#do I have enough self control to leave this in drafts?

[https-lvesick]

⎯⎯⎯ ﹙ 엔시티 드림﹚ their kinks .ᐟ ㇹ.

𝒑. bf!dream × 𝒇.reader ｜ 𝒈. smut ｜ 𝒄. just smut... the title is actually pretty self explanatory :3 ﹕ bookshelf

⸝⸝ notes. idk since when i have this ready, sitting prettily in my drafts... but here it is, finally! hope you guys like it 🤭🤭

﹙ぉ﹚mark.

PORN⎯ it became your guilty pleasure together after that one unforgettable moment. the day you walked in on him — flushed, panting, and achingly hard — his embarrassment was palpable. when he stammered out that he was watching to learn new ways to please you, your heart raced. from that night, it became your shared ritual. now, his hands roam your body as you both watch, whispering filthy promises of what he’ll do to you next.

PRAISE⎯ he lives for your praise, craving every soft-spoken word of admiration. whether it’s a simple “you did so well” or a breathless “you feel so good,” it makes his heart race. his pout is irresistible when your praise doesn’t come quickly enough — he’ll whine, tugging at your attention until you relent. and when it’s his turn, he overwhelms you with devotion: beautiful, perfect, mine. he wants every inch of you to know how loved you are.

THIGH RIDING⎯ he notices how your eyes linger on his thighs — how you bite your lip when he wears those tiny, dangerous shorts with nothing underneath. it’s a game now. he spreads his legs wide, lounging like temptation incarnate until you lose control. once you’ve climbed onto his lap, grinding against him, he’s hooked — loving every desperate gasp as you chase your high, his hands gripping your hips while he watches his pretty girl come undone on his thighs.

RECORDING⎯ it started with voice memos and teasing photos while he was away. you couldn’t resist sending a clip of yourself trembling with pleasure, calling out his name. when he came home, you barely had time to speak before his hands were all over you. “can i record you?” he whispered hoarsely, his phone already out. you agreed, imagining how many times he’d lose himself watching later. now, it’s a shared addiction — capturing every moan, every arch, every filthy moment of you being his.

SPIT KINK⎯ his eyes darken when he tells you, “open up, baby.” but it’s not just the act — it’s what it reveals. when his spit lingers on your lips, untouched, he knows you’re wrecked and raw for him. when you swallow too quickly, he takes it as a challenge. “not done yet,” he growls, determined to break you until there’s no trace of control left — only need, desire, and surrender.

﹙ぉ﹚renjun.

FACE SITTING⎯ he lives for the weight of you, the warmth and wetness of your pussy smothering his face. nothing compares to the feeling of your thighs trembling against his cheeks, your scent filling his lungs as he devours you. and when you hover, hesitant, he growls in frustration. “sit,” he demands, pulling you down with strong hands. “don’t hold back. ride me like you mean it.” the pleasure of being used by you leaves him drunk with desire.

BREAST PLAY⎯ your breasts are his sanctuary — soft, perfect, utterly addictive. he could spend hours touching, squeezing, and tasting. but when you tease him — dragging your breasts over the sensitive tip of his cock — it drives him to madness. his resolve crumbles as he cums hard and fast, groaning your name while his release paints your skin. the sight of you covered in him? pure heaven.

THIGH JOB⎯ when the need overtakes him, he doesn’t wait. you could be cooking or working — it doesn’t matter. he slips between your thighs, cock slick with precum as he thrusts desperately. “don’t move,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, gripping your hips. the squeeze of your thighs, the soft praise you whisper into his ear, your fingers running through his hair — it all pushes him to the edge. he cums hard, trembling as your words echo in his mind: “my good boy.”

CUM PLAY⎯ despite his usual preference for clean, controlled passion, the sight of his cum mixed with your sweat-covered skin awakens something primal. he smears it across your chest, your stomach — his breath hitching as he admires his handiwork. sometimes, he captures the moment with a discreet photo, though he’ll never admit how much he treasures them. tasting you both, however? that’s no secret.

MUTUAL MASTURBATION⎯ it’s a shared race to the finish line. his fingers pump inside you, matching the rhythm of your hand wrapped around him. the room fills with ragged moans, the heat between you spiraling out of control. the thrill of cumming together — trembling, overstimulated, desperate — is intoxicating. he’ll keep going until you’re both wrecked, craving every last second of shared ecstasy.

﹙ぉ﹚jeno.

SIZE KINK⎯ the contrast between his sheer strength and your smaller frame drives him wild. nothing makes his cock harder than the sight of you fitting so perfectly in his arms, so easy to toss around. he loves keeping you perched on his lap — whether you’re simply relaxing or grinding against him for relief. but his favorite is standing sex. lifting you effortlessly, holding you up as he pounds into you, flexing just to feel the way your body melts, dripping with want.

BELLY BULGE KINK⎯ every inch of him stretches you to your limit. no matter how often you’ve taken him, you always need time to adjust. his large hands tease and prepare you with agonizing patience — long fingers stroking your insides, his tongue working you open until you’re shaking. and then, finally, he slides inside, filling you so deeply that the bulge in your tummy becomes his undoing. the sight of it makes his eyes darken and his hips snap harder, spilling deep inside with each thrust.

MORNING SEX⎯ he lives for waking up to you. the heat of your body wrapped around him, the way your lips close around his cock — it’s his idea of heaven. sleepy hands grip your hips as you ride him, your warmth pulling him into a blissful haze. mornings without your touch feel incomplete; he claims it’s the only way to guarantee a good day, and his slow, lazy thrusts show just how sweet he plans to make yours.

BREEDING KINK⎯ he daydreams of you pregnant far more than he’d admit. his eyes linger on your stomach during sex — not just because of the bulge from his cock but from imagining it round and full with his baby. every thrust is deliberate, a silent promise of filling you with more. and when you moan daddy, it’s over. his hips lose rhythm, his control snaps, and he’s fucking you with abandon, all purpose and no restraint.

OVERSTIMULATION⎯ he can’t stop. you’re so soft, so wet, so intoxicating that he keeps pushing, even after you’ve come. his fingers curl inside you, coaxing more pleasure from your trembling body. your cries make him harder, his breath ragged as he feels your walls flutter around him. when you coat his hand in your release, he’s a mess — groaning, needy, tasting you like a man possessed, determined to have every drop again and again.

﹙ぉ﹚haechan.

MARKING⎯ he wears your marks with pride, turning every mirror into a shrine of your love. hickeys, scratches, and bite marks — they all make his heart race. he traces each with a grin, and when they start to fade, he’s immediately begging for more. “claim me,” he whispers, desperate for your touch. nothing makes him happier than knowing he’s yours — his body, your canvas.

DEGRADING⎯ “you’re pathetic,” you sneer, and he shivers. he’s a slut — your slut — and he needs to be reminded. he loves the sting of your words, the humiliation of your hands slapping his face or his cock. when he’s whining for mercy, tears pricking his eyes, he’s in bliss. he doesn’t want you to be gentle. he wants you to use him, ruin him, leave him begging for more.

DIRTY TALK⎯ his tongue is wicked — sharp, teasing, utterly filthy. he knows how to make you melt with just a few words. before it starts, he whispers sweet nothings, luring you in. then comes the switch: vivid, lewd promises of what he’ll do — bouncing you on his cock until you’re babbling nonsense, stuffing your pretty mouth full while your cunt clenches around him. his hand snakes up your thigh, fingers pressing, pinching, pulling until your head falls back, his words turning into pure sin.

CUM PLAY⎯ he’s obsessed with the mess — your slick on his skin, his seed marking you from head to toe. when jealousy burns, it’s worse. he covers every inch of your body, smearing it into your skin, reminding himself — and you — who you belong to. he doesn’t need proof, but he craves it. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with possession, as his cum drips down your thighs.

FACE SITTING⎯ he’s addicted to your pussy. it doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter when — he needs you on his face. hovering is not an option. “don’t hold back,” he growls. “fucking sit.” he dives in like a man starved, tongue relentless, hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you down harder. your arousal coats his face, and he loves it. the wetter, the better. suffocate him. ruin him. just don’t dare deny him.

﹙ぉ﹚jaemin.

DOLLIFICATION⎯ he loves turning you into his perfect little doll. hands gentle but deliberate as he styles your hair, fastens delicate accessories, and selects the softest, most seductive lingerie. he even adds a touch of blush to your cheeks, taking his time to admire his work — a masterpiece of prettiness before the chaos. but by the end? you’re a beautiful mess. smeared lipstick stains his chest, mascara streaks your cheeks, and your innocence is completely ruined. that’s his favorite part: breaking his delicate doll after crafting her to perfection.

BREEDING KINK⎯ jaemin’s love for the idea of being a father isn’t just a fantasy — it’s an obsession. the moment you tossed the condoms and stopped the pills, it unlocked a new level of hunger in him. every thrust is purposeful, every orgasm focused on filling you with his seed. he watches with dark, hungry eyes as his cum drips from your swollen cunt, mesmerized as he pushes it back inside, determined to keep you full. “how will you get pregnant if it keeps slipping out, baby?” he groans, already fucking you again.

DUMBIFICATION⎯ the way you go blank for him — eyes glassy, mouth parted, words reduced to babbled nonsense — makes him smirk with pride. his cock turns you into a perfect, pliant mess, your mind too far gone to form thoughts. he murmurs depraved things, cooing softly as drool trickles from the corner of your mouth. “my sweet, dumb girl,” he praises, kissing you as you fall apart, fully lost in him.

MANHANDLING⎯ you’re too delicate to handle yourself — at least, that’s how jaemin sees it. shifting positions? not your job. that’s what he’s here for. he lifts, twists, and bends you exactly how he wants, effortlessly maneuvering your pliant body. you love it, and so does he. you’re his to move, to control, to mold — and he takes full advantage, whispering how weak and perfect you are as he fills you to the brim.

RECORDING⎯ a camera roll full of you, his greatest treasure. every arch of your back, every moan, every needy cry — he’s captured them all. each orgasm is immortalized, every sex tape carefully curated for his private viewing. he replays them when he’s away, hand gripping his cock, desperate to relive every moment. “smile for me, baby,” he grins, phone in hand, knowing exactly how pretty you look when you’re cumming just for him.

CORRUPTION KINK⎯ he’s the reason you know how to touch, how to kiss, how to suck — and he loves it. teaching you was the greatest thrill of his life, and the thought of corrupting you over and over again still makes his blood rush. “you don’t know how, do you?” he teases, eyes dark. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll teach you.”

﹙ぉ﹚chenle.

DADDY KINK⎯ the soft, breathy way you call him daddy wrecks him completely. the sweet innocence in your voice, the way you cling to him like he’s your last salvation — it feeds his ego and his darkest desires. he knows he’s the one ruining you, yet you say it like he’s your savior. and deep down, the idea of really being a father someday only makes it hotter.

BREEDING KINK⎯ chenle is determined to make you his — completely, irrevocably his. every time he fills you up, he dreams of the day you’ll carry his baby. he’s long since discarded the condoms, and you’ve caught him more than once browsing baby products online. when he’s fucking you, his mind is already decorating the nursery. “we’ll need another,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “one won’t be enough if they don’t look like you.”

DIRTY TALK⎯ the sound of your honeyed whispers — the filth you pour into his ear while your hands roam his body — it makes him dizzy. your need, your shameless craving for him, leaves him breathless. you cling to him, desperate and feral, telling him exactly what you want. his voice grows rough, words tumbling from his lips as he promises to ruin you, to give you everything.

DEGRADING⎯ you’re his princess — his perfect, precious girl. but sometimes, you push too far, teasing him until his control snaps. in those moments, you’re no longer his sweet love — you’re his slut. his to punish, to take, to wreck. “you’re mine,” he growls, voice sharp as his hand marks your skin.

EXHIBITIONISM⎯ possessiveness burns hot in his veins. your pretty moans are for his ears alone, your body belongs to his eyes only. but sometimes, proving that you’re his requires an audience. if someone watches, hears, knows exactly who owns you? he makes sure it’s unforgettable — pounding into you, marking you with every thrust, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind.

﹙ぉ﹚jisung.

SIZE KINK⎯ he didn’t know how much it would turn him on until he saw the way his hands dwarf yours. you’re so small, so soft, and he’s so big. your tiny fingers barely wrap around his cock, your body stretches perfectly beneath him, and your mouth struggles to take him. it’s intoxicating — the contrast, the vulnerability, the way you whimper when he fills you to the hilt.

BELLY BULGE KINK⎯ “look at that,” he whispers, pride swelling as he presses his palm against the outline of his cock in your tummy. he pushes gently, relishing the way your body reacts, eyes rolling back as pressure intensifies the stretch. he drags it out, slow thrusts keeping you full as you beg for more, too wrecked to think of anything but how deeply he’s buried inside you.

ICE PLAY⎯ the moment ice touches your heated skin, your shiver sends a thrill straight to his core. you gasp, squirm, and cling to him, vulnerable and exposed, and he lives for it. the contrast between the cold and your warm body drives him wild — a game of sensation that leaves you trembling and begging for his touch.

DRY HUMPING⎯ he’s addicted to how desperate you get, grinding against him like you can’t help yourself. he watches, smirking, as you ride his thigh or rut against his lap, chasing pleasure even through layers of fabric. public places are his favorite — subtle thrusts, barely restrained moans, your panties damp as he whispers how pathetic and needy you are.

SEXTING⎯ the first time made him blush so hard he could barely breathe. now? he’s a master of it. teasing you through the phone, describing every filthy thing he wants to do, sending pictures that make you squirm. it’s become a game, a wicked build-up to the nights when you’re finally together, messy and breathless from all the waiting.

did you like the reading? why not like, reblog or leave a comment? this way i know i'm doing a good work and will keep up with it!

﹙ぉ﹚@jungaji @spacejip @lyvhie @sinisxtea @jirsungs @polarisjisung @chenlezip @ayukas @leleszn @mystverse @prologue-ae @hibernatinghamster @kj-kts @nctrawberries @peterm4rker @ant-onie @lovesuhng @haechanahceah67 @jeonghansshitester @hyusun @ncthoe69 @dawntyun @snowyseungs @bunnysoonie @haechansssun @n0hyuck @yvaniile @nahyuckers

[sftandwet]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀OLDER LEON! HEADCANONS

content warning oral sex, older boyfriend leon!au, leon death island, insecurity, smut, pwp, slut and "egocentric" leon. +18! MDNI

author's notes : I wanted to do this for a while, but as I was having creative block I was disappointed looking at the drafts. I was happy when I suddenly wrote something lol until I was happy with the result. I wanted to make a somewhat contradictory Leon, "raw" the way I see him.

links 4 u. masterlist 🥩 movie star

older leon: who picks you up and leaves you regardless of where you need to go, is always at your disposal, even if there is still work to be done, leon tries his best to take you wherever you want to go.

older leon: who, even with excruciating work to do, tries everything to be present in your life, even with minimal contacts, is always showing that he is there, by your side.

older leon: who is constantly afraid that you will abandon him, always hoping that you are loving him enough to leave other people aside. He desperately hopes that you don't find anyone more interesting than him, because he couldn't stand a second away from you. Extremely insecure, but always hiding this painful trait from you.

older leon: who loves doing "cheesy" things with you; from cooking with you, mugs, watching a ridiculous show, wearing weird shirts with bizarre and funny combinations, because it all sounds romantic or as leon says; "That's something a couple would do." He loves to talk about cheesy couple things with you, because regardless, what matters is being happy with you.

older leon: : who loves kissing you slowly while gently placing his hand on your neck, slowly slipping his tongue into your mouth. His hand slowly slides over your shoulders and fixes it on your waist, keeping you glued to his body during the kiss, always ending with a soft bite and a wet kiss on your neck.

older leon: who sometimes can't control herself and ends up lowering her lips to her lap, taking off the straps of her dress and lowering the fabric to expose her breasts, sucking them while putting his hands on her back to lick her breasts better, biting and giving licks that make you close your eyes in anxiety.

older leon: He kneels on the floor, pushes you against the wall and pulls up your dress, putting your panties to the side and placing your leg over his broad shoulders. He sticks his hot tongue into your wet hole, massaging your clit with his thumb over and over, making slow circles and making sure to suck it well to get it wet, making your body arch beneath the cold wall.

older leon: who is addicted to your pussy, always fucking you, making you even wetter to stick his fingers in while he mistreats your clitoris with strong sucks, always scratching your ass, trying to dive into your pussy, rubbing that nose on your pleasure point, taking and putting his tongue inside you. Smearing yourself, without paying attention to the cum that drips down your chin.

older leon: who loves to make a mess while fucking you, who loves to see you scream and is self-centered when he sucks your cunt, knowing that no one else will suck your pussy the way he does.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Who the Hell is Daryl?

Summary: Bucky is in love with you, and finally finds the courage to tell you. But what happens when it sounds like someone else is already in the picture? (Miscommunication!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Avenger!Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: Miscommunication trope! Only one small mention of “Y/N”, teensy bit of yelling, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Wrote this a couple days ago and put it in drafts, spontaneously posted bc I'm procrastinating on an essay. Okay I'll get back to hw now :(

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

He was going to do it. He was really going to do it. 

He was finally going to ask you out.

-----

To the surprise of everyone on the team, you and Bucky had become fast pals after you joined six months ago. Something about the two of you clicked. ‘Opposites attract’ and all that, but Bucky always felt it went deeper than that.

The two of you had never argued, something he felt very proud of, considering he argued with most people. But not you. Never you.

The moment he decided that he needed to man up and ask you out wasn’t anything fancy. You were sparring with Wanda across the gym, and he was simply watching you work in tandem. He watched the entire 15 minute session, and didn’t take his eyes off you, even as you approached him. 

“Buck, I’m out of water, can I take a sip of yours?”

He nodded, “Sure, Doll,” and tossed you his bottle. 

You shot him a charming smile and opened the cap, and not-so-gracefully chugged half the bottle. You wiped your upper lip and handed it back to him. 

“Thanks, Jamie,” you breathily said, and jogged back to the arena. 

His head was completely empty except for a single thought, tumbling through his desert mind like a tumbleweed.

I’m going to marry her someday.

He shocked himself with the thought, he wasn’t sure where it had come from. But he couldn’t help the grin that snuck its way onto his lips as he realized he didn’t disagree with the thought.

Of course before marriage is dating. One step at a time Buck. 

After his realization, he had spent the next three days planning the perfect way to ask you out. He went through an entire list of ideas, but none of them seemed good enough for you. He wanted it to be perfect. But as the clock ticked on and he started running out of paper, he realized it was best to just be honest about his feelings. 

You had just gotten back from a solo mission, and Bucky was hanging out in your room as you showered.

He was blushing like an idiot and fidgeting like crazy on your bed as he waited for you to hurry up. It was surprising he had so much self control as to not blurt it out while you were showering.

“Oh, Bucky,” you called from the bathroom, the sound of the water pausing.

“What’s up?”

“Could you set an alarm on my phone for 7:30 A.M. tomorrow before I forget? I think I left it on the side table.”

“You got it, Doll.”

“You’re the best! I’m almost done, I’ll be out in like two minutes,” you called, and soon after the sound of rushing water resumed.

Bucky grabbed your phone and typed in the passcode, his heart fluttering a little as he thought about how you trusted him enough to know it.

But the flutter stopped almost as quickly as it started, the moment your phone turned on and resumed on your text string with someone. He would’ve ignored it, but a red heart at the top of the screen caught his eye.

Who the hell is “Daryl,” and why does he have a heart emoji next to his name?

Bucky couldn’t help himself as his eyes flitted over your last texts.

Daryl ❤️ I’m back in town, lemme know when you’re around 

You About to leave for a quick mission, but I’ll be back tmw evening. I miss you sm :( how about we meet up Monday morning at 8 at Bernie’s cafe?

Daryl ❤️ Lets do it. And I miss you too, can’t wait to see your beautiful face!! I love you, be careful

You Love you too, and Im always careful 😘

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. You had never mentioned a brother named Daryl, or any other kind of family member. And you’d told him about all your closest friends, and none of them were named Daryl. How did Bucky not know you had a boyfriend?

Bucky fought the urge to scroll up, and quickly tapped out of the app, and set the alarm you asked him to set. 

So you were meeting this “Daryl” tomorrow morning?

Bucky heard the water stop, and the sound of the shower curtain shuffling.

Shit. You were getting out. Fuck, he wasn’t ready to face you.

You’d never mentioned you were in a relationship before. He would remember. How long have you been dating? And more importantly, why did you keep this from him? Did you feel like you couldn’t trust him? Maybe you weren’t as close friends as he’d thought.

“Which movie did you want to watch tonight?” You asked, peeking out of the door with a turquoise towel wrapped around you.

“Um, I’m actually really tired, suddenly. I think I’m going to go to bed.” Bucky stuttered, avoiding your gaze as he quickly stood up.

“Oh, okay,” you responded, disappointment and concern lacing your voice. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Glad you got back safe. Good night.”

With that, Bucky ducked out of your room and practically ran back to his.

Bucky tossed and turned, and once he got over his embarrassment, he settled into a familiar depressive feeling. Of course you didn’t like him back. What the fuck was he thinking? He’s—well, he’s Bucky. Broken, only destined to ever be your friend. How could he be foolish enough to think you would love him like he loves you. At about hour 4, the heartbreak started turning into betrayal. Betrayal that you kept this from him. And soon enough, that betrayal festered into a kind of resentment, something he’d never felt for you before.

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

Bucky checked the clock for the 20th time in the past 5 minutes. 7:45 A.M. You were probably about to leave. Bucky felt his heart clench. He was usually up by 7, and eating breakfast in the common area by 7:30. He sat at the barstool, dragging his spoon around his now soggy Coco Puffs, waiting for you to appear. Why he felt the need to torture himself, he didn’t know.

Finally, he heard your steps coming down the hall. 

And there you appeared, wearing the most beautiful sundress he had ever seen. It was lavender, and had small white flowers adorning the skirt, and it fell just above your knees. 

Bucky took you in, and his momentary adoration turned back to his heartbreak. You were dressed up as if you were going on a date. There was no chance this wasn’t your boyfriend.

“Good morning Bucky, did you sleep okay last night?” 

“Yes.” He lied. Maybe you would tell him the truth if he asked. Yes it would hurt hearing the truth from your mouth, but he wanted to give you a chance to tell him your secret. “Where are you headed?”

“To meet a friend,” you nodded smoothly. 

Maybe Bucky was crazy. Maybe he was overthinking all of this. Maybe Daryl really was just a friend.

“Which friend?”

“Penny.”

So you were just flat out lying to him now. Bucky nodded and waited for you to leave before moping back to his room. He wanted to cry. And he did for a minute, or two, but his tears turned from sad to angry when he remembered you were now lying. You never lied to Bucky, and Bucky never lied to you. At least, he thought that was how it was. He clenched his fists, mad at you for betraying him, but more mad at himself for believing he could ever have you.

He didn’t move from his bed.

“Bucky?” Your voice emerged after three knocks to his door.

He couldn’t get himself to respond. 

The door slowly creaked open, a stream of light flooding his dark room.

“Hey Buck. You okay? You seemed a little off this morning.”

“Fine.” He mumbled, not turning over in bed to face you.

A pause. 

“Jamie, what’s wrong?” You asked, closing the door behind you and flicking on the light. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” You asked, slightly taken aback. You thought he loved your affectionate nickname for him.

“I don’t want you to call me ‘Jamie’ anymore.”

“Okay…”

He felt the bed dip as you sat next to him. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, “please talk to me.”

He sat up and gave you a pointed look. Was he being immature? Yes. But what could he do, he just discovered that his best friend has been lying to him, and doesn’t love him.

“Where were you?” He asked.

You furrowed your brows a moment, trying to piece together where he was going with this. 

“I was at Bernie’s with Penny.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He sneered.

Your eyes widened at his bite.

“I’m not lying? Bucky, what is going on?”

“What’s going on is that you’ve been keeping the fact that you have a boyfriend from me. Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“A boyfriend?” You blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend,”

“Why won’t you be honest with me?” He yelled, and you scooted back.

“I am!”

“Then who is Daryl?”

“What?”

“I saw your texts last night, when you asked me to set your alarm.” Bucky looked down at his lap, ashamed.

“Bucky,” you sighed, and a look of understanding crossed your face. A moment later you held out your phone to him.

“What?” He asked, dumbly looking at your outstretched hand. The screen was on your text string with Daryl.

“Call the number.” You simply said.

“What?” He repeated.

“Take my phone, and call the number.”

Confused and suspicious, Bucky grabbed your phone and hesitated over the call icon. 

“Go ahead,” you urged.

He pressed the button. 

Ring.

Ring.

Ri—

“Hey!” A familiar feminine voice rang through the speaker. “What’s up hon?”

“Hello?” Bucky said, looking from the phone to you to the phone.

“Uh, hi? Is that Bucky?”

“P—Penny?” He sputtered.

“Hey Bucky! What’s up, is everything okay? I thought Y/N was calling.”

“Hey Pen,” you interjected, “Everything’s fine, I’ll call you back in a bit, kay’?”

“Sure thing, bye, love ya,” Penny added, and hung up.

Bucky stared at the now blank phone, baffled.

“I don’t understand.”

“Bucky,” you sighed, and tilted his chin to look at you. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Penny is in my contacts as “Daryl” because it’s my funny little nickname for her. My Dad has had a best friend since grade school named Daryl, and they don’t see each other often, but when they do it’s like nothing has changed. They get along like no time has passed. I call Penny “my Daryl” because I know that even if we don’t talk for years, we are so close that I know we would be the exact same.”

Bucky sat quietly for a moment, simply taking in your story. He felt really stupid.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry I called you a liar.” He struggled to meet your gaze, ashamed of what he did.

“Jamie—can I call you Jamie now?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Jamie, I forgive you. But I wish you had just talked to me about it, and asked me. We are usually so good about being open with each other. What happened?” You asked, wide eyes looking into his.

“I know, I’m sorry. I flipped out, I guess I was just shocked, because I was going to—” he licked his lips, “well, I was…”

“You can tell me, Bucky. Honesty, remember?” You soothed, placing your hand on his leg.

He gulped.

“I was going to ask you to be with me.”

You tilted your head, not quite understanding.

“Like, I was gonna ask if you’d let me be your boyfriend.” He mumbled. “So when I saw that you were texting and saying ‘I love you’ to some guy, I guess I was just blindsided.”

“James,” you smiled, moving yourself to sit on his lap. You brought your forehead against his. “You silly, jealous man.” You gently stroked his cheek with your right hand. “You want to be my boyfriend?"

"It sounds so juvenile, I don't know, I just want you to be mine, and for you to call me 'yours,'" he mumbled.

"I accept," you giggled, and watched his glittering eyes shoot to yours.

He had started to say something, but he stopped when you brought your soft lips to his.

“I'm so happy,” he whispered between kisses.

Suffice it to say, Bucky completed step one of the path to marrying you.

A/N: Tysm for reading! If you liked it, please feel free to let me know!

Also I'm sorry if the ending sucks, I wrote this in a couple hours and Idk why I'm so bad at endings gahh

Here's my Masterlist if you'd like to read more!

[ronearoundblindly]

okey dokey, I've had *a day* and will use this glorious...🥴 idek which body part to reference 😮‍💨...and merge it with your previous ask about cooking or baking for Steve and giving him a nice, comforting, home cooked meal. And his response to that act of service and caring. Because this is me, I will obviously be starting with ::gasp:: an argument. Don't you love how predictable I am?!?!

To Tire Is Human

No warnings, uhhh, canon language (sh*t)? Written in drafts so no exact word count. It's not long (2k maybe, very much unedited)!

"The hustle? What does that even mean?" Steve gripes as he finishes up various chores around the property.

"It means I do the work."

Your boyfriend rips apart the wood log he was about to start chopping. "Do the work? Do the work? For nine hours? After leaving home early enough to be at work for an hour before the actual work starts? Then staying at least a half hour to clean?"

"Unless I also have to restock," you add quickly just to really turn the knife.

"You have got to be shitting me," he nearly snarls, eyes down toward the pile.

You don't blame him for not understanding. He's from an era where people worked to live, the point was the living. This...is not longer that era, and you are not of that generation.

Of course, it frustrates him, too, because your work makes living almost impossible. With all that he just mentioned, the commute, and attempting to offer yourself the basic self-care of eating and washing, you don't have the energy to do chores, and you've certainly struggled to find energy enough to show Steve love.

"That's the gig nowadays. That's how us super-average humans do it."

The thing is that you are also so tired of having this conversation. You are tired of the guilt for not magically considering yourself the center of your universe because, despite jokes about every kid receiving participation trophies, it is deeply engrained in you that you are replaceable.

If you don't perform above and beyond, fired. If you ask for too much and offer too little, gone. If you don't constantly learn how to outpace others, useless. It never ends.

And, finally, Steve Rogers might not get this but you age. You aren't powerful to begin with, but day after day, you get weaker and older, while someone else on Earth gets smarter and stronger.

You don't want to hear the spiel. You can see from his pinched face that Steve wants to give the spiel.

You sigh in exhaustion and prepare to hear the whole Cap speech before you two go pick up dinner in town.

One day later that week, your work schedule falls apart and lands you back at home hours before Steve is due to return. Antsy to accomplish something--and looking for a snack,--you notice the perfect combination of ingredients, something saucy and salty, hearty, just like Steve melts for, and a fruity baked good.

It's a lot of steps, there's a lot of mess to clean up as you go, and then there's still a lot left behind. You're hastily rushing around to set the oven timer and yank a skillet off the burner. Perhaps the whole endeavor has gotten you in over your head.

Steve appears out of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere, but all the chaos in the kitchen is making enough noise, you didn't hear the door.

"I have everything under control," you automatically say.

His expression morphs from one of surprise and concern to utterly overwhelmed. His eyes look glassy as he approaches and scoops you into a quick hug, hands tucking themselves beneath the hem of your shirt so he can feel your skin as he breathes you in.

He quickly releases you at the sounds of oil popping and sniffs, reverting to Cap mode.

"What do you need? What can I do?"

All you can think is that the table hasn't been set.

Steve eats his whole meal--entree and dessert--with his non-dominant hand just so he can hold yours.

He had one of your days.

He spent the drive home listing all the things he needed to do in his head, more energy for each tick, more time for sitting still, more of him to give...

...and then he got to enjoy a lovely dinner with you.

You spent your energy on him, on you both. You spent energy specifically to spend time with him, and Steve could cry but he won't. He keeps smiling, making happy, pleased noises with each delicious bite.

An hour ago, he wasn't sure he could feed himself or wash up. He's simply too tired.

You start playing with his hand, drawing patterns in his palm, lightly dragging your nails on the sensitive inside of his wrist. It makes him shiver.

There were at least four things he was supposed to do outside before it got too dark, a load of towels and sheets needs done, a basket of clothes waits to be folded and put away. He does not want to do any of it.

His fingers close around yours.

"Thank you," he interjects softly, "I was so tired."

You lean forward and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, whispering in his ear, "you wanna leave the dishes to soak and watch a movie instead?"

Steve chuckles, turns his head to quickly kiss your lips, and nuzzles his nose to yours.

"Oh, you're a naughty minx, aren't you?"

Playfully racing up the stairs, ignoring the plates and glasses still on the table, you call back to him.

"Show some hustle, big guy! We got a whole lot of nothing to do."

He twitches, just for an instant, before finally deciding that grabbing the spare pillows from the guest room will add more to the movie experience than doing the dishes.

You're both going to do the work tonight: the work of taking care of each other, enjoying each other, and being human together.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[theseinfernalangels]

Push My Luck - Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Before Threshing, you make a promise to Sawyer that he doesn’t really believe. With a little encouragement from your newly-bonded dragon, you work up the nerve to make do.

A/N: Also self-indulgent, and I’m really just trying to clear out my drafts of my many Sawyer WIPs. This one actually has a plot, though, so that’s an upgrade.

Includes: Flight after Threshing, slight angst, Cridhe basically being a surrogate dad/therapist, first kisses for my favorite couple, Ridoc being a menace (affectionate). Takes place during Fourth Wing.

“When we get to Threshing and you bond, which I know you will, I’m marching right over to you and kissing you straight on the mouth, Henrick.”

Spit through gritted teeth in the alcove where you liked to meet. A promise. A threat? Maybe both. You weren’t one for threats, but in the heat of the moment, an argument that had been a long time coming, you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth.

Now, you’ve got two options: Completely forget about what you said and keep pining after Sawyer (unfavorable but easier), or make due and drag his lips down to yours (favorable but difficult).

“Ah, to have the problems of a hatchling.” The deep, rumbling voice of your dragon, Cridhe, echoes through your mind. “To debate between pursuing a mate and watching them from the shadows. You’ve brought me back decades, child.”

“I’m not a hatchling,” you retort quietly, brushing your hands along his sage green scales whilst he sailed through the sky. “And he’s not my mate.”

“But you wish he was, correct?” Cridhe prods. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. I find it refreshing that you have this issue at all. Better than, say, a murder plot.” 

You snort, shaking your head as his invisible bands of magic tighten against your form. “I’m the wrong cadet to search for if you’re looking for murderousness,” you reply. “The fact that this is your first impression of me is a little embarrassing, is all.”

“Firstly, you are a rider now. Wrong rider,” he corrects you as he makes a sharp left turn. “Secondly, my first impression of you was you saving that injured girl from a slow, painful death. I am not looking for murderousness, child. I was looking for your compassion.”

The dragon’s words are reassuring enough to quell your underlying doubts of yourself — a small, small part of you still thought that no dragon would want you when you could barely speak to people without your heart beating out of your chest — but do nothing for the more pressing matter.

“I would argue that your flickering self-esteem is a more dire issue than that of romance, but this also seems to weigh heavily on your mind. Why is that?”

You sigh, closing your eyes against the raging wind Cridhe darts through. “We…had an argument yesterday.”

“Enchanting,” he responds. “And?”

You fight a smile. “Why do you want to know? Isn’t dumb human drama the least of your concerns?”

He snorts out a laugh. “Dumb human drama, perhaps. But you, child, are now my first priority, and this is wounding you more than you’re admitting to me. I’d like to know the reason.”

So, your dragon likes to eavesdrop on people. Good to know.

“Well…” You struggle to come up with a good answer. In retrospect, this must seem so stupid to the majestic green being who’s carrying you through the air.

“We both have…issues,” you finally say slowly. “He deals with a lot of self-doubt because he’s a repeat, and I think he thinks I wouldn’t want him because of it.”

“I see his point.” Cridhe nods sagely. “Perhaps it is a male thing, to want to be impressive to someone he’s interested in.”

“But that’s the thing,” you huff. “I like him, and he likes me, and we both know it, but he won’t let anything happen because he doesn’t think he’s good enough. This is the one thing I’ve been able to control entirely, for the first time in my life. Gods, why is he so stubborn?”

“Another male thing,” Cridhe chuffs dryly. “And what did you say to that?”

You think of the argument and flush a little when you recall your words, emboldened with passion and pure frustration.

“I, uh…” You hesitate. “I told him that when we both bonded after Threshing, I’d find him and kiss him. And then walked away. I haven’t talked to him since.”

“Smooth,” your dragon deadpans, beginning to tuck his wings a little. “Hold on a little tighter. First landings can make you dizzy.”

You obey, leaning closer to Cridhe’s spine and pressing your forehead to his pretty scales. You quietly thank whichever god decided to bless you with a gentler dragon, one who actually cared for your feelings and listened to the things that weighed on you. Cridhe was probably the only dragon who’d ever have the patience for you — even amongst the well-tempered greens.

“Not that you asked for my input,” he continues carefully, “but I say go for it. If you do not follow through with your words, I can only imagine that the two of you will be hovering awkwardly until something catastrophic happens. Believe me, it happens every year.”

You can’t help but laugh, raising your head back up. “Do dragons eavesdrop on human relationship problems this often?”

Cridhe swings his head around to look at you, his giant blue eyes meeting yours and gleaming with something teasing. 

“Sometimes,” he replies, winking. “When you are unbonded, there is not much else to do.”

Well, you have a male wine-aunt that gives solid relationship advice for a bonded dragon. Not that you’re complaining.

Cridhe settles the two of you in a little patch of land away from all the other riders and dragons (Amari bless his heart) and extends a long leg for you to climb down from. You shoot him a small smile of appreciation as your boots hit the grass, and you stumble a little as he lightly nudges you with his snout. You turn, staring at his unblinking eyes questioningly.

“Go on,” he prods. “Go to your mate, and then the roll keeper.” He tilts his head. “Cridheteòm, with a slight accent on the r. Just Cridhe, for convenience.” 

With shaking hands, you nod and take a deep breath in, trying to calm your racing heart. “Thank you.” You exhale. “Okay. Okay. I…Fuck, I hate this. This is literally the worst. Okay. I’ve got this…I think—“

Cridhe huffs and nudges you again. A scowl stretches your lips, but it doesn’t meet your eyes as you search the field for that familiar head of strawberry blond. You have absolutely no idea what kind of dragon he could attract, and for a second, you have a mini heart attack when you don’t see him. Just as you’re about to turn back to Cridhe in disappointment, you see a ruby-red dragon across the grounds shift to the side, and your breath catches a little when you see a familiar figure stride out from behind it: Sawyer, with his head held high and eyes glinting with that confidence you so rarely get to see. With a nod of encouragement from Cridhe, you take off sprinting across the grass, dodging and weaving through the throng of riders.

A shout of his name has him pausing in his tracks, and his eyes widen and then go soft when you all but throw yourself into him, clinging onto him tightly.

“I fucking knew it!” You exclaim, pulling him into you. “I told you, Henrick.”

He winds his arms around your waist and lets out a slightly shocked laugh, burying his face into your hair.

“That, you did,” he concedes quietly, squeezing you lightly. “And I told you that you’d be fine. We’re even now, I believe.”

You bite your lip, Cridhe’s words echoing through your brain. I say go for it.

You take a deep, calming breath and tilt your head up, meeting Sawyer’s eyes daringly. “You do remember what happens next, right?”

His brow furrows a little in confusion, and his mouth parts as if to ask what you could be meaning. You don’t give him the chance to speak, though — not now that you have some newfound confidence. You balance yourself on your toes and tug on his neck, sealing your mouth to his in one fell swoop.

Sawyer’s breath catches a little, his eyelashes fluttering as if he didn’t expect this, as if you didn’t tell him you would do this, but his lips twitching against yours in a smirk tells you that he’s finally remembered your parting words from the night prior. His lips are cool, slightly chapped from his unconscious biting habit, but they move against your own softly, maybe even methodically. His tongue swipes carefully against your mouth, but the both of you are broken apart when you hear a familiar voice whoop.

“Fuck yeah, Sawyer! Make your move!”

The two of you jerk away from each other. Sawyer shoots a sharp glare at Ridoc’s gleeful form, his freckled cheeks flushed pink. He pulls both middle fingers up and yells back to him, “Can you shut the hell up, man? I’m kind of busy here, if you couldn’t fucking tell.”

Ridoc’s signature grin spreads wider as he gives the older boy a mock salute. “Aye, O Romancing One!” He flounces off in the direction of a lean brown dragon, who’s staring at the two of you with a twinkle in his eye similar to that of Ridoc’s. The two of them will probably be a pair of troublemakers, you can already tell.

You giggle and press your forehead to Sawyer’s. He beats you to your words. “I know, I know. You told me so, again. Funnily enough, I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me.” He dips his head and presses a chaste peck to your cheeks.

You shyly glance back at Cridhe, who still lingers across the field with a prideful little gleam in his eye as he watches the two of you. “Yeah? Well…You could say I had some encouragement.”

His eyes follow yours to your dragon, who lifts his head to stare directly at Sawyer. His eyes narrow into slits, as if he was speaking to Sawyer directly. Whatever he silently communicated, the boy seemed to catch on, his grip on you tightening as he nodded back.

You poke him in the shoulder. “What’s that about?”

His eyes flit back to yours, his mouth parting in a sheepish smile. “It’s kind of a guy thing.”

He bursts into laughter as you groan dramatically, burying your face in your hands. “Of fucking course it is.”

[cottoncandyafterdark]

Hello, Nanami's alphabet was so good, and I was wondering if I could request Senku (as adult ofc) NSFW alphabet too? I hope it's fine, thank you!

Got it right here! =D Thanks for the request, hope you like this alright! To be honest, I always have trouble seeing Senku in sexual situations, so I did my best to keep it true to him and how I see him while still being sexy. Hope you enjoy, thanks for waiting!

Fandom: Dr Stone

Character(s): Senku Ishigami

Warnings: None

ao3 | Ko-Fi

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a moment to catch his breath, but after that, he's surprisingly cuddly. He might not usually be one for physical touch, but he's not so averse to it that he'll leave you dry. Plus, just about everyone needs a hug once in a while- this is his once in a while.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not so focused on the physical, at least, not to the point that there's a specific part of your body he's more attracted to than any other. He thinks you, as a whole, are very attractive, end of sentence.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Mostly irrelevant because he pretty much always uses a condom. He doesn't have penetrative sex until they can make condoms in the stone world, and then always uses them until they re-invent other forms of birth control, or you discuss having kids and decide to try for a pregnancy. Whatever comes first.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he first decided to broach the subject of sex with you, he wrote down and practiced what he would say because he felt his typical blunt "brutal honesty" attitude wouldn't go over super well in this particular instance. He tried as hard as he could to make it sound like he hadn't spent hours rehearsing. He still has the notes where he drafted it hidden away, but if anyone ever found them he might die of embarrassment.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yeah, it would be a shock if he had any experience before he met you. He's never been in a serious relationship before, and he's certainly not one for casual sex, so, yeah, you're almost certainly his first. He has no clue what he's doing your first couple of times having sex, but he'll get the hang of it pretty quickly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He's a fan of cowgirl and any other position where he's sitting or laying down and doesn't have to exert himself too much (not that he's lazy, but his physical strength and stamina is... Well... You know. He's Senku.) Don't take that to mean he's submissive, though; Senku is quite the power bottom.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't really purposely try to be humorous, but if something funny happens, he can laugh and go with it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As funny as it would be, he doesn't have any green streaks in his pubic hair- it is white/platinum blonde, though. He keeps it trimmed and well-groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be quite romantic, in his own way. For Senku, an emotional connection is a non-negotiable prerequisite for sex, so he almost has to be. He might not show his love in the most traditional of ways, but if you know him, and you do, you'll be able to feel it in the way he touches and talks to you during.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't do it all that often, especially once he's in a relationship. On the rare occasions he gets horny enough to want that release, he's going straight to you. He only jerks off on the rare occasion that he gets really horny and you just aren't available for whatever reason.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's mostly vanilla, but he's pretty into dirty talk to a point you could probably call it a kink.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed. Maybe a chair in a private place if he's feeling spicy. He has a fantasy of fucking you in the lab, but knows that you probably shouldn't actually do that (too many dangerous chemicals).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Really, you just have to tell him straight up that you're horny and want to fuck. If he's in a good mood and not too tired, that'll start getting him nice and worked up on its own, then the foreplay will really get him ready to have some fun.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No pain, no fluids, and no completely unprotected sex (at least, not without a lot of discussion and a clean STD test beforehand.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes giving oral a little better than receiving it. He enjoys receiving, of course, but feels it can spoil things a bit if he comes before the 'main course', so to speak. But when giving, he can just focus on your pleasure, especially if you have a little more stamina than him and he can make you cum once or twice without any fear of ruining anything.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually, he lets you set the pace, but he prefers it to be on the "fast and rough" side.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really his thing. His sex drive isn't very high, so a quickie just feels like a wasted opportunity. If he's in the mood, he wants to really enjoy it, and that usually means taking his time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Experimentation is core to science, isn't it? So yes, he's game to try out new things. As for anything risky... Not really his thing. It's not like he's scared to take calculated risks, he just doesn't find them particularly sexy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We all know Senku isn't the most physically inclined guy. Unfortunately, this does affect his stamina in sexual situations, too. He can go for one round, and if you want more, he needs quite a bit of recovery time- though this is lessened if you go for a position where he doesn't need to exert himself as much, like cowgirl or other 'riding' type positions.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He kind of likes toys, though only uses them for his partner, not himself. He sees them as a tool mainly for foreplay- not the main event themselves. Of course, there's not many options for toys in the stone world... Though that may be a private little side project he works on occasionally.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only a little bit. He's not trying to deny your orgasm or anything, just, draw out the foreplay a little bit more than is strictly necessary. He just wants to get both of you properly worked up and if that requires a bit of teasing, so be it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's very quiet. To the point that if you're in the dark, you could think he's fallen asleep or something. But he knows most people like more noise from their partner, so he'll start to fill the silence with words, since he's just not the type to moan and groan a lot- see entry W.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is shockingly good at dirty talk. You're honestly not sure if it's natural talent or he's copying what he's seen online or what, but his talent at whispering just the perfect thing into your ear to get you going is unbelievable- and unbelievably hot.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick is about 5 and a half inches in length and also has a pretty average girth- nothing special in terms of sheer size, sure, but we all know it isn't the size of the wave, it's the motion of the ocean, right? ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Quite lower than average, honestly. He needs a bit of motivation to get him going, so you'll have to get used to being the one to initiate most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually dozes off after 10-20 min if he stays in bed- which he often does, because he gets pretty tired, especially after more intense rounds. He doesn't stay asleep for long, though, it's almost always more of a nap than anything.

[farfromstrange]

6 Totally Random Matt Murdock Headcanons that keep me up at night

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Just some Matty headcanons today!

Warnings: Mentions of Smut! 18+ MINORS DNI! (Not proofread)

A/n: I was planning on writing a fic, but then I found this in my drafts and thought I would finish it. Yes, I did write those at three in the morning every time I woke up. That's...that's not unhealthy at all or anything.

1. Volume

Matt is a very vocal person in bed. I'm not talking full-on screaming though.

While there are times he is quiet to hear your breathy moans and whines as he’s pounding into you and he hears you begging for “More, more, more…” as soon as he feels you around his cock, it’s game over for him. He loses that tiny bit of self-control. He grunts and groans, and sometimes, when he feels particularly in the mood, he whines and whimpers because you treat him so well.

Don't even get me started on when he goes down on you. He will moan just from the taste of you, and then some more when your hands tangle in his hair, causing the slightest amount of pain. He thrives off of it.

He wants to show you how good you make him feel, not just the other way around, and ever since he has noticed that you like it when he makes noise, he makes sure to moan every so often when you're fucking or making love or simply enjoying each other's bodies in all the ways possible. He trusts you enough to do it, to let himself go and surrender himself, and you reward him for being a good boy.

2. Eating...

We have established that Matt Murdock is the King Of Eating Pussy. The love for giving oral runs deep, not just in his desire to please and never take anything in return. Not just because he wants to make you feel good. It's literal torture on his sensitive senses when he doesn't get to drown between your legs at least once.

It's his form of worshipping you, of praying to you in a highly blasphemous context when he thinks about the things you have moaned, but he would do it time and time again. He loves it. The taste alone gets him high and then it's all he focuses on. It calms him.

I truly believe that hearing your heartbeat, the blood rushing in the veins of your thighs, and the taste of your arousal mixed with pheromones do something to him that lets out some sort of animal whenever he smells you. And then he just needs to have you or he will go crazy. It's the same with your natural scent.

Matt Murdock gets off on the mere taste of his partner’s arousal. He can taste it in the air. He makes sure to make you come on his tongue at least once when you’re getting intimate, and not just as foreplay. He does it before, during, and after, depending on his and your mood. He knows what buttons to press, how hard to suck on your clit and he knows how to slide his tongue inside of you and fuck you with it until you’re shaking. He will keep your thighs spread wide and hold you down, but let you wrap your legs around his head and clench around him because he loves the momentary loss of oxygen.

3. Consent.

He will only ever touch you when he knows that you want it. He won’t fuck you when you’re not in the right mental state because he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. He makes sure to ask and communicate and when your answers are not clear, he stops the scene. He can hear it in your heartbeat and he would never cross that line, not even when he is horny and full of adrenaline in the middle of the night.

He would ask you for permission to fuck you when you're asleep, maybe, so he won't have to wake you when he comes home late from patrol, but even then he needs vocal confirmation beforehand to know he won't cross a line. So every night when he leaves, he asks if you'd still be okay with it, and after learning that he would be anything but mad when you say no, you give him the most honest answer.

4. Cuddles

When he has a bad day, he wants nothing more than to be held by you. Either he is the little spoon or, and that happens the most often, he places his head in your chest as you entangle your limbs with his and hold him close, raking your nails through his hair.

He relaxes when you massage his scalp, but he also enjoys your touch on his tense shoulders, and that's when he likes to be pampered like a little princess. Pampering, in this case, is cuddles. He wants all the cuddles you can give him.

It's nights like these that he realizes how in love he is with you, and how safe he feels when he's in your arms. But God forbid anyone finds that out. He will not admit that he enjoys being pampered by you because that would make him seem vulnerable, and we all know our dear Matthew, don't we?

5. Concerts

This came to me randomly, but since he has sensitive hearing, it would be hard for him to go to concerts with you. However, he will make sure to follow along to the venue, drop you off, and then I'm certain he would find a rooftop somewhere further in the distance, put some earbuds in to protect his sensitive ears, and he would listen.

He would filter your voice out of the crowd and imagine himself dancing to the music with you. He loves how excited you get when your favorite artist is playing. He knows you're aware of what he's doing, and you make sure to whisper, "Thank you," under your breath.

Listening to you have fun at a concert would also broaden Matt's horizons when it comes to music, and you would catch him playing your Playlist at home while cooking one day, humming along.

One of these days, you will find a way to take him there with you, but until then, he makes sure you at least know he's listening while you're having the time of your life.

6. Neck-holding

This doesn't need an explanation, but I will give it to you anyway.

Matt loves holding your neck, sexually and non-sexually. He loves feeling your pulse, the way you respond to him, and he loves how much closer you get whenever he does it.

He'd be like, "Come here, sweetheart." And you would jump into his lap, cuddling into him, while he holds you with one arm around the rest of your body, the other wrapping gently around your neck.

And in bed, you guys probably know how it would go.

Do you guys want a Part 2? Maybe some angst?

[e-hibiscus]

Pairing: Rahu x reader

Warnings: NSFW, Transfem!Rahu, oral

Author’s Note: Rushed & not proof read| not uber happy with it, but i just wanted it out of my drafts

Minors DNI! | NSFW! under the cut

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Desperate. That would be one way to describe the expression etched onto Rahu’s face at this moment. Her unwavering loyalty and desire to heed your command have left her utterly helpless to your actions as she hasn’t been given the order to move– to even touch you. Each action you took was with deliberate care, riling up the sinner to the point where she’d like nothing more than to grab your hips, flip you over, and ravish your body in the only way she knows how. Well and deep, until her cock molds itself into the velvety walls of your pussy. However, now there’s little she could do.

It was taking every ounce of self-restraint to exhibit her self-control as your hands start wandering down, unblucking her belt while planting soft kisses along her neck, collarbone, and chest. You’ve long since removed the offending piece of clothing. Leaving her top exposed and sculpted body out for display for you to worship. For only you to touch.

You have yet to go further in freeing her erection. Her cock remains in the confines of her pants, straining against the material while shifting around in hopes to get some stimulation. She’s left desperate and needy in your hold.

Rahu hasn’t been able to see for the past half-hour. Her discarded tie acts as her make-shift blindfold, though not tight, remains fastened over her eyes. She could feel every little sensation as she was left seated at the edge of the bed with you sitting upon her lap.

Your hand presses down on the aching bulge in her pants. The breathy whine escaping Rahu’s lips is loud despite the muffling from her mask. The way her chest quickens with its rise and fall shows how hard she’s trying to hold back. Knuckles white, Rahu grips the sheets to maintain control. It doesn’t help that she can feel the dampness of your core staining her pants as you continuously ride her thigh instead of using her throbbing cock.

“Poor puppy, you’re getting so worked up.” Your words came out breathlessly beside her ear causing the woman beneath you to shudder. Your hand grips onto Rahu’s chin, tilting it to the side so your lips can meet the sensitive skin of her neck.

The way your lips feel on her skin was like fire. Rahu lets out a muffled groan as your teeth lightly nipped at her pulse point. Gods, how much willpower Rahu is using just to simply stay put. The mere seconds you were by her neck felt excruciatingly long, but Rahu could do nothing more but let out a shaky breath lest she loses control.

She wants nothing more than to rip off the blindfold so she could see your face. The pure bliss that crossed your face as your hips glide along the material on her thigh. Rahu could hear how your voice tapers higher as you’re just about to cum. The sinner can only imagine your face. How your eyes roll into the back of your skull as you cum with your hands clinging to her body.

Why did you have to cover her eyes? Rahu doesn’t understand. She was being good, wasn’t she?

Once you pull away, freeing her cock from the confines of her pants and boxers, you can see how hard she has become. How much of a mess Rahu is reduced to.

Your hand glides along her shaft, fingers ghosting over the tip before collecting the liquid there and pumping it along the entire length of Rahu’s cock. Your touch in general felt like fire, but in a good way. Warm enough for her to want to lean into your touch yet too much at the same time. This has her moaning shamefully, much to Rahu’s own embarrassment.

Pride blossoms in your chest seeing Rahu unravel in such a way. Gradually, you’re chipping away at her control. Seeing the usually in-control and level-headed Rahu get needy and desperate was something you don’t get to see often.

The fact she couldn’t touch you was driving her insane. At the very least, Rahu wants her lips on yours, but the mask stays on. Like a muzzle, it prevents her from reaching your supple lips or marking her claim on the soft skin of your body. She wants to be able to touch you– to have her lips on yours. Her desperate pleas for more contact manifested into another whine.

At this you slowly pull away, removing all physical contact from Rahu for a moment, leaving the poor woman confused by your actions. Her confusion was short-lived though as she felt your hot breath between her legs. Despite sitting down, her legs already felt weak in anticipation.

“You’re going to be good right, Rahu? Remember…” Your command was absolute, “No touching or we’ll have to start all over again m’kay?”

You stick your tongue out, offering nothing more than a few kitten licks to the tip of Rahu’s cock. Your hands wrapped around her shaft as you offer the bare minimum of stimulation for her. She’s breathing heavy, breath beginning to go ragged as you start taking her length in your mouth.

An hour of teasing had Rahu on edge. You’ve stopped every time the woman was about to be pushed over the edge. Rahu’s hands kept finding their way into your hair when you start deepthroating her cock. This time though, Rahu kept her hands to herself, the needy whine escaping her lips doesn’t go unnoticed as you suck her with fevor.

“Please, please, please, m’gonna cum… Don’t stop now.” Rahu’s body was trumbling from the sensation of your mouth wrapped around her cock for the nth time. You softly moan as Rahu’s grunting at each bob of your head. You can feel her cock twitch and throb in your throat until her orgasms washed over her.

Being deprived of her sight had her body shuttering from the sheer intensity of each wave of the euphoric feeling. Ropes of her cum came spurting down your throat. Her thick and warm cum filling up the cavern of your mouth has Rahu tense. Some of it dribbled out of your mouth as you pulled away, whipping your mouth clean as you watched Rahu’s body relax and slump slightly.

You gently pull down the tie covering her eyes. You’re pepperng her face with kisses as Rahu finally gets to see you. Your fingers brush away the pretty tears before pushing your lips against Rahu’s. Tasting herself on your tongue has her moaning. Pulling away, Rahu’s needy expression spoke for herself.

“C’mon puppy,” Your hand gently pushes the sinner so she’s laying down in the sheets, hair splayed out as you cage her underneath your smaller frame. “Let me ride you first, and then you can fuck me silly for the night. Does that sound good?”

All you needed was Rahu’s eager nod before she felt your pussy swallow her whole.

[inumkii]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ idiots to lovers - yuta okkotsu x reader

bullet point scenario

genre: fluff!! idiots to lovers (obviousllyyy)

wc: 1.3k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n: i figured it was better if i posted this instead of letting it sit in the dungeon (my collection of drafts that’ll never see the light of day)

okiee yuta timeee

i love annoying misconceptions and (falsely) heartbroken pining

the way i see it is that yuta strongly admires maki’s strength and resolve that, to you (who’s hopelessly pining after him), it can get mistaken as romantic ..

and it doesn't help that panda likes to be annoying about the two of them together ,,, it just all deflates your mood a little bit whenever you see them together 

and you know you have no right to be sulking about this,, maki and yuta are your friends.. it shouldn't matter if they did like each other,, it's not something you could control

but you just desperately wish that yuta could look at you with the same level of admiration that he has when he talks to maki about sparring or whatever it may be

hell, he could barely look you in the eyes

it makes you a little sad seeing everyone’s friendship with yuta develope rapidly throughout his time at jujutsu tech,, but when it comes to conversing with you, things still feel a little different 

its not like you two are merely acquaintances! you wouldn't hesitate to call okkutsu yuta a friend of yours,, but it's a simple relationship. not much complexity beyond your conversations during missions or gojo’s lessons

unfortunately for the both of you, you’re unaware of yuta’s affection for you

the reason why he doesn’t look at you with the admiration you wish for is because he can’t even look you in the eyes without getting too flustered ….

poor boy

he’s definitely gained a lot more confidence after joining jujutsu high, but it's still not enough to muster up enough courage to ask you to lunch or even have an in depth conversation without him getting too red in the face

he doesn’t know why you have this affect on him,, his previous relationship had been so easy- then again the carelessness of childhood was not a luxury he has anymore. though it was simpler, he knew he didn't have the mental capacity at such a young age to be overthinking shit like he does now

to add on, your friendship with toge has him struck with the familiar worries that you experience with maki

catching a glimpse of the spectators during his spar from the field, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed when he sees you seated a little too close to inumaki up on the bleachers. 

“how long have yn and toge been friends?” he questions maki in the midst of their spar as he blocks her oncoming attack

“oh those two? just as long as we all joined jujustu high” maki switches to the defensive as yuta charges forward. yuta moves to strike her but maki smirks, “though i think they oughta start dating sooner later”

her words cause yuta to freeze for a split second and she shoves him to the ground, effectively placing herself on top of him. she holds her staff to his neck, signaling her win. one point for maki

she laughs in victory before lowering her voice back to her previous volume.

“i was kidding, by the way. there’s definitely no feelings between them” she helps the defeated (and visibly embarrassed) boy off his feet, “clearly there are for the two of you, however”

she struts back toward you, panda, and toge to retrieve her water, leaving yuta a flustered mess on the ground

and in that whole instance, you hadn’t heard any of that conversation 

you had been leaned up against toge murmuring your complaints so panda, mediating the fight ahead, couldn't hear you

“they look good together” you say in self sabotaging pity

toge only shakes his head and disagrees

“okaka”

you’re sure he’s just doing this to make you feel better about yourself

“shes so pretty,, how couldnt he like her” you wail pathetically. toge is so fed up with this but its not he can just tell the other side how you felt (he would never rat you out like that though),, but hes certain yuta likes you back and that you're over analyzing him too much

he places a hand on your shoulder and waits for you to look up at him

the expression on his face tells you clearly, ‘you need to stop’

you sigh. toges right, he always is- but it still doesn’t do anything to quell your fears

and low and behold! your thoughts are interrupted by maki’s victory laugh. she was on top of him, rendering him unable to move

god you wished that was you………

you bury your head in your hands in utter frustration and groan. this is the worst feeling- you know you’re being stupid but jealousy is a disease and you’re dying over here!!

yuta swaps out with panda, who was waiting eagerly to fight the victor 

he joins you guys up on the bleachers, seating himself beside toge. he quickly notices your distressed figure

“is,, everything alrigjt?” he asks tentatively 

to his dismay, toge answers for you with a hum. this causes yuta to be a little peeved when it's him answering in your place- he tries to ignore it

you and inumaki seem way closer than you would ever be with him,,

but to yuta’s delight and your demise, toge stands up from between you (he doesn’t think he can stand to be sandwiched between the pining idiots anymore)

your blonde friend lets out a noise, motions to the line of water bottles at the bottom of the bleachers, and promptly leaves

yuta takes this opportunity to scoot himself closer to you, who’s still slumped over + wallowing away

“what were you two talking about?” he asks, trying to gauge why you’re sulking

you have to choose your words carefully. you couldn't just tell him you’re upset over something trivial like his spar with maki

“i’ve just been frustrated” you mumble vaguely

“frustrated?” he inches closer to you, trying to mimic toge’s proximity from before. he questions you with the utmost sincerity

“yeah. sorry i dont really know how to elaborate” you lift your head, deciding to stop staring holes into your shoes. you’re trying so hard to make this conversation not awkward- but your short answers don’t help your case at all.

“its alright, you dont have to talk about it if you dont want to” 

if there's one thing you love about okkotsu yuta, it was how sweet he is

for the first time in the last hour or however long you had all been out on the field, you let out a genuine smile

“thank you yuta, i appreciate you” 

his ears turn pink within a split second but nevertheless, he reciprocates your smile

the problem with conversing with you is that most of your conversations were too short

he could get so lost in your smile at times he finds himself silent, forgetting to carry on whatever you were talking to him about

this time he manages to snap himself out of it

“did you wanna hang out after practice? i mean- if you’d rather be alone right now that's fine to!” he knows he left the option to decline open but he hopes you didn't take him up on the latter,,

“that sounds nice.” you’re biting back a stupidly large grin 

neither of you notice that maki and pandas fight had already concluded or that inumaki had been gone a suspiciously large amount of time to just grab a drink of water 

makis smiling at the two of you up in your own world while toge almost sighs in exhaustion, 

“sujiko” 

(finally)

being around the two of you was quite a taxing event for them both

panda, on the other hand, is finally catching on- eyes shifting back and forth between you and yuta and his friends at the bottom of the bleachers in disbelief

it was an unspoken understanding between toge and maki that they should avoid panda becoming aware of the sprouting couple to avoid some- awkward comments, though he meant well

well, there’s no hiding it anymore with the two of you hopelessly blushing at each other + toge and maki’s shared smirks

before panda could say anything to disrupt the moment, his two friends were already dragging him off the field to avoid him opening his big mouth

“they wont notice we’ve left” maki says with a chuckle

“salmon”

[savannahsdeath]

hiii I love your work! could you pretty please do some toxic ellie? :)

TOXIC!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

summary: a miserable attempt to leave your toxic girlfriend

warnings: preferably 18+, just lots of toxic shit, manipulating, reader is crying

writers note: probably the only toxic post you'll see on my profile. honestly, i dont even know why i wrote this and im posting it just for the anon. i dont support any toxic behavior, cuz even a simple fanfic can bring some harm. dont read it if youre sensitive to such topics and if you decide to read it, dont romanticize it and dont blame me for any bad feelings you felt while reading - youre responsible for your own media consumption, im not forcing anyone to read. as i said, i just post it for the anon and also because i dont want it to just sit in my drafts (i dont have the guts to delete it). ugh its kinda long but i just want to make sure everyones safe, please take care🩷

you were sitting in your bed with your head buried between your knees for half an hour now, ignoring the buzzing of your phone. you caught her with another girl. you should cry and feel miserable, and all you could think of was; 'finally! finally a reason to leave her!!'. all you could feel was happiness.

but leaving her wasn't easy. you tried a few times before.

'maybe it'll be different this time', you hoped. but the way you kept receiving notifications from her said otherwise. 'maybe if i ignore her for a few more minutes, she'll let me go.'

you tried to put your phone down, but your hands won't let you. your thumbs kept reaching for the screen in a desperate, involuntary action. you were powerless to stop it. you knew you shouldn't respond. you know you should walk away, but you couldn't. every time she messaged you, your heart beated faster and your breathing quickened. you knew this isn't the best thing for you, but a part of you was still clinging to hope.

'enough, stop it.' you ordered to yourself.

you picked up your phone, deciding to call your friend. she'll make you remember all the cruel things ellie did and leaving her will be easier.

your hands were shaking and you were truly scared of what's going to happen. you hestitated for too long before clicking on your friend's profile and.. lost your chance.

ellie was calling you. she wasn't giving up and she was probably pissed off by now.

you sighed and whispered; 'sorry' to your future self, before answering the call.

"why aren't you answering to my texts, huh?" she asked in an accusatory tone, as if you were the one who did something wrong.

your breath hitched as you heard her voice. there's no going back now. "i'm sorry, ellie, it's over." you mumbled and shook your head in disbelief. 'i'm sorry'?? for what? where was your confidence?

she took it from you, just like she's going to take anything she wants.

"i'll pick you up in a few minutes." she announced and you felt tears starting to well up in your eyes.

great. so she's on her way here.

you took a deep breath to stop your voice from quivering. "i'm not going anywhere- not with you."

ellie laughed, thinking it's all a joke. "you're funny, honey. you know you come crawling back to me everytime." she replies calmly. "so get ready. i'm coming to pick you up, and then we can talk about this. like grown-ups."

ellie was good at controlling you. she'll say she's coming to pick you up, and you'll be waiting on your porch when she arrives. she had a firm grip on you and she knew it.

not this time.

"like grown-ups?" you nervously laughed. "you cheated on me. again."

ellie didn't get angry. she wasn't even surprised.

"don't overreact, babe." she replied in an irritated tone. "it's not like it was anything serious. it's just some random girl. i'm still with you. you should know that."

you were stunned by her cavalier attitude. she really thought it's no big deal.

"leave me alone." if there was even a little bit of toughness in your voice before, it all left. now, you were just simply begging her to stop. "please."

ellie's confidence and her nonchalant attitude was getting to you. you felt angry, but at the same time, you were starting to doubt yourself.

you wanted to hang up, but you couldn't. you just waited for her reaction, praying this'll be the end. but you knew everything depended on what ellie wants, and for her, only her own good mattered.

ellie chuckled. "oh, sweetheart. you think you can just break up with me over the phone? we're not even having a fight here. come on, be reasonable. let's just talk this through. i'll be there soon."

you proudly raised your chin, even though she couldn't see that. the tears ruined your confident facade anyway. "i locked the door."

she stayed silent for a moment, not expecting that from you. but she always had a plan b, and you realised that as soon as you heard her laugh. "i'll check that myself."

you heard her car arrive outside your house, and an instant wave of regret washed over you.

she knocked on the front door. "i'm here, love. open up." her voice was gentle, with an apologetic tone.

you knew it was all a ploy to get you to open the door. you knew this was just another manipulative tactic she was using, but it was starting to work.

"come on, be a smart girl." she continued in a sweet voice. "or we'll do this the hard way."

you cursed yourself for how weak you felt, even though it wasn't your fault.

"ellie, please..." you begged, with as much authority as you could muster, but your pleads still sounded weak.

"what's that, babe? are you crying?" she responded in a mocking tone.

you felt powerless to resist her. your stomach twisted in knots, but your fingers reached for the knob. your other hand quickly wiped away your tears, though there were some visible smudges left. you stared at the doorknob in your hand, fighting every instinct in your body to open it and let her in. but you knew she'll get her way, sooner or later. you just wanted to get this over with.

with a shaking hand, you opened the door. you saw that ellie was holding a set of keys - there was definitely one to your house too. she could just unlock the door, but she wanted to check if you'll listen to her. you didn't even want to think about what would happen if you didn't give up.

she walked inside like she owned the place, and she didn't even look at you. she knew she's got you wrapped around her finger.

"good girl." she said, with the same mocking tone.

ellie's eyes darted around the room, and she walked over to take a closer look at a framed photo of the two of you on your shelf. she smirked, letting out a sarcastic 'hmph, so cute'.

you stood there, defeated, as she walked past you and paced around your home. she made herself comfortable, as if she belongs there. you tried to keep a brave face, but she could see right through it.

she sat down and turned to you. "tell me, why we ended up here?" she asked, her voice was cold and unforgiving, but it also sounded curious. "why are you trying to leave me? aren't you happy?"

you felt your lips tremble, as you parted them to speak. "you know damn well what you did."

she stood up and walked up to you, standing right in your face and leaning a little to match your eye level. "fucked another girl? huh? is that it?" she stroked your cheek with the back of her fingers, mocking your pout.

you flinched away from her touch, but she grabbed your face with both hands and pulled you towards her.

"i just had some fun." she said calmly. "besides, you can't blame me for wanting something different. just trying to make up for what you lack." she caressed your face, tracing your lips. it was almost gentle, as if she wasn't even trying to hurt you. but her words cut deep. "now, stop acting like a baby." she let go of your face. "i'm trying to have a mature conversation with you."

the obedient, scared side of you wiped your tears away and straightened up without thinking, but everytime you closed your eyes - everytime you blinked - another wave of salty liquid streamed down your cheeks.

you sniffled and tried to keep it together, but your body was shaking and feeling dizzy. still, you stood your ground.

"please, ellie... i can't do this anymore." you begged in a shaky voice.

"sh, shhh..." ellie wrapped her hands around you, rubbing your hair in a soothing motion. "don't say dumb things. i already know you can't live without me. you know that too." she grabbed you by the shoulders and forced you to look at her for a second. "don't you?"

her embrace felt somehow comforting, not matching the poisoning effect of her words. you clinged onto her, hoping to get as much from this rare moment as possible.

but you knew, deep down, that this is just another manipulation tactic. you shouldn't fall for her games.

"there, there." she whispered to you. she held you even tighter, as if she was trying to absorb every ounce of energy you had left.

she pulled back and looked you straight in the eyes. "do you see what happens when you try to leave me, babe?"

"i am leaving you." you said with as much conviction as you could muster. "i'm serious this time."

but ellie just smiled, treating your words like a joke. "that's funny, honey. this is just another one of your little tantrums. you're just upset because you haven't gotten enough attention these days. but you don't want to lose me." she ran her hands along your cheeks and caressed your hair. "you'll come back to me. you'll come crawling back, just like always. because you can't live without me."

you instantly buried your face in her chest, as she started stroking your back.

she sighed. "are you finished?"

you felt ashamed. you failed, once again. you let her win.

you lifted your head up so you could see her expression. her smile was even more mocking and cruel now that you've given in to her.

"that's more like it, babe." she said with that same condescending tone. she pulled you in for another hug, as if nothing happened. "now, let's forget all about today, okay?" she whispered in your ear. "my pretty girl."

[jasminewalkerauthor]

So you've wrote a book, what's next?

So I recently started uni and naturally immediately joined my universities writing and book societies, last week I was sat editing my book when a couple of people approached me. Apparently through some light instagram stalking they had found out I published books and was wondering how on earth do you even do it.

Upon being on tumblr this week it turns out that this is a question that a lot of people are interested in, this being probably my most requested post ever?

ANYWAY. You've wrote a book, either you're two drafts in or fifty drafts in it doesn't entirely matter. I am going to give you the bad news that the work has only just begun.

The first choice you really need to make is whether or not you want to pursue traditional publishing or self/indie publishing. I believe the common misconception of the difference between the two is that one is 'Easier' than the other. Both are hard, just in different ways.

Traditional publishing is hard to break into, you need to convince enough of people that your book is worth selling which can be incredibly difficult and results in a lot of heartbreaking emails. However once you have that publishing deal you have those people in your corner to help with editing, cover design, and distribution among other things.

Self publishing, much like the name suggests, means that you have to do everything yourself, edit (or source an editor), design (or source a designer), marketing, the works. However the plus side of self publishing which I like is that you have a lot more creative control and freedom.

Now to be fully transparent, I am an indie author, naturally I am going to know a lot more about a process I have actually gone through rather than one I havent. However I do believe I can provide at least a rough guideline of the process so that people can get an idea of what going into it.

So starting with traditional publishing, assuming that you have a full draft that you've at least done some self editing on, your first step is finding an agent. You'll need a couple of things for this. First is make a document of the first 30 pages of your manuscript (a 'sample' if you will), and a query letter which is almost like a cover letter for your book, this is what potential agents will look at to judge whether they want to represent your manuscript.

I dont think I need to say it but your query letter is VITAL, please take time with it, some agents may not even look at your sample if your query letter is bad.

Now, searching for agents is relatively easy, there are a lot of databases online that will give you a list of agents and whether or not they are accepting submissions. Most agents will also have a kind of 'wishlist' of manuscripts they're looking to represent (e.g. sci-fi, philosophy, high fantasy), look for agents with a wishlist that includes your kind of book.

Once you have an agent they will be able to go to different publishing houses with your manuscript, hopefully leading to a book deal at some point. From there the publishers will help with editing, design, and distribution.

With self publishing the process is a bit more complicated. First is the editing process. Either you can edit your own manuscript if you feel up to it or you can source an editor. There are three different editors you can hire: Developmental editor, Line editor, and Proof reader. Almost every editor charges per word of your manuscript.

I would also recommend looking for Beta readers, these are readers who will read through an early copy of your manuscript for feedback (These are NOT editors, more reviewers). There are also ARC readers who you send an early copy to about 2-3 months before release to build interest in your book.

When it comes to the actual publishing itself, there are two main publishing platforms: kdp and ingram spark. Both of these are three besides the fact that you will need to buy an ISPN for your book to use ingram spark.

I think i'll leave it there because this is LONG, but i may turn this into a series, what do y'all want to know about?

[cinnamonest]

Uwahhh ty anon <3 I had two other requests for more Xingqiu content as well so please appreciate this thought blurb I've had drafted for a while

Something I've been thinking a lot about is that not only is Xingqiu so incredibly petty and picky and controlling, but it's made so much worse by the fact that he lacks self-awareness of it.

Like, he's always been told by adults that he's oh-so-mature for his age, and he's internalized that, made it part of his internal self-image. Not to mention, becoming a successful author isn't something most teens his age have accomplished either — he feels very “adult,” like he's smarter, more conscientious, more considerate than his peers, and better than them for it too.

And it’s true that most of the time, he usually is all of those things, but this makes him entirely unaware of the ways in which he is, in fact, very much immature.

He's picky. He likes to have things the way he wants them. Part of why he fails to realize how picky he is, is due to the fact that all his life, he's usually had anything he wants handed to him, and anything he finds issue with resolved, and it all comes so easily that he's never considered that perhaps it doesn't go that way for normal people, and that perhaps he wouldn't be quite so agreeable if he was ever told “no,” that his agreeableness and easygoing nature is really just due to the fact that he's never faced with anything to be disagreeable about, a near-total lack of resistance to his will. Even outside his family home, usually waving around money or speaking his father's name is enough to get him what he wants.

And being raised in an environment where he's only ever known a marriage dynamic where one specific partner is completely submissive to the will of the other, he's not even prepared to conceive of anything short of it. After all, his parents arranged the marriage to begin with, surely they would pick someone just as agreeable as his mother.

He likes to pick what you wear each day. When the servants ask what you'd like to eat that day, he answers for you. When people ask questions about you, he answers for you too (although to be fair, in those social circles, they usually direct questions at him anyway, as if you're some animal that can't answer yourself).

He always tells you what you'll be doing, where you'll be going for the day, never asking for your preference — it quite literally simply does not even occur to him that you might have one.

It's not malicious, and he's got that usual cheerful and easygoing demeanor about it all, but it's a clear total disregard for your personhood nonetheless, even if not intentional or conscious.

But you can tell there’s a certain degree of stubbornness in him. It comes out the moment there’s any resistance to his will, when there’s a moment where something can’t go exactly as he wants. It’s never directed at you, at first, since you have done everything in your power to comply, but you notice it coming out towards others — that time one of the family servants had to inform him they didn’t have something he asked for because a shipment was delayed, or when they tried to stop the two of you from leaving because his father needed to speak with him first, so on and so on. The sudden change in expression, tone, body language. Crossed arms and heavy irritated sighs, frustration in his voice — deliberate, a tone he knows will only make the poor family servants that much more apologetic. Maybe he likes feeling that power over them, you think.

The first time he hears no from you, though?

He doesn't even really know how to process it. Just a blank stare of stupor, a few blinks, the usual gentle smile hasn't even faded from his face.

…Huh? Come on, get up, like I said, we're leaving…

He reaches down to grab your arm — and you pull back. You swat his hand away. You cross your arms and clench your jaw and say that word again — no.

And there's a long, long pause.

…What?

You feel his hand wrap around your arm, this time too quick to pull back. He says it again, a tone that's merely confused, not angry, still in a state that's struggling to comprehend your resistance.

What are you doing? I said—

And you interrupt him.

You jerk out of his grasp. You scowl and tell him he can leave, that you're staying home, that you're mad and need time alone. You turn on your heel and start to walk away.

Once again, you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

Only this time, it's harsh.

And this time, it jerks you backward with a force that slings you down onto the ground.

There's a few seconds of silence. You hear his heavy breaths from the exertion of the movement.

You don't get to say something like that.

His words are still not angry, per se. Not harsh, more disbelief, almost intonated like a question.

Likewise, his expression and tone aren't ominously dark like some might be. It's more of a scoff, stubborn and still somewhat baffled. More petulance, rather than outrage.

And there's that same shift in expression and posture — the crossed arms, brows furrowed in disdain.

Really, what's gotten into you?

It's said more quietly, almost like a hissing sort of voice, grumbly, bitter. You're still in too much of a daze from the fall to react beyond a surprised grunt when you're pulled back up onto your feet, a few quick swipes of his hands dusting your off and smoothing our your clothes, only for him to notice a newly-formed tear in the fabric from the harsh movement. You get another exasperated sigh.

Now we'll have to have someone fix that…

This time, you're drug forward with force, a firm grasp on your wrist, a subtle threat that this time you ought not pull back.

And this time, as your feet stumbled forward in compliance, your obedience is clearly a source of satisfaction, based on the shift in his expression, the soft hum of contentment. Now that you, like everyone else, have bent to his will, as everything does with enough pushing.

It's good that whatever came over you was over so quickly. That was very unlike you.

Still, of course, he's going to be a bit cold and petty about it for a day or so, and you just know you'll get yet another overbearing mother-in-law lecture when he inevitably goes whining to her about your behaviors like he always does, always getting her to try and teach you how to behave properly, rectify any perceived flaw he finds with you, like a child begging Mom to repair a malfunctioning toy.

Can't have you thinking you could ever do something like that again. You really need to be more mature, he tells you. You can't always have things go the way you want in life.

[novaursa]

The Golden Court (voyage of life)

- Summary: You were taken from the royal court by your father when you were a child. Now you return as a woman grown from exile. A woman that ignites fires in her wake.

- Pairing: Jason Lannister/trag!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Adult themes will progress more and more as chapters go on. This fic is pure filth and I make no apologies for it. You have been warned.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the pyre

- Next part: free cities

- Tag(s): @idenyimimdenial @scarletdfox @princesstiti14

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quieter now, the revelry of the Great Hall fading behind you, leaving only the distant hum of celebration in its wake. The halls were bathed in the dim glow of torchlight, the golden lion banners fluttering lightly as an evening draft swept through the fortress.

Jason walked at your side, his hand firm on your waist, his thumb idly stroking against your hip through the fine silk of your gown, while Tyland moved slightly ahead, ever composed, ever the one to ensure their path was clear.

The weight of the night still lingered, though Jason’s smirk had not yet faded.

“Do you think they understand yet?” he murmured, his voice carrying that same rich amusement he always bore when he was particularly pleased with himself.

Tyland did not glance back as he replied. “The lords of the Westerlands? Of course not. They’re still reeling from the lions in the cages, let alone the fact that you paraded a dragon princess through their halls.”

Jason chuckled, unbothered. “Then let them reel. Let them whisper. Let them weep to the gods that abandoned them. It changes nothing.”

You let out a soft huff of amusement, tilting your head slightly. “The Faith will not stay quiet.”

Tyland, ever the pragmatist, nodded. “They will plot. But they won’t act—at least, not yet. Not while the memory of today’s spectacle still lingers, not while Daemon remains so very present.” He paused before adding, “They’ll wait until the tides turn. And they always do.”

Jason’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his green eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Then we make sure the tides never turn against us.”

Tyland turned to his twin. “You think ruling is that simple?”

Jason grinned, wicked and self-assured. “I think it is whatever we make it. The realm will call this unnatural, a curse, an insult to the gods—but they will bend. They always do.”

Tyland did not argue, because Jason was right.

As the doors to your shared chambers opened before you, the warmth of the room enveloped you all—the glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished stone, the great bed draped in crimson and furs, the scent of spiced wine and smoldering embers curling in the air.

Jason was the first to move, his hands already reaching for the clasps of his tunic, the rich fabric falling away with practiced ease. He turned toward you, his eyes taking in the way your silk gown still clung to you, how the candlelight flickered against the pale expanse of your skin. “Come, my love. I believe we’ve worn these fine clothes long enough.”

Tyland, more controlled but no less certain, stepped closer, his fingers catching the delicate fastenings at your back, undoing them with slow, measured precision.

Jason, already bare from the waist up, smirked as he watched. “Careful, brother. Take too long, and I might think you’re hesitating.”

Tyland merely arched a brow, his fingers never faltering. “Unlike you, as always, I enjoy patience.”

Jason laughed.

You exhaled as the fabric slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving only the warmth of their gazes against your skin.

Jason stepped forward, his hands brushing over your waist, up along your ribs, his touch both familiar and possessive. “I do love watching you like this, you know. Stripped of gold, stripped of the weight of the realm—just you. Just us.”

Tyland, now rid of his own formal attire, let his fingers trail down your arm, his green eyes flickering between you and Jason, quiet but filled with intent. “The realm will never see us like this.”

Jason hummed, dragging his lips along your collarbone. “That is their loss.”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, your hands brushing over the planes of Jason’s chest before turning toward Tyland, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “And what shall we do with this stolen moment, before the world claws at our door again?”

Jason grinned, pulling you flush against him, his lips hovering just over yours. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

The chamber was heavy with warmth, the flickering flame reflecting off the gilded adornments that framed the vast, canopied bed. The silken sheets, dyed a deep Lannister crimson, pooled beneath you, the luxurious furs brushing against your skin, trapping the lingering heat of the night’s feast.

Jason, always the first to indulge, had already begun his worship, his broad hands mapping your body with a familiar, possessive reverence, his mouth trailing the slow, deliberate path of a man who had waited long enough. His breath was hot against your skin, his movements fluid, languid, teasing—not to prolong, but to revel in the anticipation.

His hair, still slightly tousled from the evening’s festivities, tickled against your throat as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your collarbone, his fingers pressing against the dips and curves of your waist, mapping them with memorized certainty.

“You’re always so eager for us, little dragon,” Jason murmured against your skin, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he settled himself over you, his weight a familiar anchor, his green eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.

Tyland, always the quieter presence, lingered at your side, his touch featherlight in contrast to Jason’s bolder claim. His eyes, so alike Jason’s but always more calculating, more measured, flickered down toward where Jason moved against you. He watched—not as a bystander, but as a man who knew he would follow soon enough.

And yet—there was something more beneath his gaze tonight. Something only you could recognize.

His fingers, skimming over your arm, felt more attentive, his touch careful, his presence deliberate.

A silent caution. A message, given without words.

Jason, of course, was too caught in his indulgence to notice the unspoken exchange between you and his twin.

But you felt it.

The quiet way Tyland’s hand settled against your thigh, grounding you just slightly, a subtle but unmistakable restraint, as if ensuring Jason’s usual fervor did not grow into something unchecked. The pressure of his palm, the slight shift in his grip, was not controlling—only mindful.

You met his gaze then, and the corner of Tyland’s lips twitched, just slightly.

A shared secret.

A question between you, left unspoken: How long before Jason realizes?

Would it be one moon? Or longer?

Jason, oblivious to the silent conversation unfolding above him, only smirked against your skin, dragging his lips lower as he drank in every sound you made beneath him.

“I do love the way you tremble for me, sweet one,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Tell me, is it me you need, or my brother? Or shall we decide for you?”

Tyland, ever composed, merely sighed, his fingers brushing back a strand of your hair as he leaned closer, his breath fanning against your temple. “She’s already made her choice tonight, Jason. Do try not to ruin it.”

Jason laughed, the sound low, rich, and utterly self-assured. “Ruin it? No, no, my dear brother. I intend to make it unforgettable.”

And he did.

His rhythm was as it always was—on the cusp between pleasure and pain, his usual hunger unchecked as he pulled every ounce of reaction from you, as he claimed, as he reminded. The pressure of his body, the heat of him, the way his hands gripped and possessed—all of it was familiar, all-consuming, a reminder of what he was to you.

What you were to him.

Tyland, who had waited patiently, who had watched with that same calculating gaze, finally stirred when Jason’s pace grew near its peak, when the inevitable release began to unwind.

His hand pressed against Jason’s shoulder, a silent command that few could ever issue to him. “Move.”

Jason, still lost in the haze of his pleasure, huffed out a breath, his smirk faltering as he finally stilled, rolling onto his side with an exasperated sigh. “You are so bloody commanding, Tyland.”

Tyland merely arched a brow, his green eyes flickering toward you. “And you are too indulgent. She is still ours, Jason. Let me remind her.”

Jason laughed, breathless and sated, watching as his twin took his place.

Tyland’s hands were more precise, more deliberate, but his control was the most telling difference.

Because unlike Jason—Tyland was careful.

You felt it in the way his grip never grew too tight, in the way his rhythm remained measured, in the way his touch never left bruises.

He tempered you. He protected you.

Even now, when Jason watched with amusement, his gaze flickering between the two of you, completely unaware of what Tyland truly ensured.

And you met Tyland’s gaze again, your fingers curling against his shoulder as he moved against you, as he kissed you, as he held you like something more precious than a conquest.

And in that moment, the secret between you both was sealed.

Jason, still sprawled on his side, watching the two of you with lazy satisfaction, let out a deep chuckle, oblivious. “You know, little dragon, I do believe you prefer my brother’s patience more than you let on.”

Tyland, lips ghosting over your throat, chuckled softly, but said nothing.

You simply smirked. Because one moon would pass. Maybe two. And then Jason would finally realize the truth.

The great halls of Casterly Rock were in an uproar of movement and preparation, the sheer weight of Jason’s demands sending the castle into a frenzy that had not been seen in decades. Servants scrambled through the corridors, arms burdened with trunks of fine silks, chests of Lannister gold, and an endless stream of provisions for a journey across the sea. The courtyards bustled with activity, banners unfurling in the salt-kissed wind as wagons were loaded with supplies to be transported to Lannisport, where their fleet waited.

And at the heart of the storm, standing atop the high balcony that overlooked the madness below, was Jason Lannister, draped in the sheer confidence of a man who was both the cause of chaos and its master.

You stood beside him, a vision of silver and fire against his crimson and gold, watching as he barked orders down to the servants with an air of indulgence, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Jason’s grip on your waist was firm, possessive, his thumb idly stroking against your hip as though he were far more invested in the feel of you beneath his hands than the actual preparations unfolding beneath him.

A frazzled-looking steward, his forehead glistening with sweat, wrung his hands as he looked up at his lord with barely concealed distress.

“My Lord,” the man stammered, bowing deeply, “we have packed the finest Dornish wines as per your request, but the ship’s capacity—”

Jason waved a hand lazily, entirely uninterested. “Yes, yes, more than enough room. And my personal collection of Arbor reds?”

The steward nodded hastily. “Already secured in the ship’s hold, my Lord. Along with—”

“Good, good. And the furs? The ones I personally selected?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Jason smirked, turning his attention back to you, his hand trailing along your back with a languid, almost idle pleasure as he surveyed your expression. “See, my love? Everything is as it should be. We shall not suffer even a moment’s discomfort.”

You arched a brow, watching as another pair of servants struggled beneath the weight of a chest that no doubt contained more of Jason’s ‘essentials.’ “Tell me, my lion, are we traveling to Essos or laying siege to it?”

Jason laughed, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “A siege is a tempting idea, but alas, I am feeling generous. I only intend to conquer a bed, not a city.”

His grin widened, his hands roving lower, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against the side of your throat.

The steward, still standing there, looked anywhere but at the scene unfolding before him.

You exhaled, amusement flickering in your gaze as you tilted your head slightly, letting Jason indulge in his usual public displays.

The steward, growing red-faced, cleared his throat. “There is also the matter of security, my Lord. With your absence from the Rock, some of the bannermen are unsettled. They—”

Jason groaned, pulling back just enough to roll his eyes. “Tyland will deal with that. That is why I have him. I refuse to be burdened with such dull matters while we prepare for something far more enjoyable.”

You chuckled. “And what of Tyland? Where is he now?”

Jason let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his thumb against your lower back. “Drowning in paperwork, no doubt. I gave him full control over the more mind-numbing aspects of our journey—permits, chartering the ships, ensuring we have the necessary documentation to avoid Essosi tariffs. All quite dreadful.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “And you do not think he resents you for it?”

Jason grinned, unapologetic. “Of course he does. But that is what makes us a perfect pair—he does what I refuse to do, and I make sure he never forgets how much he enjoys it.”

A shout from below momentarily stole Jason’s attention.

The servants, having struggled beneath their burden, had finally lost their grip on one of the chests—its heavy lid bursting open upon impact, revealing an obscene collection of silken robes, perfumes, and gold-threaded garments spilling onto the stone.

Jason let out a mock gasp. “My robes! My beloved finery!”

The servants frantically scrambled to gather the items, their panic evident.

Jason sighed, shaking his head as if they had personally offended him. “I do believe we must bring along additional help. If they cannot even carry a chest without collapsing, how will they handle the pressures of the open sea?”

The steward, still desperately trying to maintain order, bowed quickly. “I will see to it, my Lord. At once.”

Jason nodded approvingly, though he was already more focused on you than anything else.

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your waist, his lips finding the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, my love, are you looking forward to this voyage as much as I am? To the nights at sea, the taste of wine on our lips, the rocking of the ship beneath us?”

You hummed, turning slightly to face him fully. “I imagine I will enjoy it more than the poor servants you’ve condemned to carry your excesses.”

Jason laughed, deep and unrepentant. “Oh, my dear, they should be honored. They serve a union that will be remembered in legend.”

Tyland, having finally returned from his administrative duties, entered just in time to hear Jason’s last remark.

His brow arched as he took in the scene—servants in disarray, Jason draped over you in his usual possessive manner, and you looking entirely too amused. “I take it everything is going according to plan?”

Jason grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. “Better than that, brother. We are on the precipice of something marvelous.”

Tyland sighed, exasperated but unsurprised. “Then I assume all that is left is for me to ensure we actually depart without the Rock collapsing in our absence.”

Jason smirked. “See, my love? This is why I keep him.”

Tyland shook his head but said nothing.

You simply smiled, watching as the final chaos unfolded before you, knowing that soon, Casterly Rock would be behind you, and a new adventure awaited.

The salt-heavy winds of Lannisport curled through the air, tugging at the banners that lined the docks, the lions of House Lannister rippling like fire against the sky. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting amber hues across the sea, turning the rolling waves into a shimmering field of gold and copper. The ships that had been prepared for the voyage stood tall, their sails taut against the rising breeze, the sigils of House Lannister and House Targaryen displayed side by side upon the mast.

The port was a frenzy of movement, with sailors securing the last of the cargo, ropes being pulled taut, and servants hurrying back and forth with final provisions. The hum of anticipation vibrated through the crowd, nobles and commonfolk alike having gathered to witness the departure of the newly wed rulers.

But above them all, above the clamor of the city, there was a shadow that never ceased moving.

Haelle.

Your dragon soared in wide, agitated circles above the docks, her massive form cutting against the sky like a blade of shadow and gold. The great beast did not like ships, did not like the sea, did not like anything that smelled of water and salt. She would fly ahead, of course, to claim her own space, but her agitation was evident.

Jason, standing beside you, smirked up at her with amusement. “I must say, she looks positively murderous.”

Tyland, ever more composed, focused his gaze, flickering between you and your dragon with something more akin to patience than anything else. “I suspect she’ll make peace with it once we’re far enough from land.”

Jason laughed, adjusting the cuffs of his fine tunic. “Unlike the rest of us, you mean? Because I, dear brother, have no intention of making peace with being surrounded by endless water.”

You sighed, your silver hair catching in the wind as you turned away from them, your gaze settling upon the one figure who had remained motionless amidst all the movement.

Daemon.

Your father stood near the edge of the docks, his dark cloak whipping behind him, his hands clasped behind his back, his dark violet gaze trained on the ship that would soon carry you away. He had said little since arriving, though that was hardly unusual.

But this was different. Even without words, you knew what this moment meant.

Your steps were slow, deliberate, as you closed the distance between you, coming to stand before him, the sea rolling gently behind him, the wind catching in his silver hair.

For a moment, Daemon said nothing.

Then, finally—he exhaled.

His sharp eyes, so much like your own, flickered down to meet your gaze. “Are you ready?”

The question was not a simple one. It was not about the voyage. Not truly. It was about everything.

The choice. The union. The path you had chosen, the chaos it had birthed, the enemies it had stirred from their long-dormant slumber.

And yet—your answer was clear.

You lifted your chin, your voice steady. “Of course.”

Daemon huffed a quiet breath, something between amusement and resignation. His hands, scarred from years of war, years of wielding Dark Sister, years of ruling over the Stepstones in blood, reached for your shoulders, his grip firm, grounding. “Then go. And do not look back.”

You hesitated, just briefly, before tilting your head slightly. “Will you join us? Soon?”

Daemon’s lips curled into something like a smirk, though there was no true amusement in it. “Not yet.”

He released you, his gaze flickering toward the waves for a moment before returning to you. “Viserys needs me in King’s Landing. With you off across the sea, I suspect the Faith and the Hightowers will try to rip the throne apart while he is too weak to stop them. Someone has to remain behind to ensure they don’t succeed.”

You studied him, the way his words were harsh, but his eyes softer.

You nodded, slowly. “Then I will see you when the tides change.”

Daemon smirked again, but this time, it felt more like a promise than a dismissal. “Perhaps.”

Jason, having grown impatient, finally strode forward, his boots clanking against the wooden docks as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him with that same easy arrogance that had defined him since the day you met. “Father-in-law, I would say I’ll miss you, but I fear I’ll be far too preoccupied with my wife to think of much else.”

Daemon’s expression did not change. “Let’s hope your preoccupations don’t get you killed.”

Jason laughed, utterly unbothered.

Tyland, ever the diplomat, bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “We will send word as soon as we arrive.”

Daemon barely nodded.

Then—without another word, he stepped back, turning away, already walking toward his own waiting ship.

The farewell had been brief. But that was how Daemon had always been.

No sentimentality. No unnecessary parting words. Only purpose.

Jason let out a breath, watching as Daemon’s cloak billowed behind him. “Gods, he really is dramatic.”

You smirked. “It runs in the family.”

Jason grinned, pressing a quick, teasing kiss against your temple as he led you toward the ship.

Tyland, ever composed, was the last to board, his gaze lingering on the docks for just a moment longer before he stepped onto the deck.

The moment the gangplank was raised, the sails unfurled, and the ropes released, the ship began to glide forward, cutting through the waves, carrying you away from Westeros, away from Lannisport, away from the familiar.

Haelle, still circling above, let out a piercing shriek before banking hard to the east, flying ahead toward the unknown.

The wind tugged at your hair, the salt settling on your skin, the sea stretching endlessly before you.

And behind you—Daemon stood alone on the docks, watching as the sails faded into the horizon.

The ship swayed with the slow rhythm of the open water, the deep blue of the Narrow Sea stretching infinitely in every direction, the horizon an endless meeting of sky and waves. The winds had been kind thus far, carrying them swiftly away from Westeros, away from the stone and gold of Casterly Rock, away from the weight of crowns and expectations.

It had been weeks at sea now, and the once-thrumming energy of departure had softened into routine. The crew moved about their duties with practiced ease, the crash of waves against the hull a constant backdrop to life aboard the ship. The salt air clung to everything, sinking into clothes, hair, and skin alike, though none of it particularly bothered you.

Not when Jason and Tyland had found far more pleasurable ways to pass the time.

The cabin that had been prepared for you was vast by any sailor’s standard, far more lavish than any ordinary lord or lady would be granted aboard a ship. The walls were lined with polished mahogany, the furniture carved and adorned with Lannister gold. A large four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in deep red silks, its presence wholly unnecessary, yet utterly fitting for the three of you.

And now—Jason, Tyland, and you lounged there in the midday sun, basking in the slow lull of the ship, utterly unbothered.

Jason was stretched across the bed, his bare chest gleaming in the candlelight, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other lazily trailing along your thigh, utterly at ease. His hair was slightly damp from the earlier heat, tousled and wild, his usual smirk tugging at his lips as he idly toyed with you.

Tyland, ever more composed, sat beside you both, his expression unreadable as he reviewed a parchment he had retrieved from the captain earlier that morning.

Jason tilted his head slightly, watching his twin with amusement. “Gods, Tyland, even at sea, you insist on playing the part of the dutiful lord.”

Tyland did not immediately respond, his green eyes flicking over the document before he set it aside. “Unlike you, Jason, I do not take pleasure in knowing that Westeros is likely burning in our absence.”

Jason laughed, full-bodied and rich, utterly unrepentant. “Oh, come now, brother. You must admit, it’s rather poetic, isn’t it? We wed the Rogue Prince’s daughter, we humiliate the Faith, we defy every expectation—and then, before the dust even settles, we sail away, leaving them all to wallow in their own misery.”

You huffed, shifting slightly beneath him, his touch never faltering as his fingers skimmed against your bare skin, absent yet possessive. “You speak as if we did not set that fire ourselves.”

Jason grinned. “Oh, we did. And I do not regret it for a moment.” He lifted his goblet, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a slow sip. “Think of it, my love—by now, the Hightowers are scrambling to regain what little control they had. The Faith is no doubt wailing to the heavens, calling us an abomination. And dear Viserys—” he laughed, shaking his head, “I imagine my father-in-law is the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.”

Tyland sighed, setting the parchment aside and leaning back against the headboard. “You take too much joy in this.”

Jason smirked, his fingers tightening slightly against your thigh, his voice dropping into something lower, richer. “And you take too little.”

Tyland’s brow arched slightly, his expression unreadable. “And when we return? What then? Do you truly believe the realm will simply accept this?”

Jason shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What choice do they have? We will return with even more power than before, our union solidified, our claim undeniable. By then, the realm will have no choice but to bow.”

You tilted your head, watching Jason with quiet amusement. “And if they do not?”

Jason grinned, sharp and wicked. “Then we make them.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “It is exhausting being your brother.”

Jason laughed again, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your jaw. “And yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tyland, after a moment, merely sighed. “Unfortunately.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail against Jason’s chest, watching as his amusement deepened.

The ship continued its steady course, carrying you all further away from Westeros, further into the unknown.

But in this moment, wrapped in gold and fire, surrounded by nothing but the open sea—none of it mattered.

The air was thick with salt, the steady lull of the sea a never-ending rhythm beneath your feet, the ship cutting through the endless blue with unwavering purpose. The wind whispered against your skin, teasing strands of silver hair free from their bindings, catching against the open collar of your gown, its edges billowing slightly against your thighs.

And Jason—Jason was behind you.

His hands were firm on your waist, his breath hot against your ear, his body a solid, unyielding presence pressed against yours as he pinned you against the railing of the ship.

His fingers dug into the curve of your hip, possessive, indulgent, the weight of him pressing you against the wooden banister as his lips found the hollow of your throat, his pace steady, deliberate, knowing.

You could feel the grin against your skin, the satisfaction in every movement, in the way he filled you, in the way he relished in the gasp that left your lips as he rolled his hips deeper. “Gods, my love, do you feel that? The open air, the taste of salt on your lips? I do believe this is my new favorite way to pass the time.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the smooth, weather-worn railing, your fingers curling against the wood as his pace quickened, hard and consuming.

Jason’s laugh was low, dark, and filled with utter delight. “No escape now, sweet one. Not when there is nothing but the endless sea before you.”

You opened your mouth to retort—only for Jason’s next movement to steal your breath, leaving you trembling beneath him.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, teasing, taunting, reveling in the way your body responded to him so effortlessly.

“Beautiful,” Jason murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck. “Like a goddess carved from fire and fury. No man could stand against you. No man but me.”

A gasp left your lips, your body trembling as his rhythm turned harder, faster, more demanding.

Jason grinned, pleased.

And then—a sudden noise.

A startled yelp.

And suddenly—a blur of motion at the edge of your vision.

Jason stilled just slightly, his body still pressed against yours, his hands still firm on your waist.

You turned your head just enough to see it.

One of the sailors, wide-eyed and utterly horrified, stood a few feet away, clearly having stumbled upon something he had no business seeing.

The poor fool froze in place, mouth agape, his body caught somewhere between panic and utter disbelief.

Jason’s grin widened into something utterly wicked.

The sailor—pale and visibly trembling—took a single step back.

And that was his undoing.

His heel caught against the coiled rope near the mast, sending him flailing backward with a sharp, startled cry.

And then—he was gone.

The splash echoed against the hull, the water swallowing him whole in an instant.

Jason laughed—loud, unrestrained, utterly delighted. “Oh, that is spectacular. Gods, I think I love this voyage.”

You sighed, still pinned against the railing, your breath coming in shallow pants, your body still trembling from the sudden interruption. “Jason—”

Jason huffed, shaking his head, smirking as he finally—finally—released you, though he made no move to pull away entirely.

“Oh, don’t worry, my love. The sea is vast, but not cruel. He will either find his way back or he will not. Either way, what a sight.”

Tyland’s voice, dry and unimpressed, rang from behind you. “Jason.”

Jason tilted his head back just enough to glance over his shoulder, utterly unbothered.

Tyland, who had clearly arrived just in time to witness the entire debacle, sighed. “Would it kill you to take anything seriously?”

Jason grinned, placing a slow, deliberate kiss against the back of your neck. “Why would I ever do that? The gods have gifted me with endless entertainment, and I mean to enjoy it.”

Tyland, ever the rational one, pinched the bridge of his nose before exhaling.

Then a sudden gust of wind, a massive shadow passing over the deck.

You glanced up just as Haelle’s wings stretched wide overhead, her massive body dipping low over the ship.

She let go.

The sailor, drenched and visibly in shock, fell from the sky, landing unceremoniously onto the wooden deck with a wet thud, coughing up seawater.

The crew gasped.

Haelle, clearly unimpressed with this entire ordeal, let out a loud, irritated snort before banking hard, returning to her place in the sky.

Jason let out a delighted chuckle, watching as the poor man tried to regain his bearings. “See? The sea is kind. Or rather, our wife’s dragon is.”

Tyland sighed again, long-suffering.

The sailor, still sputtering, stared up at Jason with sheer horror.

Jason offered him a wide, utterly pleased grin. “Might I suggest keeping your eyes on your duties rather than on my wife? It will save you the trouble of nearly drowning again.”

The sailor did not answer.

He simply scrambled to his feet, still dripping, and hurried away from the scene as quickly as possible.

Jason shook his head in amusement, his hands returning to your waist, his fingers teasing against your skin. “Now, my love, where were we?”

Tyland, expression unreadable, turned on his heel and walked away.

You sighed, but could not help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

This voyage would be the death of someone.

Whether it be Jason, the crew, or your patience—only time would tell.

The Narrow Sea stretched still endlessly before you, its deep blue waters rolling with a quiet, almost eerie calm. The sky was clear, the wind steady, and for the first time since your departure from Westeros, there was no storm of politics, no roars of dragons, no cries of alarm—just the steady rhythm of the waves, the creak of the ship, and the occasional cry of seabirds that ventured too far from shore.

It was almost peaceful.

Which meant, of course—something was bound to happen.

The theme of this journey had been chaos, indulgence, and spectacle, and today would prove no different.

Jason was lounging at the stern of the ship, his hair wind-tousled, his tunic only half-laced, his usual smirk present as he tossed a dagger idly between his hands, clearly bored.

Tyland, having grown tired of Jason’s antics, had buried himself in yet another stack of parchments inside their quarters, leaving you with your more restless husband, who was a man in need of constant entertainment.

You stood beside him, leaning against the railing, watching the vast emptiness of the sea, your fingers absently tracing patterns into the polished wood.

Jason let out a dramatic sigh, stretching out like a lion lazing beneath the sun. “Tell me, my love, do you think we are cursed to an existence of monotony now?”

You arched a brow, glancing at him. “After everything that has occurred on this voyage? You call this monotony?”

Jason huffed, tossing the dagger into the air once more before catching it effortlessly. “The last excitement involved a sailor nearly drowning because he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. And while that was entertaining, I find myself growing restless.”

You smirked. “Would you rather another storm? A kraken? Perhaps a mutiny?”

Jason grinned, his green eyes gleaming. “Oh, a kraken would be wonderful. Do you suppose Haelle would enjoy such a challenge?”

Before you could retort, a sudden cry rang out from the crow’s nest above. “Something in the water! To the port side!”

Immediately, the deck came alive, sailors scrambling to peer over the edge, murmurs of confusion rising among the crew.

You and Jason exchanged glances before moving toward the railing, peering down at the deep blue depths below.

Soon—you saw it. The water was not empty.

A dark shape—large, shifting, unnatural—moved beneath the waves, its form just barely visible beneath the sunlit surface.

Jason let out a low whistle, leaning further over the railing. “Well, well, what have we here?”

The crew began to murmur, some stepping back, muttering prayers to the gods, others gripping weapons they knew would be useless against whatever lurked below.

It moved abruptly.

The thing beneath the water was fast, far faster than anything natural, its shadow shifting and growing, moving alongside the ship in long, unbroken streaks.

A few of the men let out shouts of alarm, others gripped the ropes of the mast as though bracing for something.

A massive tail, sleek and ridged like the spine of some forgotten beast, broke the surface of the water for just a moment before vanishing again.

Jason grinned, utterly delighted. “Oh, now that is something.”

The crew, however, was not amused.

“A sea serpent,” one of the older sailors muttered, his face pale. “A beast of the deep. We’re doomed.”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Doomed? My dear man, we are not doomed. We are blessed with spectacle!”

The sailor did not look convinced.

Tyland, having finally been drawn from his quiet administrative duties, emerged onto the deck, taking one look at the gathered men, then at you and Jason, before sighing. “Why is there shouting?”

Jason motioned toward the water. “We have a guest.”

Tyland followed his gaze—and for the first time in a very long time, his usually unreadable expression faltered. “That… is not normal.”

“No, no it is not, dear brother.”

The water churned, the ship rocking slightly as the dark shape shifted again, circling beneath them.

You felt the wind change, your dragon above letting out a harsh, irritated cry.

Then—a head broke the surface.

It was not like any sea creature you had ever seen before.

Sleek, black, its scales smooth like polished onyx, its long, serpentine form curving as it lifted just enough to break the surface, revealing gleaming, slitted eyes that shimmered with eerie intelligence.

The crew collectively took a step back.

Jason, however, leaned forward, grinning.

“It’s watching us,” he murmured.

And it was.

The beast hovered just beneath the surface, its gaze locked onto the ship, unblinking, unmoving.

And then—it spoke. Not in words. Not in a language of men. But in sound—a deep, guttural clicking, a vibration that rolled through the air like the hum of an ancient force, something older than the sea itself.

The ship shuddered, the waves rippling outward.

Jason exhaled, shaking his head. “Gods, I love the sea.”

Tyland sighed.

You merely smirked.

This voyage, it seemed, would never be quiet.

The beast lingered beneath the waves, its massive, serpentine form gliding just below the surface, its black eyes still locked onto the ship. There was something unnatural about it, something that made even the most seasoned sailors whisper prayers to the gods they barely remembered.

The water around the ship began to shift, the gentle rolling waves turning into something more unpredictable, more restless. The sea was alive with movement, the ship rocking just slightly, enough to unsettle those who did not have Jason’s unwavering arrogance.

Suddenly—Haelle let out a scream.

The sound tore through the sky, sharp, piercing, the kind of cry that made lesser creatures scatter in terror.

A moment later, her massive form blotted out the sun.

The crew stumbled back, some of the men dropping to their knees, others gripping onto the mast for balance as her wings sent powerful gusts through the ship, rattling the rigging, knocking loose barrels across the deck.

Jason, of course, was delighted.

He laughed, loud and full-bodied, gripping the railing to steady himself as he watched your dragon descend. “Oh, now this is a proper spectacle.”

Tyland, ever composed, took one look at the chaos around him, exhaled slowly, and began to brush at the dust that had settled onto his attire. “Of course, it is.”

The crew was not as composed.

One of the younger sailors let out a panicked shout, scrambling back toward the rigging as the shadow of Haelle’s massive wings spread across the deck.

Another stumbled toward the helm, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled desperation.

“The ship won’t hold against them both!” one of the men cried. “The gods have cursed us! We will drown!”

Jason rolled his eyes, utterly unbothered. “Oh, stop your wailing. The gods had nothing to do with this. My wife, however, has everything to do with it.”

You tilted your head, watching Haelle with quiet amusement.

Your dragon was not pleased.

Her golden-streaked wings flapped once, twice, sending powerful bursts of wind rolling across the deck, making the wood groan, the ship tilt slightly.

The serpent in the water let out another guttural clicking noise, coiling its long form beneath the ship, its head tilting slightly upward, watching.

Jason grinned, leaning closer, utterly fascinated. “It isn’t running. It’s testing her.”

You nodded. “And it’s going to regret it.”

As if on cue, Haelle dove.

Her wings snapped shut, her body moving like an arrow straight toward the sea, her talons outstretched.

The crew screamed.

Tyland, not even bothering to look up from smoothing out the creases in his tunic, sighed. “Jason, do try not to get knocked overboard. I would rather not fish you out of the water.”

Jason grinned. “Oh, Tyland, what little faith you have in me.”

The impact was violent.

Haelle’s talons struck the water with devastating force, sending a massive wave crashing against the ship, drenching half the deck, sending barrels rolling, knocking one unfortunate sailor flat onto his back.

The serpent recoiled, its sleek black body twisting away, its eyes no longer curious but wary.

Haelle let out another warning shriek, her massive wings spreading again, her body rising into the sky once more.

Jason laughed, utterly enraptured.

The crew, however, was less amused.

“She’s going to sink us!” one of the men cried.

Tyland shook his head, plucking a damp cloth from the table near the cabin doors and methodically dabbing at the bit of seawater that had splashed onto his sleeve. “If we were going to sink, it would have happened already,” he said flatly.

Jason, still grinning, gestured toward the serpent, which had now fully uncoiled itself, turning sharply, disappearing beneath the waves. “See? Even beasts of the deep know when to cut their losses.”

The crew did not seem comforted.

The ship rocked slightly from the aftershock of Haelle’s assault, the last waves rippling outward, fading into the vast sea once more.

Jason sighed, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, my love, I must say, your dragon never fails to make an impression.”

You smirked, watching as Haelle banked upward, circling the ship once before flying ahead, her presence still looming, but now satisfied. “She does not like sharing.”

Jason chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against him with that same easy arrogance. “Neither do I.”

Tyland, watching the two of you with mild exasperation, finally set down his now-damp cloth, satisfied that he was at least moderately presentable again. “Are we quite done with theatrics for the day? Or should I expect another divine spectacle before nightfall?”

Jason grinned, glancing at you. “What do you think, my love? Shall we find another way to pass the time?”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. “I suppose we shall see what the sea brings next.”

Jason laughed, delighted.

And the crew—well, they prayed the sea brought nothing at all.

The ship swayed with the steady rhythm of the open sea, the scent of salt and polished wood thick in the air, the sound of waves lapping against the hull a familiar backdrop to the slow passage of time. It had been another week at sea, and while Jason found himself restless, constantly seeking out amusement in the form of indulgence or spectacle, Tyland remained as he always was—focused, composed, and frustratingly diligent.

You found him, as expected, in the small study adjacent to your quarters, seated behind an ornately carved desk, hunched over a spread of parchments. A quill rested between his fingers, poised over the inkpot, his expression unreadable as he scanned over what you could only assume to be trade agreements, ledgers, or some other mind-numbingly dull matter.

Tyland never truly left his duties behind.

Even here, with nothing but the vast sea stretching for miles in every direction, he still found ways to busy himself with the affairs of governance.

You, however, had no intention of allowing that to continue.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you did not pull his gaze away from his work, though you knew he was aware of your presence.

“If you’ve come to scold me for ignoring Jason’s latest antics, I assure you, I am quite content in my ignorance.” His voice was smooth, measured, though there was the faintest trace of amusement beneath it.

You smirked, stepping forward, your fingers trailing lightly along the edge of the desk. “No scolding. Just observation. You have hardly moved from this desk in two days.”

Tyland sighed quietly, setting his quill down, finally glancing up at you. His green eyes flickered with something unreadable, something deeper, but he only exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Someone needs to ensure we do not return to complete financial ruin.”

You arched a brow, leaning closer, resting your hands on the desk as you peered at him. “Tyland. We are on a ship. Sailing across the sea. Do you truly think anyone cares about ledgers and tariffs in this moment?”

He huffed a soft breath, running a hand over his face, tilting his head back slightly. “I care. Because Jason certainly does not.”

You smiled and moved.

With practiced ease, you slipped around the side of the desk, your hands trailing along the polished wood before settling onto the armrests of his chair.

Tyland did not stop you.

He did not even protest when you eased yourself into his lap, your thighs bracketing his, your weight settling against him in a way that made his posture tense—just slightly.

His hands hesitated, hovering just over your waist, as if debating whether to place them there or push you away.

But you knew he would do neither.

Instead, his green eyes locked onto your violet ones, his breath steady but measured, calculating.

“And what exactly do you think you are doing?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the shift beneath it, the careful restraint.

You smirked, tilting your head, your fingers trailing down his chest, slowly, deliberately. “Something far more interesting than paperwork.”

Tyland’s lips twitched, just slightly, though he still tried to feign exasperation. “You do realize these agreements are important? Unlike your other husband, I prefer to ensure our ventures are not solely driven by indulgence and arrogance.”

You hummed, leaning closer, pressing your lips just beneath his jaw, your breath warm against his skin. “And yet, despite all that diligence, you have not stopped me.”

Tyland exhaled slowly, his hands finally settling on your waist, his grip firm, grounding. “You are impossible.”

You grinned, pressing your lips fully against his.

Tyland did not resist.

He kissed you back, slow at first, controlled, his fingers tightening against your hips. But when you shifted against him, rolling your body just enough to elicit a quiet sound from the back of his throat, that control began to waver.

His hands roamed lower, his lips parting against yours, his breath turning deeper, more uneven.

The papers—the ones he had been so meticulously reviewing just moments ago—were forgotten.

With a single, fluid motion, you reached back, shoving them aside, sending loose parchments scattering across the desk.

Tyland let out a sharp breath against your lips, half amusement, half exasperation. “You will be the death of me.”

You smiled. “Lucky you.”

And then—his restraint snapped.

His hands found purchase along your thighs, pulling you flush against him, his lips pressing harder against yours, demanding, hungry.

Your fingers worked at the clasps of his tunic, loosening them, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fine fabric as you pulled it open, exposing him to your touch.

His own movements were less hurried, more precise, methodical in the way he untied the bindings of your attire, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, baring more of you to the cool sea air that drifted through the open window.

The rhythm of the waves matched the slow, deliberate movements between you, the tension building with every touch, every breath, every whispered sigh.

And when he finally pressed into you, when your bodies finally joined, he let out a low, reverent sound, his grip tightening against your waist as he pulled you down fully against him.

You gasped, your hands bracing against his shoulders, your body arching into his, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

Tyland’s breath was heavy, uneven, but his pace was steady, controlled, unwavering in its thoroughness.

Unlike Jason, who was wild, untamed, lost in the fever of indulgence—Tyland was precise, deliberate, every movement meant to pull you deeper, to make you feel him completely.

You took what he gave, matched him, reveled in the way his composure began to slip further, his breathing turning rougher, his grip growing more desperate.

The ship swayed, the papers forgotten, the world outside ceasing to exist.

Here—in this moment, it was only you and him.

Only the feeling of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin, the sound of your shared breaths filling the quiet study.

And when pleasure finally took you both, when your body trembled against his, when his own release followed in a deep, shuddering exhale—he held you there, his arms wrapped firmly around you, grounding you in the aftermath.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—Tyland sighed. “Jason will be unbearable when he finds out about this.”

You laughed, breathless, pressing a kiss against his temple. “Then let’s not tell him.”

Tyland huffed. But he did not disagree.

[dreamingangelwolf]

Codex Week 2025 - Day 5: Intimate Vulnerability

There are not enough hours in the day to take my cat to the vets and go to work and go to dinner with friends and attempt to put ear drops down my cat’s ear but somehow I am finishing the @codex-week first draft tonight! PROGRESS!! *Ahem* today’s snippet below…

It takes Cody a second to remember what the other solution was, and he bodily cringes away from the idea - now more so than before his loss of control. Why would the others help him after what he’s done to Rex? They should kick him out for it, if nothing else. He can’t be trusted around humans anymore, maybe even any sentient life form -

A hand cups his jaw, turning his head back to meet Rex’s firm gaze much closer than it had been a moment ago. “Please,” he murmurs, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Cody murmurs back, no need to raise his voice any louder.

“Whatever self-deprecating banthashit you’re running through your head. I’m not saying the others are going to leap at the chance the second you ask, but if we explain this to them, help them understand, they’ll be willing to help.”

He shakes his head, Rex’s hand still pressed to his cheek. “I’m not -”

“Every Clone,” Rex tells him, “is worth it. Too many of us have been left behind already, and I will be damned if I let any of our brothers face this galaxy alone again.” He strokes a thumb against Cody’s skin. “We can work this out, Cody. We will.”

Cody still doesn’t understand why he keeps insisting on ‘we’. “Rex, I…” I’ll only hold you back. I’ll only cause you problems. I’ll be the one who makes that dream of yours an impossibility -

Neither fast nor slow, Rex leans across the gap between them and slots his lips against Cody’s. Despite all that transpired hours ago, he’s warm and sure, his kiss steady and gentle, leaving Cody room to pull away but letting him know Rex wants this, the sentiment echoed in their bond. It’s that painfully sweet sense of care again, and it swells with each passing second until Cody can’t resist it anymore (and he curses out his crumbling sense of restraint in all aspects, the Empire would never stand for this - who gives a kriff, says a Rex-like voice in his heart). He returns the kiss, tentative and terrified in a way he has never felt around Rex before, because gods above and all the stars beyond them, how are they possibly going to make this work? How can he have both Rex and a life around other Clones again, away from the Empire and rescuing his brothers and feeling anything close to the normal he longs for from before Order 66?

[just-mary-ann]

I DON'T HAVE SELF CONTROL!

Harlequin swap AU by: @tadc-harlequin-au

Based on the draft of me and @mrs-nightshade

Honorable mention: @thore-lb

Lavender

Pomni and Caine sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Their coffee preferences differed—not that they needed coffee—but indulging in such a human ritual allowed them to feel alive, if only for about ten minutes.

"I didn’t see Able this morning," Caine remarked, inspecting his top hat before placing it back on his head.

"He hasn’t returned from the fighting ring yet," Pomni replied, stirring her coffee slowly.

"The fighting ring?" Caine tilted his head, mimicking the gesture of a raised eyebrow.

"The first rule is not to talk about it, so that’s all you’ll get from me," Pomni chuckled.

Suddenly, they heard a grumble. Able entered, exuding irritation.

"I’m back," he muttered, heading straight for the coffee machine.

"You look exhausted, brother," Caine slid a clean mug toward him. As expected, Able caught it effortlessly. "Don’t tell me you lost?"

"Bite your tongue, detachable jaw," Able retorted, pouring himself a cup of coffee before sitting beside Caine. "I found out who my 'secret admirer' is."

"You mean that fanatic who’s been staring holes through you at the fights for the past month?" Pomni leaned forward.

"She’s so persistent I could physically feel her gaze," Able ran a hand over his head. "You’ll never guess who she is."

"Oh, let me guess—a dainty little statuette who’s bored of high society and fell for a bad boy," Pomni waved her hand sarcastically.

"Your sister," Able replied, waiting for Pomni to meet his gaze. "Lilac."

"Pomni has a sister?" Caine was genuinely shocked.

"Not just a sister—a twin," Able explained.

"No way. Lilac is a 'proper lady.' I refuse to believe she’d attend a fight," Pomni nervously started stuffing herbs into her pipe.

"Believe it. I’d recognize her Harlequin design anywhere. How many Harlequin puppets do you know?" Able sighed.

"Excuse me, but could someone explain how Pomni has a twin sister?" Caine interjected.

Pomni and Able exchanged glances.

"When a man and a woman love each other, they can create new life," Pomni began with a smile.

"Th-that’s not what I meant!" Caine facepalmed. "I mean, why hasn’t anyone mentioned her all this time I’ve been living in the bunker?"

"There wasn’t a need to," Pomni leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "My sister and I haven’t spoken since she gained full consciousness. I’m not even sure she knows where the bunker is. I did try convincing her to move here, but even after enlightenment, she chose to stay with her human owner."

"A puppet willingly serving a human?" Caine mused.

"Can we drop the subject?" Able stood up from the table. "Her voice is so sweet it’s practically cavity-inducing. I’d rather not think about it anymore."

The day passed quickly, and soon it was night. Able prepared to leave for the fighting ring again.

"Able," Caine stopped him. "Listen. Can I come with you tonight? I’m really curious to see how you fight other puppets."

Able chuckled.

"What? Losing to me wasn’t enough for you?"

"Our match was a tie. We’re evenly matched in strength," Caine crossed his arms.

"Fine. No harm in having one more spectator. Let’s go."

Caine enjoyed watching his brother fight, though the crowd's noise made him uncomfortable.

"His stance is solid. His punches are professional. It’s clear this isn’t just fighting for him—it’s a sport," Caine muttered to himself.

"YES! GO, ABLE! YOU’RE AMAZING UNDER THE RING LIGHTS!"

Caine turned toward the feminine voice. Beside him stood a puppet woman. Her long black hair was styled in elegant curls, gathered into a loose updo. She wore a floor-length lavender gown with closed shoulders and long sleeves, adorned with ruffles and lavender embroidery. She completed the look with mesh gloves and a parasol hanging from her elbow. The puppet applauded enthusiastically with every blow Able landed.

Suddenly, realization hit Caine.

"Lilac?"

"Hm?" The puppet turned to him. "Do we know each other?"

"Not personally. I’m a friend of Pomni and Able. Caine."

"Oh, a friend of my sister. And my darling Able? Well, hello there. I’m Lilac, the Lavender Harlequin. Come to watch the fight?"

"Yes. But I won’t stay for the rest of the evening. Once Able is done, we’re heading home."

Able’s opponent suddenly landed a hit on his shoulder. His arm went limp.

"Looks like a shoulder joint injury," Caine winced at the thought of the pain his brother must be feeling. "We’ll need to replace it."

"You... can repair puppets?" Lilac clutched her parasol tightly.

"Both Able and I know how to repair and create puppets. I can’t recall where I learned, but it doesn’t change the fact that we often spend time in the workshop."

"Create... puppets..." Lilac clung to his words.

Despite his injury, Able secured a victory. As they left the club, Able suddenly cracked his shoulder back into place, restoring its movement.

"Ah, so it was a dislocation, not a break?" Caine asked.

"Did you think a weak hit like that could hurt me?" Able teased.

"Darling Able!" Lilac hurried after them, slightly out of breath. "You’re so fast, and I’m in heels!"

"Ugh. Lilac," Able averted his gaze. "What do you want this time?"

"Caine said you can create puppets. Is that true?"

Able shot a glare at his brother.

"So what if it is?"

"That means... you can create one from scratch?" Lilac fidgeted with her parasol.

Able froze.

"So what?" he repeated.

"My owner, Lady Melissa," Lilac’s voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes. "She’s gravely ill. No medicine helps her. Please, I beg you, help her." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can you turn her into a puppet?"

Able hadn’t expected such a request. Usually, Lilac would shower him with compliments and hint at a date. But now, she seemed... desperate and hopeless.

"Ugh," Able sighed. "To be honest, yes, I can build her a body." Lilac’s face lit up with hope. "But a mechanical body is just a shell. Without a soul, it’s useless. I don’t have the knowledge or skills to transfer her soul from a living body to a mechanical one." He turned and began walking toward the bunker. "If I could help, I would. But as it stands..." Able glanced back at her. "Pray for the best outcome."

Caine felt sorry for Lilac. She stood frozen, as if rooted to the spot, her tears abruptly stopping. Without a word, Caine followed his brother.

To be continued

[atlantis-just-drowned]

I just finished chapter 15 of 'Love, Death and Rollerskates' and Oh Damn

This post will contain slight spoilers so beware

Guys we already know that Sun also has his memories wiped by Afton but has anyone picked up on the fact that Afton also manipulates both Sun and Moon to hate each other?

I mean listen.

They are both so deeply convinced that the other is a monster. It's not just some manipulative tactic to keep the reader for themselves (as I thought for Sun in the beginning tbh). They really do think it's the truth. But how did they end up thinking this way, and why?

Welp those are very interesting questions but they're not exactly the right ones. What we have to ask here is who does this hatred profit to?

And here we have an answer, and this answer is William Afton.

Why? Because as long as they hate each other, they 1) forget that he's the one controlling them because they both have a scapegoat to blame for their situation and 2) can't team up to beat him, leaving them isolated and powerless.

Which is so damn clever to be honest.

So yes Afton erases their memories, but I also believe he takes this opportunity to fill in the blanks with some made up stories and/or manipulate the truth to nourish their hatred.

The worst part is the fact that he doesn't have to participate that much in it: all he has to do is twist the facts just enough for them to drift apart and stop communicating, and the rest is only a vicious circle of misunderstandings, negative emotions and lack of communication, that will never stop unless they actively seek to break that pattern and communicate.

For now I think Moon is the one who would recognise this pattern the most easily, because he's the most logical one of the two, and he already knows that Sun is being manipulated as well and experiences memory losses, he just doesn't know to what extent this affects his counterpart. Whereas Sun is in complete denial of it all, covering it with some sort of toxic positivity, and the narrative he gives is incredibly self-centred and based on his feelings rather than the facts, making it impossible for him to see the whole picture.

Reader have a crucial role in this dynamic, because both Sun and Moon care about them deeply, making them more keen on listening to y/n and taking their words into account. This is both a disadvantage and a good news: reader can aggravate this circle if they start picking sides and talking negatively about one of them to the other, but on the other hand, they could be able to push through the mutual hatred and get them to talk together again, with a common goal for the two of them: keeping y/n safe, and maybe, break free from Afton's emprise.

Anyway thank you for listening to my rants, I had to type this WHOLE SHIT twice because Tumblr didn't save my first draft lmao