#lis headcanon

[vortexclubreject]

lis headcanon: chloe blacked out her sleeve after the storm during a depressive episode and now she only gets blackwork (no color)

[that-damn-fouth-chaosemerald]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

— ❢ —

×A/N×

Hi guys!

First of all, Happy Birthday to this handsome psychopath! ^^

I know, peoples usally hate him, but I still think he's a really well created villain, and I still love him! °^° -//v//-

Btw, I really wanted to make these headcanons cute and fluffy, but at the end I mixed some smut too... Anyway, I really hope that you'll like it! ^^

×❢ About my work ❢×

Fluff, smut, cute and spicy nicknames, a bit of teacher x student ship, swear, Mark Jefferson x F!Reader, a bit of daddy kink

Fandom: Life is Strange

Character: Mark Jefferson

— ❢ —

(The picture is not mine!)

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding

“So love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do

Love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do

Touch me like you do, ta-ta-touch me like you do

What are you waiting for?”

• His nicknames for you:

• Darling, babe, cutie, sweety, sweetheart

• "Hey! How was your day, Darling?" he says while he gives a little kiss on your cheeks.

• "Come here, Sweetheart!"

• Sometimes he calls you hopeless, while he let out a chuckle

• Spicy nicknames (¬v¬):

• Slut, whore, bitch, good girl(?)

• "What are you?" he asks, while stops his fingers inside you. You start to whine. You almost cum on his fingers, almost, and he stops it? Damn, he's really makes you suffer. A small slap landed on you face. You come bact to the reality. "What are you?" he asks again.

"A dirty, little slut." you answer silently, but you still looking in his eyes. He starts to smirk.

"And who you belong to?"

"I'm belong to you, Sir."

"Good girl." he starts to kissing you, while his fingers starts to move again, you moan in his mouth because of the pleasing feeling.

• Your nicknames for him:

• Mr. Handsome, Professor, (Rarely) Jeffry, Jeff, Sir, Babe, Old man

• "Have a nice day, Mr. Handsome!" you say while you get out of his car, but before that, you give him a surprise kiss. He was surprised, and he felt that he starts to blush. After his brain processed the surprise kiss, he let out a chuckle because of the nickname.

• Spicy nicknames (¬v¬):

• Master

• (By the way, he loves it when you call him like that)

• Daddy

• "Are you want to cum, baby?" he whispers in your ear. You feel his breath while it's tickles your neck.

"Yes." you said weakly. He bites your neck. You moan. "Yes, Daddy." you can't see it, but you know that he's smirking.

"Good girl."

[mngwa5]

LiS EDH/Commander Headcanons: Vortex Club Edition

AN: The sequel nobody asked for, including myself! This was never really gonna be a thing, but recently the image of the Vortex Club putting on ragers and really posturing about being the cool kids only to immediately turn around and play in some insular and incredibly toxic commander pod fucking sent me rolling.

I guess the same canon-stretchy shit as the last post like this applies though tbh I would believe it if Victoria actually could afford a fully foiled out cEDH list.

Victoria Chase:

Even if she's horrifically domineering as fuck outside of the game, Vic loves politics, and I mean she LOVES politics. It's her greatest strength and her greatest weakness at the table.

As a result, she tends to honor most of the deals (keyword most of) she makes, though she plays commanders that will inevitably skew those deals in her favor like Shadrix Silverquill, Queen Marchesa, or Tivit, Seller of Secrets.

It's really easy to stop her from fucking with you so long as you suck it up and play by her rules.

Because of that, it's also quite easy to capitalize on her mistakes and spring a win over her because she'll be so focused on trying to get everyone else to bend the knee.

Doesn't particularly care for a specific archetype or color identity but has a Teysa Karlov aristocrats list because she thinks Teysa is hot the character is cool.

Dana Ward

Got into the game because of Trevor and once she got past her qualms about how nerdy everything seemed, really took to EDH.

Once she realized the rest of the Vortex Club had a commander group, she seized the opportunity to drag Juliet along with her on game nights so they can both subtly fuck with them all.

In service of that goal, she builds the most toxically optimized lists she can, but keeps them low key in terms of the actual cards/win-cons until it's too late. Things like go-wide tokens or life gain, that are juuuust annoying enough to chip away at Victoria and Nathan's ego without overtly causing any real out of game enmity.

Her real holy grail idea is to somehow swing a win over Nathan and Vic with Yargle.

To that end, poor Trevor, Justin, and potentially Max have had to put up with an endless slew of Yargle voltron lists in their home games as she inches ever closer to perfecting her list.

Has a pet deck that's a modified version of the Zhulodok, Void Gorger precon (Jesus Christ, IM starting to get pissed about how nerdy this shit is...) that Tervor got her for her birthday.

Grumbles loudly... This Shithead Nathan Prescott

Loves Golgari, but like in a weird way. Like, the kind of way that goes past a fondness for mechanics.

I know this post is focused on how characters would behave as EDH players, but I genuinely think that Nathan's choices as a deck-builder are influenced by his love of the actual lore/philosophy of Green/Black and it's associated factions like the Golgari or Ikoria's take on WBG.

Plays graveyard oriented lists like Grist, the Hunger Tide or Muldrotha most nights.

When he wants to be REALLY competitive, he's got a fucking hum-dinger of a Korvold aristocrats list he keeps in his back pocket.

Splurges on expensive variants of cards as a juvenile way of asserting some sort of weird dominance over others and will flaunt them at more casual players like Hayden and Logan.

Other than that, he actually tends to keep to himself and plays pretty low interaction, recursion loop based strategies that let him just bask in the joy of having a graveyard that's almost as tall as his library by turn 4.

So... that's that I guess. Might do one of these for the True Colors cast as well.

[berryfairyluvr]

zayne and his princess treatment

pairings: bf!zayne x fem!reader

warnings: none! no spoilers included 😋

Zayne is the epitome of a chivalrous gentleman.

You will not open a single door on his watch.

Your heels are hurting your feet? He’s helping you remove them, crouching on HIS KNEES while reminding you of the health disadvantages of your “beloved heels.” Then proceeds to carry your heels for the rest of your outing.

You don’t even mention you’re cold before he drapes his freshly dry cleaned peacoat over your shoulders — he claims you make a certain pout whenever you’re too cold.

Though his insomnia keeps him awake and often working most nights, he will almost always follow you to bed so you can fall asleep in his embrace.

To your surprise, he’s very affectionate. Though PDA is definitely kept to a minimum to both your likings, he still finds a way to touch you respectfully such as his hand always finding its way to the small of your back.

He drives and you are his passenger princess. (He saw a instagram reel with the reference and has not referred to you as anything else when in his car — coming from your stoic bf, this makes you giggle)

Your chair is always being pulled out and pushed in for you, to which you often follow up with “And they say chivalry is dead!”

You’re sitting on the couch next to one another except Zayne almost always moves your legs to lay across his lap.

A simple favor you ask of him is always replied with “Yes, my love.”

You’ve slipped into a dress and before you even think to ask, his tall frame is sauntering towards you zipping up the back with a chaste kiss to your neck.

He’s shaved and suited waiting for you to emerge from the bedroom for yet another hospital banquet dinner when you rush out glamoured up but barefoot with your heels in one hand and a earring in the other muttering something about how you were 'just about ready.' He replies by taking a knee in front of you and slipping your heels on either of your feet, then a kiss to your bare thigh. (You begin to realize how much you love this man on his knees in front of you…)

He’s quick to pickup on your cues and hints even before you notice them yourself. Often when you’re out at a gathering and he picks up on your tiredness just from your demeanor, he makes sure to be near you to lean on — whether it’s standing between his legs and using his tall frame as a wall behind you or curling into his side to rest your head on his shoulder.

He loves to kiss your hands and follow it up with “My lady” or “My love.” Mainly because of the blush that fills your cheeks each time..

read sylus' version here

requests open ❤︎

[queen-quintonz]

What the actual fuck.

The desperation… both hands cradling your head… his voice crack… his urgency.

“I need you. I have never denied that” OH LORDDDDDDD

[fairestwriting]

Hello. I was wondering if I can please request the Savannaclaw boys reacting to accidentally walking in on fem!reader changing in Ramshackle? Knowing how much beastmen respect/fear women I feel like that would be hilarious 😆

IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO THIS ONE FOR A WHILE…. my women respecting kings..

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

If you’ve known Leona for any amount of time, especially enough time for him to be visiting you for whatever reason, you know that he’s pretty much allergic to actually saying sorry. So the weirdly meek ”My bad, should’ve knocked. that he mutters can be very surprising to hear.

Even if you’re really close and comfortable with each other, he won’t be much more laid back about it. Sorry allergy be damned, he’s still apologizing and looking away every single time. Unless you actually stated, in straightforward words, that you don’t care if he walks in on you. He’d probably still close the door even in that case, honestly.

Even if you tease him for how quickly he puts aside his pride for this specific situation, Leona won’t argue against it. At most he’ll reply back with a snarky ”What, was I supposed to just stay and gawk?”, like the sheer idea of doing that is insane to him. And it genuinely is. If he notices you’re embarrassed yourself, right when he closes the door, he’ll quickly and plainly assure that he didn’t see anything. It may or may not be true, he has pretty sharp eyes, but— Really, he wasn’t raised in a barn. Leona does, in fact, have quite a few lines he won’t cross when teasing people.

𐙚 Ruggie Bucchi

With Ruggie, it doesn’t matter if you’re his friend, his girlfriend, or just an acquaintance. He will immediately turn away and shut the door. Whatever the reason was for his visit can wait, no matter what it is. ”Eek, sorry, I’ll wait outside! Uhm, and I won’t forget to knock next time!” He says, his pitch uncharacteristically high.

It’s not like he’s shy or scared you’ll get really mad or anything like that? He knows very well it’s not a big deal, it was an accident and he genuinely didn’t even look. Turning away instantly is just the right thing to do, in his mind. It’s probably not even the first time he walks in on a girl while she changes, considering he has his fair share of friends back home.

He apologizes again when you’re done, even bowing his head as he speaks, and promises he didn’t look at all if you seem embarrassed. And he really didn’t— Instinct just kicks in the second his brain registers the presence of bare skin. Literally right in the millisecond that it detected an unusual amount of whatever color your skin is.

Pretty much goes back to his usual self after everything is settled. Again, it’s just the right thing to do, to him. The natural thing to do even. You could try to express you don’t mind him seeing you, but regardless of what your reasoning is, Ruggie just shrugs and says, a bit awkwardly, that he just can’t bring himself to do that. It’s straight up not an option.

𐙚 Jack Howl

Gets flustered like he’s making up for Leona and Ruggie’s lack of real embarrassment— ”C-Close the door properly next time! He stutters, covering his face that grows increasingly red as he fumbles with the doorknob to close it, almost tripping on his feet.

He doesn’t react as fast as Leona or Ruggie, but just because he doesn’t really notice visuals as quickly as they do. So even though he’s technically the only one who lingered around the door, it’s unlikely he actually stared, even unintentionally.

He’s stuck between wanting to chide you for forgetting the lock and knowing deep in his soul that he should absolutely not do that, he was the one who showed up earlier than he was supposed to, he’s the one in the wrong here. In the end he doesn’t really say anything while he waits for you to finish getting dressed. Maybe just a mumbled apology or two, depending on how you reacted.

Can’t really look you in the eyes for a few hours. He just feels bad about it, like he’s been really rude to you by accident. Compared to the culture of other beastmen subspecies, especially Ruggie and Leona’s, his doesn’t emphasize a respect for women specifically as much, but it’s definitely still a thing. And it’s just part of his character too, underneath that tough guy persona, he doesn’t want to disrespect anybody. It takes him some reassurance to stop feeling guilty.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[cheralith]

childhood bestfriend!kaiser who specifically always demands his managers to reserve a spot for you at every single one of his games.

you always go to support him, with him insisting he needs you there as some sort of “lucky charm” (he won’t actually admit he thinks those superstitions are bullshit), so imagine his shock when he finds out that your seat is empty on the day of one of the most important games of the season—the game that will decide who gets to compete in the german cup.

it’s ten minutes before the game starts and despite his coach’s pep talk to the team, all kaiser can focus on is your empty seat and the absolute betrayal you’ve bestowed upon him, your supposed “best friend.”

he hasn’t realized it—nor will he admit it if he ever were to come to such an epiphany—stubborn as he is, but the reason as to why he does so well in games that you’re present at is because of the fact it gives him more motivation to win and impress you rather than just solely being dependent on the faces of despair from his opponents. a unique sort of euphoria that he gets whenever he can spot you jumping up and down in your seat with his number #10 jersey on, that your praise belongs to him and him only.

so when he steps out on to the field and sees that your seat is still collecting dust, he seethes silently to himself, gritting his teeth, pissed that he even called you his best friend to begin with. because what sort of friend doesn’t show up to one of the most important games in germany’s football?!

he’s still planning to win, of course. he’s michael kaiser—he’s famous for doing so. and he plans to use all his rage that you’ve caused to do so, just in spite of you.

because he’s michael kaiser, number ten of bastard mündchen. he doesn’t need your help. he never did.

(see, what he doesn’t know is that you’re simply home sick with a cold and that you’re still dressed in his jersey, just also with a sweater and bundles of blankets on top to stay warm, but regardless, you’re still watching and cheering him on from behind the tv screen. you’ve sent him some texts and voicemails telling him so, but none have received a reply back yet and you can only imagine what this drama queen has in store for you once he wins the match.)

[ioczurma]

I know we all know Sylus wants us/MC (whatever) to spend his money, but I’m thinking Zayne might also want that too.

Zayne wouldn’t be as vocal or blatantly obvious about it, but I feel like he would get a kick out of paying for all your groceries, or buying refills of all your skincare. He strikes me as the type that wants to take care of you so badly, he just can’t bring himself to say that outright and will make excuses to accompany you running errands so he can pay for everything.

Groceries? He’s your doctor, it’s his duty to make sure you’re feeding and fueling your body appropriately.

Skincare? He’s your doctor, your skin is your largest living organ, he want to makes sure you’re taking care of that too.

That huge pillow system you glanced at once? He’s your doctor and getting good quality sleep is extremely important for your health.

That huge plush beanbag chair you wanted for the sunny spot in your apartment? Double whammy, you need sunlight for your mental and physical health, as your doctor it’s only right he makes sure you have it.

He just wants to make sure you’re healthy, and happy too. Don’t let anyone dare say he doesn’t go above and beyond for his patients.

(If he damn near begs on his knees, in a drunken stupor, for you to please, please, please keep the extra credit card he ordered for you as an authorized user, because he wants you to spend his money to take care of you, well, that’s a story for a different day)

[blaire-apricity]

Lip balm

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : Chapped lips are always a hassle, but you found a solution to it.

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : short fiction, soft, fluff & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

You grumbled softly at the uncomfortable sensation of your dry lips. It had been a constant problem lately. Fortunately, you always carried a chapstick with you. You shifted slightly from Xavier’s warm embrace, where you had been cuddling, and his eyes followed you, curious. As you rummaged through your bag, he silently observed your movements with a calm fascination.

Pulling out the chapstick, you removed the cap, the pop sound breaking the silence of the room. You applied it slowly, biting and plucking your lips gently to ensure the balm spread evenly. When you turned back, you found Xavier watching you intently, his eyes filled with a curious softness, as if he were studying something new. He looked almost childlike in that moment, an adorable curiosity lighting up his features, which made you chuckle.

Returning to his side, you snuggled back into his arms, and he welcomed you without hesitation, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you in closer, his warmth enveloping you again.

“What was that?” he asked, a hint of curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Lip balm,” you replied casually, looking up at him with a playful smile. “For dry lips.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his usual composed expression softening as he mused. That’s when you noticed his own lips, slightly cracked at the edges. “You’ve got some dry lips too,” you pointed out, mimicking the motion on your own lips.

Xavier blinked, touching his bottom lip absentmindedly. You reached for the chapstick again but paused, a mischievous idea forming.

“Xavier,” you called, drawing his attention with a sly tone. He looked at you, still innocently curious, and you cupped his cheeks gently. Leaning in, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the balm transferring smoothly onto his lips.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t hide your triumphant smirk. His reaction was priceless—his ears turned a faint shade of red, and a soft blush crept over his cheeks. He blinked a few times, his gaze softening as he smiled at you, as if you had just made him fall for you all over again.

“Again,” he whispered, his voice even softer than before.

“What—”

“Kiss me again.”

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

“Ugh… my lips are cracked again,” you groaned in frustration. The cold, rainy weather lately had done a number on your skin, especially your lips. It was becoming annoyingly routine.

Zayne, sitting at his desk reviewing surgical documents, sighed softly at your complaint. Without looking up, he shook his head in mild exasperation. “You should drink more water. Hydration is key.”

You pouted at his statement, knowing full well you’d been drinking plenty. “I do drink enough,” you countered, unconsciously licking your lips, which brought a brief but welcome relief.

Zayne glanced up at you from his papers, his sigh a bit louder this time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tube of lip balm and handed it to you. “Don’t lick your lips. When the saliva dries, it’ll make things worse.”

Accepting the balm, you stared at him, your eyes narrowing as they landed on his lips. “Wait, do you usually use this stuff?” you asked, a little surprised.

“I do,” he answered simply, his attention shifting back to his documents. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth and slightly glistening his lips looked, a fact that made you impulsively want to lean in and kiss him. You leaned forward slightly, but Zayne was quick, placing a firm hand on your shoulder before you could close the distance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone calm but knowing.

Caught in the act, you huffed in mock annoyance, retreating with a playful pout. “I wanted to kiss you since you’ve already got balm on your lips…” Your voice trailed off, a little embarrassed by your boldness.

Zayne didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he set his papers aside, cupping your cheek with one hand as he expertly uncapped the balm with the other. He applied it to your lips with a gentle touch, the cool sensation of the balm contrasting with the warmth of his hand.

Just when you thought it was over, he finished applying the balm, then leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The kiss was tender, yet it left your heart racing, as if it had been your first kiss all over again.

“There,” he murmured, pulling away, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile. You were certain you’d melt into a puddle right there on the spot.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

“Rafayel! You need to put some lip balm on, your lips are cracking,” you said, arms crossed as you lightly scolded the ever-dramatic mermaid.

He huffed in response, crossing his own arms in an exaggerated manner and turning away from you with a sharp flick of his hair. “No! I’ve never used that stuff, and I don’t plan on starting now. You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny!”

It was impossible not to laugh at his theatrics. Most of the time, you felt more like you were babysitting him than anything else, whether you were on duty or spending time together outside of work.

Rafayel narrowed his gaze when he heard your chuckle. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, a suspicious edge to his tone.

“Not at all,” you said with a smile that betrayed your denial. “But seriously, if you don’t use something, your lips will start bleeding.” You held out a tube of chapstick, but he shook his head vehemently.

“I’ll survive,” he retorted, turning his head stubbornly.

You rolled your eyes and opened the tube, stepping closer. He backed away immediately, like a startled cat. “I don’t need it!”

“You do!” you insisted, gripping his chin gently, but he kept squirming and moving, making it impossible to apply the balm. You probably smeared it on his cheek at this point.

“Stay still!” you laughed, struggling to keep up with his evasive maneuvers.

“No!” he whined dramatically, but you had a trump card. Without warning, you leaned in and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His eyes widened, and he froze in place as your lips met his, allowing you to finally apply the balm.

Pulling back, you smirked and gave him another quick peck. “See? Now your lips are nice and smooth whenever I kiss you.”

Rafayel was left speechless, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He blinked, clearly malfunctioning from the surprise kiss.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Sylus chuckled as he examined your collection of lip balms, spread across the bedside table. His deep voice resonated in the room, a soft echo in the intimate setting. “Why do you need so many different lip balms?”

You were lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, only half-listening. “In case I lose one,” you said nonchalantly, barely glancing up.

“Uh-huh,” Sylus drawled, clearly amused. “And you need two extra pairs?”

“They smell different,” you added, more engaged in your screen than the conversation. When you finally glanced up, you saw him inspecting the melon-flavored balm you used most often.

He twisted off the cap, raising it to his nose. “Smells like melon, all right,” he commented.

“Don’t you use one?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied him.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the bed. “Not really,” he replied smoothly. His eyes flickered with interest as he glanced at your lips. “What flavor are you wearing now?”

“Strawberry, I think?” you replied, a bit unsure. You touched your lips, trying to catch the scent.

Sylus smirked at your uncertainty. “Why don’t you try tasting it?”

Your brows furrowed, about to respond when Sylus leaned in, pressing his lips to yours before you could say another word. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his tongue darted out, grazing your bottom lip.

The kiss took your breath away. When he pulled back, his signature smirk was firmly in place. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “There’s no taste.”

Your lips tingled, and you could only stare at him, still processing what had just happened. Sylus motioned to his own lips, now coated with your chapstick. “Guess I use lip balm now too.”

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ�� ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: I had this idea for a while now HAHA, glad to have written it off. For once, I didn't stumble much on Zayne's part actually. Also I apologize for the different blog designs (especially my pinned post) but I was trying to keep the designs more minimal since at some websites and especially in phones there's some symbols that can't be seen. I hope I eliminated that one.

I probably should work more on my tags as well.

[everlastingserenitys]

virgin nerd!zayne and virgin nerd!Caleb

featuring (seperate): zayne & Caleb

cw. p in v, making out, raw, reassurance, submissive!!!, cùmming inside, creampie, semi public (Caleb), masturbation

a/n. just a little thirst lol

virgin nerd!zayne who didnt know how he got in this situation. but here he was. his large figure loomed over you, he was breathing heavily as he looked into your beautiful eyes.

all he did was invite you over for a project you two we're assigned to do, but one part of the project contained for you both to touch each other, and while zayne never felt the touch of another woman he didn't think he'd overreact this bad.

virgin nerd!zayne who hesitantly leaned in, his lips inches away from yours.

his hot breath coaxed your soft lips before he silently begged for him to take you. to your surprise, you didn't expect this type of question coming out of his mouth.

and so, you agree.

virgin nerd!zayne who let out a shaky sigh before he captured your lips into an intense kiss, his tongue sliding right through your lips, as he tasted every inch of it.

he knew he shouldn't be doing this but the constant times he caught you staring at him, made him feel something in him. he fantasized about you so many times, and now that you were with him, he took the opportunity to fulfil his dreams.

with the knowledge of what he's been learning the past few years from his medical class, he assumed he knew what he was doing, so he hoped he was making you feel somewhat good.

a few seconds pass and virgin nerd!zayne pulls away from the kiss, panting like he just ran a marathon. he pulled himself away from you and rested his frail fingers on the belt of his pants.

a soft whine escaped his lips before he unbuckled the belt in a quick movement and letting it fall to the ground, letting a clack echo through the room.

he swiftly removed his boxers and his searing, dripping cock sprung out of him. zayne lifted your hips to align himself with you and in a quick movement he pressed his tip against your soaking entrance.

"I think...I–ngh?!" zayne had already got the tip inside you and he already felt like he was going to cum, his hips slowly rocked back and forth as pleasure was rushing through his body.

"zay--go faster!" you whine, rocking yourself against him in a quicker movement and he tried to tell you to slow down but his vocal chords suddenly stopped working.

a loud moan escaped his lips, and thats when you felt it...

he came, right. inside. you.

"s-sorry! I couldn't hold back..." he apologized quickly, and tried to pull away, but for some reason he wanted more. so instead of fully pulling out, he sucked in a deep breath and thrusted himself in you, this time deeper than before.

you felt as if your pussy was going to rip off from his large length suffocating and stretching you out further, and further. you instinctively grab onto his arms and dug your nails in his biceps, trying to keep up with his rhythm.

"zayne! 'm gonna c-cu--mmgh" you tilt your head back and release your hands from his arms, resting them to your sides. zaynes eyes watched as his and your cum pooled out of your cunt and he pressed his finger against your clit, stretching it out watching the whole mess you two made.

a soft smile was plastered on zayne's face before he leaned in, planting small kisses on your face.

virgin nerd!caleb who was apart of the photography club. he would go to that club after school, every. single. day. and only take pictures of his muse, his only girl.

but one school day you weren't here and caleb was a little concerned. now, usually, he would never want to visit your place without letting you know. but he needed to do his daily ritual for taking pictures of you.

so he snuck into the deans office and looked through the files of the students at the college, his fingers slid through every file until he finally found yours, bingo!

he opened it up and pulled up the address on his phone, the walking distance was only a few minutes away. so, Caleb put the file away and walked over to your place.

but he was met with disappointment when he saw that your whole house was pitch black, his lips dropped to a frown and he headed back to the school, going to the printer room to pick up his previous photos of you.

when virgin nerd!caleb opened the door, he was met with a surprise he did not want to see.

you, leaning against the printer as you flipped through the dozens of prints, and Caleb prayed it was not the pictures of you.

you lift your gaze from the papers and look at Caleb, an eyebrow raised when your eyes tilted down to the camera Caleb was holding, and thats when Caleb knew he was fucked.

"I- listen, um.." Caleb stammered, but he couldn't bring himself to make an excuse, there was no point anyway. you pushed yourself off the table and strut towards Caleb, who was still shaking in fear (and pleasure)

"what do you do with these photos, hm?" you ask, pressing the multiple photos on his chest. but when your fingers barely made contact with his chest Caleb let out a quiet whine and shoved the photos in his pocket.

"I don't...do anything I swear!"

"you sure? then you're telling me you just take these photos without fantasizing about me? or pleasuring yourself to these?" you tease, poking at his chest again. but Caleb couldn't deny it, he did sometimes jerk himself as he looked at the photos he taken of you. he didnt know what captivated him to take pictures of you.

"sorry" Caleb frowned, lifting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he continued to avoid your gaze.

"so what do you think about while you look at them, huh?" you ask, a hint of curiosity laced your voice. Calebs face flushed and he continued to look down as he fidgeted his camera between his fingers.

"uh...I don't know if I should say it here..."

"if you can't say it, then why don't you show me?"

Calebs eye's widened and he looked up at you, his eyes filled with surprise and he asked if you're being for real. and when a single nod left you, caleb placed his camera on the table and brought you into a desperate kiss.

his fingers slide through your hair and god, he didn't even know how to kiss but the feeling of you against him made him feel soo horny. he rubbed himself against your lower abdomen and a groan escaped both of your lips.

"Caleb!"

the sound of his name escaping your lips made Caleb's heart beat quicker. he pulled away and glanced around the illuminated room before pulling his pants down, pulling his cock out as he stared at you.

he wrapped his fingers around the creamy head of his cock and he stroked himself in a slow, deliberate movement, as his eyes were locked on you. your eyes dart from his slow movements on his cock to his desperate eyes, which looked like they were seeking for something more.

"please.." Caleb whispered, he pulled his fingers away and stepped towards you, grabbing onto your hips as he pushed you against the desk. you moan and slip your fingers under the waistband of your pants, pulling them down for him.

Calebs eyes filled with lust as he noticed your laced panties on display for him. when your pants dropped down to your feet, Caleb slid his fingers under the laced fabric and he pulled them down, watching the wet mess pool down you.

he shuddered before pressing his tip against your soaking pussy and in a quick movement he thrusted himself into you. his cock was stretching your tight pussy and you grabbed onto the desk as Caleb continued to push himself into you.

"Caleb- rock your hips! d-don't just keep pushing yourself in!" you warned, rocking your hips against his. Caleb obediently listens and he rocked his hips back and forth.

his cock fit perfectly in your pussy, and moans filled the room as Caleb quickened his pace in you. "am- am I doing it right? ngh." his voice stammered.

"p-perfect!" you arch your back in pleasure and Caleb was already trying to hold his release but the second your fingers slide through his hair, Caleb let a groan of pleasure escape out of him and a spur of white mixture sprawled out of him.

"thank you.." he muttered, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug.

this is just a practice and for some reason I rlly like the photography idea... kinda wanna make a whole fic about it lol

[undertheredhood]

jason 'perfect poker face' todd: and that is the story of how i got myself permenantly banned from three countries in the span of two months!

tim 'know it all' drake: *immediately picking up his stalking hobby because he doesn't know if jason is telling the truth or not*

[navillee]

Zayne had already touched himself in his car. Can't blame him, though. He told you once he usually rests in his car between shifts, playing a white-noise soundtrack to relax his mind. But, ops! By coincidence, you sent him an audio saying you're missing his presence right before he gets into the car. And Zayne replays the audio again. And again and again. He closes his eyes, hearing the soothing timbre of your voice, and he starts thinking of your lips, and one thought leads to the other until he's stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps replaying the alluring tone of your voice on his phone. And fuck that the audio content is not even sexual, he's so pent-up lately due to overworking that even just the slightest crumb of your attention got him all worked up, panting and calling your name in the middle of a parking lot. Now his favorite way to relax between working hours is making a mess on the driver's seat while listen to your audios. Make sure to always remember to send some nice words to your hardworking doctor, he loves it.

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps headcanons

The LADS boys -

The underwear edition

Details: 3000ish words.. What do they wear? What do they get you to wear? And most importantly… how do they gift it to you? Probably fem reader, but let’s be honest, it’s strictly just a gift. They want to see you in it. Full stop. Some adult fluff, some sexual tension and implied notinoti stuff. So 18+ I guess? And umh… yea I definitely went overboard. SORRY! But I had so much fun, I couldn’t stop myself.

❤️ Sylus

What Sylus wears:

Sylus is all sharp lines, dark elegance, and control. Underneath that crisp red-streaked suit? He’s wearing tailored, jet-black silk boxer-briefs. Luxurious. Breathable. Tactical. They’re tight enough to keep everything in place during any kind of… movement, but soft enough to feel like nothing’s there—no small feat, considering what they’re working with. No logos. Just that sleek minimalism only a man would choose if he knew exactly how handsome he was, didn’t care what anyone else thought—and never once looked at a price tag.

Sylus’s gift to you:

Oh, he’s not just buying you lingerie—he’s curating a message.

It’s a two-piece set, hand-delivered in a black velvet box—while you’re at work. No return address. Just a black wax seal with a crow pressed into the lid. Then a folded note in sharp, elegant script.

If this ends up on the floor, you better not be the one who puts it there. Don’t disappoint me, kitten. —S.

And inside:

A high-leg, sheer silk and lace thong in a crimson so deep it’s almost black—just enough opacity to leave things to the imagination, but not too much.

The matching bralette: underwire-free, soft lace, with feather-like embroidery in crimson thread—subtle nods to his own red-streaked shirt and the crow brooch he gave you. It whispers danger and intimacy at once.

But here’s the kicker—he’s had both your initials and his embroidered inside, side by side in tiny, near-invisible thread. Only you would notice. That’s his way: power in the quietest touches, like branding you without ever lifting a finger.

Scene:

You don’t even have to look out the window to know he’s watching. Heat creeps up your neck as you snap the box shut, fingers fumbling slightly. You tuck it into your drawer fast—too fast—just before anyone walks by.

Your cheeks burn. Your pulse stutters.

Later you open the velvet box in your bedroom—its crow insignia gleaming faintly under the light. It smells of something expensive and sharp—amber, burnt cedar, and a lingering metallic note… gunpowder? When you look up, Sylus is already there, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been watching the whole time. His smirk is lazy, eyes glowing faintly red.

“I thought you could use something… less modest,” he says, voice like dark wine. “Consider it… encouragement.”

You brush your fingers over the crimson mesh, the featherlike embroidery. “And this is supposed to motivate me?” You glance up at him. “Sending me underwear while I’m at work?”

He tilts his head. “Everything I do motivates you. Why should this be any different?”

You narrow your eyes. “Want me to try it on?”

His grin widens. “No. I expect you to.”

You disappear into the other room—and when you return, the change is undeniable. The set clings like a second skin: barely-there lace, delicate and daring in all the ways he clearly planned. Sylus is leaned back with his palms pressed into the mattress behind him, utterly at ease—blazer still draped over his shoulders, one brow cocked as his gaze trails down every inch of you.

You turn slowly, fingers trailing along the silk at your hip, then glance back at him with the faintest smirk. An unspoken well? hangs in the air—daring him to speak, to react, to move.

“Look at you. The gift, wrapped and worn—for the one who gifted it.” A slow smile curves his lips. “You’re lucky I let you wear it at all, kitten.”

Sylus doesn’t move—just stays there on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, one ankle resting casually over his knee. But his gaze trails down your body like a hand.

“But don’t confuse indulgence for permission,” he adds, voice velvet-dark. “I unwrap what’s mine when I decide.”

You raise a brow.

Then he stands—slowly—and stops in front of you, fingers brushing the embroidery near your hip. His touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice has gone rough. “So now I get to peel this off… piece by piece… and watch your ambitions unravel.”

His fingers slide just under the strap at your shoulder, just enough to threaten movement. “I want to see how long you can hold eye contact while I take my time with you.”

He leans in close, gaze never wavering, and drags the tip of his tongue slowly along your bottom lip.

“So don’t blink, kitten.” He murmurs, voice a low drawl. “I want to watch every second tonight.”

——————————————————————————

💜 Rafayel

What Rafayel wears:

Rafayel isn’t really one for undergarments—too restrictive, too boring. He prefers fabric that flows, not hides. On regular days—when he’s in his paint-splattered studio with a half-buttoned shirt and flushed cheeks—he wears linen boxer-briefs, soft and pale pastels. But not just any linen—this is the kind handwoven by some obscure artisan, the kind that costs more per pair than most people’s monthly utilities. They cling loosely, comfortably, with a low waistband that dips dangerously on his hips when he stretches or leans too far over a canvas.

Rafayel’s gift to you:

You don’t even know it’s for you at first. He doesn’t say it.

It’s wrapped in a long strip of sheer silk, painted by hand. The gift is neatly tucked at the base of his easel, a soft rosy color catching in the early light, with painted waves in a beautiful baby blue flowing gently across the fabric. The fabric inside feels more delicate than air:

The bottom is a high-slit silk wrap, sea-blue and iridescent, that ties at the hip with a golden clasp shaped like a wave crest. The slit goes high—deliberately high.

The top is a lace halter bralette, stitched with tiny scales in shimmering threads—blues, pinks, and deep ocean violets. When you move, the color changes like it’s underwater.

And at the center of the chest? A small pearl—real, imperfect, kissed by the sea.

There’s a faint scent of paint, sea salt and saffron on the silk. You know he touched every part of it.

Scene:

You step into the studio—sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the scent of paint and salt lingering in the air. Raf’s crouched in front of a half-finished canvas, brush dangling loosely from one stained hand, shirt half-off one shoulder, eyes pink-blue and distracted until he notices you.

Then he blushes. Bright. Immediate. Cheeks, ears—flushed like a sunrise.

“There’s something for you,” he mumbles, looking away as if the thought of you seeing it—wearing it—is almost too much to bear. He nods toward the silk bundle. “I… made it. Thought you’d look… divine in it.”

You crouch beside it, fingers trailing along the silk wrapping, savoring the softness before carefully unfolding it. The fabric slips open, revealing the undergarments inside—shimmering, sea-glass delicate. You glance back at him then, eyes teasing.

“Should I put it on?”

Rafayel swallows hard, brush frozen in mid-air. “Yesss. I mean, if… you want to.” His voice cracks just slightly, the tip of his ear glowing like it might catch fire.

You disappear into the adjoining room—there’s a screen for changing, of course—but you leave it just slightly ajar. When you come back out, the set clings to you like seafoam. Rafayel stares—his brush forgotten, his lips parted. For a second, the artist is speechless.

Then, finally, he says softly, reverently:

“I’m never painting anything else again.”

You’re not sure if he means for the next hour, or the rest of his life.

With a small twirl, you step closer to him. The silk shifts with every movement—light, barely there, suggestive in ways that feel like poetry and sin all at once. Rafayel’s gaze follows the curve of your hips, the embroidery over your chest, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

His paint-stained fingers twitch at his sides. “Turn around again,” he says, quieter this time. “…Please?”

You do. Slowly. The moment stretches taut between you.

When you face him again, he’s closer. Too close. His hand lifts, hovers just above your waist, not quite touching. “I wanted it to feel like water,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, lower. “But it clings like heat. Like you’re melting into it.”

He finally touches you—fingertips tracing a line along the embroidery near your ribs. His breath stutters. “I don’t know if I want to paint you or pull this off with my teeth.”

You arch a brow. “That’s quite the choice.”

Rafayel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder, his voice a husky rasp against your skin. “Why not both?”

His hips press into you, letting you feel the full weight of his desire—hard, aching, and entirely focused on you. One hand traces the edge of your halter, fingertips ghosting along the lace before he gives it a curious little poke, like he’s testing his own creation. His lips hover just above yours, breath warm, eyes soft and burning all at once.

Then, just above a whisper, he adds—“Either way… I’m going to ruin you beautifully, cutie.”

——————————————————————————

🧡 Caleb

What Caleb wears:

In casual moments—when it’s just him and you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, cooking for you—he wears comfortable cotton boxer briefs. Black, sleek, nothing flashy. He’s practical like that. But they hug him just right, sitting low on his hips, making it really hard to focus on the food. And the worst part? He knows. You’ll glance, just once, and he’ll smirk—subtly flexing one ass cheek like it’s a reflex. Just to mess with you. Just to watch you squirm.

Caleb’s gift to you:

It comes in a sleek, dark orange box. You find it on your doorstep after a long day. Tucked on top, folded with military precision, is a tiny origami fighter jet—his old model, of course. Unfolding it reveals a single line, scribbled in his handwriting:

Try it on, or I’ll just imagine it. Either way, I win.—C.

And when you open it:

A high-cut, gravity-defying black lace bodysuit. It’s sheer in all the right places, sculpted with subtle violet shimmer threading through the seams. Where the light hits it, it reflects a dull glow—almost like a nebula.

A thin, matching choker with a clasp shaped like an apple.

And one last piece: a purple silk sash. A tie. A leash. A promise of discipline wrapped in devotion, of control you never had to ask for, of just how far he’ll go to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Yet the fabric carries just the barest trace of his cologne and… mouthwash(?)

Scene:

You confront him, of course—he left it there on purpose, knowing curiosity would get the better of you. You don’t even try to play it cool. You find him hours later, still at work on The Fleet, posture perfect, all crisp uniform and that infuriating calm. An adjutant’s just finishing a report when you step into the room. Your eyes lock on him like a missile. Caleb doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even turn. Just gives you a quiet, knowing look over his shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“What’s the meaning of this?” you ask, holding the box like evidence, like a challenge.

His gaze drags over you from across the room, slow and deliberate. He uncrosses his arms, brushes a speck of dust from his uniform—measured, precise. Like you’ve interrupted something important, but he’s willing to indulge you.

That Colonel Caleb chill lingers in his eyes… but there’s a glint now. And the faintest curve to his lips.

“You found it,” he says, stepping closer until your breath catches. “Great. I had it made. Custom stitching. Seamless where it matters.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you just decided—?”

“I don’t ‘decide,’” he cuts in smoothly. “But if you really are mine…” his voice drops, dangerously low, “…then I want to be the only one who sees you in this.”

His gloved fingers brush your cheek, then trail down to your collarbone. The heat between you crackles like static in space.

Behind you, the adjutant clears their throat—once. A warning. A presence. Caleb doesn’t even glance their way.

“That’ll be all,” he says, voice low and firm, the kind that doesn’t invite questions. The door hisses shut behind you a moment later.

Then it’s just you. Him. And that charged space between.

“Put it on for me, Pip-squeak.”

It’s not a request. But it’s not entirely a command, either. He’s looking at you like you could refuse—but he knows you won’t.

Caleb shrugs off his coat with practiced ease, draping it over the back of the chair before pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. He sinks into the seat in a single, fluid motion—then reaches up to loosen his tie, just enough to breathe. His legs spread, posture easy, but there’s nothing casual about the way he watches you.

You turn your back to him as you undress, the room quiet except for the subtle shift of fabric. The black bodysuit slides on smoothly, the silk sash tied loosely at your waist. The lace hugs your curves perfectly.

Caleb leans forward, forearms on knees, purple eyes trailing down your form like a scan. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Turn around.”

You do, slowly, and when you face him, he’s already rising. He closes the distance in measured strides, hands sliding to your waist, voice low and tight.

He leans in. “You know,” he murmurs against your neck, “I wish I could deploy you in this. No one would dare touch you.”

You smirk. “Jealous, Colonel?”

“Obsessed,” he corrects, voice like a velvet threat. “And completely serious.”

You feel his lips graze your shoulder—soft, then firm. And then—his teeth sink in, just enough to make you gasp. Not to hurt. Just to remind you: you’re his.

“Do you know what I thought about every night when I designed this?”

You breathe out. “What?”

His fingers curl into the sash at your hip. “How fast I could undo it.”

Then he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you back against the console with stars spinning behind you—his mouth already trailing down your neck as the fabric slips from your skin. But you don’t see stars—you feel them crash.

Then, without missing a beat, the corners of his mouth curve—just slightly, just enough. “I’m betting it’ll take me ten seconds to undress you… if I take my time.”

——————————————————————————

🩵 Zayne

What Zayne wears:

Zayne is nothing if not understated excellence. Beneath his pristine three-piece suits? Charcoal-gray modal boxer briefs. Soft, breathable, structured—he’d never wear anything flashy or inconvenient. But they fit like they were measured for him, contoured to sit low on his hips beneath that crisp dress shirt. And if you ever catch him with the shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, forearms scarred and strong? The contrast of clean fabric and rough skin does things to you.

Zayne’s gift to you:

He doesn’t take you shopping. He doesn’t even mention he’s getting you something. It just… appears, neatly folded in a soft satin box inside your closet. Next to it, a small handwritten note in steady script:

The fabric’s hypoallergenic. I know how your skin reacts to lace. I hope the fit is precise—I took the liberty of measuring while you were asleep. —Zayne.

And on the inside:

A silk slip dress, cut short and minimal, in deep forest green with thin black straps that crisscross at the back. The inside is lined with cotton—soft, breathable. So Zayne.

A matching bra and panty set—subtle scalloped trim, no underwire, no push-up. Just comfort and beauty in quiet balance. He knows how to make you feel exquisite without shouting it.

And tucked in one of the folds? A thin bracelet. Jade.

Scene:

He doesn’t even bring it up at first. You only find it after he leaves for a night shift.

The next evening, you bring it up with a wry smile. “So… were you going to mention the intimate gift hiding in my closet, or were you just hoping I’d trip over it?”

Zayne blinks once behind his glasses, setting down his mug of cocoa.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says simply. “But I also didn’t want anyone else buying you something that didn’t… suit you.” His gaze drops, lingering on your wrist where you’ve already put on the jade bracelet. “So I took care of it.”

You arch a brow. “Do you want to see it on me?”

His eyes flick up, expression unreadable—but there’s a faint flush climbing up his throat. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want me to take it off you too.”

And there it is. The Zayne smirk—so faint, you almost miss it. Almost.

You step into the bedroom after a hot shower, damp hair over your shoulders, body wrapped in the green silk slip. It molds to you, effortless and cool. The straps kiss your shoulder blades, the hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

Zayne is seated at the edge of the bed, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows—relaxed in theory, but his eyes are anything but. Behind the silver glint of his glasses, hazel green irises rake over you slowly. Intently. Like you’re a case study he’s about to personally explore.

“You wore it,” he says, voice steady, but lower now. Tight.

“I did,” you reply, stepping closer, letting the silk sway just enough to tempt. “Are you going to examine it?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words. He pulls off his glasses and sets them aside with exacting precision, then leans forward and tugs you between his knees. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers splaying over silk and skin.

“I’m not your physician right now,” he exhales, his mouth brushing your sternum, “but I still know how to handle delicate things.”

You inhale sharply, and he shifts the slip aside—just a little—enough to make your heart race.

His lips brush the inside of your wrist—soft at first, then slower. He drags his mouth down to the base of your palm, then lets his tongue trace the curve of your finger, you like you’re his favorite candy—something rare, rich, and entirely his.

“…You realize,” he says against your skin, “you’re never wearing this for anyone else.”

You breathe out, quiet, shivering. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

And the way he says that one word, low and clinical and full of heat? It feels like you’re about to be unraveled—one practiced touch at a time.

“I’ve studied anatomy,” he murmurs, gaze unwavering, “but I’ve never wanted to memorize someone like this.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “So what now, doctor Zayne? Want me to act like your study sample?”

His eyes flick down your body, then back up—calm, absolutely smoldering. “Mm. Slow breaths for me, please,” he says softly. “I want to feel every shift under my hands.”

——————————————————————————

🩷 Xavier

What Xavier wears:

For all his ethereal calm and delicate looks, Xavier’s body is not soft. He’s lithe, compact, and stronger than he looks—and his undergarments reflect that contradiction. Sleek. Supportive. Understated. He wears fitted low-rise boxer briefs in pale gray or lavender. Soft, seamless, breathable—so easy to move in you almost forget they’re there. And while size has never been the point, there’s no denying the quiet truth: he’s big. The waistband is low enough that when his sweater rides up while he’s napping on the couch? You catch the edge, just barely. (And no, he’s not unaware. He’s just pretending he is.)

Xavier’s gift to you:

You don’t even realize it’s a gift at first.

You find a small folded bundle on your pillow—no tag, no note, but it smells faintly of that tangy-sweet, citrusy energy drink he drinks… laced with the subtle warmth of vanilla that always seems to linger on his skin. The fabric is impossibly soft. Dreamlike.

A silk cami set, sleeveless, light violet with silvery sheen. The camisole is loose, with barely-there straps and delicate lace at the hem. It looks like starlight.

The shorts are sheer, fluttery, with a ribbon drawstring. If you move too quickly, they shift… dangerously.

There’s a tiny embroidered constellation stitched near the hem.

You realize later that the embroidery thread is pale gold. Subtle. Like he wants you to wear the stars for him.

Scene:

You ask him about it later, holding the fabric between your fingers—right after sharing a burnt pizza he insisted he had under control (he did not).

“Did you leave this on my bed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you with that quiet intensity, like he’s still trying to figure out how you got past his walls with nothing but laughter and melted cheese. He tilts his head slightly.

“I thought you might sleep better with it on,” he says softly. “Or off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a suggestion?”

“No,” he replies, gaze dragging slowly down your figure. “It’s a preference.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing yours as he takes the fabric back from your hand—just long enough to skim his knuckles over your palm before he returns it. His voice drops a note lower.

“Will you wear it tonight?”

You swallow, pulse jumping.

“I might.”

He smiles—barely. But it’s real. “I’ll be upstairs if you need help taking it off.”

Later, when the lights are low and the house is quiet, your phone buzzes.

XAVIER: Did you end up trying it on?

You hesitate, then type:

YOU: Maybe.

There’s a long pause. Then:

XAVIER: Then I hope you’re not expecting sleep.

You stare at the screen, heart skipping.

YOU: Good night, Xav.

Another pause.

XAVIER: Good night… Don’t lock your door.

You wake to find Xavier standing in your doorway—messy silvery-blond hair, expression unreadable, sleep still tugging at his lashes. You’re wearing the silk cami set, curled under your blanket. He blinks once, slowly, as if committing the image to memory.

“…Door was unlocked,” he murmurs. “You sleep too lightly.”

“I sleep just fine,” you say, voice husky, watching his eyes flick down the curve of your thigh where the blanket’s slipped. “So why are you here?”

He walks in, slow and barefoot. “I was thinking about you.”

“And?”

His fingers brush the ribbon of your waistband, tugging lightly—just once, enough to let the silk shift against your skin. “And I wanted to see if you look better in… or out of it.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring long enough to know.”

His eyes drag up your body with excruciating calm, but there’s something darker flickering beneath the stillness. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then just beneath your jaw—lingering there.

“I’m thorough. Still deciding,” he murmurs, breath warm and slow, thick with something you feel more than hear.

He undresses with quiet efficiency, unbuttoning his pajama shirt, folding it once before setting it aside, then slipping out of the pants with the same composed ease—until he’s left in nothing but his underwear.

Then he slides under the covers, pulls you into his chest, and whispers against your ear,

“You can keep yours on—for now.”

But his hand is already resting low on your waist, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your top, like he’s giving himself permission to explore later—inch by inch, breath by breath.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and guides it along the plane of his chest, down the firm line of his stomach—slow, careful, like he wants you to feel how hard it is for him to stay gentle.

And just when your fingertips brush the edge of his waistband—he leans in, voice low and rough with need.

“This is me… trying to be good for you.”

Your fingertips slip just beneath the waistband, barely testing the edge of skin. His breath catches, and for a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hand wraps gently around your wrist—not to stop you, just to feel you there.

His voice drops. “But if you keep doing that… I won’t be good much longer.”

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: YE. I’m sorry. Nobody asked for this. I spent my Saturday night writing 3k words of underwear headcanon and then gave it the gentlest proofread over my Sunday morning coffee like that somehow made it respectable. Totally normal, balanced behavior. I’m thriving. Unhinged, yes—but thriving. Should I be finishing the Bear AU pilot? Absolutely. Am I derailed by one intrusive thought? Also yes. But! I will finish the pilot this week. Prrroooomise. I should touch grass… but let’s be real, that’s what triggered this spiral in the first place. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[mngwa5]

LiS characters at an Commander/EDH Table Headcanon

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a “What MTG color identity would the LiS 1 characters be?” And then I sat down and went “Lmoa no, this is idea way funnier.” and besides parts of that original HC will inevitably bleed through here. I guess really the only fanon “changes” here would be that I’ll be mentioning cards from FAR past 2013 so ig do whatever mental gymnastics you need to do there. Oh, and we’re supposing that any of the characters could afford to splurge on multiple commander decks. 

Max Caulfield 

you wouldn’t think it because of how genuinely she just appreciates shuffling up, sitting down, and spending time with the other Blackwell nerds, but Max can and will optimize her decks to a fault. 

It’s less about “competitive viability” and more because she just appreciates brewing highly interactive spell-slinger stuff. 

Has a pet Narset extra turns deck. You cannot convince me otherwise. When it pops off, she definitely excitedly texts Chloe about being “a time master in AND out of game”.

The only person on Earth I would smile at and encourage after I hear the phrase “I cast Expropriate for free. Responses?” 

One of those “I’m addicted to R/U please God help me break out of this archetype” people but is somehow adorkable about it 

Will target you if she picks up even the slightest hint that you’re about to Cyclonic Rift and not just because you’re... you know... casting Cyclonic Rift.

Chloe Price

Very much loves jank. Something about the “isle of broken toys” triumphing against whatever monstrosity everyone else brought really appeals to her. 

Loves the idea of certain archetypes, but as long as a given list guarantees that she’s playing lots of cards and doing lots of things on her turns, she’ll mainly just build whatever she thinks is cool. 

As a result, Chloe has run Yuriko and Beckett Brass decks in the past. 

“Come on Max, did you really think I’d pass up being able to beat you all with pirates? You already know I'm ALL over that. Ninjas are hella awesome too.” 

It doesn’t hurt that Yuriko can wipe the floor with everyone if they aren’t careful.

Doesn’t gravitate towards a specific color or color combo but plays aggressively in whatever flavor she finds appealing. 

And I do mean AGGRESSIVELY. Chloe loves the serotonin rush of slapping a ton of guys down and then turning them all sideways even if it leaves her open to dying in the next few turns. 

Even if she doesn’t take things super seriously, she will definitely high-key target you in the next game if you fucked her over in the previous one. 

Kate Marsh

Kate took some convincing that Magic wasn’t some weird ritual since her parents almost certainly forbade her from even learning about it as a kid and filled her head with satanic panic BS.

Once she actually sat in on a game or two (and after Max showed her Rin and Seri), she was able to set her compunctions aside and will show up to game night when her schedule allows.

in the same way Chloe builds what she thinks is cool, Kate definitely builds what she thinks is cute. (*cough* Kwain *cough*)

The first deck she built on her own was almost certainly Jinnie Fay go-wide.

Will cry inside (and honestly maybe a few tears escape on the outside.) if you board wipe. Not because her board presence is gone and she’ll need to rebuild but because you just killed Molly, Holly, Taylor, and every other token she’d given a loving name. 

Warren Graham

Is THAT combo player. An absolute menace. What else were you expecting?

Maybe it’s just my bias against Warren showing here, but he’s definitely the kind of guy who goes “Oops! I win!” out of nowhere after just playing solitaire in the background for 5-6 turns to set up. 

Still keeps some lower power stuff around in case people get too upset about it though.

Much like Chloe, doesn’t really have a preferred color combo. Unlike Chloe, he builds whatever he can optimize to a disgusting degree. 

Usually wins game 1 pretty easily unless Max stops him but going into game 2 understands that he’s consigned himself to playing archenemy for the rest of the night. 

His pet card is probably fuckin’ mana drain or panharmonicon or some shit idk.

Tune in next time for my thesis on why Victoria would play Queen Marchesa jk.

 ... unless.

[crimsonconstl]

Outfits for zu spending some quality time in ba sing se

Some insight on my hcs for these outfits down below >:)

i first started this sketch it was just me trying to put fem zu on cute kimonos but i kept having new ideas

the 1st one is adult zuko visiting iroh in the earth kingdom. i designed the patterns around fire lilies >:) bc of the unhealthy amount of zukka fics i read where sokka called him fire Lilly fai so itd prob be a gift from him...

The hair pin only loosely attached bc he’s in vacation??? He’s not abt to go all in in w some over complicated hairstyle

The 2nd would be set on book 2 after they opened the jasmine dragon where iroh had some extra money and decided to get his nephew a lil gift.

I mixed up some stuff I saw on Pinterest for the kimono. The colors are brighter and more varied to like the clothes you’d see ppl for the upper rings wear. Also my favorite detail! The lil jasmine hair pin.

I would tag it another 🏳️‍⚧️fem zuko post but I like this scenario in general so take it as you will 🫶🏽

[mysticheroine]

zayne, who has a sir kink.

zayne, who loves to tie your wrists together with his ties.

zayne, who overstimulates you until you cry.

zayne, who never shows his jealousy — until you two get home.

zayne, who makes you cum at least twice before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

zayne, who can spend hours between your legs, making you writhe for him.

zayne, who believes in punishing you when you've misbehaved.

zayne, who calls you 'sweet girl' and 'angel' as he fucks your brains out.