#i cannot accept him as blonde though

[juletheghoul]

greedy

a/n: I cannot be stopped at this point, this man brings out the WHORE in me and I have happily accepted my fate lol. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for being a constant source of love and support and for contributing so much to this world, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus being a total glutton for your greed over him, creampie, heavy possessive feelings from you because lets be REAL, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

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His house was in order, and that was mostly thanks to you. 

Since your return to Rome, and the villa, he has been busy. Mostly, it’s been a parade of high ranking officials, members of the noble families making their pilgrimage to pay homage to the ‘Saviour of Rome’.

He despised it.

With all of the ferocity within him, he despised it. You could see it in his visage, in the clench in his jaw when they’d come to call. The way the normally confident expression in his eyes, faltered and focused on his sandaled feet. If he hadn’t been the person he was, you might have laughed. But he was, and so you didn’t. 

After a few weeks it inevitably died down, and the whole house seemed to take a deep breath, it wasn’t to last though. Just as the air seems to settle, someone comes calling, someone very important. 

“Lavinia–” She is a true beauty, of high Roman birth and the daughter to one of the most influential men in Rome, just a step below the Emperor himself. “You honour me…” He is at a loss for words as she floats into the halls of his house. His eyes find yours but you don’t need him to say a word, within a moment you’re flitting towards the other attendants, and within the span of a few breaths, his table is laid out with enough food and wine to impress even one as fine as her. 

“I have caught you unawares have I not?” She giggles and the sound is almost calculated to ensnare, the jewels at her throat and dangling from her ears glinting almost as brightly as her eyes “I am glad to see I am not vying with anyone else for your attention, I wanted you all to myself this day.” He leads her to his table, and sends everyone out of the room but you. 

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, and already you can feel him closing up, hiding behind his mask of courtesy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You stand behind his chair at the ready, and watch her cast her spell on him, silently. 

“Does one such as me need a reason to visit with you General Marcus? Surely with your victory you’d have a steady parade of young, quite available women marching through your halls, fighting tooth and nail to catch your eye.” She shook out her long blonde waves, subtly, but not so subtly angling herself in the most flattering way. “You are unmarried and unattached as of yet, all of Rome knows it.” She bites her lip, appealing to him in the way beautiful women always appeal to men and it shocks you to feel the unfamiliar stab of anger in your belly. 

He grunted, noncommittally. 

“I have come to…speak of such things.” She stretched towards him like a cat, picking a grape from the platters on the table, and nibbling at it softly, her lips the colour of ripe pomegranates. “If you would care to hear them, of course.” 

He has no interest in marriage, he cares too much for his time alone, he will tell you to leave–

“I will, of course, listen to whatever you have to say, Lavinia.” If you hadn’t been as experienced with him, you would have gasped. Instead, you stood there, trying with all your might to keep the shock off your face, and the tremble out of your hands. “Wine.” He spoke the word clearly, and it pulled you out of your shocked anger behind him. With a practiced hand, you poured for him, and then moved quickly to pour for her. 

You don’t catch his eye, but you feel it on you, no doubt noting the furrow in your brow,  tracking you, as you make your way back to your place behind him. You let go of a deep, steadying breath and for a moment you could swear on all of the Gods you see him smile over his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone. 

“Let us speak of them then.” She claps her hands together happily, “My father would have come to speak to you sooner or later, but I thought it best to test the waters myself, without the scrutiny of his eye.” She leans towards him again, elbows on his table, holding her delicate face in her hands and even you have to admit, it’s masterful. The jewels on her fingers only enhance the hue of her eyes. She takes advantage of the cut of her dress, the calculated pieces of flesh she has on display, and how cunningly she uses them is something to behold. You look down at the simple tunic you wear, the uniform of your station and all at once, you feel beneath her, beneath everyone. 

“And what would your father have to say to me, I believe you are more than capable of making a case for yourself. You strike me as the sort of woman that gets what she wants.” His tone is different, he sounds almost interested and it’s a dagger through your heart. 

Steel yourself, you are nothing but a slave, no matter how many times he buries himself inside you. You are what’s available, until he finds another, equal to him. 

She giggles, tickled, but unsurprised that he seems to be responding to her charms. 

“I do get what I want, in the end.” She smiles, and it is truly lovely, “and what I want is you.” 

“Shall I fetch more wine Dominus?” You step beside him, whispering with a tremble in your voice, hoping, wishing, praying to all of the Gods that he’ll spare you from this torment. 

“No.” A soft word, and your stomach turns. You step back silently. “I am surprised you have come to me, I am sure there are armies of men ready to fight to the death for you, why am I the one you want”

“Oh come now Marcus, you have just led our army in a great victory, the streets cry out your name, the Emperor himself has thanked you for your service, you are the most desired man in all of Rome, you know this.” She brushes his question off, “I can raise you up higher still, to the very halls of the Senate, should you wish it.” 

“The Senate? And what would I do in the Senate? I am no politician, I am quite content where I am.” He smiles for her benefit, and you do your best to remain impartial, and invisible. 

Unfeeling. Unmoving.

“It is an option, should you want it.” She reiterates, “Now, what do you say of this match? What are your thoughts?” She picks more food off the plates, completely confident. 

“I will say this, you honour me greatly,” She smiles, licking at the tips of her delicate fingers, “It is a lot to consider, and I would be grateful if I could have some time to think, send you word of my final decision once I’ve had time to settle back into civilian life.” He bows his head to her and she responds in kind, seemingly pleased with his response. 

She stays longer than the others, and he entertains her to her heart's content, sharing the less violent stories from the war he’d just won and letting her have her fill of his food and hospitality, and you stand behind him. Listening to it all. Until she grows tired and tells him she must depart. 

“I look forward to hearing your answer, don’t make me wait too long.” She smiles, pressing forward and kissing his cheeks boldly. 

“It was lovely to see you, please give your father my greetings. Be safe.” 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the air in the room felt thin and for a moment, your thoughts clouded your awareness. 

“You are angry.” His voice cuts through your reverie, making you jump where you stand at his table, setting it to rights. 

“Dominus?”

“Speak plainly, girl. You are displeased with Lavinia coming here, offering herself to me.” He stares at you, his eyebrow raised from his place on his favoured chair. 

“I, I have no cause, no reason–” You stumble over your words, wringing your hands to stay obedient.

“Yes you do. She comes into this house, this house that has been your home for a long time, and asks to make it her own. She would be your Domina, and that angers you.” He speaks with a smile in his voice, his eyes shining with the novelty of your misplaced, and maybe grossly inappropriate anger. 

“I, Dominus–your will is my will, whatever you command–” He raises his hand and for a moment you see a flicker of anger. 

“Speak truthfully now, girl. I see the rage on your face. I feel it in your gaze. I will hear the truth, tell me how you feel.” He narrows his eyes for a moment, and you know he wants to hear the truth. 

“I hate it.” You let go of a deep breath, steadying yourself for the wrath of insolence but it never comes, instead, he smiles. 

“I would hear your reasons.”

“I–I would not have her come here. I would not have her marry you. I have no wish to call her Domina or have her order me away from you. I… I would keep you all to myself,” his smile widens, “Dominus.”

He gestures for you to come closer, and you do, until you stand before him. 

“Would you now?” You stand in the space between his legs, watching the way his eyes dilate to hear you speak of keeping him. 

“Yes Dominus, I would have you all to myself, I would not have her keeping your bed warm.” You seethe at the thought of it, to hear him having her, the way he has you makes your blood boil and he smiles bigger still, his eyes crinkling with the mirth of it. 

“Tell me, my fearsome girl, how greedy you are that you cannot share your Dominus with another.” His hands slide up the backs of your legs, slipping up to cup your backside while your hands land onto his shoulders. 

“I am greedy, I cannot share you Dominus, I will not.” You press yourself closer to him, your fingers threading through his graying curls. “I could not bear to hear you with her.”

“Hmm. You want my cock all for your own, is that it? Only you are fit for the gift of my seed? Tell me.” He pulls your tunic up, and off, stripping you of everything until you stand bare before him. “Only you, and this sweet little cunt, hm? Is that the way of it?” He presses kisses to your belly as he speaks and all at once the anger is gone and replaced with a hunger that only he can satisfy. 

“Yes Dominus, only me-” You pull his face up and claim his mouth, moaning into it at the feeling of his hand cupping your sex. 

“Take it then, girl, take what so clearly belongs to you, what you would keep all to yourself.” 

You waste no time in stripping him bare, relishing to see the way his cock stands at attention for you, and not for the other woman. You ache at the sight of it, the proof of your desire for him dripping onto your thighs in your haste to mount him and when you finally feel him notch his cock at the mouth of your cunt, you practically drop yourself onto it. 

He groans to feel the way you clench around him, the two of you breathing heavily into each other's faces, adjusting to the way his cock seems to kiss your womb. 

“Is this what you wanted, girl?” He bucks up underneath you, and your breasts bounce in his face, mesmerizing him enough to make him do it again. “To claim me like this? Tell me–is this cock yours? Am I yours?” He bounces you again and it’s hard to focus on anything but the fullness of him, the way you feel the pleasure of it lights up every nerve in your body. 

“Yes, yes Dominus, mine–” Your fingers grasp his hair tightly and with every flex of his hips, you roll yours, grinding the pleasure center of your universe against the coarse hairs at the base of his sex. “Your cock is mine, only mine.” he lets out a filthy moan to hear it, and your nipples harden. 

“It is yours, take it, Gods, take it all–” He cannot seem to control himself, quicker and quicker he flexes, until your arousal drenches his lap and the sounds between your legs are wet and obscene. 

“Harder please Dominus, I want it harder–” You hold onto his shoulders, rolling your hips faster and within a moment, he moves forward, placing you on the plush carpet at his feet. Once on the floor, his hips piston and the sounds of your coupling ring out through the room. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, your legs seizing up on his hips, and pulling a scream from your throat. He groans, feeling the way you squeeze around him, the force of your climax milking his cock dry. 

“God's girl, you have knocked the wind from me.” He breathes hard in your ear, pressing his lips to your mouth before moving his kisses down your throat, peppering them across your chest. His tongue licks at one nipple, then the other, making you flutter around him. 

A few moments pass, and although you are comforted by his weight, you don’t want to overstep. He forestalls you though. 

“Come girl, I would have this place set to rights, and retire to bed.” He pulls out with a hiss, moving up and away, “I would have you tell me of your anger, in depth, in my chambers.” He holds out his hand to help you up, and you take it with a smile. 

----

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[herstoryheaven]

Pablo Gavira x Reader: The Name On My Back

Request: Hi girl, I love the way you write about Football/F1 Drivers, I was just wondering if you could write another fic about Gavi? Any theme, cause you’re very good at writing!!😊

Prompt: Wearing her boyfriend's jersey to his match for the first time, Y/n discovers the deeper meaning behind the gesture.

Reader: Female

Word count: 2201

Average reading time: 8 min

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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The stadium buzzed with excitement, the stands filling up with fans decked out in red and blue, eager to watch FC Barcelona take on their rivals. The air was electric, filled with the anticipation of the match ahead. Y/n stood at the entrance of the stadium, her heart racing as she clutched Pablo Gavira’s jersey in her hands. It was oversized on her, making her second-guess if it looked acceptable on her. But it wasn't the fit that made her uneasy.

She had never been one to crave the spotlight, and the thought of sitting among the other players' girlfriends, all of whom seemed so effortlessly confident, made her stomach twist in knots. Her nerves felt like a thousand butterflies trapped inside her chest, wings beating frantically against her ribcage.

But Pablo, Pablo had asked her to wear it, and the memory of his pleading brown eyes, so full of warmth and affection, made it impossible for her to refuse.

“Mi amor, please?” he had begged just hours before, his voice soft and teasing as he held the jersey out to her. “You’ll look absolutely beautiful in it. Besides, I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

Y/n had hesitated, chewing her bottom lip as she looked at the jersey. "Are you sure? I mean, won’t I look silly? It’s so big on me…”

Pablo had chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped closer, his hands gently wrapping around her waist. “Princesa.” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, “You’ll look perfect. And I’ll be proud knowing you’re wearing my name.”

She had melted under his touch, his words wrapping around her like a blanket, comforting and secure. The way he had called her “Princesa.” the soft whisper of the word in her ear, had sealed her fate. She couldn’t deny him, not when he looked at her like that, as if she was the only person in the world.

Now, as she made her way to the bleachers, she could feel the weight of the stares on her back. The jersey, with “Gavi” written across the back in bold letters, felt like a spotlight, drawing everyone’s eyes to her. She tugged at the hem again, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she tried to calm her nerves, but her efforts were hopeless.

Sliding into an empty seat near the front, Y/n noticed that the other girlfriends were already there, chatting and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Their perfectly styled hair and fashionable outfits made her feel even more out of place, her nerves gnawing at her confidence. She focused on adjusting the jersey once more, trying to blend in, though she knew it was a useless effort.

That was when one of the girls leaned over, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, a friendly smile on her face. “You’re Y/n, right?” she asked, her tone light and playful.

Y/n nodded, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked Y/n up and down, her gaze lingering on the oversized jersey. “They’re not staring at you because of how big it is, silly. They’re staring at the name on it.”

Y/n blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. “Oh.” she mumbled, glancing around at the curious eyes still lingering on her. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Hasn’t his previous girlfriends worn his jersey before?”

The girl, whose name she vaguely recalled as Mikky, snorted, shaking her head. “No, he didn’t let them. He told them that he’d only let his future wife wear it.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mikky’s smile widened, and she winked at Y/n. “You heard me. It looks like you’re special, Y/n. He must really care about you.”

Y/n felt her blush deepen, her mind spinning with the revelation. She hadn’t realized the significance of wearing Pablo’s jersey, hadn’t thought it would mean anything more than just a show of support. But now, knowing that he had reserved this gesture for someone he truly saw a future with, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a mix of happiness and nervousness.

Before she could fully process Mikky’s words, the stadium erupted in cheers as the players began to take the field. The atmosphere shifted, the tension rising as the match was about to begin. Y/n’s eyes were immediately drawn to Pablo, her heart swelling with pride as she watched him step onto the pitch. He moved with such grace and skill, every touch of the ball drawing cheers from the crowd.

But every now and then, he would glance up at the stands, his eyes scanning the sea of faces until they found hers. When they did, he would smile, an intimate, knowing smile that made her heart flutter and her worries fade away. His gaze lingered on her, the connection between them clear even across the distance.

“He’s been looking for you.” Mikky teased, nudging Y/n gently with her elbow. “You’ve got him completely smitten.”

Y/n bit her lip, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think I’m the one who’s smitten.” she admitted quietly, her eyes never leaving Pablo.

Mikky chuckled. “It’s mutual, trust me.”

As the match progressed, Y/n found herself getting lost in the game, her initial nervousness melting away. She cheered along with the crowd, her heart racing with every close call and every brilliant play Pablo made. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride each time his name echoed through the stadium, the cheers of the fans a testament to his talent.

And through it all, she wore that jersey with a newfound confidence. Because now, she knew it wasn’t just a piece of fabric she was wearing, it was a symbol of Pablo’s feelings for her, a silent promise of what will be.

-----

As the final whistle echoed through the stadium, signaling Barcelona’s victory, the crowd erupted in a deafening cheer. The entire arena buzzed with the energy of triumph, the roars of fans rising in waves, but for Y/n, the noise around her seemed to fade into the background. All she could focus on was one thing, Pablo Gavira.

He was still on the field, surrounded by his teammates, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders as they celebrated the hard fought win. Yet, even in the midst of the celebration, Pablo’s eyes were searching for something or rather someone. When they finally found hers, a confident smile spread across his face, the joy of victory tempered by an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something different in his gaze, something deep, almost possessive, that made her heart race.

As she made her way to the edge of the field, her heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and nerves. The other girlfriends were heading down as well, their steps light and easy, but Y/n felt like she was walking on air, her emotions bubbling up inside her. She still couldn’t shake the feeling of the jersey she was wearing, its oversized fabric hanging loosely off her frame, the name “Gavi” written boldly on her back. But the secret meaning of it, a revelation only she and a few others knew, made her heart flutter.

Just as she reached the sideline, Pablo broke away from his teammates and jogged toward her, his movements fluid and determined. The sight of him, all raw energy and focused, made her breath catch in her throat. And when he finally reached her, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down. With a swift, determent motion, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body, the sudden contact leaving her breathless.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to see you wearing this.” he murmured, his voice low and husky as he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

Y/n’s breath hitched as his hand tightened slightly on her waist, his touch sending sparks across her skin. “I’m glad you like it.” she managed to reply, her voice a bit shaky from the proximity and the intensity of his gaze.

“Like it?” Pablo chuckled, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against her. “I love it, princesa. You’re mine, and now everyone knows it.” His words, laced with possessiveness, sent a thrill through her, and he brushed his lips against the shell of her ear, teasing her with a barely-there kiss that made her knees feel weak.

She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her heart racing. “Pablo, I—”

He silenced her with a finger to her lips, his eyes darkening with an emotion that made her pulse quicken. “Shh, I know.” he whispered, his voice filled with a confidence that sent a thrill through her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Before she could respond, Pablo captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a claiming, a declaration, filled with a passion that left her breathless. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her even closer to him, and she melted into his embrace, her hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

The world around them seemed to fade away, the cheers of the crowd, the flash of cameras, all of it dimming as Y/n lost herself in the feel of him, in the intensity of his kiss. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that made her heart race, her body responding instinctively to the heat of his touch.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing, and he let out a low, satisfied growl. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to show the world the woman who I want to spend forever with” he said, his voice rough with emotion, his breath mingling with hers.

Y/n felt like she was floating, her mind spinning from the intensity of his kiss. “Pablo…” she whispered, still catching her breath, her hands still resting on his shoulders as if she couldn’t bear to let go.

He grinned, that confident, almost cocky smile returning as he leaned down to place a series of soft kisses along her jawline, moving slowly toward her lips again. “I’m not done with you yet.” he teased, his voice dropping an octave as he kissed her just at the corner of her mouth, deliberately holding back, his lips hovering dangerously close.

She let out a small, involuntary whimper, her hands tightening around his shoulders. “Pablo, you’re teasing me.” she accused, though the breathlessness in her voice gave her away.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and full of mischief. “Maybe.” he admitted, his lips brushing against hers again, but this time he didn’t pull away. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her forget everything but the feel of him, the way he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Pablo rested his forehead against hers, his expression softening, though the intensity in his gaze remained. “I want you by my side, Y/n. Always.” he said, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I’m not letting you go.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.” she promised, her voice steady despite the rush of feelings inside her. There was a certainty in her words, a truth that resonated deep within her.

Pablo’s smile softened, his eyes filled with a mix of affection and determination, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before wrapping her in a tight embrace, his arms encircling her waist, holding her close. “Good.” he whispered against her hair, his voice filled with relief and contentment. “Because I need you with me, mi amor.”

As the crowd around them began to fade, the other players and their girlfriends leaving the field, Pablo kept his arm around Y/n’s waist, leading her off the pitch with a sense of pride and ownership. They walked together, their fingers intertwined, and every now and then, he would steal a kiss, his lips brushing against hers with a playful, teasing touch that made her giggle softly, her heart light and full.

“You know.” Pablo said as they exited the stadium, his voice filled with that confident edge again, a playful glint in his eyes, “I think I’m going to need you to wear my jersey to every game from now on. It’s lucky, after all.”

Y/n laughed, the sound light and full of joy, a sound that made Pablo’s heart swell. “Only if you promise to keep winning.” she teased back, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.

He pulled her close, his lips ghosting over her ear as he whispered, “I’ll win as long as you’re by my side, princesa.”

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Copyright: All stories contained herein are the intellectual property of the author. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of these stories, in whole or in part, without explicit written permission from the author, is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action. Respect the creator's rights and creativity. For permissions or inquiries, please contact: herstoryheaven@gmail.com.

Request Guidelines: When submitting a request, please ensure that your request does not contain any explicit sexual content or graphic depictions, and avoid any form of extreme violence or graphic descriptions of violent acts. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in maintaining a respectful and inclusive environment for all readers. If you're unsure about your request or want to request about someone I haven't written about yet, feel free to ask me anytime.

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Requested by: Anonymous

[caelivir]

red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

[hiddenlife-manager]

Apollo x Fem Chubby Reader NSFW

cw… orgasmining, no mention of cum but inferred creampie, not edited, public sex, forest sex, slight emotional apollo, loving partner apollo, zeus mention, gentle sex, praise, doggy standing, breast mention, etc...

notepad… NEW FANDOM I LOVE APOLLO AND HERMES!! Not gonna lie this was long, but in a way I needed to use this to get out of writers block. Like I have been struggling mentally for some time and just have been bed rotting all summer due to avoiding stress. I think I plan on coming back though. School is about to start, I am trying to pay for it and the office is PISSING ME OFF LIKE ACCEPT MY MONEY!

You were walking through the forest; it was a dark night, and the moon was high up as you tried to get back to the Polis. You have traveled so far to the Temple of Apollo to meet the oracle. You were advised by your lover to travel from your polis to see the oracle. You were traveling from wagon to wagon, and thankfully, your Polis was down the path, and you were left to walk. You passed trees and looked down to see a lit-up Polis down the large hill. Through the forest trail, you would have to walk for an hour.

“Very well,” you mumbled as you fixed your peplos and began to walk. You were nervous, afraid that an animal would come up from behind you and try to kill you, but the trip to and from has been safe. To some, it would seem like godly intervention. It was as if you were being watched by a god; in a way, it was true. But like all the gods, he had limits on how to keep you safe without interfering. “Just a little more.” 

As you were walking, you could feel eyes on you. Looking up at the sky, you saw a hawk soaring through the sky, landing on a strong branch. You let a smile reach your lips. You raised your hand to your lips and smiled even brighter. You blinked once, and there you saw a tan, muscular man on a tree branch. His long blonde hair was swaying in the night breeze.

“How was the oracle?” He asked you, and there he hopped off the branch and down onto the ground like it was nothing; his cape blew in the breeze alongside his hair as if the winds were favoring him. He walked over to you; he clearly dimmed his own light from the moment he turned into his normal form. He placed his hands on your shoulder, and then one hand removed itself from it and grabbed your chin. “You look dirty, my dearest.”

“What do you expect from me? I have been traveling.” He nodded at your response and noticed that you were close home. He was the one who advised you to go to the oracle. He was the one who said it was best you got your prophecy from them and not him. “The oracle accepted the rabbit pelt you gifted me; she informed me that I will never marry if I stay with my current love.” You looked at him; you always thought maybe he would marry you, but it was clear it was just not possible. “I’m at a fork in the road: leave the one I love and marry another, or stay with the one I love and never be married. But I cannot have both.”

“I am sorry, my dearest; I was too much of a coward to tell you. So I had the oracles speak the truth.” He looked at you as you stared at him. He was confused as to why you were not yelling at him from the moment you saw him. Even on your trip home, you were just calm, no anger. “I would understand if we must part.” He raised his hand, placing it on your chubby cheek.

“I have been unmarried for so long that I have been barred from much of society in my own polis. I see no reason to change it. I have come to terms with the prophecy since the very moment the oracle told me in the temple. I was naive to think I could marry a god. That I will admit.” His hand was still on your chubby cheek; he looked down at you, and his other hand was placed on your waist. He loved the way you were so soft in his hold.

“I am sorry.”

“I chose this life the very moment we met; I will live a life of solitude if I must.” There, his hand shifted down to your neck from your cheek, and he leaned down to you. He was a god, after all; he would clearly be taller than you and the other mortals. He took your lips into a soft kiss; his lips were gentle, almost quivering; in a way, he was fearing you would pick another man. Your lips are slightly parted enough to invite him closer. He pressed you against a wooden tree, his hand still on your soft waist and your neck.

His hand on your waist slowly lowered to your peplos, and he lifted it up. He moved it a bit and lifted it. His hand gripped your ass, his lips still moving against your own. He hated to show his worries; he hated that he fell for a mortal and could not marry them. He knew very well that his father would not agree to it; even if his father fell for a mortal, he knew the risks of being with them and would never approve of you. He sucked at your bottom lip, pulling away.

“I need you.” He whispered into your ear, and you nodded. He turned you around with his hand on your beautiful chub. He loved your rolls; he loved every single thing about you. To him, your beauty rivaled most mortals he has ever met. He fixed his skirt, and there his cock came out. He stroked it with one hand while the other caressed your ass. He played with your fat ass, and there he began to line himself up. “Take a deep breath, dearest.”

You opened your mouth to breathe in, and at that very moment, he shoved his cock into your cunt. You grabbed at the tree bark. Your hands tried to hold it, but all you could do was press against it. You cried out in the forest, causing Apollo to place his hands on your mouth and pull you back.

“We don’t want to attract the animals, dearest.” You nodded. His fingers slowly entered your mouth, and instinctively, you began to suck at his muscular fingers. His other hand is placed around your chubby tummy. He held you close, his thighs tensing as he thrust up into you. He was behind you, his head so close to your back. You could feel his breath against your skin. Each time he thrust into you, he had to fix your peplos, ensuring that your ass was bare so no fabric got in the way of his thrust. “So perfect, my dearest.” He whispered from behind you. He loved the way your mouth sucked at his fingers.

You continued to have him thrust into you from behind. Your back is against his chest. You two were being covered by the three in front of you, and if you shifted a little to the side, you could see the polis that have always hated you down the hill. You wondered if anyone could see you, but you did not care. All you wanted was to feel his cock going in and out of you. You felt so complete, and you loved him so much.

“Haah…. Uugh…” You found your moans to match the rhythm of his thrusts from behind. Each time he pulled out and pushed himself back into your pussy caused you to rip out sounds of pleasure. Your hands were still slightly placed against the tree, but in a way, you didn’t need to have your hands against the tree due to the position. You pressed your thighs together, and he lowered his hand from your chubby tummy to your thighs and spread them.

“You love this, don’t you?” You nodded desperately, drool now pooling from your mouth due to sucking at his fingers. He pushed you against the tree and bent you down harsher. He was no longer holding your ass, and he raised his other hand to your breast. He groped your breast, hidden behind your linen fabrics. He was enjoying the way your gasps and moans left your lips. He did not care that you two could get caught by animals. 

He smirked at the way you were so desperate, without even knowing you were pushing your ass back to him, wanting his cock to go deeper in your pussy. Your peplos were in disarray; your pins were shifted, causing a few to fall to the ground. His hands were now placed on your hip and your lower back.

“Yes, so good.” You cried out in pleasure, pressing your hands against the harsh bark of the tree. His hips continued to thrust, and he began to feel your walls clench against his cock. He groaned as he felt how welcoming you were. Your body was made for him, and his thrust began to get deeper and deeper. He was now becoming vocal; his grunts were louder than before. He loved you so much, and even if you two could never marry, he saw a future with you. He would love you despite the fact that you are going to age, and he will not. “Ah! Close! Ah!”

He smirked at the way you were so breathy; this was all he needed to feel at peace with you. His cock burried into your pussy and he was fucking you wherever he wanted. His thrust was still firm and deep, making you cry out. Your walls clenched even tighter around his cock, and when your breathlessness became incoherent mumbling, he knew you were so close. He himself felt it; his body tensed at the feeling of getting closer to the finish line. He felt his toes curl and thrust so deeply that his back arched and his head was thrown back with a loud groan.

As for you, you felt it hit you like a wagon running at full force toward you; your legs shook at the feeling of yourself orgasming. His cock was pulsing inside you, and as the feeling went through your body, you covered your mouth, trying to muffle the loud moan that ripped through you. Your legs failed, and Apollo made sure to keep your body up with his one arm. Despite your beautiful weight, you were as light as a feather to him.

“Careful dear.”

[konigbabe]

Leon S. Kennedy headcanons

Random headcanons of Leon S. Kennedy that's been stuck in my head for what feels like forever. There's a small NSFW section under the divider 18+.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags/warnings: fluff; established relationship; smut; oral sex; gender-neutral reader; no y/n

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

He loves kissing.

This man is so touch-starved that kissing is sacred to him. He loves kissing; lives for it – but only with the right person. Someone who holds his heart in their hand. Soft kisses, unhurried and so indulgent. Leon’s kisses are a devotion of their own; they don’t necessarily lead to something more. He just enjoys the feeling of your lips on his. Knows when to add the right pressure, when and how to use his tongue…

He’s also a really, really good kisser (don’t fight me on this); loves to bite your lip as well.

His love language is physical touch.

(–or acts of service.)

Anyway; Leon adores physical touch whether it's inside or outside the safety of your shared space. If you join him on missions, you’ll always find him close – his hand brushing yours, palm on your back guiding you forward, making sure you're always within his line of sight. And if you ever get hurt, his hands gently grasp your body, checking to make sure you're okay.

At home, he just loves to touch you randomly – kiss on your temple carrying multiple meanings (‘thank you’, ‘you’re welcome’, ‘I love you’, ‘good morning’ and so on), arms sneaking around you to enclose in a bear hug. Or having his exhausted body to just lay on top of you, using you as his own personal pillow…

He struggles with the L word.

The words “I love you” lingered in the back of Leon’s throat for a long time; not because he wasn’t sure of it but because once spoken, they become real and tangible. Acknowledged. Something he can’t take back.

He secretly enjoys cooking and has a few signature dishes that he’s really proud of.

Leon isn’t really a chef. Often opting for rather simple meals but even those bring him joy. Solace lies in the simplicity of it all. As a man who has had little control in his life since childhood, the act of cooking provides a sense of control and satisfaction that he rarely experiences elsewhere; having his own space, doing something so insignificant that it becomes significant in its own way.

He’s definitely someone who would say something along the lines “Made with love, not skill.”

He’s a workaholic.

Leon cares about you; loves you. There’s no lie in the fact that he wants to spend every second possible with you. Every fibre of his being yearns to be close to you, to protect you from harm. However, as a seasoned agent, adrenaline courses through his veins. It’s a part of him, as natural as breathing. He craves the thrill of danger, the rush of a mission, even though it tears him away from you. Leon’s already learned to accept that his calling for epinephrine is as much a part of his as his love for you.

He has a bit of a sweet tooth and loves all kinds of desserts.

Leon's sweet tooth is undeniable. He simply cannot resist the allure of sugary treats, and desserts hold a special place in his heart. From gooey chocolate cakes to creamy fruit tarts, he loves them all. He is not shy about indulging in his favorite treats, often having multiple servings or even ordering dessert before his meal.

He’s a romantic at heart.

Love letters that tug at your heartstrings, make you feel as if he’s by your side instead of fighting the infected and all the bad guys that team up on him. Testaments of his affection towards you. Morning messages a gentle reminder that he’s still here for you, whenever you need him. He believes that every moment in a relationship should be cherished, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, and he relishes in each one spent with you.

He let’s you braid his hair.

(He’s blond; I stand firmly by his game's looks.)

Sitting on the carpet, back comfortably resting against the sofa cushions as you throw your legs over his broad shoulders, feeling the taunt muscle underneath your thighs. Letting out soft sighs of contentment as you gently thread your fingers through the silky hair; braiding the sides or simply brushing it clean. His fingers wrapped around your ankle, drawing lazy shapes over the thin skin there while enjoying the tender scrape of your fingernails against his scalp.

He's socially awkward.

Outside the people that know him or the people he's forced into close proximity with (*cough* Luis *cough*), Leon is not a social butterfly. Not big on conversations, rather short and snappy answers. Oftentimes at a loss for words. Socializing exhausts him. His desire lies to be left alone; or with one person at a time but it has to be someone he's already familiar with.

He loves cuddling more than sex.

Don’t be fooled, Leon’s definitely sex-crazed around you. Loves to be buried deep inside you; feel your warmth, the velvety squeeze when his cock hits that sweet spot inside – but cuddling makes him happier. It’s his way to show you how devoted he is to you. That feeling of emotional security provided by your cuddles gives him pleasure far greater than the way your body responds to his cock.

He’s a switch.

Leon’s a curious creature – relishing in both submission and domination; intrigued by the duality of power exchange. While the daddy/mommy kink doesn't quite capture his attention, that doesn't mean he can't submit to your every whim, yearning to appease your deepest desires. The mood of the moment guides his actions, emotions dictating the course.

Leon’s a foreplay master and a teaser.

Absolutely addicted to the way your body reacts to his touches, to his kisses. Some days, he’s even capable of making the foreplay longer than the actual sex; having you writhing, begging with teary eyes to finally put his cock inside you. Leon’s certainly going to tease every cell in your body, setting it on fire, letting it burn until you’re nothing but a mere ember.

He loves oral.

Receiving or giving — he doesn’t really hold a preference. It’s not important whether he’s the one on his knees or you; Leon is someone who finds his own pleasure deep within yours, just feeling you react to his tongue, to his fingers. This goes the other way around, having your lips around his cock, feeling the tightness of your throat…makes him a mess.

He’s an ass man.

Leon can't help but love ass in every way imaginable. He runs his hands over the supple globes of your flesh, his teeth sinking into the softness. Pressed tightly against him, you can feel his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants, yearning to be set free. He stares at it, touches it, spanks it, and bites it every chance he gets. It's predictable that he'll have you in various positions, pounding away while admiring your delicious curves - doggy, reverse cowgirl, and so much more.

He’s loud.

(– and he moans.)

There’s no denying that Leon will grunt, growl, groan, whimper and moan during the whole night. Very expressive nature. He’s not really extremely loud to the point someone might hear you through the walls; yet the room is always filled with the sounds of his own pleasure, only adding to that fire deep inside you.

[lucysgraybird]

modern!university!coriolanus x fem!reader. part 2 here, part 3 here

notes: this is not set in panem -- if you're looking for a vibe, think harvard/uchicago/any of the old-guard, upper echelon US universities. i have another part in the works that i'll post tomorrow or thursday. also i promise that they both have some crazy in them . It will appear in later parts

“Please remember that I cannot accept late work for this essay,” your professor says as everyone packs up. “The deadline is the deadline for work for the semester, so everything has to be submitted by then. This includes any outstanding work you might have.”

She shoots a look at a boy in the front row when she says that, and he bows his head.

“Have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you all Monday.”

You shove your laptop in your bag, sling it across your body, and make a beeline for the exit. This is your last class of the day and you have no intention of spending any more time in a lecture hall than you have to. Just as you're about to leave the building, someone catches you by the shoulder and pulls you back.

“Excuse you,” you mutter, turning to see who would do something so…well, to put it diplomatically, bold.

There stands a boy with a shock of hair so blonde it's nearly white and eyes so blue they're nearly translucent. It would be eerie if he didn't wear it well: angular and bright, it's like he's been carved from the purest block of ice. His pale features are offset by the rich ruby of his sweater. He looks royal, though you'd think a prince wouldn't go around grabbing girls by their arms.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I've been wanting to talk to you for weeks, but you always fly out of the building and I didn't want to miss you this time.”

“Talk to me? About what?”

God willing, not about some group project that had slipped your mind. You're so careful about organization, but sometimes things slip through the cracks.

“Would you like to go out with me?”

“Who are you?”

His eyebrows (the only dark thing on his face) twitch, and you wonder if he's so arrogant as to assume you'd know who he is. He doesn't say anything, though, just extending a hand to you.

“Coriolanus Snow. Pleasure.”

You shake his hand, finding the official-ness of it a little odd. When you open your mouth to introduce yourself, he stops you.

“I realize this is going to sound…odd, but I do know who you are. You're the only person I listen to in that insipid class.”

“Oh.”

Because honestly, what are you supposed to say to that?

“Let me take you to dinner, please,” Coriolanus says. “At least for the conversation.”

Your pause must spur him on, because he continues, “And you're gorgeous. Honestly, you caught my eye before you even started speaking, and then…well.”

He's very forward, but it doesn't come off as desperate. He carries himself with such a confident air that if he hadn't tried to be suave, it would've been more awkward.

You allow yourself to be flattered, offering him a soft laugh. His poise must be a front, at least a little, and you can put up a façade too.

“Why, thank you, Coriolanus. I'd love to go out with you, but I'm so busy with finals coming up…”

This is partly true – you're taking the maximum number of credits your advisor would let you, which is over the credit load the school has set, so you have a good deal of work to do. However, you're not above playing a little hard-to-get, especially if you are interested in the person. Half the fun of a hunt is the chase.

“All the more reason to go out. I know a spot if you're free tonight – one more bit of fun before hitting the books?”

“What kind of fun, Mr. Snow?”

“Well, we'll see where the night takes us, if that's a yes.”

It can't hurt, right?

“It's a yes. I'll text you my address?” You extend your phone to him, a delicate smile gracing your lips.

“Perfect,” he says, putting in his number. “I'll pick you up at 7:30. Wear something nice.”

“Where are we going?”

“A surprise, but it's very classy. You'll love it.”

You can't wait to look this guy up when you get home. “I'm looking forward to it. See you tonight."

“See you tonight.”

—

“Classy” is an unhelpful dress code, you're discovering. It refers to such a range of places, so you're left to take a guess and hope you don't make some sort of grave faux pas. You're limited in being overdressed as a university student, so you select the nicest thing you brought from home. It's a wine-coloured dress that skims just the middle of your calves, with a cowl at the neck and a sweeping back that shows a tasteful (yet tempting, you hope) amount of skin. With a thin necklace and some earrings, you could fit in at most “nice” restaurants that would be appropriate for a first date with a nigh-stranger.

At 7:25, you slip on your coat and heels and head down to the lobby of your apartment building. Something tells you that Coriolanus has a tendency towards extreme punctuality, so you'd rather not keep him waiting a moment.

Just as you suspected, at 7:30 exactly the silhouette of a tall man appears at your door and your phone buzzes with a text.

Coriolanus Snow: I'm here.

When you open the door, he is, indeed, there, holding a bouquet of white roses and wearing a red vest and slacks with a white dress shirt. He is nothing if not coordinated, you suppose.

“Ah,” he says. “Hello. These are for you.”

It is a lovely gesture, and it garners a genuine blush from you while you accept the bouquet. “Thank you. They're gorgeous. I didn't even know they made white roses.”

He offers his elbow to you, which you accept. Though it's odd, there's something sweet about his anachronistic nature. You, like any college girl, have had many a bad first date, and it's pleasant to have one with a man who is, at the least, polite.

“My grandmother grows them. I dropped by and picked these up on my way here. You look wonderful, by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you. I wasn't quite sure what to wear because I don't know where we're going, so I'm glad I chose well.” You glance over at his outfit. “We match, sort of.”

“So we do.”

He smiles in a way that's almost indescribable – it's not quite aloof, though it has some of the same calculation behind it. It actually feels incredibly personal, and sets your heart racing. Why this boy gets under your skin the way he does – the way no one has before – is something you have yet to discover.

Your walk with him ends at a black car, for which he opens the back door and allows you to climb in before following you. A scan of social media earlier had turned up tragically few results, and every single thing Coriolanus does makes you more curious about him. He settles next to you.

“So are you a polisci major, or are you just taking the one class?” You ask, unwilling to let silence be for more than a moment.

“Polisci and philosophy,” he replies. “My goal is law school directly after college, and then politics.”

“I should've guessed,” you say.

“Oh?”

“Not in a bad way. Just…you're very smooth. Well-spoken, attractive, all of that. You'd do well in politics.”

The corners of his lips turn in a slight smile. “You think I'm attractive?”

You laugh. “I certainly do, Coriolanus. I do have standards, you know.”

“Then I'm very glad I'm meeting them. Are you looking to do politics too, then, or…?”

“Honestly, not right now. I think I might stick to academia for a while. I don't have the stomach for pandering that you have to have for politics.”

“It's my least favourite part, honestly. I did some work for a senator last summer and the endless word-parsing drove me insane. No one ever says what they mean.”

“Right. The image of it all is fun, though. Like playing a character. But you don't have to do politics to do that.”

Coriolanus nudges his knee against yours. “Are you putting on an image for me right now?”

“A lady never tells. Are you putting on one for me?”

When you turn, he's a lot closer than you expected. You can see the spires in his irises, like cracked moonstones, and can smell his cologne: whiskey and spice and something woody, clean.

“You'll just have to find out,” he says, his voice low in his chest. It's said as a secret – there's no one else in the car, but it's as though if he says it too loud the leather of the seats might remember. These words were for your ears only, the rumble meant to coast across just your skin, and you shudder.

[peach-star-drops]

Kiyoomi cannot believe he ever thought that Hinata Shoyo was nice. 

He’d been blinded by the other boy's idiot routine, thinking that the redhead was an over-excited puppy dog, that he failed to notice that Hinata was actually the devil. 

Kageyama took a sip of his beer from his place next to him, sighing. “No one ever believes me when I warn them.” Yeah. Kiyoomi had not believed the setter when he’d first been introduced - well, reintroduced, technically Kiyoomi had gone to two years of the Youth All Japan volleyball camp with him, but he hadn’t seen the man again until Hinata had dragged him over after a match against the Alders - and Kageyama had sighed, and apologized for his evil boyfriend. 

Everyone on the Jackals had been confused of course. Because Hinata Shoyo was not evil. It did not help that Hinata, at the time, had let out a loud squawk, slapped the back of Kageyama’s head, and claimed that Kageyama was the evil one. Everyone had just accepted it - Kiyoomi included. 

Now, though, he knew that Kageyama was right. Hinata was the evil one. 

“You’re just lucky he’s no longer as bad as he was.” Kageyama scowled. “He locked Tsukishima and Yamaguchi on the roof. In the rain. It started hailing on them.” Kiyoomi has no idea who Yamaguchi is and only a vague idea of who Tsukishima is, but he feels a pang of sympathy. They’d been subjected to the true evil that was Hinata Shoyo as he was now being subjected to the evils of Hinata Shoyo. 

Because it had been Hinata Shoyo who had grinned up at him, all innocent and sweet and fake, and told him he just had to come out to the bar with them tonight, please sakusa-san!  

And Kiyoomi, the fucking idiot had agreed, because at the time he thought Hinata Shoyo was his friend. 

Hinata Shoyo was not his friend. 

Hinata Shoyo was not his friend because he had come in, thirty minutes late to the agreed meeting time - leaving him alone with Kageyama, who was actually a cool guy even if Kiyoomi had no idea what to talk to him about beyond “Hey good game.” - with Miya fucking Atsumu. 

Miya fucking Atsumu in a mini skirt. 

He took a long sip of his whiskey, staring at Miya fucking Atsumu at the bar, his head thrown back in a laugh, accentuating his collar bones with the loose top that he wore, something cropped that showed off those fucking delicious abbs, and his fucking high wasted mini skirt. A high-waisted mini skirt that left almost nothing to the imagination, just the brush of the fabric falling in sync with the curve of the blonde's ass and highlighting his frankly unfairly attractive thighs that Kiyoomi wanted to bite. 

God dammit. 

“At least you haven’t been handcuffed to him,” Kageyama took another sip of his beer, shooting Kiyoomi a serious look. “The second our old team captain became a cop, he stole a pair of handcuffs and forced Diachi and Suga to be handcuffed together until they finally talked out the fact they’d been in love with each other. He threw away the key. Diachi had to call his boss.”

Again, Kiyoomi had no fucking idea who Diachi and Suga were, but the sympathy was there. 

Miya fucking Atsumu laughed again. He took another long sip of whiskey. 

And then Hinata Shoyo turned, catching his eyes and had the audacity to wink at him. 

“I’m gonna murder him,” He informed the opposite hitter’s boyfriend. “No seriously, I’m going to murder your boyfriend, Kageyama.” “We’ve all tried.” A dark glint passed in the other's face. “Good luck.”

Kiyoomi let out a long, low breath, then stood, taking his empty glass with him to the bar. Settling into the seat beside Miya fucking Atsumu, he quickly ordered another one before turning to his setter. 

Only to find Miya fucking Atsumu too busy talking to Hinata to spare him a glance. 

He downed the whiskey as soon as it came out. 

Hinata winked at him again, pulling Atsumu into a hug with his hands placed way too low on Atsumu’s hips. He almost let out a growl. 

Yeah, Kiyoomi decided. Hinata Shoyo was not his friend. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Miss Raven!✨💕

I would like to ask you for an imagine/scenario or character interaction with Crewel and Vil (platonic ofc), where they talk about fashion and everything like the queens they are and they just always have the hottest tea! Talking about the school etc.

It's a casual fic idea without any angst or things like that, maybe somewhere along the way they start talking about Yuu who's Vil's friend, that he has a bit of a crush on? It may start at the Vil's alchemy lesson or smth-

Anyways, the main focus is hot tea between the fashion queens🙏👑 Thank you!💖

This interaction takes place after the events of book 6, so there will be spoilers for that.

I kept the “Vil has a crush on Yuu” element out of this particular interaction since I didn’t find it super relevant 💦 I want the focus of this blog event to be Crewel and his relationships with others. Maybe if the interaction had been posed like Vil coming to Crewel for love advice (since Crewel is a trusted adult for him), it could have fit better. Either that, or I’d advise waiting for more generalized writing requests to open ^^

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

“Crewel-sensei.”

He turned at the call of his voice. “Schoenheit.”

Vil, dressed in his labwear, approached. A beaker of a bubbling substance carefully was ferried in his gloved hand, which he offered to his instructor. “The Peddler’s Disguise is done. You may evaluate it for its quality.”

Crewel accepted the potion, gently swirling it to test the viscosity and noting the color.

“It was brewed with mummy dust, black of night, an old hag’s cackle, and a scream of fright. I then churned over high heat with a blast of wind and a thunderbolt.”

"You've memorized the recipe. Excellent work." Crewel set the beaker down on a lab bench and marked off Vil's name on a clipboard. "You're making up for lost time at a record pace."

"Of course. There is no excuse for falling behind," Vil insisted, tossing his blonde hair over one shoulder.

Crewel quirked a brow. "Not even being kidnapped? How strong-minded of you. I was surprised when you came to me asking to hit the ground running with makeup classes upon your return.”

He looked Vil up and down. “You remain put-together for someone who has gone through an event most would consider unsettling. Is it your PR training keeping you cool in the public eye?”

Vil folded his arms. "... If you're trying to be subtle with your worries, then you're doing a poor job of it, sensei.”

"And is there a problem with a teacher having concern for his student?”

“No, not at all.” A smirk flickered onto Vil’s lips. “Then shall we drop the pretenses? Though so bear in mind that I am under a strict NDA, so I can only divulge so many details.”

“Let’s,” Crewel agreed. “I presume you cannot share the bulk of your harrowing experience.”

Vil nodded. “But fortunately, I can tell about the worst of it… The atrocious lack of attention to self care!!”

“Our school uniforms were taken away and we were made to wear the same sterile grey uniforms every day. Threads as thin as hospital gowns, collared like misbehaved mongrels… Why, it was the worst injustice I faced in that facility.

“Not only that, but the air in the enclosure was stale and terribly drying.” Vil patted his cheek and shuddered at the memory. “It wreaked havoc on my skin.

“Worse still was that I was denied access to any skincare products and cosmetics! I was told that they were a safety hazard and to ‘rinse off with water and soap and go bare faced for a while, what are you aggro’ing about’!! Can you believe the GALL?! I was just about ready to let the staff have my wrath.”

Vil paused, taking a breath to calm himself. “… I was only saved thanks to a gaggle of nosy potatoes and a certain huntsman.”

“Speaking of, Hunt caused quite the stir at school when he vanished. Pomefiore was already suffering without its dorm leader and expected its vice dorm leader to step up fill that role in your stead… but with Hunt mysteriously gone, Pomefiore was without anyone in charge.”

“As I rightfully scolded him for.” Vil sighed deeply. "I was informed that Trein-sensei served as acting headmaster while the situation was unfolding. How did he address the issue of Pomefiore's missing leadership?"

"You're looking right at him," Crewel replied with a dry laugh. "I was called in to supervise the dormitory on top of my usual teaching duties. It seems the old man... excuse me, I mean my esteemed colleague, decided to put his faith in his favorite ex-troublemaker. Who was I to deny him?

"For the time Hunt and his rescue squad were away, I stayed at Pomefiore and kept watch over its students. What a mess—there are hardly time for my personal upkeep, nor a moment to steal away and seek the comfort of my beloved dogs... My clothes were horribly creased and my hair unkempt when the news first broke of your return.”

"What a harrowing tale of sacrifice. I apologize for the inconvenience my vice dorm leader imposed on you. He'll be getting another earful from me.”

“Hmph, no need. Though it was an inconvenience at the time, I am glad to see that you’ve come back to us safe snd sound. Perhaps it is not so bad for you pups to act selfishly every now and again.”

“Oh? Careful, Crewel-sensei. We may just take that as the green light to behave even more selfishly.”

“Then I will be there to keep you in line."

"Is that so? I'll be holding you accountable to that promise."

"And I'll be holding you accountable for your dorm's students," Crewel promised with the same ease as Vil.

There was a mutual understanding between them, the same spark set in their eyes. Teacher and student, fashionista and fashionista.

Together, they radiated an overwhelming aura.

[shinjisdone]

Yandere Thorfinn And The Things He Does (For You)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors. However, it seems like this was a mistake...for your bond might get twisted.

[Headcanons of how it would be like to crawl your way into Yandere Thorfinn’s heart (based on season 1;]

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen @theknightssecrets

This t h I n g has been rotting in my drafts since JUNE

This is honestly just a uh Yandere version of the 5.1 and 5.2 HTSAWH posts 😬 the insane potential Thorfinn as a Yandere has in S1 and S2 got me in a chokehold.

I started it, got writer's block and then wanted to finish the S1 HTSAWH series first cause this one just goes at it. It devours.

So...

Remember when I started with 'Thorfinn won't ever admit anything?' That still rings true.

However, this time it seems like he knows what he is feeling. It feels like an aching softness he feels whenever he sees you, a warmth that almost burns him and spreads out from his heart. Longing that twists and turns like a mad snake.

These butterflies and the beating of his heart are as clear the shine of the sun and the cold of snow. He can feel it, physically feel it pumping through his body at the mere thought of you.

He cannot explain it nor knows when it started but he doesn't mind either way. Far from it.

He is young and stubborn. A side of him doesn't want to accept such mushy emotions but he has no strength nor will power to even attempt at fighting it all back. He is still boyish, still inexperienced and it all feels so good. He wants to let his heart give in.

The blonde is good at masking it though. Mostly because his life is so hectic that he never really gets the chance to indulge in anything, lest his feelings and inclinations.

I can still imagine him acting non-affectionate with you. Dragging, pushing and pulling. Though his touch is akin to velvet gloves and he tends to touch you far, far, far too much and a whole lot more.

The pushes are there but brief with his hand on your back - and once he gently shoves you, his hand is right back where it orginally was. Broad and warm palm pressed against your skin for support.

Dragging you because you talked too long to someone else? Of course. Taking you elsewhere since your eyes seem to wander to something else? Sure. Simply wanting you to be somewhere else with no one but Thorfinn? Why, yes.

While doing so he often gets the urge to have his hold slip down from your wrist to your hand and firmly hold it. He wants your fingers to clasp around his hand and hold it. Hold his hand. He bets yours is warm.

Though he is too embarrased to do so...and he won't have an answer or comeback if you question him on the sudden change of behaviour.

Pulling? What he pulls he wants to pull on your heart strings like you do his is usually you closer to him for safety or warmth. Wrapping an arm around you and pressing you to his side, either for others to get the message that you are NOT to be attacked or to keep warm in the cold mornings. He doesn't mind either way and it is one of the many things he likes to do most. It's warm and comfortable, makes his heart sing to have you this close, it makes him feel like a protector and that you belong together. Neither of you need anyone else. It's you and Thorfinn against the world.

He is scarce with his words when he initiates any kind of physical contact but his touch is gentler than a mother's.

He still likes to pull on your hair, briefly though and just to annoy you.

Thorfinn likes your hair...he pulls on it to annoy you but also to just feel it for a second at least.

Signs of affection or intimacy coming from you is different however.

The one thing that makes Thorfinn spiral down into his lovesickness and hits him with a tsunami of realization of his feelings for you is when you smile.

Your lives aren't easy being part of Askeladd's band. The fighting, the killing, the surviving, the cruelty and mockery of Askeladd and his men - it gives no one a reason to be even joyful for a moment, really. He knows he doesn't. The only reason he can find himself smiling for is you.

So it almost is akin to a miracle when your eyes crinkle and the corners of your mouth go up so naturally because it is so rare. When your grin already rivals the sun and you accompany it with laughter? It's like Thorfinn is transported to a different life entirely.

A life where you two share joy. Where it is only you two.

99% of the time you are smiling because of him since the young man is the only one you really have, at least as a source of companionship, kindness and comfort.

And 99% of the time when you smile you are looking straight at him.

He caught his breath and right there is the realization of his feelings. Of the fact that the cold and brooding viking boy has normal feelings, feelings for someone, and they are this deep and sweet too.

His heart is trying to rip out his chest and the sight of you makes him feel so special. He can make you feel this way, can make you happy even if it is for a moment. No one but him should see it.

At the same time he is blown away by your smile's beauty. He can't remember the last time he ever saw someone smile (it was a long time ago, 11 years) and he never knew a smile could look this stunning. But then, he comes to realize, it is only stunning because it belongs to you.

He freezes up as if you had stabbed him. You grow concerned, asking what's wrong before he avoids your gaze and turns away a few moments later. The young man still needs to digest your words, laughter and smile before a small one appears on his face. It was nice...

But when he turns around, your smile is gone already. Of course you won't be standing there grinning like an idiot, especially after Thorfinn weirdly zoned out there. It deflates him a bit and only makes him more determined to make you smile each time he sees you like that.

You're beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

And when you say or do something affectionate? Thorfinn dies.

Again, he freezes up like a cat before really getting used to it. Even when your touches have a logical reason behind them (fingers grazing over his skin while checking for injuries), the blonde melts anyway. Its...foreign and different and so, so soothing. He likes it quite a bit but won't ever admit so.

In fact, once gets really used to it and your soft touch becomes a routine, Thorfinn really leans into it. Closing his eyes and letting out such a tired sigh as if he had been holding it for months. It's therapeutic for him, really, almost like a release of all tensions. Nothing but you wander his mind and soul right now in moments like these.

When you usher him to wake up by tapping his face he sometimes pretends to be still asleep just so you'd touch him more. When you come closer to his face and speak louder with your breath fawning over his lips...his heart picks up and before an excited smile overcomes him, the lad 'wakes up' (and annoyingly tells you to be quiet. Partly not to blow his cover but also to joke).

The moment your fingers glide over his palm as he leads you elsewhere OMG OMG OMG. As if you want to hold his hand...while Thorfinn gazes ahead with stern eyes he is waiting with bated breath on your next move only to feel the disappointment grow when you aren't reaching out to hold his hand. He blushes profusely at the realization, feeling embarassed.

When out camping, you can be sure Thorfinn will not let you out of his sight ONCE. Especially after Askeladd's attempt at killing you, the thought of leaving you alone would not cross his mind once (even if Askeladd's stunt didn't happen).

Sitting on opposite ends makes more sense to watch you but he quickly finds out that he much rather prefers to be as close to you as possible (what a great opportunity to wrap his arm around you to keep you warm at the fire place). Nevertheless his stare seems stern and dark as he watches and listens like a guard dog. What matters most is your safety, that's something he knew from the very start, whether he was lovesick before or not.

Might end up staying up all night keeping you safe. Watches you often just to see the rise of your chest as you sleep peacefully. It makes him calm and slightly proud as he's doing a good job so far.

During the night he keeps checking if you are sweating, too hot/too cold. Will take off his own cloak and wrap it around you/off you when needed.

There are nights where he just stares at you with an unreadable gaze. His body is moving on his own, it's as if there are no thoughts in his head and he's just following instincts. His fingers graze your cheek and brush your hair out of your face. It's fascinating to watch you like this.

You aren't glaring, frowning or smiling. All of your muscles are relaxed as you sleep peacefully as if nothing in this world could hurt you (Thorfinn couldn't and wouldn't let that happen). The blonde leans further down to get a closer look and will just...stay like this, watching. Watching your chest rise, how your breath leaves your parted lips, how the light of the fire engulfs your form.

It's...enchanting. That's the only word he can find that fits what he's feeling.

Whatever you two decide to do, Thorfinn will wordlessly be deciding to be joined at the hip even if you don't need him or suggest to split up. "No." He bluntly tells you as he glares but his eyes are soft as he does. His tone is not, however.

It's simply out of the question. He can be as loving as he wants to be but the viking will NEVER EVER leave you alone, or leave you entirely. No, you are far too important, far too precious.

He doesn't let you leave either. When he trains, he doesn't let you stray far. When he eats, sleeps and kills, you are to be close. Even in his many duels with Askeladd does he want you to be in the first row to watch him, watch him win (he never does but is stubborn enough to delude himself into believing it).

Whenever you decide that you are not needed in this situation/activity and attempt to leave, Thorfinn will call out and stop you. "Where are you going? Stay here." He's blunt and gives no explanation on why except by broadly mentioning possible dangers and that there is nothing out there to go to anyway. Where are you going in this dense, lonely forest? If anything, you're just gonna get attacked by a boar. Stay here with him or let him come with you. These are always your only two options.

Bathing is a necessetiy but usually not for Thorfinn. He'll gladly drop everything if you want to go bathe so that he can keep watch for you and your belongings. However, the young man usually ends up bathing too once you convince him.

Take all the time that you need, Thorfinn is ready to keep guard until dusk if necessary. He'd stay still like a statue with the eyes of a hawk for any potential dangers. Your belongings are right there at his feet.

Now, this can be easy to misunderstand hence why Thorfinn never lets himself be caught...but he takes glimpses of you while you bathe. Not for perverted reasons but because he...simply wants to. A lot of the rather quiet things he does for you and to you are most of the time always something akin to instincts. Thorfinn is fond of you, very much so, which is why his hand is reaching for yours on its own. It's the reason why he shoves you behind him during battle, why he seems to want to caress your hair, why he almost automatically always sits near you and why he wants to watch you bathe. He doesn't even really know what this is and if they can really be called 'instincts'...but he doesn't mind it and doesn't question it. It feels right.

Your face is beautiful. Your smile is beautiful. Your hair is beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your form is beautiful. So he wants to see your nude body because he is certain it is beautiful, too.

And he's right. You're beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

This is never going to happen since he prioritizes your safety above all else and will always keep watch, but Thorfinn would like to bathe with you. Just once.

Again, not for any perverted reasons but because the intimacy would make it so special. Both of you don't trust anyone but each other so only you two could see each other like this. No one else.

No one else could wash your and his back, no one else would be able to see your beauty like Thorfinn can.

It's wish thinking, really, really wish thinking but he would love to embrace your nude body flush against his. The warmth of your naked skins against each other in the water with the sun shining down...the closeness, the intimacy, the warmth. It's a dream he is longing for even if he does so secretly.

The bond the two of you have is just this special. Nothing and no one could sever or replicate it. He really likes the feeling of the world being your enemy and you two being the other's only companion. Just you and him. You and him. You and him.

Grooming is done together as well.

Brushing his hair is...embarassing but it feels so good. His heart is pumping feeling you so close, your hands running through his hair, maybe you even hum or just talk...

It's embarassing...but it's so nice. Nice enough that he'll let you brush his hair more often, as well as cut it if you want.

Thorfinn would only do it when necessary though. Your touch is nice but goodness, it's not the only way he can melt and revel at your kindness. Brushing and cutting hair is just a way to enjoy your touch in a different way.

Will close his eyes, flush a bright red and usually ends up leaning against you in his sitting position. It's nice. Do continue and do whatever else you want, too. It just adds to the experience.

Though the blonde is a bit too flustered to talk back if you converse with him.

He'll gladly cut and brush your hair. Uses the opportunity to run his fingers through your hair again and again and again and again. The urge to do this just overtakes him and even if he looks very concentrated with his usual scowl, believe him that he is thoroughly enjoying this.

Tries bis best to cut your hair the way you want it to...but he's still not good at it. He learns with each session so give him time. Additionally, he very much likes to cut your hair with his dagger. It gives him a little boost, a sense of purpose that the weapon that already protects you now grooms your hair. Thorfinn's dagger, which belonged to his father, is protecting, helping and grooming you, doing everything for you - and in a way, Thorfinn is doing all of this since he is wielding the blade. Whenever he wields the dagger for you no matter for what reason, it gives him a boost of self-confidence as your protector - which he heavily sees himself as.

Yes, Thorfinn very much so sees himself as your protector, even if you don't agree. In fact, he won't care what you or others think, Thorfinn IS your protector. There is no doubt about in his mind.

When fighting, there are only three important things: Survival, holding up a deal to get a duel with Askeladd and your safety. You are the priority.

So the blonde won't care what he has to do, what he must endure or who has to die to keep you safe. Thorfinn utterly despises the fact that you are often on the battlefield and that Askeladd out of all people are ordering you to fight vexes him even more. You shouldn't be fighting. You shouldn't be any where near danger, you are supposed to be away in a safe place waiting for him. Waiting for your protector, your Thorfinn. (In his mind he belongs to you).

So he gets extra pissy and aggressive on the battlefield, shoving you behind him, shushing you when you disagree and yelling at you to stay away! No more fighting for you! He doesn't care what he has to do or how he has to convince Askeladd but you are not. Going. To fight. Anymore.

Due to the sudden aggessiveness and adrenaline, Thorfinn becomes a beast during fights. There is no mercy in his eyes nor heart as he slaughters one enemy after another, as if they were twigs he pushes away while running through a forest.

Anything can be a danger to you. You could die and that's a thought he cannot actually bear!

No. No, no, no, no, no. It won't happen. It won't happen. It won't happen.

Screaming like a banshee as these words are repeating in his head. He stabs and stabs and stabs and seems lost and drowning in his anger, in his fear and squashes it all down with sheer determination. As long as he can take a breath, there will not be a single hair on your head harmed.

In the aftermath, after making sure every single enemy is dead on the ground will Thorfinn run back to you. He is covered in blood and his hands are desperately tight on his two daggers just in case anything might happen. His eyes are wide as blood runs down his face, panting. Once he found you he has to abruptly stop before he might run into you.

The first thing he does is mumble your name as he slowly awakens from his bloodied trance and his eyes that seemed so glazed over now narrow. He screams at you that you weren't supposed to fight, that you shouldn't do it again. Don't ever get involved in a battle again, no matter what that bastard Askeladd tells you!

Thorfinn is not really angry at you but rather still emotional ober the possibility that you could have died. That's not something he can allow and still lost in his rather emotional state - in fact, the viking boy always follows his emotions and guts as if they were a guidepost - he yells at you. He needs some time to calm down again.

However, you are calling him out as well that he just charged in there and that you had to fight! You cannot just turn your back especially when Askeladd is the one who brought you into this situation! Screaming at you won't change anything!

The young man is stumped for a bit and calms gradually down. Finally the daggers are put away and he keeps on interrupting himself as he struggles to voice out his feelings. "You could've died." He bluntly lets out before adjusting his stance. His hands reach out to your arms. "Let me look at your wounds".

He's trying to avoid his own emotions - he's too overwhelmed and doesn't know how to express himself. First he was scared for your life, then screams at you, can only see red...but he should be paying attention to you. You are what matters.

But once you shake your head and tell him you have none because he charged into battle like a boar...he goes silent again. His hands get ahold of your arms finally and he's looking you up and down, from head to toe.

An eerie grin appears on his face.

"...Good. Good." He absent-mindedly nods and rubs your arm.

Good. This is very good.

Thorfinn protected you. You are unharmed because he suceeded in protecting you, just like how it should be. This is how it always should be.

You snap him out of his trance when pointing all the blood on him. Thorfinn is the one wounded, why is he not looking after himself?

Because you matter first - that is his very first thought but he doesn't say it. He can't...not yet.

Ushering him to let you look at his injuries, the blonde complies with that eerie grin again. He lets you do anything you deem necessary to him while staring either into space or at you with that eerie smile. He basks in your concern especially if you dote on him.

He likes this. This is how it always should be. Thorfinn won't let anything go near you, he will fight for you, kill those that have the gall and arrogance to do you harm (because they deserve it. Anyone who thinks they can do anything to you deserves to be killed by him and only him) and return to you, into your arms, as your protector. He doesn't mind the blood that taints his face, hands and soul nor the stabs and broken bones in his body so long you are safe. And not just 'safe'...but safe with Thorfinn, because of Thorfinn. He wants to be your sole protection and he already is. You don't need anyone else.

And now here he is lying down and gazing at your beautiful, worried face as you tend and dote on him. He'd rather be nowhere else but here.

And if you do somehow get injured? The perpatrator will be met with a beast.

If you got hurt there is a high chance Thorfinn will just see red. Screams like a banshee and goes for the perperator to finish them off again and again and again. He'll pant like a dog after the deed is done and would need to collect himself before his thought process goes from "getting rid of the threat" to "you are hurt".

His clothes heavy, dripping with blood he hurries to you and in moments of panic, tend to your injuries as fast as possible.

In his mind, the faster you are tended to, the better.

However, his movements are hectic. Thorfinn cannot stand the sight of you hurt and he just believes he must fix it. Fast.

It is akin to a fight-or-flight response. Your injured body is something that brings stress and panic, so he acts accordingly to it. As hectic as he is, it is just as painful to be treated by him but the blonde always manages to tend you right.

Only after your are treated can Thorfinn let out a sigh of relieve. He'll sit next to you, glancing every other second to make sure you are okay. He keeps an keen eye on you until you are better.

If the injury is severe, expect him to embrace and press you close to him. Eyes blown wide as he pressed your head close, not believing how close to death you were. He says nothing but attmepts to collect his thoughts, breathing heavily.

At the least, he will sit close and hold your hand. At most, he'll have you sit on his lap as his arms are protectively wrapped around you (or he shifts his legs so you'll sit on the ground). He...must have a grip on you after all this. He must.

Once the day slowly ends, and you two are fortunate enough to find a stable or any other shelter, you might find Thorfinn to be quite...clingy.

It's strange. There are instances where he is exhausted and just falls on a hill of hay with a thump. Though as he lays there and turns to your direction, he reaches out his arm.

It's an invitation that slowly turned into a demand for you to come close. Sit or lay down, it doesn't matter to him. What does matter is that you are close. Close enough for Thorfinn.

If there are other balls or hills of hay where you'd like to sleep, Thorfinn will "prohibit" it grumpily and tells you to come closer. Close enough that if something were to happen, he can easily reach out to you. Without getting up but by simply leaning and stretching his body.

It stems from his overprotectiveness but also for his need of comfort (which he'd never admit). Nightmares are his familiars and if - rather when - they plague him again and he awakens with a start - you'll be there. You, beautiful, beautiful you and he can easily reach out for you. Grab your wrist or hand, anything, and have your touch as comfort to fall back asleep again.

After all, when he wakes up, either through another nightmare or by the rays of the sun, he'll still have you in his grasp and you'll still be there. It comforts him. Makes him believe everything is going to be okay.

However, there is seldomly, seldomly, seldomly, seldomly a chance where he feels bold and excited and overconfident when he tells you to come even closer.

It's a stark contrast to the usual Thorfinn, for the Thorfinn that isn't lovesick. He'd never ask or be vocal about wanting to be close, about wanting you to be in his arms as you sleep. Its...shocking but not the first time he requested this.

Well, winter is here. The cold, biting wind creaking its way into the open stable and it only makes sense.

Being close in each others' warmth prevents you from freezing to death, it only makes sense.

It isn't the first time.

However, cuddling with him isn't as easy as he makes it out to be. Actually laying down and shooting closer with your arms around each other flusters Thorfinn immensely. He only gingerly places his hands on your back and seems to grunt quietly, eyes darting. Once you finally settled in and wrapped your own arms around him, does he go awfully silent.

He clears his throat, grunts and blinks, glancing around between you and anything else. Thorfinn is excited yet flustered, happy yet nervous. It was a mix of emotions whirling inside him and now that...he got what he wanted, he doesn't know what to do.

If his odd behavior concerns you, you could let out a soft 'is this okay?'

The blonde's breath hitches - then he hesitates. A moment later, he nods in a way that you almost reckon to be timid but surely not Thorfinn?

While cuddling, Thorfinn will surely stare at you. Stare at your face with an unblinking gaze. He'd do so while you sleep and while you are awake.

You can tell him how uncomfortable it makes you which he'll reply to with the quietest 'right' and 'sorry'. Nevertheless, he'd continue to do so anyhow as long as you dont notice.

You're just...nice. So nice to look at. He rarely gets to see you so close in a place and time where everything is so peaceful.

Alone in the hay, inside a barn. At night where there are no marches or sails, where he musn't kill anyone to get a duel with Askeladd, where there are no bandmates with their vile behavior. Only you and him and the quiet.

It's where he can be...anything. A sense of belonging and freedom that is so exciting.

He can just look at you.

If you are female, Thorfinn would definitely be more flustered.

Women aren't often seen in the band and the young viking definitely never had been so close to one before. Having your body so close is...nerve-wrecking. But he likes it.

Thorfinn would generally try - keyword try - to somehow snuggle into you. The mere thought makes his heart pound even of he doesn't understand why. He slightly pulls you closer by the hands on your back and awkwardly tilt his head to be rested on your shoulder. Or head. Or chest.

It is daunting but he wants it.

Since there is definitely trust between the two of you, you'd at least snuggle once. Laying the head on the shoulder, head to head, to the chest...

If you initiate it, Thorfinn would freeze up but be glad for you can't see the exciting grin spreading on his face. It would encourage him to press you as close to him as possible.

If Thorfinn initiates it, it is very sublte, bashful until he fully and willingly tries to mold into your body. Inhaling your scent (even if you stink) and eerily grinning at the intimacy. It's new and peaceful and calm. So good, so good and not violent. Not grueling, not resulting into any bruises and broken bones. It's a world where only you and him reside. Only you and him.

He wishes nights like these are forever.

It's become less about keeping each other warm - it is the very instances where Thorfinn can indulge in his desires and feelings, his inclinations.

And each time you grow so close in each other's arms, does his willingness to indulge grow.

[brotherwtf]

So I read @stereobone wartime drag au (losing my mind, by the way) and it got me thinking about a modern mota au where Gale is a drag queen at the club where John is a go-go dancer

A little drabble below the cut

John really needed a job. At this point, he was willing to do anything for some money, but he never suspected that Curt would come to him with a go-go dancing position at a nearby club. John was hesitant at first; he didn't know much about the club scene or dancing in general. Curt reassured him, though, that the dancers and the "girls" would help him feel more comfortable and make him feel at home.

John's first couple of days dancing were not... uncomfortable, but were enjoyable and fun at the end of the night. The tips, and the drinks, were flowing and John would feel emboldened more and more at the end of each night. The other go-go dancers, Douglass, Hambone, and Demarco, quickly accepted John as a dancer and started cracking jokes with him. Everyone, including Curt, kept mentioning "the girls" when talking to John about advice, but every time he just laughs along like he understands. There were no female go-go dancers at this club, at least that John knew about, so he just pretended to know what was going on when the other dancers mentioned them.

One night, the club was buzzing more than usual, and the dancers were kicked out of the large dressing room they usually occupied. John started to fuss, complaining that his pre-show ritual was ruined (AKA drinking four shots and flirting with anyone with a pulse) and that he wouldn't get as many tips as usual. Douglass overhears his whining and laughs out loud.

"Don't expect that many tips tonight. It's all going towards the girls,"

John finally snaps, frustrated that he still doesn't understand these mysterious "girls" everyone was talking about.

"Who are 'the girls'! Jesus, all I hear about is how amazing they are and I don't fucking know who they are!"

The dancers in the dressing room look at John almost incredulously. Hambone is the first to break and burst out laughing.

"Come on, Bucky. It ain't that serious. There's a big drag show every Saturday, and we call them 'the girls'. You'll meet them tonight,"

John shifts in his chair and shrugs his shoulders dejectedly. He's ashamed he didn't suspect that drag queens would frequent a gay club; he's seen some patrons in drag before. He just never suspected that the spotlight would be off of him.

----

John danced like he normally did that night, not wanting to let "the girls" distract him. He didn't really know what to expect when it came to the drag show; he had never been a part of the club scene before he was thrown into it as a dancer. After the first number of flipping and splitting to high energy songs, John found he was able to tune it out easily enough. After the fourth girl threw herself off the stage into the crowd, John rolled his eyes and kept up with his routine.

During the break after a particularly violent lip sync, John is too busy grabbing the tips by his feet that he barely notices the lights dimming on the stage. He notices when he stands up to start his routine again that the music has slowed to something sultry and sensual. It grabs his attention and he turns towards the stage. The other dancers in the club have stopped dancing, and John notices that they're all turned to the stage, also entranced by the sudden change in energy.

The red curtains are closed and a long, pale, leg shoots between the fold and a slender, nailed hand delicately traces the length of it. The music crescendos and the curtain is thrown open by a queen that John is almost immediately entranced by. They have long, slender legs, that they peek out from behind a silk white robe. Their makeup is demure, but John can still call it sexy, with bright blue eyes that pierce through the crowd. It didn't look like they were wearing a wig; their soft blonde curls gently falling over their forehead.

John cannot take his eyes off of the performer and ignores the shiny grin that Hambone throws him from his dancing podium.

The music is sexy and makes something stir deep in John's stomach. The queen's piercing eyes roam the crowd and land on John, winking and keeping their gaze trained on John's face. The music slows and they throw the silk robe they're wearing towards John and it lands at his feet. He takes it in his hands and the queen keeps their eyes trained on him as they walk down the stage stairs towards John. The robe reveals a stoned bodice that show off the queen's legs and arms. They're obviously feminine, but have the strength and masculinity that intrigues John.

The queen stops in front of John's dancing podium, extending a slender hand towards him in an invitation to pull them up. John obliges, bringing the slender queen up to the narrow podium and pulling them against his chest. The queen gracefully pulls a bill from John's back pocket and places it between his teeth. They take John's hands and place it on the back of their bodice.

"Why don't you take it off of me, honey?" They ask, voice uncharacteristically low and husky.

John almost gasps, taking the dainty zipper in his hands and pulling it downward. The bodice falls to the floor, and reveals a thin, slender body with a white panty hugging their slim waist. The queen leans in towards John's face and he holds his breath, thinking that they're going to kiss him. They demurely grab the bill in between John's teeth with their own front teeth, taking it into their mouth. A similar feeling stirs in his stomach as the music finally slows to stop and the queen turns to the audience and poses against John like he's part of the scenery.

The audience cheers raucously as the host comes back on the stage and announces the next performer. The queen looks back at them almost nervously, which makes John's stomach turn. After the whole performance, it appears the queen only has the sultry behavior while the music is playing.

John bends down and hands the white robe back to them.

"What's your name, doll?" John asks, purposely grazing his hand against the queen's.

They flush, uncharacteristically, and throw the robe over their shoulders.

"Gale," They say simply.

John chuckles, helping Gale down from the podium.

"Well, Gale, that isn't quite the name for someone as beautiful as you, is it?" He says.

Gale glares at him playfully and still hasn't let go of John's hand.

"Well why don't we go back to my dressing room and talk about names there, huh?" Gale says, the familiar flirtatious tone back in his voice.

He turns and looks over his shoulder, gesturing his head towards a door that exits the club, and John follows him like an infatuated puppy.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Well since you said it…

Ponyboy Curtis head canons and, if possible, cherry head canons 😁

I'll do Cherry later this weekend, but for now here's some Ponyboy headcanons!

-Has tried to quit smoking multiple times, usually because Darry wants him to, and never succeeded. The second he gets even the tiniest bit stressed he’s got a cigarette lit and back in his mouth. At this point he's pretty much accepted he's locked in for life

-Had to get glasses and HATES them so Darry pulled some overtime and got him contacts

-Worries a lot about Darry, not just because he tries to carry too much roofing at once and regularly hurts his back, but also because he’s terrified of what could happen if Darry was to somehow slip off a roof

-His middle class school friends think he’s REALLY cool (like Pony, they’re all a bunch of nerds) and Pony loves it because the entire gang very much does not

-His school friends are also TERRIFIED of the gang, like they see Two-bit or Steve coming to talk to him and hightail it out of there. They’re even scared of Johnny which Ponyboy thinks is hilarious (he doesn’t realize that Johnny’s dark gaze and bruises are terrifying to someone who doesn’t know how he got them)

-Thinks Curly Shepard is the funniest person alive and is determined that Curly never find that out

-Cannot for the life of him figure out why Johnny and Curly don’t get along

-Tutored Two-bit in English so he could finally graduate

-The gang is split between those who are determined to be a good influence on Pony and those who aren’t. Dally and Two-bit are the bad influences, Johnny tries to be a good influence, and Steve claims to not give a fuck but is the best influence of all in that he’s never let/asked/encouraged Pony to take part in illegal activities 

-Pony thinks Curly Shepard is good looking in a dangerous way. Real good looking in fact.

-Is NOT afraid of girls no matter what that Johnny Cade says (I mean it man I ain’t SCARED of them, they just don think like us, and quit you’re laughing, it ain’t like you have any luck with girls either-)

-Is TERRIFIED of Tim Shepard 

-Is also terrified of Angela Shepard because even though she has the same eyes as Curly, her's are like a snakes, all cold, emotionless and deadly, whereas Curly’s are always twinkling with ether mischief or anger

-He’s actually really good at stealing things (Two-bit taught him well), he just doesn’t do it often because he feels bad about it. But if a shop employee is rude to him he’s no holds barred and could leave with like half the store under his coat

-Can get away with literally ANYTHING in his English class after he gave Mr. Simes his theme, and uses that fact to his advantage

-Regularly falls asleep in his math class but manages to talk his teacher out of calling Darry every time

-He and Darry have the same taste in literature and regularly share/discuss books. It bores Soda to the point where he jokingly tells them to go back to arguing all the time because it was at least more entertaining to listen to

-Steps on peoples heels when he walks behind them

-HATES country music so fucking much and if Johnny plays that goddamn country record ONE more time-

-Is determined to make sure neither of his older brothers find our just how much time he spends with Curly Shepard

-Cut the blond out of his hair as soon as he possibly could, even though it made his hair shorter than he liked because he hated the light colour more than he hated the short length

-Has the worst poker face known to man but is actually decent at poker (because he cheats, but unlike Sodapop he’s good at cheating so he rarely gets caught)

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Sweet Sweet Girl

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Incubus Max Lord x Female Reader Words Count: 1,400 Summary: Huh, what a weird dream. Warnings: NON-CONSENSUAL SEX (it's an incubus here folks), asphyxiation, unprotected piv sex, jedi mind tricks but make it for smut, i'm sorry he has the wig (justice for pedro's real hair), nocturnal orgasm, so many WW84 quotes

A/N: This is the darkest thing I've written along with writing a character from a movie I cannot stand. Guess what though... once I realized where I wanted to take this, I actually enjoyed it. So thank you to @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes for the Monster Smash, I really loved stepping outside of my comfort zone. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon for letting me throw ideas at her and her enthusiasm. Also thank you to @jolapeno for holding my hand through some of my doubts.

Masterlist

🛌 🛌 🛌

Sweet sweet girl, I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, sweet sweet girl.  Sweet sweet girl, you won’t look at me, you won’t pay me mind, sweet sweet girl. Sweet sweet girl, your body belongs to me, you can't stop me. No one can.

You pretty thing you, slumbering away in your idyllic iron bed. Under a cover of delicate flowers, you lay. So peaceful, so relaxed. He has access to everything he’d ever want, power beyond belief, richer than Mammon. He can have it all, and he wants it, so he takes you. Lucifer, save you. 

—-

Crimson petals line the walkway leading to your throne. It’s hazy here, light swirls and reflects in a different way. Your vision is wavy, as if everything you see is under a veil of amber liquid.

The heavy wooden doors of your fortress creak open, and he appears. 

Dark brown eyes framed by angled eyebrows lock onto you as he strides with purpose towards you. He’s adorned in golden silk that matches his complexion. He glows bright like a star. His honey blonde hair is always meticulously manicured, his face always perfectly smooth. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“My Lord,” you bow your head to the bishop. 

He kneels in front of your throne.

“Tell me what you wish for, Your Highness, and I will show you how it works.”

“You. My Lord. I wish for you,” you beg. “I wish for you to love me.”

“I like the way you think. You don't ever have to make a wish for me to love you. I'm here because I love you. Take my hand.” 

You take his outstretched hand, and your surroundings transform.

No longer in your castle, you’re somewhere else, the world swirls stronger. The walls are draped in rich, golden tapestries that shimmer as they catch the glow of the golden candles flickering all around you. 

A chill runs down your spine as a tinge of uncertainty grips you; your mind begins to believe that this is all wrong, yet your heart races with only desire for your Lord.

“My Lord,” you whisper with a hint of concern. “Wha-where are we?”

“We’re where we belong. Never accept the limitations of nature,” his deep voice rumbles through you. He places his lips against your ear. “You want to be here.”

“I want to be here,” you repeat, as a wave of passion and peace washes over you.

“Good, my Queen,” he leans forward, pulling the sleeve of your dress down to expose your shoulder. “Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” you moan softly.

“Yes my–”

“Yes my Lord,” you submissively correct yourself. “I-I desire you, and only you.” 

He leans forward, placing a heated kiss on your bare shoulder. It smolders against your sensitive skin, igniting your body. Your dress is far too warm against your overheating skin, sweat begins to bead as you claw and clutch at the heavy velvet that sits upon you. 

He kisses a path from your shoulder to your neck before nipping his way up the sensitive skin to your mouth. 

Your dress disintegrates when his lips meet yours in a searing kiss. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, luring you closer, his breath is hot against your skin. He slit hers his arms around you, capturing you against him. With each line his fingers run up and down your spine, the more the walls close in on you, the world fading, leaving only your Lord. 

He consumes you. Each lick into your mouth makes your heart less capable of beating for anything else but him. He pulls away, leaving you breathless.

He snaps his fingers.

The world spins underneath you, a tornado of golden swirls lifts you up and away from your Lord. Your body hovers above the ground cradled by an invisible force as you’re gently turned on your back, floating above the golden altar. 

Your Lord follows, his golden robes are gone, leaving him standing radiantly nude. Light reflects off of his skin, making him glow brighter. Your Lord is made of ethereal light, a halo glimmers around his flawless body. Wide shoulders, broad chest, a path of hair leads to his cock standing hard and golden nestled in between strong thighs. You want to pray and give sacrament to your Lord.

“Your highness,” he circles your body like he’s stalking his prey. He halts in front of you, his eyes lock onto yours. “Tell me, what is it that you wish for?” 

“You–only you–my Lord.”

He nods his head. Your body descends, softly landing on the altar. 

He crawls over you and puts his lips against your ear. His body and smell surrounds you–lavender and smoke–it’s heady and intoxicating. It’s the only aroma you ever want to breathe in.

“I’m your wish and you’ll never renounce me,” he whispers, his cock lays heavily against the slick of you that’s been weeping for him since he walked into your castle. 

“You’re my wish and I’ll never renounce you,” you repeat, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Your wish is granted,” he grits as he sheathes the full length of him inside you. Opulence fills you as your cunt stretches around your Lord’s wealth. 

He slowly rocks back and forth, grinding his hips against yours, earning a gasp from your lips. 

He finds the crook of your neck, lightly sucking your skin with each push in, marking you with each thrust. There’s nobody else in this world, just your Lord.

His tongue dances across your chest and pirouettes around your nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. He lets it go with a pop before kissing up to your mouth. 

He lays heavily upon you, burdening your body, heart, and mind. Your Lord and his cock spears and suffocates your soaked pussy, overwhelming you. 

“Sweet sweet girl,” his voice drifts through your mind, though his lips don’t move. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, sweet sweet girl.”

“Sweet sweet girl,” he leans back, his deep brown eyes bore into yours, his telepathic words tangling through your mind. “You won’t look at me, you won’t pay me mind, sweet sweet girl.”

“Sweet sweet girl,” now he speaks aloud, his plush lips graze against yours. “Your body belongs to me, you can't stop me. No one can.”

“No one can,” you moan, feeling your body thrumming underneath his power. 

He’s possessive with your cunt, taking you, owning you, enchanting you. It feels so familiar and yet you feel like you’ve never been fucked like this before. You’re breathless and trapped, crushed under his large presence, it’s holy. 

His cock pounds into you, intoxicating you under its spell. You’re golden, his luster shines into you with each thrust. You feel like the wealthiest woman in the whole kingdom as your core tightens around him.

Each shuddering breath your lungs heave overwhelms you, the burn of smoke suffocates you. You’re choking on his aroma, it feels so fucking good. You’re trembling underneath his mass, eyes rolling to the back of your head. The world turns hazier, your eyes cloud with golden hues, as your Lord smothers you. 

“Hand yourself to me sweet sweet girl,” he groans against your lips.

You obey, fallen under his spell and give yourself to him, pulsing ecstasy against his cock as your orgasm rips through you. 

Your body lights from within, glowing, bright and blazing. Rays of light emit out of you, shooting from your skin. Golden petals fall from the sky, raining onto you and your Lord as his thrusts drive into you harder.

“You can have it all. You just have to want it!” he grunts as his grandeur is bestowed within you, coating your walls with his cum. His face flashes for a split second, a sneering red demon shows itself underneath a veil of Max's face. “Sweet sweet girl.”

—

An invisible weight is lifted off your body, rattling you awake.

“The world belongs to me! You can't stop me. No one can!” A familiar voice you can’t place echoes through your room.

“Hello?” you call out, throwing the floral comforter off your overheated body. 

A phantom clench tightens your core, you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts again. 

“Fucking hell,” you collapse against your crimson sheets soaked in your sweat and involuntary orgasm, “must’ve been a good dream.”

A gold petal falls from your headboard onto your head… that’s the third time it’s happened this month.

[izzymarksthespot]

There's been an idea rattling around in my head, vaguely inspired by this post (can't find the original for the life of me): angsty Steddyhands/Stizzy/Gentlebeard soulmate au, where you cannot physically hurt your soulmate - as in your body simply won't let you.

Prepare yourself, this is a long one.

Izzy, increasingly irked and unsettled by Bonnet's influence on his captain, challanges him to a duel like in s1e8. Stede accepts, the duel commences - but as it goes on Izzy cannot shake the feeling of wrong wrong wrong which follows, making his movements sluggish, blows weaker and heartbeat fast and anxious.

Finally, he has Bonnet pinned - only when he tries to run the other man through with his sword, he can't do it. He freezes mid-thrust, muscles of his sword hand seizing, the blade of the rapier an inch away from the blonde's stomach. They stare at each other in shock, and soon commotion starts as the crew tries to see what exactly is going on, and did Izzy actually stab the captain? Ed hovers over them both in panic and confusion.

Izzy drops his sword at his captains prompting, and backs away with a "What the fuck did you do to me, you bastard?!" aimed at an equally flabbergasted Stede. While they bitch at each other, the crew wonder aloud what has happened and how odd it was that Izzy just froze (Izzy's never done that before!), and Lucius goes with a mocking "aww, Iggy actually likes the captain and doesn't want him hurt, how sweet!"

Buttons comes around then, takes in the scene, eyes Izzy with an unreadable expression, and goes "Nay, Mister Spriggs, more like cannae bring hisself to. I reckon 's only one reason fer it."

Everyone's like 🤨🤨 and Izzy's about to retort something scathing and awful, but suddenly he gets an inkling in the back of his head, a flash of a memory and words actually fail to come out of his mouth.

And Buttons just easily goes with "you cannae hurt yer soulmate, can ya?" and all hell breaks loose. Obviously everyone is laughing the idea off, cause come on, Stede and Izzy? There is no way, what an idiotic idea! Buttons, no more moonbathing for you, you're talking more nonsense than ever!

Both interested parties are strangely quiet though.

Frenchie - who's well informed on the soulmate matter, ofc - suggests they can simply test it out: all Stede and Izzy have to do is touch (skin to skin) to see if the soul marks appear.

Before either Stede or Izzy can reject that idea, it's Ed who does, there will be no fucking checking or touching; there's an aura of danger coming off of him in droves and his dark eyes are trained solely on Izzy.

Long story short, he throws Izzy off the ship (figuratively, just orders him to leave), Izzy's hurt and sells out Stede to the British (the only soulmate he has is Blackbeard and he wants him back), the whole shenanigans with act of grace still happen - Stede still leaves Ed and goes back to Bridgetown; and Ed spirals even harder in his absence because now he additionally thinks Stede left cause they're not soulmates (Stede actually could and did run him through with his sword, and if they were he wouldn't be able to, would he?)

He goes into the Kraken mode, taking most of his anger and hurt onto the person who is obviously responsible for this - Izzy.

[killerbananas]

Clouded

Your sensual madness is something Erwin adores.

🔞 mdni | masterlist | 992 wc | afab!reader x Erwin

Warnings: smut; masturbation, PIV, drunk sex (ergo dubcon), creampie, breeding allusions, very Emotional

AN: Repost from my old account. This is some of my most abstract writing so please know it may not be your flavor (I wrote this absolutely smashed and edited only lightly).

Your body feels as though pliant liquid in the sheets that caress your body like a lover's kiss. Your hips undulating against the fabric as it slides along your skin while you writhe. Your breasts heave with a heavy breath that brings your chest high and lets your nipples crest upward. Nothing is stopping how good you feel in this moment and you naturally turn sideways and then to your stomach, finding rhythm on your fingers to pinch swipe press roll and even twist your clit until your essence slides to your fingers beneath you like dripping honey, succulent sticky sweet.

Your entire being is focused on finding release and relief and pleasure and molten fluttering godless rapture in equal measure. It’s impossible to think. Things have been murky since you left your house, your temporary house? Something felt intangibly unstable about your residence but fuck did words escape you. You needed a goddamn earthquake in your cunt or you were going to ungather at an atomic level.

It’s here he finds you, desolate and wanting, wet slick and fucked on your fingers nearly raw. But you need every centimeter of him inside you once you find him there. Once you see him. When you realize there is a fucking solution to the madness ripping you apart and it is Him. He worries for your wild passion, but he starts to understand quickly, helping to quell the sheer force that ensnares your body in ardour. His blonde hair rasps your fingers like frothing tides that bind your bodies in tortuous waves crashing torrential collisions. You do not know where is up but you are full to bursting with Erwin. His cock is inside your sweet walls that hold him close in a lover’s grasp. As if he’s the glue to your universe and the only sanity holding your bones together but with the stitching of steel that his confidence lends in droves as he fucks you alive, whole, full, healthy.

Light halos his hair as whispering temptations to seek a brightness you cannot touch without irreparable, fatal implications, to touch the sun. But he is between your legs and you will have the fill that insatiates your appetite to gargantuan propensities as if to flick your sexual psyche to violins playing a warrior’s tale.

He presses forward into your sopping cunt with a length that burns and the symphony pitches wild in your ears. You cannot control how you choose to receive him. You body caves to the invasion of something so splittingly large you can almost not compete with the stretch it necessitates. But you wouldn’t have it any other way as he completes you with every inch of himself. To know him this way connects you so naturally that your body cannot help but submit to his every whim as he subliminally commands it.

He craves and he will do as he sees fit, like scowering your cunt because he wants to have every inch of you marked. When you’re out about your day your cunt should weep with his come. Every moment without being inside you is torture to his being and he rectifies it with sturdy jams into the softness you willingly present him. That is your cunt being speared by his length for what feels like hours as his cock stirs molasses between your thighs as a concoction you want to choke on he is so incensing. You do not know where his battering bruises end and your soul or being begins. He is so deep you feel as though there is no difference where your breaths synchronize in aphrodisiac whimpers that thrum as a war drum in your chest.

He conquers your body and resides inside you with a parasitical harmony that shreds and glues your psyche with equal dissonance and nirvana. You would accept no less from the god between your plush thighs that promises pleasure of his cock for as long as you’ll have him as you give your very womb over to the virile creature you choose to willingly house at your apex. His balls draw into a tightness that blinds his lungs of breath and mind of thought as he drives deep. He wants to fuse your beings as though a cosmic rip may render life more meaningful if he pushes only a centimeter deeper into your soft cunt. He wants to solve every problem in his body ache to wail and wound to fatality with the leaking essence your body grieves to him in pleasure unbounded.

He doesn’t judge as you pull upward in a tensing arc that replicates the swell of merciful relief lapping your sense of self as you curl into his stomach, a warm retreat for your tender limbs. He is a comfort like the freeing sunlight on a cold winter. He titillates your senses with every movement and gesture as he crests within your womb. A fulfilling radiance shines in your mind as he releases, seed seeking purchase into the rendered Life you proffer with raised hips.

Erwin falls forward into your arms as you are only full of the sense of Him. His contours cover you as he lays down gently with your form on the mattress. Lips wisp ballads of kindnesses professed in blissed cerebral ichor that cloy your lungs with affection so bright you nearly burn at an internal smoulder. You are so overwhelmed that water brims your eyes as traitorous fear leaving you in visible droplets Erwin catches with his ready thumbs that swipe love into your visage. He wishes, swishes a calm into your body that pairs with the release he has consistently tapped into your bud with precision of a lover overcome with care for another. He presses himself deeper and closer with your flutters that continue to milk him like a suckling desire of wholeness that blisters your being in need.

He answers, all of him a balm on your ache.

Taglist: @aotwarriorsimp @alexpro-nwn @animediplomat @antoxsmith @armoredpotato @aviinnit @beffjurky @blondeboyfriend @casuallyck @cherrxs @dearbaji @erwinsbaby @eyesucket @fairypiku @fandomficsobsession @fujoneshi @holographicceo @hinasakuino @interfectio-mortales @kenryug @koulakoukoula2003 @kxkyuu-main @lavenderdaisyhoney   @mybadluckshouldmakemefamous @chaotic-nick @nathalunalune @notgoodforlife @arsonszn @pockcock @poursomesunaonme @scouts-stuff @seychellse @shigarakiapologist @soaringmirror @sparklekitteh @stigandr-the-cat @syrma-sensei @reiners-milkbiddies @tiffanyy-21 @tonaken @torapologist @touyyes @we-are-so-close

[littlexscarletxwitch]

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff (?), kinda possessive flo (but not really), i love raffie so much

warning(s): mentions of alcohol, kinda possessive behavior, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 1.9k

request: you can find the request here

note: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, nonnie, but it's finally here, also the winner of the poll. I really hope you like it, I had so much fun writing it. I feel like the ending is kinda trash, but oh well whatever. I'm not an english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you guys enjoy! <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

You were trying to pay attention to what Raffie was saying, you really were, but you couldn't focus on her words with Florence's hot breath on your neck. 

“And then he just ghosted me,” she finished. “Can you believe he did that, Y/n?”

Hearing her calling out your name snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“I cannot believe he did that, Raffie,” you shook your head, trying to convince your best friend that you had been listening to her for the last five minutes. 

“He’s a dick,” Florence said behind you. 

You were sitting on her lap, her hands wrapped tightly around your waist, butterflies in your stomach. If it were up to you, you would be sitting next to her instead of on her, but she had made that call for you. 

In fact, ever since she had found out about your little crush on her, she became more touchy with you. And you had let her, something you shouldn't have done since it was frustrating because she only saw you as her little sister’s best friend. But you couldn’t deny her touch, after all those years of secretly yearning for it. Even though you knew she was just messing with you, you would allow it, you would allow it to mess with you even though it would just tear you apart. 

“Anyways,” Raffie continued, “a friend of his is having a party tonight, and I was wondering if you guys would come with me. As moral support?”

“Moral support? What for? He’s a douchebag, what could you possibly want with him?” you raised your brow at her. 

Raffie wasn’t the one to go after boys, boys usually went after her. So it was a surprise to hear from her that she wanted to look for the guy. 

“I just want to repay the favour,” she had a grin on her face. 

Of course, she would want revenge, that sounded more like her. 

You playfully rolled your eyes at her, “What are you up to, huh?”

“I promise I will tell you later if you come with me.”

“I don’t know, Raff. You know how I feel about parties.”

“Oh, come on,” you heard the blonde say behind you. “I’ll be there, we will have fun, we can get drunk and dance a little bit.”

“Flo, you know that I don’t like—”

“Pretty please, Y/n,” you looked at her over your shoulder, her green eyes locked on yours. “Please,” she whispered once more before leaving a sweet soft kiss on your bare shoulder. 

The simple action set your skin on fire. She knew exactly what she was doing, she knew exactly all the feelings she would burst inside you. Some part of you thought that maybe she was taking advantage of you, but honestly you couldn’t care less as long as you had her attention. 

You gulped before speaking up, “Fine,” you smiled at her. 

She had the biggest grin you had seen on her the entire day. She was going to be the death of you and you would gladly accept that fate as long as she was part of it. 

“Yay!” Raffie cheered, reminding you that she was still in the room. “Y/n, please let me do your makeup,” she said, not waiting for an answer and running up to her room. You rolled your eyes at your best friend even though she was long gone. 

You felt the hands around your torso getting tighter, and once again you remembered exactly where you were, sitting on Florence’s lap, your back against her chest, her breath on your neck. You wanted to tell her to stop, some part of you wanted to move away from her, but you just couldn’t find the strength in you to do something about it. 

“I bet Raffie is also looking for an outfit for you,” she mumbled, she had her head buried in the crook of your neck, her breath sending shivers up your spine. “And I bet you are going to look so hot in it,” your heart skipped a beat and you felt the blood rushing up to your cheeks when she left a small wet kiss on your neck. 

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to form some coherent thoughts, but your brain was too foggy to think properly, getting drunk on her scent and closeness. You hadn’t realised your breath had gotten heavier until Florence had pointed it out. 

“You okay, love?” she whispered in your ear. “Your breathing is uneven and your heart is beating pretty fast.” 

You knew she knew exactly why your body was acting up the way it was, she was just messing with you, as she usually did.  

“I um,” you found her eyes already looking at you, your brain was struggling to find words.

“You…?” she trailed off, singling for you to continue. 

“I was just, I um—”

“Y/n, what do you think about this skirt?” Raffie cut you off walking down the stairs. You let out the breath you were holding, glad that you didn’t have to answer her big sister. “I know what you're going to say: ‘Oh, but Raffie, it’s so short. I could never’,” she said in a high pitch, resembling your voice. 

“I don’t sound like that,” you gave her a death glare. 

“Yeah, you do. But whatever, just go and try this on, okay? You will look sexy,” she winked at you and handed you the clothes. 

“But Raffie the party doesn’t start until late at night,” you whined. 

“Late at night? Y/n, we have only three hours! Just go and get dressed,” she pulled you up and led you to her bedroom upstairs. “I’m going to buy some things for the party, Florence will stay with you, okay? I’ll be right back,” she blew you a kiss goodbye and closed the door behind her. 

While you were undressing yourself to try out the outfit Raffie had put together for you, you heard her saying goodbye to her sister downstairs and telling her to behave. You once again rolled your eyes at your best friend. She knew about your crush on her sister, you told her ever since you had realised that your feelings for the blonde had changed. She also knew how Florence would be around you, always touching you, flirting with you, or just staring at you. Raffie didn’t know if her sister was just playing around or actually meant all of those things, she never talked about you with her. Not that she hadn’t tried, she had, repatelly. But Florence would always shut down and change the subject. So she gave up a while ago. 

You had already put the skirt and the top Raffie had chosen for you, it was way more revealing than what you would normally wear. But you didn’t seem to mind it. You were looking at yourself in the mirror when you heard the door being opened behind you. 

“I knew you would look hot,” she stopped closer to where you were standing. “But then again, you always look hot.”

You watched her through the mirror, she had changed into a tight short black dress with some pink flowers on it. Your eyes trailed down to her legs, and you swallowed hard when you noticed how short the dress was. She noticed you were ogling her. 

“How do I look?” she smiled at you. 

“You look beautiful, Flo. You always do,” you whispered the last part, but Florence had already heard it. 

“If you don’t want to go to the party, we don’t have to, Y/n,” you watched as she got closer to you and placed her hands on your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, I want to,” you flashed her a smile. “I have a good feeling about this one.”

Which was true. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact that Florence was going to be there, the fact that Raffie was getting her ‘revenge’, or maybe you just felt comfortable in the clothes Raffie had picked for you, that you didn’t mind going to a stranger’s house and have a little bit of fun. 

“Well, that’s good,” she rested her chin on your shoulder, her arms wrapped around your waist, making your stomach turn. 

[...]

You were in the kitchen, trying to pour yourself a glass of water. You felt like you had already had too much alcohol, your head was spinning and the music was getting louder and louder. 

You had been dancing the whole night with Florence, and you had been right, you did have fun. But you were getting overwhelmed by all the people surrounding you.

Once you gulped down the water you felt a little bit better, and shook those feelings away. 

“Hey!”, you heard an unfamiliar voice calling behind you. 

Slowly, you turned around to see a boy standing in front of you. He appeared to be a few years older than you, and by the way he was standing you could tell he had one too many drinks as well.

“Everything’s good, I was just heading out actually,” you tried to walk away from him but he grabbed you from your wrist. 

“Hey, don’t run, we just met. I’m Dick,” he sounded nice, the soft grip on your wrist telling you he meant no harm. 

He noticed you were looking down at his hand, and quickly let go.

“Sorry,” he slurred, “You’re just really pretty,” you watched as his cheeks turned red.

“Sure,” you playfully rolled your eyes. 

“I’m serious,” he chuckled. “I didn’t catch your name, tho.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he tried your name on his lips, liking the sound of it. 

Unbeknownst to you, a certain blonde was looking at the two of you chatting. She felt as her skin set on fire the closer he got to you and the more you would laugh at whatever he was saying. 

What could he possibly be saying that you would make you laugh so hard? Was he really that funny? There was no way he was that funny. She needed to do something about it. 

The truth was Florence also had a crush on you, as cliche as it sounded, falling for her little sister’s best friend. But how could she not when it was you who she fell for? You were just too cute, and caring, and compassionate, she felt like she might just explode by just looking at you. And she could not have you talking to some stupid, probably drunk, guy. She quickly made her way towards the two of you, determined to put an end to whatever that was.

“Oh, there you are, baby,” you heard a familiar voice saying and a familiar pair of lips kissing your left cheek. “Who’s this, love?”

“Um, this is Dick. Dick this is Florence…”

“Her girlfriend, and not just her friend who is a girl,” she winked at him. 

“What are you…?” you tried, but Dick’s voice got you off.

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. I just thought… I’m just going to leave,” Dick said, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation. 

“What was that about?” you snapped at her. 

“I did you a favour, Y/n. He was no good,” she simply smiled at you. 

“You don’t get to do that, Florence. Not cool.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n.”

“No, I’m serious. Don’t pull that shit on me.”

“Or what?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” she said, trapping your body against the counter. 

Your heart skipped a beat by the sudden action, she was way too close. You could feel her breath on your lips. 

“Don’t you see it, Y/n?” she whispered, but loud enough for you to hear through the music. “You made me go crazy.”

“What?” 

“You're mine, Y/n. Mine,” and finally her soft warm lips met yours.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[misslovasstuff]

Whole cake island arc has the best writing in one piece. The parallels between Sanji and his father, Luffy and Sanji’s mom, the representation of trauma down to the details of body language, the string of hope and intense emotions that follows it through. Sanji being brave enough to go back and face the nightmare he went through 13 years ago when he was just a kid, a kid that had to apologise for being born ‘weak’, a kid that went through heavy abuse and trauma and found his only comfort in his mom but not for long.

Sanji being afraid to risk his friend’s lives for himself but in the end he was stunned by their determination to save him regardless the dangers they could face.

Sanji staying to save his abusing family because of the morals and values he was raised by and because of his kind heart, because as Luffy said ‘that’s how you are.’

Sanji that didn’t make a whole 360* change of his personality when he realised Pudding’s true intentions but instead still treated her respectfully and even understood her feelings when he asked her if she has been fooling herself as well. He protects her until the end and doesn’t hold a strong grudge.

Sanji that could only find happiness there with his friends and got worried sick, pacing and smoking the hell of his cigarette worrying about them, even though he tried his best to push them away for their own good.

Sanji that couldn’t convince his captain that he’s spoiled, mean and a traitor because how could the kind cook that risks his life for all his friends ever be this cruel?

The moment that absolutely crushed me was when Luffy asked Sanji ‘what do you want?’. That cute blond is always putting a show of hiding his emotions and placing others before him so you can imagine the intensity of his emotions when he was asked this question and admitted that what he wanted the most right now was to get back to the sunny.

Themes of love which prove that it cannot be faked but only developed when one is true to another. We have pudding who had also gone through a difficult childhood, paralleling somehow Sanji’s struggle in fitting in and being called the ‘odd one out’. When she’s complimented for something she’s been ashamed of her whole life, her demeanour falls and it’s shocking for her to hear such a thing, especially from the men she’s trying to assassinate.

It’s surprising how well Pudding encrypts Sanji in the first meeting, describing him as a wonderful man, he has lovey-dovey eyes but he’s gentle, he has twirly eyebrows but he’s kind. Her falling in love with him was inevitable for they share the same passion of cooking, but also the same need to be accepted as they are.

I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have this arc in their top 3 favourites because wow, this arc makes you cry, laugh, reflect and realise by seeing how Sanji made a step towards making peace with his past, realising that he can rely on his friends and not take everything upon himself to carry. Realising that he’s important, he’s enough, and that that kindness of his is a trait resembling a treasure to be kept sacred and loved forever more.