#its so on the nose it makes me question if its intentional or not cause if its intentional OH BOY

[ryanthel0ser]

I haven't been able to rest because of this

[evieelyzabethh]

"lacy"

⭒"i see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear"⭒ Arcane characters when jealous {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞ slight angst but they all have a happy ending, kissing, and the usual stuff (slightly pervy Jayce)

♞Vi♞

♞Making Vi jealous is a terrible game. She is about that action and absolutely loves to fight, nothing beats that flow of adrenaline as she chases someone down to bash their face in. I feel like she would also get a bit mean. Jealousy is a nasty thing, it bites, and she bites back harder. The pit it creates in her stomach tries to swallow her whole and sometimes she wants to bring you down with her

♞She doesn't understand why you would want or need the attention of anyone else when you have her. Chiefly at the beginning of your relationship, it would cause a rift, intention or not. Vi doesn't have a proper education, she’s constantly guilt ridden about her childhood and her sister, she's broke, and an absolute hot mess. She's already constantly questioning why you're with her in the first place and the last thing she needs is some random coming up and flirting with you and you even bothering to dignify their presence with a response.

♞She would go dead silent, brushing you off for what feels like weeks, stewing in her increasingly negative thoughts. She doesn't even think you're cheating, but she feels like it's only a moment of time before you realize there's something better out there. Always the one to make the wrong decision, she pushes you away for a bit. She's very short with you, brushing off your attempts to make peace, playing a mean game to see if you're gonna give up on her so she can use it against you. This is definitely her biggest red flag.

It's dark and rainy out, rain pelting at the ground, seeping and sliding into its cracks to rehydrate the already soft foundation. It was supposed to be a calm night out at the Last Drop involving a few drinks to get Vi out of her current terrible mood, bookended by an unstable walk home as you both barely support each other under your weight and constant fit of giggles. Instead, Vi was a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved into her pockets, her head down rather than putting her hood up to keep her head dry from the rain. Every time you approach her, she slightly leans away. At first you thought it was an accident, maybe she was trying to avoid stepping on a rock or into a puddle, but after the umpteenth time it happens, the message becomes clear. She's avoiding you. As argumentative as she is, you may even be worse. "What the fuck is your, problem?", you bark, the alcohol in your veins curving the embarrassment of passersby clearly tuning into the argument they think is about to break out. "You've said some choice things and have been awfully rude these past few days, and I really don't appreciate it, Violet." But she doesn't have it in her to make a big scene. It's definitely the alcohol, because she's genuinely scared that if she starts a screaming match with you right now, she'll cry. She turns to you swiftly, hair dripping wet, stray dye rolling down her cheeks and down the slope of her nose. You had just dyed it together a few days ago, back before she decided to be mad at you for who knows what reason. "Look at me", she grabs your chin before you even get the chance to break eye contact with her. Petty, pissed, and unable to jerk your face out of her grip without giving yourself whiplash, you close your eyes. This pisses her off even more. "What, you don't have any more charity work left in you? You can giggle with what-his-face for hours, but you can't even look at your girlfriend?" That gets you to open your eyes, at first confused as to what the hell she was talking about then glittering with amusement that causes her to immediately let go and continue her fast paced walk back home. She isn't far enough to escape your light voice, cheery with the realization that you finally broke her down and occupied with what you think is the silliest thing in the world. "Oh, my gods, you're jealous about that guy from last night! Vi, you're so ridiculous, I don't even remember his name." And she is still teeming with anger, but that anger will dissipate soon after that last admission. Once you sober up, you don't find it as funny, but she's at your every beck and call trying to convince you it won't happen again.

♞After a little while together, she feels more stable in the relationship. Trust, she still gets jealous, but it usually looks like a smirk on her face before she pulls you into a heated kiss in front of whoever is bothering her. She makes a real show of it too, prying open your mouth to slip her tongue inside, her hands squeezing your sides and hiking up your dress, knee pressed firmly in between your legs. She continues long after the person leaves, before shrugging and sarcastically wondering where they possibly could've gone off to. You often scold her for this. You've never been to jail, and you'd hate to go for a public indecency charge.

★Ekko★

★Ekko doesn't really get jealous, like out of everyone I think he would get the least jealous so most of this section would be about his complete lack of jealousy. He doesn't believe in getting into relationships without trust first and it's because of this confident trust that he wouldn't get jealous. If anything, he wouldn't be jealous as in feeling like your relationship was in danger but jealous when it comes to your time. Like he would get slightly pouty if he felt like you were spending too much time with your friends, and it was significantly cutting out of your time together. Even then, he wouldn't really act on it.

★Ekko would be a "I don't care what my girlfriend wears, I can fight" kinda guy. Especially because he likes picking out your outfits, he does it with the intention of showing off the goods. He likes looking at you, he knows the world likes looking at you, he sees it as doing a favor to society. He is the first to tell you your tits look scrumptious in that top.

★Same concept with you being approached or flirted with. If they have the gall to do it in his direct presence, he has a great many words to say about it, but if he's watching it go down, he likes to watch it happen. He'll get involved as soon as he gets the feeling you are uncomfortable, but for the most part he sits amused a few feet away laughing at the glances you give him as the conversation goes on.

★I feel like if anyone was to get jealous, it would be you. Ekko spends a lot of time with a lot of different people which leaves space for certain people to not know that he's spoken for. I think he would be less aware of this than you. You are always at the forefront of his mind; he cannot fathom giving his attention to other people. Especially because he talks about you so often, he makes it quite clear that he is not single and when people choose to ignore that fact, he doesn't notice.

Warm light flitters into your shared room through half open blinds that reveal the orange and yellow that the blue sky had faded into. Ekko had just gotten home eager to strip down into some old, tattered tee shirt and some boxer shirts. Instead, he was met with a slightly agitated girlfriend, and he notices this immediately. He gives you space at first, greeting you at the door and asking you how you were and listening to your expectedly short answer. He only lasts a few minutes of this passive aggression before sliding beside you on the couch, sliding his arm around you and pulling you in close. You reluctantly lean in, trying to ignore how inviting he smells and how warm he feels. "Baby," he draws out, scooping you completely into his arms to straddling your thighs over his waist, his large palms remaining on your upper thigh. He's trying to whittle down your resolve and it is working. "Don't you wanna tell me what's wrong?" You rolled your eyes. "I've already told you what's wrong." He thinks it's cute that you're jealous. He likes the way your arms cross over your puffed chest, and you furrow your brow to try and appear serious but all you look like to him is a rabbit about to thump its foot. "And I have already told you, I am completely yours." It's cheesy and he knows it and he amps it up by scattering kiss all over your face, even as you try to evade his touch. "I don't doubt that, it's just..." He derails your sentences as his kisses move lower and his hands get more adventurous, exploring your upper thigh and the curve of your ass and the small of your back from underneath your shirt. "Hey!", you snap, "I'm being serious, Ekko." He pauses, withdrawing his hands to the fat of your hips and, reluctantly, his lips from your neck. "I'm listening, baby." "I've told you I don't know how many times that I do not like that girl. She is all over you." His mouth opens to try and protest, but you cut him off. "I can literally smell her perfume on you." He gets slightly defensive at this. "You don't think I'm cheating on you, do you?" A look of hurt flashes across his eyes. "Of course, I don't, Ekko. I'm not questioning you; I'm questioning her. I know she knows we're together and she just doesn't care, and you don't shut it down. Why else do you think she kept you out this late? What were you two doing?" Nothing. A whole lot of nothing, actually. The girl you were referring to, Thalara, had been a topic of conversation before. She was new to the commune, which landed her the benefit of the doubt with you, but it's been months now and she still hasn't laid off. Ekko, ever trusting of his people, never assumed malintent, but you saw right through her. You cup his head in between your hands, looking him in his eyes to make sure that the message is clear. "I love you, and I'm not mad at you, but she's pissing me off. You need to make it very clear that she needs to leave you alone or I will send the message for you." And you meant that. He makes it very clear to her the next day that he has absolutely no interest and comes back to you the next day beaming in accomplishment.

★Jealous you turns him on so incredibly much. Whatever you say goes, he is not one to turn you down when you're in a jealous mood.

❂Jayce❂

❂I feel like you would both get jealous, but he would get far more jealous than you do. While he is far from someone who would tell you to change what you're wearing, he does try and tag along with you when you're wearing something low cut. Like babe, what do you mean you don't want him to join girls night? Are you sure you're not cold?? You must be cold; your ass is hanging out, why won't you take his jacket?? Please take his jacket!!! Because of this he walks behind you, making it much harder for those undeserving to stare at you like he does.

❂While he loves showing you off at fancy events, ain't shit funny if you look too good. If you're lucky enough to make it out the house on time (he insists on helping you zip up but then gets confused which way zippers go), being there is a struggle. He likes staring at you and did not have the forethought to think other people would enjoy staring at you too. Let someone make a comment too, he is glued to your hip for the rest of the night.

He waits anxiously for the stupid gala to be over. Had he been more of a drinker, he would've been content to have a few glasses of the fancy champagne they brought around, but he hates the ethanol aftertaste it leaves behind and that is the last thing he needed after already feeling nauseous. He was trying so hard for you, he knew he had to give you your space, and he knew you were excited to go out to his Hextech showcase to show your support. He's being bitter and he hates it, he hates biting his tongue while watching you giggle with a councilman and the fact that he feels like a petulant child watching some other kid play with his toy He's been getting better with his jealousy, honest! That's why he's self-aware enough to know that his urge to go after you, sling you over his shoulder, and carry you home himself is childsh and silly and that you would chastise him over it as he looked at you like a kicked puppy. Gods, this was stupid. But he puts a smile on his face anyway, making his way over to you from the balcony he was just standing on, and sliding his hand on your shoulder. You look over at him, startled for a second, but relax when you see his amber eyes and slightly gapped smile. And then you say the magic words. "Oh, I was just about to go looking for you. Are you ready to go?" He cannot say yes fast enough. After he has you all to himself, he is insatiable, kissing you deeply as soon as you step foot in the carriage taking you home, losing balance and nearly sending you both toppling onto the floor of the moving vehicle. The seats are awkward and not long enough to properly lay you down, but he's too desperate to care about the discomfort, his hand cradling the back of your neck to make sure you are as comfortable as you can be. He's ruthless, the force of his kisses knocking the breath out of you and you can never catch up. You're almost dizzy, his desperate whispers nearly going through one ear and out the other. "You love me, right? Me and only me? You don't need anyone else.", and he's trying to find your zipper again, but his hands are clumsy and cold, and it only serves to arch your back further into him, not that he's complaining. When you do come to your senses, you giggle, running your nails through his hair as he looks up at you with wide eyes. "How long have you been holding that in." He looks at you sheepishly, fighting the urge to hide his embarrassment in the crook of your neck. "All night." You shake your head at his ridiculousness, pulling him in for a slower kiss, properly savoring the moment, before pulled away to peck his nose. "You are the only one for me, handsome, I don't know how many times I have to say it." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "A few more times wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes and ask if he wants a collar, and he does not look as adverse as you expected.

❂He is so incredibly unhinged when it comes to jealousy. He doesn't act on it, but his mind goes to wild places. In a modern AU, if you dare not reply to a text in ten minutes he's asking, "What position he got you in?" Even worse, he knows he's being senseless, it's his way of asking for reassurance in a joking way. It's so absurd, you don't take him seriously which slightly frustrates him because he wants you to reaffirm him on what he already knows.

❂He gets really pouty when jealous too. He'll usually try and thrust himself into his work to occupy his mind and get it back to a rational place. Viktor calls you immediately because he ends up talking to him about it and he thinks the entire ordeal is unreasonable and doesn't have time to be asked at the ass crack of dawn "I know she loves me, but what if (insert insane scenario here)." He is a chronic overthinker and sometimes you just have to shut his brain off.

☽Viktor☾

☽Viktor is another one who doesn't get super jealous, but when he does, it usually stems from insecurities surrounding his leg. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes, especially as his condition gets worse, he gets frustrated that he can't do the things as easy as he used to be able to. However, he is entirely too proud to admit it or act on it. You probably wouldn't even notice, to be honest, and he wouldn't want you to.

☽I think he would absolutely throw himself into work when jealous. He's already at the lab damn near day and night, but unlike usual when he'll try for conversation here and there and be more lively, he's throwing himself into it out of necessity. It is one of his pride and joys, when his ego takes a hit, work is his refuge. This, of course, hardly ever works because he does not get good work done when it's being forced. He'll usually end up staring at the photo he keeps of you at your desk and feel lonely.

☽He'll invite you around to his lab more, though he is uncharacteristically stiff and rigid. He's trying too hard to focus but he just can't. His leg is tapping furiously beneath the table, he's biting the inside of his cheek, his hand is running through his hair every couple minutes. Things just aren't computing like how he wants them to and he hates it. His pride is a double-edged sword here, jealously is Jayce's thing. He thinks he is leagues above it and he gets frustrated with himself when he feels that green sickness in his heart.

☽He would be the type to address it head on. Once again, he's very analytical. He will tell you what exactly got him upset, why exactly it upset him, be very clear that he isn't blaming or upset at you, and silently hope you go overboard with affection for the next few weeks for the sake of his ego. After he does, he likes to ignore it even happened. Him? Jealous? You must have him confused with another ridiculously attractive, impaired, Czech-accented man. Jealous isn't even in his very extensive vocabulary, he has no idea when or why you dreamed of this completely fictitious scenario. He wouldn't try and gaslight you that it never happened, but he is petty enough to get selective hearing when it comes to mentions of it

For the first time since...ever, Viktor is home before the sun goes down. To say it catches you off guard is an understatement, so unused to the doorknob jiggling before the wee hours of the morning, you had a knife in your hand before you heard his keys in the door. You had been making dinner, and the smell alone makes his heart skip a beat. He hardly ever gets a warm dinner and for a minute, he deeply regrets being in his lab all the time. He slides off his shoes and loosens his tie as he pads over to you in the kitchen, wrapping one hand around your waist and the other gripping the counter for support. "You're home early.", you chirp, turning around to face him to peck his lips. "I was just making dinner, you want a taste?" Though he would never say no to that, you already have the spoon to his lips with a hand under to catch anything that might fall before he can even answer. He indulges, of course, and as the warm liquid soothes his throat, he hates that lab even more. Soup is one thing; but warm soup is to die for. "It's delicious, tchotchke." You smile as you turn back around. "Any reason you're home so early." He looks back the new ceiling fan you called Jayce over to put up and lets out a sardonic chuckle. He understands why you called him; he'd need to get on a ladder to put it up and have to abandon his cane for however long it took to hold the thing up and take care of the wiring. He wouldn't be able to balance himself and if he came down, the fan was coming down with him, probably on top of him. And yet, he still would've rather done it himself than you call Jayce to do it. "Yes, but it's admittedly a very stupid reason." You cannot fathom this. You remove the pot from the stove and onto a folded cloth on your counter and desert the stove. "Did something happen?" And he can't handle the look of concern on your face over something he knows to be trivial. "It's just that..." when he realizes he can't put it off any longer, he sighs. "I got jealous of Jayce." Had it not been for the serious look on your face, you would've burst into laughter. Those words had never fallen out of his mouth in that order before. "I know it's absurd, but it started when he put the fan up and it bothered me more than it should. I don't like that there are some things I can't do around the house, and it's been this way my whole life, but it's different with him. He's just always "the guy" and I hate the thought of him being "the guy" to you. It's irrational and a leap in logic, I know, but I hate it." And even better than pity, you just smile at him. In a way it's better that you want to laugh at him, he wants to laugh at him too. The thought of Jayce replacing him is maybe even more of an impossibility for you than it is for him. "So, next time I should just call a guy." He chuckles. "Yes, please."

☼Mel☼

☼I feel like she would be very calm about her jealousy, but also have a slight inclination to anger, albeit a silent one. She doesn't fear the betrayal of a potential cheating, but rather the embarrassment. If she were to see you get too chummy with someone, rather than approach you, she would watch from afar to see what you'd do. This is also a big reason why she usually doesn't take action herself; you never disappoint her when it comes to letting people know you're taken.

☼She is a bit clingier when jealous, but more than that she would insist on doing more couple things together. If she feels it is not known enough, she will make it known that the two of you are together. This often means gifts like expensive jewelry that only she could afford you, a new outfit that conveniently matches with one of hers, or even just letting you borrow bags or earrings of hers. It's her way of scenting you almost. She's too classy to try and "stake her claim" in a more showy way, so she does it in a more inconspicuous way.

Waking up alone wasn't something you were completely unused to. Mel was a very busy woman, and you were content with the nights you had together and rare mornings. These mornings were made extra bearable when you woke to a box on your nightstand, wrapped in a silk ribbon with a note in your girlfriend's handwriting slipped under the bow. 'From my heart, to my darling', it read, a lipstick mark beneath where she had signed her name with an elegant flick of her wrist. Perhaps just as eager to be opened as you were to open it, the ribbon fell loose as you gently picked up the box. It was too small to be a dress and too large to be a ring but large enough to contain maybe a fancy watch or a necklace, but judging by her unusually clingy demeanor last night, you had a feeling you could pretty accurately guess what was inside the ornate jewelry box. Unsurprisingly, within it lay a gold and pearl necklace, pearls that must’ve been rare due to their black hue rather than their usually pale pearlescent coloring.  The chain felt light in your hand, the heaviest part sinking into your palm as you stared at. Your first initial and an M. No matter which way it was taken, the M to be her first name or her last, the possessive message was clear, not that you minded. Mels smile was bright when she saw you for the first time that day, and even brighter when she saw what decorated your neck. She excused herself from the councilmember she was talking to before walking over to you, practically gliding on air. She takes your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist then your knuckles then pulls you by your hand into her. "I take it you're enjoying your gift?" Your hand still in hers, she spins you, taking you in at all angles for the first time that day. "It's beautiful, but I can't help but wonder what inspired the decision." She knows you know exactly how she works, and she doesn't mind admitting she's jealous. "Am I wrong to give my pretty girl a gift?", she says, mocking the comment you received last night. She rolls her eyes and her face gives away her impending rant. "Am I wrong to give a pretty girl a compliment? I still can't believe he said that to you last night. He only did it to piss me off, you know." You bite your lip to hide your laughter, but it eventually slips from you. "I hope I'm more entertaining than Salo was last night." She can't even feign annoyance, not with the sound of your laughter filling her ears and her name around your neck. She laughs herself, with how much the two of you talk shit about the man, you'd think anything he did could never affect her, but she had been biting her tongue since last night. "Shall I list to you all the ways you're better than Salo?" She waves the idea off nonchalantly. "No, my darling, I should hope I never need an ego boost that desperately."

☼You would definitely get jealous far more often than she does. She's gorgeous, smart, well spoken, rich and affluent, and perfection embodied in a person, there is much to be jealous of. Especially as someone who is on the council where part of the job is being great at sweet talk, I feel like you would get your feelings hurt sometimes. You catch more flies with honey, and she may be the sweetest honey there is. She does tease you for your jealousy though, she finds it utterly adorable.

☼She wouldn't allow you to be jealous long. She is very good at reading you and your emotions, she seems to always know exactly how you're feeling. You couldn't even hide it from her if you tried, she'll always find a way to corner you and help you talk your feelings through. She tries very hard to make sure that you can never question who she loves the most.  

[fairy-angel222]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—how they breed you when you make them jealous

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎, 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈, 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: smut, degradation, praise, breeding, baby trapping, mean doms, choking, exhibitionism, hair pulling, rough sex, spit, daddy kink, hair pulling, somnophilia

✮ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

What the fuck did you think you were doing? Gojo seethed to himself. Who the fuck were you with and why were his hands on you. What would seem to be a normal friendly hug had blue eyes glaring at you through the cafe’s window.

Gojo plastered on a fake smile, the bell ringing as he walked through the door. You looked up with a wide smile, “baby.” Gojo’s eye twitched as the man behind you smiled too, “Hey man, Y/n’s told me so much about you.”

You frowned as your boyfriend took the man’s hand in a bruising grip, giving it an unnecessarily hard shake. “And you are?” He questioned, forcing himself to keep up the nice guy act.

“Oh, i’m Haru, an old friend of y/n’s” Gojo scoffed internally, his arm making its way around your waist. “Well, Haru, we’ve got to go now,”

Waving bye to your friend, you bit your lip as you looked up at the white haired man, “are you mad?” Gojo scoffed, “Nope.. not at all.”

A lie.

You found yourself sprawled out on the back seat of Gojo’s car in the parking lot for anyone to see. Your legs were spread up in the air as Gojo took his anger out on your cunt.

Your eyes were wet with tears as your boyfriend hammered into you. “How many times do i have to fucking tell you, hmm baby?” He scowled. “How do I get it in your dumb little brain that you’re mine.”

Gojo’s bright eyes darkened as he sped up his pace, thick cock ramming into your g spot with every thrust. Your boobs bounced as your body rocked with his hips, the entire vehicle being moved from side to side.

“Gonna have to fuck a baby into you to drill it in your head.” He grunted, not slowing the movement of his hips until you were shaking for him. Your eyes blurry with tears as small ‘m sorry’s left your mouth

“Good. You should be. Show me you’re really sorry and take it yeah? Take it nice and deep.” he groaned, hips rolling roughly into yours.

Small babbles and hiccups echoed throughout the small car, your hand gripping tightly onto the side of the seat as your orgasm washed over you. “F-fuck,” you moaned, pussy tightening around him as you creamed.

Gojo smirked, bottoming out inside you as his eyes met yours, slender fingers pushing themselves past your lips and resting at the back of your tongue. “Gonna fill you up kay baby? Gonna let everyone know that you’re my little slut only.” he growled.

You shook your head in protest, your little waits muffled by his fingers. Gojo cursed, his eyes never leaving yours as he bred you deep. “There we go, gonna look so pretty carrying my baby.”

Your eyes widened when you heard a throat clear awkwardly. Scurrying to cover up but being held down by your boyfriend instead. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you looked up to find Haru.

“U-uhm.. you f-forgot your sweater y/n.” His cheeks were beat red and his dick was strained against his pants. Never in a million years would he expect to see you like this.

Gojo grinned as he looked at the male, slowly pulling out of you to give your friend a sight of his cum leaking out of your swollen pussy. Haru’s breath hitched and Gojo’s head tilted. “Like what you see? Too bad you’ll never have it cause it’s mine.”

✮ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

Silently watches as you innocently entertain two guys who were clearly flirting with you. How stupid could you possibly be. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Nanami sighed. Did he always have to remind you that you belonged to him? You should have known that by now.

And you most certainly should have known that no man ever has innocent intentions. Getting up, Nanami walked up to you with a face void of any emotion. Tapping you twice on your back to indicate that it was time to go. You even had the audacity to tell the two men bye in your sickly sweet voice.

The ride home was silent.

You kept trying to strike up conversation but pouted when all you got in return were uninterested hums and nods. “Kentooo,” you whined. “Why won’t you talk to me?” you frowned. Your boyfriend simply glanced at you and scoffed. Watching as you rest your head against the car door and let your eyes close shut.

You woke up with a small whimper, soft moans falling past your lips. You felt so good, your pussy clenching around.. a cock?

Your eyes shot open to find Nanami in between your held up legs. His eyes dark as he hammered into you. His thick, veiny cock abusing your g spot as it fucked into your abdomen.

A loud mewl left your mouth as Nanami’s hand made its way around your neck. You felt so full, his cock stretching you out and forcing you to take him deep. Entire ten inches reaching deep within your belly. “K-kento.. so deep.” you whined.

Nanami grunted, tightening his grip on your neck to bully his entire cock into you. “I’m gonna fuck a baby into you, let you know who you who you fucking belong to.” He groaned, looking deep into your eyes with a glare.

You whimpered loudly, eyes blurry with tears as he fucked you dumb. “Nngh, ‘m cumming Kento, ‘m cumming so hard,” you sobbed, toes curling as you babbled out his name.

Nanami scowled as the thought of you with another man crossed his mind, his grip becoming a bruising one as he snapped his hips into yours at an unforgiving pace. “Fucking take it baby. This is exactly what you needed. Get it through your dumb head that you have an owner.” he spat, watching as you shook uncontrollably underneath him.

Screaming loudly as your body was rocked with his thrusts. Nanami groaned at the way you began to squirt, threatening to push his cock out at the mere pressure.

Stilling inside you, Nanami let his hot ropes of cum coat your insides. His hand around your neck finally loosening as he kept his cock plugged into your sopping cunt. You were his. Now you would have the stomach to show it.

✮ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Watches with a smile as you dance. Taking note of all the men that were eyeing you like food. Eyeing you like you weren’t already owned. He was sat on the club’s couch with his legs crossed, arms spread out along the chair’s backrest and head tilted with a smirk. His eyes roamed his waist, his hips, and his ass. Every part of you was his.

And you knew that, you were just so oblivious to all the hungry stares directed at you. Toji stalks tall towards you. Towering over your figure and nodding towards the exit. Understanding that it was time to leave, you made your way outside to wait for your boyfriend in his vehicle.

Five minutes passed and you frowned in worry. Where was he? Your thoughts were cut off by the driver’s car door slamming shut. Toji using a rag to wipe blood off his bruised knuckles.

“Toji-” before you could open your mouth to speak, you received a warning glance from your boyfriend to keep your mouth shut. You swallowed hard, wondering what the hell your boyfriend had gotten into. Especially since he was smiling like a maniac as he drove.

At home, you found yourself on your hands and knees, loud moans and mewls spilling past your plump, drool filled lips.

Toji’s thick cock pounded into you hard. His hips snapping roughly into yours. Rough hands held your hips in a bruising grip, his cock forcing its way deep into your tight hole and ramming into your g spot with each movement.

You let out a loud cry, the flesh of your ass shaking with each contact. “F-fuck— d-daddy, nngh, feels so good,” you whined, a yelp leaving your mouth as you were yanked up by your hair. Your back flat against his chest allowing him to fuck you even deeper.

Toji had one hand tangled in your hair, the other held your throat. Your whimpers and moans echoing in the small room as your pussy squelched lewdly. Toji’s smirk never faltered, kissing up your neck and to your ear.

You clenched hard when he groaned softly, deep voice rasping in your ear “Fuck you’re taking daddy so good, gonna fill you up with another Fushiguro hmm? Gonna look so hot all round and swollen with my son. Your tits leaking with milk for daddy to take care of you. Does my little slut want that?”

You whimpered loudly at his words, clenching down on his cock as heat built up in your stomach. “Mhm, wanna feel you deep. Wan’ carry your baby so bad.” you mewled. Eyes rolling back as Toji rolled his hips up into yours.

Toji brought his teeth down on your skin hard, nearly drawing blood as you moaned. Pulling your head back even further, Toji leaned down to press his lips against yours, sloppily swallowing your moans before pulling away with a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Your mouth hung open in short pants, your boyfriend letting a thick glob of his spit fall onto your tongue. “Fuck, gonna show all these assholes that you’re mine yeah? They probably won’t even live to see it.” You let out a silent scream, feeling Toji’s cock absolutely destroying your gummy walls.

“O-oh fuck, d-daddy, ahh,” you moaned, body trembling as you reached your orgasm. “Gonna cum, fuck, gon’ cum on your cock.” Little incoherent chants of his name falling past your lips.

“Cum f’me baby, make a fucking mess.” He groaned, tightening his hold on your neck as your slick dripped down his cock with one final cry. “There we go,” he grunted, thrusts getting sloppy as he buried himself deep inside you, ropes after ropes of sticky cum painting your guts white.

Your knees felt weak as you came down from your high. Eyes fluttering closed as you steadied your breathing.

“Now, who do you belong to, baby?”

“You.. i belong to you,”

“Good girl. Might even keep my cock in you so that you don’t spill any of daddy’s cum.” He chuckled, knowing full well that he was being serious.

[xo-codbby]

werewolf!simon x reader 🖤

18+, mdni, sex n the whole lot lolz. first time writing werewolf smut, forgive any mistakes 🫡🫣

"you touch yourself while i was gone, bunny?"

the question had been innocent enough but the way he had you under him in the bed made you shiver in anticipation, body trembling in pure pleasure. deft fingers pry your thighs open, two thick fingers dragging along your slick slit, collecting the honeyed essence on the tips of his fingers. a dark chuckle rolling off his tongue as his hums softly in satisfaction, dark brown eyes burning into yours before your taste dance along his tongue. he lets out a satisfied groan, a thick sound erupting deep from his chest as you watch his face darken in pure lust and love.

his broad frame shivers in delight but this time he has to restrain himself, its already so hard when his cock is aching for some relief. he bends slightly, his tongue trailing up the hollow of your neck as he growls softly collecting your taste to hold close.

"needy for me already, hm? didn't do a thing yet" he blows softly across your waiting cunt, his smile peeking through when he sees your poor neglected pussy twitch just for him. you don't even get to answer before you feel his thick finger slip deep inside you, slowly working and stretching you open. he's absolutely mesmerised by the sight, intently watching how your greedy pussy swallows his finger, revelling in the soft whimper you let out as he goes deeper.

"so tight for me, love. bet your little fingers couldn't stretch you out the way i can, huh?" he slides in another, soaking up the way you cried softly clenching desperately around his thick digits already so overstimulated from not being able to have any relief

"none of tears now, quit that crying baby" he coos softly, his face bending slightly as his nose brushes against your clit making you buck your hips

"feels s'good si" you murmur breathlessly trying to rock your hips against his hand only causing him to chuckle, gently tutting his tongue. he only lets his fingers do the work, curling upwards making you groan softly. you knew he was still pissed from earlier, back when he saw a recruit around you. it was bad enough he agitated from the loss of the mission but seeing you give a hug to the other man had set him off and you found yourself in his barracks with him reminding you just who owned you like this

"wonder if that bastard thinks he could get you like this" simon hissed out softly, retracting his fingers looking at your flushed face. the sight makes him so possessive, he's half determined just to fuck you in front of the recruit so he knows not to mess with his woman. but the other half is too selfish, not wanting to share with another man just how pretty you sound.

"si pleas-" your sentence gets cut off with a moan as he finally gives in, big hands wrapped around your thighs his thick tongue lapping against your opening before splitting you open drinking up your slick. it's all too much and not enough, he's mindful not to hurt you but the urge to claim you only grows higher. his hips rut against the mattress desperately, grunting into your cunt as he sucks on your clit

he doesn't let up his assault between your legs, the beast in him not satisfied even as his teeth scraped your skin gently leaving soft bruises against your skin. he usually would've let you cum a few times on his hands before he works you on his knot but tonight he feels needy, feels agitated still at the other man who had his filthy hands all over you

you were right on the edge, every nerve in your body set ablaze by the man between your legs. your body curls as he draws out your orgasm but he doesn't let you cum, not just yet anyway. he manhandles your body, pulling you up against his chest as the other shreds his trousers off shrugging them somewhere in the depths of the room

"mine. you're fucking mine, you understand that don't you?" every word is enunciated with a soft kiss as you nod quickly hands grasping on his chest feeling the muscles twitch under your touch eliciting a soft growl from his throat. you feel the head of his cock against your entrance as you gasp softly, legs shaking slightly as you breathe shakily

"it won't fit-" "i'll make it fucking fit, love"

the last bit of his resolve shatters, completely driven by his innate instinct to satisfy you. to mate you, to claim you. he roughly grabs you by your hips, lining himself up before pushing deep inside you, stretching you open and laying you bare. your walls hugged around his weeping cock, aching with pure need as he pulls you further on him.

his calloused hands smooth over your body, across your skin reverently for his own peace of mind that you really were in his arms. he adores how easily you seem to fall apart in his grasp, his thumb grazing over your nipples enjoying how you pressed up against him

he thrusts back into your needy cunt, feeling him twitch and pulse inside you as you moaned softly in his arms. barely able to support yourself as he holds you caging you between his muscles and the bed. desperately rutting himself into you to prove to you how devoted he was, how he was yours just as much as you were his.

"look how pretty y'look sucking up my cock, lovie. s'fuckin gorgeous" he pants, words slurred completely drunk on your taste and feel of you. completely lost in the way your warm walls flutter around him, coaxing him to drive further into you. it had been days since he wwas able to have you and now that he was nearing the months where he'd go into heat, he found it hard to compose himself like he usually could

"m'gonna cum baby" he moans causing you to cling onto him, both of you lost in ecstasy. his senses are in overdrive, hips sloppily moving as he captures your lips against his groaning at the taste of you. you can feel him grow needy, stretching you over his thick knot that was already swelling. his release on the cusp but he refused to let go until you were with him, until you were properly claimed

"need to cum" you whimper back and it's only when your ankles loop around his back that he loses his composure, rutting into you like the depraved animal he was. he drives you closer, deeper, your senses completely overpowered just as his were

with one last deep thrust, ghost pushes his knot burying it deep inside you both as he sends the pair of you over the edge. it's thicker than you remember, bigger than you thought but somehow he managed to make it fit like he promised. he spills into you, not willing to let you come down from your high as he humps into you. a soft groan as his face settles in the crook of your neck, stroking your back softly his hands steadying your waist his cock trying to bury deep inside your willing hole.

"y'did so good f'me lovie" he kisses your skin, gazing down at you with pure adoration you've never been loved so tenderly like this before. there you were sprawled out on his knot, in his arms, against him safe and sound. he might've been a beast to others, untamed and unrule but to you he was your simon. your sweet man who'd maim and kill for you

"i love you" your voice is so soft, you both weren't going anywhere tonight. he needed this just as much as you did, your body against his as he lazily tugs the covers around you both pressing soft kisses up your neck and cheek.

"i love you" he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, settling down once more as he pulled you close to his chest. the soft beat of his heart lulling you asleep, his warmth better than any blanket could provide you with. you know deep down its only a matter of time before you both go af it again but until then you rest up, cuddling close to the man you loved deeply more than anything.

i kinda gave up halfway through this LMAO my bad hope you enjoyed !

[arcielee]

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses​. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for being so kind to read this over! Series:  Call It Dreaming 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt. 

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon. 

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to. 

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance. 

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.  

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?” 

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction. 

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.  

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.” 

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear. 

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction. 

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention. 

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric. 

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver. 

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation. 

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple. 

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other. 

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval. 

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away. 

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question. 

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.” 

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again,  it was more a statement than a question. 

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear. 

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you. 

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.  

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body. 

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck. 

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare. 

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin. 

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.” 

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.” 

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you. 

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss. 

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way. 

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair. 

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright. 

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt. 

[discoscoob]

｡･ﾟﾟ･ ECHOS

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚ Ted Logan x Reader ִ

Synopsis: you struggle with the feelings you harbour for your childhood best friend as you watch him fall in love with someone else. 1.5k words.

Tags: childhood friends . unrequited love . angst .

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚

“Me and Bill are going to ask the princesses to marry us.”

“Bill and I-“ you start to correct him until his words actually sink in your brain and you realise with dread what he said. “Wait what?!”

“Uh… Bill… and I… are going to ask the princesses to marry us.” Ted repeats, this time cautiously correcting his grammar, his brows furrowing slightly over his puppy eyes.

You feel the air leaving your lungs as a black and twisting viper slowly coiled in your chest, tightening its grip with every passing beat of your heart. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head in the deepest depths of your stomach, leaving a rotten feeling inside your guts.

“Why?” the word dashes out your mouth before you can gather the sense to stop it and feign a more congratulatory response.

Ted appears caught off guard by your reaction, stumbling slightly to find the right response.

He hadn’t expected to be questioned for his motives, he had assumed you would be happy and congratulate him. As always, he is completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

In the end, that signature smile that you love graced his lips, as it always did when he was certain he found the right answer.

“We love them.”

Ted isn’t the type of person to ever intentionally hurt anyone, he possesses the purest heart you’ve ever known, and yet his words strike you like a punch to the gut.

The only thing that offered you some semblance of relief is the fact he said ‘we’ and ‘them’ rather than ‘I’ and ‘her,’ the latter would have felt like he was telling you that he was going to abandon you in favour of Elizabeth, even though you knew that was not his intention.

“Oh… that’s as good a reason as any!” you finally chirp with a half hearted chuckle, slipping on your mask with a rehearsed smile while you gently sooth yourself by stroking your palms over your thighs.

You clear your throat as you abruptly stand up and throw your bag over your shoulder, earning a confused frown from Ted, puzzled by your haste, as he follows your swift movements with his deep brown doe eyes from under his furrowed brows.

“Hey… you okay?” his soft and gentle voice is laced with genuine concern, which only makes your heart clench harder. He cares so deeply and yet is so oblivious to the feelings you harbour for him.

“Me? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you frantically try to squash any hint of concern Ted might have for your wellbeing and put on a nonchalant act as you head for the door.

“I’m just so swamped with heaps work to get through for college, I’m going to spend the rest of the night in the library.” this excuse for your urgent exit is enough to earn a grimace from your childhood friend.

“You’re going to spend the whole night at the library? Totally bogus. I hate that place.” Ted’s nose wrinkles like he just ate something sour while still following you to the door.

“Well we can’t all be rockstars.” you teasingly roll your eyes with no real bite, as you finally reach the door where you hesitate for a moment to take a breath, close your eyes and collect yourself.

You feel guilty for causing Ted concern and don’t want to leave him with any lingering feelings of confusion or doubt about your state. You force your usual cheery smile, as you turn around and wrap your arms around his lanky frame.

“I’ll see you later, Ted.” you speak into his shoulder as he encompasses you in his embrace, folding his taller frame around yours and leaning down to snuggle his head against your shoulder. Ted always gives the best hugs.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

As you walk home, you begin to reminisce about your friendship with Ted. You first met in elementary school, he and Bill were already friends but they weren’t exactly the most popular kids in school and would often fall victim to the bullying and teasing from the other children.

Your friendship began when you defended them on the schoolyard one day by spilling your juice box on one of their bullies pants to make it look like they had wet themselves, diverting all the teasing and bullying away from Bill and Ted and onto the bully. Ever since that day the three of you have been inseparable.

By the time you were juniors in high school, your feelings for Ted began to change as you started developing a crush on your childhood friend. These feelings were strange and unfamiliar but you were certain they would be fleeting and dissolve as quickly as they developed but overtime as you expected them to fade, they only intensified.

It was around that time Ted started showing an interest in other girls and even asked Missy, a senior, to prom. Missy had politely declined Ted’s request, later you would find out she was into much older men, but that’s a whole different story.

You remember how Bill tried to cheer Ted up by suggesting that they could always go to prom with you and even though it wasn’t intentional on Bill’s part, it left you feeling like a consolation prize, a reminder that you would never be Ted’s first choice.

In the end, the pair had ended up attending the JS prom with you. Ted had spent most the night sulking in the corner, glaring daggers at the jock who Missy attended the prom with while Bill was the one you ended up sharing a dance with.

It was during senior year that you decided that you were determined to try and find the strength to come clean about your feelings towards Ted. You had rehearsed the speech countless times in front of the mirror until the words were branded into your mind and flowed off your tongue as effortlessly as the lyrics to your favourite song.

Before you could pluck up the courage to confess your feelings to Ted, he became captivated by the princesses from medieval England and at the time you had ignorantly assured yourself they were nothing to worry about because there was no way Bill and Ted could bring them back to live permanently in modern day San Dimas, right? You had been certain it was nothing but a minor set back, simply the universe giving you a kick up the ass to share your feelings sooner rather than later.

You were confident you had dodged a bullet, that the princesses would remain in medieval England and you focused your efforts on your plan to make Ted finally see you as more than just his childhood friend.

In your mind, while you picked out the perfect dress for prom, you had imagined it would be just like the movies. A gentle song would be playing as you walk into the gym hall and Ted’s eyes would immediately catch your figure while a soft spotlight would shine on you just right and Ted would finally realise what had been right under his nose this whole time.

He would stride across the hall, his eyes never leaving yours while pushing through the crowd with determination, desperate to tell you how breathtaking you look, with that besotted look all over his face, before he would offer you his hand and lead you into a dance.

While in his arms, gently swaying to a romantic ballad and feeling as though you were the only people in the room, you would confess that you have been hiding your feelings from him and he would call himself a fool for failing to see that you were the one for him this whole time.

In reality it went a bit different.

You had stepped into the gym hall, smoothing out the creases in your dress with your palms as your eyes eagerly wandered over the crowd in search for a certain head of messy brown locks. Once you caught sight of him, you immediately noticed the besotted look on his face, just like the one from your dreams, however it wasn’t directed towards you. Held in his embrace was one of the princesses from medieval England, his arms were wrapped around her waist as he gazed down upon her with a dreamy smile that you could only imagine being on the receiving end of.

You had quickly rushed straight back out the gym hall and walked all the way back home, where you had spent the rest of your night locked in your room, crying over the heartache of your unrequited love.

Much like tonight, except this time there are no tears left to cry, as you continue your journey home under the night sky imaging how different your life could have turned out if you had just had the courage to open up to Ted about your feelings instead of being a coward. Perhaps he would have rejected you but at least that would have given you some closure knowing you never stood a chance. Not knowing ate you up inside, leaving you constantly wondering if there was a universe where you and Ted belonged together.

⋆｡°✩ note: if you made it this far thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. ᥫ᭡

[ace-of-gay]

Tiny for today

Loki x little! reader

Warnings: age regression, little names like baby, tiny. Caregiver name like daddy, (i think thats honestly the only one)

Items like stuffies and paci, bottle. Reader regresses to newborn headspace

No weight, skin color, or gender mentioned.

Age regression is a coping mechanism if you dont like it please dont read it or educate yourself on the topic but please be respectful

Any hate will be deleted

Waking up doe eyed and deep in your headspace, loki knows immediately just from the glance you give him, turning the lights lower so not to hurt his sweet baby's eyes, he walks over, putting in full effort to keep a kind gentle demeanor, “good morning my dovey, were tiny today aren’t we?” He questions, knowing hes not going to get an answer.

“Yes, I believe we are, which means it’s a daddy and baby day hm?”

He would be lying if he said this want one of his favorite types of regressions you do, he doesn’t get to see his little one like this all that often, the sweet sparkly eyes are a given, those alone have him wrapped around your finger, hes at your beck and call or more so your babble and cry but right now the sweet gentle hold of your eyes to his approach, “yes, indeed, a divine rainy day for daddy and his little star” he coos at you, running his supple hand over your cheek, cherishing every ounce of adoration his heart could feel in the wake of your smile.

A small tiny babble of pure love and wanting to feel him hold you, he took this with immediate understanding, as you move your arms somewhat aimlessly he helps loosens you from the blanket so you don’t accidentally bend your arms or hands in a way that would strain or pull on them funny.

Lifting you into his arms, holding you chest to chest with him as he grabs a paci from the bedside table and your stuffy from the bed, he carries you to the living room a bounce in his step to soothe you and a hum in his chest, he knew you loved this he would make sure to have one of your hands above his chest so you could feel the vibrations of the sweet thrum of his voices resonation in his chest just for you.

Laying you gently on the couch he holds your stuffy above you to boop your nose with its nose, making kissy sounds as he taps the stuffys nose against your smiley cheeks and sweet delicate nose, he lays the stuffy atop your chest where your little hands could easily grasp it, he turns to move the coffee table to the side of the room, going into the closet, pulling out the padding mat your favorite blankie for when you’re tiny and a few other things, making a comfy little place on the floor for you, much safer than having you somewhere you could fall.

After transferring you to the little nest as he called it he gave you your paci turning on comforting calm music and going to the kitchen to make himself tea and you a warm bottle of milk, keeping his eyes on you as he does this.

When he returns to you he sets his tea aside wanting to make sure you got your bottle first since you couldn’t quite tell him when you needed food or drink he wanted to make sure you weren’t neglected in your needs, holding you gently in his arms making sure you were comfy in his arms before he goes to take your paci but you trill in soft baby giggles when you refuse to let him take it.

“Oh silly baby, someone’s being mischievous and its not me for once, can daddy take your paci? I have a bottle of warm yummy milk for my baby” to which you allow him to take the paci cause I mean what little one would pass up a yummy bottle in the morning.

Hes full of adoration, especially when you suckle on the bottle so intently with half lidded eyes, like it took all of you to just do the small things and that’s perfectly fine with him, its what hes here for, hes here to take care of his baby, hes honored that you trust him with you in such a vulnerable state.

After your bottle and all related in that he takes small comforting sips from his tea before pulling out one of his many books, it didn’t matter what he read aloud so long as it was appropriate, his favorite writings were old poems of sweet rotations of love how it be that planets circle the sun in a dance that with their gravity pulls causing the star to dance from a tiny wobble. One hand holding the book and his other running through your hair, today was about his little one, making sure to keep you happy and calm, he’d plant every tree on earth in light of the sun and down of the rain if it meant he could see your smile everyday the way he sees it right now.

[jayden-killer]

Ayo, hiii! Is it okay to ask angst?

Here's an idea: reader has a sensory disorder (maybe autism), but doesn't know about it (they weren't diagnosed somehow for all these years) and it prevents her from building strong friendships/relationships since people think of them as weird or whatever. But it's not a bother until Miguel shows up. We all know he likes this intense eye contact when speaking to someone but READER CAN'T LOOK IN THE EYE WHEN THEY SPEAK TO SOMEONE. So Miguel might feel that he is disrespected or they don't listen to him (which isn't true, they listen very carefully).

So conflict happens and fluff in the end (make up... make out)? Like reader gets diagnosed after because LYLA notices pattern in reader's behaviour and encourages Miguel to get reader to see a doctor.

I hope I write clear, because English is not my first language.

Thank you, byee💥

Woo-oh! Thanks for requesting, anon. This is some interesting idea here. I tried my best, making some reseraches about sensory disorder and its symptoms; I hope I didn't disappoint you and won't be disrespectful :((

KISS ME BETTER.

Miguel O'Hara × General neutral reader.

warnings: angst, conflicts between the two protagonists, low self-esteem, use of Y/N.

I always thought I was strange. And I always thought that this weirdness would cause me discomfort, like friendships. Seeing all those people of my age and not being able to create unbreakable bonds...I envied them. They made things seem so much simpler than they thought, yet how could I never? This was not even possible when my life changed, taking on my responsibilities as Spider-man. Even in the Spider-society everyone seemed so sociable, available. Perhaps only in appearance.

Not even there was easy to make a friend, let alone find a lover. Great story.

I should have lived with this weirdness for life.

~~~

I can’t face him.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

That’s what resonates in an endless loop in my head.

It’s not the first time. Every time that happens to me I have a heart that feels like it’s about to escape the rib cage, tense muscles, excessive sweating. It’s not normal to feel so uncomfortable when Miguel tries to talk to me. Every time. Time.

One thing I noticed in the leader of the Spider-society is wanting to maintain eye contact. An intense eye contact.

I just can’t look him in the eye; it creates an inexplicable discomfort. Today Miguel seems particularly whipped (as if he were not always, but who knows...), and my ears are wide open, listening precisely to what he says about the next mission, And how many teams we should split up to make the mission a success.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I do..." I stutter, panicking. I’m afraid it might burst like a volcano. " Then why does it seem that I am talking to a wall rather than a person?" He heard a snort from Miguel. "I don’t have your attention on me. Listen to what I’m saying, Y/N, it’s extremely important".

"I’m listening to you, Miguel..."

"I don’t understand if it’s a joke or not." the leader replied with irritation "because I have everyone’s eyes on me, but not yours! And you know such behavior..."

"So how?" I snapped in self-defense, feeling myself called into question.

"It is disrespectful! And rude!" At that his accusation my eyes finally moved to see his. His face was tense, showing me how angry he was feeling at the time. But it wasn’t my intention.

I never do it on purpose.

Why can’t I be normal like the others?

Why can’t I even face him like everyone else?

Why do I look like such a disaster?

Miguel breathed a deep breath, pinching his nose trying to find his lost calm. I was already looking down. And our conversation ended badly.

The misunderstandings never end.

~~~

"I’m sorry, Miguel."

"Of course you’re sorry!"

"I didn’t want to be rude, I would never, especially to you, because I know you’re the lead-"

"THEN WHY DOES IT SEEM YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME?!"

"BECAUSE THERE'S SOMETHING OFF ABOUT ME! ALL RIGHT?"

Just one sentence.

One sentence from me to silence Miguel and his thoughts. A single sentence to make the tears begin to scratch my face, warm tears that I had kept inside and suppressed for who knows how long, with no intention of releasing them. Sobbing silently in front of the person I cared about the most was another kind of pain. Miguel had no qualms at the time as he approached me with caution, as if I were a helpless little animal, circling me with his mighty arms.

Gently.

A delicacy that seemed extraneous to me because I had always seen him in action, always brutal with his enemies, and to feel me caress the head with so much sweetness seemed strange to me.

"I didn’t mean to yell at you…" These were the words that left my lips, trying with all of myself to look at him, once again, in the eyes, but a greater strength, something contrasting prevented me from doing it altogether. I would never, ever understand why.

"I really wasn’t disrespecting you because by now you should know me well enough to know...and-and-maybe."

Miguel’s hands took me with firmness, but kindness, holding my cheeks, making our lips meet in a sweet and meaningful kiss. My cheeks began to blush.

I could smell Miguel’s strong smell on me, musk and vanilla combined, and how he pushed his lips to mine; he seemed to have no intention of ending that moment.

When our kiss came to an end, Miguel made sure to look at me with his cheeks flushed and his breathing laboured while my gaze wavered.

"LYLA..."

"LYLA..?" I raised an eyebrow. "We just kissed for what seems like an eternity, and the first thing you say... is LYLA?"

Miguel sighed. "No, I..." He rubbed his chin with need, then said, "LYLA has...noticed that you have unusual behaviour. Not that you’re weird, but..."

Just then, Miguel’s AI, Lyla, appeared on his shoulder, like a fake angel, smiling upwards. "Did you call me?"

"LYLA, please..." Miguel snorted, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. When I saw that scene, I smiled.

"Okay, okay..." answered the AI, picketing Miguel’s cheek, too big for her hands. She then turned her gaze upon me, quickly dissolving from his shoulder and then appearing before my face. " Y/N, what Miguel wants to say to you, but he can’t say out loud because he’s afraid..."

"Don’t start this again..." Miguel’s voice sounded threatening, even though LYLA chuckled, "... is that I recently noticed patterns in your person. Something that makes me think you have a sensory disorder..."

Oh.

Oh, right. of course.

Suddenly, all pieces of the puzzle seemed to connect with each other. It was clear. The woman listed some of the things she had noticed over the months: my wanting to avoid food for the appearance or smell, the agitation in looking even for a moment in the eyes a person, little coordination, hypersensitive to some situations... This was a real problem for me, believing that I was a mistake modelled to take the form of a person, but LYLA wasn’t actually wrong. And maybe...

"I... I wish someone could help you get better." Miguel’s voice brought me back to reality.

"I want you to finally feel good about yourself. I want…I want to be there for you. I want to help you too."

And even though I kept avoiding his gaze, playing with my fingers, Miguel’s tone seemed sweet, sensitive to my situation. And I never would have said it, but then we started getting closer together, spending days, and the memories were etched in my mind forever. He encouraged me in my sessions with a specialist, trying to be present to most of them, waiting outside the waiting room patiently; at the end of each visit he asked me if he could take my hand, which I agreed, wondering how it went and other details. The results were noticed, even if by a little, they were noticed.

And Miguel…never abandoned me.

[seleneprince]

A Court of Shadows and Blood Chapter 2

If there's really a Mother up there, she definitely has a twisted sense of humour.

He still doesn't know whether to laugh or punch a wall at his discovery. Laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Rage because he should've known much sooner.

No humans cross the Wall and live to tell. The natural Fae essence devours them eventually, their fragile mortal bodies unable to resist it. Unless they're not normal humans, unless they have some special ability that gives them an advantage.

Now he knows why his little pet managed to pass the Wall despite her obvious weakness.

She has the Sight. Or the True Eye, according to ancient references.

It's a rare gift. Humans born with an innate immunity against Fae magic, allowing them to see through glamours and spells as they're not affected by them.

It also makes them immune against daemati.

He lays against a wall, his head down as he chuckles silently, humourlessly.

Curse his luck. And curse his own foolishness. He should've known from their first meeting. He should've realized her mind was eerily silent. Normally, he can hear people's minds from a mile away, even more if they're humans. But he didn't hear anything back then, and it didn't catch up to him until he finally tried to enter her mind back at his chambers.

Instead of images and feelings, he encountered a solid wall. And silence. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't even cause a small crack in her shield, to catch a glimpse of her mind. Just darkness and silence.

What was she said back there?

'You'll get nothing from me. I'll never give you anything'

She was right.

He inhales deeply through his nose, the realization leaving a bitter taste. It’s laughable how he’d thought she was just a feisty human with no sense of self-preservation. But turns out she's so much more—a rare gem hidden behind the stain of mortality. The answer had been in front of his eyes and he missed it, distracted by her sharp tongue and burning eyes.

The Sight, a gift so uncommon it's nearly a myth, granting her immunity from all Fae influence. He can’t unravel her with his usual methods. No amount of pushing and twisting would break her shield.

His gaze flickers toward the room where she's bound, chained in his bed, a slight grin of resignation crossing his face. This little twist supposes a change in his original plans, but certainly not an obstacle. She’s an enigma, and he can't wait to peel her layers back, find what else she's hiding from him.

There’s still tension, a frustration he can’t fully shake. After all, this turns the game on its head. He is no longer in complete control here. He can't keep her in check the way he's used to. Can't just make her play along easily.

No. This is going to be harder than he imagined. He'll have to take a different approach this time around.

The idea excites him more than it should.

We're going to have fun, little thing.

Ever since he brought the human to his chambers, he's been waiting for the shoe to drop. To be questioned about his intentions, and maybe bring his new pet to her, to judge whether she's worthy of staying in her court.

But nothing.

Amarantha hasn't asked him anything, just expecting the same usual 'service' from him. The Attor, that annoying pest of hers, tries to get under his skin here and there, but overall he hasn't let on any hint that he knows something. If anyone is aware of the human in his chambers, they've keeping the information to themselves.

He's being actively concealing her scent with the wards he set on his quarters, but it's not permanent. His magic is not what it used to be. If she so much takes a step outside the room, anyone within a ten-milius radius would smell her. And then it'll be only a matter of minutes until she knows.

Maybe it's for the best, he thinks. It was a pain to bring the fiesty creature here, in the utmost secrecy. The bitch's security is sharp, and while his loyal shadows helped him, he knows he wouldn't do it a second time.

Then why does he still bother? What's stopping him from letting the truth out?

'Because it's my first chance in fifty years to have something that's entirely mine. My own, untainted secret.'

Everything he's loved has been taken from him or ruined while he's been here. All that surrounds him is her property, her domain. Even the privileges he enjoys above the others are only thanks to her authority. It's the rule.

But this human, this mortal creature with fire in her eyes, will belong to him. As long as no one else sees her, she's his.

The thought both thrills and haunts him. He's taking a huge risk by keeping her hidden like this, perhaps the greatest he's ever taken in fifty years. It’s foolish, bordering on suicidal. Yet the satisfaction he feels at knowing she's beyond her grasp is something he hadn’t felt in a long while—a small, defiant act of control.

The shadows swirl around him, shifting and almost restless. It's like they know him, understand the stakes even without words. The shadows don’t question, don’t judge. They’re the only things he can trust in this wretched place. But keeping this secret requires something even they can’t provide—carefulness, patience. Traits that he's always possessed in abundance, yet have been stretched to their limit since she appeared.

He casts a glance toward the hall that leads to his quarters. According to Cerridwen and Nuala, she has fallen asleep already, her exhaustion finally taking over her fragile body.

Her life hangs by a thread every moment she’s here. If anyone found out… it would be over in an instant. It'll be harsh punishment for him, and gruesome death for her.

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret his choice.

He sends a message to their minds, a new order regarding his little pet. As much as it amuses him seeing her thrash in that wild, messy state of hers, he can't allow his toys to remain so dreadfully...unkempt.

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he imagines her reaction. His new gift is intended to placate her a bit, but it's mostly for his own personal enjoyment. She's clearly someone who holds her pride above all else, so she’ll undoubtedly reject his present with all her might, despite the honor it represents

But there’s nothing she can do against the wraith sisters. Cerridwen and Nuala have been given permission to use force if his human proves too stubborn—not that she’ll get the chance. His maids’ shadowy hands are impossible to repel or escape from, even for other Fae.

How he wishes he could be there to witness it.

His thoughts are interrupted when the familiar, off-kilter music reached his ears as he stands in front of a well-known door. His body tenses in anticipated disgust, fully aware of what's expecting him on the other side.

With a sigh, he fixes his clothes again and hides his hatred with the usual mask. The doors open before him without his hands touching them, and he strides in with a confident smirk as they close behind him again with a loud bang.

The music comes to a halt as soon as his presence is noticed. The assembled crowd take up most of the space, and most have stopped whatever they've been doing to stare at him. He can't help but find some delight in their attention, the fear that shines in their eyes at the sight of him. It gives him life.

He walks with purpose, barely sparing them a glance. Some bow to him, others just stare in silence. They all make sure to step out of his way, creating a wide path just for him. It only takes him a few minutes to reach his destination.

There, lounging on her black throne, is his punishment. His nightmare. The reason he endures all of this in the first place.

Amarantha. The High Queen of Prythian. Self-proclaimed, which only makes it more ridiculous in his mind—but only a suicidal fool would dare say so aloud.

She taps a long, red nail against the stone.

“There you are. I was worried you got lost along the way.”

Her voice is soft, almost tender, but he’s memorized every angle of her to read between the lines. He detects the underlying disdain beneath her words; she’s not pleased with his lateness.

He bows to his waist in a show of devotion. It makes his skin crawl, but he's already used to it.

"Apologies, my queen," he knows how much she likes the title. Appealing to her ego is his tried-and-true method to keep her at bay. "I got held up by some last-minute affairs."

She hums but doesn't inquire.

"Be more careful next time, Rhys. It's not polite to make a female wait."

A sense of déjà vu hits him at her words. They don’t sound nearly as charming from her lips as they did from the human’s, but the irony of it makes him want to laugh.

He clicks his tongue, masking his reaction.

"Believe me, I know it," lowering his head just enough to hide the shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.

He's not sure how to feel about his pet sharing some similiarities with the person he hates most in the world, but there's no denying the terrible humor in it.

Amarantha waves her hand lazily, and the music resumes. The crowd gradually returns to the party, trying their best to ignore them both. She beckons him to come closer, aand he has to steel himself to keep from snarling at her.

Of all the hells he’s endured over fifty years, this is the one he still can’t stomach. Being reduced to a mere servant, a slave, for this wretched female. He, the strongest High Lord in all of Prythian, turned into a harlot for a delusional tyrant's entertainment.

Just thinking about it makes him blood boil in pure, murderous rage.

The only thing keeping him from lashing out completely is the comforting fantasy of tearing this usurper apart with his own hands and warming himself by the fire of her burning remains.

But now he has something better than fantasies. Waiting prettily in his room, locked away from Amarantha’s corrupting hands, surely cursing him with all her might in her sleep.

The thought of seeing her again gives him the motivation to endure whatever Amarantha wants from him now.

"What can I do for you, my queen?" he asks, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind him. She looks up at him from her throne, not bothering to adjust her posture.

Everything about this is wrong. He should be the one sitting on a throne, and she should be on a leash, draped over his fist, begging for her worthless life. But now is not the time.

She regards him with a smile that would make a weaker male’s skin crawl. In truth, it’s not so different from expressions he himself uses regularly. Curious how this particular detail about her has never really bothered him.

"I have a job for you, Rhys."

"I’m always at your service, my queen."

She chuckles.

"Of course, you are. Such a good boy." She twirls the cup in her hand, red liquid spilling as richly as the color of her lips. "Tell me, how do you feel about paying a visit to an old friend?"

He knows exactly who she means before she even says it. The smirk that spreads across his face is entirely genuine this time.

"Oh? May I know the details?"

Amarantha’s expression shifts into one so similar to his own that it could almost be a reflection.

"Go to Spring and bring me the human filth that Tamlin is hiding from us."

Seems like the fun is about to start.

After another long, excruciating party to satisfy Amarantha's ego, she doesn't waste time in bringing him to her chambers as soon as everyone leaves.

He knows his part. Fifty years playing this role has given him the steel to hide his shame and resentment so deep into him that she can't notice it. His mind turns off, letting his body follow what's expected of him.

She's as brutal in bed as she's in the battlefield. And today she's in a rather enthusiastic mood. Probably at the idea of torturing the pitiful human Tamlin has found at last.

By the time he leaves, his body carries the scratches and bruises of Amarantha's favouritism under his clothes.

At least he's not tormented by the humiliation and self-hatred as he was the first times. Now, he can only feel a mild sense of relief and exasperation that it's over.

He straightens his clothes, leaving the top button undone. Now it’s only him striding down the hallways, aside from the occasional servant. Moving through the shadows, he’s intent on reaching his quarters as quickly as possible.

He’s eager to see his little pet, to tease her until she bares her cute claws and tries to bite him. Right now, she’s the only thing he has even a remote measure of control over—and he plans to savor it. Besides, he’s curious to see how she liked his latest gift.

As his door comes into view, he steps out of the shadows. He briefly considers slipping in silently, like last time, just to feel her fear spike again—but he decides it won’t be as amusing a second time.

Once more, the door opens for him without so much as a gesture, and he steps inside.

"I’m back, my dear. I hope you didn’t miss me too much this time?"

She’s right where he left her: on his bed, unmoving, glaring up at him through her lashes. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, chin resting stiffly on her crossed arms.

Like a curled up cat ready to pounce. Adorable.

But it's hard to appreciate his gift in that posture.

"Now, don't you have anything to say? I took the time to choose this design just for you. Do you like it?"

She doesn't respond. Not even a huff. If only he could get a peek of her mind, just a little bit. It annoys him not know what it's going through her head.

He clicks his tongue.

"Show me. I want to see how it looks on you."

"You're already seeing it."

"Ah, there she is. I was worrying you lost your voice."

Her glare intensifies, which only makes his smile widen. He grabs a cozy armchair from its spot near the fireplace and moves it closer to the bed, taking a seat directly in front of her.

Crossing one ankle over his knee, he rests his chin on his fist and stares at her intently. A quiet laugh exhales from his nose when she frowns, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

Her discomfort is a delight he savors, though he keeps his expression masked behind a lazy smirk. Every small twitch, every subtle hardening of her glare, only deepens his amusement. She’s resisting him, but her unease is a victory all its own.

"Your silence does little to hide your thoughts, you know," he says, voice low. "There’s only so much I can ignore when it’s written all over your face."

"You can read how much I want to kill you written on my face?, she says, her voice sounding low and dripping with venom.

Cauldron bless him, she's such a joy.

"Charming," he coos. "I actually meant your thoughts about my present. I've been eager to see your reaction all day."

"Is that why you're sitting there like an idiot?" she mutters, raising her chin. "To rejoice in my misery? Or is it just that you don’t have anything better to do with your time?"

He laughs, soft and slow, as if savoring a rare vintage. He wouldn't tolerare this kind of talk from anyone else. He’s torn heads from bodies for words more respectful than hers. But with her, he only wants more of it. It’s like watching a puppy bark and bare its teeth at him—a futile effort, but amusing all the same.

"It’s not every day I get a creature with such spirit gracing my quarters. It was getting lonely here, you know? I simply want to make the most of this opportunity."

She rolls her eyes and turns her head away. "Right. As if you couldn't summon other people to keep you company."

That catches his attention.

"What do you mean?"

"Those...beings from before. They're yours, right? Why don't you ask them to help you with your loneliness instead of pestering me?"

He's genuinely perplexed for a moment. She means Nuala and Cerridwen? They serve him, sure, but it has never crossed his mind to rely on them for...those kind of needs. They're beautiful, skilled, and wouldn't dare to deny their High Lord anything, but they're still mere servants at the end of the day. Below him and his bed.

"They're not nearly as charming as you," he replies, leaning forward. "You'll warm up to me soon enough, dear. And then you'll finally realize how incredibly lucky you are."

He lets the silence stretch between them, thick with an unspoken challenge. For a moment, her face is still, but then, her brows lower, her lips pressing into a defiant line. She meets his eyes again, her glare sharper than before.

"You’ve taken my freedom, maybe my dignity as well," she says evenly, "but that's all you'll get from me. No loyalty, no obedience, and certainly not my respect."

He holds her gaze, feeling the familiar thrill rising as her words sink in. A part of him expected this��relished it, even. He could break her down, push until she yielded, but another part of him wonders: How long will this fire last? How much can she endure before she crumbles?

"Well," he says, grinning, "we’ll see just how long you hold onto that resolve, won’t we?"

He stands up, walking to the side of the bed. He reachs out and plucks a stray curl that had fallen over her face, tucking it behind her ear. She stiffens, her eyes narrowing as he studied the sisters' creation.

She looks much cleaner than when he first brought her. Gone is the dirt and sweat from her face, now replaced by a graceful touch of makeup. Her eyes are accented with shadow, her lips painted a sparkling pink, and a soft blush colors her cheeks, accentuating her cheekbones. Though her position makes it difficult to fully appreciate the dress, he notices how it cascades over her shoulders and waist in black folds.

His gaze follows the chain peeking out from beneath her long, dark blue skirt, where the fabric drapes down to cover her feet.

"Sit up straight. Don't hide yourself."

She huffs, turning her gaze to the fireplace in a show of stubborn defiance, completely ignoring him. Her stupid pride is really starting to piss him off. If only he had access to her mind, he’d make her move with a mere thought. Curse the Cauldron yet again for giving humans the Sight.

He’s tempted to drag her to her feet himself, but just then, she stretches out on the bed, leaning back on her hands and showing off the dress in a much better light.

He chose the dress with her specifically in mind, but it looks even better than he’d imagined. The fabric clings to her torso before flowing down in soft waves to her feet, creating a shape that cups her figure elegantly. The cloth is a blend of black and deep blue, with sparkling gems resembling stars embroidered throughout, like a recreation of the night sky. The neckline grazes the valley of her chest, leaving her collarbones and part of her shoulders exposed.

Her hair has been brushed off her face, pulled back with a silver comb and the rest drapping down her back. She almost looks like a different person, if it wasn't for the permanent scowl on her face.

Cerridwen and Nuala have done a brilliant job, as usual.

"Well, what do you think?" her voice takes his attention off her shoulders, dripping with disdain. "Does it meet yout expectations, sir?"

Fuck, there's something about her calling him sir while dressed like that, laying in his bed. It only amused him the first time, and pleased his ego a bit. Why is it different now?

Maybe because she's laying there so prettily, drapped in his court's colors in an obvious claim of his ownership, and when she moves a little the slit in the skirt reveals part of her thigh, making his fingers twitch to trace over the pristine skin.

A low growl escapes his throat before he can stop it.

She widens her eyes at him, fear flashing in them for a second. He coughs and composes himself, chastising himself for losing his self-control.

He sits at the hem of the bed, schooling his features into a mask of casual indifference, though his pulse still beats thickly in his throat. His fingers brush against the fabric of the dress as he settles. She makes a show of moving away from him with furious eyes, as if his mere touch offended her.

Her defiance, cloaked in elegant silk and starlit jewels, unsettles him far more than he’ll ever admit. It irks him, how her insolence remains unyielding even when he’s draped her in the finest dress this wretched court could provide, marking her as his.

"Oh, it exceeds my expectations," he says, his voice a touch darker, unable to resist letting her see a hint of the effect the dress has on him. "You look… magnificient." He smirks, gesturing to her as though she were a painting, a work of art on display just for him.

Her mouth presses into a thin line, but she lifts her chin, the hatred simmering behind her eyes unmistakable. "Good to know. I’d hate for all this"—she gestures to herself, her hand lingering over the exposed skin of her thigh—"to be wasted on you."

The comment lands, hitting a part of him that both resents and respects her tenacity. He finds himself leaning forward without thinking, the intensity in his gaze causing her to shrink back just the slightest bit.

"Oh, make no mistake. Nothing about you will go to waste here, darling. I’ll make certain of that."

She glares at him, but something shifts in her expression, a flicker of trepidation quickly masked by steely determination. It sends a thrill through him, a potent mix of irritation and attraction. How satisfying it will be, one day, to see that unbreakable resolve bend, to see her finally yield beneath him.

"Now," he murmurs, straightening. "Behave yourself, and I might surprise you with more gifts in the future."

"And if I don’t?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper, but he catches the challenge there, hanging in the air between them.

He chuckles, low and menacing, running his thumb along her round earlobe thoughtfully. "Oh, I wouldn’t test that, if I were you." His voice drops, a hint of a threat lacing his words. "I’d hate to ruin that pretty dress."

She blinks at him, her expression suddenly going blank. Her heart is beating too rapidly for him to believe she’s truly indifferent to the situation, but the way she so quickly masks her feelings and thoughts is worthy of some admiration.

Then, she does something that catches him entirely off guard.

Her hands grip his shoulders and pull him down, right on top of her. He feels the outline of her breasts press against his chest, and his nose grazes her collarbones for a brief moment. His mind goes blank. But before he can say anything, she maneuvers herself out and shoves his face down against the bed, throwing her weight onto his back.

"What in the world are you doing now, little thing?" he grunts, but then he hears a familiar metallic clicking as she moves frantically.

The realization hits him when he feels something cold binding his wrists together in a very tight knot.

His mind snaps back into focus with a jolt. For the briefest moment, he’s caught off guard, tangled in the suddenness of how everything has happened. She’s quick, too quick for a mortal in her state. His body stiffens beneath her, the sharp tug of the cold metal biting into his wrists—binding him to the bed.

The chain. She's using the chain against him. The same chain supposedly keeping her locked in place.

When, and how the fuck did she got out of it? Without anyone noticing?

The wood of the headboard creaks when he pulls. It’s a ridiculous move, the kind of desperate attempt he’s seen from lesser beings, yet somehow... it feels different. Her strength, the way she pushed him down with such determination, it unnerves him. No human should be able to think this quickly, to turn the tables on him in such a bold way.

He growls in frustration, trying to pull his wrists free, but the chain hold fast. This situation feels too disgustingly familiar, making his skin crawl. His first instinct is to use his magic and break the damn metal, but there’s a brief, agonizing moment of uncertainty. He hasn’t lost his power entirely, but it still feels drained, distant. The realization sends a deep sense of frustration through his chest.

When he lifts his head, she’s already standing by the edge of the bed, breathing hard but calm, her eyes alight with that familiar, fiery glint. She watches him, studying him like an experiment, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"You... chained me?" He can barely mask the disbelief and fury in his voice. It's absurd. She shouldn’t have the knowledge, the courage, to even consider something so reckless.

She doesn’t respond right away, but there’s a satisfied gleam in her eyes. Her hands, still trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, clutch the fabric of the skirt. "I’d say it’s a fair trade, wouldn’t you?" Her voice is like cold fire, biting yet controlled, a mirror of his own in certain moments.

He glares at her, the intensity of his gaze locking with hers. His body tenses as he tests the chains again. "Oh, you have some fucking nerve, you filthy, worthless thing. You seriously think you can contain me?" His growl is low, dangerous, the tone he reserves for those he's about to torture endlessly.

She just shrugs, stepping away from the bed and almost relaxed. "You got me chained here like an animal since I arrived," she says softly, almost teasingly. "I thought you might like a taste of it."

The words sting more than they should. He shifts his weight, anger mounting, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

He’s going to kill her for this. No. He’ll hand her over to Amarantha first, in front of the entire court, and let her be turned into a plaything for the sadistic bitch. And when the ungrateful thing is too broken to move, he’ll drag her back to this room, tie her down from head to toe, and watch as she writhes in agony from the mind-blowing pain he inflicts. He won’t lift a finger to heal her. Let her suffer and learn her lesson.

He's clearly understimated her all this time.

She doesn’t spare him another glance as she runs to grab the pocket from the fireplace and then straight for the door. He lets out a low, dark chuckle at the sight.

"Oh, yes, Run, little thing. Run as fast as you can. Because once I get out of here, I'll find you."

"And I won't be gentle anymore."

She freezes for a moment, hand already on the door handle. The hand holding the iron rod grip it hard enough for her knuckles to grow white.

The door opens and she slams it close behind her.

[kiwanopie]

heyyy!! do u think we can get some sort of drabble with crime!au kiyoomi and his fiancé?? i’d love to see how they interact ~~~~ :)))

You pick at a hangnail as dress shoed feet click before you.

You don’t lift your head as orchestral music muffles under the click of a shutting door. You don't even hear it. Too immersed in your own racing thoughts to hear anything outside of the rattling in your skull. It’s ironic how radiant you look in your wedding dress. So aglow you compliment the gemstones in your tiara. Because you feel so sick you could puke your guts out till your stomach lining tore. So high strung you haven’t slept since he parted with you the day before.

Your pupils scutter over nothing as you pick at the skin until it bleeds. Tear it off your nail until the elastic of your cuticle strips down to the root of your thumb, and feel it start to ail as the wound throbs. You barely notice. Rather, stay clueless to the sting in the midst of your silent daze.

But it’s short lived. Those familiar larger palms incase your hands in their loving grip, careful in their cradle. He’s flower petal gentle as he brings one of your hands toward himself and wraps your thumb in a thin bandage. And even in his crouched position beside the makeup chair does he almost see eye to eye with you, all 6’4 of him meagerly attempting to look as small as possible for a woman he has no intention of causing any more distress to.

His voice is balming, it always is when he addresses you. “What are you thinking about, angel?”

You silently furrow into his hands.

“I-I’m…”

“I don’t...” You shake your head. “I’m sorry. Everybody’s out there waiting for me and I-I’m-“

Kiyoomi cuts you off quietly. “Don’t even think about that. Today is about us. No one else.”

You frown.

“I’m… Kiyoomi… Out of all people…” And it’s a good thing this makeup is waterproof because you’re surely about to push it to its limit. “Why me? Why choose me?”

“Don’t ask me a question like that.”

“But why, Omi?” Your lip wobbles. “I-I’m not like you. I don’t think like you, I don’t have the same training that you do, o-or the strength to be able to handle a lifestyle like this. I’m not the wife of a kingpin. The only reason I’m here is because-“

Kiyoomi firmly shushes you as he stands to his feet. Too burly and too tall, blocking out the overhead lights till the raven tufts of curls on his scalp turn miscolored and fluorescent. Like always your eyes follow him in his movements, like always, he’s ginger as he pulls you in his grasp.

Your nose is mushed into the cotton of his button up, his lips are warm and definite as he presses them against your forehead. “I don’t care about titles or circumstance. I don’t care about any of those things...” Kiyoomi swallows. “I love you and I need you. If this lifestyle is what you’re worried about then I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe and taken care of.”

You sniffle against his dress shirt. Something like that should be comforting. Especially in the arms of your future husband - one half of a bonafide national empire, and you, soon to be its elegant latter halve. Saying you fear your safety may have been a little asinine to say. In this past year and a half, you haven't so much as gotten a splinter without being assured that whatever half-cocked piece of wood that wronged you would wind up making soot prints in some landfill. You could throw a rock and hit a corpse before it even got the chance to berate you. Saying something like that will only encourage him more. An excuse to distance you from your public freedoms, and hire men that all but follow you around and chew your food for you. And even though it’s pig shit to deal with, it's already habitual. It gives you room to keep your fears to a one man minimum. But with that being said,

Kiyoomi skims his nose down the bridge of yours till his breath is kissing fever spots on your Cupid’s bow. Shivery puffs of desperate air, overwhelmed in his distance. He pinkens like a schoolboy when he’s too close for too long. Amps himself up just to trill at the high he gets from being this near - but not near enough to taste the bliss that’s your candied lips. He loves you. - He loves you. He loves you. So much it makes him shudder. Even in the short time he’s had his hands on you his palms have gone sweaty. Making hotspots on your cheekbones as he thumbs your stray tears aside.

“I know we’re not the most… conventional couple,” Quasi-post-Stockholm syndrome? “How hard things were for you in the beginning, and how much it took for us to get here. I wish I could’ve done this the right way. - You deserve that much.”

“But I love you so much it makes me sick. It’s the only thing that keeps me breathing.”

You lean into his hands as he scoots away to get a good look at you. His lovesick eyes turn the whites of yours a stinging scarlet, and you hate that seeing him get choked up cuts you so deeply.

But he only ever really cries in front of you anyway. A man this neck deep in generational human trafficking, drug trading, arms dealing, and like a million other equally awful things, should have his fair moments to excuse himself for a quiet weep. “Kiyoomi…”

“I’m sorry,” He leans in for a watery kiss. “I’m sorry. Weakness is the last thing we need from me right now.”

You guide his head against yours, and share the weight with a linchpin. It’s so recurrent that it’s earnest when you console him. “Wellness is, baby. This is about the both of us.”

“I… already don’t know what my life would be like without you. I never think about it. Every day it’s you and when are you gonna be home. - Are you gonna come back to me in one piece? Will you still be you and will you love me the same? What would I do alone in that big house?”

You mirror his thumb as you sweep away his tears. “What would I do if I didn’t have you anymore?”

The way Kiyoomi melts into your grasp is like the anodyne of a baby bird, crooning as you assague him. There’s nothing on this earth that could give him the comfort you do, and the realization of that feels brand new every time.

It’s a fresh wound. Accustomed to your chains to the extent that each chafe feels like a kiss. Metal burrowing in torrid welts, but the key’s a stipulation. Only freed by requisition.

“It’s not about safety… if anything happens to us. I’d rather it be me.” You whisper. “If not to know you’ll keep living, my peace would be in finally resting. Not wondering. Not worrying.”

“Regardless of our unconventionality,” You kiss him. “I love you.”

“Regardless of our unconventionality,” You kiss him. “I love you.”

“Regardless of our unconventionality,” You kiss him. “I love you.”

“Regardless of our unconventionality,” You kiss him. “I love you.”

It’s a fresh wound. Accustomed to your chains to the extent that each chafe feels like a kiss. Metal burrowing in torrid welts, but the key’s a stipulation. Only freed by requisition.

“It’s not about safety… if anything happens to us. I’d rather it be me.” You whisper. “If not to know you’ll keep living, my peace would be in finally resting. Not wondering. Not worrying.”

“Regardless of our unconventionality,” You kiss him. “I love you.”

[cocogrrrl]

HIIIIIII ugh ur writings are so freakin good and so fun to read it makes me AHHHH could I request kyle, stan, and kenny (separate) with a f!reader that can’t control her facial expressions at all so she’s pretty much an open book? Maybe have the reader be an artist so when she’s drawing she’s like 🤩😙🙁😋🤨😱😐 THANK UUUUU

expressions

(headcannons + drabbles!) the main three's separate reaction to their artist gf who is very expressive whenever they draw (requested!)

main three (separate) x female!reader no cws wc: 1007 overall

an: omg its my first time writing in an hc listed format also the drabbles are a lot more artist gf than the expressive thing sorry huhuuu (also i forgot to reply to the ask last time i took up a request LMAO)

🍀 k. broflovski (wc: 330)

He really wants to comment on it, but doesn’t wanna bother you

I don’t mean that in a bad way! I just think that he finds it entertaining to see your mood and facial expressions shift around a lot

Like okay imagine you two parallel playing, both of you off in your own worlds

Kyle looks up at you to see you go from happy to frustrated to upset to shocked all in the span of a few seconds

He definitely finds it adorable and just basks in it by the side

Completely forgets what he was doing cause you’re just so gosh darn cute awwww

You were lying face down, arms holding you up, on his bed. You were tasked to make landscapes of any place but from different perspectives and views. To be honest, you were struggling a little bit. Backgrounds and scenery aren’t quite your strong points, but that didn’t mean you weren’t trying! You were lying down there, tongue poking out as you focused really hard to get the drawing looking at least a little bit realistically correct. You were real deep into it that you didn’t even realize Kyle was watching you until you heard a soft giggle in the back, which immediately made your head whip up. “Hmmm?” You hummed, questioning what he was laughing about. “Ah, it’s nothing.” He smiled at your curiosity. The look of amusement on his face was still there, so you had a hint of what was going on. “You’re just really pretty." You felt your cheeks heat up, giddily smiling to yourself as you felt your legs kicking back and forth in happiness. “Thank you…” You hummed. He only laughed more in return. “Don’t thank me.” He said, lifting your head up by the chin with his fingers as he placed a little kiss on your nose.

🍁 k. mccormick (wc: 360)

FINDS IT SO CUTE

but definitely teases you about it like

“You should take up acting, YN. You’re really good at changing emotions.”

Do you know how some people make facial expressions and random body movements for reference while drawing?

When he sees it for the first time, with no context whatsoever, he thought you got possessed or something CAUSE YOU WERE JUST FLAILING YOUR ARMS AROUND WHILE LOOKING INTENTLY AT THEM

I can just imagine him lying down, watching you drawing, while he’s kicking his feet in the air HEPL

You and your boyfriend, Kenny, were sat slumped against a wall in the back of some alleyway, spending your time together in the quiet where only sounds of passing cars, footsteps and chatter of pedestrians, and the soft winds blowing every now and then. You were getting into your drawings on your little sketchbook, moving from one doodle to the other and leaving many unfinished. Every couple of minutes, you’d revisit the other, but that was only if you were still up to it. Other than that, you had new ideas pulling you away from your drawings every other second. Kenny was playing with the hair that fell by the side of your face as you were doing your own business—twirling, braiding, and unfurling it over and over again. You stretched out your hand and formed it in a reached-out, grabbing motion, shifting it every so often to get a better view of what it looked like. Kenny watched you observing yourself in intrigue as well, resting his chin on your shoulder. As soon as you were done and about to get back to drawing, he lifted himself back up and started to play with your hair once more. While you were drawing out the hand same hand you motioned earlier, you felt a soft kiss on your cheek, which caught you off guard. You turned your head in Kenny's direction, giving him a look that asked, ‘Why?’ Not in a bad way, just out of curiosity. He shrugged in return, cupping your face in one hand with his fingers resting on both cheeks as he squeezed them. “Cutie.”

🎸 s. marsh (wc: 317)

He doesn’t pay much mind to it honestly

He sees it for the first time and thinks it’s kinda silly, but not much after that

He brings it up sometimes though like

“Oh, yeah, I think it’s funny how you’re really expressive.”

But really its not something that bothers him

If anything, he finds it really adorable sometimes, especially when you get a little too into the zone and you’re just changing expressions every millisecond

Honestly, I think it’s a neat little dynamic since you’re probably really bubbly while Stan’s more aloof

You and Stan were in your favorite corner of the world—Stark’s Pond. Okay, technically, it’s one of the farthest things from a corner, given that it’s a whole landscape, but it was a special place unbeknownst to many, especially people who aren’t from the small town of South Park. You two were sat on a bench by the pond, Stan playing the guitar cross-legged, and you were leaning towards it while drawing on your tablet. You hummed along with the songs he was playing, familiar to you as it was your relationship’s self-declared theme song. Your face was twisted in a pout, trying to get a small detail, but important (to you), correct. You clicked your tongue, flipping your canvas every so often to make sure it looked right or physically possible. You sighed, resting your body weight on Stan as he paused to look at you and your art’s progress. “Frustrated?” He hummed, putting his arm down so that it was more comfortable for you to lean onto him. “No,” you clicked your tongue. “Just need to get around this little part. Like, I can’t  draw feet for the life of me.” You sighed, tipping your head a little further as you ground into Stan's shoulder. He found himself giggling at you, patting your back, and giving you a little kiss on the cheek.

[taki118]

Yakuza Fiance Manga Comparison ep 11

Two eps to go. Ep 11 while still good is a return to form as the ep drops quite a lot of details from the manga, some small, some fun and some a real shame to drop. You'll find these under the cut. And like always cause I'm lazy I'm using scans.

Ok so the first weird change you can almost just call an animation error its when Kirishima takes Yoshinos bag. You don't actually see him take it in the anime, he just kinda has it, its weird

The manga shows us that the intent was coming up behind her and grabbing it but like the anime just has a close up on a side view and then he has it, again just weird.

Tsubaki and Shoma's arguement actually goes on a little longer in the manga.

While I wish it kept the boxes I am like so insanely happy they folded in the extra that explains their beef. The bathroom scene was a volume extra I was convinced the anime only's would never know what started it.

Sadly the Renji goes down memory lane scene is cut short from the manga

This didn't really hit me the first time but it is weird how he goes from talking about drinking to the car, and well this is why.

The scene in the basement is pretty one to one though I'll say this the manga is bloodier. Like it really looks like Kirishimas nose was broken whereas the anime its just like kinda red

Not really a change more like an issue over censorship or maybe technical limitations.

So there's actually a little scene with Yoshino and Tsubaki to ease into the conversation about her dating Kirishima in the manga

ITs not much of a loss but adds some character touches

This however is a sad loss here cause it touches on Yoshino's fears with kirishima

She just sorta makes a face in the anime.

And this right here like it feels like it was meant to be in but was cut late cause theres this flash of white after the sales person bit

This montage of their weirdly domestic life is a real loss to me, just cause it's funny a cute and proves once again that Tusbaki is right.

So they cut out the bit that explains the lighter gift better

If you're like me and know little about lighters based on shape. A gas lighter is harder to use and takes more time, which is why Yoshino bought it as a gift.

Ok so technically theres nothing different in this scene it's just another sins of the father bit.

So Shoma in the manga hasn't really questioned anything Renji has done up until this point. He's speculated a little but and has thought to look into things overall in terms of more higher up issues but not Renji himself. Its not till after this confrontation that Shoma starts digging in. BUT the anime has added two scenes that could imply he already is questioning. Maybe I'm reading into things but that's the vibe that he's already wary and kinda contradicts this scene.

So we loose out on some Yoshino and Tsubaki content

We get more of Tsubaki's Renji simping but more importantly we get Yoshino piecing together what went down. It also lets us know that she is very observant as Renji tried to hide what was happening but she always knew.

We also got more of Yoshino with the bat in the manga

It doesn't add much just kinda explains more why she's worn out at the end. (plus its fun)

And this scene looses a little more character too

I feel her frustration haha

Overall the button sequence is a lot longer with a lot more confused Kirishima it would actually be a lot to show but here's some of my favorite bits

We also miss out on Kirishima being so extra

And some more goading

(also just fyi if you think Shouma looks good in the anime he's like 10x hotter in the manga)

So we get more of a natural scene change with Tsubaki and Kirishima

It's not a lot but adds more to the characters overall, and flows better.

So again we loose this

like I think an anime only might be able to piece together that Yoshino knew what was going on and that she figured out why Kirishima did what he did but it sure as hell is harder for little reason.

The rest is pretty much beat for beat with the manga. I guess for covering four chapters this isn't too bad but I do think this ep looses some Yoshino insight which always sucks but at least it didn't feel weird while I watched for the most part.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

9 Days of Solomon: Stars

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: Solomon teaches you a spell that allows you to hold a star in your hands.

AN: Hello hello! I'm a day late posting this for the stars prompt, but better late than never, right? I kinda based this fic off of my other fic, Lux Astrorum, but this one can be read as a stand alone! :)

Warnings: None

“So, how does one hold a star in their hand?”

Solomon had his nose buried in an old tome of his as he quickly scanned through to find the incantation he used so very long ago to summon a star into his own awaiting palm. That was when he was still young, when his adolescent view of the world guided him through his magical pursuits. When everything was new and exciting. 

He hums softly, mindlessly, as his eyes scan along the scribbled lines to acknowledge your question. “Well, there are many variations in most magical practices that will essentially give you the same result. It mostly depends on your style and level of sorcery.” 

In his peripheral vision, he sees the slow nod of your head and hears the soft click of your tongue. “Sure, I got that. But how did you do it?” 

“Patience, my dear apprentice.” He chides with a soft chuckle while wetting the tip of his finger to aid in flipping the page. “Patience is a virtue, as the saying goes. And it’s a virtue you should know well.” 

A small sigh of impatience from you causes Solomon’s lips to curl up even further and a quick huff of amusement to be pushed from his nose. Truly, he’s pleased to know you’re excited to learn something new. And he’s always excited to be the one to teach you. It’s an opportunity to spend more time with the person he holds dearest – and alone at that. 

With a quick pivot on the balls of his feet, he turns to you once he’s glanced over the incantation to jog his memory. “It’s a bit of an advanced spell, only because it uses quite a bit of energy, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. First, you’ll need to draw a protection circle on the floor so that you are able to withstand the heat of the star,” he fishes for a piece of white chalk from his pocket and hands it to you, “the protection spell will also work to protect your eyes from the searing light.” 

He’s long taught you how to make a protection circle, and he knows you’re quite proficient in drawing them. So it takes no time for you to be standing in the middle of a circle with odd symbols and lines surrounding the perimeter with an even bigger circle encompassing that one with its own intricate runes around it. Solomon nods with a satisfied smile at your work.

“Good. Next, you must ground yourself. Set your intention to what you wish to accomplish with this spell. And prepare your mind and body for the amount of energy this spell will consume.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, taking a moment to focus your mind and body, to prepare yourself to achieve the effects of this spell. Solomon observes quietly during your brief moment of meditation; your steadied breathing, your muscles relaxing their tension, and the way you plant your feet firmly on the floor to allow yourself to feel the energy buzzing through your veins. It’s something he’s done countless times, but to see you do it makes the process ten times more fascinating to him. 

With a deep inhale, you open your eyes to meet his which are bright and full of pride for you and how far you’ve come. His smile never once wavers as he gazes at you.

“And lastly, you need to recite these words: ‘Hear me! And bring forth a star to shine its light upon my skin. May it rest safely within the palms of my hands. Let it be so.’ Remember to enunciate the words properly.” 

You nod in response, taking a few more calming breaths to focus on the task at hand. Solomon knows you want to get this right on the first try, he can see the determination swirling in your irises. He wishes to give one last encouragement before you say the incantation, so in a deep, but gentle vibrato, he whispers, 

“You can do it. I believe in you.” 

He feels his heart jump and beat rapidly when you exchange his words for a loving smile, one that causes stars of your own to sparkle in your eyes. If you weren’t about to perform a spell or weren’t in the middle of a circle he’d most definitely smudge in his haste to get to you, he would’ve kissed you right then and there. 

Your voice suddenly cuts through his romantic daydreams, clearly and firmly. “Hear me! And bring forth a star to shine its light upon my skin. May it rest safely within the palms of my hands. Let it be so.” Your hands are held out in front of you, ready to receive the celestial body you called for.

Instantly, a blinding flash of light erupts from above your hands and a strong gust of wind spirals wildly around you. The force of the winds causes Solomon to stumble back but he catches himself before he can fall, bracing himself with one leg behind him for support while simultaneously shielding his eyes from the intensity of the spell with his arm. The air is sweltering and dry, like that of a forest fire. His coat flaps violently around him, his hair doing much of the same. 

It takes a moment for the light and wind to condense rapidly into a sizable ball, calmly hovering right above your palms. It flickers softly while warm air emits just around its surface. 

It’s a star. Your star.

Solomon takes a moment to collect himself, standing up properly and brushing his hair down so it doesn’t look as unkempt. He glances up to where you stand in the circle to check on your well-being, and that’s when he sees it. The most beautiful sight he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing – you, holding the star as you silently gaze at it with pure and utter awe. It’s as if your breath has been taken away, and it very well might’ve. The way the light illuminates your features is nothing short of magnificent. Magical even. 

This is all he cares about. Seeing you in awe of something your own magic created, magic that he had a part in cultivating… well, it certainly takes his breath away. 

“What do you think?” 

You peel your attention away from the glowing orb, glancing just beyond it slightly to his figure that seems to be shadowed by your fascination with the entity in your hands. “I… this is amazing.” Your focus snaps right back to the star. “I’m actually holding a star. Solomon, I’m actually holding an actual star!” 

A hearty chuckle is drawn deep within his chest. How adorable. “Yes, you are actually holding a star. And I couldn’t be prouder.” He smiles fondly as he watches on, muttering something softly under his breath that you don’t catch as you’re too busy studying the star.

“And you are absolutely wonderful.” 

[fluffshisuga]

Gift Wrapping (G.S)

the random urge to write jjk fanfiction on Christmas Eve as i horribly wrap Christmas presents (i have never been good at it) and in turn thought about Gojo. (Its been so long since I've written anything so if I'm rusty I am sorry </3 but maybe more soon?)

Gojo had never really tried when it came to wrapping Christmas gifts, it would just be ripped up anyway, right? Where Geto was gentle when it came to unwrapping gifts in hopes to not damage what was hidden under it, Gojo would watch in fear as Shoko would tear into the paper, debris flying everywhere with no care in the world. Gojo was the same way, of course, with no care for the paper around it., but he would never admit that.

But when you came into the picture, Gojo felt the need to make all the gifts he got you perfect, including the wrapping. He started by trying to wrap a regular box, hoping to keep the paper smooth and without any weird lumps. Geto watched in amusement, as Gojo got agitated when the corner didn't fold properly, or he was too rough with the tape and ripped the paper.

"Perhaps you should be... gentler?" Geto chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the sofa. Gojo huffed in response, narrowing his eyes as he glanced over at Geto. "I'm trying here. But this paper is just too... flimsy." This earns a small chuckle from Geto as he shakes his head. There was discarded paper everywhere; past attempts at the perfect wrapping laying around the room, tiny Christmas trees adorning red and white backgrounds.

"Would you like me to show you an example, then?" Geto offered. His gift wrapping was rather exceptional, compared to his other peers, neat edges and clear tape, you could hardly tell that someone even wrapped a gift. This brought out another huff from Gojo, who hung his head as he lightly nodded. "Please." Geto dropped from the sofa and moved to sit next to Gojo, taking the box he was trying to wrap and crumbling up the now-ripped paper, tossing it behind him. "The key is keeping your paper even, from the length to the cut." He stated, pulling over the roll of paper and laying it flat onto the box. Gojo watched intently as he made sure each side of the box would be covered in just the right amount of paper, smirking as he lays his hand out for scissors.

"Why do you feel the need to learn how to wrap gifts now of all times?" Geto questioned, feeling the scissors dropped into his hand. A grumble sounded next to him as Gojo mumbled quietly under his breath. "Sorry?" More grumbles. "Satoru, I can't understand you when you mumble." Gojo lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I want to make the wrapping look nice this time. Like I know what I'm doing." Geto raised a brow as he cut through the paper, his lip twitching slightly to fight a smile. "Why not just use a gift bag? Unless you've chosen some pretty big gifts." This earned a scoff from Gojo, who frowned as he continued to watch. "Because that's lazy! That's for little gifts like candy and jewelry, and those bags hold like five gifts max." He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. "I want it to look perfect, because y/n deserves it."

This causes a small chuckle to leave Geto as he drops the scissors next to him, pushing the roll of paper to the side. "Is that what this is all about? And here I thought you were trying to make my gifts look nice, for once." Gojo groaned, a small "shut up" leaving him as he shakes his head in embarrassment. Geto continues to show Gojo his wrapping technique, folding the paper neatly at the corners before securing them with small pieces of tape. "You want to make a good impression, then?" He asks, biting his lip as he tries to coax the paper to fold without ripping. Gojo nods his head, a small smile on his lips now. "Yeah, I've already got the best gifts picked out, but my wrapping skills are.... horrible." "Oh, we know." This earns a small smack on the arm from Gojo, who crossed his arms again.

"There, see? Just like that." Geto smiles, looking down at the neatly wrapped box. Gojo bites his lip as he looks at it, nodding to himself as he goes through what Geto had shown him. "Yeah, I think I got it." Geto smiles as he rises from his spot on the ground, stretching slightly as he looks around the room. "That reminds me, I have gifts to wrap as well. I'll see you later then, Satoru." He nods in Gojo's direction, waving as he closes the door behind him. Gojo looks down at the box again, biting his lip as he looks over to the corner of the room, where a neat pile of gifts sat. "My turn..."

~

Tongue poking past his lips, as well as a small string of curses leave Gojo as he tries to wrap the gifts himself. When it came to the boxed gifts, he was able to replicate what Geto had shown him to a degree, with a small Gojo flair to it, the odd crumbled corner or a weirdly placed piece of tape. But when it came to different shapes, he was stuck trying to make them as neat as possible. "How am I even supposed to...?" He mumbled to himself, looking down at a little plush that sat before him, its empty eyes practically taunting him to try and wrap it. He groans, opting to wrap the paper around it like a little bag, looking over at a reference photo on his phone. He wrapped the tape around the paper's edges, furrowing his brows as he began to rethink this choice of wrapping. Was the wrapping paper even good enough for you? Is it too much? What if you think he's stuck up if he gives you neatly wrapped gifts?

He shakes his head; it was too late to change the wrapping paper now. There were only two gifts left to wrap, a box full of different porcelain figures; cats, rabbits, a fish or two, he thought they were cute, and each time he passed them in the store he thought of you. He carefully wrapped them, being even more careful with them to not break them. "Should I put a fragile sign on them?" He muttered, tapping his chin. He shook his head a moment later, the belief that you would be gentle when he handed it to you on his mind. He sighed as he looked over at the last item, a little black box. Inside laid a silver chain, adorned with crystal-like lilies on small charms. He thought it was beautiful, and would look great against your skin, the thought of you wearing it every day making his heart flutter.

Such a small box didn't need as much wrapping paper, which was great for Gojo as he was running low. He carefully wrapped the small box, keeping the edges neat and making sure the tape didn't touch the box in any way. He smiled happily as he stretched his arms, a small yawn leaving his lips as he looked out the window for a moment. The stars outside were bright, even against the lights of the city. They were beautiful, just like you. They shined like your eyes did; how he hoped your eyes would shine when you opened the gifts he gave you. You would probably chuckle nervously as he walked over to you, his arms full as he smiled at you. You would probably even shake your head with a smile as he told you there was more in his car, as your eyes follow him as he sprints to grab the rest of them.

He finds himself smiling softly, looking back down to the pile of now-wrapped gifts. A small chuckle leaves him as he looks at his work, proud at his progress at wrapping. Perhaps you will compliment him on it when he sees you. What did you get him for Christmas? Did you even get any gifts for him? Perhaps not. Either way, seeing your smile and hearing your voice would be enough, and a small blush hits his cheeks when he thinks about how you might give him a tight hug as thanks, maybe even a kiss on the cheek.

[trulybetty]

Thank you Anon, this was a welcome first prompt in my ask box based on my request from this morning (still accepting ideas to take me through the weekend if anyone has any) 💕

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no use of Y/N & no physical descriptions) Word Count: 753 Warnings: just some domestic fluff + barely gave this one a read-through Summary: You're supposed to be working from home, but it's proving to be distracting knowing you're not home alone

His hands were distracting.

It wasn’t as if he was doing anything grand, he was simply sanding down– well, god knows what, because you were far too distracted watching the rhythmic back and forth of his hands, his knuckles flexing around the sanding block. 

Joel glanced up and met your eyes, his own twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Darlin',” he drawled, “You're supposed to be working, aren't you?”

In his worn-out jeans, his shirt dusted with sawdust, a testament to the early morning start he’d left you in bed for hours ago. While he didn’t pause in his work at his workbench, he had not missed your lingering gaze. 

A grin formed at the corners of his mouth; he knew all too well the effect he had on you.

Caught in the act, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

He set aside the sanding block and wiped his hands on a rag as he gave you a disbelieving raised eyebrow. 

“I'm on a break,” you conceded.

“A 'break,' huh?” He chuckled. “Looks to me like you're procrastinatin'.”

You sighed, he knew you too well. Working from home had its advantages, but also its pitfalls—like the garage being just a step away and the temptation it held. “Ok, well, maybe I am,” you admitted before laying on the charm. “But it's hard to focus when there's this ruggedly handsome carpenter in the vicinity.”

Setting down his tools, he walked towards you, his steps filled with intent, and his hands—those distracting hands—reached out to pull you to him from the doorway. 

The proximity was making it even harder to remember the looming deadlines and the emails waiting to be answered. 

He cocked his head to the side, “Handsome carpenter?”

“Uh-huh.” you nuzzled your nose against his as you looped your arms around his neck, “Causing all kinds of distractions in the neighbourhood.”

He smiled, one of his bashful self-effacing ones that always reveals more than he usually intends. His smile told you he was pleased with the compliment, but the slight tilt of his head and squint of his eyes gave the opposite effect - suggesting that he didn’t quite believe that he was a cause for such attention.

“As much as I'd love to keep you here darlin’, I reckon you've got work to do, huh?” he said, a tinge of reluctance in his voice.

You sighed again, this time albeit dramatically, “But how can I focus when you're out here creating art?”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, “Art? Well, aren't you poetic today? Didn’t think I’d call some planters art,” he said, referring to the project he was working on, which now you remembered was for Sarah. 

You had zero green thumbs for anything that wasn’t artificial, but Sarah had discovered a talent for it in recent months and Joel was always ready to encourage any and all of her pursuits.

“Maybe I'm just inspired,” you grinned.

“So, am I a muse or a distraction then?” he questioned, curious.

“You're definitely distracting,” you smirked.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that you knew all too well, “Should I be flattered or concerned?” he said, before dropping into a look of concern, it wasn’t often he was home during a weekday, but work had been slow, “I know you've got deadlines.”

You sigh, thinking of the work project sitting idly on your computer screen back in the office that was once his that you’d taken over ever since you’d moved in. “You should be both.”

He smiled and you were so lost in the feel of his hands on your hips and the depth of his deep brown eyes that his lips on yours took you by surprise. However, it wasn’t long before the lingering embrace quickly made you forget about deadlines, if only for a moment. Your mind went blank, consumed by the warmth of his touch and the taste of his lips.

Joel broke the kiss reluctantly much to your dismay, “Now, go on. Get that project done. I'll be right here, continuing to be your muse or your distraction, or whatever.” he mumbled.

Reluctantly, you stepped back, your hand lingering in his for a moment longer. “I'll hold you to that Miller.”

With a quick grin, you turned on your heel and with a swat to your ass from Joel you returned to work a little lighter and maybe a little more inspired to get your work done.

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Happy Holidays to @idlenight, who was kind enough to let me steal his Sidestep, River Becker, for an absolutely unhinged fic for a gift exchange. I had a lot of fun playing with your delightful bastard, Idle. Sorry I was mean to him!

Undertow

Warnings for graphic violence, grief, betrayal, and questions of identity.

Read on Ao3 or

Red waves spill out of the fractured face plate, bursting from the technicolor star that crackles out wild like lightning across the shards of screen. Julia's resolve falters, her fist slowing as she draws it back. She swallows hard as glass pieces fall away without her knuckles to hold them in place. More strands of red escape the bounds of the helmet, pouring out unruly as the sea in a storm.

She used to tug on those waves, watching them bounce back into place. They're softer, silkier than her own hair. "No," she scoffed, shoving his shoulder gently. He rocked away with the motion, but always came back to her, like a moon in orbit. "You're not gonna convince me that's your natural color."

River rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide his smirk. "Yeah, well, guess you'll have to keep calling me a liar 'cause I'm not going to show you the carpet to prove you wrong."

"Mierda, Rio, ew!" The mock offense had been no match for her mirth, melting beneath her inability to stop laughing.

When she pressed her palm to his face, pushing him away fully, he let her. His laugh mingled with hers, green eyes alight with the joy she'd thought would always be there.

The green eye that peers out between shattered plasteel and glass isn't laughing now. Something else swirls in its depths as his brow pulls down towards his nose. "Don't fucking stop now, Charge." The voice modulator only partially cloaks his voice, the real River escaping the widening seams in Maelstrom.

He slams his head forward, forehead cracking against hers, and Julia swears as she reels back off and away from him. He scrambles even further in her distraction. Getting to his feet is not a graceful thing. It's a desperate scrabbling across ruined concrete to put space between them. More bits of his helmet crumble from his face, revealing scarred pale skin and a spattering of freckles.

"Oh, my god, you didn't tell me you have freckles!" The sentence broke on the giggle that Julia couldn't hold back.

River paused in pulling the Sidestep mask up, his nose anchoring the shifting nanoweave. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressing into something close to a pout. "I can pull it back down if you're just going to make fun of me, Marshal." The words were sharp, but his tone cracked on the snark. He knew she wouldn't call his bluff.

"No,no," she'd protested, because curiosity always kicked her self discipline into gear. "Come on. Let's see it."

She wishes she could roll the mask back down now, piece the helmet back into place, go back to pretending anyone could be Maelstrom. She doesn't want to see his familiar face being revealed piecemeal as his most recent alter ego falls away. It hurts more with every shard that shatters on the concrete. The pieces scatter further as he goes on the offensive, fragments falling like rain, and he rushes forward once more.

Julia only has a second to collect herself before he's on her, trading blows as fast as a viper. He didn't used to be this fast. A function of the armor? Or maybe they just never sparred with the intent to hurt each other. Maybe he'd always been holding back. Or maybe they'd just made this impostor better than River.

"Keeping up okay, old lady?" River didn't even strain to speak as he dodged and wove between her blows. Despite his height, he was always a slippery opponent. "You haven't landed a single hit."

"So impatient." She'd laughed back then, though it had sounded more like a wheeze. "Ever heard of sounding someone out?"

"Ever heard of being too slow?" He shot back. "Too-

-slow, old lady." Cold metal knuckles crash into Julia's gut, knocking the wind out of her with a pained gasp. She doubles over with the blow and Maelstrom's other hand grabs her hair, dragging her back upright. Her eyes meet his, zeroing in one the new feature since she last saw him: an eye prosthesis in black and silver, its iris the same blue and purple starburst as Maelstrom's helm.

The sight makes her grit her teeth. Not even trying to hide now. And why should he? The jig is up. She knows he's an impostor - just a lookalike of the real River. It still stings like antiseptic on a fresh wound. River had been her best friend, her confidante, her other half in ways she struggles to explain even to herself. Was it not enough that he had died and she had mourned? Bled out for years while his name was carved in stone over an empty plot? And then this River - this terrible, blood-stained facsimile of her friend - had dug his claws into that old wound and ripped it open anew.

Julia clenches her jaw, eyes tracking each shift in the jacket that covers the grey and white armor, and dodges back away from the oncoming blow. He may be faster than her now, but he doesn't fight all that different than the real River used to. As she weaves between his fists, letting herself slip into old reflexes she hasn't used in years, River's lips curl up in a snarl. The expression looks alien on his face.

There was always a wry edge to his smile. He threw them around so carelessly. Always laughing at something, always preceding a sharp joke and scathing comment. They could verbally spar for hours, playing off each other with a subtle escalation with each return.

River isn't talking so much now. He must have finally realized she's not fucking around this time. What gave it away, she wonders. Was it the fact that he's only landing glancing blows now or that she flexed her fingers in the array almost as familiar as her own heartbeat? The humming of the generator echoes up her spine in answer. A more deadly call and response for him to rebuff. His armor may be insulated, but it's a broken shell now.

No, he hadn't seen her boot up her mods. That much is clear as her fist flies just past his face and his eyes widen at the sight of electricity crackling so close to his nose. He must be able to taste it. The fight goes from enraged to frantic, the stakes heightened, and Julia gives him no quarter. Her nerves scream every time she makes contact with the armor. It's clearly not reinforced, but it still jolts her nerves down to the very bone.

He falls for her feint and Julia lunges forward, dodging under his arm. It doesn't take a lot of force to the back of the knee to bring a man to the ground and River is no exception. Even in the armor, the joints buckle against the weight from Julia's reinforced skeleton. River turns, eyes wide as he tries to glance over his shoulder.

He tossed a smile over his shoulder, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he turned to face her. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it?"

Julia picked herself up off the ground and rolled her shoulders. "I don't know that I can pull it off. I'm not as scrawny as you."

She smirked to soften the blow a touch, but she could still see the mild offense as he scoffed, "Scrawny! It's called 'lean'." He bounced on his feet like a jack rabbit. "Or spry."

"Alright, then," she mimicked his bounce, bringing up her fists. "Let's try it again, then."

He rushed her, ducking beneath her swing, leaving himself purposefully open to the blow to the back of the knees. She had this now. If River could pull it off, so could Julia. Shift weight, turn, shift momentum, and-

Julia's heel makes contact with River's jaw and she can feel the rattle of his teeth as it snaps shut. He collapses forward onto his hands, spitting blood and what might well be a tooth onto the pavement. He wouldn't hesitate and neither does she as she drives her boot into his armored ribs. River gasps as he rolls onto his back and, for a moment, he lies there, grimacing with bloodstained lips. She's on him in the next breath, pinning one arm beneath her knee, the other above his head. She clenches her jaw so hard that her teeth ache as she hits him, once, twice, again, and again. His expression twists with panic and pain and something altogether unfamiliar to her. With the front of the helmet near fully gone, Julia's stomach twists at hurting this man with her best friend's face.

River, his face pinched even beneath the mask as he breathed shallow through his teeth. Julia pressed her hands hard against his side, but it didn't stop the blood seeping between her fingers. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay. I've got you." She didn't tell him she'd always have him. She didn't need to. He knew. She'd always have his back.

Until she didn't anymore. Her fist shakes where it's drawn back above her head, her breath as ragged as her heart. When had she started crying? Was it when River's nose had started gushing blood or when his scarred cheek had turned purple beneath her knuckles?

He looks up at her with an almost blank expression. No, not blank. Is it remorse? With great effort, his lips curl up in a smile, no room for mirth with all the jagged and broken edges. "Go on," he growls, though she feels none of the previous bite he'd spoken with. "If it's gotta be someone, it's better if it's you."

Julia chokes on a retort, her tongue leaden in her mouth. She clenches her fist hard enough to draw her own blood. Beneath her, Maelstrom, not-River, River closes his eyes. It only makes him look closer to dead. A scream tears itself from her throat as she drives her fist down once more.