#just a quick drabble

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes

Yandere!Aventurine who pampers and dotes on you like no other. All of your outfits ooze luxury, matching his color palette and aesthetic to a T. Whenever he takes you on extravagant shopping trips, he always returns home with at least five bags hanging off his arms, insisting on carrying them for you. If he makes reservations for dinner, best believe there will be the most showstopping, mouthwatering foods you have ever seen, smelled, or tasted. He'll take care of it all.

Yandere!Aventurine who likes taking you to casinos, even if you don't particularly care for gambling. He'll have you sit next to him as he plays poker, flashing you a mischievous smile as he goes all in. Of course, he wins.

Yandere!Aventurine who tells you his past in hushed conversations at night, memories merely whispered between trembling lips. His hands reach for yours, grasping them like if he lets go, he'll fall into a dark, unescapable abyss.

Yandere!Aventurine who needs you like a fish needs water or a bird needs to fly. He says nonchalantly with a casual smirk that you're his "good luck charm", but you are so much more than that to him. You soothe the scars in his heart and blanket his sleep in sweet dreams. All this superficial glamor and wealth he flaunts don't even hold a candle to your value.

Yandere!Aventurine who can't stand the idea of you leaving. He'll clutch you tightly at night and keep an eye on you in the day, making sure you're safe and protected. He'll buy you anything, give you whatever you ask for. The one thing he isn't willing to give you is your freedom. After all, he'll take care of it all.

[bubbless-s]

➳ ♡︎ How deep is your love? ׂׂૢ

Context: ‘The type of boyfriend..’ with Jiyan.

Masterlist

- ʚɞ genre: fluff

- ʚɞ warnings: none

• The type of boyfriend to always get you flowers and go on a date with you when he isn’t busy.

• The type of boyfriend to notice the smallest details about you.

• The type of boyfriend who will pick you up to kiss you.

• The type of boyfriend who will let you play or mess up his hair and even let you style his hair into ridiculous hairstyles.

• The type of boyfriend who gets calmer and calmer when you touch him.

• The type of boyfriend to get easily flustered if you give him cheesy nicknames.

• The type of boyfriend who will admire you from afar.

• The type of boyfriend to let you sit on his back while he does push-ups.

• The type of boyfriend who spoils you everyday and every night,because he feels bad that he gets super busy.

• The type of boyfriend who would let you kiss his tacet mark.

• The type of boyfriend to give you surprises kisses.

• The type of boyfriend to listen to everything you say, even tho your info dumping about your interests and he doesn’t understand anything.

• The type of boyfriend to never get mad at you.

• The type of boyfriend who will love you forever.

[pauking5]

Song of the Sea

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: Changing the register for a short drabble of my favorite mosshead. This just came to me as I was listening to hymn to the sea and I couldn't hold back from writing something. I've been planning my first entry for Zoro for a while now but this one just felt right. This won't be the last one and that's all I'm gonna say for now ;)

A joyous sea shanty echoed around the ship, from the galley to the prow and the deck above. The seasonal employed bard played his flute on a rhythm of his own, just about managing to drown out the sailors singing out of tune with their rigid voices.

The dirty beer bottle in your hand was half empty, the brown liquid swirling around in the hard green glass moving in a swirl with the gentle waves that rocked the ship. The late afternoon sun, warm and brighter than its been all day, coloured the sky in orange pastels, one reflection brighter than the other as another day was slowly coming to meet its end.

You and your rented crew just finished a long quest for a chest of pearls belonging to an old maiden that ruled a part of the southern seas. You found the pearls and the dusted skeleton of the maiden hugging it tight to her bosom. She didn't put much of a fight now, but the sword left at her side told you her previous visitors weren't as lucky as you. The sailors, though atrociously bad at singing, helped you sail and retrieve the chest. All done in exchange for a part of the winnings and a round of booze barrels they already sifted through. They were a comforting enough company, even though they were really loud and liked cauaing ruckus unprovoked most of the time. But you were glad that for one peaceful moment they were filling in the quiet of the late afternoon.

"They say there's a green light at the end of sunset," spoke a voice from your right. Unknown, not one that your ears recognized, you turned to its owner with a wary hand on the hilt of your sword.

You came face to face with a pair of round brown eyes, deeper than the shade of your liquor, and mossy green hair, making their way to your side. His hand grabbed the edge of the railing, leaning forward, looking out in the direction of the sun that was now halfway down to the horizon line.

Your senses must've been dulled by the booze, not at all troubled that a stranger you haven't seen before found his way on your boat. Well, rented boat. But for some reason his presence didn't perk your defense up at all. Not even a little bit. So you let go of your sword and leaned back on the wooden edge, directing your attention to his words.

"That's a myth."

Doubt coated your tongue for good reason. You've heard of countless stories surrounding the famous green light, from sailors lost at sea finding their way back home or spirits from the world beyond coming to the surface to wickedly haunt their murderes, but none of them made any sense.

"There's a little truth in every legend," he pushed.

"And what's the truth in this one?" you ask, eyes moving from the mast to lay on him only to find him already looking right at you.

"I guess you'll just have to trust me."

You chuckled in disbelief.

This random, annoyingly beautiful, man just showed up out of thin air on your ship, trying to convince you to seek creed in a myth that was never proven true. He was asking you to believe in a fable. Hearsay. You've been at sea for most of your life and you have never seen the supposed green light.

"The green light is a mirage," you argued. "It's not real. If it was real, you wouldn't hear about it from drunken sailors," you add, taking a long swig of your beer to chase down the odd feeling crawling up your nape that there was some little truth in his words.

His deep brown eyes gave you a long look, as if aware of the fact that you gave his words another thought despite your earlier conviction that he was talking of ghosts.

"Are you one of them?"

"No..." you say. But you broke into a giggle as you pointed at your bottle. "Not a regular one anyway."

He chuckled at your reply, smile stretching wide like a tide, eyes turning into crescents of daylight.

"Then wait for it and see for yourself," he says, smiling at you.

In that moment, between a wave hitting the lower deck and your eyes landing on him again, you swore you could see the tiniest speck of a weird light reflecting in his eyes, slowly moving to illuminate the rest of his face. That same light entered your peripheral vision, making you turn back to the horizon. A gasp burst from your throat, fingers tightening on your bottle to not drop it.

There it is.

Shining brightly with the middle body of the sun sunken below sea, shimmering in specks of a lively green, dancing across the skyline.

I'll be damned.

The green light is real.

He spoke the truth.

A shaky hand made its way to your mouth to cover the new gasp of surprise that left you. Goosebumps raised on your arms as you watched the rare phenomenon happen right before your very own eyes with the man on your right. The crew was too far gone to notice either the fable before you or the very invisble, noticeable only to your eyes. As if he himself was a figment ripped from a tale dedicated to non-believers.

"Maybe the sea sings back to us," he says. "All we need to do is just listen closely and hear her call."

You let your eyes linger on the green light a moment more, then spun around to say something only to find the mystery green-haired man all but gone.

Like he was never here.

Stumbling over your legs that suddenly weighed heavier than lead, you walked to each member of the crew and shook them sober, desperately asking about the green-haired man's whereabouts. If anyone else saw him and you didn't just imagine him from all but two gulpd of cheap beer. But all you got in response were confused stares and whispers that you were indeed seeing things.

"There's no green-haired man on this ship," said the bard. He was the only person that wasn't heavily intoxicated at the moment. He's been with the crew the longest and knew each one by mother and middle name.

There was no record of a green-haired man in the crew, or any man that might have matched his description. The man was a ghost.

Frantic and bewildered, heart thundering louder than the glassy thud your bottle made hitting the almost dull disposal barrel, you ran and searched the kitchen, the sleeping quarters and the gallows below. You turned each makeshift bedding hanging from the ceiling, rearranged the gunpowder crated, flipped the cannons inside out. Breathing lost, caving under your rapid search, you stopped and glanced into the darkness swallowing the last of the light shining through the cannon room.

You found absolutely nothing that could belong to the mysterious man. There was no trace of him anywhere on the ship.

Like he was never here.

You ran back to the deck, returning to your earlier spot to see the remaining rays of green drowned in the grey dusk of the clouds.

There was no way you could tell if both the green light and the man were real or a concoction of the beer you were drinking. Not like you drank a lot or couldn't handle it to lose your mind so fast.

But there was one thing you were sure of. They felt real. Way more real than that chest of pearls.

And you would wait tomorrow, the day after that and so on until you would see both of them again. Even if you had to sail to the end of the world and back. You would listen to the sea speak through its current until you found the right frequency.

Until it would sing back to you of the green light and the green-haired man.

Thank you for reading :)

[cherryywrites]

happy lny ficlet

Dexter walks into his laboratory, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and finds himself face-to-face with a hot pink tiger.

He freezes in his tracks.

The tiger stares him down with an air of nonchalance, perched atop his keyboard as if it owns the place. Meanwhile, a continuous stream of  'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA' is scrolling rapidly across the monitor behind it, echoing the internal scream that Dexter's struggling to suppress.

Then the predator gives a great big yawn, displaying a very large, very sharp set of teeth.

"Heh heh...nice...kitty..." Dexter coos. He starts backing away, being very careful not to spill his coffee, even though his hand is starting to tremble.

Its large, glassy eyes blink slowly at him, ear twitching. Dexter gulps. In the back of his mind, much like the ceaseless stream of vowels rolling across his monitor, his brilliant brain helpfully supplies him with a barrage of tiger facts, narrated by a suspiciously Attenborough-esque voiceover. Tigers have been observed pouncing at speeds of up to 10 to 15 meters per second in short bursts. A tiger's bite force ranges from about 500 to 1000 pounds per square inch. This is strong enough to crush the skulls and bones of their prey in a matter of seconds...

"HI DEXTER!" DeeDee shouts from behind him. Dexter jumps, and coffee splashes out of his mug and right onto his lab coat. The hot liquid spills all over the floor.

"DEEDEE, RUN!" He shrieks, but his panic is soon dispersed when DeeDee starts laughing at him.

"Awwww, did Princess Floofy scare you?" DeeDee walks on over to the tiger, neatly stepping around the remnants of Dexter's morning breakfast. To his utter horror, she reaches up to the tiger's jaw and starts giving it scritches on the chin.

"Who's a good girl? Yes you are, yes you are-" The tiger closes its eyes and a deep, rumbling purr emits from its throat as DeeDee continues her ministrations.

"DeeDee, stop that." Dexter says, recovering himself. "That's a dangerous predator, not a housecat!"

"Actually, housecats are dangerous predators as well." A familiar nasally voice interrupts him. "Well, to the wrong people, of course."

Turning around, he realizes that behind him is none other than Mandark, who is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose smugly. (The glasses immediately fall back down afterwards, though, which diminishes the evil genius effect quite soundly). He's wearing his all-red cape today rather than his black and red one, but the rest of his dorky outfit is the same.

"Mandark!! What are you doing here?!" Dexter scowls, brandishing his nearly-empty mug of coffee at him. A little bit spills out from the top, which Mandark eyes warily.

"I came by to borrow your BioGenesis Engine for a bit."

"Why?!"

"So I could give you your New Year's present." Mandark replies.

"New Year's was a month and 10 days ago."

"The solar one, yes. But not the lunar new year." Mandark grins. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"It will be a happy new year when you get this fuchsia feline out of my laboratory! Why on earth would you think I'd ever want this? I'm a DOG person -"

Mandark snickers.

"-you'd better get this wretched cat out of my lab right now, or I'm gonna lose it!"

Mandark holds up a hand. "To clarify, my dear Dexter, the tiger is not your present."

"...It's not?" Dexter asks, a little dumbfounded.

His rival shakes his head. "Of course not. The tiger isn't your zodiac animal."

"Oh," Dexter frowns. "Wait...It's not DeeDee's either."

"...Yeah, but she didn't like the ox." Mandark shrugs. 

"They're not as cute!" DeeDee says. 

"Speaking of which, I have some good news and bad news..." Mandark gives a sheepish grin. "Which do you want first?" 

Oh no. "What did you do?"

"So the bad news is, the ox broke your BioGenesis Engine during its rampage." Mandark says. "Bit of a bull in a China Shop situation." 

"For Einstein's sake..." Dexter pinches the bridge of his nose. "And the good news?"

"The good news is, before it broke it, I managed to make both of our zodiac animals!" Mandark beams, taking Dexter by the shoulders and spinning him round. "See?"

Across the room is crimson red goat with burnished gold horns that narrows its eyes at him. It gives a low, menacing bleat and paws the ground with its hoof. It looks like it's ready to charge. 

Dread sinks into the pit of Dexter's coffee-less stomach. 

"Mandark..." He says slowly. "...Remind me what your zodiac animal is again?"

He's answered by a loud, guttural roar from the back of his laboratory. 

[ensnapemysenses]

I would love to see Severus's inner monologue to Draco telling Severus he lost his virginity. -L

Ask and you shall receive 🤭

‘What is so important that he must interrupt me at a time like this? It’s obvious I’m having some me time right now,’ Severus thinks, huffing to himself as he sets his quill down.

“Yes, Draco? What is it?”

“Sir, I —,” Draco stutters, barely able to form words much less string them along into coherent sentences.

“Draco, spit it out or leave,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

“I — I lost my virginity, sir,” Draco says, his face pale and his eyes wide.

‘Why on earth is he telling me this,’ Severus thinks to himself. He would rather not be aware of his godsons sex life.

“Was it consensual and were you safe?”

“Yes.”

‘Ah good. At least there won’t be anymore Malfoy’s running around anytime soon. Merlin knows I could not handle that right now,” he cringes at the thought.

“Excellent. If you need anything or any help ever I’m here for you okay?”

[zephyrchama]

"Welcome back, it's been a while."

After a long time has passed, how might the Obey Me! demons welcome you home with a hug?

---

Lucifer tries to approach you in a calm and collected manner, but that facade easily crumbles as he gets closer. His pace quickens and his expression melts into an inscrutable blend of emotion. The man is fighting to stay composed.

He pulls you towards him, unwilling to wait a moment longer to have you in his arms. His gloved hands wrap around your back and waist with a secure grip. Your toes brush the ground as his hug lifts you to eye level, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Welcome back, I've missed you."

---

Mammon sprints up with the goofiest grin imaginable plastered on his face. He catches himself at the last moment though, grinding to a halt as a blush creeps over his ears. He wants to be cool. "You sure are a piece a work to keep The Great Mammon waiting."

His arrogant act is betrayed by the many glances in your direction. By the way he's clenching his fist so hard his knuckles are white, and by the way he immediately crumbles into your open arms the second you reach out. He throws his arms around your shoulders and digs his face into your neck. He grips the back of your top a little too hard, as if you might leave again any moment.

---

Leviathan sheds his insecurities and doubts, all negative emotions, just to be able to bask in your presence again. It's a moment he's looked forward to for weeks. He puts trust into the belief that you've also been looking forward to seeing him.

He wraps his arms and legs around you, unconsciously aiming to get as much skin contact as possible. "I've really missed you, you know!?" he half-shouts before burying his face in your shoulder. You fight to stay standing upright. Every little movement, every minor adjustment in posture you make causes Leviathan to snuggle closer until you can't tell where your limbs end and his begin.

---

Satan can't control all of the overwhelming emotions that hit him at once. He grabs hold of your hand, and with a palm on your back he pulls you close until your entire weight leans against him. At your touch, all he can do is smile.

"Glad to see you again." The two of you sway back and forth, turning your hug into a psuedo-Waltz. When you look into his eyes, Satan gives your hand a kiss and presses your intertwined fingers against his face.

---

Asmodeus laughs as he barrels into you. "Did you miss me? Of course you did!"

You stumble back several steps yet he catches you before you fall, latching onto your side like a matching puzzle piece. He rubs his cheek over your head, pausing every few seconds to give you a kiss as his free hand enthusiastically traces its way up your back.

Asmodeus is the most reluctant to let go. Making a mess of your hair and clothes only gives him a calculated opportunity to touch you more as he tidies up your appearance. His caress lingers over your collarbone and around your ear. His fingers brush against your mouth, which he then brings to his own lips.

---

Beelzebub falls to his knees, relieved to see you return safe and sound and glad to be by your side once more. His arms curl around your hips. He noses his face into your chest and looks up with a content smile as he greets you, "welcome back."

You lean over to return the hug, running your hands through his hair. You don't expect Beelzebub to stand, picking you up in the process. You steady yourself on his shoulders as he rises, his violet eyes not wavering from you for a second, tempting him to steal a kiss.

---

Belphegor wraps his arms around your shoulders and practically falls on you. He doesn't seem concerned that you're sinking to the ground. In fact, he's so preoccupied with cuddling up to you that there's no way to avoid sitting on the ground with this demon on top of you.

He curls his body around your legs. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he slowly exhales, "welcome back." He's awake, but nothing will stop him from pretending to be asleep as his grip strength loosens and his face trails down your body.

---

Diavolo laughs amicably as you approach. He wants you to come to him, and is so thrilled to have you back. He bends down to latch his arms under yours and swings you around, sweeping you off your feet as you twirl two, three times, then slow to a stop.

"How have you been?" In due time he wants to know everything, and hear all the stories of your time away in detail. For now, he's got you locked in a bear hug. You feel his lips brush over your hair as he lightly swings you back and forth.

---

Barbatos' hug is the most restrained. It's simple and polite. At first he was content to just greet you with a gentle handshake and loving gaze. Though, when you request a hug, there is no way he can say no.

He extends his arms around your back, gives you two soft pats, and hesitates for just a moment before letting you go.

At night that evening as you prepare for bed, you find a note in your pocket that Barbatos must have cunningly slipped in without anyone noticing. It's a detailed letter with everything he didn't get to tell you in person.

[wrxthfulguard]

Morals... They were what kept him from being a full on serial killer... He understood that his past professions made him a villain... But one of those professions were a cover from his true objective: To dismantle the system creating injustice and corruption in both law enforcement and the government from the inside, rebuild it as a system where it was fair, clean, and there was truthful real justice.

His second profession was forced in a life-or die and turn into an undead being in the undead apocalypse, he was brainwashed into said profession.

The guilt still lingers in him every day, it drives him to atone for that guilt, to make the afterlife less suffering for all.

Villain, hero... Those titles mean nothing to him... He was just someone wanting to do what’s right.

People ignore him, but... Once he strikes, he’ll make them regret it.

He’ll fight for his allies, his friends... For a future in peace.

His past will not be repeated by all means.

[wonuwonder]

“baby where did you put my headphones?” wonwoo asks, his head popping through the kitchen door.

“did you just call me baby?” you say cutely, and wonwoo blushes instantly, you’ve been officially dating for two weeks, so terms of endearment were still something new, but always lovely to hear.

“i might’ve” he says shyly, squinting his nose and eyes. you go over to where he’s standing and hug him by the tummy, looking up at him propping your chin on his chest, he hugs you back by the shoulders, you tiptoe and give him a quick kiss.

“i like it” you say, and he smiles, “i like it too” he says back and hugs you tightly.

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

I've seen a lot of takes on what would happen if Sonic and Tails returned to West Side Island and confronted the people who were so abusive to Tails, and I had an idea for a somewhat new spin on it.

What if, now that Tails is a world famous hero, the Islanders try to try to basically gaslight him into thinking none of the abuse ever happened? They find out he's coming and they throw a big "Welcome Home" party and give him a medal and stuff, and when confronted about their treatment of him just completely deny or twist it. Like "oh yes I'm so sorry there were a couple kids who were bullies but that happens to everyone you weren't being targeted, and we tried to get them to stop it" or "we didn't know you were alone and homeless, if we knew we would have taken you in" and all sorts of garbage like that

And Tails, who's maybe a tween-young teen now, and no longer has distinct memories from that early in his life, starts to question if maybe he really was blowing things out of proportion. Maybe he really was just bullied by one or two kids, and they weren't really that bad. Maybe people didn't really chase him away and refuse to even let him go through their garbage for food. He knows he has anxiety. Maybe he was just imagining how much everyone hated him. And he almost wants to believe it, to believe that he was never truly hated.

But Sonic remembers. Sonic remembers the gang of older kids beating and violently attacking toddler aged Tails, and only stopping when he physically intervened with his own fists. He remembers questioning the townsfolk about the two-tailed fox he'd seen and being meet with sneers and complete disdain. He remembers how skinny Tails was, how his ribs were visible even through his fur and how he wolfed down the food Sonic offered him so quickly that he nearly threw it up later. He remembers how Tails flinched from any quick movement or attempt at touch. He remembers the long process of gaining the fox's trust, a process that tested his nine-year-old patience as he spent literal weeks urging Tails to come closer, keeping his hands slow and his face friendly, finally getting the fox to join him at the campfire, to walk beside him without dashing away when moved his arm too fast, and then, eventually, to let him touch him. He remembers the first few times Tails let him try to brush out his matted, dirty fur, each knot a testament to neglect, and finding scars and wounds on the skin beneath that spoke of so much abuse. He remembers realizing for the first time that normal, everyday Mobians could be just as cruel as Eggman.

Tails doesn't trust his own memory. But Sonic remembers. And Sonic is not quick to forgive.

[storiesoflilies]

t.w: mentions of violence. if a gifted artist would like to bless us all with fanart inspired by this drabble, just know you will have saved my life.

thinking about knight!toji fushiguro who has gone completely rogue. he does not care for oaths or honor or justice, not anymore. he takes whatever he wants from whoever has it, with determined grit and merciless steel. who wears armor blacker than the night and rides atop a midnight stallion, its hooves striking the ground like thunder so you knew who was coming for you.

he was a god, a herald of death.

so they say.

but here you are, in his clutches atop his steed, and oh, how you believe everything you’ve ever heard about him.

“so pliant for me,” he hummed, his hand around your throat, bringing the back of your head to rest against his chest. “what a sweet little thing you are.”

you knew better than to try and fight him.

his lips ghosted over your neck, the tip of a fang lightly grazing your skin, and you felt his chest rumble. you shivered, even though his cloak was warm against your shoulders. it sounded like he was pleased, and his strong grip around you tightened. you couldn’t help but glance down at the ground, at the trampled bodies of the men who had tried to corner you, and toji tutted softly. his calloused fingers tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze away from the sight, arching your back against him. his green eyes peered into your very soul, and you had never felt more alive.

“sorry for all that,” he breathed out, chuckling, and you knew he wasn’t sorry at all. “i tend to get carried away.”

you don’t know why you said it, but you did. “it’s okay.”

toji barked out a laugh, burying his face into your neck, messy strands of his hair tickling you. his thighs pressed into yours, like he was trying to meld himself into you. his horse snorted loudly beneath you, impatient, its powerful muscles rippling.

“yes,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “i think i’ll just have to take you with me, keep you safe.”

and with that, toji sharply spurred his stallion onward, and the both of you disappeared into the shadows of the night.

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes

Yandere!Wriothesley who meets you after you get sentenced to Meropide for some obscure rule engrained in the footnotes of Fontaine's lawbooks. The only conversation you share with him in your first few weeks at Meropide is a brief chat over food at Coupon Cafeteria. Despite his seemingly aloof personality and gruff exterior, his overcast-grey eyes shine with brief moments of sunlight. You've intrigued him.

Over your stay at Meropide, you find yourself chatting with Wriothesley more and more. Whether it be after finishing a shift in the Production Zone, sitting down for a meal, or walking back to the dormitories, you keep finding yourself running into him. Whenever he sees you, there's a brief moment of levity in his expression, his eyes piercing into you with their gaze.

Before long, your sentence is almost up. Your bags are packed, good-byes to new friends have been said, and promises to write have been made.

Then you get asked to report to the Duke's office.

Your heart is pounding as you're escorted in. Wriothesley is behind the desk, arms and legs crossed, an impassive expression blanketing his face before he notices you. He gestures for you to sit down, clearing his throat after the silence in the air starts to stagnate. "Care for some tea?"

You shake your head, confused as to what this is about. "No thank you, Your Grace," you respond politely.

After a sip of tea, Wriothesley waves his hand. "Don't call me by that title. Wriothesley is fine,"

You nod, and he seems pleased. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you to come here today," he starts, interlacing his fingers and fixing his gaze onto you. Another nod from you, your eyebrows knit and face filled with confusion this time. "Well, I'm sorry to say that your sentence is being extended."

There is a quiet that rings in your ears like tinnitus after this statement is said, before words spill from your mouth. "Wh-wha...I...h-how?" You ask, truly dumbfounded.

Wriothesley crosses his arms again, tilting his head. "Destruction of the prison's property is a punishable offense. When guards went to check your room today as part of your release, they found multiple items, damaged. So, your sentence is being extended for the next six months."

When you open your mouth to protest, knowing it couldn't have been you, Wriothesley is quick to interrupt you. "Furthermore, in addition to your sentence being extended, I'll be personally monitoring your actions to ensure another...mishap like this doesn't occur."

You feel tears threatening to peak out of the corners of your eyes, shaky breaths escaping your lips. Everything that you've worked for above the surface, your job, your home, your friends and family, all of them are slipping away like sand in your hands.

Wriothesley sees this disconsolate expression, and his stern eyes soften. "I know how difficult this must be," he says, sliding a grey handkerchief across his desk, allowing you several moments to compose yourself. "I wish I didn't have punish you for this. I don't believe you'd do something like this, but it seems impossible for anyone else to have done it," he explains, sighing.

Another silent moment passes, before Wriothesley continues speaking. "A guard will escort your to your new room assignment. I'll come visit you after you've settled in. You may leave."

After the door is shut and Wriothesley is alone in his office, the corners of his lips quirk up. You had no idea. No idea how he was instantly hypnotized by you. No idea how he knew your schedule inside and out. No idea how much he wanted to love you, and how much he wanted you to love him.

This was only a necessary step. After he had ripped you from your roots and transplanted you into a better pot, once you had shed away the life you lived on the surface and embraced his love and affection, it would all be better. He would make sure of it.

[cynda-queer]

The unfortunate truth is I am a slave to positive reinforcement, so when I post things, I'm sitting there like a cat scratching at a closed door like "likes?" "reblogs?" "commint?"

[rodolfoparras]

Cw: 18+, blowjobs, anal play, old man price, mythological world, ritual sacrifice, virgin! Price, bottom!price, centaur!male reader

For @lieutnt 🫶🏻

Thinking about old man Price who lives in a little town terrorized by what’s known as an evil creature. In order to keep the creature at bay the towns people sacrifice a virgin every year.

However throughout the years the population has decreased so there’s just one virgin left and it’s Price, but he’s a man, and an old one at that.

But he willingly agrees to the ordeal because he doesn’t have anyone left - no friends no family so might as well end his misery.

The towns people prepare him in the best way they can; they groom him and feed him whatever he wishes to eat, all while he pretends that they aren’t setting him up for his death sentence.

The day finally comes when he is to be sacrificed and he is absolutely terrified. What if the creature thinks they’re mocking it by bringing an old man?

But Price tries to tell himself that this - death- is what he wanted in the first place so he shouldn’t have a reason to be scared.

But he can feel himself shake as he approaches the place where he is to be sacrificed. It is a dense wooded area with a small lake laying nearby, along with that it’s eerily quiet but Price sits down on his designated spot and waits for the creature to come.

He waits and waits, hears his heart beating in his chest, fingers nervously fiddling with the grass under him

All of a sudden he hears steps, that sound something akin to galloping and he freezes in place, doesn’t even dare breathe as he hears the creature approach him.

The steps come to a halt and he feels someone’s hot breath washing over his skin, can smell an earthy scent surrounding him, can even see a shadowy figure reflected onto the grassy field.

His eyes squeeze shut, fingers clutching onto tufts of grass while he silently wishes goodbye to whoever might hear or see him now.

But instead of meeting his demise he’s being flipped around and met with the sight of a man, no half man half horse. This must be the creature that’s been terrorizing his town but you don’t look anything like what he’d imagined and you certainly don’t act anything like it, when you gently cupping his cheek, eyes trailing over him as if taking him in before a contented hum escapes your lips.

Slowly but surely you’re stripping the clothes off of him, before laying him on a tree stub- the stub used for sacrifice, all while keeping a gentle hoof beneath him, essentially cushioning him from the rough surface.

He feels exposed like this, cold air caressing his bare skin and raising goosebumps all over his body.

But he doesn’t feel scared, not when you’re gentle as ever as you drag your hands over his rib cage, down to his hips before stopping at his thighs, big strong hands firmly pinning him to the stub.

You don’t say anything, maybe you don’t even know how to speak but Price likes to think that maybe you’re admiring him, that you aren’t as disgusted as he thought you’d be at having an old splayed out in front of you.

He doesn’t get to dwell on it any longer before he feels your long wet tongue languidly dragging along his shaft, and Price cries out, so loud he scares the birds that had been resting in the trees nearby. The small animals swiftly fly away as you drag your tongue across his slit, before suckling on his tip.

Your mouth is hot and ever so eager as you suck on his dick, a mess of slick and spit collecting on his skin, eagerly devorouing him like he’d devoured his last meal and Price looses himself in the feeling.

He thought that he’d be here to please but instead you’re the one buried between his thighs, taking care of this old man and he could almost cry- from pleasure - from relief and he does, fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he claws at the stub beneath him.

“Please, please-“ he pleads, hands desperately reaching out as he feels you pull away from his cock.

But within seconds he’s being flipped around on the stub, ass in the air, head buried in the ground as he feels cold wet fingers caress his spine.

“Please, take me please,” he’s not even aware what he’s saying anymore mind hazy and lost in please and eager oh so eager for more “please,” he cries out into the sky, looking up at what appears to be blurry stars in his teary eyes .

You grant him his wish, working one- two- three fingers inside of him, but it’s not enough, even with the pleasant burn and strech that comes with it. He needs more, starts clawing at your hooves in desperation while muttering the words “please take me please take me,”

But you ignore his please, continuing to scissor your fingers inside of him, stretching him til he starts feeling empty even with four thick digits fucking into him,

For a second Price thinks you won’t accept him as your offering, maybe you’d gone this far and decided he wasn’t worth it and he almost breaks down right then and there, mind distraught while also hazy with pleasure, desperately fucking himself back on your fingers, and chasing whatever crumbs of pleasure you’re willing to give him.

But just as he’s about to tip over the edge you pull away but only to line up your cockhead with his entrance, before you push inside of him.

You had accepted his offering.

You had accepted him.

[teddybeartoji]

dazai and gojo are so similar in my head. silly little touch starved geniuses<33333333

they both get so lovesick – staring at you with hearts in their eyes as you talk about your day. they rest their heads on their palms, twirling a strand of your hair between their slender fingers while humming. there's a sickeningly sweet smile plastered onto their faces, the corners of their eyes crinkling at the sight of you dramatically reenact even the smallest details.

they hope you never stop talking – they want to listen to you forever; they want to look at you forever. you give them so much comfort, you make them feel safe and sounds just with your voice. and your smile. and your eyes.

after you're done, they'll smother you with honeyed kisses – mouth, nose, cheeks, eyes, forehead, jaw, temple; they won't stop until you're melting into their arms with laughter spilling from your lips like a waterfall.

(is is bad that they want to drown? is it bad they want you to swallow them whole? is it bad they want to sink; to hide from the world and just be yours forever?)

[007reid]

coffee caramels. spencer reid

this is my submission for the cm meet cute (or not) challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins ! i did VERY loose research on the stuff spencer sprouts off on because i am not our boy genius so sorry if there are any inaccuracies ':( this is my first time writing for spencer but i literally love it so much and i'd love to write more so plz flood my inbox with requests for him plzzz 😭

pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

prompt: character sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.

warnings: slightly grumpy!reader and sunshine!spencer my fav trope <333 confident reader, reader makes the first move, spencer being a bbg and blushing a lot ;)) all the good stuff

word count: 2.7k

you arrived at the theater ten minutes early, bee-lined to the popcorn section and asked for extra butter. you loaded your oily popcorn up with coffee caramels and chocolate-covered coffee beans and bought a large coke. you walked in the theater, confident and fully armed with enough caffeine to hopefully keep you awake during the entire thing. you have tape in your bag to peel your eyes open just in case things go south, but you're confident enough to believe that it won't.

because it can't.

"aelita," your professor had said on friday, "is a russian phenomenon, and it is one of my top favorite films. considering how you are all in a russian literature class, i can make the safe assumption that you are all interested in russian culture."

now, not only were you in a russian literature class as an elective like two-thirds of your class, you were also a russian literature and poetry major. how you ended with that major baffles you and there hasn't been a day where you wanted to choose another major, but there hasn't been a day where you weren't depressed about your poor decision-making either. it's a battle you fight every day.

"aelita was first screened in 1924, and this year, next week, there will be a worldwide re-screening of the film in its originality, no edits, completely authentic, except with added subtitles for those who need it, of course," this was when your professor got very stern. "i want all of you to go and watch it. if you don't want to, fine, but there will be an assessment grade on this movie. this is not optional. i believe that the content of this movie is very true to our..."

at that point you had stopped listening, because you knew what your professor wanted you to do, and you dreaded doing it.

two hours, silent, black and white, russian film with subtitles. and you have to hang onto the movie's every word.

not your ideal saturday night plans, but for your academic career, you were willing to take that leap; looking like a sore loser at the empty theater with black framed glasses on instead of getting fucked up in someone's bathtub. it's fine. the partying was all up to the business majors anyway.

when you walked into the theater, it was, understandably, vacant, save for a couple men and women with graying hair or bald scalps and bad backs. you were clearly not the target audience. none of them had snacks on them either, and you felt awkward being the one responsible for the strong aroma of butter and coffee that stuffed the place the moment you walked in. a gentleman coughed in his hanker-chief and flared his nostrils. you were intimidated already.

you tracked down your seat and decided to not let any of it distract you. you needed a good grade on this assessment. you had already bombed your previous test on the imperial era; you don't need another bad grade stacked on top of it. you're acing this test, no matter what, and you're going to absorb this movie so well that it might as well be your favorite.

as you waited for the film to start, you munched on several of the coffee caramels, the caffeine slow to kick in. you shrugged it off. there's a whole bucket of sugar to fuel you through the film.

in midst of biting into a shelf of a chocolate-covered-coffee-bean, you heard a light thud and a hiss, and the quiet muttering of "i'm good, ow." an old man by the stairs called out;

"you alright, son?"

"yes sir," the man said. despite being alright, he was limping to his seat, and you watched him attentively, for there wasn't much else for you to observe. he limped closer and closer to you by row, ticket in his hand and checking the letters on the rows. he stopped at your row, and then walked crookedly and settled down in the seat right next to you.

you chewed on your popcorn as you directed your attention somewhere else, your determination slightly deflated. the film was late into starting, but you were still going strong.

"oh wow," you heard the man mumbled next to you, and looked over to see what he was talking about, nosy. but he was looking at you.

"what?" you said indignantly, immediately dropping the oily popcorn in your hand and wiping at your mouth, feeling oddly self-conscious. but mostly irritated. you'd say you hid your whiplash pretty well when you saw how pretty the man was when you looked over at him. you were so smooth with it. "chocolate on my face?"

"what? oh, no," the man breathed out a small laugh. he's got a soft, shy voice that got your insides feeling like broken tomato bits.

"then what?" you demanded, but not too authoritatively because you didn't want to chase him away. you kept it cool and in control. totally. it was hard to find eye candy in quantico, and the last place you would expect to find someone so pretty is in the theater for a fucking silent film.

even though it was dark, you could still catch the bright blush that crept up the man's neck, but it might be because he felt hot under all those layers. seriously, he was dressed like your grandpa, sweater vest, tie, collared shirt and all, but it was tied together in some kind of way that made it work, and it was the way the man carried himself that made him look youthful in all those ancient clothing.

"nothing," he ducked his head away, "i was just talking out loud."

you didn't have to be sherlock holmes to know that he was lying. "you liar," you accused, wiping your hand even more aggressively over your face. "i do have something on my face, don't i? just tell me if i do!"

"you don't have anything on your face!" he said, an indecisive and uncracked smile playing on his lips. you grumbled and turned back to look at the screen, still waiting for the film to start, popping candy in your mouth. in was silent for a merciful while, until the man said, "did you know that dmitri shostakovich conducted the music for this film and during its first showings in leningrad since the film was silent he came personally and played the piano whenever the soundtrack would be playing?"

you hummed. no you did not.

"i was surprised when i saw you, you don't look over sixty at all," the man continued. you didn't know how to take this piece of information as a compliment or an insult. "whenever i come to these things, it's only me who doesn't have grey hair. well, some people dye it, which looks pretty obvious because you can't really hide age, y'know?"

usually you'd be annoyed. very annoyed, in fact, you'd switch seats to be away from the guy. but this one's got a nice voice, and the moment he sat down you caught a scent to him immediately, that old cashmere and cotton scent that comes from old, thrifted clothes that you'll find dug deep somewhere in your grandmother's basement or in vintage stores, and sugar cookies and mint and coffee. it's a good smell, is all. you weren't being creepy about it.

"i'm not over sixty," you assured him. "just scraping twenty-two."

"oh! i'm twenty-two too!" the man said excitedly. he had child's glee to him, which you found more endearing than annoying. you didn't know why. you didn't know why you were still sitting with the man instead of scurrying three rows away like you would have normally the moment any stranger tried to attempt small talk with you.

maybe you were a changed woman.

"how crazy," you mused. you didn't sound half as interested or excited as the man did, but he had most definitely got your undivided attention. you nature tells you to not show it.

"how did you hear about this movie? i tried to get some of my friends to watch it with me, but none of them were too interested...except emily, she's usually more interested because she can speak russian but she got plans this weekend," his face fell into a thoughtful frown at the end, and the clockwork in your brain started to turn at the mention of 'emily.' was that his girlfriend? special lady? you shouldn't be googling, then.

"my professor created an assessment for this movie," at the man's inquiring look, you explained further, "it's for my russian lit class."

his eyes shone like a fucking diamond at that, as if russian lit was the most exciting thing he had ever heard of in his life. you could tell that you were looking at the kind of guy who would decline a party full of seniors to go read a dictionary at home. "is that like an elective you take? 'cause it's a subject that fascinates me a lot, but the demand for it is so slim that--"

he was cut off by the movie finally starting and flickering to life. you turned away immediately, eyes focused and attention zeroed onto the introduction screen. screw the pretty boy for now, you thought, you might as well pack your things and go back to your hometown if you fuck up this movie's assessment. it needed your attention.

black and white and grimy, a pretty font wrote 'aelita, adapted by alexei tolstoy.' but as soon as the film started, the picture quickly collapsed, blurring and then fading into black. with the audience being so small, there wasn't much commotion but whispers of confusion began to arise as the lights began to bleed more yellow, lighting up the theater more. it was as if the movie was over.

"sorry folks," a voice came from the grainy megaphone above all of them. "some trouble with the tape. we are trying our best, but not sure of our luck. all tickets will be refunded if bought online or you bring your ticket to us for a mark so you can present your current ticket right now at the next showing. thanks for your patience."

you looked exaggeratedly around, and the man in the sweater vest next to you looked equally as disappointed.

"my professor is not going to believe me," you muttered under your breath, but the man caught it anyway and chuckled quietly. you looked down at your still full bucket of popcorn and your large coke. you glanced over to the man next to you, not too smart things lottering around in your head. you travel through the subway, and the ride to your street is not until two hours. you weren't going to spend it morosely eating popcorn in the waiting lobby.

"is emily your girlfriend?" you asked suddenly. there was no point in being shy. the man's mouth unhinged from his jaw immediately, and you stared at him. his cheeks quickly stained an innocent pink.

"what?" he squeaked, his voice a higher pitch, caught off-guard. "no! no, she-she's my coworker!" he sounded almost offended.

this took you by surprise. you didn't know people who were close to their coworkers existed. "so you don't have a girlfriend?"

the blush on the man's face kept getting brighter and brighter. you bit your lip to keep from smiling like a fool. with how endeared you were by him, it's strange to think that you don't even know his name yet. it was rare for you to really be so mindful and think such soft things about somebody, especially to a stranger.

you were a changed woman. but maybe it's because of the coffee caramels messing with your head. sugar and caffeine tend to do that.

"no," the man said, then cleared his throat. he was fiddling with his fingers, an obvious stim. "no, i don't have a girlfriend."

"sweet," you grinned, "then no one would mind if i take you on a date, would they?"

he choked and got engulfed in a coughing fit, bending over in his seat. the red of his sweater vest nearly blinded you but you patted his back supportively. when his coughing ceased and he sat back up again, his eyes avoided yours for a while as he fought to keep the redness in his face down before he looked at you again.

"so?" you raised your eyebrow. "the night doesn't wait, pretty boy."

the nickname just slipped out of your mouth, and you cringed at the weight of it. how out of pocket. you were going to go home and contemplate this conversation later. but right now, you were trying to take out probably the sweetest looking boy you've ever seen, and that was a more important matter as of.

"okay," he said, and that was that.

"okay," you repeated. "let's start with finishing this, yeah?" you looked down at your bothersomely big bucket of popcorn. "we can walk to the park and eat it and feed it to the ducks."

"actually, it's not safe for ducks to consume popcorn because it causes digestive issues especially if consumed in large quantities and disrupts their natural diet," the man recited matter-of-factly, blinking at you obliviously as if he just didn't acted like a fucking android. you huffed out a laugh. handsome and smart. pretty much a package deal.

"the popcorn will be just for us then," you promised, standing up. he followed suit, as a lone line of people started to exit the theater. "i hope you aren't a serial killer in disguise," you said jokingly, but not really, because that was a genuine threat. he laughed. it was a sweet, syrupy sound that you could soak up and not get sick of for a long time.

"that's ironic," he mumbled, and it flew past your head, you being too busy maneuvering out of the rows.

"what was that?"

"nothing," he smiled, bright and easy. the initial nervousness was already beginning to melt away. when you were side by side, his hand accidentally brushed yours and when you looked up at him, he was already looking another way, pretending to be distracted by the movie posters but the red in his ears and neck gave it away. you smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, holding your bucket of popcorn in the other.

"i forgot," you said, suddenly. his head whipped around to face you, but not before lingering his gaze at your intertwined hands. "i didn't get your name."

it was a foolish thing to say, you were holding a man's hand and you were pressed up side-by-side against him and you don't even know his name. he smiled softly, though, like he didn't mind. "i'm spencer reid."

"i'm y/n y/l/n."

"hi y/n," spencer said. you exited the theater and he started slightly swinging your joined hands. you laughed, the popcorn and candy in the bucket rattling and threatening to spill but you didn't care. "i'm a little disappointed," he said, pouting a little bit, bottom lip jutting out. "i was excited for the movie."

you breathed out an incredulous laugh. what a guy.

"i wasn't," you said, honestly. yours and spencer's arms were still swinging, and you resisted the uncharacteristic giggle bubbling at your throat. "rather be doing this instead." unexpected date at the park with a pretty boy in a red sweater vest or a boring silent film? the answer sounded pretty obvious to you.

"hm," spencer hummed, amused. "i guess i can catch the movie some other time."

"you can catch it with me," you blurted, and it sounded too early to say. you haven't had a proper conversation with the guy yet, you didn't know what he does and how he is, you didn't know whether or not he has a cat or a dog or a parrot or a ferret or if his room is kept tidy or messy, and you didn't know how much you were going to like him once the night is over. asking for a second date when the first one hadn't even started felt like too much, but it also felt like the right thing to say.

and if it's right, it's good enough for you.

spencer smiled shyly. when you turned right on the street, he pulled you back by your hand and redirected you left. "let's go the scenic route," he said, casually, and you could tell by the magenta tinge in his cheeks and the way he was firmly looking forward, avoiding your eyes that he wasn't feeling as casual as he sounded.

"want some of my popcorn?" you offered, feeling the large bucket was burdening you.

"oh, no thanks," spencer said. "i'm sure the pigeons will appreciate it more than me."

"does popcorn ruin their digestive system and disrupt their natural diet, too?"

spencer popped a large grin. it sat beautiful on his pretty face. "you listened," he said happily, and it felt like a large airbag had just inflated in your lungs. "no, i think pigeons are too used to picking our food, especially those in the city," a long pause, and "in fact, pigeons have a stronger digestive system than most birds due to adaptation, but the strongest out of all of them are vultures, whose stomach acid are so strong it doesn't get sick e eating rotten and bacteria-infested meats."

you hummed. you wished you had paid closer attention to what he said, but instead you paid attention to the smooth sound of his voice and how nice it sounded. well. you'll get there one day.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Drink With Me

George Weasley x Reader

AN: For poor @im-trying-my-best-yall who needs some needed fluff

Sum: George has been acting pretty weird around you recently. He keeps trying to say something to you, but whenever he does he seems to switch topics right before he says it. You figured he’s just stressed about planning for WWW after school ends, but it’s getting annoying now. So you confront him

Warning: Short and Sweet

“Georgie! Hey, I gotta ask you something!”

There you hurried after him, to cut him off from heading to his next class. The rare times he and Fred weren’t glued to the hip. George took up new class that just wasn’t Fred’s speed. Was something about Baking if you recall correctly. Fred prepared to cook. Had to take the chance, while he’s alone, so no one could intercept you both.

“Hey shortie, what’s up?” He would ruffle at your hair, as you quickly fixed it. Those Weasleys and their string bean genes. Made him tower over you. Always left with a hurt neck if you talked to him too long. Hopefully this will be short.

“You’ve been trying to ask me something for the past few days, and I figured now that I caught you that you can tell me. So what’s up?” You asked him. Asking seemed to be what he feared the most out of you.

His wand was soon rubbing his neck, his freckles cheeks flushing, and his doe eyes darting. He just seemed to instantly clammer up. Just not seeming to be the confident ladies man he normally is. He is just a wet hand mess. What was going on?

“Oh yeah….That. Yeah uh….Um.”

Oh how his eyes were darting around. He was trying so hard to find an excuse to not Ben in this situation right now. To find something to make him shut up. To escape this pin. But no one was around. No one anywhere, not even Peeves to give mercy to the bastard in the Gryffindor Robes. He needed to face this head on.

“Was um. Just wondering if you wanted to hit up the Three Broomsticks together. That’s all.” He tried his best to act casual, and shrug. Made you all the more confused.

Why is this making him so flustered?

“Ok…..Werido. That sounds nice. We could hit it up sometime after class. Fred and Angelina should be-“

“Without them…..”

Oh…..Oh.

Just the two of you. No brother, no other friends. Just the two of you. Like a date. Like a normal date that normal couples do. Normal normal normal little dating. Just a date between two people. A date date.

“……I uh. Yeah, I think I can do that.” You swallowed, as this was starting to really register now. He wanted to ask you out on a date. Still, why was he so flustered over it? He’s asked out plenty of guys and gals before. Never sweat this much. Even Fred straight up called Angelina across the table to the Yule Ball, and that was the end of that. What made you different?

“You weren’t dared to do this, were you?”

He stared down at you with the most offended expression possible. As if you called him a blood traitor. Some kind of slur that would make Molly faint. He looked ready to smack you, but of course he wouldn’t. He never would lay a hand on you. Unless you asked.

“What?! The hell you mean ‘was this a dare-‘ bullshit? No! This isn’t some dare. What gave you an idea like that? Fred and I have standards. Pranks like that are not only overly simplistic, but there is no joke at the end of it. Who’s laughing? No one. Give me some respect-!”

He gave you a hip bump, and it made you laugh. Helped you feel a little better over the whole situation. Maybe you were different for other reasons. Maybe he was bashful because you two had been friends for so long. It is pretty awkward to ask a friend out. If they say no, well….You can’t really take back what you said.

“Ok ok, I’m sorry Mr. Weasley. I shall never question your pranking methods again. Now hurry to class, before you get detention. If you get detention we can’t grab butter beers. Go on and get-!” You hip bumped him right back, and he gave that cute crooked smile. One that showed there was no worries to ever hold. That he’s all laughter.

“Alright I’m gone! All gone! Poof!” And down the hallway he went. Vanishing around the corner, as you now were dancing a squealing. Flapping away at your robes in total utter glee.

George Weasley asked you out.

Had you stimming like crazy, unaware that a certain red head had his own stimming session all the same. Flapping his hands to try and calm down. So damn happy you said yes.