#also some of this is inspired by my choke anon

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[fredswrite]

a smut where the reader invites sam monroe to prom (inspired by that line "how does she know who i am and why does she give a damn about me" - teenage dirtbag) they end up getting bored and run away from the prom, sam is inexperienced and reader teaches him and he seems fascinated with everything lol tysmmmm!!!

i luv your work muaccc 💖

A/N: Thank you!! The fact that this song literally plays in repeat in my mind all the time lol. This is such a canon Sam thing, hope you like this anon!

SUMMARY: Pretty much what the req said

WC: 1.5k

WARNING: SMUT, piv, handjob, figuring, sub/dom, experienced f!reader x inexperienced Sam, smoking, virginity lost, Reader and Sam are 18 MDNI!! YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMATION.

MLIST

PROM NIGHT

Sam was sitting alone at a table as everyone seemed to have fun and danced. You being an exception to the rule. You were drinking from your glass next to him. He knew that alcohol wasn’t allowed since this was a school organization, but he also realized that you weren’t truly drinking from the fruit punch.

He watched your every move as you stood up and walked to a group of girls, who were probably your friends. You didn’t seem to notice his eyes, no one ever did anyway.

You talked and laughed with them as he stayed still at his table. It was a stupid idea to even come, you were the one that invited him and who was he to refuse your pretty face? But he had no idea why you would spend so long talking to them.

He had enough of this and walked towards tou, he didn’t care if your friends judged him, it was the last time he would probably see them since he didn’t plan on going to college.

You felt his presence in your back and turned around, smiling at him. He looked rather annoyed and you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel this way as well.

He gripped your hand gently pulling you to his side to talk to you privately, the music almost covering his voice. "That’s so boring." He let out.

"Here, you pulled your drink to his lips, drink that."

He was hesitant at first and pulled away, but you kept insisting so he gave in. It tasted like vodka mixed with rum and fruit. He almost choked as the liquid travelled down his throat, god it was disgusting.

"Where did you even get that?" He asked and frowned his eyebrows.

You responded with a chuckle, showing how drunk you were becoming. "I’ve got my secret."

In all his high school life, Sam never thought you would be the kind of girl to get drunk at parties, even less at Prom. He barely knew you, yes, but how could you even care about him?

"We should get out of here." You replied with a smile, your thoughts betraying your words.

He nodded, not wanting to stay here any longer or to let you embarrass yourself. He would have enjoyed watching someone else drunken mess, but if it was anyone else, but with you, something was stopping him.

"I need to smoke." He told you as you walked side by side away from the student's mess. You nodded as you sat on a nearby bench outside in the cold air. The sun was already gone and you could easily distinguish some stars.

Sam pulled out a cigarette from his pocket along with his lighter. You watched him, amazed by his gorgeous face. Even if smoking wasn’t seen as a gorgeous activity, you gently turned his head to yours as he took another smoke. Your hand carefully cupped his cheeks as his eyes widened in shock, if he wasn’t smoking right now he would have been whining.

Your fingers gripped at the curls on his upper neck, pulling him closer to your face. In a swift motion, you pinned your lips to his causing him to exhale the smoke in your mouth. You didn’t pull away, instead you pulled him deeper.

Never in his life has he ever been kissed with such passion and you could tell by the way his lips moved unexpectedly. He let his cigarette fall as he crushed it with the bottom of his shoes. He let his hand move to your waist, not wanting to touch you completely, yet not letting go of you.

"You can touch me, Sam, don’t be afraid." You let go of his lips for a moment, your fingers roaming around his chin to lift it as he gulped. This was leading somewhere he never went, somewhere in front of prom at the view of any student who walked out.

"I’m- I’ve never- I…" Sam managed to let out between his laboured breathing. Yet, you haven't done anything. You smiled and let go of him for a while, god you were gonna ruin him.

"Are you saying you’re a Virgin Sammy?" You teased him.

Putting it that way, he sounded very pitiful, but he didn’t know how badly it turned you on. "Why don’t I take you home hm? My parents aren’t here." You didn’t let him answer that you gripped him by his tie and rushed to your car alongside the many others.

"Ye-Yeah."

Soon enough you were both stripping down from your clothes in your bedroom. Carefully, since those were your prom outfits, but eager to move on.

You let the strap of your dress fall from your shoulder as he watched with an interested gaze. You carefully uncliped the back of your strapless bra and he got painfully hard just by the sight. You enjoyed every second of it, making him want you even more when a new part of your skin was revealed to him.

It didn’t take a while before your only clothing remaining was your panties. Sam hands were laying on the side of your hips, not daring to move anywhere. You slowly took his right hand in your, sliding it up to your breast.

Almost instantly, he squeezed it earning a moan for you. He watched the scene with glittery eyes, in his eyes you were a work of art, a goddess waiting to be worshipped. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Do you want me to make you feel good Sammy?" You teased, your hand sliding to his abdomen in a slow desperate attempt.

"Please.."

Your fingers danced on his red tip, gently rubbing it in tender motion. You wanted to be kind for his first time, but a single touch from you was enough to make him busted.

Your hand then went up at his base, then down again, repeating it over and over each time more quickly than the last It was only your hand, and he couldn't imagine what I’ll be like to actually get your pussy after months of jacking off by the thought. It didn’t take long before he was a moaning mess, the pleasure and the new feeling were overwhelming. Causing him to come undone within a minute of your touch.

"I’m sorry." Sam let out, panting in the crook of your neck. You chuckled, slowly lifting his chin to make him look at you, cupping his cheeks.

"Don’t be sorry sweet boy." You played in his hair as his breathing steadied. "You think you can handle what’s next?"

"Anything." He moaned a response and that was your sign as you pushed him down to the bed. You straddle his hips, grinning against his tights to harden it again.

Within a second, you felt it poke on your inner thigh and he twisted you around so he was on top. His lips made their way to your collarbone, gently succking on your skin. You smirked at the sight of him, his inexperience showed, but you were willing to let him do as he pleased.

Sam’s kisses went to your lower stomach but you dragged his hair up again. He stopped as soon as he felt your nails, looking up at you with those whiny puppy eyes. "Not now Sammy, don’t you want to be inside me?"

He growled and bit his bottom lips, staring at your pussy, not really knowing how he was supposed to stick it in. His face reddened as he let out a quiet murmur. "How do I..?"

"Just here." You showed him by grappling his finger and fingering yourself, he wasn’t against it, he even got faster once he understood the motion. You didn’t know how, but his thumb found your clit, gently dancing soft circle on the bundle of nerves.

You let out a sign, not much of your ex could make you feel like that, and yet Sam was a virgin. But not for long.

"Grab a condom from my drawer… and just… put it in."

He nodded, pulling his finger away, making you shiver at the loss of contact. He twisted off of you to look into your drawer, he didn’t ask why you had those in your room, not like he cared much anyway. He slid it around his hard member before beginning to enter you. Slow at first, with Sam trying not to whine at every centimeter he got deeper. But at some point, he was all in, gasping to be finally buried in something, someone, that he had waited so long for.

Now, he wasn’t completely inexperienced, he had watched porn like any normal teenager and still to this day as a young adult. He wasn’t too innocent due to his emo look and rebellious demeanour.

He began slamming his hips, taking support on your shoulders, pinning you onto the pillow with them. "Is that… Is that okay?" He asked between his breath.

"Prefect… You’re so good."

Your praise seemed to entertain him cause he went faster and harder like there was no tomorrow. His black hair stuck to his forehead, damp in sweat. Your eyes rolled when he hit that spongy spot inside of you.

"Right here…" You moaned. He could feel you tightening around his dick, only making him closer to his second orgasm. After a few more thrusts, he saw stars as he came in the condom.

And that is how you took Sam Monroe virginity.

[javier-pena]

quicksand

Pairing: Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You meet a stranger at a party.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | creepy men | reader gets her butt slapped by a stranger | infidelity | cheating | age gap (reader is in her early to mid 20s, her boyfriend is in his 50s, I’m putting Pedro’s character in Materialists in his late 40s) | emotional neglect (boarding on emotional abuse) | reader has long-ish hair that can get wet without it being an issue | a little bit of self-loathing | possessiveness (the good kind and the bad kind | hands hands hands hands hands | oral (f receiving) | a little bit of praise kink | voyeurism | mirror sex | (unprotected) p in v sex | rough sex | multiple orgasms | overstimulation | a tiny tiny bit of degradation | oral fixation (🫣) | choking | dirty talk | creampie | cum eating

Notes: Last week I saw these behind the scenes shots of Pedro in Materialists and somehow I had to write 8,000 words about that? I'm also not quite sure what happened, it was supposed to be like 3k max. There was also this ask Han @swiftispunk received that I couldn't get out of my head. The title is inspired by Ms Swift's song Treacherous (And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands / And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand), the rest is inspired by going completely feral whenever new pictures dropped. Tremendous thanks to Dani @alexturner who just beta'd a long-ass fic last week and then this fic this week - you're being way too good to me with indulging all thoughts I have that I have to turn into short stories 🫣 My dear, sweet anon who kept sending me encouraging asks, this is for you!!

***

There’s laughter coming from downstairs, deep, rumbling laughter impossible to ignore. Your whole body seems to shake with it, your heart stutters in your chest angrily, and you press your hands over your ears. But the loud voices are still there, mocking you with their indifference to your pain. You bury your face in your cool satin pillow and sob into it, ruining the expensive fabric. You don’t fucking care.

All your friends warned you this would happen and you hate how they were right. “You’re nothing but a toy to him.” Shut up, Marissa, you’re just jealous. “Maybe you should look for a boyfriend who’s closer to you in age.” Maybe you should look for a boyfriend, period. “You’re only a fuckmaid to him, do you realize that?” That was the point you stopped listening to them and, at the same time, it was the point you should have started listening.

You are nothing but a toy to him. You should have looked for someone closer to you in age. You are … no, you can’t bring yourself to even think the word, because the truth hurts too much. The truth and your blindness and your stupidity and the fact that you’re throwing your life away for a man who breaks every promise he makes and who treats you like a pet. A beautiful, expensive pet that can be ignored whenever it’s convenient.

“Come with me to the Keys,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hotter than his steadily cooling release sticking to your thighs.

“What?” you asked, heart clenching painfully. When was the last time he cared enough to make you come? Months ago?

“Come with me to the Keys,” he repeated. “The change of scenery will be good for us. I’ll show you around. We can go deep sea fishing. I’ll buy you some dresses and bathing suits. Just take my card tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair away from your neck, kissed the skin there, cupped one of your breasts, squeezed it hard. “Piers,” you warned, tried to get away from him. But there was nowhere to go.

The truth is you had been looking forward to his trip. Had been looking forward to having the apartment to yourself for a while. It’s not like you would’ve done anything in particular except just breathe for once.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbled against your neck, squeezed your breast again. “Don’t you want to sip on a nice cocktail? Wear a risqué outfit for me?”

No, you didn’t want that. But if you didn’t say yes soon, he’d get angry. “Okay,” you gave in. “But you have to promise me that you’ll spend one day with me. No business.”

What’s easily promised is easily broken.

Today is supposed to be your day. And for once in your life, you thought it would be. Piers took you out for breakfast, right by the water. You watched the sunshine dance across the waves. Then he showed you around town, took you to his favorite spots in Key West, even held your hand. And you thought, This is it. I’m finally worthy of him. Then came the call, followed by those emails, and suddenly Piers was like, “Sorry, babe, I have to meet them, they’re important business partners. Why don’t you go to the beach club, buy yourself a nice massage? Here’s my card.”

Here's my card. You’ve never hated three words more.

What you didn’t expect was to come home to a party. At least twenty men were milling around the house Piers liked to refer to as his “Key West Residence”, a late 19th century villa. Twenty loud men, rich like Piers, most of them his age, leering at you as you stepped through the front door, mistaking you for tonight’s entertainment.

“Babe!” Piers boomed, spilling half his drink while opening his arms as if he meant to hug you. The glances didn’t stop. “Go upstairs, freshen up, put on something nice, and then let me show you off.”

You managed to complete the first step before breaking down on your bed. You’ve been sobbing ever since.

Something breaks downstairs and some of the men roar. You bury your face deeper against the pillow, terrified to go back downstairs, terrified to stay up here. Whatever you do, it will be the wrong thing. You close your eyes and think about what it would be like if the men downstairs vanished. If you had the house to yourself, sharing it with a person you loved and who loved you in return. You could be having dinner on the patio now. Before that, you might go for a swim in the pool, knowing the only eyes on you were your partner’s, the only glances you received were welcome.

You sit up straight. You might hate it when Piers’ business partners look at you like you’re a piece of meat, but Piers hates it too if they don’t do it without being invited. Twenty men imagining all the vile ways in which they could fuck you is the last thing you want right now, but it’s also the last thing Piers wants.

You stumble into the bathroom and wash your face with ice cold water, willing the puffiness of your eyes to recede. You put on your most expensive makeup, the kind that only comes off with intensive scrubbing, then you pick your most revealing bikini and put it on. If those men stared at you like that in a long sundress, their heads will probably explode if they see you like this.

Chin held high, beach towel thrown over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs on high heels the same shade of black as your bikini. You feel utterly stupid, like you’re giving them exactly what they want, but the flush that spreads across Piers’ cheeks when he sees you is worth it. There are some whistles, a few crude comments, one man slaps your ass, but you make it to the pool. None of them are brave enough to follow you outside.

The water is cool against your skin, doing its best to extinguish the fire that burns within you. The flames don’t die down completely but they’re certainly soothed. You start to swim, one length, then three, and soon the party resumes and the men pick up their conversations again. This almost feels normal; this almost feels like a life you could enjoy. Except that you’re alone. And not in a way you crave.

You stop swimming and start drifting on your back, watching the sky above turn from a gentle blue into a soft pink, a bright orange, a deep purple. Soon, the sun will go down and the party will pick up speed. You should go, put on a dress, let Piers show you off, vanish before they’ve had too much alcohol.

You climb out of the pool, squeeze water out of your hair, wrap the towel around yourself. No one is paying attention to you now, so you pick up your heels to carry them back upstairs. There’s no way you’ll make it back to your room without one or two unwanted glances, without the odd rude comment, but you can live with that. You step onto the patio, eyes firmly fixed on your destination, then start walking through the gathering, careful not to look at anyone, careful not to be seen.

Someone sees you though. It’s not Piers, and it also isn’t one of the men who look at you and lick their lips. It’s someone watching you from the shadows, someone on one of the chairs in the parlor. Keep your eyes on the stairs, you tell yourself. Nothing good can come from this. While you were in the pool, Piers must have turned on the music, old jazz songs he always plays when he wants to appear sophisticated. The tinny sounds of saxophones make your ears ring, irritating you more than the heavy smell of cigar smoke that seems to be seeping into every corner of the house. You feel horrible between all those men dressed in their suits, even with the towel covering most of your skin. And you wish that one man would stop watching you because it makes you feel hunted, makes your body beg to run and hide.

At the foot of the stairs you pause, your heart in your throat. A man brushes past you, pretending like there is only so little room he has to press his palm against the small of your back. You turn around looking for Piers, ready to pretend you have a horrific migraine and won’t be joining him after all, when your eyes land on the man who is making the hair at the back of your neck stand with his unrelenting gaze.

You can’t see him properly because he’s half hidden behind the door to the parlor, a room that’s devoid of proper lighting and full of cigar smoke. But you see his dark eyes on you, feel them look right through you, see you for who you are, while he laughs at something the man next to him is saying. You crane your neck to get a better look at him but two other men walk past, obscuring your view. When they spot you and start to make their way toward you, you bolt up the stairs. At least no one will dare to follow you up here.

*******

“There she is!” Piers announces later, opening his arms wide again. He doesn’t spill his drink this time. You step into his embrace and let him kiss your cheek. “Took you long enough, doll.” You hate it when he calls you that, but you keep on smiling. Then he leans closer and whispers, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. Letting another man touch you! What’s wrong with you?”

So it did bother him after all. It should make you feel proud, but it only makes you feel empty. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back and kiss him. Someone at the back of the room whistles.

“Just try to behave for the rest of the night,” he says coldly, then smiles at you and asks in his loud business voice, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Some of the men nod but none dare to look at you directly. Not when Piers has his arm slung around your shoulder anyway.

“How about a drink?” he asks you and when you nod, he takes your hand and leads you toward the bar at the back of the parlor. You follow him, shivering slightly from the evening breeze blowing in through the open French doors. The smoke in the room makes your eyes sting.

With practiced ease, Piers fills a sparkling glass with vodka and soda, adding a bit of lime juice. You try to ignore the man who is standing a little bit too close to you, whose eyes hang a little bit too low.

“Here you are.” Piers hands you the glass. “I have something to discuss with those gentlemen over there,” he nods at two men standing by the door to his study, “but I shouldn’t be too long. Try not to cause too much of a scene while I’m gone.”

You close your fingers around the glass and nod. All you want to do is run.

As soon as he’s gone, they start to close in on you. It’s what Piers wants. He wants others to desire what belongs to him – his apartment, his car, his life. You’re part of all of that. He wants these men to desire you, to think they can have you. You should have listened to your friends, to Marissa and Annie and all the others. If you had, you might hate yourself less.

You know they all want to talk to you and they won’t take no for an answer, so you start to make your way toward the open French doors to escape into the garden. If you stand right at the edge, you can hear the waves whisper and feel the ocean breeze on your face. And if you keep still long enough, they might forget about you.

You don’t even make it out the door before your eyes start to wander from the lush green bushes and trees outside and land on a man sitting in a leather armchair close to the open doors. You don’t know if it’s the same one whose gaze you felt on you earlier, but there’s something about him that makes it hard for you to look away. He’s in the middle of a conversation, one leg comfortably slung across the other, ankle resting against thigh. One of his hands is spread on his knee, his fingers stroking and tapping the expensive fabric of his back dress pants in a nervous tick. His other hand is wrapped around a glass full of amber liquid that he takes a swig from right as you walk past, pretending not to notice how the muscles in his neck work as he swallows, pretending not to notice the gold ring on his little finger that clinks against the glass as he lowers it again.

Your own drink untouched, you stand on the patio, off to the side where you hope no one will notice you but where you can look at that stranger from time to time. You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you don’t usually pay a lot of attention to Piers’ associates. None of the men here this evening look familiar. Still, there is something about the way this man runs his fingers through his dark curls from time to time, the way he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his white shirt, the way he takes a drag from a big, dark brown cigar once in a while that makes it impossible for you to look away. Until another man demands your attention.

“Hi there,” he says, his laugh showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I’m Hutton.”

You think about saying, “And I’m not interested,” but to Piers that would probably count as causing a scene. And Hutton looks like he’s one of the younger men here, probably in his late 30s. There are worse guys to talk to. “Hi,” you reply with a sweet smile.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He steps closer to you, encouraged by your smile.

“Yes,” you reply. “So how do you know Piers?”

If he’s annoyed by you bringing up your boyfriend right away, he doesn’t let it show. “We work together,” he answers, which could mean anything in Piers’s world.

“And what brings you to Key West?”

“The scenery,” Hutton answers, not even trying to hide his hungry gaze that glides over your naked shoulders and cleavage.

“I thought it was business,” you say, your smile faltering slightly. “Seeing you’re here.”

“I try not to mix business with pleasure.” Hutton leans against the small sliver of wall between the French doors and the corner of the house. “It’s neither good for business nor pleasure.”

You hum, trying to take a step back. You’re already at the edge of the patio though, and you almost stumble off it, losing your footing.

Hutton grabs your arm and pulls you toward him. “Careful there, pretty girl.”

You try to pull your arm back but he won’t let go. “Thank you,” you say at the same time as he says, “Have you ever thought about exchanging Piers for a younger model?”

It didn’t take him more than a few words exchanged to get to the point.

You yank your arm free but he grabs it again. “Stop it,” you command in your strictest voice but he only grins at you.

“Don’t be like this. I’m only fooling around.”

“Then let go of me.” He doesn’t.

You’re about to throw your drink in his face, even if it means Piers will be angry with you again, when someone steps out onto the patio.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He’s standing right there, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, the other holding his cigar. Shame washes over you and your palms grow sweaty. You really don’t need this right now. But Hutton immediately lets go of you and turns to face the newcomer.

“We’re good here, thanks,” he says, his jaw clenched.

The stranger takes his time to take a drag on his cigar, lets out the smoke while looking up at the now deep purple evening sky. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks and Hutton lets out a sigh.

“Are you just going to keep standing there?” he asks.

The stranger shrugs.

You glance into the parlor, at all the men milling about, wondering if you could make your escape without anyone noticing. But there is something in the way the stranger holds himself that makes you want to stay and find out how this ends. Piers, by now, would have rushed past Hutton, a snarl on his lips, his anger directed at you. The stranger just stands there, his shoulders relaxed, acting as if he doesn’t even particularly care that you and Hutton are out here on the patio as well. It’s a different kind of threat … a different kind of protectiveness.

Hutton turns to you. “Are you coming?”

You shake your head and with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed, “Whatever,” he vanishes into the house, leaving you alone with him.

The silence unbearable, you say, “Thank you.”

He takes another drag on his cigar, then comes closer to you. You ignore how your heart flutters at his approach. He reaches for your hand and for a wild moment you think he’s going to grab your arm too, but he only takes the drink from your hand, sniffs the contents of the glass, then dumps it over the edge of the patio. “Let’s get you a proper drink,” he says.

You’re too stunned to do much more than follow him back into the house and toward the bar. Around you, the volume has risen since you stepped out onto the patio, but you don’t care as much as you did before. It’s hard to care about anything when your stomach is in a tight knot and when you feel like the world around you has gone completely quiet.

The man steps behind the bar, gently places his cigar in an ashtray, then regards the collection of bottles before him with his hands on his hips. “You don’t look like a vodka girl to me,” he mumbles, and you feel your face grow hot. You don’t know why. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vermouth. You only now notice how big his hands are, and your mind immediately starts to replay the evening. His hand on his knee, his hand around his glass, his hand … You shake your head, but the shiny gold ring on his little finger glitters enticingly as he unscrews the bottle of vermouth to smell the alcohol within. It’s like you’re a magpie, enchanted by everything that glitters.

“Sweet enough,” he concludes, pouring a little vermouth and a lot of whiskey into a martini glass. Then he goes through all the bottles once more until he finds one of lavender bitter and adds it to the mix.

“What is that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.” There’s a small jar of cocktail cherries he unscrews. With skilled movements, he skewers two of them onto a silver cocktail stick before handing you the glass. The mix inside is orange on top, a reddish purple deeper below. It looks like the sunset you watched earlier.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Taste it,” he tells you, an eager glint in his eyes.

You take a careful sip and widen your eyes in surprise at the strong yet sweet taste. “Oh, this is really good!”

“It’s sweet, like you,” he says, then seems to change his mind, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “It’s a Manhattan. That’s where you belong, not in this tourist trash kind of town.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, I like it here.”

The bar is still between you but he leans on it to get closer to you. “I bet you would also like Manhattan if I showed you around.”

“I’m from Manhattan,” you tell him. “I live there, actually.”

“I do too,” he responds. “Funny how we should run into each other here, of all places.”

You inhale shakily. You don’t know why. “If you hate it here so much, what are you doing here?”

He smiles at you, and you’re sure your heart stops. “I heard you talk to that other guy. I’m not here to have a conversation like that with you.”

You take another sip from your cocktail even though it makes your head spin. “What are you here for then?”

“That’s just another way of asking me what I’m doing here, angel eyes,” he points out. He does it so smoothly you almost don’t notice the diminutive.

You straighten your back, only now realizing you were leaning on the bar close to him. He mirrors you, then walks around the wood between you so he can stand directly next to you. “You tell me what you want to talk about then. After all, you approached me, you made me a drink, you wanted to whisk me off to Manhattan.”

“That was before I realized how worldly you are,” he says and his smile turns sly.

“Oh?” you make. You swallow. “Am I too difficult for you then?”

“I like a challenge.”

This is where you should stop. This is where you should thank him again for rescuing you, and for the drink, and where you should walk away to find your boyfriend, who surely has to be done with his meeting by now. But how can you step away when he’s still smiling at you as if he’s having the time of his life, when you felt drawn to him all evening, when having his eyes on you makes you feel truly seen? Yes, he isn’t exactly subtle in the way he flirts with you, but there is a kindness in his gaze you’ve never seen on another man before. And then he touches you, straightening the strap of your short, tight dress, and your whole body comes alive.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?” is the only thing you can come up with, willing your voice to remain steady.

“I like things that are bad for me,” he replies.

It’s such a cheesy line, it makes you want to bury your face in your hands. But, god, does talking to him make you feel good.

“Ha!” He points at you. “That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all evening.

“Call me ‘sweet’ again and you might see some more,” you retort. All you want to do is to tell him you don’t mind his harmless flirting, that whatever this is between you is fun, but it comes out heavy with implications. Implications you can’t take back because you don’t want to.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and you think you might die. “You’re very brave.” It’s a statement. “I saw you walk to the pool earlier in –”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I saw you watching me.”

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “It made me want to kiss you.”

You freeze. There is nothing you can say that won’t end badly for you. “So you made me a drink instead?”

He plucks the cocktail stick out of your glass and holds it up to your mouth. You close your lips around the first cocktail cherry and pull it off slowly, your eyes fixed to his. It might just be the low lighting but you think his pupils dilate. He drops the stick back into the glass and takes a big swig of your drink, his eyes momentarily leaving yours. You do your best not to watch his throat as he swallows.

“You really are something,” he concludes, putting down the glass on the bar.

You feel lightheaded, as if you’d just made out with him for half an hour. “I’m also in a relationship.” The words are out before you can stop yourself. You didn’t mean to say them.

“I don’t give a damn.”

You giggle, actually giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “You sound like the hero in one of those ancient black-and-white movies.”

“Or maybe I’m the villain.”

This time you do bury your face in your hands. “Oh, stop it.”

“No,” he simply says, and you get it. You want to kiss him too.

Instead, you glance at the small gold wrist watch on your arm. “It’s late. I should –”

He interrupts you. “Don’t –,” but you don’t let him finish.

“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for making me laugh. You made this whole thing bearable.”

You don’t know if you should shake his hand or kiss his cheek so you don’t do any of it. You pat his arm, once, trying not to notice how it feels against your palm, then walk toward the stairs, your heart breaking with each step. If you were single, you wouldn’t have hesitated to sleep with this man. If you weren’t Piers’ girlfriend, he would never have looked your way. It’s better to end it here.

The quietness of your room engulfs you, just like the soothing coolness of the pool earlier. As soon as you close the door behind you and lean against it, you can breathe. Yes, you can still hear the sounds of the party, but they’re muffled. You can finally hear yourself think again and you exhale shakily. You almost made the biggest mistake of your life. The adrenaline rush you got from it makes you snicker.

Piers isn’t entirely faithful. He attends parties with strippers, he looks at other women, you know all that. But it doesn’t mean anything because at the end of the day he comes home to you. What you just did … it goes beyond everything Piers has ever done, and you wouldn’t have been able to look at yourself in the mirror if you had spent one more minute in the presence of that handsome stranger. Even if your flirting made you happier than Piers has in months.

There’s a knock at your door and you jump. Expecting Piers, you open it without a second thought. “I’ll be right …,” you start but forget every word in the English language when you come face to face with the stranger.

“Hello,” he says, and that handsome smile is back on his face, even if he keeps a careful distance. “You vanished so quickly it made me wonder … did I do something wrong?”

“What?” you ask because it’s the only word you can remember.

“I’ll go back downstairs if you don’t want me here,” he goes on, “just say the word.”

They never come up the stairs. Never. Who does he think he is? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just tired.” You try to close the door in his face, but he steps closer, bracing a hand against the wooden doorframe. “Excuse me,” you say insistently.

“Can I come in?”

Into your room? “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you reject him. You laugh, but it sounds insincere. “You should go back downstairs.”

“Alright,” he agrees, “but you have to say it like you mean it.”

“Listen here,” you start in your best no-nonsense voice. He tightens his grip on the wood and you hear it creak, despite the noise downstairs. “I want you to …”

It’s no use. You don’t know who he is, you don’t even know his name, but you also know that if you don’t let yourself have this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“You need to say the words, sweet –”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You both freeze. His mouth hangs open, still in the middle of forming the next word he wanted to say. You tense, well aware that you said something you can not take back.

The few seconds that pass feel like an eternity. Then he pushes himself past the doorframe into your room, into your personal space. You smell the heavy scent of cigar smoke on him, you smell leather and lavender and citrus. You see his smile that turns into something more determined the closer he gets to you. You notice the stubble on his cheek, the glint in his eyes, the small dark spot on the collar of his white shirt. You feel … you feel his body pressing against yours, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his breath on your face, and then everything is reduced to his lips on yours, your breaths mingling, his … his tongue coaxing you open, not gently but insistent, and you not hesitating to open yourself up for him.

It's as if you’re watching it all from above, you pushing him backward, him closing the door with a hard slam, the both of you pulling at each other while kissing and kissing and …

“Careful,” he chuckles when you bite down on his bottom lip. “You said kiss, not –”

“I don’t give a fuck what I said,” you interrupt him, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says and grabs your wrist.

You groan. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. “I’m not. You’re just … We’re doing this on my terms or not at all.”

Something throbs deep within your core.

He tightens his hold on you. “I’ve had all evening to think about this. To picture all the things I want to do to you.”

“It’s not going to be just kissing then?” you ask, relishing the chuckle you draw out of him.

“I knew I wouldn’t leave here tonight without feeling your pretty little cunt clench around me.”

It sounds like a line straight out of a porn movie. You should laugh, tell him to take you seriously. But all you can do is whimper at the thought of him sitting in his chair downstairs, talking to one of Piers’ associates or even Piers himself while thinking about being buried deep inside of you. Every other man would send you fleeing. Not him though.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Does it matter? Once I’m done with you, you’ll have forgotten your own name.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Those are some big words,” you point out.

He lets go of your wrist, then bunches the fabric of your dress up in his hand until he can reach below the hem, his broad, warm hand landing on your naked skin, his ring digging into your soft flesh. You gasp.

“Do you really think I’d disappoint you?”

“No,” you say too quickly, too rashly.

He grabs your dress again. “How about you take this off for me?”

“No,” you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh at the look of shock on his face. Then you turn around. “I can’t really open the zipper without some assistance.”

He runs both his hands over your naked shoulders and down to the middle of your back. You expect him to take his time, but he yanks the zipper down so quickly you think you hear fabric tear. You almost don’t have enough time to slip out of the thin shoulder straps before he falls to his knees behind you, pulling the dress with him. His hands are on your butt cheeks now, massaging, grabbing you as if he’s set on memorizing every detail. He slips his thumb under the hem of your panties, dips the tip into the wetness there.

You gasp at the same time as he whispers, “Knew it.”

You pull him away from you and turn around, well aware you’re completely naked except for your panties. “Well, it’s hardly surprising,” you start, your voice airy, but then it dies down completely at the sight of him kneeling in front of you looking up at you with so much heat in his gaze you’re getting burned. How did you get here?

You want him to tease you back, but he only pulls you close, his hands clasping your hips insistently, and kisses your belly, right above the hem of your panties. Then he kisses your thighs and your sides, and your belly button, and then he pulls down your panties and buries his face in your wetness with a relieved sigh. Your hands shoot forward and grab his curls, dig into them, desperate for purchase, as your head swims from the overstimulation. You would like to focus on the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You would like to focus on his tongue swirling around your clit. You would like to focus on the growl he makes when you run your nails over his scalp.

You think you’re laughing. You think you say, “Does that still count as kissing?”

“Yes,” he mumbles against the soft skin of your thighs. His curls are already a mess, his face is flushed, but when he glances up at you, his eyes are bright with determination.

“I think you have to show me that definition of kissing someday,” you go on, glancing up at the ceiling. You can’t look at him directly, it feels too intimate.

“That’s enough talking,” he decides and licks a broad stripe across your drenched folds.

You tighten your grip on his curls in response because your legs start to quiver. You hope he doesn’t notice, but his fingers dig into your thighs to steady you. The edges of his ring are cutting into you almost painfully – you want more of it. His hair wrapped around your fingers you pull him closer into you and he moans against you … actually moans. You push away those thoughts that make you compare him to Piers, how Piers would never moan if he was between your legs, how Piers never eats you out. This isn’t about him – it’s about you.

There’s something in the way that stranger rolls and flicks his tongue that tells you he won’t make you wait for an orgasm. You want to hold on longer because you can’t bear the thought of this being over already, but there is something in the way he devours you that pushes you toward the edge at a rapid speed. You don’t even hear the sounds of the party anymore, the laughter, the music; it’s just him and his deep sighs and moans.

You’re almost embarrassed by how fast you come. One second you’re appreciating the way his tongue flicks your clit, the next you can barely stay upright when your whole body releases months and months of built-up tension. You quiver in his grip and he holds you close, licking and licking until you can’t take it anymore. You think you mumble, “Fuckfuckfuck,” but there is no way to be sure. All you know is that you just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

You laugh as if the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. What else is there to do? “So this is doing things on your terms?” you ask.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You think you might explode at that sight. “No, that was for your benefit. The rest is going to be for mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at your bed that’s rumpled from you crying on it earlier. If he can make you feel like that with just his tongue, what will he be –

“No, sugar, not like that,” he tells you, immediately pulling your attention back to him.

Your throat is dry when you ask, “What then?”

He stands and cups your cheek, his hand pleasantly warm. You lean into the touch immediately. “Don’t be so impatient. Enjoy the moment for a while.”

“What moment …?” you start but you don’t get far. He claims your mouth in a searing kiss that makes you wish you had been paying more attention to what he was doing when he was eating you out. You kiss him back, slinging your arms around his neck, the soft fabric of his white shirt rubbing against your naked chest. He licks across your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him, and then he claims you like no one has before. You fear that if you start thinking about how you can taste yourself on him, you’ll go insane.

“You’re so easy to kiss,” he mumbles against your lips. You’re not quite sure how he means it, but your chest still expands at the compliment.

“And you’re very handsome,” you retort lamely.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about telling me all evening?”

“No,” you reply too slowly this time.

He kisses your temple, then brings his mouth right next to your ear. “I’ve been thinking about watching myself fuck you.”

He doesn’t give you time to process, takes you over to the vanity that stands opposite your bed, its mirror dull in the dim light of the room. Even when he places your hands on the table top, telling you to hold on, you still don’t think he’s serious. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the makeup smudges below your eyes, the birth mark on your throat that you hate, how your mouth hangs open in a way that looks so very unsexy. Behind you, that stranger you invited into your room, this man you know nothing about, is unbuttoning his expensive dress pants, his white shirt obscuring the view. What does he see in you that makes him want you like this?

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s holding himself now, but you can’t see his hand moving without turning around. And he didn’t tell you you’re allowed to look. Your palms begin to sweat against the wooden surface of the vanity, at the thought of him telling you what you are and aren’t allowed to do, at him praising you for doing well and punishing you if you don’t. You don’t recognize that side of yourself.

His eyes are open again and he searches for yours in the mirror. “I asked you a question.”

You swallow hard. “No, I don’t,” you say, fighting down a giggle. It’s nerves.

“I’d better show you then,” he concludes, and he pushes inside of you with one hard stroke, filling you faster than you can spread your legs.

You both take a moment to breathe. He adjusts himself, you try to get used to the angle, the feeling of fullness. You haven’t seen his hard cock, but you know he’s more than Piers, so much more the stretch is almost uncomfortable. The wood beneath your fingers starts to swim when your vision blurs and –

“No, none of that.” He grips your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve also been thinking about you watching me fuck you.”

His hand looks so big holding your face like that, and when you swallow again, he can feel it against his fingers.

His own face is right there next to yours, his eyes firmly fixed to yours through the glass. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can take it.”

Before you can think of anything to say, he pulls out of you and thrusts back in in a tentative motion that is enough for your eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“No, no, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Keep them open.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you with a sharp bite to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. Your hips thrust back of their own accord, meeting his in a quick snap.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were making any, too transfixed by watching him move behind you. Whenever your gaze wavers and flutters to your own face, embarrassment sends adrenaline shooting through your body. But he … watching his shoulders and arms tense and relax beneath his shirt that looks all too tight now, watching him meet your gaze, eyes full of lust … you don’t know why you would fuck anyone any other way than this.

He straightens his back, changing the angle slightly, and now you do hear yourself groan. He grabs your chin tighter and pushes two fingers into your mouth. “You know,” he says, and his hips snap with more force, faster, making the vanity rattle beneath your hands, “if you were mine, I’d let no man touch you. I would’ve broken his arm.”

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what he means; you’re too busy relishing the taste of his skin on your tongue. There must have been a man who touched you … when you were coming down the stairs … You can see it all clearly now. He would grab that man’s arm, calm and collected, twist it, make him shout in surprise … you can almost hear the bones snap.

“Oh, look at that,” he groans, and you do. You look at yourself in the mirror, unashamed, eyes wide. You watch how you eagerly suck and lick his fingers, watch it as if another person was doing it. You’re trembling in his grip … or is he making everything shake with his thrusts that are coming faster and faster now as he fucks you, taking what he needs? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You almost don’t hear him, too transfixed by how depraved he’s making you feel. “You’d get off on that, a good man protecting you. Shame I’m not good, really.”

You don’t care. You’re done with those men who act politely, who treat you with care when they know Piers is around, but who talk about you taking it up the ass when your back is turned. You’d much rather have this, a man who isn’t scared to say these things to your face. Even if he thinks he isn’t all good, he still protected you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you whimper at the loss, watching how a thread of spit connecting his digits to your lips breaks. With his other hand, he suddenly grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your hard nipple with practiced ease, and you arch your back with a moan, exposing your throat to him. His fingers close around it, hard, restricting the airflow, his ring pressing against one of the most vulnerable spots of your body in a way that doesn’t leave any room for doubt – you’re doing this on his terms.

He tightens his grip on your throat until you start seeing stars, the loosens it. “I’m going to make you come now. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming around my cock.”

If you could, you would nod, but he isn’t looking for your consent. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger one last time, then lowers his hand to find your clit. When he touches you, you make a sound like never before, one that’s feral and animalistic and can’t possibly be coming from you.

He shushes you, his breath tickling your neck. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You don’t? You have no idea. You can’t form a single coherent thought as he pounds into you, making sure you’ll be able to feel him long after he’s done with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your voice is breathless after that scream, hoarse and raw. Your gaze flickers to his fingers curled tightly around your neck.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, baby girl,” he orders.

Baby girl.

That’s what does it. You watch your eyes widen and your mouth fall open as your body shakes first from his thrusts and then from wave after wave of pleasure. He was right. You love this. You love watching yourself come while he forces you to watch yourself, love to watch your orgasm play out across your face. He’s watching you too, licking his lips hungrily, never faltering. But you can see it in his eyes, the way he’s memorizing every detail of your orgasm.

“Well done,” he says once you’re done and moves your chin so he can kiss your lips.

Then he suddenly pushes you down so your chest connects with the table top. You grunt in surprise, then in pain when he rolls your head to the side so you can still somewhat glimpse his reflection above you.

“My turn,” he growls.

His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes are firmly fixed on his own reflection, and he holds you down with such a strong grip you can’t move, but also in a way that’s so casual it makes you feel like he’s using you. Your heart stutters with longing so intense at that thought that the feeling spreads to the rest of your body and becomes so intense he feels it in his own. At least you think that is what’s going on when he smiles down on you.

The position you’re in and the tenderness between your legs steadily turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable to simply too much. But he doesn’t finish. He keeps going and going, not as fast as before, seemingly transfixed by what you’re doing. You reach back for him and he grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back.

“Please,” you whimper, and it makes his intense gaze falter for just one second.

“Almost there, baby girl,” he replies, “you’re doing so well. Just keep taking it a little while longer.” You think you could bear anything if he just kept talking to you like that.

Then suddenly it’s over. There is one last thrust that pushes you onto the tips of your toes and then he stills. The only movement comes from his hips that are twitching as he empties himself inside of you. You don’t even dare to breathe, watching as his reflection slowly relaxes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls out of you and you try to stand, but he pushes you back down again. “Stay. We’re not done yet.”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, but your mind is blank, unable to imagine what else he could have in store for you. You don’t feel anything at first, you just hear him moan, and then you realize he’s kneeling behind you, cleaning you up with his tongue, eagerly licking his own release off your skin. It makes you feel so lewd you forget about everything, even Piers. Especially when he doesn’t stop at your thighs but moves further and further up your legs until his tongue and nose are buried in your folds once more and he’s spreading you open with his big hands.

You can’t help it.

“Fuck, fu- I- I’m gonna –”

There’s no time for you to finish the warning before you’re coming a third time, your hips desperately twitching against the vanity. He licks you through it, catching every last drop you’re giving him on his tongue. You can’t tell for sure but you think he’s chuckling and for some reason the shame you feel turns you on even more.

When it’s all over, he peels you off the vanity and pulls you into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face that is sticky with sweat. “You sure are a greedy little thing,” he says before he kisses you tenderly.

You swallow a sob and give him a sigh instead.

“Half the people downstairs probably heard us.” There’s a big grin on his face at that thought.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you repeat your earlier sentiment, surprised to discover that it’s true.

“Someone wants to get caught,” he teases and kisses you again.

“What I want is for you to fuck me like that again.”

“Oh, baby girl.” You almost hate how he’s already figured out what hearing him call you that does to you. “There are a million more things I want to do with you. This was just a taste.”

You’re not sure if you can believe him, but you decide to indulge that fantasy. You put on your sweetest smile. “Can’t wait.”

He lets go of you and walks toward your door. “Why don’t you give me a call once you’re back in Manhattan.”

A red warning light switches on somewhere in your brain. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Something tells me you’ll find out.” And with that, he’s gone.

[madame-fear]

Hi, can I please have an orange americano + red velvet? (Modern!jace fic based off the song “play date” by Melanie Martinez where Jace hasn’t been treating the reader well and she wants to leave him but she can’t because she loves him so much. Can it have a super angsty ending pls) (also, I’m the anon from before. I was asking if I should put iced coffee + orange americano 💗)

𐙚 ⸻ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄.

i don’t give a fuck about you anyways, whoever said I gave a shit ’bout you? // you know i give a fuck about you everyday, guess it’s time that i tell you the truth

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : my darling nonnie, thank you for the wonderful order! i truly hope this was what you expected,, and overall, carries as much angst as you hoped for. I did my best to end it as angsty as possible! ♡ ⟶ check amira’s coffee shop masterlist. 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. ∿ request above! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 1.1k (apologies for the short length! I am getting back my inspiration very slowly but surely ;;__;;)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. purely angst. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. modern!jacaerys velaryon x gf!reader.

WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; jace being a bit of an asshole (sorry pookie bear!) and kind of ignoring you, veeery slight mentions of cheating, and brief mentions of you arguing.

The line continued to ring almost endlessly, as you kept calling Jace over and over. The track of time managed to easily slip through your fingers each time you attempted to call him, being of no use at all in the end. Hours passed since Jace told you that he would be going to a friend’s party, and a mix between concern and disappointment filled you.

At the moment, the faint ringing coming from your phone was the only sound heard echoing across your room, accompanied by a sigh spurring from you; a sigh expressing both frustration and a growing dismay, fueling your previous disappointment. A knot had formed on your throat, almost choking you, as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. This wouldn’t be the first, or last time that it happened— you were often left hanging, no matter what you did.

All the effort you put, only for a hanging line sound to beep a few times against your ear once again. Like it always did.

You firmly nibbled on your lower lip, fluttering your eyes shut— a burden heavily sat on your chest, almost tightening your breath. Inhaling deeply and in a shaky manner, you effortlessly threw your phone on the bed, and allowed the weight of your head against your palm devastated.

What had you done to deserve such treatment, you wondered? When you offered nothing but unconditional love and devotion, you were paid back with excruciating indifference. And what about his sweet words and kind treat he used to woo you with? In the end, you seemed to be nothing but a play date for him— something for Jace to have fun with for some time, while you were wrapped around his finger. A mere play date is what you felt like, and he proved it with his behaviour.

It didn’t matter just how hard you tried to become indifferent towards him, how you didn’t give a shit; how your head tried to wrap itself around the idea of breaking up and leaving him, as you should— but something always held you back. Ceaselessly, you had attempted to convince yourself that you were far worthier than the pain Jace bought you, but you were foolish enough to stay in your place for your undisputed adoration towards him.

That undisputed adoration was the same cause for you to remain right where you were, withholding you. Jace bought you pain with the way he so blatantly opted to ignore you, and was often seen partying with other girls— but the pain would only be greater if you broke up with him. The idea of leaving his side was bitter, almost poisonous.

You did love Jace most dearingly, but you were just a toy for him to play with. One that chased after him desperately, being at his disposal whenever he wished; and coming to terms with that was no easy task— in fact, you refused to believe so. Many of your friends insisted on the fact that you should leave him for your own mental wellbeing, but you just couldn’t. No one could understand how much effort such simple — and neccessary — decision took.

“I can’t be by your side all the time, (y/n)! I’ve got things to do!” you remembered him shouting at you in frustration, before he left with some friends. That had been one of your many fights, and they were all about the same topic— him seeming to care very little about you. Jace’s excuses were that studying and working were draining, consuming all his time and energy to spend any of them on you.

“I’m not asking you to be with me all day long! All I’m asking is that you show that you do care just a little bit, instead of ignoring all my efforts and go partying with a bunch of other girls!” as you shouted back at him, your own voice was frail and quivery, poorly attempting to not start crying right in front of him. Whether he spent every passing second of the days by your side wasn’t the true matter— it was the lack of appreciation towards how you continously remained faithful and adoring to him, you seemed to only matter whenever he felt like it.

You understood, and you never overcomplained about the responsabilities that came day to day, as you had your own work and studies— but you had grown tired of understanding and remaining silent, when you were well aware that all his spare time was spent on hanging out with his friends, and being on parties surrounded by other girls... Mostly, spending time with Baela, one of the girls from his friend’s group.

Everyone suspected that Jace hung out with Baela behind your back, as more than just friends— but you preferred to play dumb and look elsewhere, as much as the thought painfully weighed on your conscience; because you knew all those suspicions were true.

You were treated as a fool, used for mere fun. What fun was there in being with someone just to be chased after and play with their feelings? You were tired of understanding and saying practically nothing at all. Not caring was difficult when all you hoped for, was for the immense devotion you offered to be reciprocated.

Faintly beginning to sob, tears escaped from your eyes, leaving a hot wet trail behind as they rolled through your cheeks— hiding your face in your hands, choking on your own tears. Overthinking never did any good to you, but who could judge you considering the place you were in? The situation was almost too overwhelming to bear. Sorrow and disappointment asphyxiated you constantly, leaving you burdened with your own thoughts. Had you done anything for him to not show an ounce of love for you, despite your attempts in making him feel cared for?

“He clearly doesn’t respect you. Why don’t you break up with him for once?” but it was easier said than done, when no one was in your place... When you wanted this to be more than just a one-time thing. At times, you felt your own idea of love was far more different than the rest of the people— and you blamed yourself for idealising someone who tossed you away, toying around with your feelings.

You were just a play date for him, while he was the person you adored the most despite all the pain his presence bought in your life. And all you felt you could do, was swallow the bitterness that came with your relationship— attempting to drown the constant rising thoughts of breaking up with him, knowing it would hurt far more than having your efforts to show genuine affection passed unnoticed.

You wanted to leave, but it felt almost as if you were trapped in a labyrinth— and your own silly devotion was at fault, when you knew he cared very little whether you remained with him by his side, or not.

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[rinhaler]

luxe, hear this anon out. rin with a crybaby type of reader who cries when they feel too good. just imagine him unlocking the fact realizing that he gets turned on by their crying when they're sputtering and choking on his cock <33

apologies if im a bit deranged about this

- jellyfish anon

okay I cannot express how sexy this request is. I NEED him in a way that undoes centuries worth of feminism I fear :( also apologies I'm not that best at writing BJs but I hope u like! (slightly inspired by scream vi)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, praise, slut used once, alcohol mention, reader has long hair/hair long enough to do a makeshift ponytail ♡

words: 1.9k

“You shou— talk to ‘im—” your friend slurs, giggling as you help her sit down on your couch. You laugh a little as she falls from your grip and spreads out comfortably on the sofa beneath her. “Look, he’s looking!” she yells a little too loudly and points.

You shush her, carefully moving her hand to her lap before looking to where she had been pointing. Your neighbour had been looking from his window into yours for a little bit, smirking a little when he finally notices you looking back. He’s doing dishes in the sink, and it gives you the idea to get your friend some water.

“He’s been giving you fuck me eyes f-for weeks! Every time I come over he’s always—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t point and make it so obvious, babe.” you laugh, handing a glass full of water to her. “He’s just being friendly. Besides, I’m not really ready to date or anything yet. I’m just having fun hanging out with my bestie.” you tease her, nudging her with your elbow.

She pouts, eyes filling with water before she hugs you. She’s always been an emotional drunk, and soon enough she’s confessing how much she adores you and what a perfect best friend you are.

“Do you have any snacks? Wan’ some chocolate.” she tells you. You shake your head. “Ugh. Ooooh! You should go ask hot guy if he has any!” she suggests, kicking her feet and giggling all the while.

You look elsewhere. In the direction of hot guy. But he’s not at the window anymore. He’s probably in bed, it is pretty late. You hadn’t expected to be getting home after midnight from your cousins wedding given that you aren’t really that close. But bringing your best friend as a plus one extended the time you spent there.

There was an open bar.

“I’ll go to the store. What kind of chocolate do you want?” you ask.

“Surprise me.” she smiles. “Thaaaaank youuuuuu~!” she speaks in a sing-song voice.

“Don’t burn my apartment down while I’m gone.” you warn her, pretending to scowl at her before you laugh at yourself. She nods, eyes fluttering closed as her body sinks further and further into the couch.

You grab your keys and head out of the front door. If you were smart, you would have ordered dessert. There’s no way you should be leaving the safety of your apartment so late and stepping out into the city. But it’s just around the corner, that’s what you’re telling yourself. Nothing bad can happen to you if you just hurry.

As you reach the bottom floor, you recognise the man standing by the mailboxes near the entrance to your apartment building. He hasn’t noticed you, though, and why would he? He’s occupied sifting through the letters in his hands. You take a shallow breath, mentally preparing yourself for the dangers of going outside.

He raises his head as he smells your perfume when you walk by.

You gasp, feeling his hand dig into the flesh of your upper arm before he pulls you closer to him. It’s hard to even figure out what your thoughts are as you feel your back connect with rows of metal mailboxes. And before you can greet him, his lips are on yours.

You smile into the kiss, a hand cups your face as he presses his body a little harder into yours. He smiles back when he hears a soft little moan escape you at the feeling of being trapped against him. A sound from a higher floor frightens you, you turn your head and move away from him.

“Sorry, I thought my friend might be—”

“Hey,” he grabs your wrist and makes you face him. “You’re too ashamed being seen with me?” he smiles a little, teasing you. You smile back, shaking your head in protest.

“No it’s not that!” you tell him. “I better get going, though. She’s drunk and wants some chocolate.”

“You’re not going out on your own.” he speaks. It’s commanding, his voice filled with care and concern and it makes you weak at the knees. “Do you know that you can order snacks?”

“Uh, no, I've never heard of that.” you roll your eyes and speak sarcastically, earning a laugh from him.

“Maybe you should come upstairs with me, and I’ll show you how to do it.” he tells you, approaching you again. Your voice gets trapped in your throat as he looks down at you, and you find yourself nodding before even thinking about your answer. He smiles, though, kissing you deeply at your response. A sweet sort of praise for delivering an answer he’s happy to hear.

He takes your hand, guiding you up to his apartment.

“Done.” he smiles, putting his phone down on the counter. “I ordered pizza and your friend’s chocolate.”

“Perfect, thank you, Rin.” you thank him, “It’ll probably be a while… what shall we do in the meantime?”

“You know…” he starts, closing the gap between you. “I’ve really missed you all day.”

“Yeah? Ah—!” your voice gets caught in your throat as you feel him pick you up with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he carries you. You’ve missed him, too. You’ve never put a label on whatever this is. But as far as you’re concerned, it’s just fun. It’s easy. And it’s good.

He is good.

He sits on the couch with you straddling him. A little groan leaves his lips as yours stray to kiss down the column of his neck. His hips roll up, the outline of his cock rubs into your wanting core. His eyes are glued to you as your kisses descend his body, and he curses himself for not throwing away his sweater before picking you up.

It doesn’t matter though, not when you’re resting between his knees with your hands pawing at his cock. Your eyes are full, wanton whimpers filling every breath you take as you do all you can to quickly undo his belt.

“Can I give you head, baby?” you ask, helping remove his cock from the confines of his jeans. He nods, eagerly, his fingers stroking your scalp through your hair as encouragement.

You’re salivating when his dick is revealed in all of its perfect glory. Flushed pink and pretty and throbbing with lust. An unyielding desire to feel your mouth around it. You lick at the oozing pearlescent pre gathering at his slit. The moan he emits at the feeling rushes straight to your cunt. Your hand flies under your dress and beneath your sopping panties, Rin’s cheeks fill with a pink tint at the sight. He hadn’t expected you to touch yourself, his ego climbs heights he hadn’t thought possible at your overzealous act.

“Baby, please… please suck my cock.” he begs. You nod, mewling as you sink your mouth entirely onto him. “F-uck. Good girl, such a good girl.” he groans. You feel his hand cup your face, angling your vision so that your watery eyes are focused on him. He sees the pleasure building in you as you stare back at him.

Your little fingers aren’t enough to satiate the burning need pulsating at your core. But seeing Rin’s facial expressions are more than enough to keep you motivated. You want to make him proud. You want to make him cum. You take his cock entirely down your throat, and pride fills your body when he throws his head back.

He looks down at you, and he bites at his lower lip as you suck and choke around his length, tears spilling over your lash line as you take him more and more.

“Fuck, baby, you like this?” he asks, and you nod without hesitation. He thrusts his hips and fucks into your face until you’re choking on him. His hand grips into your hair and forms a makeshift ponytail as he continues to pound into your mouth like you’re his own personal fuck toy. He pulls you away reluctantly, giving you a chance to breathe. Though that isn’t why he did it. He wants to hear how good you feel. He wants to study the tears welling at your eyes. “You’re such a cute slut for me… cryin’ for my cock? Fucking adorable.” he grins.

You sob, unable to stop yourself. You rest your hands on his thighs as you sniffle, allowing him the time to really enjoy how pathetic and desperate you are.

“Love making you feel good…” you speak, shyly. “I—”

You don’t get the chance to speak anymore when he forces you back down on his cock. His eyes are heavy and filled with lust as he carries on rutting his hips into your face. You can’t stop yourself from twirling your fingers through his dark pubes. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded in reality as the feeling of his cock entirely takes over every synapse in your brain.

It’s unrelenting. He can’t stop himself as the tears continue to fall. Fat tears rolling without end down your hollowed cheeks. He batters his length into your drooling mouth, a mixture of spit and pre rolling down your chin and coating his balls as he repeatedly slams himself in and out. His thick length clogs your airways with each thrust. He can’t believe the pretty, lewd noises leaving you as you do your best to take him. The sputtering doesn’t cease, and knowing he’s so big that you can’t help but gag is making him mad with lust.

He holds your head with both of his large hands, keeping you in place as he fucks his length down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, baby. Take it, ‘m cumming.” he warns you, a loud grunt following as ropes of tangy white cream spurt down your throat before you can barely get a taste. You show him your empty mouth, and he kisses your forehead in response. You hear your phone buzz, your head turning to acknowledge the sound. But he pulls you back, lifting you onto his lap before standing up with you in his hold. “I got carried away.” he kisses your lips.

“No it’s okay, I had fun.” you smile, kissing him back.

“You make me fucking crazy. Crying like that, over my cock? You’re so sweet.” he tells you, kissing you again. “Have you always been such a cry baby? I like it, a lot.” he whispers before kissing lovingly along your neck. You roll your eyes, kissing him and giggling against his lips. Before you can answer you hear your phone buzz again,

“Sorry, I should check that.” you tell him. He sets you down and tucks his cock back into his underwear and jeans. You smile when you feel him hug you from behind, kissing him before checking your texts.

Bestie 💖: are u still at the shop? hot boy has a gf :( i can see him getting a blowy through the window Bestie 💖: ugh they look so cute i hate her, i rly thought he liked you!!

Your blood runs cold as you feel the vibration of another text coming through. Rin smiles, tucking his head into your neck to offer a calming kiss while you read your texts together.

Bestie 💖: OH MY GOD YOU BITCH! IT’S YOU! YOU FUCKING BITCH!

You reluctantly look up, and Rin does the same. You see your best friend standing by the window with a shocked expression on her face. She holds her phone up and takes quick picture as you and Rin wave at her through the window. You look down to see a notification from her, the picture is now available for your whole Snapchat group chat to see.

“I gotta remember to close my blinds at night.” he laughs.

© 2023 rinitxshi

[streets-in-paradise]

Matured Desire - Achilles x (Fem) Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by Anon

" hiya! I have an Achilles request, what if they’ve both been sort of enemies for the longest time ever since they were kids, and at one point he gets fed up, and kisses her roughly ending up in the roughest kinkiest sex people could think of (tying up, choking, spanking, dirty talk, dom x sub, sort of a hate fuck.) please! "

Hi! I'm a bit nervous because this is my first time writing a full piece of smut, but I did my best and i hope you will enjoy it. The plot for the childhood rivalry is inspired in greek mythology, but adapted to how the story of the film plays out regarding characterzations.

Warnings: Rough hate fuck against a wall - hair pulling -chocking - spanking - lots of dirty talk.

Summary: Your eternal rivalry with Achilles gets you the attention of the mycenaean king In the context of his country wide search for a queen. Bringing up your troubled past together, the myrmidon believes you are seeking an union with Agamemnon to get the power to destroy his life.

As he confronts you about it, your tensions get to a critical point when the warrior concludes he will have to do something out of it. Your hatred remains too close to passion and he can only ruin you for any other man before you could ruin his lifetime's ambitions.

Tags: @thorsslxve

There was nothing Achilles despised more than the cheerfullness of Agamemnon. Not only because it usually meant bad news, but also due to how insufferable he tended to become on a good mood. His arrogance was high up to the sky contesting with his. Since the king felt in constant need to compete with his best warrior, it was important for him to brag on his every achievement.

On that particular moment, it was about the bride he would get for himself. After his brother married the most beautifull woman in the world he started to reconsider the lack of a queen in his palace and commanded every king of Greece to pick one of their unwed daughters so he could pick a wife among the princesses of the region. All the generals of his army were invited to witness the contest, and a handfull of kings he considered friends were there as well.

It was a power display to cause envy. A parade of the most ravishing girls of Greece after Helen circling the King in some sort of reverse parody of what happened when the spartan queen was still a maiden wanted by a multitude of suitors. The myrmidon found it hilarious, but that entertainment came with the price of standing the triumphal bliss of his rival.

In order to avoid an early scandall making fun of him, Achilles tried to distract himself watching the girls. They were all veiled for the future groom, only showing their faces when he commanded each one to introduce themselves. Beauty from all over the country was gathered there and while their faces remained covered he could still have a fun cassually checking their bodies.

He found a personal favorite quite soon. The light clothes of her fancy purple dress allowed him to perfectly picture her shape underneath, occupying his imagination in more pleasant thoughts. One by one her contestants did their thing, but he followed her with expectancy for the big reveal.

All traces of amusement abandoned the warrior's face when he recognized you. From all his many daughters, King Lycomedes had to pick you in representation of Scyros. It was unfortunately true for him that you had become a very desirable woman, so the choice was understandable, but you were one his enemies of longest date. Since he was a kid hidding in your father's court, and when you were teenagers you almost got him kicked out of there.

Everytime you crossed ways, disaster happened.

It was an unspoken theory, but he believed it all started because you were jealous of your sister. She was his first crush, and you told your father about it after you discovered them making out. Lycomedes would have kicked him out if Odysseus wouldn't have discovered his disguise in the first place, but your hatred didn't end with that.

Only a heartbroken girl would react so viscerally, the hate you hoarded for years didn't make sense otherwise. He believed you still despised him because you couldn't have him and once that childhood crush matured into desire things could only escalate. You would never forgive him for being your first love, but the passion of your hate showed your flame never got extinguished.

As soon as circunstancies allowed it, you were mesmerizing the mycenaean king with your disdain for his soldier.

" Achilles! Long time no seen. " You saluted him, with poisonous cordiality. " How are things going in your kingdom of savages? Well, only if that can be called a kingdom. Nowadays it's a military reserve of Mycenae you don't even rule as king. "

The myrmidon was visibly calm, calculating his strike before delivering it.

" How is Deidamia? I remember her with such strong affection."

" She is married. " You responded, with false propriety. " Happyly married, thanks to our protectiveness of her keeping scum away."

The wedding of his teenage crush didn't bother him at all, but he still manage to utilize it against you.

" I always knew she was going to make it before you. Look now where you ended: pleasing an old man that could be your father. "

You showed a tranquilzing smile to the king, mere witness of your altercate that was untill then very amused.

" Don't worry, your majesty. Achilles tends to act like this arround me because my presence reminds him of details that ruin the appeal of his legend. He wants no one to remember he spent his younger years hidding in my palace dressing on girl's clothes so your emisaries wouldn't find him. Have you seen the baby face of his little cousin? He has the same girly features he used to have back then."

Agamemnon was in awe with the slander. Even if it was just for that, you were becoming a strong favorite.

" Well, my dear. I hope you have some good stories for me. "

" She is the only person in the country who is more obsessed with me than you. " Achilles recalled, determined to ruin your plans. " She went as far as turning her father against me saying i was going to sleep with her sister. "

The way in which he twisted the facts to make it sound like a conspiracy against him got out the worst of you.

" I was the onlyone seeing past your charm, and time proved I was ríght now that we all know of your amatory adventures. " You fiercely defended yourself. " You were a reckless boy that had just discovered the thing hanging between his legs and was eager to try it on the first foolish girl available. Deidamia was too naive, but I knew better. By warning my father I protected her and saved our royal house from the shame of being stucked with a fatherless mess like the one you were when we received you. "

It crossed límits, but he wasn't afraid of returning the hatefull gesture.

" I think your boyfriend deserves to know where all that hate for me comes from before taking his choice. " He teased you ríght away. " You are my Phaedra … "

He had just compared you to the most sexually frustrated queen in greek history, whose vengefull spite was rooted on being ignored by the object of her desires.

" You insolent BASTARD!!! " You called him out before you could loose your temper and try to smack him. " Better start praying I won't be crowned queen. "

The warning left a bad taste in his mouth that was stronger than the altercate. Imagining you as Agamemnon's bride was a nightmare on itself because of the implications of a teaming up against him, but there was more that he couldn't simply admit.

He hated you, but couldn't stand the thought of seeing you with him. He still attempted to understand why you were so Interested on giving yourself to that pig of a king. Could your thirst for vengeance have gone that far? Where you capable of tolerating Agamemnon as your husband just so you could get some control over him? It was most likely that you had no idea of where you were stepping in, since your island once sheltered him safely because they didn't have much contact with the mycenaeans.

Figuring out what you were all about was his most inmediate need but, for that, he needed to talk to you in private. All day he awaited untill the oportunity to get lost with you presented itself during a lousy banquet. Following you closely as you intended to leave, he catched you off guard in a hallway.

" You knew this was coming, now follow me. "

Your playfull smirk spoke for you before you did.

" What If I don't? "

He grabbed you harshly, keeping your wrist still.

" We will do it the hard way. "

There was no choice, so you let him guide you through the foreign palace searching for the nearest room he could lock you in. Achilles secured the door behind him, knowing from then you were going to be completely alone.

" After comparing me to the thirsty wife of Theseus, you drag me away like this? " You mocked him ríght away. " Have you no shame? "

The tension was escalating slowly, but consistently.

" I have no time for your games, so you better tell me what I want to know. "

You chuckled lightly, enjoying yourself in this curiosity.

" Go ahead, i'm feeling generous. "

He groaned out of angered frustration, clearly fed up with you already.

" What do you want from Agamemnon? Do you expect me to believe you really are excited to the chance of being his wife? "

You response was calm and you were aware that would provoke him.

" He is the wealthiest, most powerfull man in Greece, and he hates you … Two qualities I find irresistible. "

He pushed you against a wall, barely able to control his rage to continue the interrogation.

" Do you think i'm a fool? You can't possibly wish for anything but the power to destroy me through that marriage. "

His strong hand grabbed your neck and squeezed, cutting off your air with ease. Achilles wanted to force a truth out of you, but couldn't help noticing you were peraphs too on board with that before releasing you so you could speak.

" I want an empty palace where i can sit on a throne. " You began to explain once you catched your breath. " While he will be away with you doing his wars, i can do what I want here. "

It wasn't enough for him.

" … And when he will want to touch you? Are you going to spread your legs for him like a good little wife ? "

His hand was once more arround your neck, quietly threatening with more choking depending of your answer.

" Are you trying to scare me? That's not going to work with me. " You mischievously warned him. " I'll do what it takes, my duty of queen. Agamemnon can have me, I will even fake my moans if i have to just to keep him satisfied. I'm fine with that, he has to get something out of the deal. I will take care of his throne and meet his sexual needs "

The answer awakened something primal on him.

" Not if I ruin you first … "

Sick of pretending to ignore the frustrating tension, he pulled you in for a rough kiss and you responded taking one of your hands to the back of his neck to pull his hair.

There was no way out for you from then.

Achilles ripped off the safety pins of your dress so it would fall on the floor. Once you were naked against him he began to tease you again.

" Look at how easily I destroyed your pride … Yet you dare to deny you are a needy whore. "

You didn't stay behind, iniciating another passionately hatefull kiss while your hands worked in undressing him. The godly shaped hero allowed you to roam his perfectly sculped body and you sank your nails in his hips before replying.

" You are only good at killing or fucking and you loathe me enough for either, so unless you want to spear me … "

The recklessness was paid at high cost when he turned you over so you will be facing the wall, head posicioned firmly to the side.

" I'm going to make you feel as if I was killing you. " He whispered against your ear in a husky tone. " But first, you will learn to respect me. "

You flinched with anticipation, incapable of predicting what he would do. Then, his hand started following the trace of your back all the way down and stopped in the curve of your ass.

A soft squeeze was followed by a hard spank that sounded as strongly as it felt. It send a wave of confusing, pain-stained pleasure all the way to your core, but you tried to keep still. He persisted, untill it became so intense that your knees were failing and you were about to cry.

" Who are you going to spread your legs for now? " He asked in a mock. " Are you going to be my obedient little whore? "

You lost the few shame you had left with one more slap on the mistreated surface of your asscheck.

" YES, YES! " You practically cried out. " I'll be, … I'll be your whore. I want it so badly, please! "

Achilles released a dark chuckle.

" Let's see how bad you really want it. "

He had barely reached the surface of your soaked cunt with his fingertips and you were already buckling your hips in desperation to find friction.

" Dripping wet, you nasty whore. " He commented and removed the hand to watch you fall apart. " Stop whimpering, i'm not going to keep touching you. Caresses are not what you deserve."

Suddenly, you felt the tip of his hard cock teasing your folds. Arrousal had reduced you to a pathetic mess and he got to hear you sobbing from that contact.

" No mercy, I will be rammering you. " He warned you. " … and you are going to take it. "

With that, he pushed himself inside you. Absolutely careless for your needed time adjusting to his size, he began his mercieless thrusting using you for his pleasure. The animalistic grunts he was making and the exquisite painfull pleasure of being fucked like that were soon going to become to much for you.

Achilles had completed his vengeance to control you before you could control him: you were ruined for any other man.

[bluecatwriter]

There's a long history of Dracula adaptations clearly made by people who have never read the book.

I think in this fine tradition you specifically should adapt the Beetle without reading it

You are SO right, anon. I am going to direct the movie version of The Beetle upon which all other adaptations will be based! It will full of iconic quotes that are not in the book and I will butcher all the themes and characters!

Initial thoughts:

-Robert Holt will be played by some no-name actor who is putting his entire heart, soul and mind into the performance. The Brick Guy is also played by this guy. The first part of the movie is filmed in a very straightforward period-drama style, with the exception of a Carpet Scene, which is filmed in soft focus like a "flashback to dead wife" scene.

-Robert will also of course be referred to as "Bobert" and wear jorts. Alas, he does not get a GAP sweatshirt or a slushie in this version because there are no Ordinary Solicitors to save him.

-The Beetle will be portrayed as just a beetle of varying sizes, and they will be CGI. Specifically the really low-budget bad CGI of the early 2000s. This is very important for my artistic vision.

-Paul Lessingham will also be CGI.

-The cat will be a real cat, and will be voiced by the guy who voiced Garfield from the 1990s Garfield and Friends cartoon.

-I am open to casting suggestions for Sydney Atherton, although again, I suspect that it would be best to forgo celebrities and cast a guy who has played the comic-relief guy in Oklahoma at community theater one too many times. I will change nothing about Sydney Atherton's atrocities, and will in fact probably add a few more, but all the other characters will say how manly and wonderful he is while he's like beating someone to death with a cricket bat in the background. The movie critics will read a lot into this directing choice.

-I will make Marjorie and Dora both girlbosses™ by giving each of them a sword and a multi-level marketing business. They will contribute nothing to the plot and I will be offended if people think they are bland characters.

-I don't really know the other characters, so they will be played by a gender-inclusive rotating cast, and everyone will keep mixing up their names. The goal is for it to be impossible to keep track of who's doing what at all times.

-The cat still dies but goes to Cat Heaven and there's a whole musical dream sequence (inspired by 1930s cartoons and musical numbers from Gene Kelly movies) about the cat having a really great time in Cat Heaven.

-During some mundane scene with this rotating cast of characters and CGI Paul Lessingham, Bobert will dramatically die of starvation in the background. Nobody notices.

-The train crash will be on-screen instead of off, and there will be a very long monologue from the train themself as they dramatically fall off a broken bridge (this will be a practical effect with a full-sized train). This monologue will be delivered by the same guy who plays the cat, and if the actor isn't crying real tears by the end, we will redo the take until we get it. There will be a lot of montaging and soft focus. We will give the train a tragic backstory, but the train is also kind of accepting of their fate, you know? The book of Ecclesiastes will probably be mentioned somewhere in here.

-I will be diverging from canon by having Sydney Atherton die in the train crash. Not from the train, though, he chokes on a shrimp cocktail moments before the train hits the ground.

-Credits roll

-Epilogue scene: Sydney Atherton ends up in Cat Heaven and all the cats jump on him like the hyenas at the end of Lion King and there's just a giant wriggling ball of cats. Bobert is there too, drinking a slushie in the background. Hard cut to black.

[rorywritesjunk]

And all of my wildest dreams They just end up with you and me

Richie is a pretty boy, yes he is, but so is Buggy.

Rating: PG! It's a soft and silly fic.

Warning: Animal fur. Allergies. Sneezing. Buggy doesn't catch a break.

A/N: Suggested by a lovely Anon! I wrote and rewrote this a few times and then after brushing my dog I was inspired. Have you ever had an allergy attack where you sneeze and can't breathe, and then suddenly you're choking because you inhaled one little something and you think you're dying? Imagine that while reading this. Also I still love Richie so much.

Title comes from "So Good Right Now" by Fall Out Boy.

“Ohh, who’s a pretty boy!” You cooed over Richie, Mohji’s large and (not) so ferocious lion. The beast tamer was feeling a little under the weather and you offered to look after the animal. To some, the lion was scary, murderous, and fierce, but to you he was a soft little kitten who liked it when you ran a brush through his mane and fed him treats. “You are!” 

He rolled onto his back for you, purring happily as you ran the brush through his fur, being mindful of any knots or matting. Any time you came upon one, you carefully picked it apart, not wanting to pull on it or hurt the lion. While he was docile towards you at the best of times, you have seen how wide his mouth can open and it wouldn’t take much for him to swallow you whole if he so desired.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

You looked up when the captain entered, looking none too thrilled that you were with the large cat. Richie’s bedding had been changed, his food and water dishes cleaned, and now you were brushing out the excess fur. A pile of fur had grown and it almost looked like you had a mini-Richie starting to form.

“Mohji wasn't feeling good so I offered to care for Richie today.” You grinned as you brushed some fur off your clothes. Buggy made a face as the cat hair flew about. And then he sneezed.

“Do you have to brush him?!” He snapped. “That damn fur is getting everywhere!”

“Well, yea.” You chuckled as you looked back at the lion. He was looking up at you with huge doe eyes, demanding more attention. It was a cute sight and reminded you of a certain boyfriend of yours, who was currently glaring at you while sneezing as the fur floated around. “He’s a pretty, pretty boy and he needs to look his best!”

Buggy rubbed his nose and glared at you. He wasn’t pleased you were spending this much time with Richie when you could have been spending it with him. The lion didn’t need you to groom him like this, and he was not a pretty boy, he was a murderous member of the crew. 

You looked back at Buggy and grinned. He managed to keep glaring at you while sneezing repeatedly, obviously irritated by all the fur flying about in the air. His eyes and nose were both running, and then he was suddenly coughing from inhaling some of the fur. You probably should take pity on him but you weren’t done with Richie yet.

“Gimme a few more minutes and I’ll be done.” You said, but you weren’t sure he heard you over the coughing and sneezing fit. Oof, maybe you should stop. He didn’t look too good. Sighing, you gave Richie a few ear scritches. “I’ll finish with you later, Richie.” 

Carefully, you approached Buggy and grabbed his arm. He tried to pull away from you but now he was gasping a bit as he coughed so much. Maybe he was allergic? Who knew, but you held his arm firm as you started to lead him away from Richie and the cloud of fur.

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” You chuckled. “Let’s get you fresh air.”

Buggy didn’t budge at first, squinting at you as tears streamed down his face from the sneezing and coughing fits. You felt a little bad because he looked like shit now. 

“I said let’s go, pretty boy.” You urged as you pulled him along. “Get your silly ass out of here!”

He finally followed after you, feeling his throat clear up just a bit as he got further away from the lion. He took a few deep breaths, trying to inhale fresh, clean air, before he looked at you. “I-I’m a pretty boy?”

To someone else at that moment, probably not. Not only were his eyes red and streaming, but his nose was dripping like a faucet. He was no longer gasping for air, and he wasn’t sneezing as much as before. He looked absolutely miserable. 

“Oh!” You didn’t realize what you had said at first. You were so used to calling Richie that affectionate name that it must have slipped out with Buggy, but he was now looking at you, red-eyed and flushed, and well, you didn’t want to upset him. “Yea! Of course.” 

Oof, you may have said that little too quickly, but he was clearly brain fogged from the lack of oxygen due to sneezing, and he gave you some goofy smile, and if his face wasn’t covered in a layer of snot, tears, and lion fur, you may have kissed his cheek to help convince him of it. 

And admittedly, you did find him pretty, even looking absolutely miserable right in that moment. 

“R-Really?” He stammered out, stopping you just before you could get him on deck and out into the fresh, fur-free air. “Pretty?”

Oh, the way his voice asked was so sweet, and you smiled at him and squeezed his gloved hand before bringing it up to your lips, kissing the top of it gently. You pretended not to notice how his eyes watered just a bit but for a different reason now. Tender moments like this were something he still wasn’t used to with a relationship, so you smiled at him and lowered his hand.

“The prettiest boy I know, Buggy.” You assured him. “Now, go wash that pretty face of yours so I can give you a kiss.”

[bracedfangirl]

Fatal mistake

So uh about 5 years ago I sent an anon ask to @lloydskywalkers (whose writing was a major major source of inspiration for this) about an S5 Lloyd dies AU idea, and promised to write it one day... And while I did do so back then, I figured it was time to rewrite this old trope (shoutout to @wassupninja for proofreading all of it and holding my hand while I suffered through writing this)

But first, I shall summon some angst loving mutuals: @goldenavenger02 @thesoundofmadness @rosiehunterwolf @fishybehavior (I probably left out some people... It's 1 am...)

This situation has definitely been in one of his nightmares, Kai's sure of it. To be fair the past weeks as a whole have been a nightmare come true as well. Still he should've expected it... Of course Morro would resort to using Lloyd as a... As an ultimatum tool? Or whatever fancy words Zane would use...

Either way this sucks. If they don't give that greasy dickwad the crystal, he'll kill Lloyd for sure (Kai's seen that disgusting murderous gaze of his), but there's zero guarantee that he won't, even if they do, plus there's also that whole "gonna curse all 16 realms" thing too-

"Stop stalling! Give me the crystal, or else-"

"We're not stalling, we're thinking!"

Kai really, really hopes that Morro believed that, and that he doesn't hear their frustrated banter either. How the fuck are they gonna get out of this, they have nothing-

The ground slightly shakes, responding to Cole's frustration, and suddenly Kai's confidence comes back out of the void.

Let's see how you hold up playing hot potato, fuckface-

"Time's up, I told you to quit stalling!"

Before Kai has any chance to react, he's struck by an overwhelming sense of wrong. He whips around with speed comparable to Jay's strikes, the word 'wait' already on his lips-

His world freezes in place.

Lloyd stands on the ledge, bent back in an awfully unnatural way, red glossy blade sticking out of his middle, eyes wide open in shock.

Skewered, that fucker skewered him-

He's seen this before. Multiple times in slight variation over the years in his nightmares. But none of those even compare to the horror and dread of this because this is fucking real.

He doesn't hear the cries of panic coming from Jay and Cole, or the disgusting eerie chuckle coming from Morro. He doesn't even know if he himself has made any noise.

No he only hears the choked gasp Lloyd gives as he's kicked off the ledge, and makes a run for it. He gets there only a second after Lloyd lands on the ground with an awful crack, hands pressing on the wound reflexively.

Lloyd's eyes are wide open, his teeth clenched, and it takes Kai far too many seconds to realize that the horrible, garbled noise coming from him is his breathing. He can faintly hear Jay scream something again, but none of the words actually register. He presses his hands on the wound harder, earning an awful noise of pain from Lloyd in response. The panic has ebbed enough that Kai finally turns to look at Zane, waiting for whatever medical instructions he's whipped up-

But Zane's just staring. He's staring with that awful, horrified and saddened look, and Kai's blood runs cold.

No-

Lloyd's equally soaked hand suddenly grips his wrist, and Kai whips his head back to look at him.

His eyes are only half open now, but he's looking Kai straight in the eye.

"H-Hey... It's gonna be f-fine... Even g-got the power part handle-"

Lloyd suddenly chokes on his words, blood squirting from his mouth as he coughs. Seemingly realizing how little time he has, he reaches for Jay's shaking hands, turning to look at him and the others.

"Don' ya dare eve' s'op makin' jokes 'kay? Y'all gonna nee' jokes. Don' s'op till ya kicked the ass o' every ghost ou' there-"

Lloyd weakly spasms as more blood spills from his lips, his hold on Kai's wrist weakening. His head stills again vaguely in Kai's direction, eyes glossed over and barely open.

"Go'a s'ay a'some a'ight? Like... Vo'ca'o..."

His eyes are already closed somewhere mid sentence, and Kai scrambles to respond in panic, realizing he's been rendered silent the whole time-

The fire in Kai's heart sputters out just as Lloyd does, hand sliding off of Kai's wrist.

And Kai falls apart.

He cries and wails, begging his littl brother to wake up, to stay, even though he knows Lloyd can't hear it.

"I must admit I'm touched. But I do wonder, which is more pathetic? The fact that you even dropped this in your haste to reach him, or that he seemed the least scared out of the five of you."

Morro's sly, gleeful voice echoes through the cavern as he eyes the realm crystal in his transluscent hands with a disgusting grin before he disappears into one of the tunnels, likely leading to the surface.

As pathetic as it is, Kai doesn't immediately scramble to his feet to chase after him, to wipe the grin off his face by pressing it into water and wrangling that wretched crystal from his hands. He just stays rooted firmly into place, along with the others. It's as if all of his strength left him, leaving him to tremble in silence, clutching his brother's dead body, unhearing and unfeeling as Cole and Zane try to hold Jay together as he crumbles behind him with loud cries.

As if only a second had passed, Zane appears at his side, telling him they need to get going with an eerily monotone voice. He shifts his hold Lloyd's body with trembling hands, before shakily standing up. It feels like he's moving on autopilot, not even registering the climb to the surface. He can't feel his soaked gi sticking to him, or the wind coming from the exit of the cave or any of the bruises and cuts he's picked up. There's just this empty, numb and cold feeling right where his power and heart would be, the punishment for his failure to do the one thing destiny tasked him with.

That's not entirely true... He still has Nya left. He's going to have to work extra hard to keep her safe, failing her too is something he can't afford.

But unless he figures out some sort of magical plan real soon, he's going to lose not just her, but everyone else he loves as well.

[gabessquishytum]

Hi, everyone! Gabe/Leo here. Welcome to my new pinned post. You'll find lots of info here, including a new tag library curated by @seiya-starsniper which should help you filter (or follow) particular bits of content. This post will be updated from time to time and will also tell you whether my inbox is open or not <3

For reference, my inbox is currently OPEN.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

Since you've found yourself on my blog, please note that a lot of my content is not safe for work! I am over 18, and if you're on my blog, you should be too! Content rated over 18 will also be tagged as #nsft

Here on my blog, people like to send me asks with scenarios, prompts or fic ideas that they have had, and I take a bit of time each day to respond with my own “yes, and” - collaborating with the original asker to make a small piece of fandom content. Sometimes other people are inspired by this and write their own fics based on the posts! It's a lovely collaborative space where all are welcome - including those who wish to stay anonymous.

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛��

I am primarily focused on dreamling! But I also love to write other ships in the fandom. The tags I use for ships are:

#corintheus

#dreamling

#hoblethros

#hobrinthian

#hobrintheus

#hobstruction

#immortal throuple

#hob x everyone

#hob x lucifer

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

The general tags that I use for sandman/writing content are as follows:

#dream of the endless

#ferdinand kingsley

#fic recs

#hob gadling

#horny q

#meowpheus

#my writing

#nsft

#the sandman

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

I also have some specific alternate universes which you can find or filter out with these tags:

#ace dream

#ace hob

#ballet au

#bdsm au

#bratty dream

#bratty hob

#disabled dreamling

#dreamling gender swap

#catboys

#chef hob

#cow hob

#fantasy au

#fat hob

#fem dream

#fem hob

#mafia au

#mob au

#sugar daddy au

#the addams family

#trans dream

#trans hob

#vampire au

#werewolf au

#warprize au

#warprize hob

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

For more of your tag filtering or searching needs, the following is a list of content warning tags that I will strive to use consistently. This list will be updated depending on what comes up in the future:

#dead dove do not eat

#cw age gap

#cw age regression

#cw agrere

#cw alcohol or #cw intox

#cw attempted murder

#cw birth

#cw biting 

#cw blackmail

#cw blood

#cw body modification

#cw body mutilation

#cw breeding

#cw child abuse

#cw cheating

#cw choking

#cw christmas

#cw cnc

#cw cucking

#cw daddy kink

#cw dark content

#cw death

#cw dermatillomania

#cw diaper

#cw disordered eating 

#cw domestic control

#cw dubcon or #cw dubious consent

#cw drugging or #cw drugs

#cw exhibitionism

#cw feederism or #cw feeding kink

#cw findom or #cw financial domination

#cw food

#cw food issues

#cw free use

#cw genitalia

#cw grief

#cw guns

#cw homelessness

#cw humiliation

#cw hunger

#cw hybrids

#cw infertility

#cw infidelity

#cw internalized homophobia

#cw kidnapping

#cw lactation

#cw major character death

#cw malnourishment

#cw manipulation

#cw medical

#cw memory loss

#cw menstruation

#cw mental health

#cw monsterfucking

#cw mpreg

#cw murder

#cw noncon

#cw object insertion

#cw objectification

#cw omegaverse

#cw omo

#cw overstim

#cw oviposition

#cw parent death or #cw patricide

#cw pain

#cw physical abuse

#cw piss

#cw pregnancy

#cw prostitution

#cw rough kink

#cw rough sex

#cw s&m

#cw scars

#cw scat

#cw self harm

#cw sex addiction

#cw sex pollen

#cw sex work

#cw sexual harassment

#cw sleep paralysis

#cw somnophilia

#cw spiking

#cw stalking

#cw suicide

#cw sui mention 

#cw stockholm syndrome

#cw teacher x student or #cw teacher/student

#cw tentacles

#cw threats

#cw toxic relationship

#cw transphobia

#cw violence

#cw vomit

#cw voyeurism

#cw watersports

#cw weight

#cw wetting

#cw yandere

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛ 

Finally, some of my anons like to identify themselves with emojis! This isn't mandatory at all. But here's a list of anons who have emoji-fied themselves (please note this may not be a complete list):

#yan anon

#🐈‍⬛ anon

#🍃 anon

#🦇 anon

#💳 anon

#🦊 anon

#🧀 anon

#🚒 anon

#🔪 anon

#💄 anon

#🌳 anon

#🎮 anon

#💍 anon

#🦒 anon

#🌘 anon

#🎸 anon

#🦎 anon

#🪽anon

#🍓 anon

#🤜 anon

#🐙 anon

#🐉 anon

#💎 anon

#🎭 anon

#🌛 anon

#🌻 anon

#🎉 anon

#❄️ anon

#🍐 anon

#🍭 anon

#🦋 anon

#🤰anon

#🖋 anon

#🏵 anon

#🦩anon

#🪐 anon

#🦄 anon

#💥 anon

#🍰🐲 anon

#☂️ anon

#👠 anon

࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛۶𖹭ৎ࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛࿙⃛࿚⃛

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day! ❤️

[ideas-4-stories]

Inspired by the "buggy gets stabbed with a seastone knife but defeats the assassin" anon and subsequent post.

Buggy really would have had SO MANY SCARS. He's immune to cuts and chops and slices. Not blunt force trauma, burns, bullets, whips, etc. Also he was a pirate apprentice on GOL D. ROGER'S SHIP!! He ate that devil fruit young, sure, but he was still a pirate before then and I highly doubt that that, nor whatever his early life was, would lead to pristine, unblemished skin.

Also - freckles. Give Buggy Freckles 2024.

Anyway, yeah, Buggy would have a MOSAIC of scars and tattoos - many of which have meanings the likes of which are lost to most. Also projection, but Buggy has a medusa tattoo somewhere on his person. Yes the one who did the tattoo for him was on the crew, and still is. Yes they are also the defacto therapist on the island. It's good pay and they get to add Names to the I'll Kill Them One Day list ((it's a whole book. With five volumes. It's on going.))

I have... an angry idea. For Buggy shrugging off seastone wounds and using his own injury as an opening. Roger would have wanted the boys STRONG but happy and safe. He saw so much of himself in Shanks that the attention was perceived as preferential treatment. Shanks was the heavy hitter with potential and skill and charisma -

Buggy was the supporting cast.

Rayleigh, unable to help Roger through the illness, through so many things, projected that onto Buggy ((Very Pearl + Connie, if you know Steven Universe, before Steven stepped in to set that record straight)). Ray would make sure Buggy was strong enough for Shanks. He put that kid through the WRINGER, and it was arguably hell. Buggy came out stronger but also far more terrified - so much so that he struggled to even utilize that strength in any true way. Rayleigh declared it a failure. Apologized to Buggy for 'failing to make him good enough'.

This did a number on him.

One thing that lasted was his frankly unsettling tolerance to water and seastone. He still works on it, and he never quite dropped it. He always has at least one seastone earring in because it's both smth he HAS to do and also it slows down his brain a little, dulling the edge of his normal panic. Like a crystal girlie but far more literal.

This isn't his first rodeo with seastone weapons either - he may have been in the East, but he was still a decently renowned criminal with a hefty bounty. He's an old hand at this!

Still hurts like a bitch though.

He'd absolutely make the dumbest puns too. "Don't worry, I'm in STABle condition! :oD"

"You need stitches, you utter buffoon."

"That wasn't very- hnn- knife of you."

"Please pass out from bloodloss."

"You cut me so deep, Hawkyyy- OW?!"

"Seas save me"

Crocodile is fighting between yelling louder, committing three felonies, laughing, and shutting the clown up. Be it by choking him or kissing him is up for debate. The doctor, used to Buggy's antics, just hands him a fidget toy. "Don't touch the wound, my supplies or try to move yet. Solve the rubix cube before you even consider getting up."

"Boring-"

"I'll tell the kitchen to make hotdogs if you do."

Buggy is now very focused on the pretty color cube.

Oh, referring to this post gotcha!

Yeah, Buggy totally would because he’s a chemist, working with all those bombs and the guy looks like he would trip sometimes while working. Buggy has to have burn scars (I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone said that Buggy has star-shaped, firework burns on his hands. Part of the reason he hides his hands away, I like that idea even that means Buggy got hurt) Now it an idea that I got when I was half-asleep, that I read in the morning with confusion… a cannonball… I don’t why my sleepy brain decided that, but now thinking about it would have to be a ricochet cannonball that he survived from (to be honest Buggy seems like a person who would survive a cannonball to the head, like some Monkey family we know) Then with probably the logical route of bullets, whips, etc… are from being hunted by marines and enemies of the Roger Pirates before he somehow blends into the background and people forgot about him.

I would say Buggy would have eaten his devil fruit around nine years old, for the AU I’m trying to writ… Also freckles… HELL FUCK YEAH!!! I love that idea; it would be so cute on him!!! Scattered all around his body, totally seen him connecting them into shapes and patterns when he’s bored and has nothing else to do.

Definably, he’s a pirate, of course he has many scars, and Buggy having at least 10 tattoos ranging from large too small. I don’t think Buggy ever has sat someone down to explain them, or maybe he has and stopped because people not understanding. Ooooooo, I look up what the Medusa tattoo means, I like to think it’s for survival and strength. With my idea for two long tattoos, I think they would be a mixture of different flowers with hidden things between them - like hidden treasure to find, those tattoos have meanings as well as some funny ones around his body as well. Because it’s Buggy, of course, he will at least have one fucking funny one.

I love an idea their defacto therapist, I think I’ve already have a OC for the job and yes, love the book called I'll Kill Them One Day list. Love that it has five volumes, you know some of those names are crossed off and it continues to grow.

This is an angry idea indeed, poor Buggy… as we see that Buggy is not supporting cast, with his followers (they are like cult followers in a way) and his crew. Basically pushed to the side for Shanks to be the one in the spotlight as the “leader” of the two (I definitely doubt that Shanks didn’t look up to Buggy during sometimes when they were cabin boys)

Oh fuck, no wonder why Buggy hasn’t talk to Rayleigh and makes my idea of them meeting as cold and awkward. Like Rayleigh would greet with nicknames from long ago, expecting the same as what he remembered last of Buggy, only to have Buggy to greet him coldy. Either, with Dark King Rayeleigh or Slivers Rayleigh instead of nicknames that he use to call Rayleigh.

Why…why projected his problems onto Buggy! Like of course that did a number on Buggy, ecspeaily after Ray apologized to Buggy for ‘failing to make him good enough’... You can’t say that to a fucking child, you know they will think it’s all their fault! I mean look at Buggy, he already has enough problems with his self-esteem, he doesn’t need anymore!!!

Poor Buggy, going thtough hell because Rayleigh wants him strong like him to keep Shanks safe because he’s being as stupid as Roger. It makes sense that Buggy can’t use his strength because of being afraid and worrying so much (Buggy is definitely a worry-wort)

I agree with Buggy has an high tolerance to water and seastone, I mean Buggy seemed to of been a really good swimmer from how angry he is from Shanks scaring him and making him swallow the Bara Bara fruit (if not, then it’s a headcanon for me that he’s a really good swimmer before he swallowed the devil fruit) You think he would just stop going into the water? I mean I can see Buggy finding those small pools of water on a beach… I forgot what they are called, anyway you think he wouldn’t go in them to feel the sea? I think Buggy would.

Oooooo a seastone earring or some other type of seastone jewelry on his body. That’s interesting, I’ve never thought about it. The seastone helps him corrals his chop chop powers from doing all the time as well. Calming his brain, dulling the edge of his normal panic is a clever way, bro probably found how much seastone he needs to do so. From this post, Buggy has to have some edibles mixed into brownies or some other type of pastry (it’s now a headcanon for me) Dude has to have some drugs to calm down with the stress that Crocodile and Mihawk have put him through.

Yeah, it's definitely not Buggy’s first rodeo with seastone weapons, I can see Buggy being hunted by people during the time after Roger was killed and I see that’s the time where most of his seastone wounds came from. I wonder now if Buggy hordes the seastone weapons that people attacked him with?… I’ve decided yes, Buggy would keep them.

I stand for Buggy making the dumbest and baddest puns when he is hurt, especially when he gets attacked by seastone weapons. It takes his mind off of the pain they give him (Also the banter between Buggy and Mihawk you made is chefs’ kiss)

Both Crocodile and Mihawk just being done with Buggy and quite disturbed by how Buggy handles his pain. Mihawk wants him to shut up and sit still, while Crocodile is fighting between screaming, committing felonies (like he hasn’t committed felonies more than enough), laughing his ass off, then wanting to either choke Buggy or kiss him to shut the clown up. That’s so them, and Buggy is getting a little shit like always.

This doctor is just like the doctor OC; Kuo-Lee, I’ve created to be the Buggy Pirates medic. Really, being done with what Buggy does and uses things to keep him still. This is so right, handing him a fidget toy, saying that if he is good than he’ll tell the kitchens to give their captain is favorite food. Yeah, that will make Buggy sit as still as he can, to be honest, Buggy isn’t one to sit still.

[tarabyte3]

Top 5 favourite fanfic tropes?

For my follow up I will allow you a light cheat:

✨️ Top 5 fics (any fandom/pairing)

and (if you would like)

✨️ Top 5 Andy blorbo fics

You know, those ones that live rent free in your mind and you find yourself coming back to even years later (also your choices don't have to specifically follow your trope picks!).

😘

Before I start, I want you to know I only saw the first bit in the preview and was like, "Oh that's fun!" And then got sneak attacked by the rest when I opened it 😂😭 Anon, I respect tf out of you for this, but also I'm going to have an existential crisis lmaoooo

✨Top 5 fanfiction tropes

- Mutual pining/"un"requited love

Especially if it's paired with angst 🤌 want them longing. Yearning, even. Throw in something like forbidden love to kick it up a notch, and, baby, you've got yourself a stew.

- Sex pollen

Particularly if they aren't in a relationship yet to add extra pining and angst. This is a sacrifice (I shouldn't want this). I would do this for you (please let me). I can't stand to watch you suffer (this will break me, but for you it's worth it). That and the smut of it all 😌

- Hanahaki

Being so in love with someone it's literally killing you. It's love made manifest so violently you choke on it. The pain and suffering would end if only you could let the words out, but the thought of rejection—of having to live with that instead—is worse than death. Plus, there's something a little beautiful and poetic about combining pain and suffering with love and flowers. Doom and bloom. Life and death. The Japanese were so real for this.

- Fake dating

I love it when they're both fuckin dying the entire time because they've caught a glimpse of the thing they want more than anything and it isn't real. It's bliss. It's torture. They don't want it to end, but it will destroy them to keep having it just out of reach.

- Getting together

A simple classic, but there's just something about two people falling in love and coming together in spite of everything. And if it's a slow burn? With constant missed opportunities and misunderstandings?! Staple crop of tropes.

✨ Top 5 Fics

I'm going to go with Qui-Gon x Obi-Wan (shocking, I know) because that is the bulk of what I have been reading non-stop so it's at the forefront of my brain. It was difficult to narrow down my 100+ bookmarks because there are SO many incredible works and writers in that fandom that inspire me, and some of them make me want to eat dirt. (I mean that as an exceptional compliment.)

- Shorelines by outpastthemoat

This is what Qui-Gon has done each morning for the past three days, returning to Obi-Wan with handfuls of treasures he has found: Bits of broken glass, polished by the waves, or intricately spiraled shells, a broken piece of chain; perhaps a stone as wide and flat as his hand. But he always returns to the shoreline the following day, and begins his search anew.

This is one of my favorite QuiObi writers (I would highly recommend ANY of her other works at the drop of a hat as well), and I have reread this fic at least once a week for months. Like, I have it open in a tab and think about it constantly. It's an introspective piece—an exploration of a connection and the peeling back of layers to try to understand what waits underneath. There's a beautiful sort of simple yearning, melancholy, and poetry to her writing that makes my brain go brrrrrr. So much is said in all of the things left unsaid. It's two parts of a series and they're both incredible.

- Malalignment by Tohje

The first time is a pure coincidence, all parties could swear it on their deathbeds. The pelta frigate GRS-20 - informally Generosity - is a huge, maze-like, rusting piece of a stronghold with multiple medical wards and cantinas. It is a sheer stroke of luck that 212th and the River Company are accommodated in the adjacent, overstuffed compartments and share the same cantina for their short recuperation periods. There is no thing such as luck, or coincidence, only war (and the Force, according to the Jedi).

Another writer that I adore who has multiple bangers. This one is an AU where QuiGon lives and is part of the Clone War, but in the most Qui-Gon way possible. Combined with Obi-Wan's lingering hurt from the situation with Anakin, the war, and a several year estrangement and by god it's delicious angst. Plus, I love self-sacrificing depictions of General Kenobi. (The smut is also very good)

- That Cold Affliction by Orphan Account

Obi-Wan tries to surprise his Master on a mission with few comforts by making Qui-Gon's favorite tea. Or trying to, at least. As it turns out, tea is a . . . complicated affair. (A little bit like love.)

Short and bittersweet. Forbidden love. Beautiful angst. I'm so sad I don't know the original author because I've seen several of their works pop up that are also orphaned (they have a very specific summary style) and they're all so good and full of similar themes, but I have no way of seeing if I've missed one or not 😭

- Taking Root by sanerontheinside

Obi-Wan thought he was terribly obvious, really. Qui-Gon thought it was Obi-Wan’s secret to share or keep, as he wished.

*banging pots and pans together* QUIOBI HANAHAKI!! This author does a deep dive into the affliction and combines it beautifully with Star Wars world building, plot, and characterization. It's everything I could want from the trope AND the pairing. They're also another one of my favorite writers. And if you're looking for an abundance of excellent smut, you'll absolutely find it in their body of work.

- How to Grow Vegetables and Alienate People by Meggory

Why had Obi-Wan agreed to this? He had exactly no experience growing anything—hell, he'd killed a cactus once, and he'd heard someone say that was impossible—but now he was taking over Bant's community garden share so she didn't feel she had wasted $150 on the plot? He had $150. He should have just given it to her and told her to get blitzed on the plane.

Cute modern AU with a funny af meet cute, excellent characterization, humor, and a simple, lovely plot of two idiots falling in love. Oh, plus gardening. 😌 AND Qui-Gon has a dog. It's the soul comfort food of fics. This author does an incredible job with AUs (pssst you like time loops?) that are great stories so it was very difficult to pick just one!

✨I both adore and dislike this last part. Because on one hand, it gives me the chance to brag about and hype up my friends, who are not only kind, wonderful people, but also very talented writers that deserve it and more. So I truly appreciate you so much for that. On the other hand, there are more than 5 of them that have written Andy Blorbo fics, and some of them have multiple stories and blorbos. And we've all gushed over or discussed many of them at length with each other, so they hold a particular fondness in my heart. Choosing only 5 from that feels like an impossible task.

So I WON'T be narrowing down my top 5 (I'm so sorry, anon, I'm not god's strongest soldier), but I will be taking the opportunity to drop their Masterlists/AO3 accounts 💖😌😇

afogocado | Alfred Pennyworth

amywritesthings | Kino Loy

citrus-moonlight | Ulysses Klaue

eupheme | Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue

squidlywiddly87 | Kino Loy, Ulysses Klaue, Liam Black

stargirlfics | Alfred Pennyworth (+ lots of Alfred and Klaue headcanons and blurbs!)

tarrenterror | Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue (+ Alfred, David Robey, and Kino headcanons, blurbs, and edits)

viceofdionysus : Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue

[berryhobii]

I also have another drabble idea! (i'm the same anon from the last ask, I hope I'm not asking for too much)

I can imagine the Late for work couple being really playful and cheeky when it comes to who initiates sex first. Could you do a drabble where they do No Nut November? Like, them competing to see who can last more without touching the other one and overall sex (and both of them trying to seduce each other than order to win)

That's everything from me. Thank you so so so much sweetheart

Thanks so much for the request!! I kept rewriting this because I was making it WAY too long but I think I’ll still post the longer version with more backstory and everything soon. The way I described Jungkook in this is definitely inspired by Seven ft Latto! The gold chain has me in a chokehold!! Enjoy!💜

~

Jungkook was gripping his controller hard enough to break. He tried so hard to stay focused on the television but how could he when you were walking around the house in the skimpiest robe known to man? Why the hell was that even considered clothing?

The navy blue robe was practically see through. He could just barely see your nipples, the dark areolas beckoning his mouth and fingers to pinch and lick at them. Your thigh tattoo was on display, looking shiny and vivid from the body oil you had applied after your bath. This past week, you had done all of your pampering—nails done, a fresh wax, and you had given yourself some knotless boho braids that looked absolutely divine on you.

He loved seeing how much more confident you got after completing your princess treatment. He always thought you were gorgeous but you just hit different after you got all dolled up.

Something else was hitting different too. His frustration.

You hummed as you moved around the living room, wiping down surfaces and adjusting things that didn’t even need to be touched. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Why else would you be fake cleaning right as he tried to play his games? It wasn’t even Sunday.

He tried to focus back on the screen, eyes stinging from not looking at you.

“Accidentally” dropping something, you bent over right in front of him and the sight almost made him choke on his tongue.

You weren’t wearing any panties! Your bare cunt was on display, the folds glistening from your natural wetness, thighs bare and needing hickies all over them caused by his mouth.

Fuck! You knew how much he loved eating your pussy and you were practically waving it in front of his face. You tease!

Growling, he quickly stood to his feet and rushed out of the room to go take his millionth cold shower in the past several days.

You smirked when you heard him rush off, body burning from the excitement. You almost had him. You’d have to up the ante next time.

This bet was your idea. After you and Jungkook had gotten into a small scuffle over who was the horniest between you, you decided to challenge him. November had barely been a week away and the bet was too tempting not to offer. Never one to back down from an opportunity to gloat, Jungkook accepted before blowing your back out as a punishment for teasing him.

The bet was on.

~

Jungkook had arrived home from the gym a little while ago, showering and grabbing a light snack before he started dinner. You had texted him a little while ago saying you were on your way home from work.

You always came home stressed after work and you texted him earlier complaining that someone ate your lunch which meant you were probably cranky as hell right now.

Perfect.

He started chopping vegetables as he waited for you, eventually hearing the beeping of the keypad by the door. He paused for a moment, hearing your huffs and grumbles as you took off your shoes.

“Baby! You won’t believe what happened at work today!” You slammed your purse down on the counter, not even looking at him and beginning to pace the room. He turned around to lean against the counter, arms folded and eyes amusedly watching you.

“First, Suhyun spilled coffee all over my work laptop! Then someone ate my lunch and stole my lunch bag! You know the purple one with my name rhinestoned on it? Yeah! That one. Then my heel broke so I had to super glue it back on and if that’s not horrible then-“

Your rambling was cut off when you finally turned to look at your husband, words getting caught in your throat at the absolute marvel that you were devoted to for the rest of your life.

Shirtless. Tattooed. Hair tied up. Sweats low on his hips and bulge pressing against them. And your favorite gold chain around his throat. You’ve had your hardest orgasms with that chain dangling in your face.

Swallowing to wet your dry throat, you stuttered out, “uh…..hi.”

He smirked. You were so easy.

“Hey princess. Welcome home. How was your day?”

You held your lips together, knowing that if you spoke, you’d beg him to pick you up and fuck you right in this kitchen.

He pushed himself from the counter, 3 steps bringing him to you but each one made your pussy clench. Once he was standing close to you, you formed your hands into fists, hard enough to make your nails hurt. His soap smelled so good and droplets of water were dripping from his hair and down his chest.

You wanted to lick it off.

“You aren’t going to give your husband a welcome home kiss?” He asked, rolling his lip piecing with his tongue.

Son of a bitch.

Jungkook didn’t like your lack of response so his large hand reached out to grab a handful of your ass, pulling you right into his body. You could feel his bulge on your leg, your hands resting on his pecs. Oh no….

“You feel so tense. Are you okay? Do you want me to do anything about it?” His low voice itched your brain in the best of ways.

You wrenched your eyes shut, trying to ignore the building feeling in your lower belly. You considered it both a blessing and a curse that you had such a hot piece of ass for a husband. A blessing because he was your personal eye candy that no one else could touch and a curse because you currently couldn’t throw your feet behind your ears and have him pound you through the kitchen table.

“No. I won’t lose.”

He smirked, delivering a swift slap to your ass that caused a broken moan to come from you. You could feel his erection starting to grow just as fast as your walls were slicking up.

“Come on, princess. Let’s end this.” His other hand trailed up the front of your blouse, popping the buttons to reveal your heaving breasts. You melted into his touch as he began pressing kisses to your cheeks and neck, nipping at your skin.

You’ve been so touched starved. You two haven’t even been cuddling like you used to with all the sexual tension. And now he was standing here looking like a thanksgiving meal and this stupid bet was telling you that you couldn’t ride his face?

Ughhhhhhhh.

You should pull away but his hands and mouth felt like bliss on your skin.

Jungkook suddenly pulled away, your whine getting caught in your throat when he flipped you around, pushing your back so that you were bent over one of the stools by the kitchen island. With deft hands, he pulled up your skirt, groaning when your heady scent hit his nose.

“Fuck I love your pussy.” Wasting no time, he dove in, sucking at your clit over your soaked panties. You moaned out, reaching behind you to grab at his hair.

You were so desperate that just a few licks already had you feeling close. No! You couldn’t lose! But his tongue felt soooooo good.

Eventually, your panties were too much of a hindrance for him. Grabbing the thin material, he harshly pulled at them until they ripped right off of you. You gasped at his show of strength. Normally it would make you angry but you couldn’t think about that when his tongue was back on your clit.

Jungkook licked and slurped up all of your juices, sucking at your clit and pulling the most desperate of noises from you. Your squeals fueled his own desperation, his mouth working overtime to bring you closer to the edge.

Your hips pushed back into his face, sensitivity running up your back but you wanted more. You haven’t cum in over 2 weeks and you didn’t think you could handle it anymore.

Jungkook brought both hands up to roughly slap at your ass, pulling the cheeks apart to dive deeper into your cunt. His own cock felt hard enough to cut glass. He needed to be inside of you. Bet be damned.

Standing to his feet, he tugged his sweats down just below his cock, giving it a few tugs before diving into your heat.

Your mouth dropped and you could have cried from relief at the feeling of his cock stretching you open.

He immediately set a fast pace, wanting to make you cum as soon as possible.

You reached your arms back, silently telling him you needed support. Ever so in tune with you, he grabbed both of your arms, tugging you back so that your chest was hovering over the island stool.

“We’re never doing this shit again. I’m gonna have this pussy when I want. Understand?” He growled out but you couldn’t even hear him, your ears ringing as mind numbing pleasure coursed through you.

Your head hung low and your knees shook from weakness. You were going to cum and you were going to cum hard.

But the bet……your resolve was crumbling. Who the hell cared which one of you was more horny? At least you were horny for one another and that’s what mattered.

His cock jammed right into your soft spot, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as a pleasured smile spread on your face.

“Now cum on this cock.”

You were about to but then you remembered what would happen if you lost. That could not happen!

Gathering your last brain cells that he hadn’t knocked loose, you stood up, wrenching your arms from his grasp and stumbling away from him.

Your pussy throbbed with wanting to cum but you had to hold strong.

Both of you sat in silence as you tried to regain your breath and you made the mistake of looking at your husband.

The sight made you want to hop right back on his cock—he was dripping with sweat, his hair had come out of his ponytail and was being pushed back by one of his buff arms.

And his eyes were staring down at you hotter than a thousand suns. He was pissed.

“I…..won’t….lose….”You panted out.

His head tilted, jaw clenching and cock hard and shiny with your juices. Your mouth watered just looking at it.

“We’ll see about that.”

It was gonna be a long rest of the month.

[meowcatsposts]

Hey there I have an idea for an avatar the way of water fic its slightly angsty but hear me out pls!

So y/n sully, has been missing for most of the day and no one seemed to notice, until they show up at ronals hut cover in bruises, cuts from weapons, even the hair on there que has been choped off and there que has cuts on it. All of this was caused by the teens of the village, who brought them outside of the reef and attacked them, leaving them for dead. Y/n is a tired, bloody mess chooses to run to there bansie/ikran with the plan to leave. And well they do and no one noticed they left, not even there family. Only ao'nung noticed and it shook him with grief, he loved y/n.

Whether or not y/n comes back, is up to you! You don't haft to write the part where y/n gets the crap beat out of them if u don't want! Thank u!

Alone [Ao'nung]

✎⁾⁾⁾ notes:

angsty at first!

reader is metkayina & characters are probably OOC

I really needed some inspiration, so tysm for your idea anon! I'm also really sorry it took me so long to write this, I hope you'll forgive me 🙏

I changed some things from the req to fit my previous story, I hope you're alright with it!

Overview: You get beaten up by some assholes who happen to not like the Sullys, so you run away. Heartbroken, Ao'nung sets out to find you.

Ronal stifled a horrified gasp. Gashes, everywhere. Deep purple bruises, all over your skin.

“Who did this to you?” she whispered madly. “Come.”

Every touch, no matter how light, stung sharply. Why me? you thought bitterly. Hot tears welled in your eyes but you furiously blinked them back, refusing to give in to the hurt. Time blurred by and you vaguely recalled Ronal asking you a few questions, but couldn’t remember what. Was it about your queue? The blood? Everything seemed to fade away, and you couldn’t care less.

You were gliding across the water with your ilu now. At least those pricks didn’t dare to touch your ride; they were smart enough for that, it seemed. Its hide was smooth, no blemishes in sight, and a tiny smile threatened to ghost your lips. The salty sea, on the other hand, burned your skin raw, but you paid no heed to it. Your heart ached far worse. 

Tenderly, you ran your aching fingers over the piece of fine jewelry on your neck, thinking of how badly you wished for Ao’nung to be here with you. You reminisced about the day he gifted it to you. How red his cheeks burned, and how red yours were, too. Another sad smile ghosted your lips. What would he think of you now? Gone and grieving, probably. You loved him, so so much and you choked up with tears. Maybe you could leave Awa’atlu and find another island. Find different, kinder people. But to leave Ao’nung behind…

You gazed down at your ilu, and it whistled somberly.

Ao’nung wondered where you were. He hadn’t seen you all day, and it was driving him mad. Did he say something to upset you, to hurt you? Heart pounding, he combed through your conversations in his head. To his relief, nothing. Then…surely you were curled up in your marui, feeding the tiny fish, right? He had to be right. 

But he was utterly, terribly wrong. 

There was no sign of you no matter how hard he looked, and his stomach began to churn. His heart raced. His breath ran short. Where were you? Maybe you were lounging at the seawall terraces, where the both of you would share stories together. Not there. By the shore, playing with Tuk and the ilu? Not there, either. In the Sully family’s marui? No. Heck, he even asked Neteyam and Lo’ak about your whereabouts, but the boys just pursed their lips and shook their heads. Ao’nung searched everywhere like a rabid dog, his eyes blown wide, ears keen to any sound of you. He needed to know where you were. He was utterly empty without you.

Finally having enough he stormed into his family marui, tail thrashing and ears flattened. A pungent aroma attacked his senses, but he couldn’t care less–at least for now. In his sight appeared his mother, sitting on the woven floor and grinding furiously.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he pressed. Sure, he knew to keep his temper in check–especially around his parents–but this was about you. He had to know.

“I don’t know.” Ronal’s eyes were as somber as his, as she huffed, “I asked questions, but no answer.” Her eyes flickered back to the mortar in front of her. In it was the source of the odor–a paste, still gritty. 

“What’s the salve for?” Ao’nung pressed. His heart sunk, just a little lower; deep inside, he knew what it was for. He just knew.

Ronal pursed her lips, knowing her son would hate her answer. 

“(Y/N) came in with wounds. So many of them…” She sighed, pressing and swirling the pestle. Her face was torn with anguish, and so was her son’s. “I don’t know who did it, and I tried to ask, but nothing.”

Ao’nung paced around madly. The only assholes who’d even think of hurting you was that dishonorable, abhorrent lot. Sure, maybe he’d been one of them, but not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. Ronal gazed at her son worriedly, for it was a first of him to be this uptight. She could feel the bitterness boiling over him.

“Ao’nung–” she started. The last thing she wanted was her son missing, too.

“I’m going to find (Y/N).” 

And with that, Ao’nung flew out of the marui.

“Ao’nung!” Ronal rushed out after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

It was nightfall now. The waters turned black, and dim candescence webbed its cool surface. You sighed, tears pricking at your eyes. You were tired, hungry, and hurting, and your ilu was, too. It didn’t help that murky thoughts clouded your mind, either. Your ilu chirped forlornly so you stroked its neck, littered with luminous marks, in hopes of soothing it. Guilt overcame you. Perhaps it was better to return, you thought. The poor creature was suffering as much as you, after all. Biting your lip, you rubbed your glittering necklace between your fingers. What would Ao’nung be doing now? you wondered. Is he wondering where you went? Did his heart ache as much as yours did? Was he even looking for you? More tears burned your eyes as they threatened to spill over and you suppressed a shudder as another wave of anguish crashed into you and then–

“(Y/N)!” 

Ao’nung.

“(Y/N)!” 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. How could you not? The sweet voice that calms your nerves. The rough voice that you roll your eyes at. It was so long–too long–since you’ve heard him, and your heart leapt with joy? Fear? You couldn’t tell, but one thing was certain: it was him. Him whose gaze turned soft when looking at you. Him who could listen to you talk forever. Him, who was home. But what were you going to tell him? Would he listen this time? You steadied your breath and gripped the handle between your ilu’s queues tighter, eyes flitting to find him.

“Ao’nung…? Wh–”

The ocean engulfed you, cold water rushing all over your skin. When you broke the surface Ao’nung was there, right in front of you. 

“I missed you,” he cried, taking you into his arms. “I missed you so much.” 

He held you tight and stroked your hair with shaky hands. He almost lost you, after all. 

“It took me so long to find you…I didn’t know where you were,” he blubbered. “I looked everywhere, you know, and I still couldn’t find you! I was about to give up, but–” Ao’nung cleared his throat, remembering he needed to be strong for you. After taking a few shaky breaths he murmured beside your ear, “But now you’re here. With me.” 

Tears poured down your cheeks. Your heart pounded against your ribcage. Just for a little moment, just for a little, you forgot about the pain. You hugged Ao’nung just as tight–even tighter, perhaps–feeling his warmth against your cold fingers. The tears wouldn’t stop as they ran in streams down your face, onto Ao’nung’s shoulder. He couldn’t care one bit; you were in his arms, alive, and that’s what mattered. His hands tenderly ghosted over your back, your nape and arms, and they rested on your waist as he pulled slowly back to look at you. To his dismay you shrunk away, trying hard to hide your battered body. 

“Look at me.” Ao’nung sighed as he wiped the tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

Open wounds littered your skin. They screamed at Ao’nung, and his blood boiled. Who dare touch you like that? He bit his lip to suppress the slew of curses bubbling in his throat. Not in front of you. Not now. That’d be saved for later, he decided. 

You shifted under Ao’nung’s intense scrutiny. Thinking it’d help him calm down, you cupped his face and whispered, “Look, the necklace you gave me.”

Ao’nung’s gaze drifted to your neck, and a smile ghosted his lips. You still had his gift on–a sign you were his, and his only. It was tarnished, sure, but it was there, resting beautifully on your skin. He slid his fingers through yours and squeezed tightly. 

“Let’s go back,” he said, tilting his head toward the ilu. “Together.”

blue line dividers by @/firefly-graphics

[hughiecampbelle]

Waves Pt. 2 (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan mention

Word Count: 1,447

Inspired By: All Things End by Hozier

Requested: Kendall Roy one shot pls 😩🙏🏼🙏🏼 I’m begging on my knees. My heart wants some major break up angst with Kendall. Prompt : “this isn’t working” - anon

Requested: Part 2 of waves with Kendall ? I don’t even have a prompt but I need to know what happens next? Like if there’s a reconciliation or break up😭🙏🏼 does Kendall find reader and make up or does it end in permanent heart break? I have so many questions ❤️🙏🏼 - anon

A/N: My loves!!!! I can only hope this is as good as part one, I'm a little nervous I used up all my writing ability on that fic lol. I also hope I've made it angsty enough!!! My absolute favorite thing is to write the crumbling of a relationship. It's real and raw and idk, I just love how complicated it can all get :) Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

REQUESTS ARE OPEN 🔮 / Waves Pt. 1

His hair is still damp and sticking to the pillow when he feels your body beside his. It’s been hours. The city lights glitter against the vast darkness of the night sky. You’re high enough to touch the stars. He must’ve fallen asleep: he hadn’t heard you come in. He is still, though, frozen against the sheets, holding his breath. It is an eternity before you say something. In these moments he has no idea what you’re thinking, only that your thoughts are howling in a language he can’t decipher. Your mother tongue, one long dead to men like him. Back to back, your spines kissing. He hopes, foolishly, the vertebrae will become knotted, intertwined, and he will never have to fear another moment without you. You will live as a singular monstrous creature. People will laugh and stare, but it will be the fullest extent of devotion. He wants to turn to you, express this innate want, but he understands even the smallest touch will leave you wounded. Flinching. There is little left of him that can stomach you becoming repelled by him, disgusted even. He is laying on thin ice. One wrong word, move, one false breath, and he will fall through. Perhaps it’ll be a welcomed feeling: the frozen sensation is all-encompassing. It will cradle him, swaddle him. It will pool in his lungs. He will gasp and choke until he is too weak too fight. He will reach for you, but your back is to him. You never heard the ice crack. 

Your bed, the mattress, has become home to something bleak and starving: it is eager to tear you apart, limb by limb, until there is nothing left. It sleeps soundly in moments like this. It has for a long time. He has tried not to think about it, give it attention. He has tried ignoring it, but it is harsh and spiky and it presses into him. Rips his skin open. A barrier between you, a wall, a gap. Another body keeping him from you. His father. If not his father, his siblings. If not them, then this creature. If not it, then himself. He has no one else to blame. It certainly isn’t your fault. This, at least, he can admit to. Delicately, he maneuvers himself so that he is facing the back of you. Your outline illuminated by the moon. How easy it would be to wrap his arms around you. How easy it would be to nuzzle his face into your neck. How easy it would be to fall back into place. He refrains from doing so. Heat radiates from your skin. Your warmth, physically and emotionally, had always drawn him close. You are the sun and by god, he will be your Icarus. It leaves him melted, a puddle of himself. He watches as your breathe, body rising and falling. They are not deep. You’re still awake. He opens his mouth only to close it. The silence he can live with. It’s what you’ll say next that might kill him. 

Kendall is reminded of all the nights you have survived together. Like tonight, they are wordless. Undressing easily, thoughtlessly. It’s the time of day you loved most. He’d come home to you, he would finally belong to you. He’d see you before a shower, smelling of cologne and sweat and fabric softener. Kiss your head before disappearing, not for long, and reappear clean. The soap scent would embed itself into your sheets, into you. One of you would make the journey across the bed, rest their head on the others chest, listen to a heartbeat they swore was their own. He’d go on about his day, his blood, but all you could hear was the steady beat of his heart. A series of sounds. A song, perhaps. You’d make all the right noises, all the right movements, but none of it could compete. Now his heart pulses out of his chest, rapid, fluttery, scared. It pounds and screams and there is little can do to tame it. Tame himself. The realization that he has ruined everything is neither new nor astounding. It seems this feeling has lasted a lifetime. Beyond that. It will out live him. His words fall feverishly from his mouth. He’s always saying the wrong thing, the worst thing, and he cannot stop himself. He has tried. So he doesn’t talk. He doesn’t say anything now. Is it better to speak or to die? To die, he decides, and he knows he could never take it back. To die. 

There is too much to repair. His words, his actions, there is too much bleeding. There is too much gore. You are hemorrhaging out before him and he can do nothing but lay very still and pretend it isn’t happening. You’re holding your insides, wrapping them in your arms like a child. These moments are becoming more frequent: the internal gratitude you have not brought children into this. You wanted them, many, and he did, too. But where was the time? The patience? Where was the love you could show them so that they might one day go on and find their person? It’s easier this way: the disintegration of a partner hood, a couple, than a family. You’re not sure you would. You’re not sure you could. You’d always imagined your child, children, with his eyes. Facing them, a second time, saying what you’re thinking, hazel and rich and so ashamed, would devastate you. Your perfect white carpet will be stained. So will your hands, under your fingernails. It drips from your mouth, the red, and it is all you can taste. Iron. Platelets. Plasma. Cell by cell, the seams fall apart. 

Your thoughts are strung together, knotted. There is so much to say and so little time. Soon, the sun will make her way across your skyline. You will have to look at him. You will have to face him. Quietly, though loud enough for him to hear, to understand, you let out three words. Behind you, he stops breathing. This is it, you think. To call it. A small piece of you fights back, kicking and screaming. It is desperate. It is in agony. Take it back! Take it all back! Please! It sobs into you, a bloom of despair spreading out from the middle of your chest. You have no one to hold you and so, you must do it yourself. This act is not lost on him. You pull further away from him, your arms tight around you. Once, not long ago, it would have been his skin you would have felt instead of your own. Sometime between then and now he regains the ability to mechanically gasp for air. In and out, exhale, inhale. It shouldn’t be, but it is: a slap to the face, stinging, his skin red. Something innate in him knows this is it. Shallow versions of himself laugh, they become hysterical. After all these years, your marriage ends one insignificant Wednesday morning. It’s not insignificant, though. He knows you would point this out, he knows you would be right. It’s not just now. It was your entire relationship. A begging, a cry, he had grown so used to he no longer heard it. This isn’t working. There is no fight left in him. Okay.  Time of death: 4:39. There are no monitors, there is nothing left keeping this relationship alive. Okay, he says again, and you understand what he means. Everything he’s ever needed to say, to apologize for, encased in that single word. He is not accepting it because he wants to. He wants to perform CPR, break a few ribs. He wants to revive this marriage, keep it alive by tube. But he loves you. He loves you and he cannot do that you. Trap you like that. So he lets it go. He lets you go. You should find someone better than him, his family. You will. That love will not be as painful as this love was. It will be easier. They will cherish you like he should have. For now though, he is thankful for your warmth. Your body beside his. The sun will rise and you will leave and he will be all alone, but now, while the stars sing, he can pretend for a little while longer. Everything will be okay. It will be okay and you’ll find happiness and he will too, knowing he can’t hurt you anymore. He can be content with this. Without you. You have already given him so much of your time. It’s selfish of him to ask for a second more.

[thebottomfromhell]

hey, i read your upper moons x goth reader headcanon and i was wondering that what if upper moons have female lolita reader ? Like she is wearing cute easthatic clothes

Ngl when I read the word "female lolita" I choked on the air, then I read further and I has like "ahhhhhhh victorian clothes". Anon, you almost gave me an attack (I've read the book).

Friendly reminder this freaks are in Taisho Japan, but most of are from Edo Japan, so they would have their own opinions about a style based on the Rococo French (bruh, France, Portugal, Spain and England colonizing the world is one of the reasons Japan closed their borders in Edo 😭, Japan ALWAYS hated outsiders, it is NOT a WWII thing).

How do the Uppermoon feel about your asthetic? Victorian inspired styled (lolita) Female Reader

Warnings: Slight infantilization (not sexual), Implied xenophobia (these are mostly japanese men from edo, like... c'mon.), Mentioned cross-dressing, Kokushibou being a grampa x2 and Akaza's implied angst (bit of spoilers of his backstory).

Gyutaro:

Ok, here is the thing.... it's too much. He can't even keep out with the amount of details your robes (are those even robes? He can't tell at all) are making him dizzy. Also, it looks expensive... and uncomfortable, even if he knows that is not relevant in the world of beauty. Isn't it a bit too tight on the waist? Why is the skirt so pompous? Is it not hard to walk with those? And don't get him starting with those shoes, he hates them. And it wasn't him... but Gyutaro threw afaw your make up, not feeling confident that it wasn't toxic (Daki's isn't any better, but she can stand it). "You don't like it?" You ask as you spin to show him your newest set of clothing, seeing he is not very enthusiastic about it.

Usually he would like anything that goes against Japan's beauty standard, but this is not too different to like nor similar enough to hate. And he really wants to like it, because you like it and dressing like that makes you happy. He knows that, and really wants to tell you he likes it, that he likes how you look (because he likes how happy you look), but in the end "Ne... fuck it, my taste is shit anyways, ne." Gyutaro is doing no compromises.

Gyokko:

Gyokko straights adores it. De details! The uniqueness! The details! The mix of empowerenment and innocence in the skirt! The tightness is perfect, showing your body shape better than any kimono, making your curves visible. Round and symetric, the perfection of the world in shapes but with way too flashy and uncharacteristic colours, make up to make your skin glow up, he can't help but get into it. He adores the dresses, and sometimes he is tempted in using a female canvas with one of those, it would look beautiful! Kitsch! Definetely the perfect complement for his arts.

"I know that is I give you one I won't be recieving it back, if you are going to wear it or make another girl wear it it's the same." You argue when he asks for some of your materials, the only thing you let him get away with are the hair accesories and jewelry, not because those are easy to find, but because the dress can get to be... too much, even for you, that you won't be missing them as much. Also, you can trust Gyokko to do your hair and make up, so you must be able to give him things that go from your neck to above, He is as supportive as he can be, being Gyokko.

Hantengu:

It's... intimidating, everything put together. The heels make you taller and make too much noise against the wood, the robe (it's... it's a robe, right? What do you mean it's not? Then what is it?) in the skirt takes up a lot of space, more than a kimono, but besides that, it's pretty. And it suits you because of it, since you are pretty. He doesn't know how to voice it, but it's something nice to look, even if it's not easy on the eyes because of the amount of details, it makes him feel tipsy.

Sometimes he halps you with your hair and make-up, he knows how to make ponytails and braids, and besides a clear base your make up it's not so hard to do (when his pulse is not working against him, of course). He is more than supportive, even if he doesn't find the words to describe it.

Sekido:

"So? What do you think?" You ask Sekido and... he just looks at you for 5 minutes straight, a face that clearly says "are you kidding?" as he then proceeds to examine what you wear. A new dress, like the other one, full of details and looking uncomfortable as fuck, besides that too many accesories for his liking, but... you do seem happy, and he knows you like expressing yourself that way. "Looks good." Better than anything Urogi and Karaku can pull, he tells himself, and you do look good.

As long as he doesn't have to wear himsef any of that, the make-up, the produced hair-styles, the gloves, the heels, the skirt... everything is too much. Honestly, if you give him any of those as a gift, or even just lending or trying it on him, then he will give it to Karaku to lose it and Urogi to destroy it. He will support you in whatever you want to wear, it's not his problem, he sees the beauty in it, but it's not for him.

Karaku:

Karaku thinks it's cute. Something about it screams "childish" and "indulging", the feeling of being down below and on top at the same time. He has heard foreign, the ones you buy all this expensive stuff from, the term "kitsch" to describe it, "bad taste". He likes it, so you should not be surprised when he starts stealing these dresses for you, enjoying how... "flashy" it is. The details, the heels, the weird sizes, the tightness in the waist and the curves? What it's not to like? And you look happy in those.

After a while he also starts stealing things for himself, barely using them, but every once in a while he likes to mess around with this type of clothing. It's not the most comfortable, specially since it was desighned to be for women (men's attire is completely different, and he finds it boring compared to the ones you use), it's just to cause trouble. To look pretty and, in his body, like a pervert. These are good laughs, even if you don't feel the sime, but you are glad he is vocal about liking your style.

Urogi:

Urogi adores it, he thinks it's unique. "I have never seen anything like this before." He comments as he takes away a piece of the hair accesories, pulling it and toying with it in his hands, wearong doesn't seem as nice as it would be to make a nest with it. You answer that it's mostly based from an old style from Europe, another continent, a concept you have to explain to him. Urogi gets curious and asks as much as how did you get these things and about the continent they come from, you have never been there so you answer as much as you can.

"It's weird to be able to trade with humans beyond the see, last time I check they were a possible menace and pest. Didn't the borders close in Edo because of them?" He tries to understand, but because he was alive in that time he is the one that should be explaining it to you. He seems more interest in the concept of being from outside than the look itself, but he does steal your things to build nests. Besides that, he is not that interested, and you can't trust him with your stuff (not even the make up, he ate it once).

Aizetsu:

Aizetsu thinks it looks... young... childish sometimes. That is not exactly a good thing. He knows you want to look cute, but... can't you at least wear something less indulgent? It looks expensive, and damn him if he doesn't feel melancholic when he sees the bill of those things you wear. (Leave it to the west, he swears they always battle to make things the most expensive they can, should have kept the borders closed). Also, it doesn't really look comfortable. with everything over it he can't tell you you are reaching to look like yourself or look how you would like to be seen, because it's too much effort to, everyday fix your hair, make up, wear clothes that are hard to walk and run with (and surrounded by demons, no less).

Aizetsu always thought it was sad how it was expected for women to "fix" themselves for their families, for their husbands, for their society, and he doesn't know what to think while seeing you. "So, what do you think?" You show him another set, he has been thinking into asking help from Karaku and Hantengu to get money (stealing it, what else?) so he can at least support you a bit, because no matter his thoughts on the matter, you seem happy in those dresses. "It looks fine." So he plays along (even if he thinks he is cuter when making sad puppy eyes than you with all those things, maybe that is why he doesn't understand the effort. He doesn't need it, why do you?)

Nakime:

"I'm not wearing any of that." Is the only thing Nakime said before leaving with her biwa to another room-dimension-floor-whatever after you came with another one of those dresses of that style you wear. You know, skirt at the lenght of the knee (at most), many details, tight on the waist, socks over the knee, hair accesories and make-up powder, but in black and grey, asking her her to wear it. You thought it would look cute on her, she didn't agree. Nakime... doesn't like it, it feels odd for her, too foreign for her liking, because she does like luxurious items, the hause has them, but she likes traditional luxury. This is... too European.

Also, Nakime feels is a bit... infantilizing in some point, so she would rather avoid the experience of wearing it at all. She has never shown or vocalized her dislike because in her view it has nothing to do with you, she doesn't like it, but you do. You can wear whatever you want, it's not her job to police you, but she is not even going to try it on, no matter how much you ask. Nakime can and will also compliment you from time to time, only to feed you confidence, but she is not more supportive than that.

Akaza:

He... feels weird about it, there is something that he doesn't like and he doesn't know- fuck it, Akaza knows exactly what he doesn't like, the fact that you, as a woman, are trying to dress more like you were younger, the lenght of the skirt is the one you would expect only in young children, he remembers Edo, he used to dress.... forget it , he did, the thing is, you are a young lady, why look like a child with all the pink and details and fragile looks like she had. She was sick, he had to take care of her. Why are you reminding him she was just a girl? A girl who dresses with pink, the patterns were not as flashy as they couldn't afford more, but he would have given her more. "Akaza?"

He looks at you are you where showing him another set and he zoomed out. He looks at you a bit lost before answering quickly "Yeah... yeah, it looks nice. Soft pink... it's nice." He wants to take care of you, but not in the usual way, he wants to fix you beddings and set you there and talk you to sleep, keeping awake as he looks down at you, hopefully soundly sleeping, waking you up from nighmares and comforting you after. To bring you food and check your temperature, not let you up. He doesn't understand it, why would he want to treat you like a child? He can't get it, so he can't like it. "It's nice."

Douma:

Douma likes it, it's knew, foreign. He doesn't have many outsiders as followers, five at most if he is not wrong, but his cult recieves them nonetheless. He must admit, just one had a style any remotely similar to yours, European, and he ended up killing that same follower. It was not personal, they were not liked around in general, carrying too much silly ideas of their own nation to accept the superiority of those in front of him, accusing Douma of being a demon, so he got silenced. Honestly, it's entertaining, the details, the shape, the make-up, the heels... it's all so outstanding.

Douma adores new things, new tastes, anything than can kill monotony and boredom. But besides that? He doesn't care. You can dress whatever you want and he couldn't care less, and once het gets used to this look then he will stop caring. His only interest is to see more of this foreign culture, and take a bite id he can. He will not point your looks out, mostly not wanting you to be berated for them, since it's hard to get along with Europe, it has always been, so you could say he is ignoring it.

Kokushibou:

So.... Kokushibou will not say an opinion... but he will. "It looks inappropriate." Really, the skirt is a bit short, showing from your knees to below or even more... you are a young lady, not a child, you should be covering properly. Women in his times did (we heard you gramps 😅). Also, the details are too much and it gives off the impression that you expend too much money on yourself (the proces really are not at your favor in that argument) and are seeking too much od spotlight, it defies what a proper lady should look like, with simple grace and humble wealth (as if that existed 😒), and he dislikes it. It does follow some of Japan's beauty standars, like the use of clear bases and make-up that doesn't fight your natural skin tone, so he doesn't hate it.

Still, while he has never told you how you should dress, he really doesn't like it. It's clearly a foreign style and, honestly? He is not impressed, it's clearly meant to be for those who lack the discipline of the Japanese traditions, meant to break the links with the ancestors and the values in simplicity. What else could he expect from outsiders? The fact that you use that... clothes only for the sake of indulging proves him right! (Yeah, yeah, go to sleep Kokushibou) So don't you dare including him in... this phase of yours. (... at least he is not fainting of horror 🤣).