#he can still get punched depending on his answer though

[deathdxnces]

a kiss to anger a third party an adrenaline filled kiss shared after committing a crime

(also very indulgent I'm sorry akakbssj irelia can totally punch him, i endorse it)

- @deathfxnds

There is battle, often bloody and always messy, conflict that inevitably leads to the destruction of things; and then there is slaughter, the carnage purposeful, the violence unilateral.

The noxians fallen on the beach attempted to make it a battle, but the truth of it was it had just been murder. Those were not legionnaires, albeit still would-be colonizers, trying to settle down and make the land their own.

They were warned to leave, before the pair arrived to ensure they would. It is more than the noxians ever gave her kin.

Witnessing the result of their combined viciousness does not cause Irelia to regret it. It is the high of battle, blood rushing and adrenaline fueling her every movement, perhaps; she would not doubt given time her mind would wander the way it inevitably always wanders: her parents would be ashamed she paints their family crest red without remorse; her grandmother would weep at what she had become. The dancer wants to believe Zelos would've understood.

Tonight, she is the one to approach the other first, soon after the last body hit the ground. A meager attempt to keep moving before the self-imposed guilt of her family's judgment fell upon her in full. They would not have understood... and maybe he doesn't, either, but Kayn understands what she feels then (the satisfaction brought with each fallen enemy, the pleasant rush of being in combat; not tolerating violence, but relishing in it).

When Kayn looks at her, the frantic glint of bloodlust and adrenaline shines in his golden eyes, seeming more clouded by it than she still feels. Misjudgment on her part, perhaps, as adrenaline continues to run high, heart racing and the feeling of invincibility lingering.

The assassin does not hesitate. Yet it isn't the scythe he reaches for, pulling her closer by the waist instead, a hand behind her head, guiding her lips to his. It isn't sweet; he kisses her hungrily, as if it is something he had longed to do before, as if it is something he had never considered before, just an impulse followed. And for a stunned moment, she lets him, retributes, something primal and just as ravenous meeting its match - until her mind catches up with it, the unexpected closeness, the fact she had already allowed him to get closer than he ought.

Irelia breaks the kiss with a violent shove, stepping back to further the distance between them. What was he thinking? Kayn himself had made certain to keep her at a distance, to refuse even innocent contact - and now this?

The indignant question, fiercely posed, may have been directed to herself as well, had she not been so angry at the man in front of her. "What do you think you're doing?!"

[notafunkiller]

Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

[multifariousqueer]

im starving for 42 miles and i agree w ur hcs so can u pls write a fem reader fic where we’re chilling at home n he js barges in one night all roughed up n he has heaps of cuts n is bloody- and we get concerned but we know not to ask so we js silently patch him up while he stares at us (and hes got like sm thoughts in his head ab how much he loves us and appreciates us etc) and u can finish it off BUT YEAH

also pls include the pet names cos his accent has me WEAKKK and ik he def calls us ma and mami😩😩😩

Ofc Love!!! I’ve wanted to get this done for a bit now so here it is!!:

A/n: keep requesting miles!42 and regular miles fics please!! 🩷

Warnings: suggestiveness at the end, make out sessions, angst, fluff, groping(it’s consensual and it’s only seen when you squint), love confessions, possible spoilers if you haven’t seen atsv yet

3:00 AM

You: miles, baby are you okay?

Seen

You: are you mad at me for the joke I made about your braids being fluffy?

Seen

You: I didn’t mean it

You: text me when you can. Love you 🩷🩷

Seen

You fell asleep exasperated like you’ve been doing for the last three weeks now. Miles hasn’t been answering any of your texts or calls and has been leaving you on seen for no reason. When you did see him in person, he looked tired and diminished. Ever since his dad died, he’s been acting weird like this; but you could understand why. Although him and Uncle Aaron were closer, Miles was still really close to his dad and his dad loved you. You came over Rio and Miles’ house every day since then and tried to provide solace to them but Miles was always gone when you came over. His room looked different too, having ditched the bright superhero posters and traded them in for boxing gloves and a punching bag. Thankfully, you had established trust with Miles and he knew he could come to you any time, you just didn’t expect him to come through your window at 4:00 AM on a Saturday morning.

It was about 3:15 when he saw your message, he wondered why you were still up and what were you doing but he couldn’t ponder the question for too long because he had someone chained up to his punching bag.

“Miles? Get off your phone, man.”- Uncle Aaron’s voice brought Miles back to reality

Miles did as told and geared up to kill the young boy who looked exactly like himself when all of a sudden, the chains fell and the doppelgänger swung at Miles’ perfectly structured face. A few of the punches connected but he was still able to subdue the mirrored image of himself(if everything went right).

However, Miles’ suit had been clobbered, his clothes covered in blood from a broken nose and blood from the fight. Even though he won, he couldn’t go back to his house because his mom would admonish him for this and Uncle Aaron was keeping watch so he went to your house.

You heard faint tapping on the window that you had assumed it was a bird, until the tapping became a loud knocking. You scurried up grabbing the nearest thing that looked like a weapon and went to the window. You found a battered Miles and knew something was wrong:

“Miles?”-you whisper shouted

“Ola mi amor” he said, trying to be suave but flinching in pain

You opened the window and let him in. You knew he was rough and bloodied up for a reason but it was late(or early depending on how you look at it) and you knew he wouldn’t tell you why; a small part of you also knew but chose not to acknowledge it. You just silently grabbed the first aid kit and patched him up as best as you could. You noticed he had a broken nose:

“Rough night?” You Said, trying to ease the tension

Miles didn’t reply, rather he looked at you through bruised eyes and simply nodded.

“Your nose is broken. You should probably go the the hospital for that” you said, nonchalantly

“Can’t you fix it?” He mumbled

“not easily” you mumbled, mocking his tone

He gave you an annoyed glare before saying:

“I’m sorry to come in late like this. And I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, Mami; it’s a lot going on that you wouldn’t understand and I’m trying to protect you.”

“It would’ve been nice for you to call or text” you said while closing the first-aid kit.

“I knew you would’ve worried about me and I didn’t want that” he said, hanging his head

“I’m your girlfriend, it’s my job to worry about you” you chuckled

It was like a Disney movie, Miles realized that if no one else would, you would hold it down for him and that you were gonna be there through thick and thin. He knew he loved you but this solidified it in his mind; he knew that if he survived long enough, you were gonna be his wife. It would be you waking him up everyday, it would be you kissing him goodnight and good morning, it would be you carrying and having his babies. Some days, he would wake up and wonder how he got so lucky with someone like you but he never thought too much into it because he knew he would find a way to sabotage it for himself but now, he didn’t care:

“I love you, Y/n” he said

“I love you too, Miles” you replied softly

“No. I mean like I love you so much that I can’t stand it, I wanna marry you, Y/n and be with you for life. If no one else has me, I know you do and I can’t even imagine myself without you.” Miles said

You started to tear up before crashing your lips onto his. Your lips moved in perfect sync as he grabbed your hips with one hand, and cupped your face in the other. You stayed this way for a while until Miles slipped his tongue into your mouth, battling for dominance against your tongue which he emerged victorious. He started moving his other hand to your ass as you moved yours to his chest when suddenly, you hear your parent call out:

“Y/n!!!”

“Yeah” you replied nervously, Miles leaving a trail of kisses down your neck

“Breakfast is ready” they shouted

You looked at your phone as Miles rubbed your back and saw it was 8:00 already.

“Shit” You Said under your breath, partly because of how Miles was making you feel

“Go Mamà, we’ll finish this later” he said against his neck

“Okay I love you, call me this time” you smiled

“Por supesto, Mami” he replied

You went down for breakfast and sat in your normal spot:

“Y/n?” Your parent said

“Yeah?” You replied

“What’s that on your neck?” They smirked

Damn it Miles

Translations

Por supesto- of course

[fiapartridge]

hii 💌 with macklin celebrini and his celebrity crush! reader ?? teehee 🤭🤭

macklin celebrini x hughes!sister

summary: when a video on the bu hockey instagram blows up, you finally match the name to the most perfect face.

fia's notes: i love mack so much. he's my fave bu boy 💌 also! happy valentine's day! 💌⭐️🍓 OH! and i made this a hughes!sister because...i wanted to... enjoy!!! <3333

Who is your celebrity crush? the whiteboard read as the boys piled off the ice and down the hall towards the locker room. Monday questions were the guys’ favorite or least favorite day depending on which guy you were asking. 

Case bounded off the ice, catching the question in the corner of his eye. “Mm, Margot Robbie. One hundred percent,” he pointed at the camera, winking. 

Lane Hutson was next as he stumbled down the hall, smiling once he saw the board. He hummed, standing in front of the question as he thought deeply about his answer. “Can I have multiple answers? Yes? Okay, um, I like Meghan Fox sometimes, Alex Morgan is pretty cool, Livvy Dunne definitely, Taylor Swift is a favorite, maybe Ariana Grande but she’s been iffy lately—”

Pushing him off camera, Doug laughed as he read the board. “Jesus, Lane. How many crushes do you have?”

“Hey! There’s a lot of beautiful women out there,” he smiled at the camera as Doug made a gagging noise in the background.

“Aiden!” Doug called for the boy as Aiden laid his stick on the wall and threw his hands to his hips. 

“Huh?” he replied.

“Celebrity crush, go.”

Aiden chuckled before shaking his head and pointing to Macklin who was trailing behind him, oblivious to the question. “Why don't we ask Mack over here,” he beamed, grabbing his brother’s shoulders and throwing him in front of the camera. “Macky definitely has someone in mind, don’t you Mack?”

Macklin would have punched his brother square in the face if he hadn’t been standing directly in front of the camera. A light tinge of pink dusted the boy’s features as Aiden teased him for his sudden shyness.

“C’mon Mack, maybe she’ll see it!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Macklin laughed awkwardly as he raked his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t say it, somebody else will.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he pointed as Aiden grinned at the camera.

“Macky’s in love with Y/N Hughes!” he shouted before Macklin shoved him off camera, the video cutting off as you gaped at your screen. 

The video was being sent to you by everyone you knew and every single person you didn’t know, too.  Your entire feed was flooded with the boy’s reddened cheeks and awkward smile. The first few times of watching it, you felt bad that the boy was getting blasted on social media for liking you, but after a couple more rounds of watching, you went down a Macklin Celebrini rabbit hole. Your search engine was consumed with his interviews and game highlights. You researched his stats, age, birthplace, which school he was currently attending, everything. 

And it didn’t hurt that he was hot and your age. I mean, you weren’t new to the hockey scene being that you grew up in a house full of stars: your dad was an assistant coach for the Boston Bruins, your mom played for the US National Team at the Women’s World Championship, your brother was the captain of the Canucks, and your remaining brothers were playing on the same team in the NHL, breaking records and setting new ones. Your entire life was hockey even though you had nothing to do with the sport in the slightest. No, you were more of a figure skater—an Olympic gold figure skater, to be exact. You were on the ice in a different, less violent way. But you still supported your family and all of their endeavors, and gratefully, they supported yours, too.

So Macklin wasn’t a total stranger. You had heard talks of the projected #1 first pick at the 2024 NHL draft, but you never cared enough to match the face to the name. It’s funny that this is how you found out—sitting on your living room couch surrounded by your protective older brothers who knew his stats like the back of their hand. And they all held a bit of resentment for him.

“He was on Team Canada,” Jack scoffed. “You should not be associating with him.”

“So was Mercer!” you retorted. “And he’s still one of your best friends!”

“He’s also my teammate, Y/N/N. I can’t really not like the guy.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to the oldest who sat on the other side of you. “Quinny?”

He shrugged. “He’s a good kid, good stats, from Vancouver so you already know he’s a Canucks fan,” he smirked. “Let it go, Jack.”

Jack turned towards Luke who sat on the coffee table directly in front of you as he held your laptop on his lap, rewatching the video. “Luke? Thoughts?”

Luke looked up, watching as the three of them stared right back at him. “He’s in college, so at least you know he’s getting an education.”

Jack chuckled. “You were in college and you still have the brain of a monkey.”

Luke stood up, throwing the laptop on the couch as you and Quinn gave each other knowing looks. “And if you went to college, you would know that monkeys are actually really smart!”

You rolled your eyes, huffing as they burned glares into each other’s souls. “Can you guys just shut up!” you shouted. “I’m going to DM him and then I am going to never ask for your guys’ opinions ever again,” you smiled, standing up from the couch and walking towards your bedroom.

“I still don’t like him!” Jack yelled from the living room.

You groaned, not even making a move to turn around and talk to him. You simply shouted from the stairs, “I don’t care!” 

You started a conversation with "Macklin Celebrini"!

You: Hii!

Macklin: You saw it, didn’t you?

You: What gave it away?

Macklin: The fact that you probably didn’t know I existed until that video came out.

You: Okayy, true. BUT I enjoyed it!

Macklin: Which part? The part where I was trying not to kill my brother, or the part that became a meme of my face getting so red everyone put tomatoes all over my Instagram comments?

You: Both? To be fair, I thought your blushing was cute.

Macklin: You’re kidding.

You: Not in the slightest. :) So, when are you in Michigan next? Heard there was this super fun lake house there in the summer.

Macklin: I can’t believe this is happening.

You: You would think you would be a bit more enthusiastic.

Macklin: Believe me, my face is crazier than in the video right now, and that’s saying something.

You: I believe it. And actually, that’s just all of my burner accounts commenting on your post.

Macklin: Knew something was suspicious.

You: Oh, definitely. Also…

Macklin: Bad news? I knew this was going too well.

You: No. Just thank your brother for me.

Macklin: For what?

You: For leading me to you.

Macklin: Oh, God, I’ve gone full-on tomato.

You: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅!

Macklin: IT WAS YOU

[lackadaisycats]

who’s probably the smartest out of Rocky, Freckle, and Ivy?

The answer to that would depend on the type of smarts or intellect you're asking about. Rocky was a classroom disaster, but he is still the most well-read, self-educated of them. He's creative, and retains a lot of information, though all of it gets processed through his swirly-straw kaleidoscope of a mental filter into something loopier and less practically useful than it started out as. Freckle has what you might call a sort of athletic intelligence. He's more situationally aware. He's also probably the only one among them who could build a respectable napkin holder in shop class. I might even trust him with a forklift. Up to a point.

Ivy's far more socially savvy than either Rocky or Freckle. Rocky's pretty manipulative, but Ivy can achieve what he can in fewer words and without getting punched in the face. She's got the makings of a lawyer...or a con artist.

[brights-place]

Clay x sassy fem! Reader Nsfw and sfw headcannons?

When I say sassy I mean she’s bold, straight forward, annoyed easily and other stuff. She’s strong headed and doesn’t take no for a answer type of sassy, and maybe bratty during sex too👀…

Clay with an sassy S/O

Pairings: Clay X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut and NSFW content MDNI! A/N: These are for those freaky people and clay simps I'm talking about me aswell yall... I love clay so much AHEM! Anyways I'm not gonna be on tumblr for alot cause yk Im prepping for some stuff for the next couple of weeks!

SFW

- You being sassy is so entertaining for him

- You being straight forward and bland makes him snicker especially when Viva tries to do something dumb with the two of you when hanging out You'd be most of the time voice of reason and clay also being an voice of reason for an slight amount before giving in so you are one who has to take control

- Loves how you can be bratty and rude towards people but can melt in his hands easily if he praises you for the smallest things

- When you get annoyed he soothes you easily by placing an hand on your arm or shoulder

- You two would be an power duo for work situations and just for your personal life - he tangles your and his hair and tail together as he tries to hold you back from going to insult or punch someone cause they talked smack about Clay and Viva (I headcannon they have tails, claws, fangs and paws cause its so cute)

- He loves when seeing you stand up for other trolls when needed and was so determined to make all putt putt trolls safe!

-he pretends that he hates when you act out and get pissed but secretly he loves when you're a brat and enjoys the sight

- He loves how bold and straight forward yet sassy you are but you are so different in bed (NEHEHHEHEHEHE *gremlin noises*)

NSFW

- OHOHOHOHO I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS

- He could be rough some days and soft on others it depends how you act but since your sassy and bratty he snickers. - When he was trying to work once you kept touching him groaning and whining about wanting him - When he said no to not letting in cause he was busy with work you literally left for an moment before appearing under his desk smirking up at him

- Clay wouldn’t admit it but when your bratty he enjoys it so much cause he can make you submit to him later on after he fucks the brains out of you

- When your being bratty and whine he likes to put you in your place

- biting hard and leaving hickeys as he grips onto your waist and thighs a bunch of times, whispering praises and degrading words against your ear

- Loves how he makes you whine after you kept trying to fight back for dominance but failing and you end up hiccuping in pleasure

- Overstimulates you so much

- Teases you he would just slowly thrust in and out of you or tease the tip of your member as you beg for him for more and cling to him sobbing

- When you continue being sassy he enjoys it so much and likes to place you in different positions while tugging your hair back

- decided to Mirror fuck you to show how he makes you feel this good and that you should obey him more while your drooling and he leaves marks on your skin

- He loves having control when you are doing it so he likes stopping his movements on purpose just to hear you whine and beg for him to go back to railing you

- He can be very cold, teasing you just to rile you up to see if you don't follow the rules and try be more straight forward and bratty.

- Uses overstimulation as punishment will force orgasm after orgasm until you are crying, begging for him to stop obviously you still wanna continue it though.

- Loved how he made you switch up so fast from being an bratty sassy troll to an drooling submissive person with how easily he man handles you

- Amazing at aftercare and make sure you feel special

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[sadesluvr]

Hello, I hope you’re doing well!! This is kinda like the last request you got so sorry if it’s repetitive for you :,) but can you do a smut Fic with Jealous Mike Schmidt x Reader? :D

A/N: I love Mike asks! This is a combination of headcanons and a drabble bc I think it’s a fun scenario :3

Mike is very subtle when it comes to his jealousy

It usually mixes with his darker side - his insecurities - and it can lead him to some not so nice thoughts

He gets very quiet when someone flirts with you in front of him

Body language is key - He slumps his shoulders, bites his lip, looks down, shakes his head

He furrows his brows a lot

If the person isn’t taking no for an answer he’ll speak up, perhaps with a little snarky comment

He doesn’t react so much in the aftermath, but always snakes his hand in yours, and he’ll keep it that way

He’s dead quiet afterwards 

JAW CLENCHING

It takes a lot for him to punch someone over you. It’s very rare and it’s always to defend your case

Still, it all depends on the situation - He’s good at holding back his anger but he’ll go nuts if it was your ex

“Was that Cody? The guy who dumped you for his job?”

“Yeah…We were just catching up,” you shrug. “I’m not mad at him anymore. His job is great,”

Mike frowns and licks his lips. 

“Let me guess…He’s some big time lawyer?”

“Wall Street banker, actually. He’s back visiting family,”

Great. Just great. Bankers, let alone ones who work on Wall Street were the complete opposite of what he was. Charismatic and rich.

“Did he hit on you?”

“Yeah, but I told him I wasn’t interested,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You really don’t need to worry about him, Mike. Everyone knows bankers are assholes,”

“Does he know you’re taken?” Mike says, and there’s an implacable look in his eye. He isn’t going to stop prying anytime soon.

“Oh my God…” you say, putting down your magazine to look at him clearly. His fists are stuck by his side, slightly clenched, and his shoulders are squared. His eyes are narrowed and he head cocked, wanting you to go on. 

“…Mike, are you jealous?” You laugh, and it kind of pisses him off. 

You’re not doing it out of enjoyment - even though it’s nice to see him being protective - but one of uncertainty. Mike never gave the impression of someone capable of jealousy. Insecurity yes, but you supposed they were one in the same.

He doesn’t answer.

“Did you tell him that I can make you cum with just my tongue?”

Jealous sex (if that’s a thing??) with Mike is definitely hot

He’s slightly aggressive, wasting no time in getting on top of you

Orders you around a lot, but it's all done in a really calm manner…Which is scary but it turns you on

“Take off your clothes. I wanna see you naked,”

“Bra and panties…Now,”

His eyes never leave yours the entire time. His usually warm hazel eyes are filled with lust and possession - He’s desperate to prove to you just how much better he is — how much he can be — and wants you to know it

When he’s jealous he takes you in missionary so he can see your face - Doggystyle is his second favourite

He wants control

He’s still very gentle and respectful of boundaries as always

ALWAYS makes you cum first. It’s a power thing

“You like that, huh?” He says, voice muffled between your thighs as he teased your clit with his tongue. “I bet Cody can’t do that. I bet he didn’t even like giving head…”

Gives you as many orgasms as he can (He’s of the rare guys who actually knows how to please a woman)

He’s attentive to your needs, but still gets himself off. He wants you to remember who you belong to, and how good he is

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. He doesn’t show it, but your moans and whimpers do wonders for his ego as he slides in and out of you. Your hands are tight on his forearms as he daggers you, pussy still aching from your previous orgasm. “I love you so much….”

He gets kinda subby in these moments, and you know what he’s looking for

“I love you too, Mike,” you smile, holding his head to the crook of your neck as he thrusts deeper. “I’ll never leave you. Those other guys can never compare to you…”

He finishes deep in you, uncaring as to whether he had a condom on or not. He’ll deal with it in the morning - all that matters is your closeness in the now.

[wingedcat13]

Princess in a Tower

[Note: this one is *not* Synovus, or any particular prompt. First person, implications of violence and familial abuse, and a one-off for real I promise!]

They have not yet mopped up all the blood, when I enter the throne room.

It is not the first time I have seen the room itself, but it is the first time I’ve had a chance to inspect it. Earlier, it was still filled with the chaos of our siege; the screams of mortal men and metal against metal enough to distract from the pretty mosaics on the walls.

I ignore the remaining smears of viscera. The bodies have been removed, which is the most important bit. They will all be identified, and depending on how well the people they died to defend behave, may even see proper burials. Loyalty is a virtue, even when it is to the wrong people.

Of course, to the people bound and kneeling in this room, I am the wrong people.

As I stalk through them I hear whispers between the sharp footfalls of my sabaton’d boots. Some are muttered prayers, or incoherent cries. The rest are my names and monikers: Domine of the Northern Reach, the Wyvern-Wraith, Death-in-Red. Some get the title wrong, translating it into the local customs, and I am named both ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’ in an air of confusion. My soldiers will correct them later.

By the time I reach the dais, only one person has been brave enough to utter my given name.

“Elith Frenaye.” Four syllables, but an infinite amount of venom. That’s to be expected. At least the pronunciation is correct.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I greet the man who was King here only a few hours ago with quiet grace and decorum. As he has dropped my titles, I am under no obligation to grant him his - particularly not when the titles he would expect are no longer his to claim.

The now-former King of Kescil is shorter than I expected, even granting the fact that he’s on his knees. He’s doing his best to keep a straight back, and his chin up, balancing as though he still has to account for the weight of a crown he’s already been relieved of. At nearly sixty, he looks remarkably fit for both his age and status; most nobles are showing their excess by now in unpleasant ways.

Archinard is balding, but he’s taken to it with grace. He isn’t the most muscled man I’ve ever faced down, but he seems to still care for himself. Still has most of his teeth, from what I can see of his sneer. Good. It’s always pathetic to execute someone people can’t even recognize as a king without their robes and jewels.

Archinard also isn’t stupid - he knows that’s his fate. He raises his chin again, and the mental image of him doing that on the headsman’s block is all that keeps me from punching him when he demands, “What have you done with my wife and daughter?”

Steadfast. I remind myself, simply staring at him while I take the time to put myself in order. The fight is over, but my nerves will take days to settle properly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

“Nothing yet.” I answer, politely casual as I walk past Archinard. My cape swings into him as I pass, and I swear for a moment he wanted to bite it. Perfect. “Though pretending ignorance won’t help any of you here. Yes, yes, you managed to hide them away from me.”

I turn to face the crowd again, and settle myself into the throne. My voice is steady, unhurried, and unworried, as I add, “For now.”

I don’t clarify that I will find them, or make threats. I don’t need to. There’s a moment where none of the Kescilians even breathe, and saying more would only tarnish that moment of fear. Even Archinard has paled, though his bluster will return in a moment.

Only if he’s given the chance, though, and I don’t intend to grant him that mercy.

I lean back in the throne - my throne, now - and as plush as it is, the thing is damned uncomfortable. Maybe that’s part of why Archinard is the way he is. I’ll never ask. There’s more important things at hand.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I repeat, and where before my voice was quiet and polite, now it is pitched to carry. I was not born to inherit this throne room, but I was born and raised to a crown. All of that training is evident in the seemingly effortless diction in my voice, a layer of fraying velvet over steel. “You are relieved of the duties of Monarch of Kescil. Your life has been remanded into my care. As I am merciful, I will grant you a choice.”

‘Merciful’ is stretching it, in this instance. The crowd likely expects me to give him a choice of how he’d like to die, or perhaps a chance to try and claim mercy for his Queen and the Princess.

“You may accept these changes with dignity, and retire as Ledan - Lord - Holbrooke, with a moderate compensation from your people, in recognition of your service. Or you may be executed as the last King of Kescil.”

The first offer is tempting, but this isn’t as much of a choice as it appears. Demoting the King to a noble may allow him to think he can reclaim his crown later, but it also opens him to punishment for years of mistreatment by his now-fellow nobles, who do not need to fear a crown’s reprisal. Compensating him from his own treasury makes him complicit, and the common folk won’t forget that he took the chance to run with the gold. Recognition of his service is a joke.

Whether it’s in a rebellion, at the hands of his own vassals, in a common folk mob, or by an assassin, I will see this man dead. It’s only a matter of how long he wants to live, and in what comfort, before the axe - metaphorical or literal - falls. Perhaps I am only offering him a choice of deaths.

“I am a King.” Archinard declares, “So I was ordained, and so I will die.”

The smile I give him in return is bloodless. “As you wish.”

—-

I do not execute Archinard immediately.

If conquest was my true reason for being in Kescil, I would have. My armor was still bloodstained, I had my sword, and the man was already bound and on his knees - it would have been incredibly simple to just end it then and there. But I have promised his death to another, if she wants it, and I will stand by that promise.

My excuse to the masses is that I want to make a ‘proper’ example of him. There are speculations that I want to execute the entire royal family at once, to ensure there are no mistakes, no accidental inheritances. Others think I’m torturing the man for fun behind closed doors.

I have a few retainers who know the truth of my purpose here in Kescil - I keep at least one of them with me, always, as a guard for both my body and my sanity. That first night, the four of us share a room, prepared to sleep in shifts in the parlor of a suite, all piled in the center of the floor.

“Better than camping.” Chirps Valentine, setting up his bedroll on the plush carpet.

“Worse than camping.” Counters Ames, who distrusts the textiles and would prefer a carpet of leaves to sleep on.

Ash doesn’t bother to chime in on that debate, just exchanges looks with me over their heads.

“It is camping.” I tell them both, shoving one end of a couch - there were four of them in this room, four. Not to mention the chairs and cushions and footstools and, ugh - further against the wall. If there were hidden passages, no one would be creeping in easily.

“You know,” Valentine muses from the floor, his head propped on his chin, “I can’t wait to hear the rumors after tonight. What about the rest of you? Fan favorites? Particular conspiracies?”

Ash folds her legs beneath her, and starts stripping off her gloves and boots. “That’s not fair to Elith.” She protests around a mouthful of leather as she struggles with a strap. No one tries to help her; we’ve all learned better. She’ll ask if she needs it. “Given she knows what’s supposed to be spreading.”

“Girl-Prince invades castle, hosts wild orgy in celebration.” Ames announces.

While I’m still wrinkling my nose at that, Valentine smacks Ames with a pillow, “It’s ‘Princess,’ you foghorn, not girl-Prince.”

Ames allows the blow to knock them flat, even though I’ve seen them take much worse without so much as a twitch. “I just repeat what I’ve heard.”

“There’s no way they’re already speculating about her sex life.” Ash disagrees, “We just got here.”

“People always speculate about my sex life.” I correct her wearily. “They call me girl-Prince as an insult, Ames, you know Kescil’s weird about these things. And I were to have a celebratory orgy, I would have invited far nicer company than you three.”

“Ah,” says Valentine, smug, “But would they have accepted? Or would you have been dropping trou with just us-“

“Thank you, Ash.” I say mildly, over the sounds of Valentine being smothered.

“We’ll find her, Elith.” Ames tells me, suddenly serious. The other two stop as well. “You know we will.”

The sudden focus of their attention is more than I can bear right now, even benevolent as it is. I exhale slowly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

I manage a smile. “I know we will.”

None of them stop me as I roll my shoulders, checking the fit of my armor is still right. I haven’t taken it off yet, though we did clean the worst of the day’s stains off of it earlier - the rest won’t come out without sanding the chain and plate, and that takes longer than I want to be without it, right now.

“I think I’d like to see more of my new castle.” I remark, purposefully light. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

Ash moves to start replacing her boots and gauntlets, and Ames opens their mouth, but it’s Valentine who’s quickest to his feet.

“I’ll go with you.” He says, cutting off the other two’s chance to claim escort duty. If I let them, they’d still come along, but four people in the halls will have everyone still in the castle up and trying to spy. I’m not certain Valentine and I will avoid that outcome either, but at least we have a better chance.

We walk the halls of the Royal residence, avoiding one particular room. It turns out to be a quiet night.

I don’t sleep at all.

—-

They find the Queen on day three.

We’re taking an early meal in the banquet hall when word comes, carried by a page who’s had to learn the castle’s floorplan faster than anyone else. She skids into the hall, nearly flipping over a bench that’s been left askew by its last inhabitants. When she spots me, she all but climbs over the tables to get to me.

Ames, my companion for the next few hours, is halfway out of their seat with a bread knife before I recognize the page, and settle them with a hand. Even then, they don’t sit, but scan the crowd behind the page, in case she’s being chased.

“Domine!” The page pants, almost throwing herself flat at my feet. “Ser Thorrun sent me, an urgent message. Immediately there and back with a reply, Domine, he seemed sure you’d send one.”

“Peace.” I tell the page, holding out my hand for the message. My food is forgotten - Thorrun is the one in charge of sweeping the castle for any hideaways who are still here. I have four others, each tasked with a different cardinal direction, leading searches in the areas around the castle for those who fled. So far, those searches have only turned up a few servants, and the odd nobleman.

While I read Thorrun’s note, I pass the page a goblet of water. It’s brief -

Q in Weave, A+U.

Rather than send a reply, I rise. The page spills half her water down her front, and looks up at me, gasping. Ames pats her on the back.

“Take me to the Weaver’s quarters, please.” I say. I can only hope it comes across as calm.

—-

A castle goes through a truly preposterous amount of linens. Back home, the weavers and the seamstresses share a compound building, but have separate work spaces they’re free to use as they wish. It leads to arguments and lost items of clothing on occasion, but the Textiline - like a housekeeper, but head of weavers, sewers, spinners, and launderers in the Royal employ - has never complained.

I would be ashamed to show them this place.

Part of it is our fault, yes - hanging curtains are a good place to hide someone with a sword if your opponent is in a hurry, or a moron who doesn’t know to look for boots. The simplest way to avoid that is to prod them with your sword as you pass by, and that leaves a lot of holes. A lot of baskets overturned to ensure no one is crammed inside one.

But there are no windows here, meaning the whole room is lit only by candles, leaving the entire room stuffy and reeking of tallow and lye. The weaver and the seamstress must sit back to back if they hope to have any room at all. There are all sorts of cabinets around, yes, but the doors can’t all be opened at once, and it must be a headache to get anything sorted in here.

But part of the reason for that is evidently because some of these compartments have layers. And behind a second layer rack where garments can be hung, there is another false back, and there is where they found the no-longer-Queen of Kescil.

By the time I arrive, Ser Thorrun has cleared the workers from the area, and has the woman bound, sitting on the weavers’ bench.

“Tabithica.” I greet her flatly. She looks offended to hear her given name. She cannot reply, given the gag. “I presume she still has her tongue.”

The last is directed towards Ser Thorrun, a wiry man who has crammed himself into a corner to give me the space I am due. He glares at Tabithica.

“Wasn’t mine to take.” He grumbles, one hand on his sword hilt. There’s no room to really swing in here, let alone draw, but I appreciate the gesture. And that his other hand is where he can reach a knife.

“So it isn’t.” I agree coolly. A quiet request, denied. This woman is not mine to kill either, but I am holding the privilege for the one who does have that honor.

Thorrun just nods, and takes the hand off his sword hilt to point out where Tabithica was hiding. “I’ve been having some boys pace out the corridors and rooms.” He explained. “Dimensions didn’t add up. None of the mortar looked fresh, so figured there was a hidden something or other back here. Found it.”

I step forward to inspect the place that has been a Royal bolt hole for the past three days. It is rank with ammonia - evidently she did not have anyone to empty the chamber pot, even if they did bring her food. There is a bed, and a quilt, and no one else here.

I knew that. Thorrun would’ve searched the room already, would’ve told me if there were signs of her. But I could not help but look.

“Wait in the corridor.” I tell Thorrun tonelessly. He manages to kneel in the small space, bowing his head to me. He asks no questions.

When Thorrun has left, and Ames has entered in his place - the wrinkle of their nose is brief, and shows they share my opinion of the place - I straddle the end of the bench Tabithica is sitting on.

For a moment, I simply stare at her.

Will she be more likely to give me answers if she thinks I won’t understand them? If I’ve threatened her? Or, like her husband, will she want to gloat and bluster and threaten me in turn?

Something about the gleam in her eyes reminds me of iron.

I reach up one hand, and she remains still rather than flinch away. Her breath quickens a fraction, but she keeps her eyes on me, not my hand. Not fearing or cowering from a blow. Pride? Stubbornness?

The gag comes loose with a simple gesture, and I let it fall as it will, sitting back again to examine this woman who once was Queen.

For a moment, we sit in silence. I will break it eventually, if I must, but for now I am content to study her, as she is studying me in return.

She takes the offensive: “Fighting over scraps now, are you?”

It’s a reference to how my parents had referred to Kescil - a kingdom of scraps, not worth the taking. Economically, they were right. Kescil was never going to have the forces necessary to pose a threat, but they also didn’t have anything our people needed or even wanted. So for years, we let them be, and simply didn’t care whether they lived or died.

“I do not need a reason.” I say softly, and as far as she knows, it’s true. I’ve certainly seemed to kill for less. But an answer like that is still to put myself on the back foot, even with a backhanded threat woven in.

Tabithica bares her teeth, “Thorns and horses, Domine.”

My title is spat with derision, but it is the words that are the insult. Ames stirs behind me, showing the anger that I cannot.

When I was yet young, my father went riding. This was not unusual. He forged through a thicket. This was not unusual. Shortly thereafter, his horse shuddered, and died. And the unhorsed consort found himself set upon by bandits shortly thereafter.

That part was unusual.

Investigations had determined the thicket had been doused in poison it did not naturally produce. Had he taken any scratch from a thorn himself, he would have met the same fate as his horse. Instead, it was a bandit’s dagger that took his life. But the thorns are still what killed him - had the horse lived, he could have outrun them easily.

It’s unlikely the event was arranged by Kescil, but I can’t fault Tabithica for trying to take credit.

“I’m not going to kill you.” I tell her calmly.

She laughs, a thoroughly unhappy sound. “Not yet?”

“No.” I seem to agree. She expects me to threaten her with torture and fates worse than death. “I haven’t killed Archinard yet either.”

I could’ve kept that bit of information from her, but I want to know instead.

There isn’t even a flicker of relief. If anything, Tabithica seems annoyed. Interesting.

“So be it.” She sighs, “I suppose he’s gone and committed us both to dying anyway, then.”

“Where is Galatea?”

Stupid of me, really. But I don’t have time to play games with this woman - I don’t care for or about her, or her husband, and only tangentially about her country. I could’ve tried to come around to it another way, but that would’ve taken time and effort I wasn’t willing to spend on a gamble.

Tabithica looks taken aback for a moment. Her head cocks slightly, considering. Then her expression becomes decidedly vindictive. “Dead.”

Ames stiffens. I do not react.

“That’s a shame.” I inform her, as though I’ve been told the last of a wine vintage has been consumed. “As she is the only one who may bargain for your release.”

Tabithica raises her chin, but I ignore her. Instead, I rise, turning to Ames, and putting my back to the fallen royal.

“Toss the room. Ensure there are no more hidden doors.”

“And her?” Ames asks quietly.

I look over my shoulder, and think again of how small this space is, how lightless, and airless. I meet Tabithica’s gaze.

“Put her back.”

—-

On the fifth day, my inner circle is restless.

We, all of us, know exactly how long a human can survive in depravation, and we are reaching the limits of what an ill-prepared hiding place would provide the missing Princess. With provisions, she could likely last quite some time, but…

None of us have faith that such a hiding place was arranged.

I have stalked the rows of the dead thrice, made a point of speaking to every survivor and servant. My searchers have been cautioned to not be blinded by assumptions of gender, of hair color or cut.

Thorrun’s men have paced out the entirety of the castle. They’ve found a few other hidden holes, but no one within them - living, anyway, one did contain a skeleton from either some long ago siege or murder - and there are fewer and fewer places to look. Younger, agile folk have taken to exploring the rooftops. Every barrel in the storage rooms has been opened, even those that have spoiled fermenting wine or beer.

And I am unspeakably proud of her.

—-

On the seventh day, I finally enter the Princess’s quarters myself.

They’re at the top of the eastern tower, windows facing the dawn. Its light cuts through in thin stripes, divided by the protective bars and slats that prevent any enterprising climber from coming in. Or any desperate princess from throwing herself out.

The stairs are narrow and winding. The walls are only now taking on a hint of dust after a week without tending. There is a dumbwaiter, built into the middle of the tower, but it is at the base level, and empty besides.

I have been avoiding this place. I came through it once, during the initial siege, hoping to find her here - and when we found it empty instead, I’d restricted all access to it. I could say it felt intrusive to walk through her bedroom, to search through her things for clues as to where she might have gone.

But in truth, it makes me furious to see this prison.

Every step feels like a purposeful insult. Every sign of care taken with the carpets and cleaning is another reminder that she must never have been alone. The light of the dawn rising every day to tell her she was still here, could go nowhere else, couldn’t even sleep in-

Enough. There will be recompense.

But the watch heard noises here an hour ago, and that means someone has broken my edict. Possibly, it is a bird that got past the bars, but if it is a person, I’ll at least have a target for my increasingly frantic rage. Because I have not found her. I promised I would. I will.

So yes, my steps grow heavier at the top of the stairs. I am somewhat distracted, scowling, when I open the door and stride into the room.

I pay for my distraction immediately.

The rugs are decorative, lavish, and layered across the stone floor atop the rushes. One of them had been moved, and I had not noticed until it was yanked out from under my feet. My stride is long enough, and I had been moving quickly enough, to avoid being sent back down the stairwell, but even still I lost my footing.

The fall stole my breath. The collision of my head with the floor briefly stole my sight. But I could still feel it when hands grabbed at my legs, pulling the knife from my boot and climbing up my body until its blade could be pressed to my chin.

“Move and I’ll carve out your heart.”

It was a growl more than a sentence. Sounds forced through gritted teeth. My vision was returning, blurry yet, and I could not discern one feature from another. Instinctively, my hand had risen to catch the wrist of the knifehand, and by that grace alone I still had a throat capable of speech.

“My heart is claimed.” I rasped in reply. There was clattering, a shout, from lower down the stairwell - someone must have heard my fall. “The neck you’ve earned, if you’re quick.”

Another growl of frustration - my captor did not wish to be caught, it seemed - and the weight on my chest was briefly removed. I flung myself to the side before it could come back down, knife point first.

Twisting away, I blinked the last of the blurriness from my eyes, and came up on my knees. I found myself looking down at my attacker, who was still sprawled on the rugs she’d used to force me down. Long hair in a messy, ratted braid, a dress with wide skirts that hung oddly, the fear and fury in her voice -

The determination in the wild swing she took for my legs, torquing to move, dragging her legs behind her.

“My heart is claimed by a girl of stone.” I gasp, barely avoiding the knife’s edge. “I’ve come to bring her a fine carriage.”

The woman stops, panting from exertion. When was the last time she ate? Truly slept?

She wavers for several long heartbeats, not dropping the knife. Her voice is watery when she corrects me, “the finest carriage, you idiot. I told you the passphrase was too long.”

—-

I insist on making sure Gal eats and has a chance to bathe before we talk. She insists we speak before she’ll sleep.

Arranged in her wheeled chair, she looks like a portrait half-come to life. The skirts of her dress are tailor made to hide the atrophied legs, to lay nicely in the chair’s confines. Her spine is straight, hands folded, and she does not fidget. She looks more regal than either of her parents ever will, wherever they’ve gotten off to. I’ve stopped caring.

(Ames and Ash are on guard duty, while Valentine runs the word that the Princess has been found. My orders were the inverse, but they decided it was better to have two on guard - this would be the time to kill me, after all.)

“You should’ve told me it was you.” Gal scolds me, picking off a piece of bread to throw at me.

“Like you told me you were the Princess of Kescil?” I retort, blinking involuntarily as it nearly finds its mark.

Gal turns up her nose. “I had to be sure you did not covet my title.”

“And I to be sure you did not wish to trap me.” I reply dryly. There is no sting in my words, though, no true animosity. Nor in hers.

The situation is far from ideal, and I am very aware that I am, in essence at this moment, her captor. But the reality of it all has faded away, because she is here. My Gal is safe.

Maybe my friends were wise to leave two on guard.

She drops the offended act, instead staring at the tablecloth. Her expression turns drawn, and tired. I’m on the verge of trying to convince her to sleep again when she asks,

“How many are dead?”

The thought of lying to her is barely a flicker - I can’t. “Seven hundred and twelve.” I say quietly. “Excluding pending executions, and those who may yet die from their wounds.”

She looks up at me, “And how many of those were your soldiers?”

“Two hundred and five.”

Her gaze drifts away from me, and she is quiet for a moment longer. This time, I leave her to it.

“I killed them.” She says flatly.

“No. I am the one who declared war.”

“Because of me.”

“It was hardly something you asked for.”

“But I am the root cause, am I not?” She glares at me, her tone challenging even as her shoulders start to curl inwards.

“Absolutely not.” My voice is firm. I’ve taken my share of blame for deaths before, and I will consider the two hundred soldiers who died under my command my burden to bear - but the dead of Kescil are not on her head. “If you insist on a root cause, it is the King and Queen who failed Kescil - in ordering their people to fight, in not ensuring they were adequately trained and armed, and-“ my voice gentles, “-in failing their daughter.”

“I put the pen to paper.” She says quietly.

“And I swung the sword. As did they.”

I know it isn’t enough. She’ll wonder how many of their men went to fight in the name of their Golden Princess - the delicate beauty they were taught to treasure and protect. She may never be free of the memories of constant haranguing, that she was helpless and failing her family and nation for faults that were not her own, and the substitutions her mind will make about how she was, in the end, the downfall of her country.

But Galatea Holbrooke was not theirs to keep.

“Well.” She says, after a few more heartbeats of silence. Her voice is brittle at first, but smooths out just as she smooths the tablecloth. “Then I suppose we should discuss terms, Domine Hawk.”

The addition of my title to the pen name I used to write her - chosen after one of my hunting hawks nearly took down her messenger pigeon - is a needling I quite deserve.

“Whatever you desire, Galatea of Kescil.”

She raises her brows at that, “Such trust, Domine. What if I desire your title instead?”

I smile, leaning forward on the table, and for once, I don’t clink. My armor has finally been doffed, and sent for a good proper scrubbing. “Then that can be arranged, though you’ll have to be more specific. I have several.”

“And if I want them all?” She’s leaned forward too, her eyes narrowing.

“In the traditions of the Northern Reach,” I say carefully, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes, “I cannot bequeath my titles to another, nor can they be taken from me by anyone but my Liege. But… they can be shared. With a spouse.”

When I glance back at Galatea again, she’s wrinkled her nose. My hands flex, curling inward as my stomach sinks.

“You just had to go and beat me to it.” She complains, slumping back into her chair. “Six months - six! - to get you to tell me your hair color, but sure, propose within the first three hours we meet in person.”

She groans dramatically, pressing a hand over her eyes, as I slowly straighten. “That’s - not quite an answer.” I hedge, “though I understand if you wish time to consider, of course, circumstances -“

“Circumstances!” Gal snorts, giving up the last of her propriety. “My bird, you cannot possibly have earned your titles by being this shy.”

But there’s a laugh in her voice, and when she uncovers her face, I can see a sparkle in her eyes.

“Do you know what I thought, when I was hiding from your soldiers, not knowing it was you and that I was safe the entire time?”

“About that-“ We still didn’t know how she’d been hidden.

“Oh.” She waved a hand, “There’s a closed off landing about halfway down the shaft, there’s still a ledge inside just large enough for me to fit. I climbed down and back up again.”

Gal shrugs, as though she hasn’t just told me she’s done that with only the strength of her arms, and alone.

“I thought it was a shame I couldn’t even live long enough to tell you to your face that grey is spelled with an e, not an a.”

“It can be either-“ I start, before cutting myself off with a sigh. We’d been over the topic at length before, in previous letters. I’d cut a page out of a dictionary to include it and nearly been banned from my own library.

Gal just tilts her head, and waits. Her hair is loose now, mostly. She’s mentioned wanting to cut it before - I can’t wait to see how short she’ll choose to go.

“It was much less complicated, when I was simply your Hawk.” I admit quietly.

“And when I was a simple village Gal? Neither of us were exactly spy material, you know. Where would I have learned to read as a village child? Where would you have found paper and books as a hunter’s child?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Some things we just wanted to believe. But there is a difference, between a noble and the heir to a country. I promised you my help when you thought I had little more than a bow and a hunting bird - and I meant it.”

She sighs, “And I just wanted you to know who I was, before I disappeared.”

Her final letter to me had been written in haste, explaining that she could no longer lead me on, and that all contact between us had to end. She’d signed it with her full name - the first she’d ever used it. When word came that the King of Kescil had decided on a suitor for his daughter, I understood.

But then, from Gal’s letters, I knew a lot more about the King than I suspected most of his subjects had.

“I knew who you were, Gal.” I assure her, and watch her eyes widen before she catches my meaning. “I just didn’t know your full name.”

“As I knew you.” She agrees, “Enough to know you’d be foolish enough to show up if I asked you to.”

“It seemed… prudent.” I say, tracing a pattern on the tablecloth. “And if you want, I will leave. I can’t bring back your army, but I can leave a contingent of soldiers-“

“Elith.” She says, exasperated, and the sound of her voice saying my name freezes me in place. “You promised me the world, little bird. Did you mean that too?”

“I did.”

“Then I do.”

“…what?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll marry you, Death-in-Red, Wraith-Wyrven, and whatever else it is you call yourself. Because my heart was claimed by a hunting bird, and I’ll not let it fly away.”

Her half of the phrase to identify ourselves to each other, if we ever did meet.

“After all.” She says, picking at her bread again, “You did fight a war for me.”

—-

[Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed, consider checking out my other writing, both here on tumblr and on Ao3! You’ll find links in my pinned post on my blog, if I haven’t come back to update them here.]

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Let death be kinder than any x-men

Logan howlett x reader

---

ERRRRM I WOULD SAY DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE SPOILERS BUT WERE IN DAYS OF FUTURE PAST🦅😃

-

Warnings: I still don't know 😭 the reader makes a massive mistake. Idek if this is how xaviers powers work but wtv. Major Canon divergence. 🎶 represents when Charles is talking to reader in their head.

-

I know that sometimes I ask for too much sometimes. And I think today I did. It really does depend on how you define mistakes.

I knew Charles would help me. How did I know that the 21 year old version of my old professor 60 years in the future would help me? Because I just knew Charles Xavier like that.

"You want me to what?" He scratched his jaw.

"I want you to get inside logan's head and tell me what he's thinking of," I gulped and leant against the wall.

I could only tell that this would have consequences beyond my understanding. Beyond perhaps what anyone could really understand.

"I can try. I would ask why you need this, but I already know," he grinned with his lips high to his nose.

I scoffed a laugh and looked out into the city through the trees. Dark lights and fireflies. Night-time and fireworks. Onyx that encased sparks of all colours.

"So you'll help me?"

"Of course I will. What else do have to do in this damn world?"

-

🧠

There was this one time at the mansion when I punched Scott summers in the mouth for telling Logan he was a coward. I let him drip blood on the floor and make noises of pain as he held his painful jaw that would be bruised and red by tomorrow.

"Don't you ever fucking say that shit again"

-

It was a warm night, though still cool enough for a bonfire. Even though we were supposed to be in the middle of a fight with the sister of the man, I was sitting beside and saving the other mutants, we had collectively agreed, Wade and I, that a night to sit here wouldn't hurt. And convincing Logan was not easy, but he pulled through with an offer of whiskey.

After a while, Wade passed out, and Charles was minding his own business on the grass, when we asked what he was up to he replied 'I'm on the phone' but he had no phone in sight, and it took Logan a few seconds to realise.

I didn't know what to say to Logan. I didn't feel like saying anything or if anything would even work. He probably doesn't want to say anything either. After our altercation in the void, I didn't know what the fuck was going on anymore. I wanted to ask about it, but I was afraid his answer would be exactly as I thought.

"I didn't mean it" he said suddenly "what I said in the void, I didn't mean it"

It had genuinely shook me that he was first to bring it up.

"Oh," I said. "I was gonna ask you what happened, but I wasn't sure if anytime was going to be right"

Logan chuckled. For an unknown reason, he just did and sipped his drink. "Anytime after I die is perfect for these kinds of things"

I tried to smile and act like I was cool but in reality I was dying inside. I was screaming kicking and crying and throwing up and tearing adamantium bars off jail cells.

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted. "The truth is in my universe my wife was experimented on by scientists. Fuckin mad men"

I couldn't tell in the light, mostly because I wasn't looking at him but I could hear it. He started to tear up. I could hear the tightness in his throat, the strain on his voice.

"And-" He stuttered.

"And do you know what the worst part is?"

I don't.

I should. I feel like I should. But I shouldn't. I couldn't. I didn't want to know. Or did I?

🎶 "You do"

"What's the worst part Logan?"

"They did it right in front of me. Right in fuckin front of me!" He lurched forward and slashed one of the trees, causing it to fall in threes.

He panted. Growled. Boiled with rage that set the ground alight in metaphorical fire. Raging flames, like wildfire. Upset and grief that acted fuel.

"It's not your fault, logan" I said softly

"BUT IT IS!" He yelled back at me.

He put his claws away and sighed, looking away for a moment to catch his breath "I'm sorry"

"It's alright" I replied

Logan rubbed his face "Let's call it a truce. I swear I won't try to turn you into shredded meat again" he held out his hand.

"Sure. No shredded meat" I put my hand in his, shaking it.

They were fucking hairy and calloused. And heavy. Maybe the world's manliest hands. And veiniest. Fuck what am I doing?

"No shredded meat" he repeated

And we both laughed

[morverenmaybewrites]

Hi babes, long time no see....? (Not realy, not truly. But i'm bored and in need of the weight your words press evenly onto my lungs. And i also want to poke you, maybe)

What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with? To you, with our delivery girl. Because anything phisical feels dependent on the day, how Aware and squeezy it'll make him. (Like how you suddenly remember that there's clothes on your skin and that your organs move inside of you. That you're Breathing and that it pulls at your muscles, the tissue that's marbled in tapestried along his ribs.)

What would Not do that? (Less so atleast. See: Like skin growing over a splinter istead of rejecting it.)

Also!

This. Made me feel the sudden ache of my heart durring that time in my life. 'S cool. Thanks. 👍

Always so good to hear from you, @thebluespacecow. First off, The Shape of Water is one of my comfort watches/reads. The book, in particular, encapsulates the feeling of isolation from society and the suffocating loneliness that comes from it so well. The quote (said to the Asset by the scientist studying him) so perfectly portrays their relationship and the tragedy of what could have been. The text often refers to (and eventually confirms) that the Asset is a god. It often calls him beautiful and magical and wondrous. Can you imagine finding god, in all his grace and savage beauty, and being told that you must study him like an insect pinned to a corkboard? Can you imagine finding proof of the divine, only to be told to burn it down so that the charcoal of its bones can help fuel a war? It's so tragic. One day that Bucky Barnes Shape of Water!AU WILL come into existence. ONE DAY. Anyway. Your question. What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with?

I actually think that Jason would be fairly receptive to praise, actually! It doesn't immediately put him on the defensive the way physical forms of affection would. And for most of his life, Jason didn't get much of either. He craves it, however unknowingly, like a man dying of thirst would crave rainwater.

I think the first time you praise him, however small, however innocuous, would always come as a surprise. He's just not that used to it. Maybe he opens a jar for you or point out, where, exactly you had put the spices. (He is, at least, somewhat aware of how much he pays attention to you.). "Thanks, Jason, you're always so helpful." The words scatter from you like birdseed, there and gone again. It barely disturbs the still air of the kitchen. But Jason freezes, and slowly turns to look at you. You're not even looking at him anymore. Instead, you are focused on the recipe you're reading, mumbling to yourself. (In his experience, praise does not come so easily. It comes from long hours of training to perfect his aim, from endless nights of study, it comes from a grueling patrol, done perfectly, to Batman's exacting standards.) (In his experience, he barely does anything praise-worthy at all. He is, after all, the Robin who failed.) The moment passes, and he is able to brush it off. But your words linger in his mind like a thorn, only the sensation is not so unpleasant. The next time you do it, Jason is a little more prepared. Maybe he comes up with a clever solution to a problem, taken down a villain in an unconventional way. And you say it in between fits of laughter (and even the sound of that warms him like a fire in winter). "That was smart. I never would have thought of that." Jason pauses, has to catch his breath. And he mumbles out an answer so low that it's unlikely that you heard it. "Thanks." After that, it gets easier. After that, he seeks it out like a cat seeking out a beam of sunlight (or perhaps, more accurately: like a starved dog seeks out scraps). "You never told me you were such a good cook." "It's nice having you around. You make me feel safe." "You look good today." The last one though, hits like a punch to the gut. It knocks the wind out of Jason, and he has to take several seconds before he can answer.

"What?" You look up from the book you are reading. (It is raining the way it always is in Gotham, and you had chosen to spend the afternoon inside. Curled up with a thick blanket on your lap, in a sweater that is big enough for you to drown in—he would not question it if the compliment had been directed at you. He would have taken it as your due.) "Hm? I said you look good today." Again, he does not answer. Instead, he looks down, as if expecting to find himself wearing someone else's skin. But he is wearing his outfit, it is the Red Hood's helmet in his hands. For the first time, you seem to have realized the effect your words have on him. "Well, don't get a stroke," you say with a grin. "I don't want you coming back here and saying you're leaving me for a supermodel or something." He lets out a strangled laugh, and tries to brush it off the way he did in the kitchen, all those months ago. He turns away and tries to pretend like your words don't haunt him like a ghost. You said he looked good. You said he looked good. (And after all, what reason would he have to doubt you? He trusts you more than he trusts himself.) He finds that he has to put on his helmet to hide his grin.

[heister-shmeister]

houston is a kleptomaniac.

you could argue everyone in the payday gang is but i feel like for houston it is serious. people in the safehouse ask where a trinket of theirs went and its always in the garage. dallas had to set up a lost and found in the living room for everyone to come grab things houston stole. nothing he needed or even wanted, nothing he even planned to keep. he just cant stop himself from reaching over and grabbing a tape from jackets collection, no intention to play it. it is irresistible to grab a hockey puck from the rink with no plan to play. a marker from sydney's corner, a controller from joy's van, a pen from clover's desk, a glass from the bar. its especially ironic considering how possessive he is of his own belongings.

luckily a lot of the time he doesnt steal anything personal. its not whether or not the item is personal that makes him want to steal it. just the fact that its there. its so easy. he could do it right now- look he just did it. wanna see him do it again? sometimes though it does go too far. he never knows the sentimental value of the item. he just sees it lying unattended and cant help but pocket it. he doesnt look through it, just sets it in the garage like everything else. someone yells about how they cant find it and houston deals with their wrath and cant give an answer for why he even did it in the first place.

everywhere dallas went in his younger years he had a little bandit on his tail. he had to smooth talk his way out of altercations with adults on his brothers behalf, explaining every time that he just doesnt know better. takes the hit for houston and says it was him that took it. houston kept getting into trouble over tiny little things.

it started off when he did want something. wanting a chocolate bar from the corner store and having nimble enough hands to take it. then he registers how easy it was. its become muscle memory to reach for something and take it. an impulse he cant control. it isnt like he wants the object itself. he tells himself "i shouldnt do this" but before his neurons process the command, hes already stolen something. even from places houston knows he shouldnt steal from. he sits out on group activities like the farmer's market, conventions, et cetera. just because he knows he'll wind up stealing something.

its not like him to regret taking things. it really depends on the thing and the location. at walmart he will pocket whatever is around the register. he faces away from the camera and uses his body to shield the view before grabbing something all within seconds. he does it like a routine. he dresses in loose hoodies and cargo pants to places not just for comfort, but for the deep pockets.

he felt bad for a long time during retirement for still stealing. but he cant help himself. it hurt not to do it. it oddly felt more like he would be caught if he didnt steal it, so his hands act before he can think and he is relieved. then guilty again. then feels anticipation, relief, guilt. anticipation, relief, guilt. anticipation, assault, control.

its the reason he wound up in prison. he was retired. he had all the money he needed and no reason to wish for more. he was comfortable and capable of being a normal civilian after everything finally came to an end. but then he saw a bank open up, or heard about a new museum exhibit. whatever he was doing.

he told himself he shouldnt do it. itd only get him into more trouble. he wasnt sure whether or not he wanted to return to the life he had growing up. he felt relief finally being out of it, then felt empty without it. was a thief all that he was? who was he if not a rogue? it hurts not to do it.

he told himself he shouldnt do it, but before his neurons could even process the command, he was already planning it out. meticulously mapping routes on his own on a corkboard, putting on his best suit and punching numbers into a keypad. hes thorough. hes nimble. hes stealthy. he never forgets anything, right?

the question of why remains. is it former substance abuse? gambling addiction? a lack of dopamine? the adrenaline rush? bad habit?

why cant he stop himself? are his hands physically working against him? deep down is he just a selfish thief? no matter how much guilt he feels for it, is it perhaps true that he is just a selfish, greedy thief?

he has no idea.

[sleepytwilight]

I have a fun idea lmao

Imagine arcana twilight cast react to mc who's is an aggressive fighter lmao.

This remind me of that request about Bakugou Katsuki as Summoner.

𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕦𝕤

He did not expect for you to actual manage to kill the lizard monster with your bare hand.

Summoning him was a pure mistake because you already killed the monster-

You mistook Arcturus for a kidnapper and almost hit him but Arcturus knocked you out of self defense

Self defense is important kids-

Good thing he managed to calm you down when you arrived at academy

Trust me Arcturus supervised you almost everyday, please don't get into any fights-

And you got into fights.

At least you get rid of monsters-

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕒

My guy was disappointed in 69 languages-

Well at least he put a good use on your strength by letting you go to missions.

Please stop getting into fights though, Spica is considering his life decisions.

At least you get along with Queen Tet- Okay you need to stop kidnap Pollux just because he's look like he needed to he protected.

He get concern why you fight so aggressively so he put you into fighting lessons by Vega.

It works but it doesn't stop that habit of yours on biting people's ears.

Seriously why?

ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕩

He wonders why the hell you keep on kidnapping him everytime you lay your eyes on him then snuggled with him.

He's not complaining- he actually like being like this.

Okay he should complain when you bit off some students ears that made fun of him.

Jk he didn't complain and cheering you on until Arcturus came then he pretended he was about to stop you

Pollux wonder if he put you and Alpheratz in the same room, what will happen.

He did put you and Alpheratz in the same room to see what happens 💀

𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕫

Alpheratz didn't get pay enough for this, he was planning to live like a slacker because Spica seems don't assign him to babysit you.

Of course Pollux was the one who did it-

You keep on challenging Alpheratz into a fight, he doesn't want to and keep on ignoring you.

Well you get tired from yelling at him for a fight, he pulled you closed to him and you both take a nap

Pollux got detention from Spica for locking Alpheratz in a room

Alpheratz could easily escape though, he chose not too-

𝕊𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕦𝕤

He said something that instantly stop you from fighting.

The committee guide members are grateful but curious what the hell Sirius said to you.

We will never know-

Jk he promised to turn into your favorite animal, you really could use an animal support-

Anyway Sirius enjoy your unpredictable decision, seriously why did you punch a student nose then throw them out of window.

how???

He doesn't really care if the student die, less student, less problem they say

𝕍𝕖𝕘𝕒

He got Vietnam flashbacks

You guys were childhood friends, of course he know how to tame you.

Okay but he used to tried to copy you when he was little because he thought you're cool. You still cool but you need to stop fight people like boar.

He asked you what does it taste when you bit off someone ear, you never answer him-

Well he didn't like the way you fight, you need to learn more. You can't always depend on your fist and teeth.

He sometimes asked himself whether it's a good decision to let you use a sword.

At least you make missions easier and both of you can enjoy your little date.

[hornyhornyhimbos]

SMUTMAS LOOKS SO GOOD may we please please have an aaron hotchner fic where the reader is at a BAU christmas party and aaron is eye fucking her all evening and he finally gets her alone in his office and she rides his thighs/they fuck/overall HORNY PLEASE

so so sorry this is just now getting posted, nonnie. i hope you know i didn't forget about you, i have just had an awful december lol. i hope this was worth the wait though!

"Party For Two" ~ A. Hotchner

Summary: When Reader wears quite the scandalous outfit to the BAU's annual Christmas party, Aaron has to put her back in her place.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x AFAB!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 1,752

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) unprotected piv sex, creampie, thigh riding, spanking, slight cockwarming at the end, slight nipple play, Aaron sorta degrades Reader but not really, slight d/s dynamics, nicknames (dollface; sir), explicit language, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: very sorry i didn't post this earlier, i was ✨️insecure✨️ about my writing skills

Originally Written: 12/02/2023 through 12/18/2023

criminal minds masterlist can be found here!

smutmas info can be found here!

To say Aaron's gaze hadn't made the space between your legs tingle all night… well, that would be the biggest lie you ever told.

In Aaron's defense, how was he supposed to act when you showed up to the BAU Christmas party in a skimpy nightgown that barely covered your ass? Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, and he decided after you showed up looking like an absolute goddess in your tiny silk gown that Penelope was never allowed to pick the theme ever again.

On the same note, you couldn't say you weren't utterly obsessed with the way he looked in his own pajamas. Plaid pants hanging low at his waist, gray shirt hugging his muscled arms and abdomen in ways that should definitely have been illegal.

Butterflies floated around in your tummy as he approached, his normally brown eyes nearly black as he continued to hold your gaze. Still, he acted as nonchalantly as possible, setting his cup of punch down on the table and meeting you with a soft tone. "Can I speak to you in my office, Agent Y/L/N?"

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat, giving him a subtle nod. Your thighs involuntarily clenched together as you started to head into his office, though you met him with innocent eyes as he shut the door behind you.

Hands were on skin immediately as your mouths connected, Aaron kissing you like his life depended on it. He'd wanted to get you alone all night long, and as soon as he realized most of the people at the party were too tipsy to notice if the two of you snuck away, he took his chance.

His lips pulled away first, his eyes dark as your gazes met once again. "What were you thinking, dressing like this?" The words were light, like he was genuinely asking and not reprimanding.

Your eyes remained doe-like as you answered, "Just wanted to look all pretty for you."

Aaron had the audacity to scoff, the low noise sending heat straight to your lower stomach. "Lying and disobeying in the same night? Sounds like you're looking for a punishment, dollface."

In one swift motion, he had you leaning over his paper-covered desk, one hand pushing your tiny dress up to reveal your butt. You'd purposely worn the skimpiest panties you owned, the tiny thong covering absolutely nothing.

His hand came down on you, smacking hard and surely leaving the skin a nice, bright pink. Your teeth bit down on your bottom lip, holding in the moan you were already so desperate to release.

"Care to explain what this," he paused, grabbing the thin string of material between your asscheeks, "is all about?" Aaron gave you no time to respond, instead releasing the material and savoring the whine you let out as it popped against your sensitive core.

Another hard slap sounded throughout the tiny room, your skin stinging and your cunt aching. In juxtaposition, his palm soothed over the burning skin, his lips leaving a soft kiss to the dip of your back as he awaited your answer.

"Just wanted to look all pretty for you, sir," you repeated. Your hips shifted involuntarily, searching for some kind of reprieve as well as displaying yourself for Aaron. Your cunt practically dripped around the sorry excuse for underwear you were currently wearing, and you simply couldn't wait for him to take notice.

As if on cue, he was pulling you back up, his mouth smashing into yours for another long, hard kiss. His tongue dipped between your lips while his hand met your ass again, squeezing the skin hard enough to leave bruises under his fingertips.

"Do you think you deserve to cum tonight after what you did?" Aaron asked, his lips barely parting from yours while he spoke.

Eagerly, you nodded. Arousal and want stung between your thighs at his offer, wanting nothing more than to cum all over his cock before the night was through. "Please, sir. Need you to make me cum."

His hands moved to the front of your body, sliding beneath your bra and pinching lightly at your nipples. A soft moan exited your mouth and entered his before he pulled away, a smirk tugging at his lips as you started to turn desperate for him. "Such a pretty little thing when you beg for me." A finger reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Tell you what, dollface. Beg for me just a little longer and maybe I'll give you my cock. If you do a real good job, I might even let you decide how you get it. Okay?"

You gave him another nod before he was pulling you back in for another hard kiss and dragging your body over to the couch. Your tongues collided as he pressed a thigh between your legs, a desperate whine falling out of you at even the slightest friction.

"You like that?" he teased, flexing his thigh. Another needy whimper slipped between your lips, effectively answering his question. Large hands met your hips and began to help you find friction on his thigh, his clothed leg feeling absolutely heavenly under your barely-clothed core.

Your brows furrowed as he started to work you harder, Aaron clearly reveling at the impatient expression across your face. His smirk grew wider as you humped at him like a lost puppy, Aaron your savior.

"Hey," he cooed, fingers wrapping around your chin and leaving crescent moons there as he pulled your face to look at him. "I'm not hearing any begging."

His words caught you off guard, your body unsuspecting as his hand came down on your asscheek once again. "Aaron, please," you whined, your puffy clit desperate for reprieve.

"Gonna have to try a little harder than that, dollface."

"Please," you begged and brought his hand to your front, your silent way of asking him to rub you, touch you, anything really.

A chuckle tumbled between his pretty pink lips, a sound that made your insides melt. A thumb pressed ever so slightly on your sensitive bud, the touch making you clench around nothing. "Is this what you want? Want me to help you finish?"

Your mouth parted into an open 'o' as he circled your clit once, just enough of a touch to have you keening. Your hips slowed as you settled into his touch, desperate for his fingers to bring you to your climax.

In swift motions, he was lifting your legs and pushing a finger under your sad excuse for underwear, a fingertip prodding at your entrance. "I can't hear you, dollface. Where'd my desperate girl go off to?"

The tip of his digit barely breached your entrance before his name started to tumble from your lips like a prayer. "Aaron, please," you repeated, surely sounding like a broken record while all he did was barely touch you.

Aaron's slick-covered finger came up to your parted lips. He met you with a leveled expression, like he didn't have you acting like a needy slut right inside his work office. "Dollface, can you suck for me? Want you to taste and see how desperate I make you."

His index finger entered your mouth, the taste of your essence making you moan around his thick digit. "Tastes just as pretty as you, huh?" You nodded in response, not yet releasing the digit from your mouth.

Aaron must've decided to take pity on you, helping you guide yourself along his thighs just a few more times as he pulled himself out of his pajama pants. Without giving you any time to adjust, he was pulling your thong to the side and sliding into you, your walls immediately adjusting to his familiar length.

"Shit," you whined as Aaron started to pound up into you, the head of his cock brushing your sweet spot easily. Every ridge and vein of him filled you up like nothing else, no one else ever could.

"Feel good, dollface?" He was teasing you now, asking rhetorical questions he obviously knew the answer to. "You like the way I fill you up?"

A small noise of approval came out of you as his hips slammed upward into yours, the heavy smack of his balls creating the perfect friction against your ass. You were close, oh so close.

When Aaron pulled your gown off and your bra down, meeting one nipple with his thumb and index fingers and meeting the other with his tongue, you were a goner. Your orgasm washed over you as his hands and mouth and dick made you feel absolutely euphoric.

His hands moved back to your hips while his mouth switched breasts. Tight fingers grabbed your love handles for purchase as he fought for his own orgasm, his palms bouncing you up and down on his length.

"Oh, my god," he groaned, pre-cum coating your walls as you rode his cock for all it was worth. His parted lips, his desperate fingertips on your skin, the thatch of hair on his stomach rubbing deliciously against your clit. It was all too much and not enough and it was oh so hot.

Aaron's thrusts became hopeless and hard as his release washed over him, thick spurts of his seed painting your walls. Both your thrusts slowed as you continued to ride out your highs, hands and mouths desperate to touch any part of the other person you could.

You crashed on top of him, trying and failing miserably to catch your breath. Delicate fingers brushed over your hair, Aaron's chest rising and falling beneath you.

"Did I do a good enough job?" you kidded, eyes already half-lidded. A silent prayer went up that no one would walk in and find you like this if you did fall asleep.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, a small peck meeting your uncovered shoulder. "You really wanna go for round two after we both just nearly passed out?"

Teeth met his neck, leaving a gentle nip. "Can't help it. You make me insatiable."

Another string of deep laughs fell from him, his eyes meeting yours through dark lashes. "I suppose I did make a promise. How do you want me then?"

"Just want to lay here with you inside me. Is that okay?" you answered, clearly content.

In one swift motion, he was flipping you over onto your side, sliding into you from behind and cupping a large arm around your much smaller frame. "For you? Anything works for me, dollface."

-> taglist: @reidsbookclub @broken-stardust @dungeons-are-too-cold @theghouligan @sadgirlml

[kianaflame23]

Final Fantasy XVI Clive Rosfield sfw and n*fw headcanons

Summary: Decided to write this because I'm bored and still hype for FFXVI! Finally able to pre-ordered deluxe edition. The State of Play FFXVI video was AMAZING! I LOVE IT! Hoping to buy PS5 before June 22nd!

NO MINORS! I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU DON'T SHOW YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO! ONLY 🔞!

I JUST LOVE CLIVE ROSFIELD! I'll do my best to write him more after the game is out! Enjoy reading it and hope you have a nice morning/day/night! ✨️

You know he's serious and does not like PDA. Clive is very affectionate when you are alone with him though. However, he will hold your hand while traveling together with the group.

Do not attempt to flirt anyone in front of him, you'll get your "punishment" if you don't pay attention to him or keep ignoring him.

Good luck on trying to calm him down as he decides to take you back to Cid's Hideaway, fucking you with such frustration and anger until you are filled with his cum. Most likely won't speak with you until he is ready to talk.

You need to remind him that you were just teasing him and only want him. Yes, he is a serious man and doesn't show his emotions, however, he'll be disappointed and heartbroken if you are using him for games and all...

Depending on your answer, Clive will forgive you. Giving you kisses and cuddles, feeling sorry for his intense behavior. Asking you if he was too rough on you... If he sees you crying as you explain about your bad experiences with men. Testing him if he's like those disgusting, cruel men....only craving for your body and nothing else...

Definitely will hate himself for being angry at you, saying "I'm sorry" over and over. Hugging you tightly as he kiss your forehead...

In the end, do not flirt anyone. If someone tries to flirt you or touching you without consent, then they will see true rage once they see Clive approaching them. Him glaring at them as his blue eyes growing cold and filled with hatred. He will kill them for you. A simple "yes" from you and he will do it. If you don't want to see any bloodshed and want to go somewhere safe, then he'll just punched them until they're unconscious. Pulling you closer to him as you leave the place.

Cheating and manipulation is a huge "no" for Clive. You have to be trustworthy and loyal to him if you want to be his lover. If you only care for his body and power, then Clive will NOT speak with you and will leave you. Like I said, he wants to be with someone who loves him and cares for him.

He is very protective of you. Clive will do anything to keep you safe. He'll be surprised, knowing that you'll do the same for him.

Please do praise him as you make love to him, Clive will moan as waves of pleasure and excitement takes over his body. You'll hear his soft whimpers if you keep telling him that you feel good because of him or saying "good boy" while pleasuring him...

He's a switch. Want him to be submissive for you? You can hear his cute moans coming out from his mouth, loving your lust in your eyes. Ready to "destroy" him in the bedroom.

Wear your favorite lipstick and kiss all over his body. Kiss him passionately, as you stroke his cock. Moaning louder as his hand grips the bedsheets, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

Tell him that you REALLY love his buff chest and you'll receive a smug grin on his face. Teasing you in the bed as he talk dirty to your ears...

Clive LOVES suck and lick your sweet flower, using his thumb to touch your clitoris. Allowing you to use his head as his tongue thrusting in and out of your pussy.

He will not admit it but he really love your breasts between his cock. That's right, he's into boobjob. Bonus if you suck his cock as your eyes fixated on his. Making him cum all over your mouth and face.

It is fine if you don't have huge chest. Clive still love you. He'll suck your nipples as he use his fingers on your pussy. Fingering you as he hears your moans.

If you want to try cowgirl position or any sex positions, he will do it. After all, you are his beloved darling.

You are his world, his moonlight...you are everything to him. Clive would like to stay with you forever.

If you tell him everything about your past, he will tell you about his little brother, Joshua, and why he is trying to find The Dominant. He will tell you stories about his childhood. Some memeories are good and some are not so great...Please do hug him. Clive truly deserves happiness. Comfort him too.

He doesn't mind if you aren't lady-like or not. He'll smile when you are with him. Telling you that you're beautiful, vowing that you'll be his wife when everything is over. Saving the world and all. Some day, he'll ask you if you want to be his queen.

If you want to start a family with him, then he'll protect you and the children. Making sure you don't stress yourself and eating properly. Especially if you're pregnant. It's fine if you want to adopted kids and wait until you are ready. He'll support your decision anyways.

For the meantime, he is happy to be with someone who is loving and caring. Supporting him and his decisions, Clive knows that you won't leave him and appreciate your help. Don't forget that he will always love you, protect you and support you.

Bonus ☆

His smile grows wider as he sees you and Torgal getting along, having a good time as you petted Torgal's head. Hearing your giggles cause his heart skip a beat, love and joy in his eyes. His heart practically pounding against his heart as he pulled you and Torgal in a hug, careful to not squeeze you two. He'll never forget this cute moment. Never.

[bumblekastclips]

KYLE CROUSE: Here's a question from rabbithaver! "I love that nearly all the Mobians in this universe are like, 3'6" on average. I just want to pick them up and hug them. So how would the cast react to being picked up and called adorable by a random human in our world? Especially Team Sonic, the Chaotix, and Silver & Blaze." [chuckles] That's assault!

IAN FLYNN: Sonic would tolerate it briefly. "Haha, alright, you're a big fan, that's cool, time to let go." KYLE: Mhm. IAN: Uh, Tails would be incredibly bashful about it, but wouldn't be able to like, fight against it because he wouldn't want to hurt anybody's feelings or be insulting. Amy would be kind of- likewise, flustered, and if it lingers a little too long, she'll go from flustered, to a little impatient, to possibly violent. KYLE: [laughs] IAN: Knuckles... it depends. If it's like, a small child or one of them lady types, he might actually kind of endure and be kind of flustered, and not know what to do. 'Cause he doesn't know how to handle the ladies, and he's not gonna punch a kid. KYLE: What?! Why not?! IAN: He's a good guy! KYLE: [laughing] Oh, okay, fine. IAN: Now, anyone who doesn't fall into those two categories? No, you're getting punched right then and there. KYLE: [chuckling] He'll punch a bat lady, though! IAN: Eh, if she steals his stuff, but the minute she does anything remotely flirtatious, he just doesn't know what to do. KYLE: I mean, same, but still! [laughs] IAN: [chuckles] Uh, Charmy would be all like, "yay hugs!" KYLE: Yeah. IAN: Espio would be extremely uncomfortable, but- KYLE: And go invisible. IAN: -just kind of endure it, he- yeah! [laughs] Just turn invisible and hope they think he's gone. "I can still feel you, you know." [annoyed groans as Espio] KYLE: [laughs] IAN: Uh, Vector's a good bit taller than everybody else, but- KYLE: Yeah, he's like, human height! Or maybe even a little taller. IAN: Pretty close. So, I don't know... Vector strikes me as the type of guy as- if he sees that dude at a convention, trying to be all creep-o with the sign, "free hugs," he'll take that hug. KYLE: Yeah, he'll do it! IAN: He'll teach that guy a lesson. [Vector voice] "Hey, I love free stuff! Come here!" KYLE: [cackling laughter] IAN: Uh, Silver's in the same boat as Tails and Espio. He's just gonna be a flustered puddle of, "I don't know what to do." He's probably starved for touch, considering his timeline. KYLE: [chuckles] Poor Silver. IAN: [Silver voice] "Physical contact that doesn't involve applying a tourniquet! Wow!" KYLE: [chuckling] Aw! IAN: Blaze will not have it. KYLE: Blaze is not interested, no! IAN: No, no, no, no. She will not be violent, but she will not humor it. No, Sir. KYLE: No, no... you're gonna get burned a little. Just enough, just enough to put that fear in 'ya. [laughs] Oh, man. And Big! Big's like, [Big the Cat voice] "Okay!" IAN: [Big the Cat voice] "Yay, hugs!" KYLE: [Big the Cat voice] "Yay!" IAN: You're not really hugging Big, so much as pressing yourself to him. KYLE: Yes, yes. IAN: If you have the wingspan to hug Big, I don't know what you are, but you ain't human. KYLE: [laughing] It's very comfy. It's like- it's like, uh, hugging a Snorlax. IAN: A beanbag chair that smells of fish. KYLE: Hugging a Snorlax... [laughing] Aw, man. Alright, I think that's enough.

--- TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It's just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don't like an answer, you don't have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It's all just for fun! ----- Do you want a specific question transcribed and posted? Send the question and the episode date to my ask box! Or if you just want questions about a certain character, send me their name and I will see what I can do!

[yourreliablenarrator]

Jealousy

⇢ Leon Scott Kennedy x reader (any gender)

[Contains: Profanity, depressing ending (for now), bleeding, punching a mirror, partying, drinking, touching, jealous Leon, mentions of abuse, this is preferably Leon from RE4R/RE4 original (after the mission with Ashley), or Vendetta.]

Trope: Friends (for now..?)

Parts: Unknown

Word Count: I have no idea— (I’M SO SORRY TwT)

Note: I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT MY FIRST EVER ONESHOT ALREADY TO 50 NOTES AND FOUR FOLLOWERS (I know that is is probably not a big to any of you guys, but it is to me since I thought it would be ignored). So, depending on when I finish this, I thank you all for your patience and support in my work. Sadly, this is going to be a depressing one for you guys—there is not going to be a happy ending in this first chapter, but maybe in the second one (or maybe I’ll make this a book!).

P.S.: Also, like before, if you have any criticism or concerns about what I write or how I wrote in this oneshot, please don’t hesitate! I really don’t mind any criticism since that will help me to write better and more efficient! Thank you so much!

Jealousy.

What an ugly word to describe how he was feeling now, but it matches perfectly after he sees you with him… the guy that clearly didn’t deserve your attention and respect.

Here he was, at a damn night club for Chris’s birthday. He’s not even into parties, but somehow you and the others managed to get him to be there at the party to celebrate his best friend’s birthday party.

He sat close to the bar, gripping a tiny glass of whiskey while observing you twirl on the dance floor with your boyfriend, Alex.

You and Alex have been in a relationship for nearly three months. For those three long months, he has been anxiously anticipating the moment you might decide to end things. However, everything that has transpired between you and your boyfriend has been utterly delightful and charming—so charming, in fact, that it might just make him feel like he was going to die.

Leon was so absorbed in your silhouette that he completely missed Chris approaching him. When Chris's hand landed on Leon's shoulder, it jolted him back to the present moment.

“Shit, Leon,” Chris chuckled, arching an eyebrow at the startled blonde as their eyes met. “You alright? You’ve been staring at [NAME] for a while now.”

“Yeah,” Leon grimaced as he spat out his words, his gaze fixated on your silhouette swaying to the pulsating beat of the music, another man's arms wrapped around your waist. “Just peachy…”

“Hm,” the tanned man huffed. “Bullshit. Still pissed off about Alex?”

“Yep.”

“Well,” Chris began with a sigh, shifting until his back rested against the counter. “Get over it. [NAME] is with Alex now, alright? So, you can get over it or sulk and drink your problems away.”

“Gonna sulk about it.” Leon answered with a sigh, taking a sip from his glass cup.

“Of course you are.”

Leon's gaze was fixed on you, as if he feared that the moment he looked away, you would vanish. However, he flinched when Alex suddenly drew you in for a deep, passionate kiss, and he was certain he caught a glimpse of both your tongues entwined.

Chris just stares between Leon and you, only to turn back to the blue-eyed man with a frown.

“I always thought that they wanted me, y’know?” Leon said suddenly, slowly looking back at Chris. “Still remember that time when one of their jackass boyfriends who almost beaten them to death. How I rushed to help [NAME] and protect them from that ol’ ex of theirs.”

“You seriously had to mention that?” Chris scoffed, shaking his head side to side. “You really gotta stop reminiscing in the past, Leon.”

“I really thought that [NAME] was into me.” He continues, pretending to not hear anything that Chris said. “But I was wrong… so damn wrong.”

“You still remember that you have a date with you, right?” Chris reminded Leon as he gestures towards a brown haired woman who was wearing a black, skin-tight dress.

“Yeah,” he said, only to shrug his shoulders. “Though, I don’t exactly think that she’s into me.”

“How’s that?”

“That,” he said as he watches his date walked over to a man who was clearly not Leon, and started to whisper to the man’s ear, only for the stranger to grin sultry at her.

Chris lets out a soft hum before exhaling sharply.

“Not to be rude, but,” Chris pauses with a sigh. “You gotta perk up. There’s no way that I’m gonna let my party be ruined by your depressing ass.”

Leon only rolls his eyes in response, letting out a grumble of anger and frustration. He takes the last sip from his drink before slamming the cup against the bar counter behind him.

“Sorry,”

Chris pats him on the back. “It’s fine. Now, I’m gonna go and check up on Jill. How about you go and find a girl to spend the night with. But not Claire, alright?” He teases him lightly with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leon snorted with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid with Claire.”

Chris simply nods, a broad smile spreading across his face. In a flash, the inebriated man pivots and strides over to a pair of women who were obviously beyond his league.

Even though he assured his best friend that he would have a great time that night, he found himself at the bar, drowning his sorrows in drink. As he sipped, he couldn't help but watch you and Alex twirl on the dance floor. With every passing moment, it felt as if his heart was shattering into countless fragments.

Yet, as one kiss intensified, a switch flipped within him. Anger and irritation surged from his chest to his face, his blood simmering as he witnessed Alex's hands gripping your ass.

In a sudden burst of energy, he leaped from his chair, nearly charging into the scene and breaking the intimate moment shared between you and your boyfriend. However, he remained rooted in place, making an effort to prevent him from making a rash decision.

Growling under his breath, Leon made his way to the bathroom. He found a quiet one away from prying eyes. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and secured the lock behind him.

He approaches the sink, gripping the edge tightly. Taking deep breaths, he shuts his eyes, his teeth grinding together. The pain was beginning to set in, but it didn’t matter—he just needed a distraction from thoughts of you.

His blood simmered with intensity, and he knew that if he glanced at his reflection, his face would betray his fury. He felt utterly drained, worn out from the ache of being apart from you and the countless opportunities he had missed to simply be by your side. All he wanted was to bring you joy and show you the love he held for you.

Still, he chose not to act. He let those opportunities slip away, and now you found yourself with Alex, who undeniably brought you more joy than any of your past relationships. Unlike your exes, Alex was gentle and kind; he wouldn’t harm a soul. The very thought of your current boyfriend seemed to drive Leon to the brink of fury, wishing he could just eliminate him from the picture.

Leon shook his head back and forth, releasing a low, furious laugh. His hands clenched the sink even harder as the minutes dragged on. He had lost track of how long he had been in the bathroom, but he could feel his limbs trembling from the strain of it all.

With a sigh, he gradually lifted his gaze to the mirror, his eyes locking onto his own reflection. Leon's blue eyes shimmered with a glossy sheen, tinged with red. He couldn't quite tell if it was the result of his heavy drinking this night or if there was something deeper at play…

The longer he gazes at his reflection, the more he berates himself for being foolish and lazy for not seizing the opportunity to be with you, fueling his growing anger.

Finally, couldn’t handle it any longer…

He sprang up suddenly, his hand slamming into the mirror with a painful grunt. The glass exploded into a flurry of shards, sending pieces flying across the bathroom. A searing pain shot through his wounded fist, forcing him to pull his hand away from the shattered remains of the mirror.

“Fuck…” he hissed in pain, taking a step away from the sink as he looks down at his bloody fist.

He gradually lifted his eyes to the broken mirror, the glass now stained with his blood. With a heavy heart, he turned away, coming to terms with the fact that his actions were not just foolish, but dangerously reckless and entirely unnecessary.

Letting out a weary sigh, he gradually retreats until his back meets the wall. He sinks down, gazing at his injured hand, flinching in discomfort as his fingers brush against the swollen knuckles.

It felt like ages had passed while he lingered in the bathroom. As he sulked and drifted off into his thoughts, he was convinced that people were pounding on the door, shouting for him to hurry up so they could get on with their business. The silver lining was that there were several other bathrooms available, but that didn’t change the frustration of those waiting outside before they finally decided to leave.

However, one knock in particular caught him off guard.

“Leon?” Your voice calls out from outside of the door. “Are you alright? You’ve been in there for an hour.”

Leon jolted, slowly sitting up as his eyes snapped towards the door. He pauses, unsure if he should just ignore it so that you didn’t have to see his injured fist or answer it and have some time with you without your boyfriend being over your shoulder.

With a huff, Leon slowly straightened up from his original position. He glances down at the busted, bruised knuckles, his lips pursed into a small frown as a curse manages to slip through his lips.

He walks over to the door, slowly opening the door with his trained to the ground, like he was guilty. Then, when he heard you gasp, he turns to look at you.

“Leon..?”

… To be continue(?)