#in book 1 he’s given more of a presence

[duskcowboy]

Halfway through The Hunger Games audiobooks and can I just say, I am Josh Hutcherson’s #1 fan, but man they really did Peeta dirty in the movie😅😅

[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[selineram3421]

*spaced out*

Courting Pursuit

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ (gn) gender neutral reader, mule deer reader, assuming alastor is a marsh deer, flustered alastor, Spanish translated, food mention-not specific, italics= thoughts, mentions of dismemberment ⚠

You had gotten Alastor's attention after that peck on the forehead.

It annoyed him though.

How dare some demon think to kiss him, the frightening Radio Demon, who slaughtered other Overlords to get to the top. He should be feared!

But after that day all you did was give him gentle smiles and what he assumes are compliments in Spanish. He's had to get a dictionary to translate them, not wanting to go to Vaggie every time.

After learning how to properly translate in his radio tower, he's left with a flushed face.

Damn that sleepy eyed deer- He huffs and tosses the book away.

Then he starts to notice more things about you. Mostly because he's trying to figure out a way to get you back for daring to touch him.

You look sleepy, almost all the time.

Noticing how strong you are when you lift one of the couches for Niffty to clean under it. How big your antlers are and how often you have to lower your head in order to enter a room without hitting your antlers on the door frame. Damn Angel for pointing out your big build and chest.

A button has shot out and broken a glass at the bar, the thread having finally snapped from the constant tension.

"Holy shit!", Angel laughed and turned to the white haired demon. "Hey vagina! You owe me a twenty!"

He learned the proper shirt size for you so that it wouldn't happen again.

Then he's noticed that you like to stand near him when given the chance. Sitting on the chair next to him when having dinner with everyone, sometimes following him to the bar, and then watching him cook.

It annoys him.

You still don't fear him.

Another night, another meal to be made and you're watching him cook again. The Radio Demon finally speaks up about your presence in the kitchen.

"If you aren't going to contribute in making the food, then leave.", he glances over his shoulder with a slight glare.

The mule deer stays leaning against the door frame for a second longer before pushing themselves off, walking over while rolling up their sleeves.

"Te ayudaré." (I will help you.)

It is quiet in the kitchen, save for the occasional ask for spices and other ingredients.

You are quite skilled with a knife.

He watches from the corner of his eye as you mince the vegetables.

After everything is done, you get the plates and set them down on the counter before starting to serve some the food one one of them.

"Who are you serving?", he questions.

You don't reply, instead you finish piling food on the plate before offering it to him with the same smile you always show him.

"Eat."

The Radio Demon was confused but took the plate anyway. It was the cook that ate last, it's always been that way.

"I don't really understand why you served me first. The others are in the dining room.", he said.

Before he could put his plate down, you stopped him and gave him a utensil.

"Please, eat. Has trabajado duro, así que come y relájate. Yo serviré.", you flashed another smile and gathered up the other food filled plates, balancing them on your arms as you made your way over to the door. (You have worked hard, so eat and relax. I will serve.)

He stood there as he watched you leave the room, taking a glance at the plate in his hands.

What exactly were you trying to do?

Later in the week, Alastor decided to pay a visit to Rosie and brought some food that you had made after finding out where he was going.

He sat on one of the arm chairs as the woman across from him complimented your food.

"I need advise for a problem."

The black eyed woman lifted a brow.

"You? Now this must be something good. You never ask for advise unless something has really stumped ya.", she said and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

"It's about that mule deer I brought with me last time, the hotel guest.", his smile strained slightly. "I don't understand why aren't scared of me like other sinners. Hell, even the Princess knows to be wary of me but the damn demon just smiles at me."

This gets her attention and she sits up a bit straighter.

"Go on.."

"Not only that, they dare to peck me on the forehead.", he looks away. "I hate that they aren't afraid. They sit close to me, compliment me, follow me around sometimes, helped me in the kitchen just a few days ago. Served me a plate even!", he raised a hand up in annoyance. "I've ripped demons apart in front of them but they still act so strangely around me! I don't understand! Why are they so odd!?"

Rosie laughs as she places her elbow on the arm rest, leaning her chin in the palm of her hand, wearing a knowing smile.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're being courted."

Alastor turned to look at his friend.

"A what now?"

You..courting him?

How absurd! Laughable even.

"Hahahaha!", he wiped a tear away. "I didn't think you'd make such a ridiculous joke, ha.."

The woman crossed her arms and stared him down with a look.

"Surely you jest.", he says.

Rosie sighs and stands from her seat. "Dear old friend, what are the ways to court or show interest in a person?"

"Ah..well. You know I've never-", he begins but is cut off.

"The most popular ways to court someone are to give the person of their interest compliments, attention, gifts, acts of service, and often treated in a respectable manner.", she lists off and she walks over to stand next to his chair. "And the oh so famous line of reaching a person's heart is through their stomach.", she says and pokes his mid section. "It sounds a lot like what that big darling deer is doing for you."

Alastor left, not knowing what else to say after his friend laid out the evidence so plainly for him to see. Once he arrived back at the hotel, he noticed the mule deer sleeping in the lobby on one of the couches.

"Everyone else is asleep in their rooms.", Husk spoke up fron the bar.

The spider demon is at the bar drinking a maroon liquid from a martini glass in his hand.

"Why are they..here?", the Radio Demon gestures to you.

"Said something about making sure to welcome you when you got back. I don't know why they'd want to though.", the cat demon serves himself a drink.

"Gentle Giant is real sweet, that's why.", Angel places his cup on the bar counter. "Damn, I'd want some hot demon to welcome me back home.", he says before leaning closer to the bartender. "Oh Husk~"

Husk just rolls his eyes and drinks his alcohol.

"They gotta sleep in their room. The couch is not that comfortable.", Husk mentions.

Not too long later, the two demons at the bar leave to go to their rooms to retire for the night.

Alastor now left with the task of waking you up.

He goes over and places a hand on your shoulder, beginning to shake you slightly.

"Wake up. You have to go to your room.", he says.

You slowly blink your eyes open and stare at him for a second. Then that soft dopey smile forms on your face.

"Bienvenido de nuevo.", you mumbled out. (Welcome back.)

". . . . . . . . ."

Shit.

He made sure you didn't hit anything on your way back to your room. Immediately walking away after your door closes to think over a few things.

Fun fact: Female deer can also have antlers but it is very rare and only occurs when there is a hormonal imbalance of testosterone/regulation issues.

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @wat4r @lustylita @sleep-7372 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader confesses to the Dateables

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 3 , Demon brothers version

Anon request: Could I request headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon react to shy gn crush confessing to him nervously?

.

A/N: I made this so the Dateables were already crushing on the reader for a while, but it's the reader who confesses. Once again, Simeon gave me no inspiration and yet his section was the one I enjoyed the most

.

Diavolo

He’s used to loneliness and sacrifices, dedicating his limited free time to a small inner circle that he’s unable to expand. The rest of his devotions goes to his dreams and his duties, and that includes, above many other things, the student exchange program.

The only human he personally knows is Solomon and everybody is aware of the sorcerer’s peculiar personality, so he’s quick to accept that you’re going to be different from everything he’s ever known.

He just didn’t know how much.

You build a friendship with him, treating him without inhibitions while still respecting him. You accept and join his childish whims, ask for his advice in more serious matters and speak your mind without fear.

You make him feel normal, helping his love for you grow slow but steady over a strong foundation.

But then your behaviour around him changes and he feels completely lost. There’s a sort of restraint he’s never seen in you, your recent silence and your avoidance to look at him in the eye making him wonder in hurt if you finally know enough about him to be afraid.

Diavolo feels his heart sink when you ask to speak to him in private and he’s willing to accept he has lost you.

How wrong he is.

Your confession leaves him speechless, but the more you talk with a stammer while twisting your fingers, the more he feels his cheeks blush.

He doesn’t confess back. He directly asks you out on a date.

Barbatos

His duty to the Young Master doesn’t feel like a sacrifice to him. It’s an honour he’s glad to act in, so, although he likes to keep some free time for his private life, Barbatos is more than happy to set Lord Diavolo above everything else.

He doesn’t pay you much attention at first, given that there’s little to no connexion between you two. In fact, the first few times you hang out together outside official matters it’s always organized by someone else, mainly Luke.

The young angel enjoys baking and even his prejudices decrease upon the demon’s talents in the kitchen.

He also enjoys spending time with you.

So he combines both of those things. That’s how Barbatos gets to know you better.

He revels in the discovery of your resilience and your kindness despite what surrounds you. Your smile while measuring ingredients with Luke, your attentiveness at his teaching.

He knows Lord Diavolo appreciates him and thanks his presence, but you’re the first one to treat him so… highly? You admire him, you hear him, you seek him.

His busy mind and busy schedule give him almost no time to ruminate his feelings, but he can’t run away for much longer.

It’s around the same time he finally accepts his need to be with you that you start to fidget around him. He sees you looking at him under your lashes, timidly smiling and looking at him when you think he isn’t paying attention.

Your feelings are obvious to him, but he lets himself enjoy the situation for as long as possible. It’s too adorable to let go.

When you finally gather the courage you need to confess and it’s his turn to be sincere, his words are worth more than a hundred romance books.

Solomon

At the beginning, his interest in you is entirely academic. A regular human living amongst the most powerful demons of the Devildom? Now, that is something worth his while!

Witnessing first-hand how your humanity is put to the test on the daily is fun at first, but then again… You still have humanity. Once lost, it wouldn’t come back.

He ultimately decides to side with you. It makes him feel a little better too.

Although you both have a cordial relationship, barely a friendship, he isn’t your priority. To be fair, you aren’t his either, so he can’t complain.

But then time passes and his infatuation starts to grow.

You remind him of better things. Those he lost long time ago and those he knows he’s incapable of reaching. You make him want to be better, to try and to be someone that you could be prouder of.

He uses his vast knowledge to compete for your attention. His stories and his studies, his vulnerability slowly showing to you. It’s difficult, but you’re worth it.

He knows it’s working when you go out of your way to spend time with him, a difficult task when half of your roommates, if not all of them, don’t trust him at all. That makes him elated, but insecure at the same time.

He doesn’t know how to move things forward without spoiling them, so he waits until you make the first move. When the moment comes, he forces himself to memorize every second of it.

Solomon doesn’t want to forget your timid expression or the way you can’t decide what to say to put your feelings on display. He doesn’t want to forget the wide smile you show when he reciprocates your affections.

Simeon

He cares for you since the beginning, even before forming a friendship. It’s in his nature to be kind and caring and he can’t help but to act on it with you.

Your personality immediately draws him closer. How positive you are despite your situation as well as your determination to keep going forward, proving the demons wrong.

Simeon feels a strange satisfaction whenever Lucifer’s brow twitches at your misdeeds.

It’s thanks to Luke, who wants to keep two of his favourite people close, that he gets the chance to know you better.

He enjoys every occasion you visit Purgatory Hall. Sometimes you’re invited by Luke to help him cook, study or even make puzzles; and other times is Simeon himself who asks you to spend time with them.

The evenings you manage to have dinner with them are the most fulfilling for him.

He’s never felt a love so strong before, but he’s a world renounced writer and a romantic at heart, so the only thing he’s capable of doing in this situation is to pour his affections and hope for you to accept his heart.

The conclusion reaches an end when he manages to reset his DDD yet again.

Luke, although irritated at him, manages to call you before going to the castle to hung out with Barbatos, but Simeon doesn’t mind. More than that, he prefers it.

The sole idea of being alone with you brings warmth to his heart, after all.

He knows you feel the same too. Seeing the light in your eyes, the curve of your smile and the tenderness in your shy-filled whispers is enough for him to know.

You don’t even have time to confess on your own.

Simeon asks with a sweet voice if his interpretations of your feelings are correct. If they are, bless his heart, he feels the very same.

.

.

[dollishbabess]

your writing is literally so underrated, I love how you write reader as a actual person and not babyish ilyy, ALSOO when are you gonna write for tim and Damian and Bruce you only write for Jason mostly 😭, but write them maybe like a tim fic or hcs? <3!

TIM DRAKE DATING HCS! - dollish

A/n: actually, stay tuned for October for my romtober series which each batboy (except Bruce) has a week and fic prompts!! And also tysm I try, I don’t like personally how y/n is written either too badass or either too soft either so I understand🩷

1. Midnight Research Sessions Tim loves to pull all-nighters, and when dating, he often invites you to join him. These sessions aren't just about crime-solving; he includes random deep dives into shared interests or new topics. It's his way of showing that he wants to connect with you on multiple levels, valuing the bond that comes from exploring knowledge together.

2. Organizational Obsession Tim's meticulous organization skills extend into the relationship. He keeps a digital archive of your favorite things music, books, random facts you've mentioned so he never forgets even the smallest details. It's his way of making you feel seen and valued, ensuring that no part of you is ever overlooked.

3.Themed Date Nights Tim is surprisingly creative when it comes to planning dates. He organizes intricate, themed adventures that often tie back to his detective skills like treasure hunts or escape room-style challenges. He loves putting in the effort to make every moment special because he believes that shared experiences create the best memories.

4. Incorporating Tech into Romance As someone who's always around technology, Tim uses it to his advantage in romantic gestures. He might design a personalized app just for the two of you, where you can leave secret messages or keep track of your favorite moments together. It’s his way of expressing love through what he's naturally skilled at.

5. Sudden “You’re Safe” Hugs Whenever he’s been busy with a mission or stressed, Tim has a habit of hugging you out of nowhere. It’s his silent reassurance to himself that you’re okay, and he didn’t miss out on spending another moment with you. Given how much he’s lost in his life, these hugs are his way of grounding himself in the present with someone he loves.

6. Comfort in Chaos Tim can be a bit of a workaholic, but when you’re around, he always makes room for you in his chaotic schedule, whether it’s inviting you to hang out while he’s deep in case files or finding time to text you between missions. To him, having you nearby in the midst of his chaos is a reminder that there’s something good waiting for him outside of work.

7. Endearing Rambling Tim tends to go off on passionate tangents about things he loves, and it often ends up being one of the ways he shows affection. He wants you to understand his world, and he feels safe enough to share every little thought with you, even if he knows he might be rambling.

8. The Hoodie Collector As someone who wears hoodies often, Tim always lets you borrow his, and he secretly loves seeing you in them. Over time, he starts leaving his hoodies at your place on purpose, subtly marking his presence in your life. It’s a simple but intimate way for him to feel connected to you, even when he’s not around.

9. Late-Night Coffee Runs Tim has an odd sleep schedule, and sometimes he’ll take you out for spontaneous coffee runs in the middle of the night. These trips aren’t just about caffeine it’s his way of escaping the pressures of being a hero, finding solace in mundane moments with you, even though he prefers energy drinks but it’s more “aesthetic” for coffee dates yk?

10. Gentle Wake-Up Calls Knowing that he often wakes up early or has inconsistent sleep patterns, Tim takes pride in waking you up gently with a kiss on the forehead or by playing your favorite song. It’s his small way of making your mornings brighter and ensuring that he’s the first one to greet you at the start of each day because he knows how hard it is to wake up (himself personally for Mr. Doesn’t sleep)

11. Intellectual Challenges Tim loves a good intellectual debate, and he often initiates them with you to see things from your perspective. He doesn’t just want someone who agrees with him; he wants someone who can challenge him, and it’s his way of showing that he respects and admires your intelligence.

12. Hidden Love Notes Even though he’s not overly sentimental, Tim is known to leave little post-it notes or encrypted messages for you to find. They range from sweet nothings to random jokes or clues for a mini-puzzle he’s set up for you, showing that he’s thinking about you even in his busiest moments, he personally used to write fake love notes and throw them around school so people would find it and just create drama PROBLEMATIC KING!💜

13. Training Partner Tim appreciates someone who can keep up with him, so he loves having you as his training partner. It’s not just about staying fit it’s his way of ensuring that you can take care of yourself and that he can trust you to handle danger if it ever comes your way.

14. Silent Staring Sometimes, Tim just stares at you without saying a word, especially when he’s exhausted. It’s not that he’s spacing out; he’s just soaking in your presence, finding comfort in the fact that you’re there, and it reminds him that there’s more to life than constant problem-solving, but Bruce will just stare at you with no shame and will just STARE at you directly which is a bit uncomfortable sometimes.

15. Endearing Awkwardness Tim can be awkward with expressing emotions, but he tries so hard when he’s with you. He might stumble over words or make awkward jokes, but it’s his genuine effort to be vulnerable that makes these moments special. He believes that you deserve all of him, even the parts that aren’t as polished or perfect.

Second divider @cafekitsune, DO NOT TRANSLATE OR PUT ON A DIFFERENT PLATFORM, this is @dollishbabess work!

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type AU.

Soap is the long forgotten god of death.

Ghost is his first follower in a very long time.

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

————

At first, Soap had been seen as kind and benevolent. The one to end someone’s suffering and help them along to the afterlife. However, as more wars began to break out, his perception changed into that of a bloodthirsty warmonger. The type that you sacrifice the blood of innocents to for luck in your upcoming battles.

Soap had simply ignored the brutish offerings. But then they spread. Like a plague, soon everyone was murdering their chosen victims in his temples in the hopes that it would bring them even more fortune.

Realizing that his presence was just causing more and more to die, he let himself fade away. He was reduced to nothing more than a comforting feeling people felt before they died. Over time, the so-called offerings stopped. Scared of what would happen should he return, he continued to fade.

A god is only as strong as their followers believe them to be. With no followers, no offerings, they are nothing. While mortal weaponry may hurt a god, may even get them to bleed, it cannot kill them. A god can only truly die when they are no longer remembered.

Soap is waiting for the day that he is truly forgotten and can pass on when he gets a feeling. One he has not had in an age. Though his worshippers have abandoned him, his temples and statues remained, though now significantly worse for wear. And someone just provided an offering of a single slice of bread on one of his statues.

A meager offering, sure, but it’s enough to get his attention. He has almost no power nor any energy left, but he sees a soldier sitting next to the statue as he ate his meal.

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t the faintest clue what god he just gave an offering to, but he felt a little better afterwards and so just hoped they weren’t evil. He took note of the statue’s appearance and when his troop was encamped near a town, he snuck away to a local library to see if there were any books he could find about it.

He was not apart of the army willingly, but he owed them a life debt and they had decided that it would only be repaid upon his death. Just a glorified prisoner, he was kept at the general’s side as his favorite weapon. Sneaking away was difficult, but definitely doable. The few times he was caught, he made enough of a disturbance that it was easier for everyone involved to let him do his thing.

They did not need to worry about him running away. If he was able, he’d have run the second he was given the chance. However, he was stuck. As long as he owed a debt, he could not leave.

The statue, at the very least, gave him something to do.

He was intrigued. He did not recognize the features at all, and his research confirmed that it was not a well known deity. It takes a long time of asking the right people and finding the right books to uncover the story of the forgotten god.

Having read everything — from loving poems about the being helping sickly children find comfort in their last moments to angry anecdotes about desperate townspeople sacrificing themselves in the hope that the god would show them mercy — he decides to give the god the benefit of the doubt.

He figures the world is shitty enough, why not find some good that had been tucked away? Ghost himself was seen more as a weapon than a person and couldn’t help but sympathize. He was never one for gods or worship, more likely to curse the heavens than ever sacrifice something of his, but he almost felt bad for the being. So, the next day, from one bloodthirsty monster to another, he gives the forgotten god more offerings.

It’s still not much, just an apple and a ring the general wouldn’t notice missing, but he sets them there anyways. He damn near jumps out of his fucking skin when the feeling of an accepted offering floods through him. He stares at what would have originally been the face of the statue, but nothing happens. The trees behind him continue to sing their song in the faint breeze, with the sounds of a lively woods never fading.

There is no outside sound, no out of place movement, no indication that he hadn’t just imagined the feeling. A leaf falling from one of the branches and landing on the pedestal, where the offerings were now gone, snapped him out of his staring contest. He muttered out a gruff thanks and sat down to eat, ignoring the feeling of being watched.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother of the Realm | (Daemon x f!noble!reader) (part 1/?)

Summary: Left behind after the blacks take King's Landing, Aemond’s Lady-Wife finds herself striking a certain arrangement with the rogue prince to guarantee her and her children's safety, though strange occurrences should change the conditions of this arrangement drastically.

Warnings: dark!themes, dubcon/coercion, warcrimes, dark!daemon, age gap, time typical gender roles, lactation kink, breeding kink, p in v, throat fuck, canon typical behaviour, slight degradation, mentions of noncon/forced pr0stitution, mentions of violence, mention of arranged marriage

Non-Canon Storyline: : two years into the civil war, reader (young Lady of house Celtigar) married to Aemond, the war drags on for longer than in canon

Disclaimer: This Fic is written on the basis that most of what mushroom says is true! The story came to me in a fever dream and I felt like typing it out lol. This storyline is mixed of book  / hearsay / imagination; I tried to write it all out in a way that makes sense and is easy to follow.

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

my masterlist series moodboard series masterlist

It's the dance of the dragons, the war has been going on for two years and has escalated to new dimensions of destruction and violence, with the blacks now having invaded and taken over Kings Landing and the Red Keep where you, the lady wife of Aemond Targaryen, live as well.

Married a year before the dance of dragons began, you have given him two sons already; a young boy of 26 months old, Rhaegar, and a babe of 11 months, Baelor, and are with your third; four months along, the maester’s presume.

Most green supporters were now locked in cells while you and your children were imprisoned in your chambers; a privilege you received as you are the only daughter of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a loyal supporter of the blacks.

Who knows, had your father not been swayed by the sweet words and reassurances of queen Alicent, hadn’t fallen trap into accepting the marriage proposal to Aemond in an effort of hers to sway your house’s loyalty in favour of her side, perhaps then you would now be standing on the other side of this door as a free woman. 

Instead, your own husband had kept you surveilled at all times ever since the war began, in fear you would run away and join the blacks, and had forbidden you from leaving the Red Keep ever since his return from Storm’s End where he had gone to secure a betrothal for his younger brother Daeron to one of the Baratheon girls; an endavour that would end with the death of Lucerys Velaryon and jump-start the most brutal civil war seen to date.

Followed by at least one kings guard as soon as you stepped out of your chambers, the presence of your husband and the freedom to roam the gardens and halls had made it easy to forget your new house rules on most days.

With the confinement you had found yourself in ever since the war began you had turned all your attention and efforts into becoming the best and most loving mother you could be. A desire perhaps fueled by the clear preference of your own mother towards your brothers.

You wanted to be better than that. You studied books and listened to old wives' tales ever since you had flowered, knowing it wouldn’t be long until you would be wed off to fulfil your duty as a proper lady-wife.

And fulfil your duty you would. Unlike most other nobles you had taken to not employing a wet nurse or nursemaids at all.

Being made prisoner in your own home freed up all your time to be able to do so. Your sons would sleep in your chambers and be on your lap all day long. Both had only ever drank your milk, knowing no other chest but their mother’s.

And yet, what had once been a cage with thin, golden bars and a nice view, had now turned into one of thick stone walls, the confinement of your chambers only being eased by the presence of your two young children.

The days were long alone, yet more peaceful for you than you had expected them to be. Even if your father had not come to see you once, you did speak to your trusted servants, listening to the tales they would tell you about just what was going on outside the very wooden door you would stare at daily. 

And by the sevens, was it horrifying.

Rhaenyra, now dubbed ‘the cruel’ and ‘Maegor with teats’, had ordered the forceful taking of the two queen's Alicent and Helaena to a pleasure house, their services to be sold to whoever could afford it; at least those are the rumours that have been spread around the castle grounds.

Any woman would think this fate horrifying but even more so you: as wife of the prince regent at the court of the usurper you certainly were an easy target for the mad queen’s wrath. Worry of being made to share the same fate consumed you more with each day; a fear that would eventually make you request an audience with Rhaenyra.

Instead of her, you now find yourself with her husband the rogue prince – or now, the king consort – Daemon standing in front of you.

“I requested to speak to Rhaenyra.”

“Yes. And now you’ve got me. Speak before I change my mind.”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering how to ask the question. "Is it true what they claim? About Alicent and Helaena, the pleasure house?"

"Oh it is true," Daemon said, walking slowly towards you as he spoke, his eyes roaming you from your head to your feet. He stopped a few feet before you and looked into your eyes, the smell of sweat and ash surrounding the dragon rider. 

"Alicent is not a hostage nor a political ploy - she is a traitor, guilty of high treason, and will be treated as such. The usurper queen may say otherwise but we all know the truth."

“What about Helaena?” You say, almost pleading, Alicent and you had clashed often over the past two years, your differences in mothering and you not being devout to the faith being a frequent cause of argument; but Helaena – oh, sweet Helaena – is a different story.

Another victim of powerful scheming. You had to watch her suffer tremendously from the effects of blood & cheese, something that too shook you to the core. The son of your dear friend, slain so horrendously right in front of his mother and siblings. 

"She had no choice in any of it, she is innocent."

"Helaena," Daemon said, scoffing at the mention of her name. Of all the greens, Helaena was the only one that he didn't really hate. "She may be innocent, but she knows what kind of people her mother and brother are and she remains loyal to them. What does that say of her?"

"Helaena never had a choice, neither did I. We are not like your wife Daemon; we did not have the blessing of having a king as our father that would let us do however we pleased. We were all forced into this." You protest, frustration now evident in your voice. "You have already killed her son. Beheaded him infront of her own eyes. Is that not enough?"

“We did not kill him; we simply avenged our own.” Daemon's scowl deepened as you spoke, though he had to admit you were right, at least somewhat. "Fine. It seems you are the only one who wants to plead for her safety. I will speak to the rightful queen, perhaps she won't be entirely opposed to your request of freeing Helaena.."

Daemon paused for a moment, gaze lowering to your bump, before speaking again. "Tell me. Who is the father of the child you are carrying?"

You look down your small bump at his words, laying a hand on it reflexively. "My husband, Aemond, of course. Why?"

Daemon took note of your movements as your hand went to your belly, a flicker of hatred in his eyes when you said Aemond's name. "Just making an observation. How old are you now? 20? And already three kids at your heels…”

"I will turn 19 soon. Yes, I’m carrying my third child. What of it?" you tilt your head slightly, taken aback by his change of topic and his increasingly intrusive questions.

"Three children, at nineteen." Daemon seemed almost impressed. He looked at your belly again.

"I don't know of what concern my husband and I's private matters are." Your voice betrays you, sounding way more hostile as you intended it to.

Daemon looked at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. He was eyeing your body up and down, and his silence made you feel his gaze prickling your skin. "Does your husband like seeing you pregnant?"

You stare at him silently, mouth agape at the shock of such an intimate question. "Yes..." You admit reluctantly.

A smirk broke through Daemon's frown, as a low chuckle came from his lips, eyes still lingering on your stomach. "He keeps you as his broodmare. You're clearly a fine one as well; babes not even out of the cradle before you’re with child again. I don't blame him."

"He is my husband. It's his right to have children with his wife." You say defensively; repeating the words you have been taught all your life.

"It is indeed." Daemon said, taking a step closer to you, invading your personal space. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent. This close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes. "His right, and your duty. You must be a good wife to please him so thoroughly."

You stare at him silently again, before shrugging timidly. "He doesn't complain." You don't want to risk saying too much, so you continue with the question you had been planning to ask all this while.

"Rhaenyra... What is she planning to do with me? With my children? I heard she has rewards out for Maelor…"

"She has no intention of killing you or your children. Though you may still be stripped of your title as princess." Daemon paused a moment before continuing. "As for Maelor... There is a bounty on his head, yes. He is the only remaining son of the usurper. Since he is so young she will let him live; but only under her influence." 

He raises his hand to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. "She contemplated selling you to the pleasure house as well, you know? But since you're gravid and played no instrumental part in their schemes, I could persuade her not to do so."

You look at him wide-eyed, feeling a pit form in your stomach, as if your worst fears had been confirmed. "What- a-are you jesting?"

Daemon took note of your reaction. He was still close, he could see the outline of a dimple in your cheek and smell the sweet scent of your milk surrounding you; a smell still clinging to your body as you had just finished feeding your youngest before he entered the room. 

"Indeed. Rhaenyra is not like other women. Much less merciful and the men that surround her even less so." He said, still smirking. His hand had found its way to your waist now, his fingers running along your side. "But a good word from me and I could persuade her not to do so. You should thank me."

You stare at him, your hand moving to hold onto his arm, ready to push him away. You study his face, recognising an unsettling darkness in them. "You wouldn’t do this just because. What is it you want from me?"

"Hmm..." Daemon took another deep breath, your scent was really strong with this one. Different notes were in your scent as well. He wondered if those were remnant of your perfume you had applied in the morning or perhaps an oil youve applied to your hair.

He let out a sigh as he tried to keep it from affecting him. He lowered his head towards yours and spoke slowly, every word a whisper. "No, you're right. I wouldn't do it just because. But for you, I could make some exceptions. You've always had my attention, you know that? The pretty little thing that you are, wed to my maimed nephew."

"What are you saying?" You try to sound brave but the quiver in your voice betrays you.

Daemon chuckled as he noticed your nervousness. He could tell from your shaking body that you were afraid. He put a hand under your chin, moving your head to look into his eyes. He spoke slowly and quietly.

"Let me have you and I shall guarantee your and your children's safety."

You stare at him bewildered, stunned silent for several long moments. "Are you mad? I will not betray my husband!"

Daemon chuckled, amused by your naivety and innocence. "Oh my sweet lady... Do you have any idea what you're in now? You're in war, taken hostage by your enemy. Your husband will be happy so long you don't die. I cannot sire a babe on you anyway, so there is nothing to worry about." Daemon smirked, looking at your stomach, and your body, that sweet aroma that surrounded you, drawing him closer and closer.

"Give yourself to me and I shall guarantee yours and your children’s wellbeing.” He doubles down.

You stare at him, trembling slightly in fear and anger, your voice growing quieter the more you struggle to contain your emotions. "You can't be serious. If... If my husband won't have my head for this, then your wife will."

He raised an eyebrow as you spoke, a smirk gracing his face. He was still holding onto you, close enough to kiss you if he wanted to. His gaze was fixed on your lips as well, and your scent was just so... Irresistible to him. 

"Rhaenyra won't care. In our marriage we are free to seek pleasure wherever we like as long as our loyalties don’t falter. The things I can do to you, you will enjoy them alright..." His voice became low and quiet again as he spoke the last words, the hand that previously rested on your waist now slithering around your back and ascending lower and lower with each passing moment.

You stare at him in disbelief, fear and anger boiling inside you. Just when you want to protest yet again, the loud sounds of something collapsing startle you, your head snapping to look around Daemon's wide frame with urgency.

Your eyes settle onto Rhaegar. The wooden tower he was building had collapsed, an inconvenience the toddler quickly moves on from by starting to build it anew. Baelor sits not far from him, abandoning his own toy to crawl over and investigate his brothers doings.

The anger you had been feeling subsides immediately, replaced by worry and an urge to cry as you worry for whatever their fate will be as this war continues.

You don't want this.

You do not want to let him touch you, but it might be the only way to protect your children from harm, especially considering how cruel rhaenyra has proven herself to be. Your stare is focused on your oldest still, watching as his tiny hands wrap around each block and meticulously place one onto the other.

So innocent, so fragile.

"What about them?" Your voice as soft as a whisper.

Daemon didn't take his eyes away from yours. His gaze burning into you as he studies every expression you make. Your scent, your warmth, almost driving him crazy. "They will be taken care of. I told you I wouldn't let them come to harm." He said as he ran a hand through your hair, the curls of your hair wrapping around his fingers. "Don't worry, sweet girl, all will be well. If you agree to my terms, that is."

He can watch your jaw clenching and eyes gloss over before hearing the ever so soft word he has been waiting for leaving your lips. "Fine."

Servants had been sent by Daemon to take your children to bathe them and play with them. You did not miss the sympathetic look they gave you. Perhaps being able to tell what will happen to you purely based on his instructions to not return until he tells them to. 

You’re standing at a window looking out at the city taking note of the sun lowering on the horizon, dressed in nothing but a simple silk robe, when the door opens and Daemon walks in without knocking.

He steps inside, wearing the same clothes from before; sword and dagger still at his side. He comes closer and takes in your appearance, pleased at the sight. He approaches you with a calm step until your bodies are mere inches apart, bringing his hand up to caress your arm.

"You’re trembling," Daemon spoke, his voice smooth and dark. His eyes were examining you again, taking in your appearance. You had changed from the last time he saw you, you looked more womanly now.

A mother to two already, with a third growing inside, the outline of your small bump visible through the loose fabric. His movements were precise and confident. You could tell he was trying hard to contain himself.

For now.

Your gaze follows the movements of his hand as it runs up and down your arm. You can feel his large calloused hand and cold skin through the thin fabric of your robe. It’s a stark contrast to your soft and warm skin, unmarked and unblemished from living sheltered all your life.

In a small voice, barely more than a whisper, you ask, “Can we just get this over with?”

Daemon nods, taking note of your trembling once more before he turns and walks over to a nearby table, taking off his sword and dagger and placing them onto it. His head tilted as he looked at you from where he is standing.

"You were quick to give into me so easily. Were you that desperate? Does your husband not satisfy you?" He said with a smirk, beginning to undo his tunic.

You tighten your jaw, upset at his words that, to you, sound accusatory of promiscuity - a sin for a highborn lady. A married one especially.

“Desperate to keep my children safe, yes. My husband always kept me well satisfied.”

"Hmm..." Daemon huffed. His body language shifted a little. He seemed more agitated and tense, not liking that you brought up Aemond's name, much less so that you praised him. He walked back towards you now, closing the distance slowly and taking a good look at you.

His eyes kept darting to your stomach as you spoke of your husband. With every movement you make you entice him even more. “I don't know what he does to you to satisfy you, but I assure you I can do it better."

You roll your eyes at his words; he had always been cocky.

"He and I are very compatible in that regard. Now, can you just do what you need to do? I'd prefer to get this over with soon." It was the truth. Aemond’s and your intimate life was very well. Three children in three years of marriage served as proof of that.

Daemon's blood was running hot at this point.

"Compatibilities. I see..." Daemon said, his words filled with mockery. "Well, there's nothing I'd prefer more right now than to be inside of you, so I guess we're compatible as well." He approaches you quickly, now dressed in nothing but his breeches, eagerly tugging at the belt holding your robe closed, watching as it falls open and reveals your bare body underneath.

He took a sharp breath as he took in your figure, almost letting out a moan of desire at the sight of your body, his gaze roaming your body eagerly.

“Gods, you’re stunning.” His gaze settles on your breasts, swollen from all the milk inside them. “I heard you don’t employ a wet nurse. Why is that?”

You stare ahead blankly, trying not to make any sound or expression when you can feel his hand rest on the curve of your waist. “I don’t believe its good for the mother-child bond. That mothers should nurse their own children, or they will bond with the wet nurse instead.”

Daemon smirks at your response, thumb caressing over your delicate skin as he now looks at your face. “Is that so? Does your husband enjoy watching you breastfeed?” He asks with a low chuckle before pulling you in, his hardened length in his pants now pressing against your belly as He holds you close with both arms wrapped around your waist. “Or does he enjoy tasting your milk himself? Do not lie to me, woman. You won’t like the consequences if you do.”

Your hands rest on his chest, you’re fighting the urge to push him away with every fiber of your being, your head hanging low as you do not dare to look at him directly. You take note of his skin; scars and healed burns covering his muscular form. The body of a battle-hardened warrior.

Reluctantly you admit, “Both…”.

“Oh… you’re even more of a little whore than I thought, aren’t you?” he whispers into your ear. “What an eager to serve little thing you are. You’ll make a good little toy for me after all.” One arm wrapped still around your waist the other moves to your front, his large hand stroking over that small bump of yours.

“Almost makes me sad you’re with child already. I’d have loved to pound my own into you.”

Your head snaps up at him now, huffing in offense you exclaim, “Daemon!”

He simply smirks, amused by your objection. Leaning in close he whispers into your ear, his hot breath burning on your skin. “You may be carrying my nephew’s child now but there is always a next time. A few more months and I could still make you mine.”

He turns around with you in his arms, leading you backwards towards the bed until you feel the mattress on the back of your legs. A small push of his makes you sit down on it. Knowing your duty, you take it upon yourself to scoot fully onto the mattress.

He watches with a smile on his lips as you do so, happy with your compliance before reaching down and spreading your legs open for him to look after he noticed you keeping them shut.

He takes a good look at the treasure between them, groaning out when his manhood twitches at the sight of it. He stands up straight again, taking off the breeches that held him contained until now as his intense stare moves up your body once more.

You feel so vulnerable and exposed for him, completely bare and spread wide open for him to examine as the intensity of his gaze only intensifies. He does not look like a man now. With his pupils blown wide he resembles more a predator ready to pounce its prey than anything else.

His gaze fixed on your cunt, as if in a daze, he reaches out tentatively, his rough fingertips grazing along the sensitive flesh for painfully long moments.

Tracing along the form of your fleshy lips again and again, your breathing is but nervous gasping as one shiver after the other runs over your skin.

Suddenly the sensation fades as he climbs between your legs, one hand on your thigh to keep you spread open for him as he starts pushing himself into you without any more preparation, blissfully surprised to find your cunt wet and welcoming for him.

He can’t hold back a low groan as he pushes himself all the way into you, leaning forward and lying fully on top of you. His face is mere inches from yours as he slowly starts to move his hips, deeply penetrating you at a slow pace while he studies your every expression.

Grunting, your hands move to hold onto his sides as his knees dip into the mattress on either side of you. You clench your jaw tightly, trying to stop any sounds from escaping your lips while you struggle to accommodate him.

Aemond was more than enough to satisfy you, but Daemon was a whole lot more man than him – in all regards.

He knows this, too. Its easy for him to tell by the way your nails dig into his skin as you struggle to get used to him.

“How come you’re so eager, sweet thing? Do you enjoy a man taking charge of you?” A wicked grin on his face his movements become more powerful, your body rocking back and forth with the force of it.

You want to say no, to deny every second of it and not give him the satisfaction of watching you enjoy his touch, but when he starts to hit an all too familiar spot inside of you, you crumble immediately. Not being able to hold back your moans anymore you can barely manage to answer him with a weak “…yes”.

“No wonder my nephew wouldn’t stop breeding you. You’re the perfect little plaything.” He pushes his body into yours, pushing you into the mattress while he whispers into your ear. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I will violate you properly and make sure you enjoy every second of it.”

With that, his thrusts quickly grow rougher, starting to pound you with such force the entire bed rocks with it, all while watching every expression on your face.

His breathing heavy and rasp he soon shifts his attention down to your breasts, that are bobbing up and down with each forceful clashing of his hips into your. He tried to control himself, he really did, but he just cant anymore.

A hand cupping your breast he leans in, taking the sensitive nub on it between his lips. Just a few soft movements of his tongue over it and he can already taste it. Feeling the warm and sweet liquid dripple onto his tongue makes him humm contently as he starts indulging himself in the sweetness of you. His hips grind into you deeply but at much more humane pace than before.

Your eyes shut in pleasure, your own hands moving by themselves as they embrace him, moving into his hair and caressing his back. This is what Aemond liked, your dear husband.

Oh, if you would ever see him again…

Daemon is surprised, you embracing him was the last thing he expected, even less so you pulling him in more, but he loved every second of it.

He would swear he is in heaven. The warm embrace of his cock while the sweetness of your milk covers his tongue driving him crazy. It could have been hours of him doing this or mere seconds, all he knows is he finds himself spilling his seed into you way sooner than he wanted to, his relentless thrusting an expression of his frustration as his loud moans fill the room, shameless and utterly unafraid of how much the guards outside your door will hear of this.

His slow and deep grinding into your cunt continues as he stays suckling on your breasts, his spend soon clinging to both of your hips and pulling long white strings whenever he pulls away only to push back in with even more force. His antics only cease when he is sure he has drank all of what you can give, both your breasts feeling comfortably light while a throbbing sensation in your cunt would stay with you until the next day, you're sure.

He collapses onto you, still deeply buried inside, squishing your breasts under his weight while his heavy breaths right in your ear send shivers down your spine. Your arms travel by themselves again, wrapping around him and holding him close. Just how Aemond has always demanded you hold him.

“You’re a very good fuck… really good.” Daemon growls right into your ear.

A few moments later, he rolls off of you onto his back, laying next to you and catching his breath while studying your side profile.

This quiet moment gives you the first chance to gain back your senses, a wave of guilt washing over you as the sensation of another mans spend spilling out of you and running down your skin onto the mattress makes you realise the severity of what had just happened. Eyes fluttering, trying to ignore the burning sensation in them, you say, “I think… I think you should leave now.”

Had you have looked at him, you would have noticed his smiling face turn to stone in an instant.

This was the worst thing you could have said.

To command the dragon to leave your bed. He could not leave that be.

“Stay quiet. You have no say in this.” His voice is stern now and he rolls onto his side, leaning over your body and staring daggers into your skull, his hand grabbing your chin harshly and making you look at him. “If I want to abuse your pretty little cunt all night I will do so. And you will take it.”

“Don’t... don’t you have somewhere to be?” Your voice is shaky, your fear heightened by the anger you can see burn in his eyes. A desperate attempt of yours to sound considerate for his valuable time is only pouring more oil into the fire.

“Don’t try to tell me what to do. I have all the time in the world to play with you.” His fingers twitch slightly, as if holding back the urge to choke you. “Stop acting like a baby. You know the way of our world. You know when a woman is better off just taking a cock and shutting up.”

“Damn it, I need a break.” He sighs, it sounds almost like a growl as he tries to control his anger. He lets go of you, shoving you away slightly, as he gets up of the bed and takes a few deep breaths. “You got me all riled up, whore.”

You sit up in the bed, hugging your legs as you look at him. His large frame, the burn scars all over his back, his temper flaring and the sheer power he holds over your fate make you fear for the consequences.

You didn’t mean to upset his highness.

“Don’t call me a whore…” It slips out quietly under your breath, yet he hears it anyway. You weren’t used to such language. Despite his acts, Aemond would never say a foul word to you. 

Oh, Aemond…

“Shut up, whore!” Daemons raised voice take you out of your thoughts. He barks, closing in on you rapidly and pulling your head back with a tight grip on your hair. “Would I send you to the pleasure house being called a whore would be the least of your problems! Show me some gratitude!”

Daemon‘s anger takes over, mixed with his still pressing need in his cock, he drags you off the bed and pushes you to your knees in front of it, the bedframe pressing into your back uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I was too nice to you.” He growls, hand still in your hair as he makes you look up at him, ignoring all your pleas and apologies.

“Let me show you your new place in life. Open wide.” He commands, his other hand having a firm grasp on his cock as he traces the form of your lips with it.

For the first time ever since his first visiy earlier today, genuine fear overcomes you. Not daring to oppose him, you open your mouth as commanded, gagging immediately as he shoves himself into your mouth.

Aemond enjoyed the mouth pleasures as well yet had been far gentler than he was. Your hands move to Daemons thighs on their own, trying to push him back just a little, but when his second hand too moves to your head and holds it in place, all hope for ease is lost.

Tears start burning in your eyes in an instant once the thick head of his cock hits the back of your mouth, even more so when you can feel it push in deeper, forcefully flattening your tongue underneath as he made his way into your throat.

The room fills with his sounds of pleasure, guttural moans and growls, your desperate gagging and struggle drowned out by the volume of his.

The bed behind you and his hands in your hair make any escape impossible and you thank the gods when after what feels like an eternity he finally pulls out of your throat, a string of saliva connecting him to you as you gasp desperately for air.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his voice is deep and raw with lust, “That’s a good girl, finally.”

The praise does little to make any of it easier as he thrust himself back into your mouth and down your throat before you even had a chance to wipe your now freely flowing tears.

Daemon soon loses himself in his depravities, the fleshy pouch on his stones slapping harshly against your chin with each thrust. Your face a mess of tears and spit you’re unable to do much more than dig your nails into his thighs and take all he wants to give.

By the time he shoves himself all the way down your throat, his hips flush with your face as he tightly holds your head in place and spills what else he had left in him into you, you’ve near lost all grasp on reality.

Your back and knees aching near as much as your jaw, you can finally breathe in relief once he separates himself from you once and for all, leaving you collapsing forward with heavy breaths as he stumbles backwards a few steps, groaning in satisfaction as he studies your pitiful state.

“This is where you belong from now on,” he says after a while, “On your knees for me, whenever I want. Do you understand this now, whore?”

On your hands and knees, still breathing heavily and coughing occasionally, you take a few moments to find your voice again. Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, “…yes.”

“That is no way to talk to your king,” he objects, “Speak properly, whore. You’re a princess, you know how to.”

Defeated, you make no more attempts to be willful. Looking up at him, you answer, “I understand now, my king.”

A wicked smile on his face he approaches you, petting your head a few times. “That’s a good princess. Now clean yourself up. You would not want your spawn to see you like this.”

Leisurely walking back to where his clothes lay discarded, he starts dressing himself as if this all had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Adding “I will be back for more once I feel like it.”, he grabs his swords and disappears out of the door just as swiftly as when he had arrived, shutting it with a loud thud.

You were still on the floor, your back now resting against the bed as you spread out your aching legs in front of you, hoping for relief in this much more comfortable position.

A thousand thoughts run through your head yet not a single one stays long enough to grasp.

With no idea just how much time has passed it is the sound of commotion in the halls outside tour door that draws you out of your blank stare. It was late in the day now and the sky barely lit. It was suppertime for most, and undoubtedly, the maids would soon return with your sons and serve your own meals.

You had hardly managed to throw your nightrobe back on, wipe away the remnants of him with the nearest piece of cloth and open the windows, hoping to ease the smell of sex in the air, before the knocks echo through the room.

Just as predicted, here were your sons, in the same carefree mood they always were. Happy to see their mother and now ready for a meal. Supper was served not long after.

While you had received only stew and bread before, the table was now set with the first mouth-watering meal ever since you’ve been made prisoner. While you sit there, little Baelor on your lap and Rhaegar on a high chair next to you, you watch them intently.

The way each of them indulges in their meals, digging into the food with their bare hands and making a mess that no doubt would require a second bath before bed, your heart aches and you struggle to hold back the tears.

They are so innocent, completely oblivious to the death and suffering surrounding them. Their helplessness stands out to you. Unable to even feed themselves without help, they very much depend on you.

As you go on about the evening, taking the time and enjoying the presence of your two loved ones, by the time you lull the little ones to sleep, you’ve made your decision.

You will do all it takes to keep them safe. All it takes to keep them from harm.

And if that means submitting to Daemon’s every vice without complaint, then so be it.

Authors note: This story is currently halted as I focus on my Aemond and OC works for a while but will eventually continue. Follow me for updates or comment to be put on the taglist for this fic in the future!

View this series masterlist and moodboard for extra content.

[daltonsluvr]

IN THE COMPANY OF THE STARS

pairing: theodore nott x gn!reader

summary: amongst the peaceful covering of the astronomy tower, you find an unlikely comfort in the presence of none other than theodore nott. (1.2k wc)

authors note: first little drabble to bring me back out of my writers slump - and who better than boyfriend no.1 to do so??

"Is this seat taken?" You turned around at the voice, to see none other than Theodore Nott standing behind you, his hands in his pockets, indicating at the space next to you.

Technically, the seat he wanted wasn't a seat at all. It's a part of the Astronomy Tower floor, of which you were sitting on, your feet dangling over the edge. You had a book in your lap, which had been left long forgotten as you looked ahead of you at the stars which danced upon the night sky. It really was the prettiest place in all of Hogwarts.

Slowly, you shook your head, and he nodded in response, taking a seat beside you. It's strange, you thought to yourself, watching him closely as he too dangled his legs out in front of him. The two of you knew each other from classes and such, yet had only interacted a couple of times, usually to ask for a quill or something along those lines.

You realised then just how weird you must have looked, watching him so intensely, and so you forced your attention back to the landscape around you, focusing on the trees ahead.

A few beats. 1, 2-

"You come here often?" he broke the silence first, turning to look at you. You hadn’t noticed until that moment just how startlingly beautiful his eyes were - dead, but with a softness behind them. It was entrancing, to say the least.

"Yeah," you answered, meeting his eyes. "The stars don't ask too many questions, so they're pretty great company when I need some peace." You hadn't meant for the comment to be funny, yet you watched as a chuckle escaped his lips: a beautiful sound, really.

"Didn't think you'd ever be a quiet person," he half-laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Anyone could hear your voice from a mile off."

"Even the loudest of us need some quiet, sometimes," you responded, shrugging your shoulders, and swinging your feet slightly. "This must be a regular spot for you then, huh, given your notorious 'Mr Silent' status?"

The statement was true - this was the most you had ever heard the boy spoke, to anyone. It was his turn to now shrug, before leaning back on his hands. "You could say that."

You assumed the conversation had reached its natural end, and so you took the book you had on your lap and opened it to the page you'd bookmarked, and began reading.

"Romeo and Juliet?" A voice from next to you read, and you turned once more to see Theodore now reading the cover of the book, raising a brow in your direction. "You read muggle literature?"

"Shakespeare is one of the greats, I'd be stupid not to," you answered. Upon seeing the look on his face, you continued, "Don't tell me you've never read Shakespeare."

He shook his head, and you laughed, endearingly. "You are seriously missing out, Nott. Muggle or not, he's amazing. A real genius."

"Well, talk to me, then," Theodore looked down at you, his eyes piercing through your own. "Tell me about this guy and his books."

"They're plays, really," you started, almost unsure as to whether or not to continue. But he looked at you, almost daring you to continue, and so you did.

It was unusual for you to find someone so interested in talking to you, especially about something as niche as the works of William Shakespeare, but then again, Theodore Nott really wasn't like anyone you'd ever met before.

"-this book was one of the first my mother gave to me, and so its always been my favourite," you finished eventually, your voice growing slightly hoarse from talking so much. "Sorry for talking your ear off."

"No worries," he said in return, sending a small smile your way. "The b-play, certainly sounds interesting."

Looking between him and the book, you reached out to him, book still in your grasp. "Here, take it. To borrow."

He looked at you, almost questioning you with his eyes. "Why?"

"Everyone needs to read Shakespeare at least once in their lives, and I'm guessing none of your friends own any of his works, right?" He shook his head once again, and you shook your own in mock exasperation. "Honestly."

You coaxed him once again until he took the book from your hands, and you watched as he felt the cover of it. "It's a bit battered, because it's the one my mother got me when I was younger. And I have written inside it, so you may want to ignore that as well."

You got up, book officially out of your hands, and you dusted off your robes. Finally ready to go, you made to leave, until he called out your name. You turned around to look back at him.

"Thank you." was all he said, a smile lighting up his features with genuity.

"No problem, Theodore-"

"Theo."

"Theo. No worries, Theo," it was your turn to smile as you turned to leave, leaving the Slytherin boy alone.

— —— — — —

"A boy left this for you." A small first year girl approached you no more than a week later, a box in their arms, which they had outstretched towards you. You were sat by the window in your common room, Transfiguration homework in your lap as you worked through the questions McGonagall had set you.

"Did the boy leave a name?" you questioned, looking cynically at the box in front of you, which you had taken from the girl.

"No, he said you'd know who he is." The girl gave you a small fleeting smile, before skipping off, presumably to go and sit with her friends.

The box was noticeably small, and could be carrying nothing more than a couple of things, you thought to yourself, as you carefully opened it.

As soon as you saw the contents of it, though, a smile spread across your face, and you had no doubts of who the box was from. You had never pegged Theodore Nott to be one for dramatics, so you couldn't understand why he had decided to return your book in a box, but nonetheless you appreciated the sentiment.

You picked up the battered copy, the pages just as beautifully crumpled as before, and you found yourself smiling again. A note lay underneath the book, and you picked it up to read what it said.

The play was great - you clearly have good taste. Shakespeare truly is one of the greats. Astronomy tower at 8? — T.N.

Delicately folding the note and putting it in your robe pocket, you took back the copy of Romeo & Juliet in your hands, and began to flip through the pages.

His chicken scratch handwriting tattooed the pages - not overlapping the actual text or your writing, but still written as nearly as he could in numerous corners of the book.

You laughed as you read through a few of them, most of which were his sardonic comments about Romeo's idiocy, and in turn Juliet's naivety.

Eventually closing the book, you set it aside, and smiled to yourself. You weren't exactly sure how you'd found a friend in Theodore Nott, but you were certainly glad that you had.

[puranami]

✿ It's The Little Things - 2 ✿

A/N: Wow, the first post went far better than I ever expected, especially considering I have no idea what I'm doing ᕕ(✿ᐛ )ᕗ It was a lot of fun though, so I'm back for round 2!

Summary: More little relationship things with other characters that are in both the anime/manga, and the live action~

Characters: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk

Content: SFW, G/N reader, fluff with added fluff on top ✿

(Part 1 - Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji) (Part 3 - Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer) (Part 4 - Crocodile, Rosinante/ Corazon, Doflamingo)

Buggy

✿ Naturally there is never a dull moment with a man as flashy and bombastic as Buggy, but that doesn't mean there are no calm moments. The start of your day is relatively mellow compared to the rest of it. Bugs will cling to you for as long as he can get away with before you both have to get up. During your morning routine you are practically on top of each other, but it is so natural and well coordinated, that you never collide or get in each others way. All the while, he'll be cracking jokes, and putting his hands on your "assets," followed by a cheeky wink, and infectious giggles. He loves when you match his shenanigans, and will overact his reactions, as if he wasn't just doing the exact same thing to you; "Well, I never-" - "You literally just grabbed my-" - "Never," to which you'll laugh and gently slap his arm while he sticks his tongue out at you.

✿ He's a materialistic guy, so he gives you lots of gifts, from the extravagant to the sentimental. It's the easiest way for him to show you how much you mean to him. Giving him gifts in return makes him melt; he isn't just buying your love, you are speaking his love language! As a pirate it's always been him taking what he wants, so to be freely given those things speaks volumes. Even more valuable than the things he wants are the things you have made for him. To know you have put time, energy, and love into making something special and unique means so much to him! He will cry because he is so moved, just hold him and stroke his hair while he has his moment.

✿ To be with Buggy means you have willingly lowered every single one of your barriers; you are an open book, completely honest about what you think and how you feel. He is insecure, so he needs to see that you trust him implicitly in order to return that trust. As a part of this openness, your personal bubble no longer exists, you have a couple bubble now. That doesn't mean you can't have space though! On the contrary, the mutual trust you've cultivated means you can say, "Hey, I just need some time to myself," and he knows that you aren't angry, or upset with him, because you would have told him as much. When you come back he welcomes you with a cheesy pickup line or wise crack as he pulls you right back into that shared bubble. It took a lot of faith at the start, which wasn't easy for him, and it takes consistent hard work to maintain this level of trust and honesty, and it is so worth it.

Shanks

✿ This man cannot keep his hand to himself! When you're walking together he'll have his hand on the small of your back, or his arm around your shoulder. More often than not he is holding your hand, fingers laced together, with him brushing your thumb with the rough, calloused skin of his own. In his mind, the closer you are to him, the safer you are. He's one of the strongest men in all the seas, so being in the same space means no one can touch you, just as they can't touch him, but you'd never know it. To you, he's just like a big puppy, needing to be in your presence, smothering you in affection. He likes to lean his head on top of yours, similar to how a dog will lean their head on your lap, all while wrapping his arm around your waist so you can't wander off. He can be a little possessive, honestly, but he means well.

✿ He will listen to you talk his ear off for hours on end about literally anything. From philosophical musings, to colour theory, to the many uses of vinegar - it doesn't matter the subject, he just loves to hear your voice, and to see how passionate you are. Shanks won't just smile and nod, giving the odd confirming "uh huh," while not really listening either; he gets really invested! Your passion is contagious, and you make even the most mundane things interesting. It's also good to know what interests you, as it makes gift ideas easier. Whenever he sees something related to a topic you've talked to him about he will get it for you. The main thing with all of this is the quality time he gets to spend with you; outside of drinking and merriment, it's one of his favourite ways to relax.

✿ Shanks loves playing little pranks on you. He never goes too far though, as it's important that you are laughing alongside him and the crew. It makes him so happy when you start pulling your own pranks on him. It is very hard to surprise him, but easy to confuse him. You know those pranks where people hide numerous things everywhere? Lets just say he is still finding little gnomes around the Red Force. The rest of the crew is in on it, pretending not to see them, and will deny any knowledge of them, and the longer it goes on, the funnier he finds it when he spots another - you hid them in the such obscure places! He's kept every single one of them, and they have a designated chest, but he'll keep his favourites on his desk.

Mihawk

✿ Everything about Mihawk is subtle, and purposeful, and that extends to relationships. To outside observers he appears cold and distant, like he is barely tolerating your presence at his side, but you are so familiar with his subtleties that you can see just how much he adores you. Each ghost of a touch and fraction of a smile are a declaration of love that only you can understand. He is much more open with his affections when you are alone, where you are safest - not to say you are unsafe out with him, nothing could be further from the truth, he just won't do anything that puts a potential target on your back, exposing you as his achilles heel.

✿ He is a classic romantic! Mihawk is courting you, not dating you. At the start of the courtship he will wine and dine you, lead you with an arm behind you that never makes contact, and the only time he will touch you is to leave a faint kiss on your hand after escorting you home. There will also be large periods of time between meetings where he will send many unsigned love letters until he can return to you. You know exactly who they are from, Mihawk just wants to avoid you being linked to him, especially when he isn't there to protect you.

✿ Once you are fully committed to one another, he moves you to his home where you are safe, and when he is there, he is so domestic that you often forget you are with a (former) warlord. You will tend to the garden together, harvest what you need, and cook together, though he'd prefer to do all the cooking for you. In all honesty, as long as you are there to keep him company, he'd be happy to do everything for you, but he won't fight it if you insist on doing things for him, or ideally together instead; "We'll get things done quicker together, and then we can relax with a bottle of wine and a good book." - "Very well." There is nothing he loves more than sitting with you on the settee with a comfy blanket after a long day of training and daily chores.

[yesimwriting]

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)  

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

[littlemoondarlingarts]

Did an artstyle study of the gorgeous art of @iliothermia and I genuinely learned alot so I'm very thankful that he gave me permission to do this 🙏🏻🙏🏻

As usual, rambles and process pics under the cut, be warned that I talk alot because this drawing was a true labor of love both for his art and Rouge

I wanted to use elements from his art but at the same time i know how deeply personal his art is to his own life and struggles and culture so i tried to be as respectful as possible (and if I failed at that please tell me I have no problem in deleting this) and tried to minimize my use of direct elements from his art to keep it to the skull which was heavily inspired by a drawing he has done, the waves which are such a beautiful staple of his art that I just couldn't not put it and the use of candles and small floral patterns and the style of the mold, but I tried to keep the rest to things that are symbolic to the character.

While he may have restraint to not explain everything, I'm not famous for that lol, so I will be explaining the symbolism behind my choices.

Part 1: the symbolism:

The red rose is Rouge's flower and it is heavily associated with him. The meaning of it being romantic desire and passion mixed with the thorns of it perfectly sum up his position as a beautiful black widow.

Voyeurism is a big part of this drawing and it is first noticed with the eyes motif on the roses' leaves, this symbolises his response to his trauma which left him feeling like an unwanted pervert on his own self. I can talk about this aspect of his story for hours but I'll spare you lol.

The X-ray cutouts are his complicated relationship with his own body and death, it is a thing that is constantly on his mind as he suffers from suicidal thoughts but at the same time he is always running away from it in fear, but he knows that eventually, he will have to stop running.

The candles melting represent him being only wanted when he is useful, when he is giving parts of himself up for others to use and abuse, when he is lighting their lives by slowly draining his own.

The piano is one of the rare things that bring him happiness and peace, but he needs to be heavily dissociated to be able to enjoy it which is represented by the hands being disconnected from the rest of the drawing and just floating in their own reality.

The snake represents two things, one is him being venomous to those around him, the mistakes he's made, the promises he's broken, the pain he's caused etc. But it also represents those who slowly wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, presenting themselves as a saviour in his most dire times only to end up being the ones who will hurt him the most.

The book is about his obsession with keeping track of everything and of studying people, accidentally turning himself into an unwanted voyeur on their lives to the point where he has written the life stories of many people who would never want to be remembered through his eyes in his little books.

The butterflies are him, both in the way they are seen as "the good insects" and the beautiful delicate ones despite the fact that they eat flesh sometimes, it is also related to the way his simple presence for a few minutes in someone's life can create a whirlwind of change that will leave it unrecognizable, or he can simply be another body in their bed.

The hair turning into waves is meant to reflect the way he is always drowning in his own thoughts, a hand crafted constant state of misery.

The beta fish are some of the most beautiful and colourful fish out there, yet they are seen as cheap and easy first pets, leading to them being neglected and given environments that are too small and crammed, making their beautifully slow death the only thing they can offer to their owner. I don't think I need to explain more..

The skull is probably someone he's loved, or someone he's killed, or both.

The heart is his, it is rotten and covered in mold, any love he offers is tainted by his inability to heal and it is spreading to infect every aspect of his life.

Part 2: the inspirations:

The roses are a homage to the way Rachamim always places flowers in his art, either in the background or as a focal point of the illustration, most of the flowers he uses are cultural in nature, so I opted to not reuse any of them and changed it to a flower related to my oc.

Eyes are a repeated theme in his art, whether it be angel eyes, the evil eye or anything else, and as you can tell both of these are cultural and religious and while the evil eye exists in my culture, it does not in my oc's so I didn't use it. Instead I opted to pay homage to one of his beautiful merman drawings in which he used the plants to make an eye-like shape that stares at the viewer.

I thought I was being real smart in turning the hair into waves but yesterday I saw an illustration where he did the same so rip to me thinking i was being original lol.

The snake and butterflies are my way of replicating his use of animals while trying to not directly copy any animals that have a connection to himself or his culture/religion.

The beta fish is just to reference the ever present fishies in his art. I know he uses them because they represent friendship for him and they are the only animals safe from the evil eye (thanks for the fun fact) so I uh... I don't really know if this was disrespectful or not to be honest but I tried to use a different type of fish, idk this might still be slightly problematic and again I'm always ready to delete this if it makes anyone uncomfortable.

The waves are a direct copy of how he draws the gorgeous waves in his art, another case of something I fear may be crossing the line because the waves are drawn in the style of cultural jewelry 😭

The tiny flowers are an obvious reference to his own tiny flowers that decorate his art and characters.

The skull with the candles is heavily inspired by a specific drawing of his.

The cutouts are my way of paying my respects to my absolute favourite piece of art he's done without directly copying its concept because as far as I can tell, it is a very personal and emotional piece.

The mold style is a reference to his mold man (I forgot his name I'm sorry).

And the candles are another repeated motif in his art as well as the pillars and the pant style.

And ouf I sure do talk alot don't I? I just really love the amount of things I was able to cram into this piece and I haven't even mentioned everything😭😭 I will NOT be doing this again because I'm simply not as patient as he is and as proud as I am of the result, this was torture. I hope I didn't disrespect him, his art or his culture and I genuinely tried my best to be as respectful as possible but I might have some blind spots due to our experiences being so vastly different so again, please don't hesitate to inform me if you want this deleted!

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 5 - Monster

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

If they’re only with him as prisoners, what kind of monster does that make him? 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Warnings: mentions of sex as usual, some depressing thoughts, slight mention of an abusive relationship (stella), you guys ready for a time jump? this happens after the season 1 finale. don't worry we'll find out what happens during that in a later chapter! a lot of the dialogue here comes straight from the show. this is all solely in stolas' pov!!

Word count: 6,005

Stolas almost wishes he’d have the guts to kick the two demons out after they were done with the… activities agreed upon.  

He almost wishes they’d see themselves out immediately after, not leaving him a single, mere second to get used to their presence. He almost wishes their talk of not staying the night weren’t so empty, the promise broken by a simple plea for them to stay. He almost wishes he’d have the willpower to refrain himself from pleading. He almost wishes they had never let him have a taste of feeling their weight on his mattress next to his own body or to their body heat keeping him warm under his fancy bedsheets, to begin with. He almost wishes they’d never let him have an insight into how a life as their lover could be like, waking up to their half-dressed bodies still lazily holding onto his in some way in the morning. 

Then again, Stolas is a hypocrite. A self-aware one at that, too. 

Because he could intervene and he could stop all of these things from happening. He could tell them they had to go. He could not ask them to stay. He could never see them again. Because he’d been the one to propose they start this complicated situation they all found themselves in and he was the only one, really, who could realistically put an end to it, given they still needed their part of the deal. Because he could have done it a long while ago, cut the problem at its roots, stopped himself from falling, never have pushed them into this, and he’s well aware of it. He never really did, though. 

He should have. 

As the months went by, the more Stolas’ feelings- real, scary, romantic feelings- grew. And, with it, the more he started to see their arrangement in a different light. Back when he didn’t care all that much, he didn’t really think it through. They wanted something of his, he wanted something from them. It seemed fair and simple in his mind at the time. 

But he cares now. And at times it makes him feel disgusting. What was he thinking, anyway, tying them to himself against their will? Sure, they agreed when they could have denied it. But then again, he held the power in all of this. He had the book and they needed it badly. They’d probably do whatever he wanted for it. 

The thought had started to make him sick.

If they’re only with him as prisoners, what kind of monster does that make him? 

He buries those thoughts and conceals those feelings whenever he sees the two, making place for the momentary happiness that comes with their visits, but it eats him alive. 

He hadn’t seen either of them in a while, ever since… what happened at Ozzie's. He’d texted both Blitzo and y/n the day after that, and, upon receiving a disappointing one-letter text in reply from the imp and a nicer, but still dry and impersonal one from the succubus, he didn’t know why he still expected more than that. 

Then again, he’d never really looked at the situation through a lens other than his own. Why should he expect anything? It wasn’t their fault that he cared about them beyond the sexual nature of their relationship when their agreement ended at that. 

The whole divorce ordeal was coming close to making him lose his mind. When he announced he wanted a divorce, he thought that would be enough. He’d even felt bad about how he did all of that in front of Stella’s friends, how he embarrassed her.

But the aftermath of it reminded him of how that’s all she used to do to him, over and over again, and now she wasn’t accepting the idea all that well, seen as she still stayed around the palace, as if nothing had changed. 

It annoyed him to no end. 

“I cannot do this anymore, I want you out. Now.”

“What do you mean… ‘out’?”

“I mean out! Out of this palace. Out of my life. We are getting the divorce.”

“How dare you? What do you think the rest of the Goetia family will think? And Andrealphus-” Stella raised her hand, surely to slap him the face. It wasn’t something she did often, but Stolas couldn’t say it had never happened before. He’d allowed it, then, deeming himself deserving of it. 

He wouldn’t allow it this time. Never again. 

Stopping her made him realize how easily he could have done it all those other times, had he had the courage to. Announcing the divorce had unknowingly been the first step he needed to find the guts to begin standing up for himself. It was scary, but it was thrilling, at the same time. “I don’t care what your arrogant brother thinks!And the only thing the Goetia family wanted from our marriage is already seventeen, so it’s over. I’m done.”

Stolas knew what he did, and he knew Stella wouldn’t forgive him for it. He could only ever hope Via could, someday, understand. Still, he supposed what was in his power now that he had done it was to not let things fall into what they were before. He couldn’t have gotten things so messy for nothing. 

He didn’t even know what to think of the fact that he just couldn’t feel bad for what he’d done. Things were falling apart, and as much as he wished all of this didn’t affect Via, he didn’t regret it, now that it was done. In fact, he was relieved. Because he couldn’t go back now.

And he was fine with not wanting to.

So no more pretending to be fine, no more putting everyone else’s wishes before his own.  

… It’s easier said than done when that’s all you’ve ever known. 

[. . .]

Stolas woke up with a headache. Fuck, it was moving day. 

Well, for Stella, that is. And she wasn’t moving, per se. She had moved out the same night he demanded that she did, but every single day after that she’d come over to the palace again, claiming to have forgotten something she so desperately needed. 

The night before, he’d had enough of it, making sure to pull whatever strings he could to have all of her things out of his home by the end of the next day. 

So he woke up early, with a pounding headache, put on his robes, and walked himself straight to the front door, not stopping to get himself breakfast as he usually did. He could already hear some commotion. Good, at least people were already there to start on getting her absurd amount of belongings. Maybe they’d be done early enough that he could enjoy the rest of the day. Honestly, all Stolas had been longing for was a peaceful day. 

It was quickly proven to him that this wasn’t going to be one of those. 

As soon as he laid his foot on the first floor, the phone started ringing, and a servant ran over to bring it to him. He let out a sigh. Stella, surely. 

He was right. 

[. . .]

The phone call was going on half an hour with no signs of ending any time soon, when Via walked in.

It was hard to properly talk to her when Stella was whining on the other side of the call, so he deemed it better to dismiss her and have a conversation when he and her mother were done yelling at each other. “Darling, can we not talk about this now? Your mother is being a real B-I-T-C-H.”

Stella yelled incoherent insults at him for that. “Well how was I supposed to know you can spell? I’ve never seen you read!”

About an hour later, only a couple minutes after finally being able to hang up the phone, it rang again. He let out a groan in annoyance. Did she ever, ever shut up? 

He picked the phone up again, ready to curse at her when a voice came through first- one that wasn’t hers.

“Heyyy, Stolas, so, your daughter came by, took your book and teleported off to who-the-fuck-knows-where and we have no way of getting either of them back. Okay? Okay, good talk. Byyee!” Blitzø blurted it all out at once before hanging up abruptly. 

What. The actual. Fuck. 

In an instant, Stolas was there, in his full demon form without having even noticed he’d changed into it, angry beyond he’s ever been at the imp. 

“BLITZ!”

“Heeeyy, Stolas,” Blitzo tried (and failed miserably) to act nonchalant, earning angry looks from his employees.

Stolas turned back into his normal self, now worried more than anything, pacing back and forth on the reception floor as he tried to assimilate the situation. “How could this happen? Do you just let anyone waltz into your office and grab infinitely powerful artifacts?” He shouted. “Why would she do this? How are we supposed to find her? Where would she go?”

Blitzo’s daughter, Loona, tried sniffing around. Was it even possible that she’d be able to smell that? Apparently, she was successful, as she announced… “Well, it reeks of urine and desperation, so-”

“L.A.?” y/n asked, interrupting her. She seemed to be hoping she was wrong.

Loona confirmed with a nod. ‘L.A.”

Stolas didn’t understand exactly how she’d managed to do that, or even why y/n knew immediately where she was talking about just from those disgusting things she’d said about the place- that place must be awful. The thought only got him more worried, come to think of it. How was Via going to deal with a place that seemed to be so terrible in a realm she’d never visited? 

Stolas tilted his head to the side. “What is this ‘L.A.’ place like?”

“It’s not that different from here. She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” y/n tried to reassure him. It didn’t work all that much. 

He grimaced in preoccupation as he conjured a portal.

Blitzø was the last to walk through it. “Alright, Loona, let’s make this quick. In and out before anyone notices we’re here.” He looked around, taking the view in. “Oh, this doesn’t look much different from Hell.”

“I told ya,” y/n tells him. 

“Alright, well, let’s get to work. Loony, sniff!”

“How am I supposed to smell anything in this city?”

“Can’t you even do one thing right?” Moxxie complained, annoyed.

“Can't you finally do something about how fat you are?” The hellhound retorted.

“I’m not!”

Blitzø joined the conversation. “You know, it wouldn't kill ya to put a salad in your body every now and then.”

“What? But I'm not fat! I’m not!”

Great. He had no idea where Via was and the people supposed to help him find her were arguing about… whatever that was.

Blitzø climbed on top of a dumpster, grabbing a megaphone from satan-knows-where and talking into it. “Now! First things first, if we’re gonna do this the old-fashioned way, we’re gonna need disguises.”

Okay, now that Stolas could do. In an instant, he morphed into his human form, as did Loona and y/n, making Millie clap, amused at their abilities. He still couldn’t fathom the fact that the other three imps didn’t have real human disguises, and apparently just walked around the human realm as they were. 

Stolas could almost swear Blitzø looked amused as well, but it only lasted a second. Maybe he’d imagined it. He didn’t dwell on it- there was no time for anything other than finding his baby. 

“No chance you could conjure us a couple of those… can ya?” Blitzø asked him.

“Sadly, no. I’m afraid without my Grimoire my powers are just a tad limited in the human world,” Stolas explained. 

Blitzø scoffed. “What, you can’t memorize your fucking spells?”

“Oh, your memory’s so great? What’s his phone number?” Stolas motioned at Moxxie.

“Fuck you.”

Stolas smiled, content that he’d gotten his point across. “Eeeeexactly.”

As they all walk out of the alley they were in, Stolas grabs himself a pair of red-tinted sunglasses that he puts on his head, where his second pair of eyes would be. Yeah, that feels better. He watches as y/n grabs a pair too- purple heart-shaped ones- and pays for both. Where she’d gotten human money he didn’t know, but he found it endearing that she would spend it on their glasses when she could have just walked out with them. 

They continue on their way- which Stolas admittedly didn't know exactly to where, when y/n stops walking, asking them to wait. She’s turned around now, talking to Millie while Moxxie talked to a funny-looking human man. 

“What’s he doing?”

Moxxie hisses at Millie as she tries to take whatever it was he was holding from him. She sighs. “Look we’ll find ya, alright? I’ll just stick around so he doesn't do anything stupid.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we can handle ourselves. Right?”

“Right.” Y/n turns back around, cueing for everyone to keep walking.

“You worry too much,” Blitzø remarks.

“Oh shut the fuck up. Let’s find you something to wear.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Stolas shared a look with her. “Blitz, you’re not exactly… passing as a human right now.”

“And whose fault is that?” He jabs at Stolas. 

Y/n rolls her eyes at the comment, grabbing both demons by the hand and dragging them around until they found a shop she deemed useful. 

She grabbed some cash and gave it to Blitzø , sending him on his way inside the store, opting to wait outside. Stolas decided it would be best if he did the same. He tapped his foot nervously on the sidewalk as they waited and tilted his head to the side when Blitzø walked out the door with human clothes and gigantic costume ears to conceal his horns. Perhaps not changing would’ve brought less attention to him. 

“Now that’s disturbing,” Stolas pointed out. 

Blitzo looked like he was about to say something in return, but wasn’t able to- someone started yelling beside them. “Ahh! Look everyone! It’s Hollywood star, Brannon Ragers!”

“What?” Y/n asked no one in particular. 

“The fuck is a Brandon Rager- ohh,” Blitzø looked up behind himself, and the two demons did the same. Ohh, indeed. There it was, a billboard, huge as can be, with a guy’s- well, apparently Brannon Ragers’ face on it. The similarity between that guy and whatever was going on with Blitzo’s appearance right now was uncanny.

Stolas’ eyes widened. “Oh, dear.” If they didn’t want attention then, now things were getting so, so much worse.

A hoard of fans quickly surrounded Blitzø, to the point of almost suffocating him, as they asked for selfies or autographs or simply smothered him to the ground trying to hug him. “Millie! Where the fuck are you and your whorebag husband?” Stolas could hear him scream, but couldn’t for the life of him see him in the middle of so many people.

“Can you do something about this?” He asked y/n, unsure if either of them should even do anything. 

“I mean, technically I could wipe ‘em out but I don't think we want that, do we?”

No, definitely not. 

As the three of them tried to push their way into the crowd to get to Blitzø, someone blew a whistle, which made Loona’s ears hurt and caused everyone else to pay attention to whoever had done it- apparently, some guy with ugly glasses brandishing a diploma from ‘cinephile university’, whatever that meant. 

Satan, this place was so much more chaotic than Hell was.

It worked, though- the crowd dispersed, and Blitzø was released from someone’s grip, getting dropped face-first onto the sidewalk. Some other guy made his way over to him. “Mr. Ragers, we’ve been looking for you everywhere! You were supposed to be on set an hour ago!” As he spoke, two other guys, assumedly bodyguards, grabbed Blitzø up from the ground, holding him by his arms. 

“The fuck are you talking about?” Blitzø questioned.

“Shit, they think he’s that weirdo from the billboard,” Stolas heard y/n tell Loona.

“Your guest spot on ‘Sweetie, I’m in The House”! We’re taping tonight. Now, hurry up and get in the car.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, I’m not going anywhere with you, jizz biscuit,” Blitzø flipped him off. 

The guy didn’t seem bothered at all. “Very funny, Mr. Ragers. Now get in the car-” was he- was he making cat noises at him? “Come on, boy, come on,” he kept on, apparently trying to bribe him with fruit snacks, which only made everything so much more confusing. Was this Brannon Ragers guy flat-out stupid?

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Blitzø tried to release himself from the two bodyguards’ grip, but was unsuccessful, only making things worse for himself. “Loona, Stolas, y/n, a little help here?” He called out, now being forcefully dragged. His fake ears came off, but it didn't even faze anyone there. Humans are weird.

“Oh, shit,” y/n muttered. Apparently, like Stolas, she’d imagined Blitzø would have been able to get himself out of that situation, but things were going out of control now.

Stolas had to think, and fast. The crowd was going wild again, so he used his height as an advantage, the only one out of the three who could actually see over people. “Excuse me, sir, uhhhh” Shit, if they left Blitzø alone, who knew where they would take him? “I’m…. Mr. Ragers’ agent!” He found himself exclaiming. “I don’t believe you can just-” Yet another bodyguard simply grabbed him off the floor, taking him with them with no effort. That got him distracted for a second. “Oh, you are strong!” 

“No! What the fuck are you doing?” Y/n yelled after him, which was fair. He hadn’t really put much thought into what he’d done. No use thinking about it now that he and Blitzø were getting aggressively thown into the back of a van.

It only took a couple seconds for Stolas to realize what that meant- how was he going to look for Octavia from there?

“Blitz, we don’t have time for this. Via could be anywhere… She could be in danger.”

For a second, Blitzø looked worried too, until it seemed he’d had an idea. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.” He punched the window so he could stick his head out of it, looking for Loona and y/n. “You two! Go find Via! We’ll catch up soon!”

He was met with a middle finger from both of them. 

“Yeah! Way to be a team!” He yelled out, getting himself back into the van. “She’s in great hands.”

Stolas let himself smile weakly. He didn’t know if that was true, but he wanted to believe it- after all, Loona had been able to track Via up here, and y/n was sure to do the best she could. 

[. . .]

As they got to what apparently was their destination- Starstruck Studios, as it read- Blitzø was dragged around the set, barely able to keep up to what they were doing to him. They styled his fake hair, poked his eyes with something, applied heavy makeup on him- which, for some reason, did nothing to conceal his obvious red skin, and gave him a pat on the back, telling him he was ready and would be on in five. At some point during all of that, Stolas was handed what could be anywhere between 10 and 600 water bottles. 

“What? Five what? I can’t be in a sitcom.”

“Should’ve had an ego crisis before signing the contract,” the producer guy mocked him. 

Stolas took a good look at him. He looked nervous. He killed people for a living, was on the brink of getting killed every single day, and this was making him nervous. 

“I- I- I- I- I don’t even know the fucking lines, idiot!”

“Well, that’s why god invented teleprompters.” 

Stolas hardly believed teleprompter could ever be described as a creation of god’s, but sure. Blitzø looked like he was on the verge of collapsing. Stolas tried to help out. “Shouldn't he rehearse or something?”

“No can do, we’re live in 10… 9…-” They guy started counting out, and with each second that passed Blitzø seemed to spiral even more.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I- I- I can’t do this! No, not again.” He began pacing back and forth around the room. “I- I haven’t performed since-”

Alright, time to be the level-headed one. 

Stolas walked towards him. “Blitz, if your performance on stage is half as good as it is in bed, you’ll leave them… breathless,” he cooed, satisfied at the gulp he could see the imp take when he whispered the last word, free hand running over his throat. 

But no more time for that. He pushed Blitzø towards the stage. “Now hurry up and wow them so we can get back to finding Via!” Blitzø stopped at the door in front of him, and Stolas opened it, pushing him again, this time right onto the stage. “Break a leg, darling!” 

Suddenly, the lights were on. The crowd wasn’t huge, but there was a considerable amount of people there to watch the live recording. The actor who was already sitting on the couch delivered the first line. “Well if it isn’t our neighbor, Ronney! You feel that earthquake earlier?”

Blitzø looked terrified. Oh, no. “Say something,” Stolas urged him in a whisper from behind the camera.

Someone thankfully got him the teleprompter. He looked like he was barely present as he read his line from the screen. “Oh, yeah. Yeah! That was just… my wife… rolling out of bed.”

Stolas looked at the audience, worried no one would laugh at the joke. If no one laughed at his joke Blitzø might as well collapse. He was relieved when they started laughing. Blitzø, in turn, was beyond relieved- his eyes were almost sparkling with joy. He’d made people laugh!

Granted, they might have only done so because of the big signs telling them to, but Blitzø didn’t need to know that. Whatever was going on, it seemed to put him in a much better place, as he no longer looked like he was halfway through spiraling. It granted him the courage to keep on and even improvise. 

“Yeah! Yeah, and then that bitch hit her head on the way down and shattered her skull!”

Stolas didn’t even register the crowd’s reaction this time. He’d forgotten Blitzø is a performer. He couldn’t contain a laugh. 

Blitzø went on. “There was blood everywhere. Peed her pants,” Stolas was full on giggling now, though it took him a second to realize people had only now started laughing along. How did they not find this funny? No matter. 

Why did Blitzø even kill people anyway when this is what he’s supposed to do? He’s funny and- and… Blitzø winked at him, and immediately Stolas could feel his cheeks burn, downing some of the many water bottles he was holding to cool himself down. 

Where was he? Oh, right. He was funny and interesting and charming. Why had he given up performing? Perhaps Stolas could ask him about it at a later time.

The material of the show certainly wasn’t helping much. After a while, things were getting repetitive and, frankly, boring. And Stolas could see he was definitely not the only one who thought so, as the guy on his right had left the place altogether and the one on his left had literally fallen asleep.

Was this shoot ever going to end?

Blitzø’s character was rambling to the ugly tiny dog they’d brought in about it being the fifth couch he’d ruined that year.  “You know, maybe it's time I find you a new home, one that can put up with your attitude.”

A little girl walked into the set for the first time since the scene had started. “I can take him, Mr. Ronney! I’d be happy to adopt old Ugie and give him all the attention he needs!”

The crowd let out an ‘aw’ at the scene, everyone a little more interested now. Okay, good, it sounded like the episode was coming to an end, finally.

Blitzø held on to the dog’s collar, kneeling on the floor in front of it. “Yeah… yeah, maybe you should adopt.”

Oh, no, what was going on? Blitzø looked lost in thought, an unreadable look taking over his features. It didn’t look like a good sign at all. 

 “No. No, no, no, you can’t have her!” Her? “She’s mine and I love her!” Now that didn’t seem like acting. His expression was that of worry. 

He was right back to spiraling. 

“But Mr. Ronney, you gotta let me have the puppy. You’ve just gotta!” The kid tried salvaging the scene. 

Blitzø full-on hissed at her, shoving her away. “Don’t you touch her, you little anal fissure!”

Yep, he was definitely not doing well, whatever it was that suddenly caused this. Stolas found himself stuck, debating whether he should go there and do something.

The crowd laughed at what Blitzø said, which had been good before, but it was terrible timing now. “Oh, you think this is funny, assholes? She’s not fit to be a mother! I saw her doing lines of coke in her dressing room!”

“Hey, maybe-” Stolas tried talking to the cameraman, but was interrupted by the commotion of the bodyguards from earlier trying to get to Blitzø and contain him. 

Bad idea for them, but they didn’t know that yet. 

Another actress tried, once again, to salvage the scene, which was bonkers. What was there to even salvage after this? “Now, uh, Ronney, I think maybe you should-” she tried taking the dog from him, which was clearly the wrong move here. He pushed her onto the ground, her wig even falling off in the process. 

“No! You can’t have my baby, bitch! I’ll never get rid of her!”  Oh. This was about Loona. He took out his gun, swinging it around. One of the bodyguards tried tackling him to the ground- wrong move again. Without a second to think, Blitzø shot him in the head, still holding the dog as he did so.

And then it was chaos.

 In a couple seconds, Blitzø had already shot at least four people, and many more were coming to try to stop him. 

Yeah, time to do something, Stolas. “I’m coming, Bliiitzz-” he exclaimed, tripping over himself on the way to the commotion. He tried making his way into it, excusing himself, but to no use. Grabbing the last water bottle left on him, he threw it on someone as a last attempt. 

For… some reason… it worked. He didn’t even want to know what was in this place’s water, because the moment it touched the producer guy’s skin, it started burning its way right off, which was disturbing, but also wildly convenient at the moment. In an instant, the entire set was engulfed by fire, chaos running free as people screamed and ran around aimlessly. One guy almost tripped Stolas, and the prince would certainly have fallen if Blitzø didn’t grab him by the hand, pulling him up to stand again. 

“Alright, let’s go find our daughters,” Blitzø announced. The sight was one for the books, in Stolas’ humble opinion- he stood, holding him in place, shirt quite literally ripped open and gun in his hand, looking fiercely into the distance. The fake hair was a little distracting, but oh was this working for him.

Focus, Stolas! He snapped himself right out of it as they walked out.

“So, what happened back there… it was about Loona, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” They both stayed in silence for a couple minutes, as Blitzø dragged Stolas around the streets. “Where are we going?”

“Well, where do goth teenage daughters go?” Blitzø showed him his phone screen as he tried to look for Not Topic on his maps app, but it kept suggesting to him this place called Hot Topic, which was a stupid knock-off name for a store. “If we could just find where-”

A portal appeared right in front of them, startling them both. Loona walked through it first. 

“Oh, Loona, my sweet baby girl! I’m so sorry! I’ll never replace you no matter what you-” Blitzø ran up to Loona, meaning to hug her. She wasn’t having it, literally kicking him off of her. Stolas was startled by that, not used to this kind of… affection. “You’re good,” was all she said.

“Dad, I’m so sorry,” Octavia started, looking at the ground as if embarrassed at herself. 

Stolas threw himself onto her immediately, shifting out of his human form and interrupting her with a hug. “I’m just relieved you’re okay! But what could possess you to do such a thing? You know I haven’t taught you spells like this yet.”

“I just wanted to see the stars you promised.”

“The stars?” Stolas looked around, confused. He gasped when he realized what Via meant. “Anathoths’s tears! Oh, no, my dear, sweet Via, I am so-”

Octavia was the one to interrupt him with a hug this time, holding him tight. “I know, dad. It’s okay. You’re here now.”

He smiled, holding her closer to his chest, relieved. 

“Thank you,” he told y/n, holding a hand of hers in his for a brief second, to show his gratitude was sincere. “For finding her. And keeping her safe.”

Blitzø turned to face her too. “S´ppose I should say thank you too or whatever.” He eyed the two holding hands with a weird expression, and it made them withdraw them in an instant.

“Where would the two of you be without me?” Y/n quipped, trying to lessen the awkwardness of whatever had just happened. 

“Okay, don’t flatter yourself too much now,” Blitzø feigned annoyance, but clearly tried to fight a smile. He tried to hug Loona again, but she slapped him across the face with the Grimoire. She didn’t look irritated though. Stolas realized it really was her weird way of showing affection. 

Some sort of colorful shooting stars appeared in their sight but it was as if they were coming from the ground and going through some sort of explosion when they hit the night sky. Weird. Stolas had never seen those in his books. 

It was pretty, nonetheless. 

“What the fuck is that?” Loona questioned, seemingly also enamored by them.

“My acting career,” Blitzø replied bitterly. 

“They’re called fireworks,” y/n explained to them. 

“Fireworks?” Stolas questioned, intrigued. He kept forgetting how much she knew about this realm, and he almost felt inadequate when he was reminded of it. But he’d ask more about them later. 

Now, he was watching the stars with his daughter. 

“Ooh, Look at that one! Did you see that one?” Via asked, excited, and his heart swelled. He’d live in this moment forever if he could. 

“Now, where the fuck are M&M?” Blitzø questioned, which disturbed the moment a bit, but he supposed it was a fair question. Where were the other imps all day?

“Last Mills told me they were…” y/n took out her phone, re-reading the texts sent between them, “‘singing a love-song duet for money’,” she paraphrased.

“Well that makes no sense. Hold on.” Blitzø took out his own phone, texting Millie. She replied within the second.“They’re… still at the alley, apparently.”

“I’ll conjure them a different portal,” Stolas tells them all, waving his hand and conjuring one of his own. “We should return now.”

[. . .]

Back at the palace, Stolas tried to make things seem normal. “So, was your visit to the human realm eventful, at least, sweetheart?”

“Oh, not that much. I spent the whole day trying to find some place where I could see the stars. Turns out you can't really see the stars from there.”

Stolas’ mood deflated. Via noticed. “It’s fine though. I took some cool pictures and we got to see the fireworks!”

“I am really sorry I missed Anathoth’s tears, my sweet Via. I really am.”

“I know you are. I talked to Loona. And Y/n.”

“Whatever about?”

“Well they said you’re not perfect. And you fuck up sometimes. Which is true. But they also said you’re trying, and you’re making an effort. And I can see that now. That’s good for me.”

Stolas couldn’t find his words for a couple of seconds. “...I’m glad it is, darling.”

“I like her.”

“Who?”

“Y/n. As much as I don't like that you… you know. She’s not that bad, I guess.”

“And Blitzø?”

“Don’t push it, dad. That’s all you’re getting from me. I’m gonna go to bed now, alright?” She walked over to him, kissing his cheek. “G´night, dad!”

“Goodnight, Octavia.”

As soon as she was out of sight, he broke down. 

How awful of him, to be so absorbed in his own chaotic life that he didn’t remember, didn’t notice. 

What kind of father was he? 

Was he really the kind to let his daughter think that him fucking up all the time was okay? That it was enough because he was trying? 

Stolas wished to be a father who was there. Who didn’t fuck up. A father who remembered important things and didn’t dismiss his own daughter when she was trying to talk to him about them. A father who didn’t ever have to worry about her being in danger because he paid attention, and prevented her from getting herself into dangerous situations. 

Amidst his own drama, he’d forgotten to be a father altogether. 

How selfish. How awful. How disgusting.

Perhaps whatever it is he had with the two demons did have to end, he reflected. At least in the way it currently stood. 

He had obligations more important than spending his time worrying about whether his feelings were requited, analyzing their behavior for a sliver of hope, tending to their times of need. 

He’d had the time to think of himself, but it seemed he couldn’t trust himself to do so without forgetting to think of others all around. 

And now it was time to think about Octavia. 

He had to be a parent, and if he was unable to do it right while his life was a mess, then he was solving that mess altogether.

He’d deal with the consequences later, and if it shattered him, then so be it. 

[. . .]

Stolas tapped his foot on the floor as he waited, catching himself inspecting the feathers in his forearm and trying to resist the urge to  try and pluck some, more to not make a mess out of the room than to stop the harm of it. For better or for worse, the bandage around his unhealed arm made it impossible to do it without causing excruciating pain. 

The huge door was pulled open in front of him, and he stood up from the couch in the waiting room. 

“Stolas!” Amodeus called, opening his arms to greet him. “Hey there, birdy babe. Haven’t seen you since you crashed my club.” Stolas grimaced at the memory, following the Sin into his office. “How you been?” Ozzie closed the door behind them, leading him inside. He let out a laugh. “Still getting your kink on with my girl and that feisty imp?” 

This was going to be uncomfortable. Stolas let out a nervous laugh, trying to calm himself down before he can get to what he wants to say. 

But he’s doing this. He’s giving them the crystal and setting them free. Free to make a choice, whatever that choice ends up being. 

Stolas almost hopes they will choose him. No, he fully does.

But that’s not his call to make.

Yeah, he’s doing this.

“Well, um, that’s actually what I’m here about.”

A/N:  first bonus chapter comes tomorrow or the day after that! look out for it it has a little hint of something we'll find out in a later chapter <3 i hope you guys like this one, i'm a little self-conscious abt it but it's exactly what i intended it to be so.

[iamnmbr3]

There's so much drarry content to comment on in this passage I hardly even know where to start.

1) Harry's animosity is all for Snape. The only time we really see him feel true anger towards Draco is at the end of 4th year. Otherwise he's rarely deeply angry at him. It would certainly be unsurprising if Harry blamed Draco for what happened, even if Snape struck the killing blow. But he doesn't. Quite the opposites in fact. He feels sympathy for Draco's plight and actively worries about him. Because he knows Draco so well that he can see right through him to the kind of person he really is - not a willing acolyte of Voldemort. And because Harry is drawn to and cares about Draco a lot more than his is willing to acknowledge, even to himself...

2) The thing Harry picks that he still blames Draco for is...his infatuation with the Dark Arts. Not his role in Dumbledore's death. Not anything he's ever done to Harry. Harry's nice but he's not usually THIS forgiving. Certainly not with people he doesn't care about or dislikes... And for all that Harry claims to dislike Draco he spends an awful lot of time worrying about him. Both here and in later passages as well as in book 7. In this section of book 6 he also claims Crabbe and Goyle look "lonely" without Draco but given the interactions we see between them in book 7 it's pretty unlikely they miss him so if anyone misses Draco and feels like his presence is something that has always been part of his life and that it's strange with out him...it's probably Harry.

3) It's also notable that even though Draco only had the chance to lower his wand a little bit Harry is utterly sure he wouldn't have killed Dumbledore. And instead of thinking about how Draco missed his chance to come back to the Light and now will fall deeper into the Dark, he worries about what Voldemort is "making" him do. Thus accepting that any further acts Draco carries out on Voldemort's behalf are against his will. He really understands Draco. And cares about his welfare. A lot more than an enemy or casual acquaintance would.

4) As an aside, it's also pretty hilarious that Harry's like 'Draco Malfoy? No I haven't thought about him much' *proceeds to spend an entire paragraph thinking about him and worrying if he's ok and then brings him up again a few paragraphs later*

[fanaticsnail]

i just wanted to say i really liked your garp fic and i was wondering if you were going to do a part 2?

Bonnie Lass (2/2)

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here.

Word Count: 7,925

Synopsis: You finally meet with the handsome older gentleman at the other end of the den-den-mushi. He promises a night you will both not forget in a hurry - will it live up to that expectation?

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ You have been warned, smut, p in v sex, oral afab!receiving, bonnie lass - wee bonnie - lass - bonnie gendered terms used, afab! reader, "The Garpening", flirting, supportive boss Mihawk, den-den-mushi calls, both are shameless, age gap, unprotected, creampie.

Notes: This fic was brought to you by a bottle of wine, long chats with @carrotsunshine, @since-im-already-here, @sordidmusings, and @feral-artistry, my incessant need to write for older men, and an overbearing need to know exactly where Garp's appetite leads him.

Apprehensive and Apologetic Tag list: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @i-love-myself-xd @the-reas0n-is-y0u

The seabreeze whipped through your hair, the gullsong serenading you as Mihawk’s vessel made to dock at the Marine port. You squint your eyes up, staring at the bleached stone walls of the large building that held the promise of good food and pleasurable company. Hanging on the words Vice-Admiral Garp last spoke to you, your body immediately felt compelled to wander forward to exit the ship and gleefully skip towards the mighty doors.

But you knew better. 

The presence of your boss, Dracule Mihawk, fell beside you: his bicep brushing with the pointed tip of your shoulders as he physically began rumbling a low growl. He despised attending meetings held by the World Government, meaning he would likely require additional resources to get him through the week you were to remain docked at harbor. 

“My lord,” you addressed him, turning your body with a curt nod to him. He hummed in response, unbreaking his eyes away from the headquarters of the world government. With a small exhale of breath, you regained your composure and began relaying his itinerary for the day to him.

“An hour after we dock, your presence is required to partake in a meeting of the warlords of the sea,” you began, elevating your clipboard and scanning the paper pages for the next item on his agenda, “Afterwards, you have a brunch with Boa Hancock and Jinbei - to what end, I was made unaware. After that, you’ll be given your assignment to rid the outer ring of the ‘unruly plague of piracy’ the World Government deems important enough for your skill - likely to be completed over four days of battle, given the numbers,” Your brows furrowed, searching the pages for further information, “Then you are to meet with your tailor, just before your new headshots are to be confirmed by den-den-mushi.”

Mihawk clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as the marines roped his ship into port. The more you spoke, the more agitated he became. Not agitated at you, never agitated with you - he despised these meetings, and hoped that bringing you along would ensure a safe and swift encounter. He always struggled with managing his agendas and itineraries with these encounters, almost electing to bring you along simply for moral support if nothing else. 

“And then?” Mihawk spat through his clenched jaw, fists balling at his sides. 

“And then,” you confirmed, placing your clipboard under your arm and smiling up at your boss, “You have been booked into an onsen for a private spa, a massage and hot stone session in the hamam, and,” you stepped further towards Mihawk, adjusting his overcoat and soothing over his shoulders to rid the material of fray, “After that, I have sent a bottle of Rosso, and asked for for the next book in that romance series you have been indulging in to be awaiting you in your personal suite.” 

Mihawk exhaled a sigh of relief, clapping a hand over your shoulder in a gesture of appreciation. You smiled up at your boss, nodding at him to affirm your notion of providing his relief. You turned away, bringing your attention back up to the top of the building, and focussed your pointed gaze at the silhouette glaring over the balcony of the highest point. 

“And while I am distracted by a good book and a bottle of wine,” Mihawk’s taunting purr cracked into your ear, “Where will you be, my dear?” You drew a sheepish grin up to your lips, a faint flush igniting your cheeks 

Mihawk leant down into your ear, his breath tingling and hot against your flesh as he uttered his warning into your ear.

“Wined and dined by an old man?” he taunted down, his smirk visibly present in his tone, “Keeping me at bay while you enjoy a few stiff drinks, before being railed by something else stiff-.”

“Lord Dracule Mihawk!” you scolded him, turning to join your ignited gaze against his playful, honey-colored orbs, “I am first and foremost your assistant.” Mihawk’s lips twitched at the corners, indicating his amusement as close to a smile as he would ever publicly display. You huffed out your breath, shaking your head while adding, “I have never met him in person, and he is yet to extend a formal invitation to join him for dinner. I will be busy all day tending to your affairs, as I always am, Sir.” His amusement never lessened, only growing on his lips with another twitch.

“And after the day of your duties?” Mihawk’s brow twitched in interest, “What then?” 

“What then,” you shoved your index finger into his chest, scraping it up to tap the tip of his nose, “Is that I will be tucked safely within my bedsheets after a long bath and a hot meal. I am here to serve you, sir. I am your assistant, and I am a damn good one.” 

“That you are, dear,” he confirmed, placing his other hand on your shoulder, holding you in place, “Which is why, after today, I have given you three days paid shore leave.” Your stunned silence only propelled him on further to add, “Buy yourself a new pretty dress, and enjoy the sights,” he leant forward with a small wink, his darkened lashes kissing against the waterline to hide his brilliant amber eyes briefly, “And then, get the old man to roar your name in the thralls of joint ecstacy. By my orders, dear. You have earnt it.”

The warm rise of warmth held against the apples of your cheeks all day, constantly repeating Mihawk’s comments in a circular swirl within your mind. From the moment your temporary office was welcomed by a pink-haired cadet, to filling in a variety of paperwork, to taking various den-den-mushi calls, to clocking out for the day - the flushed heat held firm against your cheeks. 

No whisper of a word, nor scroll of a calligraphed note, graced your temporary office with its presence. You honestly thought you had been forgotten, neglected in the knowledge that you had journeyed long beside Dracule Mihawk to be within close proximity to the man who held your undivided attention every day for the past year. 

Just as you were packing away your desk for the day, the den-den-mushi began to roar to life on your wooden countertop. The reverberation of its guttural grunts and gurgles had you satiating its tone by answering the call. 

“Lord Dracule Mihawk’s den-den-mushi. State your intentions, and make it quick-,” you growled, your professional tone wavering in agitation due to the proximity of your shift ending. 

“-Oh, sweet bonnie lass. I dinnae mean t’keep ‘ye waitin’,” the soothing drawl of Vice-Admiral Garp purred through the transponder. You huffed out an exasperated breath, your brows furrowing further against your forehead as you navigated through your swelling mind. 

“Vice-Admiral,” your warning tone cut through the air, halting all further conversation with a concluding utterance of, “My office hours have concluded for the day. Should you desire to reach Dracule Mihawk for any need, you may try again at-.” Your words were stolen from you by Garp’s tone cutting through them like a knife through hot butter.

“-Please, lass,” his plea cracked through the den-den-mushi, holding you hostage to his words, “Please dannae brush me aside. I have been in meetin’s all day, and I have been trying to claw my way to you from the wee hours of the morn, to the quiet moments of the noon.” You rotated your neck, relieving tension found within the tight bands of your muscles. 

“Vice-Admiral,” you began, interrupted once again by his rumbling brogue growling through the mouthpiece of the den-den-mushi, “I have had a long journey at sea. My only welcome being more work at the bequest of my employer. I do not have time to entertain you over the transponder today. If you desire to speak further, you can try again tomorrow, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, lass. It’s Garp, please,” his breathy voice gasped through the speaker, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I should’ve been down by the docks waiting - up to my knees in sea water to reign your ship in with my bare hands.” You hummed at the thought: a high and mighty Vice-Admiral of the marines lowering himself to the duties of a simple cadet at the chance of meeting his eyes with your own in person. 

You took a moment's pause, contemplating his words and mulling the thought of him demonstrating his strength and stamina to you while shepherding Mihawk’s ship into port. Did he have old navy tattoos on his biceps? Did his advanced age hinder his ability to perform such a task? Gathering he was the one who suggested such a notion, and him being a man of high honor, you gathered he would be up to such a muscle burning task. 

“Alright, Garp,” you hummed into the transponder, leaning back into the transponder and purring through your vocal challenge, “Make it up to me.” 

A shuddered groan sparked through the mouthpiece, your own giddy joy elevating in your chest and igniting your body with soft tingles. If he had this much sway over you with just a small growl of his voice, you were unsure of where the next few moments were to bring you. 

“Meet me at the docks in two hours, Bonnie Lass,” his tone was hushed enough to draw you in closer, your ears pricking to catch every syllable granted to you, “And I’ll treat you to a night you willnae forget in a hurry.” Your broad grin split your face, a small squeak of joy threatening to escape your lips with a soft hum.

“And how should you like me, Garp?” you asked him, your taunting purr calling further into the receiver end, “Should I prepare my wardrobe for an outdoor activity,” you questioned, your foot tapping lightly within the air while hooking over your knee, “Or should I just throw a coat over some lingerie and call it a night?” 

Several cracking objects bent and broke, echoing throughout the den-den-mushi transponder; something akin to wood snapping and nails tearing through mahogany. You rewarded such a sound with a melodic giggle, only producing more creaking wood noises in consequence. 

“Wear something dainty for me,” a low rumbled growl purred at you, “What you choose to wear under it is your prerogative.” 

“Aye, Sir,” you confirmed with a curt nod, “Two hours, and I’ll be all yours.” 

“All mine,” his low drawl parroted back to you, the giddy chirp of his voice endearing in your ears. At the click of the receiver, you sprung immediately into action and hurried out of the office doors. 

You bid a cheery farewell to the cadets loitering in the hallway, thanking them for arranging your office, before leaving the washed-stone building of the World Government headquarters. Your smile never left your lips, the promise of meeting the man who held your romantic affections weighing heavily on your mind and fluttering harshly within the pit of your stomach. 

While bathing, cleansing your skin and hair, and ensuring every part of you was styled and scented with the sweet and sultry persona you had presented yourself to be, your thoughts turned to pondering unspoken questions. Will he enjoy the way you present yourself? Will he behave like the perfect gentleman? How should you act: the way you shamelessly speak over the den-den-mushi, or poised like a lady? Would he like this particular color on you, or on the floor beside you? 

You shook your head to rid them of the spiraling doubts, soothing over your tight dress and hooking your coat over your forearm while exiting the suite you had organized for yourself. Clicking and locking your door behind you, your eyes briefly met with Mihawks: a book tucked under his arm and wine bottle within his grasp, twirling the cork with his screw and filling his wine glass in the window. He shot you a knowing look, mouthing the words: “make him roar.”

Your cheeks flooded with the heat of scorched oil, flash point igniting in your eyes at the final utterance of support from your boss. Shaking your head, you made your way briskly to the docks. The dimly lit lamplight illuminated your path, the click of your heels tapping lightly on the solid sandstone pathway. The flap of gulls wings shepherded your final steps atop the docks, your eyes meeting with a truly unique sight you were not expecting in the least. 

In the middle of the pier stood a highly decorated marine, silver hair backlit by the radiance of the moon and standing with his wrists clenched behind his back. His beard was neatly cropped, his eyes fixed on your approach, his lips exhaling a shaky breath he prayed you didn’t notice. As your feet carried your body closer, you halted a few feet away from him, tilting your chin and pursing your lips playfully up at him. 

“Vice-Admiral,” you purred up at him seductively, your eyes wide and innocent to contradict your expression.

“Bonnie-Lass,” he gruffly commented in response, a smile painted brilliantly on his lips. A delightful shudder flew up your spine at his undistorted voice finally meeting with you. You flit your eyes hastily over him, examining his stature inquisitively - a gesture he returned with gusto, eyes hovering over your meticulously cared and styled hair and outfit. 

“May I invite ‘ye aboard, lass?” Garp’s softness in his tone pulled you in, his arms waving behind him to gesture towards his impressive ship, “I ‘kin understand if being on a ship again after so much time on the water might no’ agree with ‘ye-.”

“-I would love to see your ship, Captain,” you remarked gleefully, stepping past his arms and following his gesture to the broadwalk, “I adore sea travel, and enjoy the rocking of the waves. I find it comforting.” 

As you stepped past, your intoxicating radiance graced Garp with the aroma of your sweet perfume. The way your presence called him immediately to follow you, his feet falling in tow with your every step, was not something he ever accounted for. 

The moment your voice picked up the receiver of the den-den-mushi, Garp’s sour mood was immediately stifled under your comforting tone. The first time he called Castle Kuraigana to relay orders to the broody warlord of the sea, he was ill-prepared to be met with a tone so honey-sweet and kind. He was immediately smitten, often calling the castle with any excuse he could muster to hear more of your sweetness pouring onto him through the speaker of his den-den-mushi. 

But now you were here in person, Garp truly had no idea how to handle you. He did not know if you would allow him the luxury of holding you against himself in a warm and welcoming embrace. He did not desire to lean down and claim your lips with a kiss, only to be met with a turn of your cheek and an utterance of, “You’re too old for me,” falling from your lips. He truly did not know what to expect from you, and the unspoken anxiety was eating at his stomach and clouding his mind. 

“Garp?” you called over to him, halting your advance onto his ship and turning to face him, “Are you going to guide me along your vessel, or am I to find my own way without you?” Garp snapped his eyes to meet with yours, his winding thoughts pausing as he bore his intense gaze into you. 

“Although I do enjoy exploring new areas, I would prefer to be ushered in with the pleasure of your company,” you continued, a coy smile springing to your features, “After all the promises you made to me of the many months we’d been speaking,” you took a step back, falling closer to his larger body, “I would prefer you to keep your word.”

“And which word might that be, lass?” his gruff whisper crooned down at you, his eyes half-lidded and lips parted in desperation, “I had promised ‘ye an array of mischief, if ‘me old mind serves correct.”

“Considering I’ll be on, I’m assuming, this ship for the next few days while Mihawk completes his assignment,” you contemplated, darting your focus between his two eyes, “Would you show me to my quarters so I may send for my belongings to arrive on the morrow?” 

“All work an’ no play, lass?'' he huffed a small laugh down at you, “An’ here I thought you’d want something more playful the first time we met in person, or perhaps something a little more-...” His thoughts trailed off, his tone almost disappointed at your formal conversation. He took it as his first rejection from you, opting to not push his expectation and desires onto you should it make you uncomfortable. 

You exhaled through your nose, your smile not leaving your lips as you shook your head at him. As Garp allowed his spiraling thoughts to plague his mind, fully trapped within his misguided notion you had rejected his flirtatious advances, he didn’t feel the grip of your fingers around his teal tie until his body was thrust forward by the strength of your forearm. 

Drawing all of the power you could muster, alongside the courage you felt you needed to complete such a feat, you claimed the lips of the decorated Vice-Admiral of the marines beneath your own. You set a bruising pace, turning your head and standing yourself up on the tips of your toes to reach more of him. Your other hand found his broad chest, dropping your coat to the floor while fisting the material of his outer coat beneath your palm and cradling him closer to yourself. 

Stepping backwards onto the ship, you ushered his hulking body aboard while unbreaking from the passionate embrace. As your knees knocked with a hard benchtop behind you, you ushered the larger man to turn, forcing his body down to sit himself down on the bench. You opened your mouth, your tongue raking against his bottom lip. 

A groan fled from his lips, Garp’s needy hands grasping at your flesh over the material of your dress. Fistfulls of the material was claimed within Garp’s hands, the hemline of the material being shimmied up your thighs to grant more of your flesh to be exposed to him. He opened his mouth, allowing you to seek out his tongue to brush against your own with expert and practiced precision. 

As the material continued to ride up your body, you hooked your knees either side of his broad thighs and straddled his waist. The split side of your dress strained beneath the grasps of Garp’s hands, stretching the material harshly before your ears pricked at the harsh ‘rip’. You squeaked in Garps mouth, drawing your lips away from his with a frown.

“You tore my dress!” you exclaimed, your accusatory reprimand mixing with a hidden smile beneath your frown, “It was my favorite!” Garp paid your chastising tone no mind, peppering your neck with several, open-mouthed kisses.

“I’ll buy ‘ye twelve more,” he gasped, nipping and sucking at the exposed flesh of your neck, “All the colors you desire,” he raked his teeth against your jaw, “All the patterns in the world.” You keened a small moan into the air when he found a sensitive piece of flesh between your throat and your pulse. 

His hand dipped between the material of your dress, raking his fingertips over your thigh to hold your hip only to pause while held in complete shock. 

“You’re ‘nae wearing anythin’ beneath this dress, bonnie lass,” he growled against your jaw, his teeth catching on the bone and clamping over your soft skin.

“You said it was my prerogative,” you gasped, turning your head to seek out his lips with your own, “Why do you think I wanted you to show me to my quarters, Sir?” You pressed a long and heavy kiss against his lips before tearing yourself away once more. “But it seemed as if you couldn't handle the uncertainty for a moment longer,” you kissed his whiskered cheek, “So I am improvising.” 

Garp immediately responded by raking his broad hands beneath your bare ass, barely covered by the material of your dress, hoisting you into the air and marching you throughout the corridors with heavy and intentional steps. You giggled at him, weaving your hands over his shoulders and massaging his scalp with your fingertips, and nuzzling down into his neck. You inhaled deeply, committing his cologne to memory while nipping and sucking on his exposed flesh close to his collar.

“It’s against protocol to leave visible marks above my uniform,” Garp growled, leaning his head back and exposing more of his skin to you, “If you litter my skin with any bites, I’ll see to ‘ye punishment personally.” In response to your rough, peppered kisses along his neck and bearded jaw, Garp slapped his hand on your right ass cheek before kneading it within his fingers and palm. 

“I am no marine, Garp,” you confessed, wrapping your lips around his pulse and sucking at the skin with fervor, “And I’d like to see you try.”

“Y’ell do as ‘yer bloody told, lass,” he growled, leaning away from your lips. As his eyes met with yours, he squeezed the flesh of your ass with a warning pinch. You squeaked in delight, Garp’s hearty laughter pleasantly echoing within your ears. 

“I’ll do as I bloody please, Garp,” you taunted in return, biting a crescent shaped mark against his pulse, soothing over the mark with your lips and tongue. You sucked at the mark, hearing a hitch in his breath as he continued to lead you towards the guest suites. 

Tearing your lips away, you hummed at the heart-shaped mark you pressed into his skin. It was a medal of lust, visible to all who see it - and see it, they will. Garp’s pulse was elevated further, his passionate advances leading him on with heavy and intentional steps. His boot heel kicked in the door to cabin quarters, your anticipation only growing as Garp lowered you onto the freshly made bed. 

Your back hit the plush mattress, your hair sprawling out on the sheets as he lowered his head against your neck. He pressed a few intentional kisses against your exposed flesh, his hands desperately raking over your chest to knead your breasts slowly and sensually. You sucked in a soft groan, your brows furrowing up as his thumb and index finger rolled over your puckered nipples. At your small gasp, he took it as encouragement to continue stimulating your breasts with his left hand, as his right rose the hemline of your dress over your hip. 

Hastily, you shot your hands forward, fumbling over the buckle of his belt to rid it of its hold on his pants. Just as quickly, Vice-Admiral Garp surged forward: claiming both of your wrists within his circular grip to halt your advance. You furrowed your brows as he pinned your wrists beside your head, your wide eyes meeting with his mischievous grin. 

“What are you-,” you began, silenced by a heavy and open-mouthed kiss pressed against your lips, claiming you beneath him with rough bites and soothing caresses. He groaned against your lips, leading your hands with his to wrap around his shoulders and weave into his hair once more within your fingertips. 

“Let me taste ‘ye first, bonnie,” he growled against your sensitive skin, You gasped a sigh of affirmation, nodding against his smiling lips, “Let me make it up to ‘ye for ‘me surliness earlier. Please let me have ‘ye like this.” 

Trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck, halting briefly at your breasts before trailing down your stomach; Vice-Admiral Monkey D. Garp made his intentions incredibly clear to you as he shimmied the line of your dress higher over your body. 

“Let me show ‘ye how much I’ve been craving the sweet call of my name from those pretty lips o’ yours,” Hooking your knees over his shoulders, he scraped his bearded chin over the sensitive inner flesh of your thighs before grazing his lips over the top of your core, “I’ll have ‘ye cryin’ and whimperin’ for me before ‘ye even see my cock.” 

He tested your sensitive flesh: flicking the tip of his tongue out to brush against your swollen clit. Immediately, your back arched up and a soft cry flew from your lips before you could stop it. Garp chuckled, looking as your pulsating core was welcoming more of his touches, giving away your arousal with a pool of your sweet essence pouring from your contracting entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, bonnie lass,” he pressed a sweet kiss against the top of your groin, his smile felt against your flesh, “And ‘ye finally all mine.” After allowing another chuckle to fall from his lips, he advanced forwards and skillfully licked a clean and expert stripe along your glistening walls. 

Vice-Admiral Garp was known for many things: His brutality in war, his aggression while training cadets, his calculated advances on the battlefield, his impossible strength, and his insatiable appetite. This appetite was now displayed to you as he hungrily and desperately lapped at your core like a man on death row, consuming his last meal while awaiting execution. The balance between savoring the flavor while horking down like a man starving had your eyes rolling back and hands fisting at his cropped hair to hold on tightly. 

“O-Oh fuck,” you cried, your eyes now tightly clamped shut as you relished in his skilled ministrations. The roll of his tongue, the mouthing of his hungry lips, had you physically quaking against his face.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, lass,” he taunted, nuzzling into your aching core, “‘ye want ‘te see what else I ‘kin do?” Your toes curled as he prodded your entrance with his tongue, his nose circling your clit and spreading your arousal throughout your core. Skillfully thrusting his tongue in and out of your desperate and delicate slit, you felt as if you were going to explode in ecstasy the moment he began vibrating his tongue with a deep, rumbling groan. 

“G-Garp. I-I don’t know if I-I can-... hnnng-... I c-can’t last m-....mmmn-... m-much longer,” you cried, your thighs clenching on his neck and shoulders to hold him in place. Your body reacted against your will, arching your back off the mattress while desperately riding his face. You felt the band winding tighter in your abdomen, each area of your body desperately shooting sparks, teetering on the edge of unravel. 

Two firm hands clapped over your thighs: one holding down your stomach and pinning you against the bed, the other kneading over your thigh. Garp pulled his face away from your needy cunt, hovering his hot breath and breathing puffs of cool air over your hole. You whimpered in desperation, wriggling against his wide-spread fingers to get any stimulus to conclude your high. 

“W-Why-,” you cried, a slap on your bare ass halting your words and having you throw your head against the pillow. 

“-Because I warned ‘ye nae t’ leave a mark on ‘me body. It’s against protocol, lass,” he chuckled, his whiskered chin scraping over your thigh as his smiling lips pressed a kiss against the outer corner of your crotch. You growled, leaning up on your elbows, staring into his eyes with a dark agitation.

“And after all those promises of making it up to me?” you spat, your nose scrunching, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Garp rose from his low position against your exposed flesh, a foreign desperation depicted in his wide eyes. 

“Were they all empty words?” you uttered. You knew, for a fact, that Vice-Admiral Garp was mad for you, but that only made you want to taunt him more, “All an act to get me to open my legs, just to leave me disappointed like the rest of them?” A stuttered gasp flew from his lips as he crawled up the bed, weaving his clothed torso through your legs to meet at eye level once again. In turn, you shimmied your body away from him, turning your face away in an attempt to hide your smile.

You knew how desperately he wanted you. The moment your lips collided with his above deck, you felt just how much he absolutely adored you. Considering he held you on the edge of ecstasy, only to pull away from you as you were about to unravel , you decided it would be more entertaining to watch him grovel for you. 

“Perhaps you were only interested in leaving a sour taste, teasing me with your pretty brogue and taunting me with your dream-like promises,” you continued, lips pouting and brows triangulating up in the center of your forehead. Garp staggered in his movement, his hands reaching out in an attempt to grasp yours, only met with you pulling away. 

“L-Lass, I didnae mean t-,” he began, halted by your melancholy sigh in an attempt to stifle a rising giggle in your chest. 

“-You said I’d beg and plead for your hands and lips to be in a few key places, if I recall correctly,” you pouted, playing into your role, “How disappointing, only having me beg and writhe beneath you to pull away at the crescendo.” 

“P-Please, lass. I’m sorry. I am a cruel, cruel man,” he confessed, claiming your left hand within his right and peppering the flesh with a flurry of kisses, “What can I do t’make it up to ‘ye, ‘me bonnie lass. Tell me,” he trailed his kisses up higher, halting at the inner flesh of your elbow, “Order me, dictate me,” he continued spreading kisses up to your shoulder, soothing over your scorching flesh, “I beg ‘ye to reconsider your withdrawal. I am ‘ye humble servant, wee bonnie.” 

Your smile broke through your pouting expression, your head snapping over to meet with his. His eyes were wide and frantic, desperate to know he had not lost you by enacting his cruel punishment. 

“Off the bed,” you ordered him, a twinkle of mischief sparking to light in your surly expression, “And strip yourself, slowly.” 

“Aye, bonnie lass,” he stumbled over his words, immediately staggering backwards and falling to the side of the bed. He began unbuttoning his overcoat and shaking it from his shoulders hurriedly, prompting a giggle to break through your practiced character. 

“I said slowly, Garp,” you purred at him, sitting up and moving your left calf along your right, “I thought you would be good at following orders, considering your title as a marine.” He halted his hasty undress, opting to silently follow your orders by unhooking the clasps of his belt and unbuttoning his pants. As the hem lay limply on his hips, he slowly popped each button of his shirt and raked his index finger along his torso to separate the fabric. 

Shamelessly following each movement with a bite of your bottom lip, you reclined on your side and encouraged him to continue with your sultry and beckoning eyes. His heart fluttered, feeling so small beneath your predatory gaze. After speaking with you for so long over den-den-mushi, and desperately seeking your approval with his choice words, he was certain he knew what to expect when he met with you.

He had never been so pleased to be proven wrong in his life. 

As he released the final button of his shirt, you clicked your tongue at him and pointed your index finger at the teal sash decorating his neck.

“The tie stays on,” you spoke through narrowed eyes, testing his resolve to follow your orders. He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head as he peeled his shirt away from his skin - leaving the teal tie around his neck. He shimmied off the fabric before hooking his thumbs through his belt hoops, slowly pulling the material over his hips and down his muscular thighs. 

Hungrily and awestruck, you followed each taut flex of his impressive muscles: his forearms, his biceps, his shoulders, his pectorals, his abs, his thighs - nothing was hidden from your eyes as he continued to slowly undress himself before you. His head-shot from the World Government truly did not do him justice - a man dignified and refined, muscular and carved from slated marble. He was a sight to behold, and was anxious to receive your approval at each passing moment. 

Stepping away from his pants, Vice-Admiral Garp was standing before you in naught but his teal tie and tight undershorts. The growing pole to tent the center of his trousers had your mouth watering beneath your stoic and sultry expression: keeping your hand close to your chest to not reveal your desperation for him. 

“Does this please you, lass?” he whispered below his breath, the corner of his mouth ticking with his melancholy expression, “An old man far from his prime, humbling himself before the delicate flower of Kuraigana. Is this all ‘ye dreamed of?” His small sigh caught your ear, prompting your brows to furrow in deep thought. His eyes were focussed on the floor, unable and unwilling to tear them away to meet with your exploratory eyes. 

Vice-Admiral Garp was self conscious. He found himself unworthy to be at the receiving end of your interest, a fact that had become clearer and clearer the more the night flew on. 

“Take off your undershorts, Garp,” you ordered him, slowly rising to your knees on the mattress, “And lie back on the bed.” You witnessed as his cock twitched beneath his pants, a growl purring in the chasms of his chest as he hooked his thumbs around the hemline of his undergarments. 

Slowly shimmying down the elastic, his impressive cock sprang above the surface, slapping his abdomen with his shining mushroom tip on his belly. The slit was dripping with precum, the veins throbbing with anticipation while he bashfully lay his back down on the mattress. His cock stood to attention, knob throbbing while his shaft was hoisted in the air. He was neatly cropped, every follicle of his happy trail meticulously maintained down his stomach. 

Without much warning, you eagerly straddled his waist with a giggle of joy. A gasp of shock fled from his lips, followed by a huff of laughter as you eagerly threw your dress off your body and looked down at his reclined form. There was a hidden uncertainty within his eyes, a hopeful sheen sucking you within his orbs each moment you gazed into them.

“Now what, lass?” he questioned you, eyes searching yours as he reached up his palm to cradle your cheek, “You’ve got me pinned and helpless beneath your thighs. Does this please you? D-Do I-...” his voice trailed off, remaining uncertain as his eyes sought out deeper, unspoken desires within your own, “...-Do I please you?” 

You sighed, flipping your hair over your shoulder and looking down at him through half-hooded eyelashes. Your soft smile drew up over your features, a secret and hidden kiss’ shadow rising within the right-hand corner of your mouth - a place that immediately held Garp rendered defeated under your beautiful features. 

What began as mild lust had blossomed and flourished into something more sacred. Garp was indeed smitten with you, desperately wanting to both treat and tease you, but now that he had you - he was clawing at being a worthy partner for you to couple with. He knew you were beautiful, he knew you were intelligent, he knew you were wise - but he did not expect, upon meeting you in person, to be rendered helpless upon seeking your approval. 

Wordlessly, you sought out the tip of his glistening cock with your needy hole, slowly circling the knob without welcoming him fully into your walls. He gasped at the contact, surging forward to grasp at your thighs over his waist. Your arousal coated his tip, painting it with your own lust and propelling his sinful desires on further. 

“You’ll please me by letting me ride your thick cock until you can’t take it anymore,” you purred down at him, angling your lips to almost brush against his own, “You’ll please me by splitting me open and filling me up with every inch you’re willing to give me. You’ll please me-...” you leaned your torso down, your breasts brushing with his pectorals, nipples circling his own in a sultry dance as you hovered over his cock, “...-By allowing me the luxury of cumming on your cock, my pussy milking you of your thick load and splashing back onto your cock once it meets with my cervix.” 

Garp held his breath, furrowing his brows as he felt you inch down to claim his shined knob within your entrance. He focussed on the hitch of your breath, the swell of your heart rate, and the small whimper in your voice. He focussed on the twitch of your closed eyes and your parted lips as you sank further along his shaft. 

Although his appetite was insatiable, he would never rush you in adjusting to his girth and length. He relished in every stretch your walls made to accommodate his impressive size, focussing on how your brows knit together and breath hitched at every small move. He tried to hold back the twitch of his desperate cock, trying not to lose himself within the feeling of your cunt fluttering to adjust for his cock to fully sheathe itself within you. 

As the hilt of your crotch met with his, his cock disappearing within your fluttering cunt up to the brim, he finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief at being sheathed completely within you. Grinding yourself down, you suppress a strangled moan within your throat as you feel your walls adjust and accommodate to his impressive size. Testing a small movement, you inched yourself upwards and slunk down against his shaft - a sigh mirrored within Garp’s lips as he restrained himself from fucking up into you. 

You began to slowly rake your walls up, before slamming your body back down against his groin: mutual cries of bliss falling from each other's lips as you focussed on riding his cock. You hastily drew up speed, setting a rhythm that had his hips rolling beneath your own. Your mewling cries of his name were rising into the air each time you felt his knob touch the edge of your cervix. 

His hands gripped firmly against your thighs, ushering you to bob, grind and gyrate against his cock to chase your own ecstasy. Your clit brushed with the small tuft of hair remaining at the base of his shaft, stimulating the small bud each time you drew yourself down to his crotch. 

He stared up in disbelief at the way your body responded to him. He was mesmerized at each whimper of your voice, each flutter of your eyelashes, and each slam of your aching cunt welcoming his throbbing cock within his walls. He couldn’t get enough: you were intoxicating and addictive with each writhe against him. 

Your rhythm began to get more stuttered, your body responding to the elevation of your ecstasy. Your walls began to thump against him, wringing his cock and clamping down on it as your approaching orgasm began to shudder against his shaft. His breath hitched, his own brow furrowing as he felt every pulse within your walls ushering him into his own bliss. 

As you continued to grind against him, Garp struggled to hold back against his own desires of flipping you over and stapling his hips against your own by railing your body into the plush mattress below. He did not want to destroy his good standing with you by completing such a lewd act, reacting in penance from drawing himself away from cumming into his awaiting lips, and simply chose to take each moment you gave him as a gift. 

The flutter of your cunt began squeezing his shaft, the sensitive spongy underside of your clit meeting with his knob propelling you further in the release of your incoming ecstasy. Your whimpers and cries of his name falling freely from your lips had both Garp’s cock and heart swell in pride that his body was granting you such bliss.

“G-Garp, I-I’m gonna-...” you called, clenching your eyes shut as you continued to gyrate and grind down against his cock. 

Garp’s iron will snapped, immediately hooking his arms around your waist and tackling you against the bedsheets. He caged you beneath him, plowing greedily into your shuddering walls with an eager snap of his hips. You shrieked in shock, your ecstasy being ushered in further by Garp stampeding you both towards your ends with a heavier and more controlled rhythm.

Each heavy rake of his cock within your cunt had his balls slapping against your puckered ass. At this new angle, you cried out, desperately clawing at his back and shoulders to draw him in closer to you. 

He hoisted your knee over his hip, latching his lips onto your neck and sucking a deep, angry, mark into your porcelain flesh. You cried for him, every ounce of your flesh ignited by the sparks of untamed ecstasy as you thrust your hips upwards to meet with every sharp snap of his rhythmic hips. 

“Cum for me,” he purred at you in a gruff growl, “Cry out my name.” His rhythm began to weigh heavier with each deep thrust, heavier and heavier with every staggered slam of his hips. “I want the entire base t’ know I’m makin’ ‘ye feel good. Want ‘ye fookin’ boss t’ know you’re becoming unraveled by my thick cock, ‘me bonnie lass.” 

At the mention of your boss: Mihawk’s verbal warning of having Garp cry your name in bliss echoed back to you. In a final ditch effort of having Garp cry out for you, you latched your lips onto the mark you created a few hours prior and teased the flesh with your teeth and tongue. Garp knit his brows, growling through yelping barks below his breath at how truly good you made him feel. 

“O-Ohh f-fuck, Garp. I-I’m-... ahh-... I’m c-cumming,,” you called, clawing and gnawing at his flesh like a lifeline anchoring you to the earth. He sucked in a breath feeling the twitch of his end spurting the first few moments of his orgasm within your walls. As much as he desired to pull away from your eager cunt to not risk his seed finding purchase within your walls - he simply could not help himself. He immediately began plowing harsher into you, his cock spurting his cum within you like a valve turning to release hisses of pent-up pressure. 

His voice became elevated with each staggered thrust, each subtle whimpered cry of his name coinciding with you grinding and writhing beneath him to chase your mutual highs. At one final bite of his flesh, and a particularly harsh snap of his hips, the two of you began experiencing the first realms of joint ecstasy.

“F-Fuck bonnie lass, I cannae pull out,” he roared your name, gyrating and pumping his seed deep within your cunt: splashing back spurts of his load within your needy, throbbing cunt. 

“D-Don’t you dare t-try,” you scolded him, eyes rolling back in bliss as he chased his orgasm within you. The walls of your pussy began contracting against his thick cock, shepherding him into releasing hot ropes of sticky cum within your eager walls. For every thump of your walls, you were granted by a spurt of his release within them - milking him of every fiber of his essence. 

As you both rode through your highs, the hums of your voices and gasps of your breath caught up with you. He snapped his hips forward, remaining sheathed within your glistening walls, as he raked his fingers through your hair. Your strands stuck against your forehead, your pupils blown with lust as you gulped back another cry of ecstasy as his cock throbbed within you. You sobbed, hiding your forehead against his chest as you attempted to come down from your high. 

Taking a moment to each gulp in oxygen to fill your lungs, Garp rolled from caging you beneath him, unsheathing his cock from within your pussy slowly. He looked down at your entrance, watching as it clenched to chase his retreat from your body with an eagerness he was yet to witness in some time. You were a masterpiece, a body unraveled and glistening within the realms of the afterglow in unbridled lust. He adored you. 

“You alrigh’, lass?” he asked you quietly, his lips grazing your temple as your lungs refilled with oxygen. You smiled up at him, eyes closing while your body chased his lips to feel his wired whiskers against your skin longer. You hummed at him, rolling over to your side and grazing his chest with your open hands. 

“Never better, Garp,” you cooed back at him, feeling your energy supply depleting the longer you remained comfortably within his arms. He cradled you against himself, feeling the soft song of slumber calling to him each moment you remained nestled against him. 

“And what of t’morrow?” Garp asked, his brow cocking up at the corner while he fought to keep his eyes open, “‘Ye got duties to attend, I’m sure.” 

“Dracule Mihawk has allowed me the luxury of a few days' shore leave,” you confessed, sleepily, “I don’t think I’ll be returning to my station any time soon, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, bonnie lass. It’s Garp, remember?” he cooed down at you, shimmying his body down to locate the plush duvet and nestling you both beneath it, “When you’re with me, it’s always Garp.”

“Alright, Garp,” you purred up at him, eyes hooded and feeling serenaded by sleep, “Will you stay by me tonight? Show me you still want me in the morning?” He huffed out a breath of disbelief, cradling you further against his chest and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Rest assured, Bonnie Lass,” the rumbling drawl of his voice cooed down at you, his fingers brushing over your hair and smoothing over each strand, “I will still want you every morning.” 

Both of your warm smiles clung to your cheeks as you fell into the arms of sleep, feeling calm and at peace while clinging to one another. You had never been so pleased to be relieved of duty, your legs and body remaining blissfully numb by being plowed into by Garp’s throbbing cock. 

An apology for his rough actions came in the form of caging your hips against his face, his arms weaving over your thighs, and him welcoming you to ride his head until your voice grew hoarse from the sheer number of times he had you cry his name on his eager tongue. Enthusiastically lapping at your glistening cunt with the fervor of a man being granted the feast of a lifetime, he refused to part his lips from your glistening walls until you violently shook with a scream of his name.

When riding down your high and sobbing through your ecstasy, you looked down at his eager eyes: twinkling with mischief. Upon meeting his gaze, he kissed your thigh and cooed up at you: “Just one more? One last time before I let you go, ‘me wee bonnie lass?” for the fifth time that morning. After all, his appetite truly was insatiable.

[la2yn0va]

I need to pour my sahsrau ideas here. So I WAAAAS gonna write a full Wattpad story about this… but I decided FUCK that. So imma write it hear and I’d like to hear what yall think of it.

CW: Cannibalism, Animals as Food, Slavery, Abuse, Cult like topics, violence, Gender Inequality. Etc

——

1. Readers (GODS) backstory.

So before the universe of HSR there was 1 universe that existed. I’m gonna call this Universe 0 (cause it sounds cool) in this universe there was one specific planet called… um… planet Celerian.

The planet is a technologically advanced civilization with it being a haven place — the capital ‘Aetheria’ being where GOD lives—a man who’s worshiped by the people of Celerian.

But there’s another side of the planet — the entire section is called Noxhollow. A crime undercity of the haven city that is Aetheria. Here, survival and crime is noticeable by blind and deaf people.

Here ‘the boy with no name’ is born. The boy is viewed as a mistake, a disgusting disgrace of humanity itself, even among the depraved people of Noxhollow. The boy grows up despising everyone and thing. Why was he hated? Why did he have no name? Even the kids who were born into slavery had names, yet he had none.

Woman were seen as nothing but birthing machines. If the woman gave birth to a girl, she was thrown into a camp forcing them to learn how to cook and clean. If it was a boy, he was either thrown into the gladiator ring for their sick joy to watch the boys fight and kill each other, or they were forced into slavery becoming a human pet to who ever takes the boy.

Where were his parents? Did he even have any? He was forced to live alone, forced to sell himself in anyway to survive, forced to… eat… others and more due to the utterly depraved nature of noxhollow.

The boy gave himself a name. M/n. No one could love him. It was impossible, so he’ll have to love himself, starting by giving himself a name—the first act of love given by a parent of which he had none. Even the woman born to only clean and cook were shown more love then him.

But then, he came across a cat. A black cat who looked staved and on deaths edge. It wouldn’t survive a minute longer without some food. Seeing himself in this cat M/n gave it his food, and walked away not noticing the cats eyes shine at this mercy.

The cat followed him, interested in why someone would show mercy to an animal that was damned by god to be considered food. It watched as this ‘Demon’ showed kindness to those who’d spit on him and beat him down.

It watched as the boy didn’t fight back. Why? What is the reason for his benevolence? Such kindness didn’t exist in Noxhollow. Only Aetheria were those… ‘People’ lived.

Eventually, it made itself known to m/n, offering it apples and other food it would successfully steal to repay his kindness. But he.. denied it… why?!

The cat was determined, it wouldn’t allow this boy to suffer. No. He didn’t deserve it. So, it kept following it, stubbornly ignoring the boys pleas to leave him alone and offering him food.

Eventually, m/n agreed and grew to appreciate the cats presence as the cat would also grow to love the humans presence and m/n would gift the cat with a name: Elio.

The two grew up with each other. Elio managing to sneak past the guards who kept the depraved humans in Noxhollow and stealing books and scrolls from Aetheria, bringing it to m/n.

M/n grew to be a very capable fighter. No longer selling himself for others peoples acts, but making others bow to HIS will. HIS demands. Yet one thing still itched M/N. Love. He never actually felt it.

Despite gaslighting himself into thinking he knew what it was.. he didn’t, love was—IS a foreign concept to him. Despite sleeping with women and men, he still didn’t know what LOVE was.

So, he believed one Two things would lead him to understanding what love was. killing the so called ‘GOD’ in Aetheria. He rallied EVERYONE in Noxhollow, convincing them to rise up and fight the much more pathetic people of Aetheria.. and they LOVED the idea.

The people who once discriminated m/n now viewed him as THEIR GOD. He’s the voice they’ve been waiting for, he’s the motivation they needed. M/n and Elio were disgusted at their change of heart towards him, but they hid their hate, keeping they needed them in order to take on ‘GOD’

So. War began. Noxhollow’s versus the Aetherias. The Noxhollow’s relied on their Peak Superhuman Physicality and the forbidden magic M/n taught them to combat against the Technological Aetherians. Whilst the common folk fought against each other, m/n and Elio snuck to wear ‘GOD’ was.

In her tyrannical throne she sat watching the war below fight. The woman who was ‘GOD’ stared at M/n in disgust. Noting how she should’ve killed him when he was a kid. Reveling his true story—how he was a child of experimentation. Born through…. Depraved means.

They’re were others like him who were born in this project of hers, yet they didn’t survive like he did. She then reveled he only survived because a percentage of HER holy DNA was in him, making her his technical only mother through one percent of DNA.

It changed nothing though. The two still battled and fought. Surprisingly, m/n was managing to beat GOD, his rage and determination grew every millisecond she was in his eye sight. His ambition for her death surpassing her EGO.

After a long battle, and the outright extinction of everything on the planet besides them, m/n won. Before killing her, her last words were one of malice. “you demonic worthless waste of human ORGANS!! A ant like you.. who never knew or will EVER understand love.. beat ME!!? PREPOSTEROUS!!!!! You worthless dog!!! You should’ve died with your—”

Tired of her existence, m/n ripped off her jaw and knocked her unconscious before preforming an act the people of Noxhollow would perform to the losers of a duel. Cannibalism. He ate every part of her, making sure not a scrap of dna was left on the ground.

Gaining her powers he eventually became GOD, a new GOD, one with much more powerful abilities and capabilities then his ‘mother’ he made a new universe, erasing the entirety of his own universe and starting a new one.

Eons upon eons passed with m/n and Elio living in the paradise they deserved. While the people of his new universe worshiped him, any nonbelievers were… swiftly dealt with. M/n made cosmic peace with each visit, stopping any and ALL conflict by any beings, such as humans, animals, and even plants.

However, he STILL couldn’t feel love. He was empty, he couldn’t reciprocate the feelings Elio and his followers gave him. So, he was gonna learn.

One day, he awoke and decided to create more universes to live another live AGAIN without his previous memories or powers. He left Elio with a human form, allowing him to transform into a human and speak in his cat form whilst giving him the ability to see the future. Although Elio begged him to stay, he didn’t, Elio even tried to fight him to stay but it was for nothing.

M/n left, leaving the universe to progress naturally, and eventually go mad without their god. More eons passed. Billions of trillions of years passed until elio’s carefully crafted plan begun. He will bring back his dear old ‘friend’ as m/n told him to before he left. M/n had a script he wished for them to partake in, and Elio would follow it down to its Periods.

The universe itself died down slowly from the chaos when M/n first left, as some of them found themselves being controlled by a warm presence and doing quest whilst the most calm and warm presence wrapped around them.

———

And that’s what I had to rant about. I know it’s kinda all over the place but that’s because I was just pouring the idea I had for self aware-hsr onto this post.

Sorry for the dark topics but I think it made the story more compelling..? Anyway, what do you guys think of this?

[roanniom]

I adored smartest! Scratched an itch I didn’t know I had for Steve. Can’t stop thinking of him seeing someone trying to flirt with his tutor and getting possessive and dragging her down the nearest dark alley to prove no one could make her dumb like he can.

Smartest - Part 2

King!Steve Harrington x tutor!fem!reader

Read Part 1

Warning: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, mutual masturbation, semi public sex / PIV sex / unprotected sex, teasing, power dynamics, King!Steve is a dick and is his own warning (but goes through angst here???)

Steve isn’t really sure what he assumed would happen after he’d been hooking up with his tutor for a while. There had been absolutely no forethought to the initial act, and the fact that you had been into him enough to let him keep fucking you during each session - well Steve Harrington isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, of course.

But he certainly hadn’t anticipated how the attention would affect how you carry yourself. In the halls. In class. In the stands during pep rallies. Walking through the diner or at the movies. Whenever Steve sees you out and about in Hawkins now, he can’t help but blink and do a double take.

You stand up straighter. You smile brighter. You make eye contact with the people around you. Your clothes are a little more relaxed, opting for flouncier skirts and fun tops rather than cardigans and your usual buttoned up, structured dresses.

To Steve, of course, the change seems motivated by him. And, to be fair, he was sort of the catalyst. He couldn’t possibly know that really you’ve started to come into your own, not because of Steve’s attention itself, but because of the way it allowed you to dismiss the fears you’d had of your own undesirability. The King of Hawkins High wanted you. You’re pretty sure it’s just as a steady fuck buddy, but still. You’d gone from scared to look boys in the eye to being very aware of the fact that you walking through the Harrington’s front door with your books and notes had a pretty much Pavlovian effect of Steve’s cock. He was basically hard fifteen minutes into any tutoring session these days.

It’s not that Steve’s attention has validated you, per se. It’s more that it has made you realize how silly men are. How easy and one track minded they can be. Its almost silly to think how starved you had been for approval and how sure you’d been that your status as an A+ goody goody made you untouchable. That was clearly, judging by the bruises Steve left on your thighs each week, not the case. The whole thing has made you ten times less nervous in his presence. And if you don’t have to be nervous around the King, it essentially means that you’re more at ease everywhere.

At first this change in you intrigues Steve. He truly had never really given you much thought prior to the start of your dalliance. Sure you were pretty…in a stuffy, academic, good girl type of way. But he was always a bird of prey, looking for shiny, garish, colorful and shapely things to catch his eye.

So the day you show up to his place in a tight skirt and a fashionable off the shoulder blouse that bares your collar bones and exposes cleavage, Steve’s eyes practically pop out of his head.

“Well hello,” he says directly to your tits. You roll your eyes and step around him into the house.

“Hi, Steve,” you reply, walking towards the dining room where you usually have your sessions. Steve jogs up behind you and grabs you at the waist, turning you back to him.

“Not in there. Let’s study in my room.”

“Why?” you ask, confused by the sudden change.

“Well, my parents are home,” Steve elaborates. Heat fills you as you realize what he means, but you cock your head to the side, waiting for him to say it. Steve rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “So we can’t…have fun in the dining room.”

“I’m here to tutor you, Steve. So I guess it’s okay if we can’t have fun,” you say with a shrug. You can’t suppress your smile though and Steve’s smile widens. A few weeks ago you would have stuttered and gone shy but immediately compliant, hoping to please him. This was new.

“Yeah but what about when I get an answer right?” Steve asks, stepping forward and lifting his hand so he can play with the hem of your shirt. “You know I need positive reinforcement.”

You do your best to hide your swallow at the memory of how you had sucked his cock after you’d cajoled him into memorizing his flash cards. Even more heat courses through your body but you look up at him defiantly.

“I brought a packet of gold stars. You like stickers, Steve?”

Your answer catches him off guard and he lets out a bark of a laugh. There’s a triumphant fanfare ringing in your ears at the fact that you are able to make Steve laugh like that. Organically and not part of any of kind of show or flirtation or charm offensive.

“I do like stickers…” he says, his hand dipping under the hem of your top and splaying out over the bare skin of your waist. “But I think this body might motivate me better.”

Your breath catches in your throat at that. His heavy eye contact leaves you nowhere to run. Not that you’d ever run from Steve. He’s a magnet pulling you in regardless of distance or context.

But he’s also made the vital mistake of showing his hand. He wants something from you, too. This isn’t a one way serving pity situation. You might be dumb with his cock in you, but before it gets to that point you’re still the smartest girl in Hawkins. So you use this information to your advantage.

You take his hand and walk him up the stairs (a bold move that he didn’t see coming and which makes him immediately rock hard as he watches your ass away ahead of him up the steps).

You’re the one who closes the door. He locks it.

You end up getting Steve to complete all of his homework…by himself. With motivation in the form of a game where you give him a sticker after he completes each assignment and he gets to decide which body part of yours it goes on. By the end of the afternoon you’re naked on his bed, a sticker on each of your tits, each of your ass cheeks, your bellybutton, and your lower abdomen. By the end of the session his head is squeezed between your thighs, his hands roaming and roving to squeeze each soft piece of flesh he’d bedazzled with his gold stars of favor.

So yeah. At first your increased confidence was something Steve found pretty fucking hot.

But as time went on, he began to realize that your confidence didn’t begin and end with him. He started seeing you around in school more. It’s not that you had somehow increased the amount of times you cross his path in a day, exactly. More that you used to melt into the background a bit more. He’d notice you only if you were right in front of him shyly waving. He’d wave back dutifully at his tutor, sometimes throwing you a bone in the form of a wink, lazily enjoying the way it would so obviously throw you into a tailspin with virtually no effort on his part.

Now you’re somehow everywhere all at once. And not only are you noticeable in the crowd - you stand out from it. Your hair is more stylish, your clothes are unapologetically patterned and colored and fit you in ways his hands envy. Your smile is brighter than the god damn fluorescents above. And now Steve is the one who has to maneuver to catch your eye. Because you’re always talking to people these days, it seems. And a lot of those people are guys, Steve notices begrudgingly.

You stand with your back against a locker, your books pulled to your chest as your arms wrap around them, a smile on your face that is definitely not worth the lame ass comment said by the dumb jock standing before you. Steve pauses at the water fountain where he’d been bending when he’d turned his head and saw you. So clearly the recipient of some football player’s attention.

And boy do you glow under attention.

That week when you arrive at his house to tutor him, Steve tries to charm you again into simply fucking outright. Again, you coyly dance around it, making him work for it. He ends up losing his patience and crowding you in the kitchen when you get up for a snack.

“Steve! I’m trying to—!” You’re squealing but he swallows it up as he takes the coke can out of your hand and blindly moves it away from you, his mouth already hot on yours.

Before you can register what’s happening, Steve’s hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter and pushed his way between your spread legs.

“What?” Steve asks, pulling away and feigning nonchalance as if he hadn’t just manhandled you and mauled you with his lips. “You said we could have a snack break.” He slides a hand down to cup your pussy through your skirt. He pets at the place over your clit. “This is my snack.”

What would have once rendered you speechless makes you roll your eyes.

“I’m actually hungry, Steve.”

Steve gives you a lopsided grin and drops his hand on his hard on, evident and swell in the confines of his jeans.

“Got a snack for you right here.”

You laugh at that and Steve feels something akin to pride zing through him. But it’s not exactly like pride, an emotion he knows well. No, it’s something different. Warmer.

“As much as I do enjoy that particular snack, Harrington, I don’t think your cum will satiate me.”

“Fuck. Dirty talk and big words like ‘satiate’.” Steve pretends to feel faint with a hand on his forehead. “You really have this hot smart girl thing figured out.”

You shake your head at him but smile, and Steve hates the fact that it’s your smile that makes him even harder.

He also hates the fact that fifteen minutes later he finds himself sliding into a booth at the local diner rather than sliding himself into your sweet pussy.

You’d cajoled him into taking you for a real meal since there was nothing to eat at his place. And no, you’d continued to argue. His cock was not a balanced meal.

His hand had been on your thigh for half of the drive to the diner before he realized, like ice water down his back, that the whole situation reeked of a date. He’d pulled his hand back over to clutch at the steering wheel with a double grip, eyes flitting to you anxiously. However you seemed not to notice, looking instead out the window pleasantly.

As he’d parked Steve had made a mental note to reel in the PDA. He didn’t want you thinking this was more than it was. More than a weekly fuck session between two consenting people. One of whom used to have the upper hand and one of whom…had the sexiest smile with lips that looked sinful wrapped around a stripped straw and cheeks that hollowed sexually as they sucked—

Fuck.

Steve Harrington was in trouble.

The meal went by quickly, and over time you were able to pull him from his rattled internal monologue, stealing his fries and teasing him for getting in trouble in class earlier in the day. Steve throws a fry at you and nudges your foot with his under the table. You laugh. His stomach flips. His palm itches so he drops it under the table and rubs it against the denim on his thigh.

When the waitress comes with the check, you bound to the bathroom and Steve gets a minute to get his shit together.

He’s Steve fucking Harrington. Supreme stud of Hawkins High. Another girl every week (although if he was counting, which he wasn’t, it had been a few weeks since he’d reracked his rotation). He fishes his wallet out of his too-tight jeans and drops down some bills.

“Thanks, handsome.”

Steve looks up, expecting to see you but instead realizing it had come from the waitress who he’d forgotten was standing there. She’s a pretty thing, maybe a year or two older. He’s seen her working here before and he lets his eyes roam over her figure unabashedly. Her uniform isn’t zipped up all the way in the front, leaving exposed a generous swell of cleavage and her waist flares out into a voluptuous set of hips. She taps a manicured nail on her order pad, patiently waiting for him to finish oogling her. She’s a hot girl and he’s a hot guy. She knows this dance and so does Steve. When he drags his eyes up from her tits to her face, she looks expectant.

This is the part where he chats her up. Where he compliments her - or cuts her down a bit in a boyish, redeemable way - and then asks her out. He’s supposed to give her his million watt rich boy smile, run a hand through his hair, and turn on the charm.

She’s expecting it. He’s expecting it of himself.

But instead, all he can manage is a nod and a tight smile. He watches the waitress’s brows raise and her smile fall a bit. But then she’s simply picking up the money and walking away. Steve has a moment of panic as his eyes drop to watch the sway of her ass as she retreats. What the fuck is wrong with him? He could have been tucked away in his car with that hot woman, spanking that ass within the hour.

Instead he’s still tucked away in a booth at a diner her didn’t want to go to, still painfully hard without an outlet in sight.

Which is when he hears your laugher ring out, causing said hard cock to twitch. Steve turns quickly to find you standing by the entrance to the bathroom, cornered by yet another football player.

He sees red. The way you’re leaning up against the wall is a mirror image to when he’d seen you receive attention earlier in the week by your locker. You gaze up at the football player with a smile that Steve realizes he’d assumed was only meant for him. It boils his blood to think that the smile you’d bestowed on him so dutifully, so loyally, was just your smile. A thing to be handed out like some cheap party favor to any Tom, Dick, or Harry.

Steve can’t know - especially from a distance - that you really are only humoring this guy. If one looked closer they could never mistake the tight lipped, emotionless nicety on your face for the radiant, full bodied smile you reserved for Steve. You’d gotten cornered by the jock on your way back to the bathroom, and you’d been trying to politely extricate yourself from his lukewarm advances for a few minutes now.

He was rambling about his car and the upgrades he’d gotten done to it when suddenly a pair of big hands land heavy on your shoulder.

“Babe, I paid the check. Let’s get out of here.”

You whip your head around to find Steve behind you, though his gaze is placed firmly on the football player. Though they aren’t the same in width, Steve’s got the guy beat in height, and he uses it to his advantage by standing up straight and puffing his chest a bit.

“Harrington,” the jock chokes out. In the Hawkins hierarchy, the basketball team is more successful than the football team by a long shot, so a certain amount of deference is expected for the king of the court, even from fellow athletes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…is this your girl?”

Steve feels you go rigid under his hold. Your eyes flash up to his but he doesn’t meet yours.

“Don’t you have a playbook to memorize?” Steve asks coolly. He pulls lightly and your back presses against his chest. “If I remember football season right, I’d say it’s gonna take you till fall and then some. Better get back to it.”

You try to laugh his comment off and put a hand on the bicep of your would-be suitor.

“Steve, this is—,”

“Mr. Irrelevant,” Steve completes for you, smoothly using both an insult and a football pun.

The jock stutters another apology before ambling back to his friends. You don’t have time to question Steve because his arm is suddenly around you, pulling you with him out the door.

The two of you walk briskly to his car, and only when you reach the passenger door do you finally regain your powers of speech.

“What was that in there, Steve?” you ask quietly. Your hand is on the door handle but you remain motionless.

“What? I told you, I don’t like football players,” Steve says with a shrug, yanking open the driver side door and dropping into his seat. You climb in carefully and watch him as he violently pulls on his seatbelt.

“Why?”

“Because they’re a bunch of meat heads and it’s a sport revolving around how many concussions they can rack up—,”

“No, Steve,” you interrupt gently, your hand dropping on his knee. “Why were you acting…possessive?”

Steve’s skin burns through his jeans where your hand touches him. He stares at it for a second before looking up, agitated.

“Well excuse me for saving you. I thought you’d be thanking me for getting that guy to stop drooling on you.”

His words sting and you wince. Steve even winces a bit, having not intended to sound so forceful. You shrug.

“He was only being nice.”

Steve let’s out a humorless laugh.

“That wasn’t being nice. That was undressing you with his eyes. That was trying to get you to let him feel you up under the bleachers. Nice is—,”

“Nice is flirting with your tutor to get her to do your homework?”

Steve freezes before he can turn the key in the ignition. He looks over to find that you’re staring blankly out the windshield. Your arms are hugging you, like you’re trying to comfort yourself.

“That’s not…”

“Nice is fucking her when you’re bored? Your little prescheduled sex appointment?”

Steve’s defenses raise and he unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn more fully to you.

“Hey wait, that’s—,”

“That’s exactly what this is. I haven’t misunderstood that, Steve,” you say, finally turning the full force of your earnest gaze on him. “Have you?”

Steve blinks at you slowly. Completely unsure about what’s going on and how the night has taken this turn.

He’s even more bewildered when you suddenly move to climb into the back seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks, surprised and leaning over to watch you lay yourself down on the seat.

“You wanted to fuck me earlier. So do it.”

Steve feels like you’ve slapped him in the face. Your stare is cool and you begin to unbutton your blouse. Panic rises inside of him and his head whirls around.

“Here? Someone could see,” Steve argues. They are in the back corner of the parking lot, but it’s a parking lot nonetheless, illuminated by one sole street lamp. You shrug.

“The windows are tinted, aren’t they?”

Steve can’t begin to comprehend the conflict coursing through his veins. Of course the windows are tinted. Almost illegally so. He knows that because he’s fucked countless girls in the back seat of his car. Hadn’t he even just thought about fucking that waitress in his car only minutes ago?

But with you…

He’s thrown off by the urge he has to cover your breasts with his hands when you peel back your top. Not even to touch you but just to keep you from being seen by others.

Why does he fucking care?

King Steve had fucked at every party he’d ever been to - sometimes even in rooms with no doors or up against the back of a house with people nearby on a porch. He’d never once had a conscience about it. As long as the girl was down, he was ready to go.

So why is it different now, with you stripping in his back seat and staring at him with big doe eyes?

“Come on. Don’t make me get started by myself,” you say teasingly. You’re clearly trying to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. Steve swallows hard.

“You wouldn’t.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him and lift the hem of your skirt. You’re wearing a lacy scrap of panties that match your bra. Definitely a far cry from the sensible underwear you’d been wearing the first time he’d seduced you.

“Try me.”

And despite the confusion and warning bells going off in his head, Steve’s clambering into the back seat in seconds. He’s on top of you, hips shoved between your thighs and big hands on your wrists, pinning them above your head against the inside of the car door.

“That’s more like it,” you coo, smiling a dazzling smile up at him. It thrills him and upsets him and makes him frustrated all at once, and since he doesn’t know how to express that with words he does it physically. His mouth drops to your neck so he can pull a sizable amount of flesh between his lips and suck. Hard. You gasp and arch up into him, giving him the perfect opportunity to switch your wrists into a single handed grip so he can move the other hand down to grope at your breasts. Instead of covering them and hiding them, he rips down your bra, letting your breasts spill from the cups.

Steve bites a bruising trail down from your neck to your cleavage, sucking harder than he ever has before.

“Trying to be cute, huh?” he growls against your skin. You laugh breathlessly, wrists straining against his hold.

“Yeah. ‘s it working?”

That makes Steve strangle a laugh but it still frustrates him. You’ve somehow still got the upper hand here. Even though you’re below him and your body is at his mercy. When did the tables turn so fully?

So he sits up abruptly, leaving you laying back, legs still open wide around his hips, his spit still drying around the new bruises sucked to your neck. You’re motionless for a second before leaning up on your elbows to look at him, dazed.

“I’m a little unconvinced,” Steve says with a shrug. A frown filters over your features. You watch as he smooths his hands up and down your thighs, looking at your panty-clad center appraisingly.

“What are you unconvinced about?” you ask. Steve draws a line with his index finger over the length of the waistband of your panties.

“That you really want it bad enough.”

Frustration flickers in your eyes.

“Want what?” you ask, playing along. Steve drops one hand to the bulge in his jeans.

“This cock.”

You roll your eyes and sit up higher.

“Of course I want—,”

“I’m not sure, baby. You were gonna touch yourself back here. Maybe I should have let you handle it.” His actions contradict his words as one hand rubs slow circles right at the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Your eyebrows knit together.

“No, I want you,” you reply, almost petulantly.

There it is.

This is what Steve needed.

But he shakes his head. Now that he’s got you back on the line he’s going to enjoy this to the fullest.

“Maybe you had the right idea,” he says, leaning back a bit against the opposite door. The backs of your thighs still rest on the tops of his, and with one hand still heavy on you, his free hand pops open the button of his jeans. You feel the slide of his zipper rush down your spine.

When Steve pulls his cock out and begins to stroke it, you feel your stomach drop and your mouth water. He’s watching you as he does it. Eyes darting from your breasts almost spilling out of the cups of your bra to the wet spot in the center of your panties. It makes you hot. It turns you on in a way that’s almost painful to watch the flushed fat head of his cock disappear and reappear in the grip of his fist.

“I’m…I’m right here,” you mutter. Steve grins and takes his hand from his cock and slides it confidently under the elastic hem of your panties.

“Yeah, you are.”

The intrusion of his fingers is sudden and sure and you gasp at the feeling of them sliding through your slick. He swirls a few circles around your tensing hole before sliding up to press circles into your clit. You drop back down off your elbows and let out a satisfied moan at the stimulation you’d craved.

But then…he’s pulling his hand back, allowing the elastic of your panties to snap back on you with a sting. You sit up again fast and watch as he takes the wetness he’d gathered from you to make the glide of his hand on his cock more smooth. Your jaw drops.

“Thanks, baby,” Steve says with a wink.

“Steve, what?!”

He shrugs.

“I would’ve asked you to spit in my hand but I didn’t think you would since you’re having an attitude.”

That. That struck exactly the nerve he thought it would. Your jaw sets and your eyes flash. Scooting back a bit so you, too, can lean on the inside of the door closest to you, you drop your legs open wider, well aware of the way Steve’s attention immediately drops to them.

“You’re not very nice, Steve Harrington,” you say quietly. Both of your hands move to squeeze at your own breasts and you arch into your own touch. Steve chuckles at that, eyes on your hands.

“And you’re nice even when you’re pissed apparently,” he says dismissively. Your frown deepens as you pull your bra down to expose you fully. Steve’s face goes blank, like you hoped.

“Fuck you,” you respond, just as quiet as before. Steve’s eyes remain glazed, hand moving faster on his cock, but he gives a lopsided grin.

“There she is. Feisty.”

The interior of the car has started to heat up. The humid smell of sex fills the air, though you’d prefer actually having sex. He’s been pushing it tonight, but you really can’t help the way you feel watching his big hand move on his even bigger cock. It should be inside you. This is the day of your tutoring session. The one day of the week that almost guaranteed you had his attention. Every other day, King Steve belonged to Hawkins. He was a heartthrob and a hometown hero. Probably inside of a different girl each night of the weekend (though you try not to think of that because it’s gross).

But on tutoring days it’s just you. So the fact that he’s choosing to touch himself rather than fill you has you feeling petty. It makes you redouble your efforts. You pinch one of your nipples and let out a heady, performative sigh, all while your other hand moves down and shoves inside your panties. You trace the same path Steve did, circling your hole and then your clit. Getting yourself nice and worked up with your eyes glued on the way Steve drags his hand over his throbbing dick.

Steve is mesmerized, as seems evident by the way he’s stopped talking to watch you. To hear you.

When you push two fingers inside of yourself, you let out an indulgent moan that causes Steve’s hips to buck into his hand. Your thighs quiver where they remain stretched out around his legs.

You drop your other hand down into your stretched out panties to play with your clit while you continue thrusting fingers in and out of yourself - that’s when Steve loses it.

“Show me,” he says gruffly, eyes ripping from the space between your legs to look up at you blearily.

“You’re literally watching me right now,” you laugh, breathless. Steve shakes his head and reaches out to tug on the edge of your panties.

“Get this shit out of the way.”

Now it’s your turn to shake your head.

“Nope. You had your chance with my pussy. You wanted your hand.”

The filthy words coming from you almost makes his eyes roll back in his head. He grunts and continues fisting his cock, but he looks more frustrated now.

Unfortunately there’s something of a Pavlovian response in your body at the sight of his aggression. Whether you like it or not, your burgeoning sexuality had crackled into being under the hands of Steve Harrington, and Steve being Steve is what gets you going.

Unlucky for you and the upper hand you’re trying to cling to, Steve can tell. Back to back weeks of fucking the same person will do that to you, apparently.

“You’re close.” It’s more accusation than observation.

You want to disagree but your fingers speed up on your clit and you widen your legs even more, looking to build pressure.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Fuck.” Steve slows his hand on his cock, breathing deeply and placing a laser focus on your hands in your panties. “Bet you’re getting tight around those fingers, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing and head thrown back against the door. “Really tight…”

Steve let’s out an uncharacteristically pathetic moan. The thrill of it causes your core to contract even tighter.

“Bet you wish I was sucking those tits right now,” Steve remarks, replaying in his head all the times he’d made you cum lately. You lift up to look at him with stern hooded eyes and pull one of your hands from your panties. With a pointed look you raise your fingers to your mouth, lick them wetly, and then bring them down to play with your nipple. Your hips buck into your other hand and Steve loses his fucking mind.

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” he says, launching himself forward. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, hitching your legs up and around his hips, dropping so that his elbows cage you in on either side of your head. The length of his cock slides parallel to your entrance with a wet sound, pushing your pussy lips apart.

“Finally,” you moan petulantly. And that’s all the consent Steve needs to reach down and line himself up so he can thrust into you.

Things get hot and hazy after that. Your fingers thread into his hair and pull hard at the roots. Steve’s tongue and teeth are everywhere, but especially on your pulse point and on the peaks of your breasts.

The slap of skin on skin fills the interior of the car, rivaled only by your shared panting.

Steve shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t be such a relief to sink into your body, like it’s a home he’s been waiting to return to. Your nails biting into his back through his shirt shouldn’t feel like heaven and your little mewls and gasps shouldn’t be an angel’s chorus. He’s not even fucking religious, so what’s with the holy comparisons?

“Oh Steve. Fuck,” you whisper moan right into his ear. Steve slides a hand under you to push your lower back up, giving your hips a tilt that lets him hit deeper.

“It’s good, yeah?” he asks. It’s a question but it’s cocky. You bite his earlobe and clench around him.

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Fucking Christ.”

Yeah. Steve Harrington is seeing god in the back seat of his car in a diner parking lot.

~*~

It takes a minute for you both to catch your breath when you’re done. Sweat and cum and words left unsaid create a film over the two of you which makes it hard to breathe.

Eventually Steve helps you climb back into the front seat before hoping behind the wheel himself to bring you back to the empty Harrington house. Upon arriving, Steve puts the car in park and turns to you, intent on speaking though he’s not sure what he plans to say. You, however, give him no such chance to figure it out as you bound out of the car and up the path to the front door. Steve catches up to let you in.

It’s later than it usually is when you wrap up your tutoring sessions. Steve has to turn on lamps as he follows you through the dark foyer and into the dining room where he finds you already grabbing your things and packing your bag up, half hidden in shadow.

“We didn’t finish the work,” he says quietly. Some what dumbly. You hoist your bag over your shoulder and give him a smile that deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“Yeah. Looks like we’ll have to finish another time.”

When you start for the door, moving at a brisk pace, Steve stumbles after you.

You’re over the threshold and making your way to your car, glowing in the yellow light of the porch lamp before Steve can blurt out.

“When?”

God, he does sound fucking dumb.

And you. You turn and give him one last smile. Looking so put together. So smart.

“That’s up to you, Steve,” you say with a shrug, opening your car door. “You let me know.”

And with that, you get in your car and drive away. Leaving Steve standing alone on his porch with his thoughts.

~*~

-

—

—-

——

——-

Ahhh originally had no intention of writing a part two and then this happened. Please reblog and comment to let me know what you think and thanks for reading!!