#even when the rules of the world say they shouldn’t

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

Sudsssss

Suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds

Fox Dream & Wolf Punz

Fox & the Hound Drunz

Sudsss

"We're still friends, right Punz?"

Dream's voice was low, barely above a whisper. They could pretend it was the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind, if they so chose. Dream would let them; he allowed too much.

Instead, they reached over and squeezed his hand. The SMP had changed over the years, changed its landscape and changed its alliances and changed them.

"Yeah Dream, we're still friends."

They refused to let it change this.

[alagaisia]

This is something I learned at one of the pre-op visits for my breast reduction! My surgeon was basically I think an independent surgeon (as I guess I would imagine is common for “cosmetic”/plastic surgeons?) and she was telling us a little bit about what to do for talking to insurance about the surgery and stuff, and she mentioned that for us going through insurance it would be at a particular hospital, but she also often did surgeries where people didn’t use there insurance, and she did those at some other place, and the price she charged up front was much lower, because that was the actual cost of the surgery (and equipment and everyone’s salaries etc.) and she had to raise the ticket price significantly when people would go through insurance, because the insurance company would negotiate that price down, and then keep some of the money. (Obviously for us and many others it still worked out to be cheaper for us out of pocket to go through insurance, but the amount she made was roughly the same even though it would look like she charged thousands more for my breast reduction than for someone not using insurance)

So, when you get those bills from your insurance after a doctors visit, and there’s that little table that tells you, this is the cost of the visit, this is the discount we got you, this is how much we paid, this is how much you still have to pay?

That line about “we got you this discount” is misleading. They actually caused the provider to raise the initial cost of your care by that amount, or more, in anticipation of the insurance company refusing to pay the full amount so that they could tell you they got you a discount.

"Why does a 15-minute visit with a doctor cost 150 bucks in America???" you're gonna want to read Money-Driven Medicine, by Maggie Mahar, and probably also The Social Transformation of American Medicine, to answer that question. It is not because your doctor is a greedy bastard; your doctor does not see most of that money. It is because the system is broken to a level that is truly impressive in its dedication to making a shit ton of money for insurance company executives and shareholders.

[suguann]

FUCK IT, I WANT YOU—JJK MEN. * ˚ ✦

✎. jjk men who are infatuated with you. | wc. 2.4k+

tags. fem!reader, bsf sister, cockwarming, slightly rough sex, best friends to lovers, exhibitionism, breast f*cking, domestic nanami, pet names, praise, mild dark content, dubcon, stepcest, stuckage

featuring. gojo, higuruma, nanami, geto, sukuna

an. banner is from hare kon okawari | masterlist

↬ GOJO

He shouldn’t even entertain the thought of wanting you—somewhere in the world, there’s a book of rules that says you shouldn’t develop a crush on your best friend’s little sister. 

It doesn’t stop him from letting you talk him into shopping (as if he’d ever tell you no) and watching you try on tiny, flowy sundresses that make his jaw ache, how he’s just on the side of too-weak for those low-scooped tops you’re always wearing whenever he’s at your house. 

At first, Gojo wonders if you do it on purpose—the bashful smiles and bumping shoulders if he’s close by—but you’re painfully shy for that to be the case. It’s why a smirk tugs at his mouth after leaving love bites across your chest when he finally gets you alone in his room so that he might see the adorable little face you make as you try to cover them up afterward. 

He has you perched in his lap on the bed with an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you rooted on his cock buried deep inside the hot-wet heat between your legs. His mouth sucks marks into your skin wherever he can reach, deep groans rumbling in his chest every time your pussy clenches down on him—a sweet reminder that he hasn’t let you move for a while.

“Toru, not there,” you squeak, fingers knotting in the hair at his nape to gently pull him away. “People will see.” 

But he doesn’t listen as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, mesmerized by the sight of it pebbling into a tight peak—your thighs shaking around him when he pinches too hard.

“So fucking pretty,” he growls, biting his lip as he finally looks up at you. “Just let me play with them a bit more, and then I’ll fuck you. I promise.”

A white lie, but he’s done and said worse, and this isn’t that. This is him savoring a victory he never knew he had until you fluttered those long lashes and asked for a kiss.

You’re gasping and writhing, unable to do anything except sit there while he overstimulates you with his mouth and fingers. When he finally rolls you over onto your back, you’ve already cum twice, but that doesn’t stop him, greedy hips churning against yours and stealing another.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, loving how you quiver underneath him, your soft socks slipping where they try to rest around his waist. “You’re so sensitive, huh, baby?” he rasps, nosing the soft swell of your breast as he crowds you underneath him. 

You mewl out a broken version of his name, hot pants against his neck that make you sound so desperate—not really answering him as your nails bite into his shoulders—and he can’t get over the way you look right now, how you sound. He’ll never be able to go back to pretending that you’re Geto’s annoying little sister (as if he ever thought you were) as Gojo watches drool trail from the side of your mouth from how good he’s fucking you. 

“Do you know how filthy you look right now?” he grits between his teeth. “Been thinking about this for so long—fuck—can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

↬ HIGURUMA

It’s an accident the first time it happens. 

You’re at the beach, playing with him in the water, when a wave hits you and washes your bikini top away. You squeal, and because he’s your best friend and has always looked out for you, he doesn’t realize right away he used his hands to shield your bare breasts from everyone else on the beach—eyes round when Higuruma does.

It’s innocent—his intent—yet alarm bells are ringing in his ears.

He expects you to shove him away—you don’t. Instead, you give him a sweet smile with a soft, muttered thank you and let him carry you back to the towels. 

He’s still reeling at how you fit perfectly in his palms, skin against skin in a way he’s only ever shamefully imagined alone with his fist around his dick. It has him shifting his trunks uncomfortably, and he wants—no, needs (a definite need) more.

Higuruma spreads you out on your towel under the canopy of the large beach umbrella, the shirt he gave you pushed up and held out of the way under your chin as you watch him. His shoulders block out anybody from really seeing how he’s teasing your nipples into his mouth—your fingers digging into the hair at his nape to keep him there. 

He never thought he’d get this far after years of watching you dance around the periphery of his life without ever really being his. How seeing you like this—whimpering his name under your breath, eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks, and grinding onto his thigh pressed up between yours—only ever existed in a fantasy or two. 

There’s nothing to do but watch as the lines of an eight-year friendship crumble into the sand with your soft squeaks of more, and his low groans fuck, and he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a small flame doused in kerosene. 

If this is the sacrifice for holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your sweat-slick skin, he’ll gladly burn.

He’d keep you like this forever if he could, and the way you look at him, pleading with your eyes, makes him think you’d let him if he asked (or maybe he wouldn’t have to).

He releases your nipple and smiles when your shirt falls from your teeth with a whine, your foot stomping against the towel in a way that’s too fucking cute.

“Why’d you stop?”

All the blood and heat in his body rush to his dick at how needy you sound—for him, all for him—and his breath fans across your spit-slick skin shakily, pent up and overflowing with nerves he’s held onto for as long as he can remember. “Sweetheart, you have to be quiet.”

You nod eagerly, your grip tightening in his hair to bring him back towards you. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be quiet. Just please don’t stop.”

Never. 

When your leg brushes the tent in his trunks, it feels like his eyes roll into the back of his head from the contact. He greedily takes your tight, sensitive peak back into his mouth again—hardly paying attention to the wanton moans you fail to suppress as you continue grinding onto his thigh.

↬ NANAMI

Nanami stares at you more often than usual after you have his son—at how your chest fills out every top you wear, and your hips become the perfect place for his hands—a strange new obsession that develops overnight without a manual or an off switch.

One day, you’re his beautiful wife. The next, you’re his beautiful wife holding his baby, and suddenly, he’s seeing the world through a clear lens, and he can’t stop looking.

His hands are always on you just to curb the constant ache that never really fades, brushing hair out of your face, massaging your lower back, shamelessly letting them wander too close to the underside of your breasts whenever he can. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and sometimes it’s all he can think to do.

Some days, after a stressful work day, he’ll lay atop your chest and pepper kisses against whatever skin he can reach, wandering, eager hands getting their fill until he falls asleep. On other days, he stays up long enough—baby tucked away in his crib and the monitor softly humming on the coffee table—to peel your clothes out of the way to get the full picture.

“Just like that, darling,” he groans, watching where you’re kneeled between his legs, unable to take his eyes off the way his leaky tip peeks out from between your soft, bare breasts. 

You stick out your tongue to lick away the pearl of white drooling out of his slit, only to spit it back onto his cock to help aid your up and down movements. It has him throbbing at how messy it is, liquid-hot heat pooling in his stomach at how good it feels. He knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he’s torn on whether or not to stop you or let you keep going.

“How does it feel?” you peer up at him through long lashes like you don’t already know what you’re doing to him.

“‘Good, darling. So fucking good—fuck, keep going—pretty little wife on her knees for me,” he curses, hips shuddering when he thrusts up, watching his length disappear and reappear again and again.

The delicate smile that adorns your lips makes his heart flutter, and balls draw up to his body. “Yeah? You gonna cum, Kento?”

“I don’t—I, fuck, yes.” He’d much rather finish with his face buried in your tits, but he’s already too far gone to pull away, to shove you down onto the couch.

You hum softly. “I want you to cum on me. Please.”

That’s his final undoing, groaning at the thought of him marking those cute tits that take up his every spare thought, cumming unexpectedly in a rush of white-hot pleasure before he can stop it. His cock jerks until viscous streaks of white paint your chest, and it makes everything sticky and sloppy, sending a weak burst of liquid pleasure rushing up his spine before he slumps against the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

↬ GETO

He loves it when you’re like this. Soft and pliant beneath him, eyelashes spiked with tears.

He doesn’t know where to look—can’t decide between the smattering of possessive marks littering the inside of your thighs or the ones that travel across your chest. 

A decision easily made for him when he presses the tip of his sensitive cock back into your fluttering cunt, unable to tear his eyes away from how your breasts bounce with every one of his harsh, desperate thrusts. His thumb smooths over a peaked nipple—bitten raw and pinched tight—and he curses under his breath at the feel of you clenching on him like a vice.

You tell him how good he feels under a hitched breath, and his chest tightens because he can’t remember the last time someone used an adjective like that to describe him. Good. It’s weird how such a simple word can make Geto’s head spin and make him feel like anything other than the man he is outside your bed.

He ducks his head down to suck another little bruise right above your nipple, the corners of his mouth curling slightly, knowing that he’ll be the only one that’ll know it exists. 

“Prettiest fucking girl I know,” he breathes harshly, already close. “I wish you could see how perfect you look.”

Geto slips his fingers between you, playing over the tiny, sensitive bud at the peak of your thighs.

“Oh.” A soft sigh.

“Maybe I should take a picture, huh? Would you let me? So I can look at you like this,” —he thrusts deep, making sure you’ll be able to feel him afterward— “all damn day, every fucking day.”

And like a tightrope snapping loose, you fall apart around him, practically choking his cock, and he fills up your cunt for the second time that night.

↬ SUKUNA

You're cleaning the apartment you share with your step-brother until it's spotless because the guy you’ve kind of had a crush on since the start of the semester is coming over today to study, and the butterflies in your belly tell you today is the day he’s finally going to ask you out. 

What you don’t anticipate—between throwing away Sukuna’s collection of energy drinks on the coffee table and doing a load of laundry—is the possibility of getting stuck in the too-small dryer while reaching for a sock or that your brother would be the one to find you bent over with your shorts riding up your legs.

You suppress a groan at the sound of Sukuna's patronizing voice behind you. "What do we have here?"

"Don't just stand there, idiot," you hiss. "Help me."

He chuckles in that mean, condescending way that always sets your teeth on edge. "You're really bossy for someone with their ass hanging out of a dryer. Maybe I should leave you here and wait for Mick—”

“His name’s Mitch—”

“—to find you."

"No!" you say almost too loudly, wincing as your voice echoes around the dryer. With a small sigh, your head hanging, you add, "Please help me."

"That's better." 

It's quiet for a moment, and you start fidgeting again to free yourself until you feel a pair of large hands palming your hips, and you can't stop the squeak that escapes the back of your throat—not expecting the terrible-hot-wrongness of it to feel so good.

A feeling stirs in your belly that you’d tucked away long ago, and only returning to under the safety of the baby blue twinkle string lights in your room—hand in your sleep shorts and teeth digging an imprint into the palm of your hand to hold back the name you only chant in your head.

“You’re s-supposed to be helping,” your voice wavers, dizzy with what’s transpiring in that cramped laundry room.

He huffs a soft laugh behind you, pressing a kiss to the base of your spine where your shirt rode up. “Give me a minute.”

It's embarrassing when you feel wetness pooling in the seat of your underwear, heat rushing from the roots of your hair and down to your toes when his hands travel over the swell of your ass in your tiny shorts. 

You're almost compelled to tell him you’ll get out on your own because it’s the right thing to do—to put a stop to something that shouldn’t happen except in cheap porn. Then his hand comes down against your backside, hard, and every single thought in your head scrambles like an egg on hot pavement.

You whimper, the force of his slap jolting you further into the dryer, sweaty hands scrambling against the metal walls to keep your face from crashing into it.

"Fuck, I've always wanted to do that,” he breathes before tugging the crotch of your shorts and panties out of the way, and you feel something wet and slick drip against your cunt. "Maybe I'll just keep you here for a bit. What do you say, sis?"

His thumb runs along your slit and presses inside you.

“Ah. W-wai—”

“Shh. Just—fuck, so fucking tight—just let me enjoy this pussy, huh?” And quieter, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You shiver and swallow around the words threatening to escape: me, too.

[lycandrophile]

i clicked on the original tweet just to see if anyone else felt as weird about it as i did because at this point i’m just tired of seeing people going on and on about trans men dating cishet men who try to convince them not to transition as if it’s a funny joke about a trans man doing something silly and not a manipulative and generally very unhealthy relationship dynamic that can hurt the trans man involved really deeply (as forcing someone back into the closet tends to do.)

did i find anyone else feeling that way? no. there were a few people pointing out that it was weird in general, and plenty saying it’s a weird thing to say about a cis woman, but nothing expressing any sort of concern about the tired stereotype it’s perpetuating.

but you know what i did find? replies like the one in the second screenshot, using the tweet as their chance to tell the world how much they hate trans men and how repulsive they find the idea of ever being compared to us. and replies like the third one, shaming trans men in relationships like that as if the fact that they’ve found themselves in an unhealthy relationship makes them deserving of public shaming, as if their relationship is hurting anyone other than them.

stereotypes like this just feel like yet another way of indirectly calling us stupid little girls who don’t know what’s good for us, and the fact that a picture of a woman is being used (even jokingly!) as an example of what trans men “like that” look like should make the implications of rhetoric like this all the more obvious.

it’s relationships like these that keep us miserable in the closet for so long and drive up our sexual assault rates even more. they’re not funny and if anyone is going to be making jokes about them, it certainly shouldn’t be people who have never been in that situation. if you actually cared about us you’d be looking for ways to support the trans men you know who are in relationships like that instead of hopping on twitter to joke about how stupid they must be.

i don’t care if it’s a joke. if it victim blames trans men for the transphobia we face in our personal relationships, adds to the common idea that we can’t be trusted to make decisions about our own lives, and invites even more blatant transphobia against us by people who unabashedly admit they see all trans men as “disgusting and phony”, it’s not fucking funny.

(i also want to note that the people making these jokes never like to mention that this also happens to trans men in relationships with queer women. they also hate those trans men, of course, and are happy to express that when they get into fights about trans men who date lesbians, but they’ll never talk about it in the context of this particular stereotype. it’s always a man being manipulative in a relationship and pressuring trans men to not transition, as if a woman would never be capable of such a thing.

they also like to conveniently ignore the existence of older trans men who transitioned after already being in a committed relationship with a cishet man and were able to make that relationship work despite their transition, because acknowledging that would require recognizing that trans men can be in seemingly contradictory relationships and genuinely be happy with their partner. who needs nuance when you can simply choose to judge all trans men for our relationships regardless of what they’re actually like?)

do you think they also would call me “a trans man being purposefully misgendered” with this kind of vitriol because i’m still living with parents who don’t recognize my gender instead of moving out before i’m ready to be financially independent? at this point, i’m starting to feel like they might, with the way every decision a trans man ever makes is the subject of a public debate and people have decided that trans men are secretly using being misgendered as a weapon to somehow hurt other trans people.

as a general rule, i’d say the only people who should be making “X looks like a trans man” jokes about literally anyone/anything are trans men, and posts like this show exactly why those jokes being made by anyone else (even by other trans people) just isn’t a good idea.

[milkloafy]

SILENT BUT RECKLESS — TODOROKI SHOUTO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which pro hero!shouto saves you from getting run over by a car and finds himself immediately enraptured by you.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: pro hero!shouto, fluff, gn!reader ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.3k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: aka…pro hero!shouto is a pr nightmare and no u cannot convince me otherwise ! ahdjskc but frl this is so unserious but i miss the og anime loml so here we are :>

Shouto wasn’t exactly known for his talkative nature. 

It was quite the opposite, in fact, with news agencies and magazines often referring to him as the quiet one of the Big Three. Though, he supposed that was better than being known as the one with the family trauma. 

But people often mistook his silence for thoughtfulness, he realized. Or an intense observation of sorts. And while at times that was the case, most times, it was simply because he didn’t have anything to say. 

Shouto blinked as he realized the situation he was in. 

He had just stopped a villain from robbing a luxury clothing store for the third time this month, nothing too exciting, yet the journalists showed up each time for an interview with him after. 

“Sir, we are live,” the reporter reminded with a nervous laugh. “We asked if you had a message for any…”

She kept talking, but Shouto was unable to concentrate. Not because he had heard it millions of times before, but because he noticed a strange movement from the corner of his eyes. 

This was one of the times he was both silent and observant. 

Shouto spotted you crossing the street on your phone, staring at your screen and completely oblivious that a car was headed your way with little to no sign of stopping. 

Without thinking of how it would look to the public for him to ditch an interview mid-sentence, he ran over to you before he even processed his legs moving. Throwing his right arm out in front of him, he sent a wall of ice up to block the vehicle’s predicted path, reaching you just in time to sweep you off your feet and carry you away from the road as the ice began to shatter from the impact. 

The ice wall was thick enough that the car slowed before fully breaking through, but that didn’t stop Shouto from instinctively shielding you with his body in the event that ice shards propelled towards you. 

Once he heard the sound of a crash and alarms, he figured the vehicle was fully stopped and the authorities arrived to assess the situation themselves. Would he get scolded by his agency for putting up an ice wall and potentially damaging someone’s vehicle? It was likely so. But that was better than someone actually getting hit by a car instead. 

The world wanted heroes, but only when they fit into their ideal mold. And while rules and regulations helped keep order in the world, in moments like these when someone’s life was in danger, Shouto couldn’t be bothered to care.

Slowly, his body relaxed and he was able to finally take a look at you. At the person who, for some reason, was so focused on their phone they didn’t notice a car coming at them. 

Any criticisms that threatened to come out of his lips stayed there once he got a good look at your features. He found himself taken aback by how beautiful you looked, though he quickly cleared his throat and recovered from his blatant staring. 

“Be careful when you’re crossing the street,” said Shouto, walking over to a section of grass and away from the commotion that was happening on the road, with you still in his arms. “What was keeping you so occupied?” 

You looked up at him guiltily, your phone clutched between your hands. “I was trying to order my food…” 

He blinked. As a pro hero, he shouldn’t be one the judge victims. But he couldn’t help but raise his brow just a bit. 

“I was really hungry,” you said sheepishly, hiding your face in embarrassment. “But I can’t believe I was so focused on my order I didn’t realize the car wasn’t stopping!” You sighed to yourself before meeting Shouto’s eyes once more. “Thank you for saving me, Shouto. I’m sure you had much more pressing matters to attend to instead of saving some random person off the street.”

He shook his head. “That’s the most important part of the job. Saving people.” 

You smiled gratefully at him and he almost had to look away from your dazzling grin. “Well, thank you for saving this idiotic person right here.” You gestured towards yourself. “Still, I hope my order went through…”

A mixture between a snort and a laugh escaped his lips. You had almost gotten run over and your biggest concern was whether or not your dinner was on its way? 

“It’s didn’t!” you cried in exasperation as you peeked at your phone. “Well, I might as well get a convenience store meal at this point.” Sighing, you leaned your head against his chest for a brief moment of comfort. “By the way, you can set me down now. I think people are taking pictures of us.” 

“Oh,” said Shouto, “right.”

Carefully, he loosened his hold on you and set your feet carefully onto the floor. Before fully letting go of you, he made sure you were stable and steady. For some, it took a while for the events to process and the panic to settle in, and he wanted to ensure you were truly okay. 

You had a worried look on your face as you noticed the video cameras still focused on the two of you. 

“Will you get in trouble for this?” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. 

“For rescuing someone from a getting hit by a car and talking to them after?” He considered things for a moment. “Most likely. But it’s okay. The most important thing is you are safe, both physically and mentally.”

Giggling, you nodded, reaching up to pat him on top of his head. Shouto was startled by the sudden touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“Who knew Shouto was such a worrywart,” you teased. “I’m safe and unharmed, all thanks to you. In fact, to show my gratitude… Why don’t I treat you to some convenience store dinner? On me, of course!” 

Shouto was silent for a bit. There were plenty of things he should be thinking about right now. The headlines that would be made about Pro Hero Shouto saving someone and then going on a “date” with them right after. The damage it could do to his reputation. The overtime hours the agency would make his public relations team work.

Instead, his silence was used to think of what he exactly he wanted to get at the convenience store. 

“Okay,” Shouto said once he made up his mind. “I’ll take a curry bun.” 

You laughed and gestured for him to follow you to the nearest convenience store. “I like that, too. You have good taste.” 

He followed along beside you, pleased with himself when he heard your captivating laugh. 

“I think I want an egg sandwich tonight,” you stated, a thoughtful look on your face. “Or maybe some fried chicken. Or an egg sandwich and fried chicken? And a smoothie for a drink and dessert all in one item! But maybe I want a crepe instead…”

As you rambled on, Shouto suddenly understood how you were too engrossed with trying to order food on your phone that you didn’t realize a vehicle was approaching you earlier. And while that was dangerous, he found it slightly endearing. Just as long as you were away from any cars. 

Shouto was so focused on listening to you that he hardly paid attention to the look of shock on the reporters’ faces and the influx of calls he was receiving from his agency. 

Right now, he simply wanted to hear you talk more and eat a curry bun. 

The rest, he could deal with later. 

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 2

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this is sprinkled with angst and fluff

part 1

...

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

[softbeej]

Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)

Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.

Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?

No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.

So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.

“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”

Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.

Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.

You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.

“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”

His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.

“Well, deary?”

You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.

“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”

Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.

“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”

“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”

He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.

“You know what, I should go-“

Slam. His shadow had closed the door.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”

Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.

“I was bored. Missed you.”

“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”

You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”

“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.

Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.

You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.

"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."

Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.

You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."

"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"

Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.

There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.

“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.

He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"

His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.

"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.

“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”

Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”

The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.

“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”

You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.

“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”

You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”

Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.

“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.

So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.

“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”

You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.

He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.

“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.

“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”

“I have, I think...?”

“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.

As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.

[lilacs-stars]

moon + tides

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) SUMMARY: you, ariel's daughter, find yourself in a strange relationship with the one and only infamous pirate captain, who's absolutely obsessed with you GENRE: yandere, a bit of angst, some comforting fluff here and there, especially at the end CW: a few mentions of violence, someone walking a plank, mentions of drowning, some suggestive material, nothing too graphic though WC: 4.2k

A/N: this req was really fun to write! I might have gotten a bit carried away, heh...this part includes the backstory of how you two got together and the first part of the req, and the second part will include the rest of it. hope you guys enjoy reading this cause I definitely put some hard work into it lol. also please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd really like to know your thoughts!

If you could go back, would you change what happened?

This is something that you often ask yourself. 

You think about that fateful day frequently. It was the summer before your first year at Merlin Academy. You had finally convinced your parents, the famed mermaid Ariel and her Prince Eric, to let you go for a swim unsupervised. Being half-mermaid, half-human allowed you to transform back and forth at will. And although life on land was pretty good, your heart always ached to go back to the sea, to feel the cold, salty water as it engulfs you. To race along the reefs, tail swishing back and forth, allowing you to reach speeds far past what your human form can do. To leisurely swim amongst the many species of fish and plants that created the world of the ocean. To go back home.

Your parents had already gone over the rules with you hundreds of time, to the point where you could recite each one of them word for word: “Don’t go past the boundaries,” “Don’t approach any animals you don’t know,” “Don’t go so deep where you can’t see any light,” “Come out at the first sign of bad weather,” and, most importantly, “Do not, under any circumstances, interact with any humans.”

Your mother may be renowned for rescuing a stranger from the unrelenting grasps of the sea—if she hadn’t, you wouldn’t even be here right now—but that was a very rare case. Far more often than not, mermaid interactions with humans out on the waters ended up in the mermaid being tortured, held hostage, or even killed.

You knew the rules by heart, and yet, maybe it was because of your young age, you still broke them. You weren’t really aware of your actions in the moment; one second, you were swimming alongside a pod of dolphins, racing against the currents. The next, you heard loud voices and realized that almost directly above you, yet still a good few dozen meters away, was some sort of ship.

You had ducked down next to a big sponge, peering up apprehensively. It was at that moment you realized that you were far outside of the boundaries set for you by your parents. You should have turned back, should have swam back home, but there was something about the ship, something that intrigued you so much it forced you to stay in place.

A few moments passed, and seeing as there was no commotion, you let your curiosity get the better of you. After all, that ship shouldn’t even have been out there. Slowly, you crept closer and closer to the surface, making sure to remain in the shadows. The noises were becoming clearer; you could make out people’s voices now. But they still weren’t sharp enough for you to understand what they were saying.

Finally, you took the risk and poked your head out of the water near the rear of the ship. The sight before you elicited a sharp gasp, and made you wish you had just gone back when you still had the chance. 

Extended from the side of the ship was a long, wooden plank. Standing on one side of it (the safe end), was a man, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. He looked to be no older than forty, with a scraggly beard and ripped clothes.

A pirate.

Another figure emerged, walking to the edge of the deck. Your reflexes caused you to duck down quickly, so only your eyes were barely above the water. This figure was much younger, with dark brown hair parted neatly and angular features twisted into a wicked smile. He donned a maroon blazer that covered a white shirt with an upturned collar. Something in his left hand shined brilliantly under the sun’s bright rays.

The younger figure laughed, but not in the way one would laugh at a funny joke. He unsheathed a cutlass from his side, using it to poke the back of the man on the plank. 

“You see, Mr. Jones? This is what happens when you cross the most feared pirate captain in all the lands!” the young figure roared as he yanked off the older man’s blindfold, revealing to him his fate. The fear and panic that spread across the man’s face has been forever etched into your mind, even to this day.

You heard the man beg and plea for mercy, watched as every move he made caused the plank to sway even more violently. The pirate captain simply laughed, his crew along with him. Finally, when you suppose he tired of hearing the man grovel, you watched in terror as the captain gave the man a good kick in the back, finally sending him over the edge.

Suddenly, it was like the world was spinning in slow motion. The man plummeting off the wooden platform, falling, falling, falling. His screams muffled by the cloth around his mouth. Then, all too soon, he made contact with the water with a loud splash. 

He sank quickly, devoured by the ocean’s waters within the blink of an eye. Your young, distraught face watched as a few bubbles rose to the surface. Then nothing. All that remained of the man’s existence, all there was to give proof that he had ever even been there, were a few ripples in the water.

That was it.

You were frozen in shock. How–what–why? Your brain could barely string together a comprehensive sentence. All you were sure of was the feeling inside you. You couldn’t quite put it into words, could barely even understand it. But it made your tail ache to move, made you feel as if you simply couldn’t stay in one place any longer.

You dove beneath the surface, frantically swimming towards the direction where you saw the man go under. You kept looking around, searching, but to no avail. You decided to dive deeper, swimming lower and lower until the water around you was near pitch-black. You were growing more and more panicked by the second, because every second you wasted was another second the man grew closer to death.

Finally, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hope flaring, you darted towards it, the figure becoming clearer the closer you got.

It was him.

You reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to prevent him from sinking farther. His eyes were shut and he wasn’t breathing, but you could still hear a heartbeat. There was still time left.

Wrapping your arms around him, you started the difficult journey back to land. Thankfully, you knew of a small island not too far from here. Swimming with the added weight of a fully grown man was incredibly difficult, especially for a young mermaid, but you persisted. After all, this was his life on the line.

You swam as hard as fast as you could, and thankfully, by some blessing from the heavens, found a warm water current going the direction you were. You let it carry you, the rushing stream multiplying your efforts. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple of minutes, you reached the island.

Letting the wave wash you up on shore, you settled the man down on the soft sand the first chance you got. You rolled him to his front, which was quite the endeavor itself. His heartbeat had grown more shallow, but it was still there. There was still hope.

Using the skills your mother had taught you, you started to nurse the man back to health using your melodic voice. Ever since you were young, she had explained to you the gift bestowed upon mermaids, the power of healing through song. She taught you to sing before you could walk, and it was the one thing that you were sure you could do right.

As you sang your strange and melodious tune, it finally occurred to you that you were breaking the most sacred of rules. Not only were you interacting with a stranger, you were coaxing him back to life. Like mother, like daughter, you thought. I suppose healing strangers who were drowning at sea runs in my blood.

The only caveat to your healing powers is that it takes quite some time to have its full effects. You don’t know how long you sat on the beach, but it had been quite some time. You probably would have been there for much longer had it not been for the boom voice that sounded behind you, waking you from your trance of song.

“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t a mermaid.”

You practically jumped out of your fins as you turned around, startled beyond words. There, towering above you, was the evil pirate captain you saw earlier. He was even younger than you had previously thought. In fact, he couldn’t be much older than you. You wondered for a fleeting moment how a kid like that could command an entire ship full of grown—and scary-looking—men, but decided you have bigger matters at hand to worry about.

A few members of his crew lurked behind the captain, and you could see a small lifeboat docked to the ground near the coastline. Further beyond that, his ship swayed in the ocean waves, dark against the bright horizon.

You followed the pirate’s gaze down to your tail, which was still out. You silently cursed yourself for forgetting to transform back into your human form, being too distracted by saving the man to pay attention to your own safety.

You wanted to yell at the cruel pirate for trying to kill this man. No matter who he was, what he had done, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not like that. But the words got caught in your throat, so while a war raged inside your mind, you were completely quiet on the outside, simply staring up at the man with wide doe eyes.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said, with a tone that you wouldn’t quite imagine a killer using. He must have overheard me sing earlier, you thought to yourself. “Tell me, little mermaid, who taught you to sing?”

“M-my mother,” you replied weakly, your voice far more meager and small than you wanted it to be. You were still staring up at him, afraid of what he’d do to you.

“Your mother? Well, that’s quite interesting.” The captain raised his left hand to scratch at his chin, which is when you realized that it wasn’t a hand at all. Instead of a hand was a curved metal hook, with a sharp point gleaming at the end. So that must be the shiny thing I saw earlier, you thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” laughed the pirate abruptly. “My name is Captain James Hook, leader of the Jolly Roger. And you are?”

You blinked, almost forgetting your own name. If it were a less tense moment than this, you would have laughed at the fact that his name is rather befitting for him. “Y/N,” you respond.

“Y/N…Now, where have I heard that name before?” He tapped his chin with his hook again.

“Sir, that’s the name of Princess Ariel’s daughter,” one of the big, meaty pirates behind him answered in a gruff voice.

“That’s right!” Hook exclaimed. “You’re the mermaid’s daughter. You know, rumor has it you’ll be joining me at Merlin’s Academy in the fall, is that right?”

For some reason, your voice seemed to not work anymore, so you settled for nodding. Join him? you pondered. You didn’t know that he was also a student at the school you were planning to attend.

Hook started pacing along the beach, arms crossed with his hooked hand extended, deep in thought. You watched him, fear growing by the second. A sly smirk spread across his face, which only served to fuel the flames of your worry. 

“You know, you directly defied my command by saving that man,” he started. Slowly. Deliberately. Choosing every word precisely and carefully, like a shark circling its prey. “Do you even know why I made him walk the plank?” You shook your head no, the panic in you reaching record heights.

“That man”—he vaguely gestures towards the unconscious body laying on the beach with his hook—“stole an entire week’s worth of rations from my ship. An entire week’s worth of food and rum for an entire crew. Had he gotten away with it, we likely would have starved to death out at sea. Does he seem so innocent now, little mermaid? So worth saving?”

Again, you shook your head no. Although you agreed he definitely wasn’t an innocent man, you still didn’t see making him walk the plank a justifiable punishment. Despite your thoughts, you kept your mouth shut. Angering the captain further was not going to do you any good.

“Now, if anyone else had done something like this, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut their head right off,” Hook said menacingly, and with a swish, unsheathed his sword once again. You flinched—hard—and scrambled to back away from him. 

Hook took note of this, and, sheathing his sword, crouched down to get on the same level as you. “But don’t worry, little mermaid. I won’t hurt you. You see, you’ve piqued my interest. Plus, it would do me no favors to have a little girl’s blood on my hands.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. So he’s not going to kill me, right?

“But, alas, you can’t leave unpunished, now, can you?” he added. Your eyes grew impossibly wider, your entire body shaking in fear. This was it. He was going to kill you, or do something equally worse.

“I demand”—you already felt a tear slip down your cheek—“that you write to me for the remainder of the summer.”

Wait, what?

“W-write?” you asked in disbelief. “As in…”

“Letters,” Hook finished for you. “Write me letters. I’ll give you the mailing address of the Jolly Roger. Write me everyday, and I’ll promise I’ll write you back whenever we dock. How does that sound?”

“O-okay,” you reply, still taken aback by the peculiar, and far more lenient than you’d expected, request. That was all you had to do? Write letters? As punishment for saving the life of someone he’d ordered to die? You must be dreaming.

“Oh, and,” Hook said, voice lowered as he leaned in close to you, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his alluring scent of salty winds and something richer, deeper, filling your lungs. “I look forward to seeing you in the fall. Don’t forget me, my little mermaid.”

With that, he stood up, smoothing out the lines on his pants. “You wouldn’t happen to need a ride back home, would you, love?”

You shook your head no, too terrified of him changing his mind to spend another moment in his presence. You glanced back at the man lying behind you, still unconscious. “W-what about him? What will you do with him?” you managed to choke out, somehow finding your voice again.

Hook pondered this for a long minute, before finally answering, “He can live.” You let out a shaky breath. “But only because of you, little mermaid. And only this time. You go against my wishes again, and trust me, your punishment will be far more severe.”

And with that, he went back to his ship and sailed away.

You still muse about that day, thinking how different things would have been if you had changed just one little thing.

You kept your promise of writing him letters, too afraid to know what would happen when you had to inevitably face him in the fall to break it. At first, they started out simple. Ordinary recounts of your day, your favorite things, what you liked to do. As the weeks passed, you started writing more personal letters. How you felt about certain things or certain people, including your parents. You never spoke a word of that fateful day to them, knowing that you’d be grounded for life and forbidden from swimming ever again if they caught even a whiff of the danger you had put yourself in. 

Hook kept his promise, too. He wrote you back, although it was far less frequent than your letters. Even though he kept his responses short and concise, you always ended up hearing his voice in your head as you read his notes. You soon found yourself checking your mailbox daily, even getting to know the mailman rather well. The rush of dopamine you got every time you opened it to find a letter awaiting you was unmatched; you would always run upstairs to your room, lock the door, and pour over the note. Reading every line, every word over and over again, committing them to memory. 

You don’t know why you enjoyed these little letters so much. Maybe it was the thrill of having a secret that no one else knew of, or the absence of your usual loneliness every time you were reminded that somewhere out there, across the seas, was someone awaiting your letters, reading them, and writing back to you. Whatever it was, your heart started to form an emotional attachment to him without you even realizing it. 

Unbeknownst to you, that had been his exact plan all along.

It’s safe to say that once you started school at Merlin Academy, Hook’s—or James’s, as he insisted on you calling him—grip on you only grew. Things started out pretty normal: light conversations in class and stolen looks exchanged across the hall, mostly initiated by him. After the first few weeks passed, things between you two only grew. Secret meetings during lunch hours, rendezvous after school, and small gifts exchanged between the two of you. From there, it became brushing your hands together whenever you passed by each other, soft pecks on the cheek or forehead where there were prying eyes, and more passionate kisses when the two of you finally found time to be alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really know what you two are now. Normally, you would consider two people that partake in such actions to be courting, and you kind of assume you are. But James has never said anything about a relationship to you, and in all honesty, you’re too afraid to ask him. You feel terribly confused at his intentions towards you; on the one hand, he approaches you every day without fail, even if you try to ignore him or when your schedules don’t match up. Somehow, he always finds a way. On the other hand, he never asked you to be his lover, never even vaguely mentioned anything of the sorts. So, you decided, with a heavy heart, to not be too confident and consider yourself his partner. And unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t yours, either.

Really, you never meant to grow so involved with the bastard pirate that threatened to kill you on the beach that day. But for some strange reason, instead of treating you coldly like he did everyone else, especially the other hero kids, he was softer with you. Considerate, even. You had half-expected him to want nothing to do with you after your first few interactions, but he kept seeking you out. You often opened your locker to a note inside, or entered your dorm to find a letter slipped beneath the door.

Today was one of those days. You had gotten a note telling you to wait for him in your usual place in the evening, after classes. So here you are, waiting, staring at the water fountain in the courtyard. You’ve always been transfixed by the way the water spurts out the center and splashes all around. It seems that whenever you’re alone with your thoughts, they always end up back to that fateful day you met James, and everything that’s happened since.

“Wait for me long, my little mermaid?” a deep voice whispers in your ear from behind. You jump only a little, far more used to James sneaking up on you now than you used to be. For some reason, it seems he loves to startle you by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in close from behind, or speaking softly in your ear.

You twirl around, a delighted expression on your face, although you try to mask it with a feigned annoyance. “And if I say I did?”

“Well then, I’d have to find a way to make it up to you then, wouldn’t I, darling?” he purrs, using his hook to spin you around in his arms so you’re face-to-face. His lips make his way to yours, pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to yours, not able to get enough of his touch. 

The feeling of his skin against yours ignites something in you, and you find your mouth opening to give him more access as a soft whimper escapes your lips. One hand reaches into his hair, tugging at it gently from the base of his head, while the other one trails down the front of his shirt.

James leans into you even further, your bodies flush against each other now, as he deepens the kiss. You find yourself leaning against the edge of the water fountain, the cool sprinkles providing a welcomed contrast to your heating-up bodies.

Once you’ve completely lost your breath, you pull away just slightly, a love-drunk smile on your face. “You had a request for me?” you whisper, panting, eyes full of adoration for the man you were interlocked with. 

James breaks into a grin. A genuine one, not one of the smirks he flashes to uphold his patented suave demeanor. “Ah, yes, how could I forget, my love?”

He pulls further away to give you two enough room to breathe, yet keeping his good hand on the small of your back. “I was reminded today that it's been quite some time since I’ve heard your voice, my little mermaid.”

You give a little smile, deciding to mess with him a bit. “Whatever do you mean? You hear my voice every day. I mean, you’re even hearing it right now.”

James cocks his head to the side and raises a single eyebrow, clearly aware of your antics. “Your other voice, love.”

You giggle. “Fine, all right. Only for you,” you say, giving him a peck on the nose. 

You sit down on the ledge of the fountain, turning back to stare at the water again. Although it has been a long time since you stretched your tail and went for a swim, simply seeing the rushing water soothes you. It isn’t quite like being immersed in it, but it still gives you some semblance of comfort. 

You reach into the pool at the bottom, letting the cool water rush along your fingertips as you inhale a deep breath. Through your mermaid abilities, your voice twists into an otherworldly song, filling the space with a mellifluous sound. 

James takes a place on the ledge next to you, reaching into the water to hold your submerged hand. You don’t really feel it, too transfixed on the rushing waves. You don’t see the way James gazes at you, like you’re his entire world. The softness, the tenderness in his eyes, which he reserves for you only. He looks at you not as if you’re his sun, something too bright to ever stare directly at, something violent and explosive and harmful, but as if you’re his moon. 

As if you’re the figure he watches every night before he closes his eyes, and the one he wishes to see again when he wakes up. As if you’re the only thing he notices every time the darkness envelops him, your presence never falling off the pedestal he places it on in his mind. Never losing its worth. He looks at you, your soft glow and mesmerizing shimmer, as if you’re the only thing filling up the night sky. The stars and constellations pale in comparison to you, especially on your best nights, when you shine so magnificently. 

You are the moon, and he is the tide of the ocean, constantly being pulled in by you. Never being able to escape the grasp you have on him, the grasp you are so blissfully unaware of. He stares at you in awe and wonder, bathing in your gorgeous light, so close yet always so far away. Sitting all alone against the dark backdrop of the evening sky, waiting for him to come back to you. And without reason, you always disappear. Always leaving him wanting more, waiting till the moment he can bathe in your presence again. 

As you sing, the tide gets pulled in by the gravity of the moon. Your lyrical voice bounces off the stone walls, surrounding you both, just as the moonlight surrounds the waves on that mystical night. 

But the moonlight is only a reflection of the sun’s glow, is it not? When daylight comes, the moon will pull away from the waves, its absence in the sky all but forgotten in the sun’s presence. And as dawn breaks, so too will the pull between the moon and ocean. 

on to part 2! ->

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do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

[pressureplus]

Yandere Sebastian Solace Headcannons

Warning: Blood, Light gore, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Marking/Biting, Actually Delusional, Like he’s actually crazy, It’s a Yandere…they’re not Sunshine and Rainbows

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

The moment he saw you, he knew he just had to have you. As if some kind of switch had flipped on in his brain that he didn’t know existed

Suddenly you were the center of his entire world. Every inch of it.

Everything you did became the reason he lived and breathed, following you became the only thing that kept him sane. Attempting to stop was detrimental to his mental health

So he settled for a healthy medium when he could, sneaking pictures of you while your back is turned

Finding that old camera has led to some very…interesting pictures of you being pinned onto a cork board in his room. Sometimes just standing, sometimes your face, sometimes your body.

Not that you know these pictures exist, of course

Sometimes he just stares at them, almost entirely unblinking, and runs his hands over the pictures like he can feel your skin

Sometimes he can’t help but to kiss the pictures of your face like you’re really there. Silly little thing, isn’t he?

In person? He doesn’t treat you any different at first. Though he gets noticeably more aggressive with people that get close to you

One day, trying to avoid Eyefestations gaze, you bumped into a desk really hard and your pants got caught on it. It left a sizable bruise and a tear in your pants

A jar of familiar eyeballs is left with your name on it outside the room you’ve been staying in down here

You never see Eyefestation again.

He insists on helping whenever you’re applying new bandages or using a medkit, the smell of your blood practically getting him drunk

He wants to bite you. He wants to eat you. He wants to kill you. He just wants to be a part of you, or inside you? As close as he can get to being you.

He loves you so much he wants to tear you apart limb by limb, wearing your bones like a crown and your beating heart like a necklace

He wants to be so entirely soaked in the smell of you, your blood, your clothes, that he cannot tell where he ends and you begin

But he could never dream of hurting you, not really, not like that. No, he’s better than the monsters down here, no matter how sweet your blood smells.

The odd version of cuteness aggression he has tells him to do all sorts of terrible things, it’s a good thing he has self-control

Keeps your used bandages. Dont ask what he does with them, you don’t want to know.

Probably steals clothes you’ve worn recently too if they smell like you…

He’s always watching you, and while you didn’t know about his little habits before, you probably catch on the first time he shoots one of your new friends

They hadn’t hurt you, yelled, they’d only tried to touch you. It was so quick too. The loud bang and a ringing in your ears as his gun produced a bit of smoke. He blows on it for a moment before holstering it. A mess of splattered remains on the ground as he smiled at you.

“My apologies, what were we talking about? Oh yes the batteries you wanted. That’s going to be about 50 data.”

“Y-You just killed someone right next to me. What was that even for?”

“Oh that? You’re right. You shouldn’t have had to see that. How about 30 instead?”

He’s started to pick off the people you talk with, the people you hang around. Leaving you in complete isolation from anything that isn’t him.

Don’t flash beacon him. He’ll say that it’s alright. That you’re just confused! He’ll crush it in his hand. The second time, however, he’ll leave the bruise of his hand wrapped around your arm when he tugs you forward and bites you

Some kind of punishment, you suppose, but it does leave a scar

One he’s going to obsess over

If you love him back that’s great! You’ll be treated a little nicer so long as you follow the rules. Nobody can touch you, nobody can be close to you, you’re not to make eye contact with anyone but him- oh and you must always sleep in his bed!

Despite what you may believe, it’s not for sexual purposes, he just wants his bed to smell like you

Still unstable and still an asshole, but on the plus side? You get babied and given gifts and kissed and protected!

You are his little treasure after all! Which means you get special perks

But if you don’t love him back, well…he doesn’t really care. It’ll just take time, soon you’ll see things his way, that’s all.

At least that’s what his delusional ass believes.

If he has to leave you chained up somewhere to keep you from getting hurt then he will. He’d hate to watch the light leave those beautiful eyes of yours.

And when he finally manages to escape he will drag you along whether you like it or not. Alone together out at sea, probably on some remote island.

Never letting you die. Never letting you leave. Never letting you be seen by the world.

His little treasure, forever, until the day you both die

Isn’t that romantic? He sure thinks so.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Partition - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Partition - Beyoncé - @scuderiarossa

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smutty (there's a bit of angst to start though)

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The limo’s low hum is almost soothing, a contrast to the coiled tension radiating off Lewis.

I’d thought the worst of this would have been over after the last race—when he’d crossed the finish line and nothing, no controversial ruling, no last-lap drama, could take that eighth title away from him.

He had stood on the top step, grinning like the world had righted itself, like he could finally put those ghosts behind him.

For a few days, I believed it too. He’d laughed more, had this lightness about him that made everything feel... easier. I thought we’d left that weight in the past, buried under the trophy he had lifted with both hands.

But trauma, it has a way of sticking around, of finding cracks to sneak through.

And today, on the night of the ceremony where he’d finally be recognized as what he’s been, he’s back to being that stone of tension.

I watch him, his brow furrowed as his gaze lingers out the window. His hand rests on his thigh, fingers twitching in that way they do when his mind won’t stop.

I know how much history weighs on him.

It’s why I’m here, why I slid into a deep burgundy dress and spent 45 minutes getting everything just right. I know what tonight means to him.

My hand moves up to his chest, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his suit jacket. “You shouldn’t still be this tense, babe. The season’s over. You won.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just exhales a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the lights of Paris streaming by. “Yeah” he finally says, his voice tight, restrained. “I... I just don’t want anything to go wrong tonight.”

I study him for a moment, my heart squeezing at the vulnerability in his voice. Lewis Hamilton doesn’t let that part of him show often, not to the world, and sometimes not even to me.

But it’s there, under all the strength, the confidence, the legend. He carries everything with him—every win, every loss, every time someone questioned his place, his worth.

And that weight, it’s heavy.

“I get it” I say softly, my hand resting more firmly on his thigh. “But tonight, isn’t about proving anything. You’ve already done that.”

His eyes flick to mine, and I see the briefest flicker of doubt, like even now, standing on the cusp of the recognition he’s deserved for years, he’s still fighting ghosts.

Well, not tonight, not on my watch.

I move closer, my lips brushing against his ear. “You need to stop thinking so damn much” I murmur, my fingers trailing higher, teasing the tension right out of him.

His brow lifts slightly, a knowing look passing between us. "Do I?"

I don’t answer him with words. I just give him a look, the one that promises I’m about to make him forget every damn thing that’s been on his mind.

The past can haunt him, but tonight? Tonight, he’s going to feel exactly what he is.

I smirk, settling in closer, my hand sliding up to his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Paris traffic isn’t going anywhere. We’ve got, what—thirty minutes?”

He raises a brow, catching on quickly, though there’s still that edge in his eyes. "And what are you proposing we do, love?"

I meet his gaze with a wicked grin, as I call for the driver. “Monsieur, pouvons nous avoir un peu d’intimité?” (Sir, can we have some privacy)

His eyes darken as he hears the french roll from my tongue and watches me shift off the seat, positioning myself between his legs.

My dress pools around me, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of his breathing, heavy and expectant. I lock eyes with him as I reach for his belt, my fingers making quick work of the buckle.

"Est-ce que tu aimes le sexe? Le coit… Tu aimes ça?” I tease him, echoing a familiar line with a playful smirk. (Do you like sex? The sexual act... Do you like it?)

His chuckle is low as he gets the reference, but it quickly fades as I pull him free, my hand wrapping around his growing hardness.

This night is his, and I’m going to make sure he walks in that gala like the titan he is.

I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the groan that escapes his lips, his hand instinctively coming to rest at my exposed arm.

My mascara is going to be a mess after this, and my lipstick—well, that’s going to be a different story altogether. But it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters except this moment, and the way I can feel his body start to loosen under my touch.

I work him with the same precision he uses on the track—focused, determined, in complete control. His grip on my skin tightens, his breathing quickens, and I can tell he’s close.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he growls, his voice thick with need. His hips buck slightly, and I feel him pulse against my tongue.

I push him right to the edge before he tumbles over, his release hitting the back of my throat as I swallow every bit of it.

There’s nothing around to clean up, so I do what I have to—handle it like a pro.

I pull back slowly, giving him one last teasing kiss before I sit up, licking my lips. His head is thrown back against the seat, eyes closed, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

“Better?” I ask, carefully wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb to smudge a minimal amount of lipstick.

He opens his eyes, that stormy expression from earlier completely gone. Now, he just looks at me with a satisfied and lazy grin that certainly beats that gaze he occasionally gives Will Buxton.

“Way to take the edge off” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with affection, a finger still on my arm, tracing circles on the skin there.

I reach into my clutch, pulling out the tube of red lipstick and expertly reapplying it in the dim light.

As I lean back to check my reflection, I notice something on his shirt—a small smudge of lipstick, the same shade I’m wearing, right at the hem of his blazer jacket.

I smirk. “Looks like I left a little souvenir.”

Lewis glances down, following my gaze to the stain, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course, you did.”

“Do you think they’ll notice it’s my shade, too,” I tease, reaching out to fix the collar of his undershirt. “Maybe get them to wonder.”

His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing lightly against my jaw. “I don’t care what they think” he says, his voice dropping an octave, more serious now.

“Good.” I lean in, pressing my freshly reapplied lips to his lightly, tasting the remnants of him still on my tongue. “Because tonight’s yours. You’re going to walk into that ceremony and claim what’s been yours.”

He pulls back, his brow arching slightly. "And then?"

I settle back into my seat, crossing my legs slowly, deliberately. “Then, I’m all yours. But first, you’ve got a circus to attend.”

His grin widens, that familiar spark of confidence returning to his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The limo slows to a stop, the sounds of Paris creeping back into the cabin. The driver opens the door, and I adjust my dress, smoothing out the fabric as Lewis steps out first, his hand extended to help me. I take it, stepping into the cool night air, feeling every eye and camera flash on us as we make our way into the grand venue.

Tonight, the world will see Lewis for what he is—a titan of Formula 1.

And when the cameras are gone and the applause fades, he’s all mine.

______________________________________________________________

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[vintagebishx]

JUST THE TWO OF US theodore nott

PAIRINGS: theodore nott x slytherin!reader

WARNINGS: smoking, nothing too serious

SUMMARY: in which, it’s just the two of them after curfew…

THE GREAT LAKE, also known as “the black lake”. it was a large body of water that everybody knew about but nobody dared to swim in. well, everyone but y/n. for her, the lake was a way to escape from the realities of the harsh world, she loved having some time to herself.

y/n stood amongst the bodies of water, she stood there with her naked body as she watched the sun go down. a sense of ease and relaxation taking over her entire body as if it was medicine that helped cure whatever illness she had.

the pressures of juggling school, life, and her thoughts seemed to have disappeared. this was what life was about to her.

it was about being able to take time out of your day and do what you love. and although she wasn’t allowed to be here and definitely not at this time, she didn’t care for the rules.

she took one last look at the scene of the orange and pink sky before diving into the lake and swimming. the water was almost refreshing on her skin as she felt it moisturise her perfect features.

she spent at least five minutes swimming before she grew tired. she brought her head back up to the surface, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath of the fresh oxygen in the air.

“you shouldn’t be here l/n.” a familiar voice spoke, causing y/n to look up and realise who it was.

theodore nott.

the boy that every girl wanted. well, accept y/n.

and that was what pulled him closer to her. he spent the last year trying to get the girls attention but she just never looked at him, or even bothered to mutter a word to him. also, it wasn’t a secret that y/n was gorgeous. she had every boy in Hogwarts practically on their knees for her but just like how she treated theo, she never paid any mind to their existence and their pathetic attempts to impress her.

“well why not?” she spoke. she tilted her head to the side as she stared right at him, her voice loud as he was stood a little far from her at the dry land.

the water was now warm to her in comparison to when she first dived in, it was cold and unbearable then but now, she wanted to stay in the water forever.

“well for starters, it’s well past curfew. how’d you even get out?” he ask with a confused tone, the girl never failed to surprise him.

"don't worry about that." she told him, “why don’t you come in nott, your not shy are you?” she spoke in a teasing tone with her eyebrows furrowed and she stared at him.

theo suddenly grew quiet at her question, he truly didn’t know what to say and was sure as hell not going to open his mouth either. her expression soon changed as a seductive smile appeared on his face to show that she was just playing with him.

“i’m just playing with you nott, loosen up a little.” she spoke as she broke the silence between them, “i’m gonna get out anyways, my muscles are getting tired.” she continued before swimming black closer to the land that theo was stood on.

theo watched as the girl got up from the water, her naked body now visible to his bare eyes as he watched her shake her hair, lean her head back, and glide her hands against her wet hair in order to remove as much water as she can. his mouth was slowly agape as he watched the scene play out in front of him, it was as if everything was moving in slow motion. his cigarette found its way back into his mouth as he let the toxic smoke fill his lungs, he watched in awe as the girl played with her dark, luscious hair.

as time passed, he had grown rather intrigued at how peaceful the girl seemed amongst this scenery. he began to wonder if he should’ve even stepped foot into what was clearly her comfort zone. his low eyes carefully travelled down her perfectly crafted body as if it was his last time ever seeing her again. he was fascinated with all her curves and every single inch of her body.

he watched as she carefully put her school uniform back on her body. she had slipped her short skirt on and longsleeve shirt on that she had left unbuttoned at the top, her slytherin tie was lazily tied as she really didn’t bother who saw her since everybody except theo and her were in their rooms.

his eyes stayed glued to her as he watched her walk closer, and closer to him. the smoke that was just in his mouth, found it’s way out as he slightly parted his lips, permitting it to exit and make its way to y/n’s face.

she was now stood in front of him.

she took a moment to scan his face. her head was tilted to the side as she first examined his soft hair, then his ever so low eyes, her eyes then made its way to his nose. everything about the man that she rarely ever paid attention to was so perfect.

meanwhile, theo was feeling the pressure.

he out of nowhere had the Hogwarts IT GIRL extremely close to him, examining his face as he could feel her light breaths against his soft skin. he felt his heart skip a beat as the nerves began to take over his system. at that moment, he knew that the students of Hogwarts weren’t being dramatic when they said that “her presence alone was truly enough to make you forget your own name”.

her eyes then finally flickered down to the boys’ soft lips and the cigarette that was placed in between them. y/n didnt hesitate to bring her hand up to the cigarette, and removing it from his lips with her fingers. theo watched as she licked her lips before putting the cigarette stick in between her own.

her eyes went from his lips to his eyes as she wasted no time in inhaling the toxic smoke. her eyes stayed on his as she felt that familiar feeling in her lungs, a feeling that brought back many memories for her.

y/n let the feeling linger in her body for a few more seconds before finally exhaling and letting the smoke find its way to theo’s face, to which he didn’t react. a smile crept onto the girls’ face s she watched the scene play out, satisfied with what she had just done.

“i- um, i didn’t know you smoked.” theo finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between them, “i guess you don’t know a lot about me theo.” she replied.

the girl turned her gaze from theo, to the scenery surrounding them. she looked to make sure that nothing was creeping or lurking through the wooded and isolated area.

“why are you out here?” she asked him as she looked back at him, his fluffy hair blew as the wind passed them both.

“did you follow me or something pretty boy?” she asked him while furrowing her eyebrows, “what? no!” he quickly replied as he blew out more smoke from his mouth.

“i saw you sneaking out, i just had to make sure you didn’t get lost, or kidnapped.” he justified himself, a smile plastered on y/n’s face.

“so your telling me that Hogwarts playboy cares about me?” she asked with slight sarcasm evident in her tone, “wow, i am truly flattered”.

a laugh escaped the boys’ mouth at her words. as his laughter died down, he took a moment to appreciate how the moonlight lit up her face. she looked beautiful.

“playboy huh, who told you that?” he asked her as he slightly furrowed his eyebrows, “a handful of girls actually.” she simply answered a she tilted her head to the side.

“i didnt take you as someone who listened to what others said, it’s all bullshit.” he stated.

y/n tilted her head back, she stayed silent for a few seconds as she lightly bit her lip and quickly scanned her eyes over his perfect face.

“you don’t have to lie theodore.” she began, “it’s just the two of us, you can always tell me the truth.” she spoke in an endearing tone.

his breath hitched as their chests almost touched. she just stood their, letting her beauty captivate, and manipulate him. she continued to keep her eyes glued on him, his silence was pleasure to her as she could most definitely sense his nerves.

a smirk found it’s way to the boys’ face, “well you can always find out for yourself.” he suggested.

y/n smiled at his words, exposing her perfect, straight teeth.

“correct me if i’m mistaken, but it sounds like your offering a date?” she asked him, to which he nodded. she slightly taken aback by his confidence. i mean, she had heard all about his confidence and cockiness, but she had never seen it happen firsthand.

his cigarette rested between his lips as he really just appreciated the moment that they had away from everyone else. her glistening, almond shaped eyes looked up at his which made him swear that he felt his heart beat even faster.

all of a sudden, y/n let out a small chuckle.

he stared at her with confusion all over her face, did i mess up or something? he asked himself.

“that was cute theodore,” she began, “but if you seriously think it’s that easy to get a hold of me, you must actually be as cocky as people tell me you are.” she continued.

her words took him by surprise as he had never encounter a girl like her, someone who actually rejected him.

“i love the way your hair looks though.” she casually said, her hand reaching up to his hair and ruffling it before taking her hand away, grabbing his cigarette from his mouth, putting it in her own, and walking away.

theo just stood their, completely confused at what had just happened. but he had to admit, his ego was slightly deflated at her words but he was willing to keep trying.

WRITER SPEAKS!

a little short but first ever time posting my writing on here😝

border creds: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[knavesflames]

chat this contains sh DO NYAT read if uncomfy

putting this in ur ask box cos im desperate for it to be written on my knees screaming

genshin girlies tracting their s/os skin where they see scars while u cuddle naked maybe after a sesh or even just skin to skin cuddling and they speak softly telling you you did a good job and everything and even kissing them AUGH HEHEHRHEHEGRGEGRGRGRGRBDJFJSLANHAHA

Hi <3 sorry this took me so long to get to! I have had a whirlwind of health struggles both mental and physical but I am trying to Lock In again. I’m sorry you went through such tough times :( I understand, and I get the struggle, if you get what I’m implying. Stay safe and healthy fr<3

Word count: 867

Content: sh implied in the past but it’s not graphic, just briefly mentioned, talk of scars, fluff

tw utc

Arlecchino has a rule— as blunt as she may be, she isn’t as cruel as the world likes to make her out to be. Judgemental, though she is, she refuses to comment on something that a person cannot change. She deems it basic decency (it is), but even some of the most polite people she knows don’t hesitate before speaking, or, well, looking. Despite the discomfort she knows you experience when people’s eyes wander and dwell on the exact thing you don’t want them to look at, she herself has never done so. Curious, she has to admit she has been, as would most be if they had a girlfriend with such marks littering her skin. Purely out of concern and care does she wish to know the story of what led you to make such decisions. She does not ask. Arlecchino herself has scars from countless hours of training herself to execute ‘Mother’, ones she keeps hidden under the fabric of her pristine white suit. Ones only you have seen, during moments of intimacy when the night is dark and the air in the room is so suffocatingly warm. You know her story, so you don’t ask.

It seems to be a cycle. She sees them, says nothing, and holds back from doing what she’d really like to do for fear of being insensitive or revealing the softness she keeps hidden. The marks are hidden again, and neither of you say a word. In truth, they shouldn’t be the main focus of the conversation and she understands that, but a part of her yearns to know you, and to understand the parts of you that you’ve refused to reveal.

On the days she catches you staring just a little too longingly at That Drawer in the kitchen, or the days where you seem a little more miserable than usual when you glance at your skin, she’s sure to pull you away from the mirror or the kitchen under the guise of needing you to look over some of the plans for the orphanage, or needing to go shopping. She’s so good at doing so, you don’t even notice she’s done it until hours later.

One particular night, after multiple hours of pleasure and mumbled words of affection, she decides to be bold. Hesitantly, her blackened hand reaches to rest on your thigh. The act itself is nothing new, with you, Arlecchino is a very touchy person, always reminding both her and you that you’re hers. Her thumb however, strokes over one particular scar she’s eyed for a while. It’s a feather light touch, testing the waters, and she’s perfectly prepared to lift her hand away should you indicate as such. You do not. You lean into her touch, almost, like you’ve been waiting for her to get comfortable enough to touch them. You become lost in your own thoughts, and you become unaware of how much time passes before her voice cuts through them, as stern as always, but softer than usual.

“Is this recent?” She hums in slight disapproval as her thumb grazes over it, but she says nothing more, which, if you’re honest, you’re grateful for.

“I had a moment,” you mutter in reply, your head buried into her neck. Her perfume still adorns her skin, and you wonder how expensive said perfume must be if it’s been able to last such a long time, and through such strenuous activity. “I realised and I stopped.”

“Good.” A breath, and her voice lowers until it’s barely louder than a murmur. The sincerity is there though, and her lips move against your hair. “I am proud of you. You have done well.”

“I have not done well, it is—“

“You would not have stopped four years ago. Or two, for that matter. Any progress is better than no progress.” Arlecchino’s voice is gentle, yet unwavering. When you go to protest again, she can practically see the words form before your voice can carry them. “Of course I know how often you were doing it. I am no fool. I said nothing because begging someone to stop doing something when they do not wish to stop is a fruitless endeavour and harmful for both parties in the long run. I just wished you would speak to me if you needed.”

You decide to continue letting her trace every scar she finds on your body. She traces random shapes with the tip of her nail (lucky for you, she filed them a while ago. For.. other reasons). In a moment of affection, she traces little hearts over each one, never missing one, and never giving one more care than another. Both of you stay silent, but the words don’t need to be spoken, and any words that did, have already been said. Arlecchino sees no need in making you uncomfortable when she knows you’ll speak if you need.

Speak you do, eventually, and she remains silent as she listens, giving the occasional nod or ‘mm’ to reassure you that she’s listening. She files all of the information away into her mind, and vows to herself she won’t forget a single word. Arlecchino vows she will love you always.

[endereies]

THOUGHT YOU WERE MINE - CS

No Nut November - Day 5

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Chris was finally ready for a relationship with you, it was too late

Your situation with Chris was complicated to say the least. You had been running around with his for the past few months, sneaking off during parties and events. You loved the risk between getting caught with someone who was only meant to be your best friend. But it never stayed that way.

At first you sought out Chris’ attention in the midst of a drunken decision, yet as time went on, you found yourself seeking his frame in the crowd as soon as you arrived. It was stupid, you were aware of that. Chris never did commitment, that he made clear. Countless conversations spiralled around the idea if you two and what you both wanted.

You had thought you could escape the pain of falling for someone you couldn’t have. As soon as your heart clenched when he complimented you, you knew it was over. That feeling only grew and even if in the moment you felt like the only girl he’d ever look at, it was a lie. It didn’t help that when you snuck off with him, it wasn’t always for sex. Occasionally you’d find his hand tangled in yours while the concrete steps lay below you. Sounds of the party called the pair of you back. You always ignored it.

He'd steal the odd kiss from you, in front of people and never batted an eye. The two of you would be dragged into the stage by the other to your favourite songs and you never care how you looked when you were with him.

Those moments made him question how he felt about you, seeing your vibrant smile as you danced with your friends. Or the way you’d laugh without a care in the world. Little did you know he was falling too. He hated it.

Chris was open about his commitment issues to you. He wasn’t someone who was immediately happy getting into a relationship, the whole idea intimidated him. Having a label felt too immediate for him, and after being hurt in a previous relationship it was easy to see why. The fact he was falling for you was already enough to throw him off course, he just couldn’t turn away.

The way you both felt wasn’t subtle. Your friends always giggled when they noticed the smudged makeup that was lining your lips. No matter how many times you v denied the accusations of you two dating, the butterflies in your stomach became obvious.

That was until you confronted Chris about everything.

“Hey Chris...? Vulnerability filled you as soon as the words left your mouth. Quick glances around the room failed to aid you in finding anything else to converse about. His hand stilled from your hip, the touch burning your skin. “Mm? What’s up?”

You hadn’t even said anything to him, and you already felt sick in your stomach. Is this how every confession goes? “Can we talk…about us?”

“What about us Y/n?” You could tell he was getting concerned, yet not out of fear, but the fact he’d have to repeat himself again.

“I don’t want this anymore…like, I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to act like this is all casual anymore.” His touch on your hip no longer burned as it withdrew completely.

“I’ve told you, I’m not into that shit Y/n. We agreed on that, you knew. I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you. That shit would hurt the both of us. We talked about this, end of.”

Tears brimmed at your eyes, and you felt so childish. He was right. You had discussed this more than once, the rules were clear. Weren’t rules meant to be broken. You couldn’t believe that you could be so stupid, the false hope from your friends fed into things that shouldn’t have been touched.

“Right…Well maybe I should go.” He didn’t protest, or even acknowledge you leave. Asking you to stay felt like too much to him, even if every cell argued with him.

The door shutting felt too real. You had actually left, this wasn’t a prank? Chris’s gaze was held on the door, praying you’d push it open and walk back through. You never did.

You quietly left through the front door and walked away from the porch, both your hands in your pockets. You were thankful for the dark sky, that way no one could see your tears. It was too quick, to reactive. It felt scripted hearing those words from him. ‘I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you’

With you…

Maybe if you were someone else, he’d be more willing to hold your hand and call you his. He would always step in and call you ‘his girl’ when any other guy got a little to close to him. For once you wished it wasn’t a ploy. Chris never played you, never treated you badly, never gave you a reason to walk away. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much, he was too perfect.

Steady weeks went by with no contact from you. You never came over to his place anymore, invitations to parties remained unread. He didn’t care, he shouldn’t. What was this weird feeling in his chest.

It hurt seeing you so close and yet so far. Your contact was there, staring him in the face. Your face beaming in the profile picture wasn’t helping him. Chris felt out of place now. Without you by his side he had no one to kiss, no one to hold. He had no one to rant about his day to, no one to console when things got bad. His friends weren’t the same, he needed you. As much as he hated to admit it, all his thoughts revolved around you more than ever. Whenever he used to think about you, his heart clenched with resolute admiration towards you, now it felt sour. It was like a deep breathe wasn’t deep enough, distractions weren’t fulfilling enough.

He hated the feeling of falling for you, but the feeling of losing you was a nauseating sensation he wanted to scratch off his skin.

Not even alcohol could wipe the stain of you, nothing was working. He waited too long and fell comfortable to the casualness of your relationship. He was willing, willing to work through any fears if it meant getting you back.

Before he knew it, his front door was locked, and footsteps disappeared into the night. Stars began to light the sky above him. He found himself wondering if you were looking at them too, like you used to. The walk was only 15 minutes away but each second felt too long. he had waited too long. Now he hurt someone he cared about for his own selfishness.

When Chris turned the corner, his body stilled, and his stomach dropped to his feet. An unfamiliar car was parked outside your house, tilted against the concrete. Your hand placed gently into another’s as they pulled you from the car. You inched closer towards them, yet Chris remained frozen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Who was he, why was he here, with you.

The voices were too meek for Chris to make out, yet the message was clear. It was evident when the distance between you two close, his lips softly touching yours.

Only then could Chris turn his eyes away, he felt betrayed without reason. Chris wasn’t ready and when he finally was, he pushed you away enough to move on.

Yet, he loved you first.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[paxtito]

forbidden

pairings: cairo x fem!reader

word count: 2120

warnings: smut 18+, swearing, cunilingus, strap-on

summary: you've gotten yourself tangled in a love affair with your father's top student

a/n: this is a filler so don’t mind the length- also credits to whoever requested that one cairo bot!

MASTERLIST | BOT

The dorm room is quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the campus settling down for the night. You fumble with your keys, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as you push open the door. It’s been a long day—one full of stolen glances, hushed conversations, and the constant weight of secrecy pressing on your shoulders.

You flick on the light, and your heart skips a beat.

There she is.

Cairo Sweet, perched on the edge of your bed, her legs crossed casually, her hands resting on the quilt your mother sent last semester. She’s still in her uniform from earlier, though the loosened tie and unbuttoned top collar give her an air of reckless confidence. That signature cheeky grin of hers—equal parts playful and infuriating—greets you as if she has every right to be here.

“Miss me?” she teases, tilting her head just so, the dim light catching the mischief in her eyes.

You close the door behind you, leaning back against it for a moment. “Cairo,” you say, your voice a mix of surprise and exasperation. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, feigning innocence as she leans back on her hands, her posture lazy but intentional. “Thought I’d pay my favorite person a visit. Is that a crime?”

“It is when you sneak into my dorm,” you retort, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Cairo’s grin widens, and she pushes herself to her feet with a slow, deliberate grace. “Relax,” she murmurs, stepping closer. “No one saw me. Besides,” her voice drops slightly, low and teasing, “don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the way your heart is racing. “Cairo, we’ve talked about this,” you begin, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes playfully. “We shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. Your dad’s my teacher. Believe me, I’ve got the speech memorized.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

She steps closer still, and now you can smell the faint traces of her perfume, something warm and sweet that lingers in the air between you. “Here I am,” she agrees, her voice soft but still teasing. “Because I can’t stay away.”

Your resolve wavers under the weight of her gaze, and she knows it. Cairo always knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin in ways no one else ever has.

“You’re going to get us caught,” you whisper, though the words feel weak even as you say them.

Cairo's eyes sparkle with mischief as she takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "So what if we do?" she murmurs, her voice a low purr. "Live a little, Y/N. Life's too short to play by all the rules."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Cairo always has this effect on you—making you question everything you thought you knew, making you want things you know you shouldn't.

"I... I don't know," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not that simple."

Cairo's hand comes up to cup your cheek, her touch gentle but electric. "It is that simple," she breathes, her face inches from yours. "It's just you and me, Y/N. The rest of the world can fall away."

You lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. God, it would be so easy to give in, to let her sweep you away on this tide of forbidden desire. But...

You lean into Cairo's touch, letting out a shaky breath.

 Fuck it. 

Your resolve crumbles under the intensity of her gaze.

"Cairo..." you murmur, your voice heavy with want.

A triumphant smirk curves her lips before she closes the remaining distance, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing along your bottom lip.

You melt into her, your hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her flush against you. The heat of her body seeps through the thin fabric of her uniform, igniting a fire deep in your core.

Cairo's hands roam over your body with a new urgency, her nails digging lightly into your skin through your shirt. She breaks the kiss, panting softly, her eyes dark with desire.

"Touch me," she breathes, her voice low and needy. "I want to feel your hands on me, Y/N."

You comply eagerly, your fingers slipping beneath her shirt to explore the smooth expanse of her back. Cairo arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Just like that," she pants, her hips grinding against yours. "Don't hold back, baby. I can take it."

You lose yourself in the sensation of her, in the taste of her, in the way she makes you feel alive in a way no one else ever has. Cairo is a force of nature, wild and unpredictable, and being with her feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, dizzying and exhilarating all at once.

As your hands roam lower, skimming over the curve of her ass, Cairo lets out a low groan. "Mmm, yes," she hisses, her hips bucking forward. "You know just how to touch me, don't you?"

The knowledge that you make her feel this good, that you can unhinge her so completely, sends a rush of power straight to your head. You nip at her bottom lip, relishing the way she whimpers in response.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cairo gasps, her fingers fisting in your hair. "I need you. Right now."

You don't hesitate, sweeping her up into your arms and carrying her the short distance to your bed. You lay her down gently, taking a moment to admire the sight of her spread out before you, her chest heaving, her skin flushed with desire.

Cairo watches you with hooded eyes as you slowly undress her, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Each piece of clothing you remove reveals more of her smooth, tanned skin, and you can't help but trail your fingers along her newly exposed flesh, mapping out every curve and dip.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice thick with need. "Please, I want to feel you."

You obey, your hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her body as you work your way down. Cairo arches into your touch, her fingers tangled in your hair, urging you on.

By the time you reach her hips, she's practically shaking with anticipation. You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties, drawing them down slowly, teasingly.

"Fuck, baby," Cairo groans, spreading her legs wider, inviting you in. "I need you so bad."

You don't make her wait any longer, diving in eagerly, your tongue hot and wet and perfect against her most sensitive parts. Cairo cries out, her back arching off the bed, her fingers tightening in your hair almost painfully.

"Yes, fuck yes," she pants, her hips bucking against your face. "Just like that, don't stop."

You double down your efforts, licking and sucking and teasing until Cairo is a writhing, incoherent mess beneath you, her thighs trembling and her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come," she warns, her voice strangled. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You redouble your efforts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a scream of your name, she comes undone, her body shaking and convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You work her through it, gentling your touch as the aftershocks fade, until finally, she collapses back onto the bed, spent and sated.

You crawl up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Was that good for you, baby?" you murmur, nipping at her bottom lip.

Cairo hums contentedly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "Mmm, that was incredible," she purrs, her voice low and sultry. "But don't think we're done yet. I'm far from satisfied."

You reach for your nightstand with trembling hands, fumbling for your trusty strap-on. In your haste, you knock over a lamp, sending it clattering to the floor.

"Whoops!" you exclaim, stifling a laugh. "Graceful as always."

Cairo watches with hooded eyes as you fumble with the strap-on harness, your fingers clumsy in your haste. She bites her lip, trying to hold back a laugh at your determined expression.

"Eager, are we?" she teases, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Shut up," you mutter, finally getting the harness secured around your hips. You turn to face her, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I'm going to rock your world, Sweet."

Cairo rolls her eyes, even as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Big words for someone who can't even put on a strap-on without help."

You narrow your eyes, stalking towards the bed. "Oh, I'll show you big, alright."

Cairo's laughter dissolves into a moan as you descend upon her, your hands and mouth mapping the contours of her body. You take your time, savoring every inch of her, until she's writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

"Please," she gasps, her hips lifting off the bed. "I need you inside me."

You smirk, reaching for the lube. "Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait."

Cairo groans, burying her face in the pillow. "You're such a tease."

You just chuckle, coating the strap-on liberally. "And you love it."

Her only response is a muffled moan of agreement. You line yourself up, pushing forward slowly, sinking into her welcoming heat inch by delicious inch.

"Fuck," Cairo whimpers, her hands fisting in the sheets. "You feel so good."

You set a steady rhythm, losing yourself in the slide of your bodies, in the slick sounds of your lovemaking. Cairo meets you thrust for thrust, her nails raking down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The strap-on rubs deliciously against your own sensitive parts with each deep thrust, the pressure building steadily. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to let go, determined to make this last for Cairo.

"That's it, baby," you growl, angling your hips just so. "Take it all."

Cairo keens, her head thrashing on the pillow, her body trembling beneath you. "Harder," she demands, her voice ragged. "Fuck me harder, Y/N."

You oblige, snapping your hips forward, driving into her with renewed vigor. The bed creaks in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall, but you're too lost in the heat of the moment to care.

Cairo's moans grow louder, more desperate, her body clenching around the strap-on like a vice. "I'm close," she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut. "So fucking close."

You can feel your own orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. "Me too," you pant, your rhythm starting to falter. "Come with me, Cairo. Now."

With a final, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, grinding against her sweet spot. Cairo screams, her body convulsing around you as she comes apart, milking the strap-on for all it's worth.

The sensation is too much, pushing you over the edge with her. You throw your head back, a guttural moan tearing from your throat as you find your own release, your hips jerking erratically.

For a long moment, you both remain locked in each other's embrace, panting harshly, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. Slowly, you come back to yourself, the post-orgasmic haze receding.

You pull out carefully, collapsing beside Cairo on the bed. She immediately curls into your side, her head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

"That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice soft and sated.

You reach down, fumbling with the straps of the harness with clumsy fingers. It takes a few tries, but finally, you manage to unbuckle the straps, the harness falling away from your hips.

Cairo lifts her head, watching you with a lazy smile. "Need some help there, sexy?" she teases, reaching out to trail a finger along your hip.

You shoot her a half-hearted glare, even as a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "I've got it," you mutter, tossing the harness aside carelessly.

Cairo just chuckles, settling back down on the pillows. "Alright, alright, I won't mock your struggle-bus hands."

You roll your eyes, flopping down beside her with a huff. "You're a brat."

"And you love it," she retorts, nuzzling into your neck.

You can't argue with that, your arms coming up to wrap around her waist, holding her close. For a moment, you just bask in the afterglow, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the soft whisper of her breath against your skin.

[lunarsilver]

What are their kinks?

18+, minors do not interact

A tarot reading regarding your (sexual) partner - your current one (asking about their permission would be in good taste), or next one, or the most important one, or your future spouse... Whatever you prefer.

Pictures are from Perfect Blue.

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2

3 ~ 4

PILE 1

The Hanged Man R - Knight of Wands - Five of Swords - Back of the Deck: Ten of Cups R

What popped in my mind when looking at the Hanged Man in reverse is that your person may like light bondage and/or pleasant to the touch fabrics. Some sensual undergarments, maybe. Moreover, the character on the card in this position brings a person having an orgasm to my mind, with their head thrown back and the general body position, which makes me think your person may like to look at their partner when they climax. I also feel like they may like to be in control; they don’t enjoy “hanging down”, doing nothing, being passive. When it comes to Knight of Wands, the meaning is pretty clear. They love experimenting. They most likely have high libido and treat sex like an adventure. Next, when I looked at Five of Wands, it came to my mind they can be into people crying, like when someone cries a little from overstimulation, for example (the card shows an eye, and it looks like a teardrop runs from it). They may also be into SM or makeup sex, as the card is often about disagreement, conflicts, winning at all costs, or defeat. For some, they may be even into CNC, though this obviously is a pretty specific kink. Lastly, there is a bottle of vodka on the Ten of Cups card (in this position of the card it is turned upside down, as if something was about to be poured from it), so they can like going at it while drunk. The card may suggest your person finds non-traditional relationships appealing. For some, the card is about how this person is into these different things I mentioned but doesn’t really act on it. As a last note, I think that for quite a lot of you, this is ONS or FWB. There’s also a chance your person can be kinda self-centered when it comes to sex. That won’t be the case for everyone, obviously, but I’m writing it down. Overall, this person looks like someone who likes having fun with sex and experimenting, and most likely is rather dominant.

PILE 2

The Devil R - The Empress - Knave of Wands - Back of the Deck: The Magician

So many Major Arcana, as well as many female/feminine-presenting characters. It makes me think that, first, they fantasize about this wonderful, life-changing sex, and second, they either are very into femininity or like to lean into it themselves. I also feel like I have a lot of queer people here, especially sapphics. And if they aren’t a woman, your person still either presents feminine (and they do so out of their own choice, as a form of expression) or they wish they could. Cross-dressing may be a kink of some here, I think. There is at least one guy here (bonus points if cis and straight) who would love to be called a princess or a babygirl lol. I don’t know, I get pretty light, positive, maybe even a little playful vibes from this pile. Like, there are some himbos here, or people who hope for something good, and there’s something pure about the way they see the world. But okay, let’s stay on topic! This person of yours for sure wants to release limiting beliefs and rules, they want to experiment with sex and have fun, the Devil in reverse says it all. The Empress is all about feeling powerful in one’s femininity, and it’s either about them wanting to feel like a princess or queen or about having a partner like this. Your person is a Knave of Wands, looking with a smile into the future, free-spirited and having so many ideas they aren’t sure where to start. The Magician at the back says they manifest all this and are ready to try the whole new world that opens up to them. For most of you, this person isn’t really experienced, or maybe they were always vanilla until recently. Your person here isn’t as dirty as some other piles, they’re most likely still in the phase of finding out what exactly they like, but oh, they’ll have fun with it.

PILE 3

The Fool - The Lovers R - Queen of Pentacles R - Back of the Deck: Nine of Wands

The Fool in this deck is so flamboyant that I instantly thought “Someone’s into twinks” lol. The Fool in the card winks, looks as if he were sending a kiss to the viewer, and dances confidently, proud of his body. The Fool is the card of new beginnings, of having the power of freedom to experience the world. The Lovers in reverse look to me like people hugging and cuddling while lying on the ground, on grass. Actually, all the cards show some place outside (aside from one card, which has a one-color background), and especially with the way The Lovers look here for me, I think your person may like the idea of outdoor sex. Moreover, because the card is reversed, your person may fantasize about having many suitors and having the ability to choose - or to not choose at all. The card also suggests imbalance, so your person can be into sexual power dynamics where one person is stronger than the other - so some BDSM dynamics, or some other role play. Moving on, we have the reversed Queen of Pentacles. The card presents a woman with long, glorious hair in bold but sensual attire. Actually, with the way The Fool and Queen of Pentacles look in this deck, I believe your person may find it hot when someone has revealing clothing or some nice undergarments. I think it’s sexy for them when not everything is visible or visible well, they find it tempting and alluring. With the reversed Queen of Pentacles, I think they are into independent people who know their value. Nine of Wands suggest they want to do it long. They also want something to be left after the experience: either just fatigue, or bite marks, or bruises, or red traces (think slapping someone’s ass, either with a hand or a toy, like a paddle). And now that I think about it, for quite many of you this is about a (sexual) relationship they would like. The reversed Lovers in the center describes the power-dynamic, and The Fool and the reversed Queen of Pentacles show what kind of lovers we talk about. There’s this Queen of Pentacles who has seen some shit, and despite that, or maybe especially because of that, they find something very alluring about the Fool being an enthusiastic, confident novice. The character of Queen of Pentacles actually looks older than The Fool. Your person may like age-gaps, or like to call someone/be called “mommy” (other variants of the name, based on the gender of people involved, are also possible, of course, “mommy” simply is the strongest here). Think about which description you fit more (either in life or just in bed) - The Fool or the reversed Queen of Pentacles. Your person is the other one.

PILE 4

The World - Nine of Swords - Four of Cups - Back of the Deck: King of Wands

The World is pretty straightforward here - they fantasize about this perfect sex, which is an almost spiritual experience; one that brings the feeling of completion, of being happy. For some reason I also think about this kind of sex where you extend the experience, having long, calm pleasure (like a person with vulva sitting on the dick of another person and just squeezing and relaxing their muscles, maybe sometimes moving a few times, just to keep it hard - that’s just an example, of course). Tantric sex. Next, with these Nine of Swords, I think your person likes the idea of someone dreaming about them or not being able to sleep because they think about them (maybe because they’re touching while thinking about your person), they find it hot. Your person may really love the idea of someone finding them so attractive, they get anxious or shy about it. The image also shows handcuffs, so maybe your person is into that. This card in the deck I used for the reading looks happier and more peaceful than its most traditional imagery, and when I look at it, I’m thinking about some romantic gestures like giving flowers. Color-wise, this card and The World both are pink and purple, and have this peaceful vibe about them. It kinda looks like the person portrayed in Nine of Swords dreams about this fantastic sex life, but they’re just lying alone in their bed. On the back we have King of Wands, which represents a passionate lover, and a good one at that. Not just good. Exceptional. For some of you, this is who your person aspires to be, but I think that for more of you, your person fantasizes about someone like this. Your person gives me the vibe of someone who dreams big; they’re into these romantic, maybe a little obsessive scenarios. Of course, it is still just a scenario they like to think about, it doesn’t mean they want to actually be with someone obsessive. Overall, I think that for most of you, this person is more on the submissive side, and they like all these classic scenarios from romance/romantasy/smut books or fics. Another thing for most of you which I see, is that your person probably doesn't have a lot of experience, but they definitely think about sex and romance, and hope for a chance to experience them.

[antiquarianfics]

The Best Things Take Time

Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

A/N: This took me so long because I wasn't really sure how I wanted to go about it. I'm pretty happy with it, I think. Also, my first request! I hope I did your brain-child justice. :) Warnings: Mild language. Based on this request. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

----

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date—even with Sam and Yori pushing him all the time. His triggers are gone, yes, but he is starkly aware that he still has a long way to go before he might be considered ready to give time and energy to another person on a daily basis. However, if there is anyone in the world that makes him reconsider his own rule, it’s you.

The two of you first formally met when Steve, Sam, and yourself finally tracked him down. You were kind to him, but you kept your distance. He never made many attempts to speak with you, but the short interactions he did have with you were short and clinical. He never asked, but he’s pretty sure you’re afraid of him—of what he’s done.

Despite this assumption, Bucky takes note of the way you drop everything to help him time and time again. You back him in Washington, you back him in Siberia, you back him in Wakanda, and you back him in Washington in the second go-round. He is appreciative—very much so—but he keeps his distance regardless. After all, he shouldn’t risk losing an ally by something as silly as small talk.

Things begin to change, though, when he runs into you at the airport. Both him and you felt the need to get on Sam’s back about giving up the shield.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a little indignantly. You cringe a little at your tone, but you brush it off nonetheless.

Bucky shoots you an annoyed look before turning to Sam.

Throughout the mission to track down the Flag Smashers, you and Bucky bicker (even more than Sam and Bucky do). You challenge him on every opinion he shares, poke fun at every misstep he takes, and side with Sam for the sake of disagreeing with him. He returns the favor, and he ignores the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

Your interactions are not particularly pleasant, sure, but they’re existent—which is progress.

—

“Does he always stare like that?” Walker asks Sam, eyeing Bucky uncomfortably.

“You get used to it,” Sam replies.

You glare at Walker. His attitude towards you and your boys bothers you. His entitlement to Steve’s shield and name bothers you. He bothers you.

“Does she always stare like that?” Walker asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only when douchebags harass my friends,” you deadpan.

You are plenty aware this is the first time you’ve called Bucky your friend, and you can tell he is too by the way his eyes shift from Walker to you. You’re not aware, though, that your concession of friendship serves as the push he needs to talk to you more.

—

It takes time, but over the next few weeks, Bucky manages to get you to open up. He’s surprised with himself by how he’s willing to talk to you; after all, people are usually trying to get him to talk.

Bucky finds out that you’re actually not as reserved as he thought, but you had heard both Steve’s stories of before and multiple people’s accounts of after. Your distance, you admit, was a consequence of you trying to give him space when everyone else was crowding him. Your teasing and bickering with him was a consequence of trying to create said space. The revelation makes Bucky’s heart clench: no one has made him feel so cared for in a long time.

Bucky sticks by his no dating rule, though. After all, you may be friends, and you may be acting nicer to him lately, but there’s no way you like him like that.

Or, at least he thinks so until Louisiana.

—

“Hey, Sarah,” Bucky says, flashing a charming smile at her from where he sits next to Sam and yourself on the dock.

“Hey!” You smack his chest with the back of your hand. “No flirting with Sam’s sister.”

He lets his attention shift to you, and he can’t help the surprise. He’s aware that you could just be enforcing Sam’s demand from earlier, but you’re so adamant. He thinks maybe he sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes, but he thinks, too, he might just be seeing what he wants to see.

Sam and Sarah continue to bicker before she shoos the three of you away from the boat. Sam and Bucky step onto the dock and begin to walk away before you, and they keep walking even when Sarah stops you.

“Subtle,” she says, smirking at you. You wave her off, your face heating up with a blush.

“Shut up,” you say, embarrassment entwined with each syllable.

Bucky thinks maybe—just maybe—you might like him back.

—

Looking back on the last few years, Bucky can hardly believe the journey you and he had been on. Being so distant most of your time together in the first few years, and then being so rude to each other the next few, and then needing a push from the Wilsons to actually do anything about your feelings… it was interesting, to say the least.

He remembers the day you agreed to leave Louisiana with him. It was an impulsive decision, but it led to the first time the two of you had truly been alone together. It led to inside jokes and deep conversations. It led to a genuine friendship.

“I’m headed out tomorrow,” Bucky informed you and Sam.

The three of you were sitting on the porch of Sarah’s house, conversation flowing from friendly jests, to Karli, to the boat, to whatever else. Your head shot up to stare at him, eyes widening.

“What? Why?” Your tone was a little panicked. Bucky raised his eyebrows at your tone. Sam laughed, and you shot him a glare.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, Doll,” he said. Ever since the incident with Sarah, he’d let a few pet names for you fall from his lips, and he smugly noted the way they made you squirm.

“Oh.”

“Well!” Sam exclaimed, clapping his palms on his knees as he stood. “I’m gonna go check on Sarah and the boys while you,” he pointed at the two of you in turn, “figure whatever is going on here out.”

You protested, but Sam was gone without another word. Neither one of you spoke for a moment, and you chewed on your lip.

“You’re really going?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“You can come with me, if you want,” he offered before he can think better of himself.

Your eyes shot to his, analyzing his face for any sort of jest. He seemed sincere, and once you decided he wasn’t pulling your leg, you responded.

“Okay.”

He remembers the day the two of you finally addressed that you were more than friends. Bucky, of course, has a no dating rule, and you? You had no such thing, but you weren’t dating either. In fact, you hadn’t since before Karli and the Flag Smashers showed up.

Bucky and yourself were at a bar, drinking and laughing with one another. He was sober, of course, but you were a little tipsy. You had a dopey smile on your face that he thought was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. He still thinks your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

That’s when a young woman sauntered up to the bar. She was gorgeous; her long, black braids reached her waist, her lips were painted a bright red color, and she wore a halter top that left little to the imagination.

“Hi,” she said, grabbing your attention, shooting you a flirtatious smile.

“Hi!” You said, the alcohol making you friendlier than you usually are.

“I saw you across the bar, and I was jus’ wonderin’, would you wanna grab a drink with me? Maybe dance a lil’?” Her eyes dragged down your body and back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you blushed.

“Oh, uh! T-thank you! I’m flattered, but, uh, I got my guy right here, and I kinda like him too much to date!” You sort of yell-whispered the confession to the girl.

She glanced behind you to Bucky whose eyes had also widened in shock, his mouth hanging open a little. The woman laughed and touched your shoulder comfortingly.

“‘s alright,” she assured. “Was worth a shot, though.”

She turned to Bucky then.

“Yo, congrats, man. You’re a lucky guy once you two talk that through.”

With that, she had left, and you turned around to Bucky.

“Look,” you said, more sober sounding than you’d been since the two of you arrived at the bar. “I don’t know what you think this is, or what you want it to be, but I’m all in if you are.”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you without a second thought.

And he remembers the moment he decided he was going to marry you, if you’d have him.

The two of you were sitting on the couch in your shared apartment; after about two years of dating, you insisted you live together.

“Buck, you’re always here. All your stuff is here. I don’t think you’ve stepped foot in your apartment in a month. You’re just wasting money on rent at this point.”

You were leaned into his side, eyes glued to the tv screen. The two of you were watching The Princess Bride (it’s one of the many movies you insisted was so culturally significant that he had to see it). It was the way you would turn to him at your favorite parts, gauging his reactions to see if he loved it like you did; the way you would mouth the most iconic lines along with the characters; and the way you would sigh contentedly and cuddle further into his side at the romantic scenes that really pulled the realization from deep within him. And, perhaps, it was the way you produced the most ridiculous voice to say "Mawwiage! Mawwiage is what bwings us here today!" that truly brought the idea of marrying you to the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he knew he wanted you around for the rest of his already over-extended lifetime.

—

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date, and he decided late in his life as a free man that he wasn't going to ever try and date anyone other than you. So, here he finds himself, kneeling on the ground in front of you with a ring extended towards your person, and hoping you'll say yes.

"Sweetheart, I know we've had a lot of ups and downs. We met when I wasn't truly myself, we got together when I was still figuring out who I am on my own—without Steve, without HYDRA—but no matter what, you've been there for me. You're still here for me.

"You deserve the world, Doll, and I want to give it to you. I want to be here for all your ups and downs, and I want to spend my life being to you what you've already been to me.

"You're my partner, you're my best friend, you're the love of my life. And if you'll have me, I'll be your king, if you'll be my queen. I'll be your husband, if you'll be my wife.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"

You let out a laugh through a sob, pulling your hand to your face to quickly wipe your tears away, and you nod vigorously. You drop to your knees, pulling Bucky's face into your hands, caressing his cheek gently. Smiling, you respond.

"James Bucky Barnes, of course I'll marry you."