hips. Your sensitive rim felt his tip beg for entrance. Sweat coated his brows. And his shoulders tensed as he came with a hiss. You heard the weight of his load crack against the floor. Your tee became drenched in the floral scent of sex. "Fu- fuck, little one." Your husband sheathed himself inside your depth. "Be good for me. Stick out your tongue."

You did. Eyes rolled back at the intrusion. The smashed berries Kento palmed himself into were smeared over your tastebuds.

Tangy, sweet, salty, and fully Nanami Kento. And, lastly, worriedness was obsession. It kept his hips glued to yours and your lips wrapped around his fingers. Your head knocked in the backsplash, and Kento's back ached from bending his face to yours.

Saliva. Cum. And strawberry worries lingered on the tongue.

.............................. Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! This idea has been sitting on my mind for AGES!! But I constantly changed ideas. So it took forever. This story was incredibly more difficult to write because I tried to be more symbolic /or poetic. I just thought that suited who I saw Nanami to be. And I was in need of a little break.

>>> NEXT JJK POST: Yandere!Nanami Kento! x Birthday! F!Reader!

Off topic = I have been reading these AO3 monster fucker stories. And now I want to write a series like that. Maybe 5 to 10 parts. Just be on the look out for a poll to decide the monster. Literally Orcs and Faeries have been on my mind.

[arielsoicyjewel]

Top Jewelry Gifting Ideas In Gold, Silver, And Diamond

What could be more precious yet meaningful and timeless than jewelry as a gift to someone you cherish? The jewelry gifting tradition goes beyond cultures, festivals, and occasions.

Giving jewelry to someone involves a lot of thought and heart. At least, it should. It must convey your deep emotions and expression towards the person, whether they are your life partner, friend or family member.

It must be something special, unique, and personalized to them and you both so it will always remind them of you and create long-lasting memories.

The challenge is where even to begin; the options are overwhelming. But we have handpicked the best ones that never go wrong to simply this process.

In this article, we’ll explore the variety of jewelry gifting ideas in gold, silver, and diamond that you can

Classic And Timeless Appeal Of Gold Jewelry

Gold jewelry has been revered for centuries due to its beauty and intrinsic value. They are versatile, traditional, and malleable and can be crafted into any shape and form.

10k Gold Miami Cuban Link Chain

The 10k gold Miami Cuban link chain is one of the most popular and iconic styles in men’s jewelry. They are identified with these bold, thick interlocking links offering a stylish and bulky appearance.

These Miami Cuban link chains are handmade and available in 10k, 14k, and 18k qualities to choose from. The flattened link design is what makes them special, which is also known as the “Miami Cuban Link” design, hence its name.

Its popularity comes from its vast cultural relevance and stylish appeal. These chains are ideal for people with a taste for quality and bold style.

14k Gold Rope Chains

Another great jewelry gifting idea from the gold collection is 14k gold rope chains. These chains are characterized by their unique twisted rope-like design. The intricacy of its craftsmanship is extraordinary and catches attention. It also attracts light beautifully.

These gold rope chains offer a striking balance between elegance and durability with a variety of lengths, styles, and design variations. You can also layer them with other chains and jewelry pieces for contrast or combination for a more elaborate personal style.

White Gold Rope Chain

While gold is a great modern alternative to traditional classic yellow gold, it adds modernity and elegance without losing its classic appeal.

A white gold rope chain will be perfect for people who prefer elegance and sophistication in their jewelry design. Also, it suits the best ones with a preference for contemporary styles.

These chains are ideal to wear on special occasions like anniversaries and to complete your overall personality with jewelry that resonates with your sense of style. So, if that’s your recipient, they will be really delighted.

Read More:  Top 5 The Best Valentine’s Day Jewelry Gift Idea In 2024

True Expression Of Love And Luxury In Diamond Jewellery

Diamond Picture Pendant

Gifting someone a Diamond picture pendant is such a personalized way of jewelry gifting where your loved one can always cherish your memories and keep you close to their heart through the picture in the diamond pendant.

You can personalize it to add a picture of just you or the couple together to celebrate your romantic relationship on the next anniversary or even right on the wedding day.

The personalization also includes adding engravings, making them unique and hold sentimental value. The best part is that these picture pendants can be worn on a regular day-to-day basis as well. Also, it suits the format of the outfit as well as the casual.

Men’s Diamond Bracelet

Men’s jewelry has been evolving, and now the options there are overwhelming as well. However, some of them simply stand out and are outright gifting material.

One of these is men’s diamond bracelets, which have a wide variety of designs, personalizations, and accessories, making them such a great addition to men’s personal style statements.

Black Diamond Chain

For people who prefer to wear something unique and a bit away from the traditional, like yellow gold or the usual diamond, the black diamond chain is an ideal choice.

These diamond chains offer bold contracts, especially when paired with other gold or white gold chains. If worn alone, it adds a mystery, dark, and edge fashion element to your formal or semi-formal wear.

For someone who is looking for elegance, sophistication, and uniqueness, along with a departure from traditional design or looks, the black diamond chain proves to be a great alternative.

Read More: 20 Best Sentimental Gift Ideas For Loved Ones

Silver Jewelry Offering Beauty With Affordability

Silver jewelry is known for its elegance and sophisticated appeal and is much more affordable than gold, platinum, and diamond. These are also a great pick for people looking to accessorize their outfits for day-to-day wear.

Silver Pendant Necklaces

Such a classic yet reasonably priced gift makes them perfect for people looking for highly durable jewelry that requires less maintenance. They are the perfect balance of long-lasting jewelry and aesthetic value.

For the silver pendant necklaces,  you can opt for something that represents something meaningful or sentimental, like a birthstone, name initials, etc.

Silver Earrings

Another ideal gift from fine silver can be earrings, the best form of silver to wear. For women in your life, whether it is your life partner, mother, sister, or friend, silver earrings can symbolize love, relationship, and commitment. It acts as a memento, reminding you of your bond.

Silver hoop earrings are the best and a staple in every jewelry collection. These go perfectly with any dress, formal, traditional, or casual. 

Read More: The Best Valentine’s Jewelry Gifts For Her

Buy The Best Jewelry Gifts In Gold, Silver & Diamond With Us!

Jewellery gifting is more than just choosing decent jewelry pieces from stores. It must involve your expression of love and bonding when you gift jewelry to a loved one, whether a partner,  a family member, or a friend. It should be personalized so that it can act as a souvenir for them.

It will keep reminding you and your relationship. Apart from this, what matters the most is choosing the right jewelry brand to ensure exceptional quality and craftsmanship. We at So Icy, a reputed jewelry brand, not only ensure that but also have an extensive variety of options for customization.

Browse For Most Versatile Jewellery Gift Ideas On Our Online Store Today!

The Original Blog is Published at Top Jewelry Gifting Ideas In Gold, Silver, And Diamond

[missisjoker]

Jacegan fic prompt: hostage!Jace x An Absolute Menace!Cregan with a light hint of bondage.

When Torrhen Stark bends the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon makes him an oath that should the Others return, he or his descendants would send their dragons north of the Wall to help Starks stop them.

A Night's Watch raiding party runs into a group of white walkers a month before King Viserys dies. Cregan Stark sends a raven to Kings Landing, reminding the king of his ancient oath- but his plea is left unanswered. When the Dance breaks out, the Lord of Winterfell sends two ravens to both the Blacks and the Greens but the only answer he gets is silence.

He begins the preparations on his own, gathering a great northern army and getting provisions, but a couple of months later, a Targaryen accidentally destroys a provisions caravan that Cregan has negotiated from the Reach. Cregan doesn't know for sure if it was Daemon or Aemond, and he honestly doesn't care - he is simply done with Targaryens and their petty squabbles.

But, his anger is not the hot flash of the dragon's temper- no, it is cold as ice; it runs slower, and burns deeper. So he comes up with a daring plan. He knows he can't fight either Targaryen party head-on, no valor alone can beat the dragons, so instead he gathers a small party of Greybeards and leads them south.

***

Queen Rhayenira receives word about yet another raid her forces suffered in the Riverlands. Perpetrators unknown, hide in the shadows, sweep effortlessly, steal whatever they came from (mostly weapons and gold), and leave as swiftly as they come. No traces left behind, only howling of the wolves in the distance. Her people are freaking out, speaking in hushed voices about the ghosts in the night, about a pack of direwolves that came down from Winterfell on the heels of the first snow; say that they feel like the shadows are always watching them, following them, as if they are prey being hunted. She doesn't know that the Greens are suffering from the same blight, but she can't allow her soldiers to succumb to some peasant superstition- so she sends Jacaerys to investigate.

Jacaerys takes up to the skies and circles the city while heavy snow blankets the lands. When the snowfall stops and the full moon comes out, the temperature drops and Jacaerys starts to shiver. Then he notices a couple of freshly smothered fires still bellowing smoke in the bald spot in a forest, and carts full of weapons poorly hidden next to them. There are no signs of the raiding party present, there are no tracks on the fresh snow, so Jacaerys decides it is safe to land. He dismounts Vermax and makes his way to one of the carts when the mounds of snow shift around him, uncovering men lying in wait, and his world goes black.

***

When Jacaerys wakes up, his whole body is screaming. His hands and feet are bound and the ropes wind around his shoulders so tight he can't even move his head up. And yet, he struggles to get up on his knees and looks for Vermax. His dragon is not far from him, also bound by leather belts and chains around his maw, whining in distress and anger. At least, we aren't harmed. Yet.

He looks around at his captors- the ones he sees are old men with beards, shaggy and rough, old battle-tested warriors, no doubt. He notices a buckle on one of them with a distinct imprint of a direwolf.

It can't be.

"Beautiful bounty this harvest season, my Lord."

"Indeed."

The old men around him start laughing.

Jace shifts again and finds himself looking down on a pair of leather boots. He tries to look up to see his captor, but his bounds prevent him. He takes a deep breath,

"Lord Cregan Stark, I presume"?

A quiet murmur falls on the group of his captors, but the man in front of him just softly chuckles,

"Quick lad, I like that."

The low husky voice makes the tips of his ears burn.

"I would prefer to speak to your face rather than your boots,"

"Aye, that's fair".

A strong arm yanks him off the frozen ground back to his feet. Now he is face to face with his captor and ... he freezes.

Lord Stark is absolutely not what he expected. He's young, no more than a few years older than Jace, tall with broad shoulders and a handsome face. Steel grey eyes look at him in amusement.

"This is treason."

"This is a reminder. Your family swore an oath but chose to forget it. But the North remembers, and I will remind them of their honor."

"You speak of honor but bound me like a wild boar?"

Lord Stark tilts his head and gives Jacaerys a slow look over,

"More like a flailing fawn, really."

Jace's face burns with embarrassment and fury as he struggles to keep his head upright, but Cregan only shrugs and grabs a tight knot on Jace's neck,

"I suppose a touch of goodwill won't hurt."

He reaches out behind Jace's head, twitches his fingers, and the binds come undone. Jace flexes his muscles and rolls his shoulders as his body becomes alive again, ropes finally discarded at his feet. A heavy hand on Jace's shoulder grounds him and stops him from moving, then Lord Stark leans in and whispers in Jace's ear, "Do not think to run, my prince, because I will hunt you down."

Fire burns in Jace's chest, and there is a scalding mix of anger, embarrassment, indignation, and something else he can't yet put a name to.

"Threats won't get you far, my Lord."

"It's not a threat, merely a promise."

Jace stumbles in his step, legs still half numb from cold and being bound. "What of Vermax?"

"The beast is fine. I've put a trinket on his chains, it will release in a day's time and he shall be free to fly back to your mother."

Jace just stares at Cregan's frustratingly handsome face, dumbstruck. But then,

"You think my queen sees a riderless dragon and will choose to negotiate with you? You must be mad!"

"Not mad, just practical."

"But... does this mean you haven't declared for the Greens?"

"I declared for no one but the North. And I will have a dragon to protect it, one way or the other. Perhaps, I'll even fetch myself a dragon bride to keep me warm. Come now, we have a ten-day's road back to Winterfell."

"You expect me to just ride a horse all the way there?"

Jace chokes at how childish it sounds, but presses on.

Cregan raises an eyebrow,

"You will ride whatever I tell you to ride. You are a grown man, are you not? Surely you can handle it."

Jace tries to retort but his body betrays him, and starts to shiver. Lord Stark unbuckles his cloak and drapes it around Jacaerys in one swift move. Jace welcomes the warmth and prays to the Seven the moonlight hides the deepening redness of his cheeks. He isn't sure it's just the cold.

The party splits, Lord Stark and two other men take Jacaerys to the horses while the rest disappear in the forest.

Jace looks around and decides to make up for his stupid childishness earlier,

"You think three people is enough to tame me?"

Cregan smirks, "I'm sure myself is quite enough. I simply choose to be polite, my prince."

Jacaerys clenches his fists and barely stops himself from headbutting the bastard's smug face, but then.. The men start to howl, more voices join from the distance, and Cregan's smile grows feral.

[beelsfav]

minors and ageless blogs, do not interact. 540 words. (whb) mammon/afab! reader. cumflation implied.

You're both heavy and full and you can't decide which sensation demands your attention more.

It felt like every gem and jewel known to man was decorating you from sunrise to sundown.

The outfit Bimet had brought you in the morning was beautiful, you could admit that, but it was way out of anything you and Minhyeok could buy together. If you were honest, you think it was something that matched Mammon's usual outfit even with the color difference.

It was a loose-fitted white robe with gold leaves that made a pattern of leaves and a singular apple (it had taken you some time to find that) that he'd dressed you in. The amount of bangles, rings, and chains that decorated your arms and legs were circled with bright stones you couldn't name even if you tried.

Bimet had talked you through the usual activities of Mammon's birthday balls as he did your hair with several more (lighter, thankfully) gemstones, but you found yourself too enraptured with imagining the costs of it all.

While you could barely think now, you wonder if you should've paid closer attention to his words. Did he mention how Mammon would steal you away between every banquet just to hook your legs over his shoulders and press your back against the porcelain walls so he could eat you like a man starved?

Did he even try to warn you of how you'd be forced to watch Mammon's dick bury itself entirely in your cunt? What about the fact that you'd be folded in half against his front, his hands interlocked perfectly behind your head so you could keep your eyes on the way your stomach bulged to show exactly where he ended in the mirror?

A garbled moan leaves your throat when he lifts you slowly and all he can give you is a kiss on the back of the head before impaling you on his length again.

He has a rhythm that doesn't let up and even speeds up when he drops a hand from your head to your clit.

Your muscles had gone slack, head lying against the swell of his chest. He'd kept your eyes on him by some miracle, his usual obnoxious smirk just barely able to keep your focus from blurring.

He doesn't drop you when his hips finally give that telltale twitch, but he might as well have when he's pulling out one moment and (what feels like) lining himself up to your cervix the next.

You feel a jolt when he finally lets out a low groan. You can't tell if it's from your jerking legs or him reacting to the way he responded to you digging your teeth into his bicep, but you do know that too full sensation is only becoming more and more overwhelming.

The ropes of cum he let out came fast and heavy with no escape. Your teeth digging further into the fat of his muscle the more bloated you felt yourself become.

The fingers rubbing harsh shapes into your clit finally stop when your own release and clenching muscles start calming. His hand instead raises to rest against your stomach, mindlessly palming it as though he weren't still cumming with more energy stored inside.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

[id: mostly black & white line art with dots of color assigned to parts. of person with low pony tail drape down shoulder n chest (colored dot light warm grey), wear a cropped blazer (colored dot light grey) with shiny satin (colored dot darker grey) partially wrapped around. shoulder on viewer’s right hand side, have cape thing that drape (no color assigned yet), with gold ropes n chains. wear long pants (light grey) & boots (no color assigned but write note that say black/grey/brown) hand on viewer left placed on waist while hand on viewer right holding/leaning on rapier looking sword. end id]

draw original character original character original character design

used bunch references include one vogue fashion show outfit

character is he they

[reblog ok but do not repost]

[blanket ok on drawing him as long as mark source]

[anon-e-miss]

The Thirteenth Bride - 3

It was his liege’s, his Alpha’s knot that triggered Prowl to enter heat. Where his passed heats had been frustrating and uncomfortable, this heat was thrilling. He soared and he burned as his code was satisfied. Jazz filled him, over and over, flooded his gestational tank and his spark both. There was not micrometre of his scorching frame that the Alpha did not claim. Jazz swore Prowl would not leave his berth until he was ensparked and he made a show of his seriousness by tying Prowl to the berth with soft rope. Time lost all meaning as the king bred him. He recharged, he ate, all while trapped on the Alpha’s thick knot. Prowl did not remember when the King bit his node and claimed him with that bite but he sucked it and nibbled at it as he filled Prowl again, making his charge and his code sing louder and louder.

”Uh,” Prowl moaned deliriously as Jazz mouthed his neck and fondled his wells he rutted Prowl from behind.

”These’ll fill as my creation grows in yer belly,” Jazz promised him. “They’ll stay full ‘n leakin’ as my whelp suckles ‘m as another grows in ya. Y’ll give me a dozen hardly bitlets. Y’re too sweet ‘n lush to do anythin’ less.”

Prowl’s code screamed in agreement. It was the biological prerogative for omegas to breed, to whelp and to breed again in a constant cycle of creation. He was made for this, to take his Alphas’s knot and his spend and to bring forth life as a result. Jazz whispered filthy praise as he bred Prowl again and again. Even as his heat faded, mid-cycle, a sure sign his spark had ignited, Jazz kept him tied to the berth posts and bred him again. By the time a medical was called to attend him, a quartex had passed and Prowl could not believe he had spent so much time under and entangled with his king. It was, true, he was exhausted and even a little sore but he was satisfied in a way Prowl did not know he could ever be again. Jazz beamed as the medic declared he had found two newsparks in orbit on Prowl’s spark.

Punch looked pleased with himself as he joined them in order to crown Prowl as his creation’s bride, connecting a chain around Prowl’s softly rounded belly. The chain would grow as his forge expanded. With twins, surely he would be huge in no time at all. He was still a little dazed as Jazz helped him dress. Through the translucent white of his chest plate, Prowl’s stiff, swollen gold nozzles were visible. Under his wrap, he wore no girdle. Instead, his valve was filled with a thick crystal plug that could only be removed by his Alpha’s servo. No Alpha or beta would be able to taint Jazz’s claim to the newsparks in Prowl’s crystal chamber. Jazz sat on his throne with Prowl on his lap as the court feted him. Their young king had heirs in the belly so quickly and they were jubilant. His progenitor had been an elderly mech before he had kindled heirs in Punch and he had died not long after, leaving the kingdom and his heirs vulnerable. It had been their clever omega originator that had seen Jazz and his twin survive to claim the kingdom back from scheming beta regents. When Ricochet returned from fighting in Kalis, thirteen brides would be presented to him and he would rule as co-king to Jazz.

In awe of his good fortune, after a long dark-cycle of festivities, Prowl walked, or wobbled as he was constantly aware of the crystal plug skewered in his valve, to the garden to see how it had faired in his absence. The smile fell from his faceplates as soon and Prowl stepped into the courtyard. He sobbed as he looked about. Every little he had nursed over his time in the harem had been trambled, crush, burnt. He sobbed as he knelt down and picked up a shard of his favour moon quartz. Arms enveloped him and Prowl sobbed against Punch’s chassis. Jazz knelt with him and stroked his back. Pedsteps echoed.

“Find out who did this,” Jazz commanded. All Prowl could do was cry.

The twelve remaining brides were lined up in the Great Hall. They stood silently, helms bowed and faceplates ashen. Though it had been Wildfire’s idea to destroy the garden, the others had either joined in on the destruction or they had stood silently by instead of alerting a guard. All were being sent home in disgrace. Prowl did not know what fates awaited them. Perhaps the dukes and earls of their lands would not care over much that the Torus King scorned them or perhaps their shameful behaviour in the Sanctum Ignacio would see them tonsured. He would never see a single one of them again and that please Prowl enough. Neither would he be forced to amuse their kin when the Thirteen Brides intended for Jazz’s twin as their clans would be barred from representing their kingdoms. It was a relief.

As they were sent away, Wildfire dared enough to look up and glower at Prowl; he glowered back. They had made their berths. Though he mourned the crystals the other brides had destroyed, Prowl took joy in watching the little shard of moonstone Punch had helped him salvage grow stronger every mega-cycle. It would need to be nursed for sometime indoors before it could take its place in the garden again. Prowl knew just where it would go amongst the new crystals Jazz had seen delivered for him. Though Prowl was duty bound to attend to his Alpha’s carnal needs, Jazz encouraged him to take as much time as he wanted in the garden or the library and Prowl believed Jazz was sincere when he said this.

It was not as though Prowl neglected his king, nor Jazz him. With twin newsparks orbiting Prowl’s spark, his frame needed his Alpha’s contributions and Jazz was diligent in this work. Polyhexians believed an originator’s pleasure was paramount when it came to the health of the creations they carried. Prowl’s cheekplates were forever flushed as the clamps over his nozzles, node and door wings teased his sensory grid. Everyone could see and it pleased them that they had a dutiful Alpha for their king. Every time Prowl shivered with arousal, the dangling crystals he wore chimed. Jazz called it sweet music.

Jubilation heralded the return of Jazz’s twin, Ricochet, a full orb before he was due to arrive to take his place on the throne next to Jazz’s. Prowl had been helping Punch, as best as he could, pick omega candidates to be presented after he had settled. It seemed they all displeased Punch in some way. Ricochet was harder to make a match for, he had explained. The portraits of the omegas they poured over were all pretty enough but their profiles all struck Punch as too mannerly for his second creation. Even as he settled on his selections. Punch didn not seem confident in them. He did not just want a fertile broodcarrier for Ricochet, he wanted a lover for him. A mech who would satisfy him in spark, frame and processor, as Prowl did Jazz. It was high praise. Prowl followed Punch to the courtyard when news came that Ricochet’s carriage had arrived. Jazz wrapped his arm around Prowl’s waist as he joined them and waited for Ricochet to appear. At first sight, there was not a great deal of similarity between the twins. That was until Prowl looked past the difference in their colouring and saw the striking similarities of their frame shapes. Ricochet did not immediately rush into the arms of his waiting kin. He reached into the carriage and urged a mech, a Praxian Beta from the carriage.

“Who’s this, Love?” Punch asked.

“My consort,” Ricochet replied. “Barricade.”

“Consort?” Punch asked and Prowl thought of the orna work he had put into finding omegas to suit his creation. He feared an explosion. His framekin’s doorwings hung low.

“Ya always taught me to take responsibility,” Ricochet replied. “I bred’m so I mated ‘m. It’s what ya told me was right to do.”

“That’s right,” Punch declared. “Well, Barricade it’s good to meet ya. I think ya could use a long bath after the journey.”

“That sounds heavenly,” Barricade confessed. Ricochet grinned at him.

“Go on,” Ricochet said. “Ya earned it.”

A bred beta? Prowl went with Punch as he herded Barricade into the palace. They were supposed to be sterile. It was not uncommon for Alphas to take Beta lovers as they all said one need not fear ensparking them. Prowl wondered how often it happened that a Beta proved less than sterile. No Alpha bonded to a Beta in Praxus. Had Barricade been ensparked by one of their kinsmecha, Prowl could not imagine one taking responsibility for their by blow. Omegas were forged to bear sparkling, beta were not. How difficult, how dangerous might this be for Barricade.

“Leave it to Rico to throw a curve ball,” Punch said.

“I’m sorry,” Barricade replied. “I told him this was a mistake.”

“What do ya mean?” Punch asked.

“Mating me,” Barricade replied. “I know he’s supposed to choose from omega brides.”

“Hush,” Punch declared. Prowl watched Barricade’s doorwings droop even lower. “Rico did what I raised’m to do. I didn’t like any o’ those brides for ‘m anyways.”

[ieatkeyboard]

Obey Me Outfits

Okay so I was scrolling through tumblr and I saw this pic CREDIT TO @ewesless FOR POSTING IT AND ABSOLUTELY RIPPING THESE GUYS TO SHREDS-

I have some words I would like to speak

LUCIFER: The actual outfit is super cute and I like seeing him in relatively comfy attire but he's posed like he's taking a pic for his tinder profile. This poor man-

MAMMON: He absolutely is a model because the outfit is giving moldy banana covered in black sharpie and yellow highlighter tied to a string but he STILL looks good

LEVIATHAN: OHSHC cosplay done with clothes already in his closet. YOU CAN'T HAVE A BROWN TIE AND SHIRT WITH BLUE PANTS AND A WEIRD PATTERENED BLUE JACKET. PICK A COLOR SCHEME, BABE

SATAN: Oh honey you look beautiful. You're so cute. WHY DO YOU DRESS SO GOD AWFUL ALL THE TIME. YOUR WEIRD TEAL PANTS AND NEON GREEN SWEATER. YOU HAVE CUTE CLOTHES. YOU LOOK SO SWEET. WHAT WAS THE REASON.

ASMODEUS: Beautiful. You look gorgeous. STUNNING. HE WAS ALWAYS PRETTY AND HAD GOOD FASHION BUT HE LOOKS SO CUTE. - 3-

BEELZEBUB: The shirt is reminding me of pizza toppings and I can't tell if that was the goal but it IS what it's giving. His hair makes me wanna shoot myself. It feels like Asmo was like "NO WE'RE TAKING FAMILY PHOTOS AND YOUR HAIRS A MESS." and shoved it to the side- I like everything else, at least the jacket and pants match

BELPHEGOR: Yeehaw. He looks really sweet but it doesn't feel very "Belphie" ya know? He looks like he has a berry farm, not like he kills people and pranks his brother all day, every day.

SOLUTION FROM WORST FIT TO THE BEST:

Mammon: I'm sorry- Either wear black pants and a yellow belt with your weird shirt or wear a black shirt with your weird pants. You look great, Sweety, but let's be honest it's a mess.

Leviathan: If you want a brown shirt and tie, get dark brown pants and match it with the jacket WITHOUT A FUCKING PATTERN. If you wanna be blue, a light blue shirt, a blue tie. LOSE THE JACKET. BURN IT WITH FIRE. PICK A NEW ONE. OR DON'T! ROLL UP YOUR SLEEVES, UNBUTTON IT A LITTLE AND LOSEN THE TIE, BAM. HOT.

Beelzebub: Different shirt- Anything else. Just wear a necklace or rings for pops of color.

Belphegor: You look adorable, but it's giving "I'm gay and I'm seeing my conservative grandparents on the country side". If you told me he willingly wore jeans, I'd call you a liar.

Lucifer: The pose is awful- The pants feel boring. Get a chain or something- AND DONT TELL ME HE WOULDN'T WEAR A CHAIN. HE WEARS A HUGE FLUFFY COAT EVERYWHERE AND HAS A WEIRD GOLD CHAIN/ROPE ALREADY. HE LOOKS BORING AFTER SEEING HIM LIKE THAT

Satan: You look beautiful. SO CUTE. Why cant it always be like this? You have the potential. YOU JUST WON'T TAKE IT. YOU DONT NEED TO LOOK DUMB. YOU HAVE OPTIONS. THE ONLY REASON YOU'RE LOW ON THE "Outfit solution" LIST IS BECAUSE I HAVE NO PROBLEMS WITH THIS OUTFIT. BUT I'M MAD AT YOU FOR DRESSING UGLY ALL THE TIME WHEN YOU CAN BE CUTE.

Asmodeus: Stunning, princess, going on a coffee date, eating little sandwiches. Perfect. Thank god, or I'd lose my marbles. When it comes to fashion, I'm not shocked Asmo isn't missing anything. The sneakers are chill and comfy but he still looks very sleek cause they're white. I just UGHH MWAH BEAUTIFUL.

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ As Above ⸸

Trigger warning(s): Execution, death, gore, blood.

Torchlight cut through the thick fog, rolling in from the ocean shores of Black Water, the moon starting to rise making its ascend to the highest point of the night sky, dusk had long since been in the wings when the small crowd gathered within the Laeves. It was a private and quiet gathering which Vahalia preferred.

She had a promise to make good on and after her discussion with Voss earlier that day, she knew deep down she had to finally settle on a decision on how she would have to carry out that promise.

To release herself from guilt, to stay chained to the lack of being able to grieve truly. Anger was a familiar feeling, driving her ever toward the edge of madness and unravel.

The Whitlock’s were in her grasp now and there was no escaping the path in which they would be unleashed upon. The things Kaevia shared….the in-depth information she had been openly exchanging to the Head of House upon the island.

The crows among the trees, blended into the darkness as the trees rustled, eager to begin their carrion feed from the vein of earth that neared Vahalia’s feet.

A small sapling had begun to sprout within the peppered fae circles that littered the lush grounds of the Laeves, whispers circled in a gentle hush between those who gathered and she finally stepped forward with the lit torch within her grasp, “This evening we pay witness to the find step in life for three before us. Thieves, liars, and murderers eventually their misgivings have caught up to them.” Vahalia spoke, the hood she wore hidden away much of her visage though the basilisk stare drenched in liquid gold roved over all those gathered. She too was among thieves, liars, and murderers but it was not she who had been on trial that day.

She lifted her hands to cast her hood back, “To the blood that was taken from us, we give it back to the earth and ground as a price paid. A price that may only be paid in blood; in full. In threefold we watch as justice will be delivered this night.” swaying the torch from her face, she walked towards a large structure that had been resurrected earlier that day, three men hung upside down by their feet, stripped bare as they had been the first moment they entered the Star. 

The rule of three had always been a tenet of Vahalia’s family. A matter of which her mother had woven into the fabric of her being.

Cast the circle thrice to keep the evil spirits out.

The witch-woman circled the grand structure all while the thick knots of the rope above her creeked and the wood protested under the weight of the men. Two had been badly wounded and the marks and marring along their bodies certainly proved they had put up some semblance of a struggle and fight to be where they had been currently. Watching the feet of the strangers in the darkness and the dizzying feeling that began to rush south.

It mattered little as soon their vital would be reclaimed.

Thrice she walked the circumference and stopped where she began, passing off the torch to the woman behind her, the blonde with striking red eyes most had come to know as Castien.

By the waxing moon, chanting out the Witches’ Rune.

Just below the structure was a long iron trough with a hollowed-out center and a pipeline that funneled out towards the sapling that stood out along the freckled white blips of the mushrooms in their natural state

Pulling the sickle from her belt chain, Vahalia rose it high to inspect it against the torchlight, the moon dappling the surface of the blade caused the woman to stray within the moment for several beats, bathing the steel in natural light from the night. Moon, stars, and the velvet blanket of darkness above.

When the wind blows from the West, departed souls will have no rest.

The winds had been present in a soft lull despite the fog that crept on the ground and slithered through the trees, “An offering, three blood payments were the price.” she spoke once more and the curved hook of a blade lowered. Within the empty trough, it had begun to be filled with items from cursed charms, dried flowers, stones, sticks, sage, and small bottles of seawater. Elements around them all collected in some natural form were offered and as time passed the prisoners struggled against their confines more, their hands bound behind them where they had been denied a scratch if one were to itch. To decline them a fight before their final flight.

There was no way out of their bounds or escaping their fate.

With the wave of her hand, the iron trough before Vahalia had grown hot and the items within began to flicker and burn, a small fire flared with each piece it caught, the light brightening Vahalia’s face as she finally rounded towards the first Whitlock man.

Pricking her finger along the tip of the curved blade, Vahalia swiped it along the man’s forehead in a runic symbol, crimson painting his flesh, “Vahalia!” the man shouted and as if she hadn’t heard him, she hummed a low tune and settled beside him to cradle the back of the man’s head.

“You cannot do this! Tell me there was something to this, between us!” his words were garbled at best, likely due to the heavy disfigurement along his jaw and eye that maimed him thoroughly. There was no coming back for Kalem Whitlock as he had played his role as a blind eye. A coward who stepped to do nothing to stop the injustice Valeria had been subjected to.

Still, the woman in black had not responded to him and as quickly as he opened his mangled jaw to speak once more, a gurgle left him when the curved blade met flesh and sinew, rendering his words as nothing but a rattle, spittle, and cough spewed forth. Releasing his head he slumped, body twitching and hanging where the deep wound along the front of his throat bled a deep red, a crescent smile to match the moon above.

Moving on she stopped at the second as Abel hung, trying to sway around Vahalia to see Kalem but his path of vision was blocked. For a few moments, the two struggled and Vahalia eventually drew the rune to his forehead like his kin before him, grasping Abel by the hair as she craned his head back, apple exposed to those who watched, “The maker comes for you! ALL OF YOU!” he bellowed out but the yells were short-lived as like Kalem before him, he too had been released and his body swayed as the death rattle took hold.

“You are no judge,” Volricc spoke and he looked sidelong to Vahalia as she approached, his brother’s vital spilling out into the irons below and snuffing out the fires of the ritual as was intended. Burned ashes of the offerings mixed with the lifeblood began a thick trickle down the iron pipeline that fed down into the base of the sapling. The smell of copper filled the air.

Volricc remained still, naked as he was suspended and fearing little to nothing that came his way, even Vahalia with the witches’ sickle in hand, “You are no tribunal.” he spoke again, hoping to score and marr bits of Vahalia away, hoping to eat away at her ego.

“No.” she agreed calmly and Vahalia lowered herself to Volricc’s ear, “I am neither but I am your executioner.” looking to those gathered she reached for Volricc’s patch and removed it. In his socket where an eye would have been had been nestled a glinting emerald. She did not flinch or hesitate when her hand reached and fingers dug into the socket to pluck the gem from its hollowed pit.

Through grit teeth and far too much pride to show how he suffered, Volricc seethed in anger and pain drivel loosed from his gob. The rune was marked and taking the other side by his face, Vahalia rose the sickle, “BUTCHER!” he called.

His last word echoed through the woods nearby and down the stretch of the Laeves and as most would have expected a third, swift cut, the point of the curved steel met below the portion of his naval, diving deep and hooking downward as Vahalia gutted him vertically to his sternum. The splay of innards and blood pooled out, over her arm, hands, and down Volricc’s torso as cavity and insides were displayed for all to see.

The ungodly sounds that escaped the man carried on the wind and when Vahalia’s fingers curled around his intestines to coax them forward and to waterfall down his body, she released the ichor and fleshy parts of him into the trough below.

He bled fast and painfully compared to Kalem and Abel, their bodies swinging ever so softly as the wooden structure creek once again. The remaining movements, jolts, and twitches had been the souls and life’s essence of the body releasing, dying off, and finding the lifestream.

She felt lighter but not entirely devoid of the weight that nestled itself into her being for months. Not that any manner of their deaths would have completely erased the knotted feeling she carried with her.

Whispers among those gathered picked up and Vahalia began reversing the steps she had taken. Thrice more circling the structure and the sacrificial particles within the trough fed the dirt, grass ,and earth below her bare feet.

There was a haze within her mind’s eye, the metallic scent called Creature forth, stirring him from whatever slumber he had taken, and once again the familiar darkness behind her eyes became shutter-like. Growling, purring, elated but not quite sated.

On the last drawing of the circle to close, Vahalia then walked to the sapling and laid the sickle down carefully into the mixture of vital, offerings and dirt. Next had been the choker which Valeria once wore – it was only right that it remain where it should.

Her own offering.

“There would be blood,” Vahalia whispered to herself, and when she crouched she pressed the family heirloom into the dirt at the base of the sapling.

A promise made. A promise kept.

The crowd began to disperse as Cyrus and Castien took their leave, family members, connections, cohorts, villagers – those close to the Cress Matriarch each offered kind words or nods in their passing of the woman in the shadows. 

When Kaevia rounded towards Vahalia, the witch-woman stood, “I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.” Vahalia spoke as she rose to her full height.

“I….I had to see it for myself.” Kaevia replied and she turned casually away from the scene and what remained of her keepers. The very same people who had loosely cared for her for a decade.

“It’s good that you did.” Vahalia took the other woman’s hand and rested the hefty emerald into the warm palm of the accepting Priestess. Perhaps she did not know fully what was being handed to her until it was too late to withdraw, the blood-coated emerald heavy against her flesh, “Trade it for something nice in the market…” Vahalia spoke again and she left Kaevia with silence as she turned towards the hill that led to the road heading north along the Island, back to the Keep.

The knell of the bell at her throat was the only sound she left in her awake aside from the glide of her cloak and skirts at the grass.

Lighter, but not absolved.

Clear minded but her senses flared and Creature begged to be released upon the remains.

[siren-serenity]

who is luffy to you?

characters: red-haired shanks, monkey d. luffy, portgas d. ace, straw hat crew (all platonic) warnings: fluff, angst, brief mentions of suicide?, spoilers of marineford a/n: - i've always liked the idea of luffy being this god that no one can touch, yet everyone wants to covet and hold precious to them - but i love the idea of the straw hats being so possessive over one another. like "he's mine and i'm his" vibes - the platonic soulmate vibes from the straw hat pirates??? i want that - @officialdaydreamer00, here is some ace angst for you!!! :D - feedback is appreciated!

if one were to ask shanks, akagami no shanks, the fourth emperor shanks, who was luffy to him, he would have grinned so brightly (his smile reminiscent of a man long ago, who had brought change…great change to the world that they knew of) and simply said, “he is my anchor. And i am his shanks.”

those who knew him best would have chuckled, a knowing glint in their eyes. their captain was fond of short, simple answers, concise yet confusing. To shanks, one of them smiled, kindly explaining. a similar glint of fondness could be seen in their eyes. luffy was his anchor in the midst of his mourning. before luffy, he was just akagami no shanks, floating aimlessly with no purpose, no life in him. alive but not truly alive. but luffy…he came crashing, tumbling, and flying into their lives and buried himself in their hearts, especially the captain's. to shanks, luffy was his savior. he lived everyday knowing that he had a home to go back to (and a ‘D’ shaped smile to look forward to.

"I'll leave this hat with you. It's dear to me. Take good care of it! Bring it back to me someday, once you've become a great pirate!"

if one were to ask ace, portgas D. ace (never gol D. ace), fire fist ace, second division commander of the whitebeard pirates, who was luffy to him, he would have laughed heartily. ‘he’s my little brother of course!’ ace would have laughed, a loving smile crawling onto his face.

but luffy meant much much more than that to ace. if luffy was shanks anchor, then luffy was ace’s tether. a tether, a chain, a rope, something to keep him in the mortal world. a reason to stay alive even though he had to hear those bastards spew curses at ‘gold roger’s child!’ every single day. a reason to stay alive even though he knew he had a demon's blood flooding his veins. even though he knew that he was the sole reason for his mother's death (if he was never born, portgas D. rouge would have been alive. alive and thriving. if only he was never born)

"Even though I've been good for nothing my whole life, even though I have the blood of a demon within me... You guys still loved me! Thank you so much!"

if one were to ask the straw hat crew, the unofficial supernovas, the rookie crew who had shaken the world from its core, the everything-but-blood family, who was luffy to them, you would have received many different answers. some would have said luffy was their savior, dragging them from their mental torment and raising them to become something great. some would have said luffy was their brother. he was the younger, annoyingly endearing sibling, he was sometimes the older sibling, giving advice as if he had seen the world before his eyes. most would have confessed that luffy was irritating (but in a loving tone, as always). some would have said luffy was just...luffy. he was undefinable, unexplainable, yet they loved him the same.

some would have said luffy was a god. with drums echoing in their minds and resonating in their hearts before every battle. the fire of freedom licking at their souls, igniting something great, something life-changing again. sometimes, they would stare at tiny, stretchy, silly luffy and then imagine a tall figure, scarred with a cross on his chest, straw hat on his head, and then blinked. gone, dissipated in the wind. they could imagine a white-haired, floating being beside luffy sometimes, winking at them straight in the eye, before disappearing with a flash.

but luffy? luffy was theirs. luffy was their captain, luffy was their brother, luffy was their pirate king, luffy was theirs, theirs, and only theirs. at the same time, their souls knew that they were his. and he would never let them go.

so to the straw hat pirates? luffy was theirs.

and you don't touch what's theirs

"Luffy will become king of the pirates!"