#actually no yes I did that was completely intentional

[pigeonentity]

i keep thinking about them in terms of for and against each other: thirteen's against, twelve's for, eleven i think would be against, ten's for, and i haven't watched anything before him (yeah ikk im getting to it soon. watched it w my parents the first time so its on them) so i can't speak beyond that. dhawan's against, missy's for, and simm's against. like they've all got at least a little of both but they have a general direction

twissy worked out because they both cared about each other. missy came to help the doctor when he thought he was going to die, the doctor... locked her up, but he did have good intentions. i dont think we can say spydoc worked out, but i think since they both hated each other it went smoother than it could have. and tensimm was fucking doomed (neither of them want the same thing. they want each other to be different people)

twelvesimm, which was overshadowed by twissy but still deserves a mention, i think is similar to tensimm but with time could have had a higher chance of success, since 12, i think, might have responded more to him rather than trying to push him into someone who wanted to be better. tbh it might depend on the doctor's mood that day, im a little uncertain about this one but at the very least its a vaguely more functional tensimm

thrissy would break me. thrissy would be the anti-tensimm. missy shows up, still an enemy but also always, willingly and knowingly, a friend, and this time it's the doctor who says no. who tells her to fuck off, less distrust than expected and more loathing. they fight until missy realises it's not their usual games, and the doctor's gone too far stopping her. i mean come on her master tried to have her and her companions killed but it's not like he actually did it-- but she turned him over to the fucking nazis before she even knew he destroyed gallifrey, and missy killed osgood just after the doctor offered to have her as a companion, how would 13 take that?

11missy (elmissy? elemissy? mileven? no.) would run similarly, but if we're going with her using her same plan that she used on 12... he would take the army. he would take the army, however little he trusted her. i can see it going a few ways-- she leaves or he kills her or he locks her up somewhere because he's the doctor and she's the master and that's what he does, she comes back and suggests conquering the universe together or something, he says no and they fight, he says yes because he excuses murder if it aligns with what he wants, or if he likes the person enough (look at who he married!!) and they murder across the universe and we have canon thoschei until a companion saves the universe from them or river gets jealous

11dhawan would be AMAZING they have VERY similar energy and it would be SO much fun but also-- parallels? you could do so many little parallels with that? we see them spin the same way at the same time and they hate each other but one comments on something walking down a hallway and the other comes by and says the same thing and ughhh who do i pay to make this happen??

12dhawan has a special place in my hearts and i cant completely say why i just need them to meet. i need to be there when the master shows the doctor the timeless child and he cant accept it. idk if he'd be able to go the "there's more of me!" way out that 13 did, but he might be able to half do it, in that he realises he can overload the system but they break out of there through spite. i need to be there when the doctor says that ofc burning gallifrey is wrong, but he sides with the master. they lied to us. they lied to both of us. i need to see the master's anger, because he's being forgiven again. but he's not forgiving him, it's more that he understands, or like what he said to clara-- do you really think i care for you so little that betraying me could make a difference?-- and the master doesn't know what to do with that. he is so close to being better. but he doesn't want to be. so he burns himself up

10missy would work BUT i think 10 might take the army and theyd be less functional than twissy

I FORGOT THE ONES AFTER 13 skipping 14 bc he blurs into 10 for me even though they're different, but 15 would be for and he and missy would both hurtle into "this is MY queer friends to enemies to whatever the fuck we are and i can be as weird and dramatic about it as i like" not only are they both for but they're both on the exact same level as to what their relationship is and they're so fucking weird about it it's brilliant. varies a bit depending on who missy kills but i think there's a lot of chaotic potential there

but also if the master starts being too dramatic he would just tell them to shut up. which would also be brilliant

ANYWAY if anybody writes about any of these versions PLEASE tag me i need to read about them. pigeonentity on here and ao3. please

to me thoschei is one of those dress up games where i get to mix and match different items of clothing (versions of the doctor and the master) to create stunning outfits (tragic relationship dynamics)

[chvoswxtch]

Kind of a romcom/action request - do you think you could rewrite or give us your take on the scene where Frank ties Amy to the bed? It’s just always bothered me so much. She’s a teen girl living on the streets, and franks not a moron. He’d know exactly the implication and why she’s scared shitless and I refuse to think he’d be smug or laughing about it, or as callous as he was

i'm really glad you brought this up bc I always thought it was SO out of character for frank, but I never saw anyone else mention it?? like he literally grabs her and throws her on the bed, comes at her with zip ties and duct tape, and acts like a complete asshole?? this girl was literally just attacked, watched this big scary guy rip through a group of professional hitmen like they were nothing, and now she's alone in a motel with him, of course she's freaked the fuck out. and we all know what was going through her head when he forced her on the bed and brought out the zip ties

a lot of things about season 2 pissed me off but this right here is something I will always get heated about bc frank 'girl dad' castle would fucking never and I will die on that hill

so i'm gonna fix it bc apparently I have to do everything around here

headcannon below the cut

what a girl wants starring frank castle & amy bendix

I had to rewatch this scene to refresh my memory and it pissed me off all over again bc out of context it looks so bad but even in context it looks awful

frank "locked the front door of the pawn shop & grabbed a bat bc the guy said he had an inappropriate video of a girl that was barely 12" castle?? francis david "nearly killed the guy who took inappropriate photos of underage girls literally like a few episodes after this" castiglione??? that frank is tying a young girl up to a bed and duct taping her mouth shut???? y'all got me fucked up try again

first of all, she literally helped him pull a bullet out of his ass cheek like thirty seconds before all this. if that's not trauma bonding, I don't know what is

but even before they got to the motel, when they were in the van, they were already bantering like a grumpy dad on a roadtrip with his angsty teenage daughter, like c'mon. and amy had so many opportunities to run if she wanted to. she could've told the clerk at the motel what had happened, or she literally could've ran for it. frank was bleeding out, he was in no shape to chase her down. but he protected her when he didn't have to so I think she felt somewhat safe with him, enough to get the room with him and help him stitch up his ass

AND HE LITERALLY SAYS IN THE NEXT SCENE THEY CAME AFTER A LITTLE GIRL SO I HAD TO GET INVOLVED. HE CALLS HER A LITTLE GIRL !!! okay i'm done i'm not so let's get into what should've happened

so again, obviously she's freaked the fuck out, a bunch of people just tried to murder her, and this grumpy asshole showed up and saved her, but she doesn't know why, or what he wants. if it were me, i'd be suspicious. like okay, you saved me from them, but what do you want?

all frank had to do was talk to her. yes, amy is a handful, but she's literally a kid (I don't know if we ever get her actual age, I think she says several times she's 16, but when I look it up it says between 16-20, so either way she's a young girl) and she doesn't know frank. she's spent her whole life on her own looking out for herself, and she just witnessed a bunch of her friends getting murdered while she hid under a bed, so of course she's not gonna trust this strange scary dude right off the bat

I think if frank had made his intentions clear, it would've gone differently, bc that entire scene is so out of place compared to the rest of the episode and how they interact with each other. like frank involves himself bc she's a kid, and then beth gets hurt in the process, and frank being the vengeful man he is obviously wants to take every single person out involved from top to bottom (just like he did with the kitchen irish, dogs of hell, and mexican cartel. this man does not leave loose ends. everyone gets punished)

so if he had been like hey, fuck those guys for going after a young girl, but also my girl got hurt in the process, so help me out here. help me find the dickheads responsible so that one, I can keep them from coming after you again, but two and most importantly, I can get my revenge for what they did to my woman. I feel like amy would've been like okay he's doing all this for the woman we dropped off at the hospital that he clearly cares about, which means he isn't secretly plotting against me and isn't just another person trying to kill me or steal what I have

frank clearly sees some of his daughter in amy, or at least he sees a glimpse of what lisa could've been if she would've been able to grow up. like there's a lot of moments during season 2 it's implied he sees amy kind of like a daughter. like yeah she's an annoying kid that grates on his nerves and constantly tests his patience, and there's certain moments I think he loses sight of the fact that she is just a kid and he just acts like a complete asshole (like the trailer scene with curtis when she tries to practice her moves with the gun), but then there's so many times he does treat her like he knows she's just a kid (she's literally just a girl)

the entire time he's teaching her how to handle the gun and use it, how he praises her when she does well, how he comforts her when she does have to shoot the gun, how reluctant he is to go along with her plan with the creepy photographer guy, how gentle he is with her in the showdown scene with pilgrim, like he's such a girl dad PLS

so in my professional opinion, it would be more in character for him to sit her down and be like look, these people aren't gonna stop coming after you, I wanna take them down bc now it's personal for me, and in the morning you and I will come up with a plan to figure out who these people are and how to stop them

I think it would've been more in character for him to be like listen up buttercup, you can take off and take your chances by yourself, but I give it 24 hours before you're dead. or, you can help me out and I can keep your ungrateful ass safe until this gets handled, up to you

we could've even had a scene where she's like I can take care of myself bye, leaves, realizes she's in the literal middle of nowhere, weighs the pros and cons of being alone versus being with the guy who took down like thirteen people by himself (I forget how many there actually were but it was a lot), and then show back up at the motel door with a bratty eye roll like alright fine but i'm gonna complain the whole time

would frank have still been bitchy the entire time? absolutely. he's grumpy as it is, and he took a bullet to the ass for a girl that called him rough road to his face (that will never not be funny to me). but would the frank castle I know and love tie a young girl down to the bed and duct tape her mouth?? absolutely the fuck not

in conclusion whoever wrote that specific scene is a fucking weirdo and it's on sight if I ever catch them on the street

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Convenience, Chapter 1, Part 2

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage to marriage of love AU, post story chapter 1, part 2. Despite Adar’s reassurances, the smith tries to overcome his own apprehension and create the wedding rings himself. After facing difficulties, his uruk husband offers them both an alternative solution.

Poor Celebrimbor is getting hit with a dose of ambition again. It's good he has Adar with him this time. A big thank you to @plotdesigner once again, who undoutably inspired some of the ideas about uruk marriages and related customs with her writing! <3

As Celebrimbor quickly found out two days later, the thought of forcing himself to make rings for himself and his husband was, indeed, a bit of a foolish one.

It was frustrating, to say the least. He’d given the others instructions to spend the day outside and rather help the uruk better set up their camp to brave the bright sunshine, since there had been few clouds during the last couple of days.

It had been both an honest attempt to help Adar and his children, but also a welcome opportunity to sit in the remnants of the forge and try to reclaim another part of himself.

A part that Celebrimbor felt had been stolen from him, tainted and twisted, when 'Annatar' had taken his knowledge and skill and used it for his own means.

Some of it, he had already regained in Gurlak’s little forge. But some facet of him – his pride, he’d come to suspect with a scowl – wasn’t satisfied with that. It wanted to work in his own forge again, and it wanted to work on something similar yet wholly different than what he’d last worked on in here.

Weddings bands. Simple, elven wedding bands.

Celebrimbor knew the tradition well – silver rings for engagement, and then a simple gold band for married pairs, worn on the right index finger.

Of course, as a smith with his heritage and due to the fact that this was not a traditional Eldar marriage, Celebrimbor had felt as if that would have been too simple a task for him.

No, he wanted to create something that encompassed both the beauty and the depth of the love he felt for his husband, perhaps even rivalled the elven rings of power. Something that Adar would be proud to wear and display, simple enough for a warrior, yet distinct. Shaped with intention as well as skill.

Yes, that would be a good way to represent their union.

The problem was that Celebrimbor had been unable to complete even a single, satisfactory sketch.

He was ruffling his own hair in agitation as he faltered, then stopped, with yet another design – too clunky, too big, too elaborate – and leant back in his chair with a loud, frustrated groan while he rubbed his hands over his face.

He’d been at this for hours, judging by the movement of the sun outside. And yet he had nothing to show for it.

The elf flung the graphite he’d used across the table in a sudden, almost petulant surge of anger at himself. It jumped off the table once and, as it did so, broke apart.

Celebrimbor’s anger broke right alongside it.

At the door to the forge, he heard movement. The elf could immediately guess who it was, but did not consider himself to be in the right state of mind to turn around and greet the other. Instead, he leant forward and buried his face in his hands, elbows propped up on the table.

Out of anyone, he’d hoped his husband might not be the one to find him here, like this.

"A very kind gesture, to send us your assistants to aid my children in erecting sun tarps," the uruk spoke as he entered the forge proper. "However, I must admit that I was missing your presence at the camp."

It was said in a teasing manner. And yet, Celebrimbor almost felt as if that made it all worse.

He remained hunched over his work table, unmoving, and let the thought pass him by. This was his husband – he had obviously missed Celebrimbor, had actually decided to come and visit him in his forge despite his many tasks. He did not and could not know of the smith’s struggle with himself.

The uruk fell silent when he got no answer, and soon, measured footsteps were nearing the table. While the elf didn’t particularly look forward to the conversation they’d undoutably soon have, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders knowing Adar was here.

He had felt terribly lonely, all by himself, amid the remnants of destruction and previous failures.

The uruk finally came to stand directly next to Celebrimbor’s table, so close that the elf could feel his body heat. It was tempting to remain in the dark and imagined safety of his own hands, but Celebrimbor had never been the one to choose the easiest route over the most sensible.

Most of the time, anyway.

He let his fingers slip off of his face, before he folded them and pressed his mouth against them, staring straight ahead. He needed a moment, and then glanced up at his husband, aware that his unhappiness, the sheer dismay in regards to his current predicament, was likely showing on his face.

Adar had leant his hip into the side of the table where he stood next to Celebrimbor, close enough that his cuirass was almost touching the elf’s arm. If they hadn’t been together, perhaps the proximity, the other’s stance, the way he looked down at Celebrimbor with a straight back and a tilted head, would have been intimidating.

As it was, the elf knew it to be concern, and he didn’t make any attempt to hide his failed sketches or the broken graphite as Adar took in both his husband and the work table with quiet, intense eyes.

There was a slight frown to his face for a moment, before that expression smoothed itself out again, as the other seemed to come to a realization, or perhaps a conclusion. He looked at Celebrimbor for a while longer, then turned around and stepped back into the room.

It only took a short moment for him to return, this time carrying a stool, which he placed close to the smith’s own chair.

Adar soon sat down upon it, legs facing away from the table and into the room. He propped the elbow closest to Celebrimbor onto the table’s surface, and then leant over, moving in close enough that their upper thighs were pressed against one another.

His face was open, and it carried a silent request – that Celebrimbor talk to him.

They stared at one another some more before the smith finally lifted his face from his hands and averted his eyes. His words came out haltingly at first.

"I thought I was ready. It would have been...I’d hoped to replicate what I managed to do with Morgoth’s crown, I suppose. I wanted that same feeling of – of doing something worthwhile. Something beneficial. That would not cause harm and misery."

He paused, took a breath, leant back in his chair. Why did he feel so defeated, when the evil that was darkening his thoughts had already been vanquished?

The slump of his frame felt uncharacteristic even to himself. "I know you said I shouldn’t push myself for your sake, and I also know you were right about that. And yet, who but you would deserve to have a ring made for them? It might not have the power of the three, granted. But I wished for yours to have a measure of their beauty, at least."

He felt his face pull into a grimace for a moment, and tilted his head this way and that as he grit his teeth. "He doesn’t deserve to taint this. He’s done far too much to you, to both of us, to also steal this. My joy in creating, and you having a token that shows the whole of Middle-earth what you mean to me. I- it feels like a defeat, that I cannot overcome this hurdle. As if he’s won, in some small way."

He turned towards Adar again, and could feel excess moisture in his eyes before he managed to blink it away, but barely. "Do I make any sense?"

Adar considered him intently, but not for long. He hummed. "Far too much, in fact. Yes."

The elf blinked, and moved forward in his chair as Adar reached out to wrap an arm around his waist. Soon, Adar had pulled himself into Celebrimbor’s side, against his arm and hip, and lifted his own chin over the elf’s shoulder.

He placed a kiss at Celebrimbor’s temple before pressed their faces together, his nose and lips and jaw to the elf’s cheek, his chin on the elf’s shoulder, both staring at the sketches.

Celebrimbor, himself, reached out and held onto the arm Adar had propped onto the desk still. He soon found his hand held in Adar’s as they both applied gentle pressure.

"It honors you, that you would wish to display our bond so openly to the world. In a manner none could misunderstand," Adar said, slowly. "That you wish to claim me like this. Believe me, you have already done so, even without a public display."

The reassurance was like a balm to Celebrimbor’s troubled mind.

Still, Adar continued. "Eventually, you will reclaim this part of yourself as well. I have no doubt about that. You are far too passionate about your craft not to."

"But not today, not here, and not like this. You cannot force a wound to heal. Even if your intentions are noble. And truly appreciated."

The elf hummed in response, and turned his face into Adar’s until their foreheads and noses touched. He let himself lean onto the uruk as he breathed a quiet sigh.

"I suppose you might have a point there," the smith replied and a small, but humorless grin found its way onto his face for the blink of an eye. "I’m sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. And don’t get me wrong, I do not think of our marriage as diminished if we do not wear rings, or if I’m not the one make them for us."

A pause. Being this honest with both Adar and himself was still a novelty, and at times a little painful. "I suspect it’s less my love for you so much as the expectations I have for myself that are making this such a difficult topic for me. I love you, and us, just as you are. Never doubt that."

That was important to him. As much as he still struggled with what had happened during Sauron’s stay in Eregion, he never wanted Adar to feel as if their relationship needed to hold up to some kind of outside notion. The problem was, at least partially, in Celebrimbor’s own head. And not with their marriage.

He could feel Adar smile against his face, and opened his eyes to see the uruk with his own half-open, watching Celebrimbor with an incredibly fond, if sad look.

The elf felt as if his own feelings were directed back at him.

He wanted to further reassure the other, but Adar was faster to speak.

"Let me try something," he asked. The way his expression was changing had the elf perk up quickly; there was a spark in the uruk’s eyes, as if he had gotten a particularly good idea.

Intrigued, Celebrimbor nodded.

Adar leant back from his husband, taking his warmth and his hands with him. The elf, however, was far too curious to mourn their loss.

The uruk grabbed his own belt; he had stopped carrying his large broadsword everywhere he went, but as the smith soon saw, that did not mean he was unarmed. He carried a small knife, made in a similarly improvised manner as most uruk weapons. From what the other had told him, it had been fashioned from the broken-off tip of his sword.

Celebrimbor briefly frowned in response, especially when Adar lifted the knife up and towards his own head. The only thing the other did, however, was to grab a fine, thin strand of his own hair, and then cut it close to the root.

The elf blinked and raised his eyebrows in confusion as he watched Adar put the knife away again and tie a small knot at one end of the strand of hair. Soon, his husband was reaching forward and grabbed a hold of the elf’s hand.

He put the knotted end of the strand in between Celebrimbor’s digits, tucked between thumb and index finger. As he pressed the tips of the two digits together with his own, he sought out the elf’s eyes once more.

"Hold onto this tightly."

Again, Celebrimbor could only nod mutely.

And then watched as Adar sat back, separated the strand into three smaller sections, and began to braid it.

Judging by the speed and the evenness of the braid as it came together, he had done this before. Not even the gauntlet seemed to be a detriment, but rather, the pointed tips helped him separate errand pieces of hair from each other. It was quite fascinating to observe.

"Among the uruk, marriage in the traditional, Eldar sense of the word did not exist for a long time," Adar began as he braided, focused on his task. "Unions between two of my children have only become somewhat common after the first time I managed to defeat Sauron. Under his and Morgoth’s reign, it was just not feasible."

"But my children endured, and developed their own traditions and customs in response. We had no precious metals, but we had other means to show affection and loyalty."

Finally he had finished the braid, and tied another small knot at the end. Gently, he slipped the side that Celebrimbor had held onto from between the elf’s fingers. Though not without brushing his own over his husband’s hand as he did so.

The elf kept his eyes on the finished braid, now utterly captivated, as Adar twisted it around and into itself. Again, this seemed to have been something the other had done before, Celebrimbor could not guess how many times.

His mouth fell open and his eyes widened slightly when, by the end of his motions, Adar was left with a braided ring in his hand. Small, thin, yet intricate. Beautiful. Made with intention, and skill.

Celebrimbor stared at him in what was both surprise and awe, eyebrows raised and mouth still slightly open. The uruk took his husband’s right hand, held it up with his gauntleted one, and used the other to slip the braided ring onto the elf’s finger.

Celebrimbor found his breath stuttering on his next exhale, as his eyebrows knitted briefly and he stared at the little trinket he now wore. It fit perfectly.

A myriad of emotions overcame him then, from astonishment, to wonder, to love. He looked up into Adar’s eyes again, and his face split into a wide smile as he did.

The uruk had looked...not apprehensive, per se, but a little questioning. After seeing Celebrimbor’s reaction, he seemed to be fully at ease once again.

"We usually carry braids or strands of hair, but sometimes turning them into rings is a safer option, to avoid losing it. Perhaps, this might serve as a solution to our conundrum until you have healed enough to attempt making rings again."

Celebrimbor smiled and felt moisture creep into his eyes once more, though this time, for a much more welcome reason. His smile turned lop-sided as he looked down and carefully moved his fingertips over the ring, felt the smoothness of the hair, marveled at how it shone in the color of rust in the sunlight.

"That...that is more than a compromise," he decided, and looked at Adar again. "Or a replacement. I quite like it, and what it represents. As well as the thought of renewing it with you. Thank you, Adar."

He tilted his head to the side a little. "Do you think my hair might be long enough for a braid as well?"

It was Adar’s turn to be stunned for a moment. Soon, a small smile touched his face, and the edges of his eyes crinkled. The uruk grabbed his knife again. "I think I can figure something out. Turn your head a little, so I can find a good strand to cut."

Celebrimbor gladly let Adar touch his jaw and chin to move his head in the direction he desired, smiling all the while.

It took the uruk a bit more time to fumble with the hair for the second braid, but Adar did end up making another ring. When Celebrimbor gingerly took it from him and then slipped it onto Adar’s index finger, it contrasted nicely against the uruk’s skin – and the hair of Celebrimbor’s ring.

Both of them held up their hands next to each other, turning their new tokens about this way and that, watching the light play off of them, the delicate details of the braids. When their eyes found one another once more. They both were smiling.

Yes, Celebrimbor would need more time to fully reclaim all that which he felt he had lost in the last few weeks. But the fact of the matter was, he had also gained something in turn.

He and Adar both had time, now. They’d figure it out together, and forge their own path.

[ashes-writing-corner]

Damn this is my longest chapter to date yall! Things are gonna start looking up a little for these two after this. I really hope you all enjoy it!

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, and @emimuart

Without further ado:

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 7

Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury…

She woke briefly, her head against something solid, strong. There was a faint, faint sound in her ear. It was like a watch wrapped in a thick covering. Her arms and shoulders were covered, as the wind pushed against her. Ellen looked up to see Orlok, keeping a hold of her as they rode back together. He looked…different in a way.

More alive, more…wholesome even. Did she do that? Did her blood do that? He had more color to his skin, and Ellen swore she saw a little more hair on his head. He looked down at her, and his eyes had gone from their moonlit shade to an almost storm cloud gray. Ellen looked into those eyes for all of a moment, and she saw a flash of concern in them before again, she slipped back into the darkness of her mind…

He rode faster back to the castle, the cold hitting him harder than he remembered. He was actually feeling it. For the first time in centuries, he felt it in his fingers. What in the world had his little Sylph done to him? One drink of her blood had affected him in a way Orlok couldn’t explain.

His hands had lost their pale, deathly pallor. He now had a soft slight color to them…like he was alive once again. It wasn’t a feeling he was sure he liked, given the circumstances of their being here. He felt stronger, but at the same time he felt human and he couldn’t stand that. Orlok didn’t want to be anything resembling human.

Resembling weakness.

He rode with Ellen back to the castle and carried her inside, the wolfhounds following close behind. They were all worried about her, and about how this revelation of her blood would affect their master. He was of course both concerned and curious, wondering if this strange Other World was giving them qualities of one another. A little of herself in him and a little of himself in her.

“How quaint…” the count thought, laying her down in bed.

Furie joined her on the bed, curling up next to her, while his siblings laid on either side on the floor. Sure they’d keep watch over her, but Orlok had no desire to leave Ellen’s side just yet. He wanted to make sure she was completely okay, as using power like that had the potential to leave the user with effects similar to an overdose. Yes, it was possible to overdose or overuse magic. It was a tricky thing, even in this world. But from what Orlok was beginning to understand was that, at least here in the Other World, there was no such thing as light or dark magic.

It was about intention. It was what one wanted to do with their magic that ultimately determined its power and price. Again, a quaint little thing. In the living world, there was magic of varying types, though generally falling into the light or the dark. Looking at his hand once more, he was beginning to lose feeling in it again. The price was paid, he didn’t need her blood anymore, so the effect was wearing off.

Orlok looked at Ellen as she rested, noting her color had returned to her when once she was pale. This more or less confirmed his theory. They seemed to draw power from each other now more acutely than they did in life. No light, no dark, only intention and an equal price to pay.

“Of all the oddities…we have become a part of each other” he thought aloud, still looking at her.

It was how he felt she was in danger, why he felt compelled to come to her aid despite his anger. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a will of his own, he did. He was still upset about her finding out about Mirela. He knew she would have questions, and Orlok wasn’t sure he was willing to answer those questions just yet.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to face it just yet.

There was so much to do…so much to figure out. He didn’t want to focus on the past right now. He didn’t want to think of who he was, what he had lost. Durere raised his head, as if sensing his master’s inner emotions. The wolfhound got up and went towards the door, most likely going to grab something that would only deepen it. He had a nasty habit of that.

Not this time.

“Durere! Sedere!” Orlok commanded and the wolfhound stopped, turning to face him.

The two locked eyes as if challenging the other. Durere would try, but Orlok always came out on top whenever he was aware of his tricks. During moments of awareness. He was master right now…

The wolfhound’s ears flattened and he practically crawled back towards his master. Durere put his head under his extended hand. For now, the wolfhound conceded defeat.

“Why…why do you call them those things?” Ellen’s voice cut through his thoughts and Orlok turned to her.

“You’re awake” he noted.

She nodded weakly. “Barely…I think”.

“You’re weak from how much I took from you. You need to-”.

“Why did you name them that way?” she asked, ignoring his concerns.

“Ellen…Micul Suflet���They’re just names” he told her.

“No, no…something tells me it’s more than-”.

“You need to rest. I took too much from you. You’re thinking of things that aren’t important”.

“Stop…Orlok…please stop. Stop hiding. Talk to me. Trust me”.

“It isn’t a matter of trust, little one. You are not thinking with a clear mind”.

“No, I am. If they are truly just names, why are you so defensive about them? Would you prefer to talk about what I saw? What I found down there? Who was she? Who was Mirela?” Ellen sat up.

She wasn’t trying to be forceful, but she knew something was going on here. Something she had an idea of but it was just that: An idea. Only he knew the truth. Ellen needed to know what was going on. What was this place? Why were they here? What were those things that attacked her back there?

Orlok growled but Ellen put her hand in his. “Please…I have questions and I think only you know the answers. If I’m never going to know anyone or anything else, I want to know you at least”.

He looked at their hands, now loosely entwined, and Orlok felt his heart lurch. It didn’t feel right, keeping things from her. For all they were to each other, for all they went through. But the Count had no desire to burden her, even if she was volunteering to take on said burden. Ellen looked at him with those soft eyes, those eyes that were among the last things he ever saw in the world of the living. Eyes he both loved and hated. Adored and despised…

“Please…you didn’t hide from me before. Don’t hide now” Ellen pleaded.

How tempting she was…How he wanted so badly to tell her everything. But again, not wanting to let himself be vulnerable, Orlok kept his guard up, pulling his hand away from her sharper than he intended.

“When you’re better rested we’ll talk” he told her, “Starting with why you were down there”.

“Are you then to reprimand me?! Like I’m some child?!” Ellen demanded.

The count snarled and turned to her again. “I just saved your soul! Do NOT make me regret it, little Sylph. I came when you needed me…Like those hounds you have at your feet! And this is how you repay me?! By questioning me?! By claiming to not know me?!”.

“I don’t know you! Not how…how I’d like to…”.

For a moment, Orlok was stunned into silence. She wanted to know him, despite everything he did. She wanted to know him fully, truly. For all of a moment, he was touched in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time. But once again, pride won out.

“You know only what you need to know. Nothing more”.

Ellen frowned. “You don’t trust me”.

“It is not a matter of trust, as I said-”.

“It is. We won’t last, not like this. If we’re to make it through this somehow, if we’re to co-exist, we need to trust each other. You know everything there is to know about me! But you can’t grant me the same courtesy?! Why? What are you afraid of?!”

“I fear nothing!”

“Then prove it!”

Orlok snarled. “I’ve proven myself more than enough, have I not?”.

“Please…” she got up and came right to him, taking his face in her hands, “Please, trust me. We need to trust each other. It’s the only way. We won’t make it otherwise…” Ellen looked up at him, “You trusted me once. You loved me once. What has changed? Tell me”.

He hesitated. “This world is…different. A place made up of memories, or at least, fragments of memories”.

“Memories?” Ellen cocked her head curiously.

“Haven’t you noticed? There are things around here that once were yours, and others that once were mine. Fragments and pieces of who we once were, all now merged into one place”.

“So this isn’t the afterlife?”.

“It isn’t THE afterlife in the way humans think. We were not human when we died. Their afterlife isn’t ours”.

“So then it’s an afterlife then? One designed specifically for us?”

“Our own creation. An amalgamation of all we have ever been, whether together or not”.

“Pieces of our lives all together in one place. But why?”.

“Some things we hold on to far too tightly we carry them in death. They follow us into this world. It’s how it is created. For example, your wedding bouquet is downstairs on my dining room table. I’ve tried to burn it countless times. And it keeps…coming…back” Orlok growled, saying it through gritted teeth.

“Wait it’s downstairs? My actual-”

“Yes”.

“And you’ve tried to destroy it?!”

“Also yes”.

Ellen glared. “Seriously?! Why?!”

“Because I don’t want any trace of your marriage to that useless mouse anywhere near me!”

“He wasn’t a mouse, he loved me! Thomas LOVED me!”

Orlok growled and shook his head. “You may think he did, and perhaps to an extent it’s true. But he didn’t love you the way you wanted. The way you needed, Micul Suflet…”

He leaned in closer, their heads almost touching. Ellen felt his long fingered hand caress her cheek. The texture was rough, but not in a painful way. Rather in a way that just simply made her senses writhe beneath the surface, like a ball of unsettled serpents. Despite that, Ellen couldn’t help but lean into his touch, cool and oddly comforting. It felt like he was touching not her face but her very soul, as though he could sink his claws in and rake them down the very fabric of her being.

But he didn’t.

No. That wasn’t who he was with her. Not with her. Ellen knew that. His claws didn’t even break skin. In fact, they never did. Sure she had a few scratch marks after their otherworldly encounters, but he never made her bleed until the last. For a moment, she remembered that. He never, ever made her bleed.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t hurt her. He was always a bit of a rough lover. He always was. Even more so just before…

“You abandoned me” Ellen said feeling his lips come closer to hers, “Why did you abandon me? I needed you and you-”.

Orlok cut her off with a passionate kiss, not wanting to focus on that right now. So many questions his little sylph had…none of which he wanted to answer at the moment. All he wanted was for her to rest and leave his own troubles to him. No matter what, he would not burden her. His pain was not hers to bear…

He released her, leaving Ellen soft, like she was floating back into Chaos. Her mind clouded a little and all she could think of was him. His eyes on hers, his hands on her. Ellen gently ran her hands down on his chest, feeling the ever so faint beat of his heart where once there wasn’t even a single one. How maddening was it that he was more alive in death than he was in life, at least when she knew him?

“I’m sorry…I did this to you. I turned you into this…this thing” she told him, her eyes sad.

“No, No it wasn’t all you-”.

“You said so yourself. I was your affliction…and it appears I still am. I always will be…” she slid her hands away from him and turned away, “Perhaps that’s why you left me…”.

“No…No little sylph. That wasn’t-”.

“Then why?” She asked, “You could’ve stolen me away any time. Anytime after my papa died and you…you didn’t. You let me marry Thomas”.

A flash of hurt reflected in his eyes at that. It was true, he could’ve had her years ago, and avoided all of this mess. He could’ve had her repledge her vow at any point after her father’s passing. But he didn’t. He knew why…And he was surprised she didn’t realize why.

He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it out loud…but for her sake, he had to….

“I am what I am. And you could not love me for all I was, nor was I willing to curse you like I was. My anger was my greatest fault, and you were falling victim to it as well. You don’t hurt someone you love…”.

Ellen turned to face him again at that only to find he was gone, vanished as if he was never there. Left alone with the dogs and her thoughts, all Ellen could do was shake her head.

“Orlok…”

If you guys enjoyed this please like, comment, and reblog! Your support is very much appreciated!!!! Thank you all so very much! ^-^ if you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!

[fearoftheminotaur]

How not to take accountability

Lately this callout for genderqueerdykes aka equinox has been going around. tl;dr, a blatant terf sent a rambling ask about how trans women are privileged for their genitals, and equinox responded with a rant about toxic masculinity and the kinks held by an ex who accused it of SA.

I don't know the scope of how influential this user is, or how much its follower base is going to be affected by this mask-off moment, but the short-term reaction from equinox has been to bury the post under new content, delete the original, and say that it was wrong and want to grow from its mistake.

The lack of any overt response, clarity on its point of view both before and after the negative reception to the post, or even acknowledgment of the rhetoric in the original ask, makes me think that it has no actual intention of taking real accountability, and that it wants as many people as possible to come away from that post agreeing with it. Just my opinion. But I want to highlight this part specifically, as just in-general useless garbage for anyone's circumstances.

"being informed that what I said hurt people was all I needed... so I stopped it"

That is not how this works! Sometimes saying something that is true and useful involves hurting the feelings of people who are upholding injustices. Sometimes it even involves hurting the feelings of well-intentioned people who did nothing wrong, because you can be emotionally invested in a wrong idea!

It said, about this terf in its inbox, "they are genuinely right and it doesn't matter how much it bothers you", and "these are hard pills to swallow". It knows that hurting someone is not a good enough reason to take something back; the reason you should take something like this back is it is misinformation and libel. Yes, when you make post you regret, it is completely fair to apologize for the harm that it caused. The stereotypes that you amplified, the trust that you broke, even the ways it went against your intentions are an understandable topic. But saying that you wanted to 'stop' (no idea what it even means by it stopped - because it deleted the post, thanked the people criticizing it, and gave a non-apology?), because you hurt people; that's just not a good enough reason, especially when it knew people were going to get hurt by the post before it even made it.

This is not responsible; it's only a step above "I'm sorry that you felt that way" because at least genderqueerdykes acknowledges its agency in causing harm. But by not acknowledging that its post was not just hurtful, but harmful, transmisogynistic, and wrong - and not being able to articulate an actual argument for that (which hey, if anyone reading this wants some of my thoughts on why the original post was wrong, or even just my thoughts on one specific point of it, the ask box and dms are open), means that:

anyone who saw the original post and advocated for it, agreed with it, or was influenced by it, has no real reason to move the other way. Even if they see the "retraction", it will come off that equinox had to take its post down because the "woke tgirl mob" complained too much, and not that there was actual merit to disavowing it.

I think if you asked most of the people in genderqueerdykes' posting circle, they'd say that uncomfortable conversations are needed, so this "I don't want to offend anyone" behavior just comes off as dodging an argument that it can't win, because it's only sorry that it got caught.

Maybe I'm overthinking this, maybe there's some context where ostensibly molding your online presence to whatever won't be hurtful to your followers is the best thing you can do as a public figure, or even in your interpersonal life. But I'd need a real good argument to the effect that a) this can actually address or stop the harm, and b) the intentions here are in any way coherent.

[bezierballad]

I am just as glad as any other Kuroshitsuji fan that Season 2 isn't canon, because the ending is pretty fucked up. Especially the more you think about it.

Like, it brings up soooo many questions; can Sebastian not make any more contracts or feed on any other souls if he's eternally serving his now-demon master? Cause if not, then... he's gonna starve—

And even if he were allowed to feed on uncontracted souls to stay sane (more on that later) it's still quite an unfortunate way to go. Contracted souls are considered "gourmet" compared to uncontracted souls. The more emotionally troubled a person is, the more "seasoned" their soul is. When a demon is in a contract, they're able to "season" a soul to their likening until the contract is completed and the meal is fully prepared, so to speak.

Eating only uncontracted souls would basically be the equivalent of consuming only bread and water for the rest of your life.

The worst part? (Incoming headcanon dump btw) demons most likely don't get that sweet release of being able to starve to death like humans do.

Mostly because it's impossible for a demon to die in general unless they're killed by a grim reaper. But if that's the case, why do they even need to be consuming souls in the first place, one may wonder? Same reasons minus "or else they'll starve to death" basically. Or rather, more specifically, to maintain their mental state.

If a demon goes too long without feeding on a single soul (however long that really takes, given that we see Sebastian fast for three years and he's perfectly fine) they would start to gradually lose their sanity and by extension, their "humanity," to the point where they can't think straight. To the point where they can't think about anything other than the fact that they're starving.

Letting their demon side take full control and becoming more and more animalistic to the point where they can't think, period.

We can only pray that Season 2!Sebastian was eventually put out of his misery by the reaper's scythe.

Or y'know have Grell slice demon!Ciel up like a fish. That works, too.

[messangerforthestars]

“We need more morally gray characters” you guys can barely handle topaz and jade.

[forehead451]

.

[sunriseinorbit]

i said i was going to have lots of emotions about makoto and now i am. i'm shoving this scene into everyone's faces and no you don't get a choice in the matter.

[undead-moth]

I know I’m being a hater and this is a 100% harmless thing that’s just a pet peeve of mine but truly one of the most annoying brands of post is “I don’t care about writing, grammar or punctuation rules. I do what I want!” And then the examples they give are. Completely in line with grammar/punctuation/writing conventions. And it’s like oh ok. You don’t even know what these rules are but you’ve decided you’re against them even as you follow them without knowing it. You are the writing equivalent of people who think Taylor Swift is punk just so you know.

[the-physicality]

welcome to all star. i am officially *adding* my team USA hat to my team phoenix mercury hat

[unproduciblesmackdown]

barely alternate version of that billions 4x12 scene

[seasidebubbles]

the morning after your first time with caleb

content info/warnings: caleb x afab reader. feminine terms used for the reader (such as ‘pretty girl’ and ‘gorgeous girl’). swearing. pet names. graphic depictions of sexual activities. oral sex (m and f receiving). caleb has a big dick just because okay. protected piv sex (condom use). cumshot (facial). a little bit of cum eating. word count: 5.1k author’s note: this was just an idea i had to ease myself back into writing. i'm considering doing a 'morning after' piece for each of the lnds men, but i don't have them all thought out yet, so i'm not sure if it will work out. but i hope this one is enjoyable at least! divider by @cafekitsune

Sunlight kisses your face, coaxing your eyelashes to flutter open in its warm, pale yellow glow streaming in through the window. For reasons not yet at the forefront of your mind, you are already smiling when you wake.

It might have something to do with the equally warm presence behind you, however. The heavy arm slung across your waist, completely relaxed. The slow, rhythmic breaths puffing against the nape of your neck. The lingering tenderness between your legs that brings as much heat to your face as it does giddiness to your heart.

Last night’s events are fresh in your mind, but a few moments stand out more vividly than others. An open-mouthed kiss right over his racing heart. The slow slide of your panties down your legs. The wrinkle in his brow when he pushed inside you. All of it amounts to one simple truth:

You and Caleb had sex last night.

You and your best friend made love last night.

Yes, that. That is why you are smiling. Because you wholeheartedly understand the meaning of “making love” now.

Caleb did not even say the words last night. Not before, not during, not after.

And neither did you.

But you both knew what it was, because you both knew it had been a long time coming. You cannot speak for him, but you loved him two minutes after meeting him, all those years ago when you were children.

Although his presence behind you is undeniable, you have to turn around this instant to see him again. This man you love.

You rotate as gently as you can so as not to disturb him. Caleb gives a quiet huff and nuzzles his cheek deeper into his pillow. His arm is still limp across your body. The other is bent and stuffed under his pillow.

The smile is still on your face, but wider now. You free one of your arms from the tangled sheets to brush his ashy black bangs away from his eyelids. And while your hand is already right there, you find yourself brushing your knuckles down his slightly stubbly cheek as well.

It was not your intention to wake him, but you cannot say you are disappointed to see his eyes open. Those lovely purple irises have always been your greatest—and favorite—weakness.

Caleb wakes much quicker than you, eyes opening with none of the slow blinking, and smiles when he sees you watching him. Then he inhales deeply and covers your hand with his, pressing it even closer to his face.

“Good morning.” His sleepy voice is a little gruff. A little reminiscent of the deep groans he could not seem to contain last night.

The tenderness between your legs throbs.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

He hums and clears the rasp in his throat. “Great, actually. I slept great. What about you?”

“Same.”

“I didn’t snore, did I?”

You grin and slip your hand out from under his just to poke his cheek. “Actually, you did. In my dreams. It was terrible.”

The only response he has to that is a bigger smile. He lifts his arm from your waist so he can swipe his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

As the seconds tick by, both your smiles slowly slip from your mouths, but not from your eyes. The weight of last night—the culmination of years and years of love laced with unspoken tension—hangs in the cramped space between you.

“It’s—”

“I’m—”

You both stop speaking as suddenly as you started. A bit of awkward laughter floats out of your lips.

“You first,” Caleb says before you can. He moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, cradling it while he waits for you to speak.

You lick your lips—briefly recalling the gentle firmness of every kiss he pressed to them last night—and say, “I was just going to say, I’m really happy. I’m happy last night happened, and I’m… I don’t know if this is weird to say out loud, but I’m happy we were each other’s firsts.”

Those purple eyes melt. Caleb sighs and leans in to kiss your forehead, lingering there for several long seconds.

“Nothin' weird about that at all.” He presses two more slow kisses to your forehead. “I’m happy too. About last night. About you being my first. All of it.”

He shifts and rests his chin on top of your head. You snuggle in closer and kiss the first patch of skin you come across, which is the base of his throat. It bobs against your parted lips when he swallows.

“So what were you going to say?”

“Mm. Sounds silly in comparison to what you said. I should've went first.”

You grin into his skin. “You never learn that lesson, do you. But now you have to tell me.”

He sighs again, winding his strong arms around you, lazily stroking his fingertips down your naked spine.

“I was going to say, it’s nice havin' you be the first person I see in the morning. I want that to happen every single day forever.”

You blink, then press your palms to the wall of his chest to lean away and look him in the eye. You expect to find mischief on his face, but he regards you patiently, curious to hear what else you have to say.

“Is that really what you were going to say?” you ask.

His eyebrows wrinkle. “Yeah… Why?”

“That wasn’t silly at all. That was sweet.”

“Ah. Well, what you said was sweeter.”

You giggle and hug him tight, snuggling back against his chest. “If I knew it was a competition, I would’ve said even more.”

“I mean, you still can,” he says. The grin is obvious in his tone. “Far be it from me to stop you, babe.”

You giggle harder and shove him until he rolls onto his back with you on top of him.

His hands automatically find a comfortable place on your thighs straddling his lap. The feeling of his soft cock trapped between your bodies stirs up more memories from last night, but you ignore them for now. The hitch in Caleb’s breathing tells you his mind is in a similar place.

“I’ll tell you sweet things every morning I wake up next to you,” you tell him softly. “I’ll tell you how I adore your eyes. And your smile. And your laugh. And your protective instincts. And your uncanny ability to dirty every dish in the kitchen when preparing a simple meal for two—”

“You—! Listen—”

He easily flips your positions to pin you beneath him on the mattress. You giggle madly. With anyone else, such a brutish display of strength would be frightening, but not with Caleb. He is the only person you would ever trust to manhandle you like this, because you know how gently he treats you otherwise.

You know how much he loves you.

“That’s only sometimes,” he defends himself weakly. His wide body forms a canopy above you, against the sunlight. Even while admiring the glowing outline around his skin, you still find the capacity to tease him.

“Right. Sometimes I adore your laugh.”

Caleb scoffs. “You think you’re soo funny, don’t you. I liked it better when you were tellin' me how much you adore my eyes.”

“Okay, okay,” you say between laughs. You wind your arms behind his neck and tug him closer. “Your eyes are gorgeous and they’ve always been my biggest weakness, all right? There. Now you can tease me about it for the rest of our lives.”

He lowers his weight onto his forearms, and his chest serves as a stark reminder as to just how naked you both are when it presses into yours. The tingling heat of him is electric, searing all the way through to your heart.

“Tease you?” he says, trailing his fingers down your cheek. “Doesn’t sound like something I would do...”

You laugh again at that obvious lie. A snarky retort forms on your tongue, but it quickly dies when Caleb leans in and kisses the tip of your nose. He kissed so many parts of you in so many ways last night, but you realize now that your nose was not one of them. Your humor softens to adoration, and he smiles back before swooping to peck your lips.

His kisses start off sweet and gentle, but as soon as you edge the tip of your tongue against the seam of his lips, he moans and changes the very atmosphere. His hold on you tightens when he licks into your mouth.

“Caleb…”

He exhales hard and maneuvers down the length of your body, trailing kisses over every patch of skin he meets along the way.

“Want you,” he whispers into your skin, still kissing, still sliding downward. “Want you in my bed, naked, every morning, every night, every chance we get, any time you want. You just tell me when. I’ll come runnin'. Just want you by my side. Always.”

It is the easiest thing you could ever promise him. You cannot remember a single scenario in which you have ever willingly parted from him, and you are not about to start now.

Caleb slots himself between your legs, easily nudging them apart with his broad shoulders. He spreads his long fingers across your lower stomach, holding you delicately, as if you might break apart at any moment.

You reach down to cup the side of his face. He looks to you through his long, dark eyelashes, blinking slowly.

“You have me. Always.”

He gives you the most dazzling, heart-stopping smile you have ever seen. As if you have given him the entire universe.

That joy quickly rolls into burning desire when he begins stamping open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, first one, then the other, gradually drawing closer and closer to your aching center.

“Caleb,” you moan.

“Can I have another taste, baby?” he asks, and you are not sure if it is the rumble of his voice against your skin or the pet name that sends a tremble up your spine. “Please? Can I please eat your pussy again?”

Well, when he asks so politely…

“Yes. Please.”

That is all he needs to dive in with the relief of a starved man.

His tongue is seemingly everywhere at once; gliding through your pussy lips, wriggling into your hole, circling around your clit. He truly makes good on his word to eat you. His nose digs insistently against your slick flesh, frustrated by his limits and wanting to be buried even deeper into you.

You reach down to thread your fingers through his thick hair; not to guide him, merely to soothe him and help convey your appreciation.

“F-Fuck, that feels so good…”

He grunts into your pussy. “You taste so fuckin' good, baby. Just wanna live between your legs. Wanna die between your legs, too.”

“You better not!” you laugh, tickling his scalp. “Think of how embarrassing it would be for me to tell the Fleet their Colonel died eating pussy.”

“They’d probably award me a posthumous medal. You’ll have to collect it in my stead.”

You try to contain your laughter but only end up wheezing.

“Yeah, keep laughin’, baby. Makes you taste even better.”

You don’t think it works that way, but you can’t keep laughing anyway. Not when he suddenly achieves the perfect amount of suction around your swollen clit. The pleasure spiking through your nerves winds you tighter and tighter; your toes are curling in on themselves, your back is beginning to bow off the mattress, your eyes are rolling back in your skull.

Caleb wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you grounded and spread open for him. The wetter and sloppier his work gets, the more he seems to enjoy it. Every little thing he does produces a filthy squelch, but the moans he draws from you are still louder.

“Shit, baby, the sounds you’re making…”

“C-Can’t help it—ngh—yes, Caleb, yes—”

“What else can I do to keep you moaning for me?”

With how confident and assured his actions have been, you nearly forgot he is just as new to this as you are.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, breathless. “Please fuck me.”

He swears and unwinds his arms from your legs, sitting back on his heels. Those purple eyes have darkened to a deep indigo with how wide his pupils have blown. You meet his dark gaze as he half-heartedly wipes the stickiness off his chin with the back of his hand.

“My pretty girl wants me to fuck her, huh,” he says, practically purring. “When did she get so horny, hm?”

Even while he is teasing you, he still reaches for his night stand and digs out a condom packet. You watch with a smirk as he opens it and rolls the condom onto his long cock.

“Says the one who just said he’d be okay with dying between my legs.”

He lets out a small laugh under his breath. “Yeah, you got me there,” he says. He lowers himself onto his forearms, caging you beneath his large frame. “How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Just like this?”

“Can I be on top instead?”

Something flashes across his face, too quickly for you to decipher it.

He clears his throat and says, “Y-Yeah, of course. Come here.”

His hands are warm and a little shaky when he helps position you on his lap. Rather than lying back, he remains sitting up with you, face inches from yours.

“Are you okay?” you ask, running your palms up the warm planes of his chest.

“I’m fine, just… afraid I’ll come in two seconds like this.”

More laughter pops past your lips. “I’d be flattered if you did, honestly.”

You brush his hair off his forehead, then gently trace his earlobe and finger the thin chain dangling from it.

“I’d be mortified if I did,” he counters with a self-deprecating chuckle. The rest of his breath leaves his lungs in a soft sigh when you bend down and kiss him. His lips chase yours when you pull away, unable to hide his eagerness despite his concerns.

“I’ll go slow then.”

You reach down between your bodies and line him up with your entrance. Caleb sits back a little and watches his tip disappear into your wet heat, while you watch a muscle in his jaw tick. You soothe your free hand across that sharp jawline. He leans into your touch, eyes flicking to your face for a brief second, then back down to where your bodies are connected when you take in another inch.

The stretch is still a foreign feeling, and the tenderness in your walls throbs harder against the intrusion of his cock splitting them apart once again. He does not miss the flicker of pain that crosses your face after another inch slips inside sooner than you intended.

“Hurts?” he asks, reaching for your hips, ready to lift you right off his lap.

You nod. “A little. I’m a little sore, but I’m okay. It’ll pass.”

Caleb purses his lips, clearly conflicted, and you understand why. You understand this feels nothing but blissful for him—although the condom must surely dull some of the sensation—while it is still a bit painful for you. His intimidating size does not help, but it is to be expected, considering his cock is perfectly proportionate to the rest of his large build. And he is well aware of how well-endowed he is, too. He made sure to prep you for a long time last night, stretching you carefully with his fingers, ensuring you were wet enough for there to be no resistance when he pushed inside you for the first time.

This angle feels different though. He feels even deeper this way. And maybe it’s your imagination, but he feels harder as well.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, fully focused on your face now. “We don’t have to keep goin' like this. I can go back to eating you out, maybe use my fingers again?”

“I’m okay. You’re just… big.”

He huffs and halfway rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the tips of his ears burn pink. “Well, I can’t help that,” he says, “but seriously, you can tell me you want to stop at any time, okay? I don’t care if I am two seconds away from coming. Just tell me to stop and I’ll go make us some breakfast, ok—”

“All right,” you say, grinning when you peck his cheek. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop, I promise. But I’m fine right now. I hardly even feel any pain anymore. Really.”

It might be because you can also feel his cock twitching and pulsing inside you, and it is turning you on beyond belief, pushing the pain out of your mind. You actually fight the urge to bounce on him this very second just to see if you can handle it, because you know you will regret rushing into it.

Caleb gives you a shaky nod, inhaling deeply and gulping hard. “Okay. Just… slow,” he reminds you.

You ease yourself the rest of the way onto his cock, until your pelvis is flush against his. Caleb studies your face, amethyst eyes brimming with awe and raw desire. His thumbs are rubbing mindless, soothing circles into your skin. You rock yourself back and forth a few times, testing the new angle and depth and overall fullness you are experiencing. It feels like his cock had to carve out extra space inside you just to fit.

As soon as the stretch is more pleasurable than painful, you give a few tentative bounces.

“Fucking—fuck,” Caleb breathes rather poetically. His fingers dig harshly into your hips. “S-Slow, baby. Don’t—h-hngh, ugh, fuck—don’t hurt yourself.”

You moan and shake your head. “Doesn’t hurt. You feel so good inside me.”

Caleb exhales hard and leans back a little more to look again at the place where his cock is disappearing and reappearing. A particularly good bounce has him falling all the way back onto the pillows with a deep rumble.

“God, it’s so fucking deep. You take me so well, baby. You’re taking all of it so—fuck—so fuckin' well…”

It is all you can do to whimper in agreement, too focused on riding him well enough to have him groan like that for you again.

His hands glide around to your stomach, squeezing gently, then around to your jiggling ass. He is not shy about taking two firm handfuls, groping tight. The look he gives you when you meet his eyes is positively carnal.

“You’re incredible,” he groans, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “Can’t believe my pretty girl is bouncing on my dick right now.”

You manage to smirk in between all the moans leaving your lips, but you have no response, especially when you tilt your hips just enough to have his tip pressing into your sweetest spot with hardly any effort. A high-pitched squeal wrenches its way from your throat. If you were on your hands and knees, you’re sure they would have given out and left you face-first and boneless on the mattress.

“Right there?” Caleb hisses through gritted teeth, his jaw too tense to unhinge and speak properly. “Are you hitting it, baby? Yeah… yeah, you are. I can tell by how much tighter you just got. Keep going. Keep my dick right—fuckin'—there—baby.”

When did the boy you always thought of as a human-puppy become this dirty-talking fiend, you wonder.

Though you are not complaining. Far from it. His words have your pussy absolutely gushing around him. The wet plaps of skin on skin can probably be heard through the window and down to the street. The noises are certainly echoing off the walls, at least, serving as excellent fuel to ride him faster, harder, deeper, more.

You can barely get out the words to urge him, “K-Keep talking, Caleb, please…”

He hums and sits up straight again, careful not to jostle you too much and ruin your rhythm. One of his thumbs finds your clit to press messy, sticky circles into it and edge your orgasm along.

Then he brings his full lips to the shell of your ear. His voice sounds half an octave deeper when he whispers, “My gorgeous girl. You asked me to fuck you, but here you are fucking me into the mattress. No, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, baby. Keep fuckin' me. Use me. Take what you need.”

You hug him tightly, nails clawing into his muscular shoulders, and whine into his neck. With his sweet and salty skin right there on your lips, you want to bite and nip and suck on it, but breathing is taking almost as much brainpower as riding him at the moment.

Caleb nuzzles his nose into your hairline, still close to your ear, and whispers much softer, “I love you. So damn much. I always have.”

Your orgasm explodes through you, catching you both totally off-guard. Caleb gasps at the sudden clench of your walls around him, and you practically scream his name as white hot bliss overtakes you. You grind your hips into his, seeking even more friction from his thumb on your clit to wring out every morsel of ecstasy you can.

“Holy shit, where did that come from, baby?” Caleb says, laughing in breathless delight. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to come in two seconds. Damn.”

You hiccup and shiver against him, panting hard into his neck as you gradually float back down from wherever he sent your soul.

When you regain your wits, you laugh as well. “I guess I just really like your dirty talk,” you admit, voice thick and hoarse. “I’m not used to you saying such filthy things.”

The shit-eating grin he gives you is somehow adorable and devious at the same time. “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” he says, “because I plan on having a lot of sex with you. And if talking dirty gets you to come like that every time?” He lets out a low whistle, and you give his shoulder a tiny swat.

“Yeah, well, now I think my legs are too weak to keep riding you,” you say, pouting.

“That’s all right, baby. You did so well for me. Let’s stop here.”

You shoot him a look. “But… you didn’t come yet, did you?”

“Nah, I’m good. If you’re tired, I’m not pushing you,” he says, which only makes you pout harder. He can’t help but smile and poke your protruding lip with his thumb. “Don’t give me that—ah—”

The rest of his words are cut off with a gasp when you pull off his throbbing cock. It falls against his abs with a solid, wet slap. You go to pull the condom off, but he catches your wrist.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I want to suck you off. Can I?”

“You r-really don’t ha-have to,” he stammers weakly. “I promise I’ll be fine with b-blue balls for half an hour.”

“Caleb, I really want to suck your cock right now,” you say as firmly and matter-of-factly as possible. “Do you want that too?”

He blinks once, twice, three times. He opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips, swallows hard. It is strange to see him rendered speechless for once. It even starts to freak you out a little.

Finally, he lets go of your wrist and peels the condom off himself with a shaky hand, dropping it to the floor without a care. Then he reaches for the back of your neck and guides you toward his twitching length.

“Yes, I want you to suck my cock, please.”

You grin and situate yourself comfortably between his thick thighs, then reach for his cock. It practically jumps into your hand.

Caleb sucks a breath through his teeth as soon as you wrap your fingers around his burning length. The veiny hand not cradling your head fists the sheets at his side. His reaction over such a small thing spurs your confidence to keep going. Even though this is uncharted territory for you, you are determined to make him feel as good as possible and come every bit as powerfully as you just did.

But before you take him into your mouth, you experiment with varying levels of pressure, getting a feel for the motions and soaking in his every reaction, big and small. He seems to particularly enjoy it when you squeeze the spot just below his mushroom-shaped tip. He makes a sweet, soft noise every time you rub that spot, and his hips jerk every time, too.

A thick drop of precum rolls from his slit and down the side of his cock, compelling you to lean forward and lick it up. He instantly gasps at the sensation of your warm, wet tongue.

You wrap your hand around his base before wrapping your lips around his dripping tip, and it is a good thing you do because his hips buck straight off the bed, greedy to find more friction in the heavenly, wet warmth of your mouth.

He apologizes, but you oblige his body language and hollow your cheeks to give his cockhead a tight, loud suck. It sounds sloppy, unrefined, and a little cringey, but if Caleb is turned off by your inexperienced technique, you would never know it from the way his breathing changes, practically whining with every exhale.

He lifts his neck to watch the erotic show when you start bobbing your lips up and down the few inches you can comfortably fit in your mouth without choking. You be sure to tongue that spot just below his tip, not just to edge him closer to the point of bursting, but because you enjoy the way he shivers just as much.

It does not take long for your jaw to begin straining with the new, unexercised motion, but it will take nothing short of divine intervention to stop you now.

Caleb gives the back of your neck a tender squeeze and whispers, “Shit, baby, that’s s-so fucking nice.”

You nearly laugh with a mouthful of cock because surely only Caleb would describe a blowjob as nice, of all things. It is with that you realize the stern, authoritative Colonel of the Farspace Fleet is absolute putty in your hands. You almost want to come again to the thought alone.

Instead of tending to yourself, you focus on him and redouble your efforts by reaching for his balls and giving them an experimental squeeze. They are wet from the saliva pooling out of your mouth and down his length. They feel heavy, too.

“F-Fuuuck,” he groans, slumping back to the pillows. “Gonna fuckin' kill me, baby.”

“Oh no,” you coo, kissing down the length of his glistening cock, “then I’d have to tell the Fleet you died getting your balls sucked. Do you think they’d award me a medal in that case?”

Whatever his response was going to be is choked off when you do exactly as you say and suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth. The skin around it is different; a little loose but also taut, and delicate, too. Not like the smooth, velvet skin wrapped around his solid cock. You suckle it gently, minding your teeth and essentially letting it rest on your tongue as your lips do all the work.

The hand Caleb has on your head tightens harshly for a brief second, then lifts away to tear at the sheets instead. You smirk and let go of his ball with a soft pop to move to the other and pay it equal attention. Careful not to neglect the rest of him, you pump your hand up and down his wet cock tightly, quickly. He nearly chokes on his own broken breaths at one point, his body too fucked out and delirious with pleasure to concentrate on anything but his looming orgasm.

“B-Baby, I’m gonna—fuck—if you keep going like that, I-I’ll—”

His boyish voice is so warped with unbridled lust you hardly recognize it.

You immediately lift your head and take his tip back into your mouth, sucking what you can and jerking the rest of him feverishly. He bucks his hips again, and you don’t even care when his cockhead threatens to breach your throat because he whimpers so sweetly it borders on downright pitiful.

“Gonna come, gonna come, fuckfuckfuck. It’s coming baby, it’s coming, hah—”

Caleb erupts into your hot mouth. The first shot of cum coats your entire mouth from roof to tongue. You try to swallow it down, but the second shot spurts out just as forcefully, and you end up sputtering over the excess. You pull back to take a moment to properly swallow, and the rest of his cum ends up shooting over your lips and chin and cheeks. You keep jerking him, determined to get every drop out.

When you accidentally push him into overstimulation, he carefully pries your hand off his cock. It plops against his hard stomach, rosy and spent and still twitching.

He sits up on his elbows and stares at you with wet, heavy-lidded eyes. His strong arms are wobbling from how boneless his orgasm has left him.

“Holy shit. That was… you are amazing.”

You giggle and scoop a rapidly dripping streak of cum off your cheek, then place it right on your tongue, just to watch the way his face twists in torment.

“Gonna kill me,” he emphasizes, shaking his head. He picks his shirt off the floor and carefully cleans the rest of the mess off your face with it. It will do for now.

Before you drag yourselves out of bed and move on with the day, you climb up to fit yourself against his side, snuggling close. He wraps an arm around you, still fighting to regain control of his breathing. You trace mindless circles into his heaving chest. His heartbeat is erratic under your ear when you lay your head against it.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Caleb kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly against him.

“I know.”

© seasidebubbles. all rights reserved.

[unintentionalseductress]

LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses. 

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you. 

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you. 

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone. 

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down. 

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone. 

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm. 

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe. 

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.” 

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly. 

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely. 

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk. 

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly. 

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible. 

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model. 

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder. 

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone. 

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”  

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer. 

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously. 

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move. 

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you. 

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd. 

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin. 

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long. 

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them. 

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.” 

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat. 

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised. 

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[forgetyoursingalongsandlullabies]

“I really did like you” and “I really loved you, you know” are NOT the same! The words are similar, yes but the intentions and meanings behind them are so incredibly different!

Martin spent months sacrificing himself TO PROTECT JON! He resigned himself to being banished to The Lonely and this was his admission that yes he is a part of the lonely and now he does want this but all of this is because he loved Jon more than he loved himself.

Celia is doing this for love but it is FOR JACK. I’m not going to completely villainize her because she’s doing what she believes she has to do to stay with her baby. But with Sam she is ready to betray him. She is planning to sacrifice Sam to protect herself and her child. “I really did like you” is saying No I did not pretend to like you to get you here, those feelings were real, but they weren’t enough and we are still here and I am still going to do what I believe I have to do. She may not have wanted to but she followed through on the plan til the very last second. Yes she hesitated but Archivist interrupted her and now we will never know if she actually would have done it (I think she would have).

The 2 lines are worded similarly but they are not the same at all.

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Guilty as sin ✦ 」

[Theodore Nott × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

Summary:(Request) Theo x f!reader where she is a huuuuuge flirt. Flirts with the whole slytherin gang, the golden trio, literally everyone EXCEPT Theo and it doesn’t bother him until his friends start teasing him about it and then it drives him CRAZY. So he tracks her down and she’s all blushy like “idk how to flirt with someone I actually like??” And then smut ensues

Warning: smut

Words:3.5k

Laughter echoed through the empty corridor – a welcome reprieve from the usual bustle of Hogwarts life. We were on a glorious post-lunch break, a rare moment where none of us had classes.

Draco, ever the stoic one, smirked from the corner, a hint of amusement flickering in his grey eyes. Blaise, reclining against the wall along with mattheo and Enzo .

“So, what’s got you all so chipper today?” I asked, leaning against the wall opposite them, my eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, just the usual,” Mattheo replied with a grin, his eyes scanning me up and down. “Though your presence certainly brightens things up.”

I laughed, a playful glint in my eye. “Is that so, Mattheo? I’m flattered.”

“Flattered, are you?” Enzo chimed in, his smile broadening. “Just wait till you hear what Draco’s been saying about you.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile playing at his lips. “Don’t drag me into this, Enzo.”

I arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And what exactly has Draco been saying?”

Draco finally looked directly at me, his smirk deepening. “Nothing that wouldn’t make you blush, I’m sure.”

Suddenly, the air shimmered and Theo materialized beside me, a frown etched on his handsome face. My laughter died in my throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in my stomach.

Don't get me wrong, Theo was so attractive. Tall, dark, and mysterious, he exuded an aura that drew you in like a moth to a flame. That’s why I always act that awkward whenever he show up.

"Hey, Y/L/N," Theo greeted me, his voice a low rumble. "Having fun?"

But before I could respond, a mischievous glint sparked in Blaise's eyes. "Having fun? She's practically rolling on the floor here! Just look at her," he nudged me with his elbow, "completely smitten with my hilarious story."

My cheeks burned. "Oh, shut up, Zabini," I swatted him playfully. "It was Enzo's joke that was funny, not yours."

Enzo chuckled. "Thanks, Y/N."

We all fell into a comfortable banter again, the conversation flowing like a well-worn path. But with every witty remark aimed at me, every playful touch from Blaise or Enzo, I found myself subtly shifting away from Theo. It wasn't intentional, not really. Maybe a subconscious defense mechanism, a way to keep myself safe from the intensity I sensed in him.

Finally, unable to handle the mounting tension any longer, I blurted, "Oh, well, this has been lovely, but I actually have to…" My voice trailed off, searching for a believable excuse.

"Potions homework?" Blaise offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, yes," I stammered, "Look at the time! I completely forgot, I have to—"

"Go?" Mattheo finished my sentence with a playful grin, his eyes flickering between me and Theo. "That seems to be your usual line whenever Nott graces us with his presence."

A collective laugh went up from the others, but a blush crept up my cheeks. Was it that obvious?

"See, Theo? That's just how Y/N is. Always gotta disappear when you show up."

Behind me, I could hear the eruption of laughter. Draco's voice rang out, “See ? Always leaving when you appear Nott, gets the charm offensive."

I winced, a mixture of guilt washing over me, I grabbed my bag and walked away.

As I walked to the class the next day my stomach lurched, I scanned the room. Every single seat was taken except for one – the one directly next to Theo. A wave of annoyance washed over me. Why did I have to be the one stuck beside him after yesterday's awkward retreat?

With a resigned sigh, I marched towards the empty chair, determined to keep our interaction to a minimum. Just as I sat down, the classroom door slammed open, and Professor Snape strode in with his usual scowl.

"Settle down!" his baritone voice boomed. "Since we're already behind, we'll be starting immediately. Take out your textbooks and quills, we're brewing Veritaserum today."

My shoulders slumped. Of course, today would be the day Snape insisted on absolute honesty. Great.

I grabbed my textbook with a muttered curse, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating from beside me. Theo. He was practically close enough to see the worried frown etched on my forehead.

"Rough day, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine despite myself.

I kept my eyes glued to my textbook, pretending to be engrossed in the complicated brewing instructions. "Just fine," I mumbled, my voice a touch too high-pitched.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Do I make you nervous, Y/N?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

My cheeks burned. Did he have to be so perceptive? "No," I lied unconvincingly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Then why the avoidance act?" he pressed.

My cheeks felt like they were on fire. I couldn't take it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I finally looked at him, ready to fire back with a witty retort.

But as our eyes met, something unexpected happened. All the bravado I had practiced in my head evaporated. His gaze held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a hint of something… more.

The stern voice of Professor Snape cut through the sudden tension. "Miss Y/N, Mr. Nott! Pay attention or face detention."

Flustered, I tore my gaze away from Theo.

The moment Professor Snape dismissed the class, I bolted. My cheeks still burned from Theo's teasing, his words replaying in my head like a broken record. "Do I make you nervous?" Ugh, the audacity!

Heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I weaved through the throng of students, desperate to escape the classroom and the lingering scent of Theo's cologne.

As I rounded a corner, I slammed right into someone, the impact knocking the breath out of me. I stumbled back, muttering an apology.

"Easy there, love. Running from someone?"

My cheeks burned like someone had set them on fire with a dragon's breath. "No, no, of course not," I stammered, my voice tripping over itself. "Just... eager to get to my next class."

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Really? Because you look like you just escaped a dragon attack in those robes."

"I-I really have to go," I mumbled again, yanking my arm free from Matteo's grasp.

Before he could say another word, I bolted. I sprinted down the hallway, robes billowing behind me, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me, Theo.

The thoughts I harbored about Theo, well, they were borderline scandalous – even for the often-unconventional wizarding world. Wet dreams were a daily torment, a vivid tapestry woven with stolen glances and the memory of his low chuckle. Even the most mundane tasks became infused with Theo. Daydreams, unwelcome and potent, hijacked my mind, filling it with images of his strong arms wrapped around me, the feel of his warm skin against mine, and those lips... oh Merlin, his lips. The very thought of them sent a jolt through me, leaving me breathless and yearning.

It was a full-blown obsession. Every interaction, every stolen glance, was a spark that ignited a wildfire within me. I envisioned stolen touches, whispered secrets, a clandestine world where it was just us. These "visions," as I'd begun calling them, were both exhilarating and terrifying. Had I lost my mind?

Looking at him was like staring into the sun – an act both beautiful and blinding. I craved his attention, yet recoiled from it in equal measure, afraid of what it might reveal – both about him and the depth of my own desires.

The moment I reached the solitude of my dorm room, I threw myself onto my bed, burying my face in the soft pillow. It was just me and the storm raging within. Seeking a semblance of control, I reached for my most trusted companion – my sketchbook. Flipping to a blank page, I did what had become a nightly ritual: I drew Theo.

His face materialized on the page with practiced ease – the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his eyebrows quirked slightly when he was amused, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to pierce right through me. Each stroke was infused with a longing so deep it ached. As I added the final details, a desperate thought crossed my mind – what if, somehow, magically, drawing him like this would bring him closer? A ridiculous notion, even for a witch like me. But a girl can dream, right?

The drawing complete, I flipped back through the pages, revisiting the countless iterations of Theo that filled my sketchbook. Each one a silent testament to my growing obsession. A pang of guilt stabbed at me as I traced the outline of his lips in one particular sketch. Here I was, feeling like I'd committed a sin, when in reality, our interactions hadn't even reached the stage of a stolen touch.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips. This was madness. Yet, as I drifted off to sleep that night, the sketchbook remained tucked under my pillow, a silent guardian of my unrequited affection.

The next day, the weight of my secret world pressed down on me like a lead blanket.

My usual bubbly demeanor was replaced by a forced smile and a dull ache in my chest. The boys exchanged worried glances, their questions a constant reminder of the truth I couldn't share.

Mumbling an unconvincing excuse about feeling unwell, I escaped the classroom the moment the bell rang, desperate for some fresh air and a moment of solitude.

Once I was finally away from everyone I grabbed my bag, then it happened, panic clawed at my throat as I realized my sketchbook was missing.

I scoured my bag again, desperately searching every compartment, but it was nowhere to be found. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I carried that sketchbook everywhere, afraid of someone stumbling upon my secret world.

Fear morphed into a cold dread as I retraced my steps, hoping it had simply fallen out of my bag somewhere.

The thought of someone, anyone, seeing my drawings, especially Theo… the very notion sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through me.

I retraced my steps, combing through the classroom once more, a desperate hope clinging to the edges of my despair. But it was futile. The sketchbook was nowhere to be found. My mind raced, picturing prying eyes and whispered secrets. This was a disaster.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the rising tide of panic. "Searching for something, Y/L/N?"

I spun around so fast I nearly toppled over, my eyes widening as they landed on Theo. A self-assured smirk played on his lips, and in his hand, he dangled my precious sketchbook.

"Theo!" I gasped, the sound strangled and desperate. My cheeks burned with a mixture of mortification and a strange, exhilarating thrill.

Instead of listening to my frantic plea, he held the sketchbook just out of reach, the amusement in his eyes deepening. "Such beautiful secrets you keep hidden, Love."

The blood drained from my face. "Give it back to me, Theodore," I demanded, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.

He chuckled, a low, beautiful sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Not so fast, love. Perhaps there's something in here that warrants a little… negotiation."

Frustration bubbled up inside me. I lunged for the sketchbook, my fingers brushing against his hand. But he easily outmatched me, holding it high above my head. The height difference was agonizing.

"Give it back!" I hissed, my voice laced with desperation.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn't decipher. Then, before I could react, his other hand shot out, landing firmly on my waist.

A gasp escaped my lips as a jolt of electricity shot through me at his touch. He used the momentum to pull me closer, turning us around so that my back slammed against the cool surface of the empty classroom door my eyes widened when he locked it. My breath hitched in my throat as his warm body pressed against mine.

His face was inches from mine, his breath tickling my ear. "Now," he murmured, his voice a husky rumble that sent a delicious shiver down my spine, "Care to explain what is it about?”

"No "I say "Just give it back!"

Instead of replying, he pulled away, placing the sketchbook on a nearby table with a soft thud. I made a move to grab it, but he was faster. With a single, smooth motion, he used one hand to capture both of mine, pinning them above my head against the cold, unforgiving surface of the door.

His touch sent a jolt through me, a current that both terrified and excited me. His gaze was intense, boring into mine, and suddenly his earlier amusement was replaced by something else entirely.

"So," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

"you just decided to ignore my entire existence? The social butterfly with all her friends, suddenly giving me the cold shoulder or vanishing into thin air whenever I'm around. Then I find out you've been drawing me… like a hundred times? Which by the way I'm not complaining about but— ," he added, "but seriously, Y/N, what have I done that you can't bear to stay in the same room with me for a minute?"

His words hit me like a physical blow. Shame burned through me, hot and fierce. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely a choked sob, my eyes desperately seeking the floor.

"Look at me, love," he commanded, a gentle firmness in his voice.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. His face was unreadable, a mixture of concern and something else – something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Good girl," he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now, say it. What have I done to make you hate me that much?"

"It's the opposite," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, fueled by a desperate need for him to understand. "I like you, Theo. A lot. Those feelings… they're so intense, so confusing, and I just don't know how to act around you. I see you and I freak out. I can't breathe, my heart races and then those unholy thoes…" My voice cracked, and tears welled up in my eyes.

He leaned closer, his hand brushing a stray tear from my cheek. "Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice gentle, his touch sending sparks dancing across my skin. "Breathe."

I did, taking a shaky breath, closing my eyes as his face came closer. His touch was everywhere – on my cheek, my neck, his warm breath against my lips. "Are you mad?" I whispered, barely audible.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Quite the opposite," he murmured, his lips brushing mine with a feather-light touch. Then, in one swift movement, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both electrifying and grounding.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting me off the floor effortlessly. I gasped as I looked into his eyes, seeing the raw desire burning within them. "You smell so good," he murmured, his lips finding my neck. His stubble tickled my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You know those thoughts you talked about," he continued, placing soft kisses along my jawline. "I have similar thoughts too."

I moaned as he sucked on my earlobe, my head falling back to give him more access. His lips moved down to my neck, his tongue tracing a path along my collarbone.

His hands tightened on my hips, and I could feel his erection pressing against me. I couldn't help but grind against him, feeling his length rub against my clit through our clothes.

"I want to leave marks on your skin, so everyone knows you're mine," Theo growled, his lips moving down to my neck. His tongue traced a path along my collarbone, and I shivered with delight.

"Yours?" I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, baby. Mine. And those fuckers need to know this," he said, I couldn't help but smile. I knew they had been teasing him for how I had been ignoring him.

His lips traced a path along my collarbone, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I shivered with delight as his hand gripped my hair, pulling me to him he looked at my eyes for a second then kissed me. His lips were soft and eager, and I couldn't help but respond.

He turned me around his head on my shoulder "Tell me your deepest fantasy. I'll make it a reality for you,"

His hands went inside my skirt, and I felt his fingers on my thighs. "Can I touch you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. I nodded, my breath hitching in my throat.

“ oh Merlin “ I say my whole body shaking his finger rubbing circles on my clit fast then slow making me losing my mind

“ not Merlin baby me say my name, do i make you feel good ? “ he say in my ear

“ yes Theo oh yes you do “ I say my body still shaking .

"Do you want me to be rough with you, or gentle?" He asked, his finger sliding inside me. I gasped, holding onto his arms for support.

"No one has touched you like this before, baby?" He asked. I shook my head, unable to trust myself to respond without screaming.

"Good, and no one else will," He said, his fingers moving inside me. I felt myself getting closer to the edge, my whole body tensing up.

"I love how you arch your back when I do this. You're so responsive," He said, his fingers moving faster inside me. I screamed, my whole body shaking with pleasure.

He put his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries "Shhh” He said, his voice soothing.

I felt it happening. My whole body shook, and if not for his strong arm around me, I would have fallen. I screamed with his hand still on my mouth. I came for the first time in my life, and oh lord, it felt like heaven.

"You did so good for me, baby. So good."

Put his fingers in his mouth, savoring my taste. "I love the way you taste, the way you smell. You're like a drug to me,".

He picked me up, setting me on the desk. pushed the books and papers aside, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he pulled me to the edge of the desk, his hands on my thighs.

"Is this like your fantasies?".

"No," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "It’s much better."

His lips were on my inner thighs in an instant, his tongue tracing a path up to my panties. He pulled them down, his fingers grazing my skin. My breath came in short gasps.

"Do you want me to use my fingers or my tongue? Or maybe both?"

His tongue found my clit, and I moaned as he licked and sucked, his fingers exploring my wet folds. I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, my legs shaking.

Theo pulled back, his eyes meeting mine. He reached for a pen on the desk, pulling it towards him. wrote "mine" on my inner thigh, his eyes locked on mine.

His fingers slid back inside me. I moaned again, my hips bucking against his hand.

His tongue found my clit once again , and I moaned louder this time. He sucked and licked, his fingers moving inside me in a steady rhythm. I could feel my orgasm building for the second time.

"Oh, Theo," I moaned, my hips bucking against his hand.

He moved his fingers faster, his tongue lashing against my clit. I cried out as my orgasm crashed over me again.

He pulled away, making his way up to kiss me. I was shaking in his arms, but he wrapped them around me, making me feel safe and comfortable.

As I trembled in his arms, He held me close, his embrace warm and comforting. He gently brushed my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead tenderly.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of admiration and love.

I rested my head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The intensity of the moment began to fade, replaced by a soft, soothing calm. Theo's hands traced gentle circles on my back, his touch reassuring and tender.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

I nodded, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "I'm more than okay. Thank you."

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Theo, I need to tell you something,” I said, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

He looked at me with those deep, caring eyes, waiting patiently.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I don’t mean to scare you with it now, but I’ve been holding it to myself for too long and I wanted you to know.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to kiss me softly, his lips curing my words. “You don’t have to anymore,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to my fears. He looked into my eyes, his expression sincere. “I love you, and I will prove it to you every single day.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming relief and happiness. “Promise you won’t hurt me?” I asked, my voice small and vulnerable.

“Never, baby,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise. I will never hurt you. I’ll always be here for you.”

I buried my face in his chest, letting his warmth and words envelop me, my gaze wandered to the ink on my thigh. The word "mine" stood out boldly, a possessive claim that made me giggle despite the seriousness of everything that had just happened.

Theo noticed and raised an eyebrow. "What’s so funny?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

I pointed to the makeshift tattoo. “This. ‘Mine.’ You really went all out, didn’t you?”

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You bet I did. I had to make sure those fuckers know you’re off limits from now on.”

I laughed, “Oh, I’m sure they’ll get the message loud and clear.”

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