#inspired by the Hunger Games

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

I reread The Black Games trilogy and I realized I never truly finished the last two chapters of the third installment (despite reading the whole triology at least five times) and y'all...

It rocked me emotionally.

Anyways, I love the trilogy so much and I'm so happy I finally got to finish it!

(also, it has my favorite OCs ever!!!)

[crying-frog-writes]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard Characters: Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard, Nicky Hemmick, Neil Josten, David Wymack, Betsy Dobson, Robin Cross, Jack (All For The Game), Sheena (All For The Game), Ichirou Moriyama, Riko Moriyama, Tetsuji Moriyama, Abby Winfield, Allison Reynolds (All For The Game), Renee Walker (All For The Game), Matt Boyd, Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Seth Gordon, Kevin Day Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Inspired by The Hunger Games, people die, like a lot, Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, this fic is rude and hurtful you have been warned, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, I don't think the dove is dead, but someone should go check on it Summary:

The woman on the stage, Andrew couldn’t care less about remembering her name, puts her hand in the oversized glass bowl and makes a show of digging through the little slips of paper.

Thirty-Eight times. His name is in there thirty-eight times.

The woman smiles at the name in her hand, as if she were announcing a winner of some sweet game. As if she were picking a child to receive a present. So easily, so sickeningly sincere she reads the name from the paper.

“Aaron Minyard,”

And suddenly Andrew hears nothing. He doesn’t see Aaron blanch beside him. He doesn’t feel Aarons hand latch onto his arm. He doesn’t hear as Katelyn begins to sob. He doesn’t hear Nicky as he cries out. All Andrew sees is his brother on that television screen. He sees Aaron shot through the chest with the shaft of the arrow over his heart. He sees Aaron’s skull broken open with a rock. He sees the maybe hundreds of children he’s been forced to watch slaughter each other. He doesn’t feel as Aaron is torn from his side and forced to the center aisle, where he stumbles forward. Andrew sees his brother becoming just another name written in the capitals history only to be forgotten the following year and-

“I volunteer!”

-----

New chapter is posted!

[mysticraven20]

To Feel You Breathe

For @bohemianrhapsody711 number 4 of @kisspromptsforthelovesquare - "I thought I lost you" kiss.

Bringing this from the archives (Inspired by the Hunger Games)

Ladybug’s feet tangled around themselves and caused her to stumble over the rooftop. The toe of one foot collided hard with the heel of the other as she unceremoniously hopped in order to keep her stability. 

The sudden weight shift had her colliding hard with the chimney, clipping her shoulder and scraping it against the hard, rough brick. Her hand slapped onto the wall, pushing herself away before clutching her shoulder and carrying on. She had to keep moving. 

A red swirl of Ladybug’s continued to dance around in the sky, circulating over her head; a promise of revival, a promise of luck, a promise of hope. 

Her heart begged for the ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ to work the way it always did — rebuilding and reforming — as her mind reminded her about what was important.  She couldn’t stop and check everything was going to plan. Stopping would steal seconds away from her — precious seconds she didn’t have.

Paris began to put itself back together; growing and growing as buildings and monuments reposition themselves in their pride of place. Back to being important to the citizens of the city — but right now, none of these were important to her. 

She hadn’t bothered to stop to check on the victim, or speak to Alya and make her usual statement, as soon as the Lucky Charm was launched high up into the air, she ran – fast, and with intent. 

Taking a leap, she pushed herself from the rooftop landing straight onto the next; her feet never truly connected with the ground. She had tunnel vision; a one track in mind. 

She skidded to a halt, attempting to gain her bearings. She looked around, not entirely sure where she was. 

They’d started the fight in the 6th arrondissement. 

A glance down jolted something in her memory as she noticed the boutiques on street level. She recognised them straight away. The one on the corner was where she’d been browsing when the first fireball hit – smashing through the roof as though it was made of paper and causing the building to crumble quickly and efficiently. 

The Akuma had moved fast and struck hard — harder than she’d ever seen before — taking them on a tour of the city before she could finally conclude the fight near the Louvre. 

She couldn’t exactly remember where they were when it happened. The whole event felt like an out of body experience; her heart had become disjointed from her body as the Akuma’s hard hitting, soul destroying ray took everything out of her. 

Her eyes trailed the buildings in the east. Maybe, that had been the area. It definitely looked familiar – but so did an array of rooftops over Paris. Chimneys, rooftop gardens, walls — all an almost exact duplicate of each other.

Ladybug berated herself. She couldn’t remember where it had happened. All she could remember was the feeling of him disintegrating through her fingers as she tried to keep him conscious and with her. A slow, painful death orchestrated with loud, ear piercing screams. She’d held him tight and close; his body finally slipped through her fingers and faded away to nothingness – her own screams taking over the unfortunate symphony.

He had to be here. He had to be somewhere – here . She’d fixed it! That’s what she did.

Her eyes began to survey the area again, each breath catching hard in her throat with every beat of her heart. She stretched a hand up, clutching at her throat, at her chest – at anything – in hope it would help her breathe. Her airways tightening in reaction to the panic and the pain — labouring her breaths and causing her to claw at her throat.

The red above her head, abruptly, gave way to blue.

Normality.

An imposter against the storm brewing in her heart. 

Her feet began to move again, taking off in a feeble attempt of tracing her steps. The rooftop had to be near here. It just had to be.

Every single step caused a ricochet through her body, the pounding impacting in her head, as much as it was her heart. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her feet tangled like a mess of wires, snaking around each other in a practised and impossible entanglement, tripping her up and causing her to lose balance. Next thing she knew, she was falling. An unexpected twist of cruelty which took her down onto her knees. She fell hard, her hands  catching her before her face hit the ground, a droplet of water landing beside her glove, the grief of her loss fully on display for all to see — evidence of her failure. 

And the storm finally reached its superlative.

She used her hands to push herself up, but her knees were uncooperative and sent her stumbling forward once again. She dropped back onto the rough surface of the rooftop, her knees agonising from the impact on hard concrete against her skin, a feeling usually foreign when she was in her super suit. 

A heavy rattling sob became an echo of melancholy vibrating between rooftops. She couldn’t go on anymore. She couldn’t. She was done. She couldn’t breathe.

The rooftop was suddenly being coated in droplets of her sorrow, tiny pieces of anguish effortlessly falling on the ground without a care for ruining something previously untouched.

“I’m sorry.” She let out a sob. “I’m so sorry!” 

Laying her head in her open palms, she took the moment to be less than super, to feel everything that came with the grief of losing him, of not being able to save him. The memories she’d thought so little of passed through her mind in a film noir way. Times she should have done more, times she’d chosen to do less, times she’d taken him for granted. She wiggled her fingers wishing she could remember how he felt, his smooth skin and soft hair. But she’d failed. The gloves had always been in her way of really feeling him.

She could hear his voice echoing in her mind, words she longed to hear and would do anything for him to say again. The sweet distant call of him talking to ‘his Lady’. 

“Kitty,” she whimpered, an arm wrapping around her stomach as she held herself tightly. “Kitty!” Her voice was broken, every repeat of the word sounding foreign to herself. Was that really her voice? 

“M’Lady.” 

She heard it again. Chat Noir’s voice was clear in her ears, so concise; she was amazed she could remember it so distinctly. 

“Oh, Bug.” It was there again, this time closer. 

He was calling to her. 

“Bugaboo, come on!” 

She felt something on her hand, grasping it tightly. It felt so real, as did the hot breath on her neck. Almost as if he was here — with her.

Ladybug looked up, straight into the eyes of Chat Noir; her partner crouched down opposite her. 

“Are you really here?” she sobbed. “Is it really you?” 

A black, clawed hand stretched to her cheek, fitting perfectly against her chin as a cool thumb brushed away the tears gliding effortlessly down her face. He began to shush her, moving closer and using his other hand to claw through her hair.

“Real or not real?” she whispered, Chat Noir once again wiping away the tears on her face. One corner of his lips tugged upwards in that way she adored so much. 

“Real. I’m here. I’m back! You saved me.” 

With a trembling hand, she reached up and stroked over his face, tracing every part she could touch. She dragged her fingers around the edge of his mask, over his nose and cheeks before feeling the contour of his chin. It was all there. He was there. She completed the round once more, etching every single detail into her mind — positive she’d never forget the feeling of him again.

Launching herself into his arms, Ladybug cuddled him tightly, the sobs ripping through her body as her hands moved over his body. Threading in his hair and clawing at his back, before finding a home on his beating heart. The repeated consistency evening out her own.  

“You’re real!” she repeated, trembling before moving her arms and pulling him in closer. “You were dead!” she whimpered, everything shaking as she cried out the pain. “I felt you die!” 

He held her just as tightly, burying his nose into her hair as she continued to shake in his arms. A grasp that didn’t ease. Real.

“I’m here! I’m back. You saved me. You always save me.”

“You stopped breathing!” she said, gasping for her own breath as she continued to try and crawl at his skin. He was here. Her partner was here and she had never been more grateful for the power of the ladybugs. 

She continued to shake in his arms. 

He threaded his claws into her hair and gently loosened the ribbons freeing her hair and allowing him to massage her scalp. He placed his forehead against hers, brushing his nose delicately against hers.

“I’m breathing now. I’m here.” 

He moved forward and placed his lips against the corner of hers; a soft, electrifying kiss, which allowed the feeling of contentment to waterfall from her shoulders and release the tension she’d held so tightly. 

The night’s curtains began to draw, closing the brightness of day and leaving them with privacy amongst the stars, both interwoven as they soaked themself in the warmth of their love. 

“You love me?” Chat Noir whispered into Ladybug’s ear. “Real, or not real?” 

She pulled away from the hug, her hands clutching his and bringing them to her lips, a delicate kiss placed to each wrist. 

“Real.”

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against him, the solid feel of life beneath her. She loved him. She needed him. She wanted him.

Time didn’t record how long they stayed there, huddled tightly on the rooftop as they found solace in one another. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, even days or months, but it didn’t matter, because she was here, safe in his arms. And when she was here, with him, she could finally breathe again.

[startanewdream]

In which James and Lily Potter fall in love, defeat a dark lord, and rebuild the world (and how only one of these is true).

Written for the November @jilychallenge (@jilychallenge2023), for the prompts "a kiss to break the spell" + “Is that all I mean to you,” he/she laughs. Paired with @charmsandtealeaves!

“We need to tell them.”

Potter sighs. His fingers are itching over the bandages in his arms, even though he shouldn’t; Lily places her hand over his, impatient, and he stops.

“We cannot.” As she splutters angrily, he shakes his head. “Have you seen what they are calling our— it?”

Lily hadn’t; the assumption of the picture had been enough to render her speechless, but now she lets her gaze wander through the newspaper. Below the headline announcing the Dark Lord’s defeat, Lily finds the “official” explanation for their photo.

The true love’s kiss that defeated Voldemort.

Read it more on AO3

[andrea1717]

New story is online!

Written for Stucky Bingo Round Four: @stuckybingo Card: R4089 Square: B5 | Clones (Chapter 1)

Square: B3 | AU: Shrinkyclinks (Chapter 2)

Square: B1 | Legacy (Chapter 3) | completed |

for @cherriontop <3

(I created my whole cardddd!!)

Read The Games here.

[octo-blobs]

en... ki...

[whenthewallfell]

~ I Got Them Quarter Quell Blues ~

[stevebabey]

Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.

It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.

But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.

Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.

And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.

There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.

He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.

Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.

“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.

“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”

Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.

“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”

A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.

“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”

Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.

“Now is best.”

Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”

Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.

The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.

Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.

“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”

He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.

“What’s going on?”

Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.

“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”

To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”

Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.

Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.

“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.

Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.

“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”

There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.

“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”

The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.

Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”

Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”

Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.

“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.

“…Kissing.”

Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.

“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”

Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.

“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”

Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.

“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”

Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.

“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”

A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.

He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.

The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.

“Eddie—” He starts.

“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”

Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.

There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”

Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.

“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.

He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”

Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.

He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.

“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”

Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.

“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.

Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.

Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.

He can’t find one single ounce of regret.

next part.

[tonixe]

✿ good girl

`` a/n: this fic is inspired by princessbellecerise and sugerapplefairy, low-key reader being a little cute bimbo is living rent-free in my head like omg, like it's living in my brain.

warning: misogynistic coriolanus, smut, objectification, dumbification, creampie, spanking, bathroom sex, groping, kitchen sex, reader being a housewife, reader being a stupid little bimbo + nymphet.

pairing: coriolanus x bimbo!reader

word counter: 1.2k

ਏਓ ` Imagine being coriolanus stupid bimbo wife, it is easy to be with him. He gives you a stress-free, lavish life with money, expensive things, and jewelry. It was an easy choice for Coriolanus to pick you, you were attractive, with perfect curves sculpting on your petite body and dreamy tits propping up on your chest. It was easy to control your little empty head, he controlled what you do, money, and everything making sure your being a good little girl.

ਏਓ ` A good little housewife for him, you cook, clean for him, and wearing a cute light dress, and no panties or a bra underneath because you knew coriolanus hated not having easy access to you. Every time coriolanus came home, you were always awake, running a bath for him, but what would always happen would be him fucking you in the tub, soap suds covering your body. Your hands holding the sides of the bathtub, as he abused your cunt, mewls rolling off your tongue.

ਏਓ ` When coriolanus is stressed, you would always know what to do, taking his cock down your throat making you gag, tears pricking your waterline, moaning out. His hands force you down the shaft of his cock, facefucking you. Rolling your tongue at the tip of his cock, your lips bitten up, your mascara smudging your blushy cheeks, making eye contact with him as you took him whole.

ਏਓ ` he loves either making you swallow his cum or giving you a facial, his cock spurring cum onto your little cute face and your perky chest. On your knees like a whore for him, coated in his warm hot cum.

ਏਓ ` He loves groping your chest when he stressed, his rough hands twisting your delicate nubs making you squirm from his touch, clenching around nothing. Even fingering you, he enjoys dumbing you down, it stroked his ego. Your little screams and yelps, boosting his ego.

ਏਓ ` Your little play doll for him to change, shape, and form. He programs you to do things he wants, and you just nod your head at his words though you don't understand them, just giving him a smile on your lips. A sexual object for him to put his cock in and breed, as he spreads your legs apart, your delicate fingers already spreading your pussylips for him, ready to take his cock inside of you. Biting your lip, rolling your eyes as he plunges into you. Harsh comments slipped out of his mouth like 'Slut', 'whore' or 'Bitch' as he harshly fucked you, almost making you bleed.

ਏਓ ` When he's working on important papers for work, you would be his cocksleeve, his cock stuffed into your wet cunt. Slopping sounds coming from you, as he did his work. His cock bulging in your stomach, squirming around. Your cheeks being flushed, and your lips bitten up, all red. Your nipples poked out from the light fabric of the dress, whines coming out from your mouth and him just ignoring you as you tried to move but everytime he would purposely smack his pelvis into you, making you jolt.

ਏਓ ` Coriolanus loves to see his bimbo wife all dolled up in lingerie or short-dressed, making sure to order a bunch for you and giving you an extra amount of money to buy the special lingerie he likes. Bunch of reds, pink, and whites. All lacy, with bows, ribbons, some tights, and garters. Your body lying down on the bed, all dressed up for him to just ruin you.

ਏਓ ` Imagine being in the kitchen, making dinner for him and his hands just all over you, his lips on your neck, and him grinding on your ass. It was super hard for you to stay focused, trying to make him stop but you knew he wouldn't just for you to bend over, your dress flipped and fucked raw, his cock slipping in and out of you, your face on the cold porcelain counter.

ਏਓ ` He loves to edge you, slapping his cock onto your clit, watching you as you writhe being desperate to be filled.

ਏਓ ` He loves to punish you for stupid things just to emphasize his control over you, making sure you crawl on all fours, in your cami dress, while he sits on a red velvety couch, as you crawl to him looking up at him, with a sad expression, tears dripping down on your cheeks. You felt guilt about what you did, though you didn't know it yourself. Laying on your stomach, bent over on his lap. Your body was almost bare, just a light dress covering you. As he spanks you, your body jolts from the pain, fat tears dripping from your eyes, his hands slapping the plush of your ass. Your whines falling deaf on his ears.

ਏਓ ` When Coriolanus fucks he loves pulling by your hair, forcing you up as he plunges into you further, doggy style, his cock kissing your cervix deliciously. His finger slipped into your mouth, gagging your moans, being forced to breathe through your nose, his cock snapping into you.

ਏਓ `Coriolanus always track your cycle, making sure to cum into you a lot when your ovulating, so you'll be pumped with his warm cum burrowing into you further. He would love to see your stomach filled with cum, awaiting a baby. Your breast filled with milk, and your belly all round and big, even if you were pregnant he would still fuck you, just more gently, but still hard.

[atelierlili]

Modern AU where Katniss is a forest ranger that patrols the local woods until one day she comes across some guy cooking up a fucking 5 Michelin star meal in the wilderness and filming it for TikTok.

Peeta falls in love at first sight cause he think looks like some she’s some forest nymph with a voice of an Angel.

After that, they have weekly cookout where Peeta’s meals get even more elaborate and delicious because Katniss brings him fresh game.

[cosmicwhoreo]

Baked Alaska Cookie

because I have no self control-

BIO BELOW!

Make way for Commander Baked Alaska Cookie! For he leads the helm of all of House Custard's [admittedly small] battalion! Truly, a station to be revered by any cookie. Unfortunately... It would seem Alaska himself doesn't really revere the position himself, as he goes about his duties oftentimes drunk out of his mind. He also seems to enjoy messing with new recruits with random nonsense, games or ridiculous jobs to do for him. Likely just to see them run around, getting him his alcohol that he downs nearly every hour of the day... It had gotten so bad that Custard had even hired a Parole officer under the guise of security to keep the old buffoon in check. An officer he can be seen running and hiding from every now and then when he shouldn't be drinking. But don't mistake his disposition as a weakness... He is notably unnaturally strong when he feels like showing it off. And while he likes messing with his officers, he still cares for them on some level. Some rumors also go around saying the drunk stupor thing is an act to make sussing out bad actors and other such dishonesty much easier... BUT no one has anything concrete so-

[oceanview15]

[districtscare]

HAYMITCH ABERNATHY

the hunger games, suzanne collins #1 // kurt vonnegut, bluebeard // f. scott fitzgerald, the great gatsby // mockingjay, suzanne collins // last night i dreamt that somebody loved me, the smiths // alone again or, love

[mysticraven20]

Wip

Her feet tangled around themselves and caused her to stumble over the rooftop. The toe of one foot collided hard with the heel of the other, making her hop from one to another to keep her stability. The loss of balance had her colliding with the chimney, her shoulder scraping against the hard, rough brick as she continued to move forward. She had to keep moving.

The red swirl of Ladybug’s continued to dance around in the sky, circulating over her head; a promise of revival, a promise of luck. Her heart begged that the ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ worked the way it always did — rebuilding and reforming. She didn’t have time to stop and check, stopping would steal seconds from her — precious seconds she didn’t have.

Paris began to put itself back together. Growing and growing as buildings and monuments reposition themselves in their pride of place. Back to being important to the citizens of the city, but right now, none of these were important to her.

She hadn’t bothered to stop to check on the victim, or speak to Alya, as soon as the charm was launched she ran – fast, and with intent.

Taking a leap, she pushed herself from the rooftop straight onto the next, she could have been flying seeing as her feet didn’t truly connect to the solid ground. She had tunnel vision; a one track in mind.

[startanewdream]

In which James and Lily Potter fall in love, defeat a dark lord, and rebuild the world (and how only one of these is true).

One month before the first anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat, Dumbledore summons them to ask their opinion, as one might ask if it will rain tomorrow or not, how they feel about announcing their engagement to celebrate the date.

And just like if it will rain tomorrow or not, Lily knows their thoughts on the subject won’t really make any difference.

Chapter 2/4

[thefloatingwriter]

if you’re not writing beetee as morally gray you’re not writing him correctly.