#no you can't change the fabric of who you are by wishing it enough. trust me I tried. all it gets you is burnout and self-loathing.

[knife-eared-jan]

Varric, stop interfering in how Solas and I raise our autistic son!

We are not going to teach him masking, thank you very much.

[a-writer]

Dancing around - Azriel x reader

I'll never get over the fact that Nesta and Az danced together in Hewn City which means that it is canon that Az actually knows how to dance so... here goes nothing:) Also took some things from scenes in ACOSF and changed it up a bit!:) enjoy<3

Warnings: no actual smut but a lot of smutty talking and thoughts.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wish to. But Elain mentioned that you have particular skill on the dance floor. Skill that once won you the hand of a duke in a single waltz." Rhys said as his eyes fixed upon Nesta.

Yes, sending her to dance with Eris was risky. But they didn't really have more options right now. Cassian wasn't looking too happy about that.

"Over my dead fucking body" He exploded. "Why can't (Y/N) do it?! She's a good fucking dancer, that's for sure."

"Thanks for the compliment, Cass." You smiled at him, his eyes full of hope for you to take his side. "But I'm with Rhys on this one. If I thought it was going to work I would do it, trust me... But Eris has known me for years, he knows I despise him. He's not going to buy the act and you know it. Plus, it will be fun to see Nesta toying with him." You gave her a wink while Cassian groaned.

"You want me to dance with Eris?" Nesta looked at you, but it was Rhys who answered.

"I want you to seduce him. Not into bed, but to make him realize what he might attain once he understands that we have no plans to break this alliance. To weigh the benefits more strongly than the risks."

"I'm sure you will do just fine, Nesta. I can show you all the dances so that you'll be prepared." You looked at her with bright eyes. Dancing lessons, always so fun.

"Nesta hasn't agreed to anything." Cassian snapped. "Even one dance with that prick is too much-"

"I'll do it." Nesta cut in, looking at you.

"Good" You smirked at her. "We start tomorrow."

----------------------------------------------------------

The Winter Solstice celebration was in full swing, people drinking and dancing to the beautiful music. With Rhysand and Feyre in the throne, you were sandwiched between Cassian and Azriel, the former glaring daggers at Eris' back while he danced with Nesta and the latter monitoring everything, his left wing resting lightly on your back.

"Fuck." Cassian growled. "I can't stand and watch this." He stormed off towards Mor, who was hiding behind a pillar on the other side of the throne.

"How long do you think will take them to realize?" A slow smile crept on your lips as you looked at Az.

"Realize what, Azriel?" Your innocent eyes met his cold stare. Everyone knew that they were mates. Everyone but Cassian and Nesta, apparently. And Eris, luckily.

"You look beautiful, (Y/N)." The sudden change of subject almost gave you whiplash. "As always."

His eyes roamed down your body, covered in a Night Court black dress that hugged every curve of your body. A small strip went around your neck and back, securing two pieces of fabric covering your breasts diagonally, forming a triangle that showed the tan skin of your torso, from the middle of your breasts until the top of your navel. A tight skirt was attached to it and your back was left exposed, your hair tied up in a tight ponytail that flowed down to the top of your ass. It seemed like time had stopped while Azriel's eyes covered your entire body. Finally returning to your face, his stare found your eyes and suddenly you felt a blush staining your cheeks.

"Uh..." You coughed, trying not to think too much about that stare. "Thanks, Az. You cleaned up nice, too." Winking at him, you turned to look straight once again.

Cleaning up nice wasn't enough to describe him. Az was... Az. His eyes, his body, his hair... All of him made you think the dirtiest thoughts ever. Like how his lips would feel against your skin, how having him look at you with that intensity in his eyes would feel while he was moving inside of you- Stop.

You needed to stop. You coughed again and felt Azriel looking at you again, a smirk covering his lips. Okey, maybe your smell had given away what your thoughts had been about, but he didn't know that you were thinking about him, did he?

Before you could overreact, he leaned towards you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You could feel goosebumps erupt all over your skin as he whispered. "Would you like to dance with me?"

You turned, your faces so close that your noses were almost touching, and you could see the amusement glinting in his eyes. Without breaking the eye contact, he lifted a hand in between your bodies and you took it, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Sure, Az." Your voice was higher than you'd intended, but still you plastered a cool smile on your face and lead the way to the dance floor.

A new song began just as you were settling down in a circle of couples. You could spy a glint of red hair on your peripheral vision, and you knew that Eris and Nesta were still going. Good. She seemed like she was having fun, after all.

The music began and both of you bowed, presenting yourselves to one another. He offered one of his hands and you gladly took it, taking one step closer to him. His other hand snaked across your waist and settled on your back. It was cold compared to your burning skin, and you could feel a shiver running up your back. Trying to suppress it, you forced yourself to look up at Azriel, a small sigh leaving your lips.

He was handsome, beautiful. The kind of person who turned heads wherever he went. A small pang of jealousy filled your chest at that thought and you shoved it down. It was ridiculous. You and Az were nothing, even though your chemistry was something else, that was for sure.

Azriel began moving, leading both of you graciously across the dance floor.

"I'm always surprised to see how good of a dancer you are." You were looking at his shoulder, trying to calm down the raging fire burning your insides.

"You'll be surprised to know how good I am at many things, (Y/N)." You could feel his smile as he said the words, and it was clear that he was aware of your body. Of the goosebumps, of your galloping heart and of the sweet, imperceptible to everyone but him smell of your arousal.

You tilted your head back, looking him in the eye, and the color stained your cheeks as you already found him looking at you. And then you felt it too. His slightly dilated pupils, his tongue swipping on his bottom lip and... His smell. It was just a slight change, you wouldn't even have noticed it if it weren't for the way he was looking at you. But there it was. Something muskier, rougher. Darker.

"You could show me, you know." The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

You were always teasing Azriel, making jokes, giving him shit for always being so mysterious. But this felt different. It seemed like the whole room vanished and you were the only ones dancing around. His hand tightened on our back, bringing your body impossibly closer to him. You could feel his heart through your own chest, and a knowing smirk creeped over your face as you realized that it was beating as fast as yours. Azriel leaned once more, his mouth caressing your ear.

"I've been waiting to show you for a long, long time, (Y/N)." His voice was deeper, and you had a hard time suppressing a moan.

He moved away and you almost whined until you realized that the dance was over. You were about to grab his hand again and demand to know more about what he just said when Cassian appeared.

"Az, I need you to go dance with Nesta, please." He signaled with his head towards the throne. "Eris is talking with Rhys and I need to know what's going on."

"Sure, brother."

Cassian sprinted towards Mor once more and you were observing your High Lord and High Lady. Rhys wore a cool smile, just like Feyre, but you could sense the worry in her eyes. You didn't even see Azriel moving until the front of his body was flushed against your back, his hands possessively gripping your hips.

"Tonight is the night I'll show you everything that I'm good at." He lowered his head, pressing a quick kiss just below your ear. "And I'll show you everything I've been dying to do to you."

Your eyes almost rolled back into your head and you were about to become jelly in his hands, but you managed to turn around quickly, grabbing one of his hands before he could slip away.

"Make it a promise, Shadowsinger."

Azriel smiled and winked at you, before he went to find Nesta as the next dance began.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Ghost & König x Plus-Size Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Implied/meantioned smut, some 18+ content (vague), bodily insecurities mentioned, fluff, a whole lot of love, two men being so down bad for you that it's no laughing matter, implied physical assault (not on Reader), Fem Reader, Jealous Ghost is implied, Jealous Konig (for different reasons)

Ghost:

He is absolutely, indisputebly, so atrociously down bad for you.

He seriously can never get enough of you.

If you were EVER insecure about any part of you, and he found out about it, he'd just give you a look of pure confusion.

What do you mean your thighs make you sad sometimes??

They don't make him sad.

On the contrary, they bring him nothing but joy!

Especially when they're wrapped around his head.

Seriously though, he loves you regardless of your size, shape, weight, etc.

Loves cuddling you because you're always so warm.

Calls you his "perfect pocket heater." Usually rasping it in your ear when he's pressed up behind you in bed during the winter months.

Whenever he's called back on duty, he says he wishes he could just pack you into his bag and take you with him to keep him company (and warm).

His other nickname for you is "Muffin" (you'll see why later).

Loves squeezing you.

And cuddling you.

Anywhere and everywhere.

Wherever there is skin to grab and hold, by god, he'll hold it.

He doesn't poke or squeeze you in ways that can be construed as teasing, though, especially if you're self-conscious about yourself.

And if by some sheer act of ignorance or cruelty somebody else makes you feel bad about your weight.

💀

Next time you see them, they're an assault statistic on the evening news, one who is in "critical condition", at that.

Ghost loves having you on top of him btw.

Regardless of the intent, whether sexual or not, he loves feeling your weight on him.

It grounds him.

Reminds him that you're here, that you're real. That Ghost is capable of love and is allowed to be happy.

Also, quick note, Ghost ADORES seeing you in stockings.

Loves how the elastic squeezes your thighs and makes them spill over the fabric.

He always calls them his "little muffins".

He thinks it makes you look even more beautiful (if that's possible).

He's had to reprimand some of his colleagues for staring at you.

Though, he can't blame them: they all know you're gorgeous.

Feels like it would be a crime not to watch you.

Like visiting every other painting in a gallery except the Mona Lisa.

König:

Man is huge and built like a bear, but the second you sit on his lap, his spirit is GONE.

He loves when you lay in his arms like The Pietà; makes him feel strong. Trusted.

His favourite thing about you is your waist.

He just can't stop looking at it.

He loves the shape.

Is fascinated by it, watching it change shape slightly when you sit down.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"How...How does it do that (perform basic biology)?"

Truly, the female body is an enigma to König.

Though yours is not.

Like Ghost, he will grab onto any skin, fold and crevice he can get his hands onto (or into).

Worries if he's too big for you sometimes (in more ways than one) :-(

He lives for the weight of you on his thighs when you ride him.

Makes him feel secure, like he's paper and you're the paperweight.

And it makes him feel dependable 💪.

Also feels safe whenever he gets to play with your hands.

Loves your skin so much.

The texture, the veins, the wrinkles, the stretch marks; he goes feral for everything that is you.

You compare proportions sometimes.

König is strangely competitive when it comes to his thighs.

If you have bigger thighs than him, you're going to have to reassure him that yes, he is still your big bear, and yes, he is still very handsome. And yes, of course he's not too weak for you.

Proves it via the aforementioned riding sessions.

Is your #1 fan.

No dispute.

Oh, btw, if you wear any kind of leather or latex around him, he's hard until you take it off (or he takes it off you).

He just can't handle your silhouette.

Just does something to a man.

This man in particular.

That memory will haunt him in the best possible way for as long as tiem exists.

Proves kind of troublesome during missions though ngl.

You know, during times when König really needs to not be hard.

Would hammer anyone into the ground who made you feel insecure about yourself.

"König...when did you buy those red gloves?"

König, looking down at his blood-drenched hands: "Uhh...last week at the market?"

His nickname for you is "Cake."

Short and sweet. Just like you.

Unless you're tall. In that case tall and sweet lmao.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[hitomisuzuya]

HIII SUZUUU first time requesting kind nervous lol. For once finally ur requests are open when I'm up 😭 I've been thinking abt scummy scara way too much lately like literally basically imagine just going on a cute date with him only for him to fuck you dumb the second u guys arent in public 🤭🤭🤭

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Scummy Scaramouche. Smut. Edging. Teasing. Degradation. Some date fluff. Reader is hinted in having a metal allergy cause I am allergic to gold jewelry.

Have I said how much I love when requests are worded like this 😳😌 No one should feel nervous requesting from me. 🥺

It was no secret that Scaramouche was a trust fund baby. And the one thing he liked to do with that money is spend it on you. He has to spoil his precious girl, after all.

If there was a cute stuffed animal you looked at for even a second in passing, it was yours. You wanted a book, he bought the whole series for you. You commented on how pretty a piece of expensive jewelry was, he bought it without hesitation. Especially if it was silver. Your skin was finicky about certain metals.

Scaramouche thought silver was prettier, anyways. Not prettier than you. How dare a metal even consider coming close to you.

He always touching you in some way as you walked. An arm around your waist, holding your hand, even sitting down somewhere he had his hand on your thigh. You were taken, damn it, and he needed to make the perfectly clear to anyone who looked.

"Scara, you've spent enough money on me already," You fretted, making him chuckle as he stopped in front of a lingerie boutique in town.

"Nonsense, I insist," Scaramouche replied. Oh yeah, he always insisted. Especially if it meant picking out lingerie for him to rip off later.

God, just picturing how you would look in the lacy black, blue, and purple lingerie to picked out for you was starting to make his cock twitch. "If you need any help, I can come in with you," He said, wishing the changing room door had some kind of keyhole.

"No, Scara, it's okay. I can manage," You said, blushing from how enthusiastic he sounded about helping you put everything on.

That wasn't the point. He needed to see how you looked in them. His imagination was starting to drive him a little crazy. His fingers were shaking with need, and the anticipation of getting his hands on you.

Even the lady behind the counter was starting to give him a stern look. He probably looked something like a dog frothing at the mouth.

With many bags in hand, back you headed with Scaramouche to his dorm. No sooner were you a few steps from it, he was making you drop bags right in the hallway, pushing you against the wall. His hands roamed greedily over your body, biting at your lips as he kissed you.

"Mmmm~," He purred, hooking his fingers through your panties, "you wore the one I hoped you would out of the store." He could hardly wait when you had given him only a price tag to take up to the counter with everything else.

Throwing open his dorm room door, Scaramouche stumbled inside with you, his lips never leaving yours. His hands pawed at your clothes, standing behind you in front of his mirror so he could watch himself remove the lacy purple lingerie. "Purple always looks so pretty on your skin," He kissed and bit at your shoulder as he unhooked your bra, groping your breasts before tugging it off.

Guiding you over to his bed, he pushed you down on it, spreading your legs as he licked a long the inside of your thighs. You squirmed, his spit rolling down the inside of your thighs to soak against the fabric.

"Ha, getting wound already. What a needy slut you are," He purred excitedly, hastily tugging your panties off. His eyes drank in your form spread out before him, just as hastily taking off his clothes. "Can't wait for me to fuck you dumb on my cock, hm?"

You whimpered, grinding needily against him as he pressed the tip of his aching cock on your clit. It sounded so fucking sweet to him that he had to hear it over and over again.

Scaramouche groaned every time he heard you whimper, relentlessly teasing the tip of his cock against your entrance. The way you squirmed on desperation, your walls fluttering and clenching around it was a drool worthy sight to him. His mouth said as much, drool dripping down onto your chest.

"Scara, please, put your cock all the way in me. I can't take much more," You pleaded, reaching down to grasp his cock to try and urge it inside of you. "Cum inside of me."

That sent him feral. Folding your body, and throwing your legs over his shoulder, his slid his cock slowly inside of you. Groaning, he cursed when his cock rested against your sweet spot. Pulling out to the tip, he slowly pushed himself back inside so he could feel your walls clench tight around his cock as he bottomed out again.

Every thrust made you see stars, your eyes rolling closed. Wrapping your arms around him, you clung to him. Scaramouche was determined for the entire campus to hear how good he was fucking you.

"Fuck, look at me when you cum, slut," Scaramouche hissed, pounding himself inside of you, his entire body quivering, his cock throbbing with his approaching orgasm.

Your eyes snapped open, tears welling in them as his lips captured yours to swallow your moans. He bit at your lips, pulling away when your legs started to tremble in pleasure.

"Scream it, whore. Who's fucking you this good, hm?" Scaramouche pushed your legs farther up towards your head, his husky moans only rose in octave as he drove he cock deeper inside of you.

"Scaramouche! Scaramouche! Scaramouche!" The way you chanted his name like mantra, your release flooding around his cock made him cum suddenly inside of you. He left his cock resting deep into your sweet spot, his warm cum ribboning inside of you. You felt every throb of his cock.

Panting, Scaramouche pulled out of you after a few long minutes of feverishly fucking his cum back inside of you. Rolling off of you, he latched one of his lips around your nipple, sucking on it as he scooped some of his cum onto his fingers.

Your back arched off the bed, gasping when he rubbed and hooked his fingers over your sweet spot. You still hadn't entirely come down from your orgasm.

Scaramouche only wanted to continue to make his precious girl feel as good you made him feel. By cumming again all over his fingers.

[reidslovely]

Coffee (It's Never Just That)

A/N: I'm back-ish. I'm gonna be slow in putting things out, but I want to write things I want and not feel like I'm trapped in my block. So baby steps.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Two ex-lovers can't have enough of each other until the game of love absolutely destroys them.

Warnings: Poorly written smut to represent the complicated relationship (18+). No happy ending.

please reblog!

playlist

Staring at the screen felt like a stab to the chest. What could one say?

P. Parker: Saw you today- coffee?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought out a response. But with Peter it was never just that easy. The first time was supposed to be the only time it happened. But again, it was never just that easy. 

It was the Italian place down the street from Mary-Anne’s, the shitty dive bar she and Peter spent most of their college nights at. The invite was a shock, considering the two hadn’t spoken since their breakup at graduation. Nothing could feel as strange as accepting the invite to the place where she first met his aunt. If she closed her eyes tight enough she could have sworn May was to her right and Peter right in front of her. The three of them laughing over some joke she couldn’t quite pull from the memory. 

Hard cut to the Peter in front of her now. 

He looked different from the bleached blonde skater she fell in love with. His natural brown hair was grown out and styled perfectly, he had traded his geeky science shirts and band hoodies for a dark sports coat and blue sweater. The Peter who sat in front of her now was a science teacher, and the girl who sat in front of him was still in love with every version of him. 

“I always liked when you wore your glasses.” She muttered, tilting her head to the side slowly. 

Peter’s cheeks flushed a dark red, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. She chuckled in response not realizing she’d so rudely cut him off from his ramble with her compliment. 

“I know you did..” His eyes scanned over her in a way that made her feel naked. Something sinister creeped into Peter’s smile as he spoke. “I always loved that dress on you.”

Her hands dropped nervously into her lap soothing out the wrinkled fabric. Subconsciously, they both knew what they were doing here. 

That’s why, when her dress hit the hardwood floor in his midtown apartment she wasn’t shocked. It felt like old times, hands fitting into curves and each other's hair just like it used to. Soft whines and pleas for him to ‘stay right there’ as he buried himself inside her. Her legs wrapped around his hips holding him in place, Peter’s breath fanning her face as he lowered his face to hers, lips interlocking, as his hands held her legs in place nesting himself at her cervix as he spilled himself into her. 

And just like old times, when it was done and over with she clung to him, like holding onto her favorite memory. Foolishly, she was too trusting in falling asleep, because when she woke up he was gone. Police sirens and a breeze from the open window warming the empty spot in the bed- she rolled over falling back asleep knowing that this would always happen.

But, it wasn’t the last time it would happen. She couldn’t tell if she was happy about that or not. It was all curiosities fault that she texted him back a second time to meet up. 

Pete: Let’s go to the park? Sit and talk about it?

Curiosity responded with a bit too enthusiastic of a  yes now that she was looking back on it. 

She couldn’t be too hard on herself, anyone would have done the same for the guy they’d never fallen out of love with. So, she sat cross legged on a wooden bench in the front of the water fountain. She thought it would be silly for her to toss a quarter in trade for a wish- she always heard that was better than any penny. But not even that would change…this. Her head jolted up quickly as she noticed him approaching. She dressed casually this time, and swore to herself that no matter what he says she’s not following him home like a lovesick puppy- he is not hers. 

“I’m sorry I left like that.” 

What a way to start a conversation. An empty apology was always the thing Peter was best at. 

“Hey, it is what it is. You have..a duty and all.”

“It wasn't my intention to do that.” 

Air around them felt heavy, and against everything that’s telling her not to she asks.

“To leave or sleep with me?”

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he spoke, “Both.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, she was twenty-two again, sitting amongst a sea of her peers who didn’t know the man she swore she’d marry just told her he’d never want to see her again. 

“I won’t let it happen again. I do want to be friends, it’s just- hard.”

They could never just be ‘friends’. 

The third and last time it happened was completely accidental. 

She checked the time on her phone for a fourth time that night. It was official- she’d been stood up. 

‘Awesome.’ She thought to herself. 

She downed the last of her wine, listening to the jazz band play. Reaching under the table for her bag, a pair of brown loafers slipped into her view. There he was, again, damnit. 

“This seat taken?” 

“No, h…have a seat.” She motioned nervously at the booth seat in front of her. Suddenly, she was very aware of the jazz band picking up tempo in their song mocking the panic setting in over her body. 

“Date? You’re early.” He teased taking a drink from his whiskey glass. 

“I’ve been stood up actually.” 

The silence that fell between the two was awkward and heavy. 

“Oh..I’m sorry baby.” 

There he goes again with his empty apologies. Sighing she sits her bag on the table waiting for her check. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, sitting her arms on the table leaning forward to hear him. Peter clears his throat, clenching his glass nervously, he runs his finger down the condensation as he thinks. 

“Got tired of grading papers I was walking by and…poof…there you were.”

The air she blew out of her nose was followed by a laugh she couldn’t hold back. Without prompt or asking Peter slammed down a couple bills to cover the check before holding his hand out to her. Looking around she took a minute to weigh all her options and right now all she wanted was the comfort Peter could bring her. 

So she led him back to her place. The two stumbling through the door, lips interlocked. Peter’s hands in her hair dropped down, hiking up the bottom of her dress. His hand grabbing a fist full of her ass cheek in the process, pulling her in closer as he groped the skin. 

“I miss you.” 

He whispered against her cheek, she could feel her heart skipping a beat as he spoke. Leaning back in her hands connected in his hair. Something felt different this time. 

Something was much more real this time, all she could do with her back to his chest was moan out her usual pleas for him to stay with her. He held her close, his hand flat against the middle of her chest, she knew he felt every beat her heart made times ten as he drove into her. His free hand roaming and groping her chest. Peter follows his same routine, laying her face against the pillow as he holds onto her. She reaches for his hand, feeling his larger one engulf hers as he finishes inside her. This time she had him, he was hers. 

Or so she thought as she fell asleep on his chest, as stealthy as Peter thought he was, he was never quiet enough for her. The warmth of Peter was replaced by the softness of her down pillow, making her ears perk up. Silently, she sat up watching him getting dressed. Pulling her knees to her chest almost protecting herself from what is about to come. “Where are you going?” 

The question made Peter stop in his tracks. He couldn’t even find it in him to turn and face her. 

“I’ve..uh..gotta go.” His shoulders slumped as he slid his pants on, hands on his hips as he leaned his head back.  “Early morning and all..”

“It’s sunday.” She laughs “Come back to bed.” It was said in a voice she’d hope would pull him back. But when he said nothing and continued to put his shoes on she realized everything that was said in the moment earlier was just that, a fleeting moment. 

“God. You are never gonna change are you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement that came off much more hateful than she intended for it to be, but she was tired and too grown for whatever game it was he was playing. The thing that hurt the most was he didn’t even try to argue back. He huffed, buttoning up his shirt and ruffling his hair. He finally turned to look at her with whatever decency he had, with another “I’m so sorry baby.” 

Hr was always sorry- he’d only ever be sorry. Wiping her tears she rolled over in her bed and pulled herself under her covers as the door shut. 

P. Parker: Baby? Coffee? What do you say?

The vibration pulled  from each disappointing memory of her heart breaking. But finally she was making the choice she knew she had too. 

You: Hey Peter! Can’t tonight lots of thesis work to finish, hope you’re doing good though!

She dropped her phone on the couch as she set her focus back onto her laptop. The door opening drew her attention over her shoulder, tossing Felicia a smile as she walked out of her bedroom. 

“Plans tonight?” The blonde asked in a sing-song voice.

“Nope.” 

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as her phone buzzed once more, she fought everything in her to pick up and go crawling back into his bed. But for now, she was done.

taglist

@blooming-violets @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @tarzinnia @moonyslove78 @liz-allyn @someblessedmonster

@helloheyhihowdyheya @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @hollandweather @eevylynn

[valiantstarlights]

[Priest Hob AU sequel] Some Months Later, December 24, Evening.

Tagging @alexxuun because they deserve credit for the AU. 😊 I can't tag the anon who requested a sequel in an ask, but here you go! I hope you like it. 🖤

--

"I don't...I don't understand." Hob clutches at Dream's arm when he realizes where Dream has transported them. "Why are we here?"

'Here' was the corridor they got married in, months ago by now. Nothing has changed. The fourth window left of the door was still cracked, and the tile near the first pillar was still placed unevenly. Time has passed, surely, but Hob doesn't know the time difference between Hell and Earth. For all he knows, only a few minutes have passed since he was last here with Dream.

"To pray, I suppose," Dream replies, sounding amused at his question. "Is this what being in my presence does to you, Father Robert? Have you forgotten the purpose of churches?"

Panic flared bright in his chest. "No, please, don't call me that. You know I'm not...I'm not that person anymore. I'm your husband now. Right? Dream?" His heart was suddenly beating so quickly. Dream was looking at him strangely, all traces of humor gone from his handsome face. "Why are we here? Have you...have you grown tired of me? Is this you returning me to my old life?"

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the crushing loneliness, the prayers that ring hollow when he recites them, the misguided belief that suffering brings you closer to heaven. That it is worth being miserable your entire life, giving and giving until you have nothing left, for the sake of having a place in God's kingdom where it would be more of the same: worshipping an absent, indifferent being, the air filled with songs of zealous, nauseating praise, fake beatific smiles on the face of everyone you meet.

Hob would rather die than live that life again. He would rather starve in the streets and die a peasant's death than leave Dream's side. If his husband has fallen out of love with him--

"Hush, my love," Dream says, and then Hob is enfolded in his strong arms, Dream's dark wings also moving to shelter him. Hob immediately clings tight. If Dream wants him to let go, he's going to have to break Hob's arms first. "I am here. I will not leave you. You are mine until the end of time."

"Then why?" Hob asks against the rich fabric of Dream's robes. He still sounds panicked, short breath coming in gasps. "Why are we here? I don't want to be here."

Dream rubs Hob's back comfortingly, up and down and up again, sometimes brushing his long fingers through Hob's hair, until Hob calms down. Until he can breathe normally again. Hob doesn't know how much time has passed, but their surroundings are undisturbed and not a single person walks by them.

And then Dream asks, "Are you sure?"

What?

Dream sighs but continues his soothing gestures. "I know you miss it. I hear you hum sometimes, when your mind is focused on a task. Religious melodies. Christmas songs, of late. I don't think you notice it, but some of the staff do. Lucienne tells me you must have wanted to visit, but are too afraid to ask me." He leans away from Hob so Hob could see how sincere he looks, but all Hob reads in Dream's face is the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Hob not trusting him enough to tell him his wishes.

"I do not want you to think that you can never visit again," Dream tells him, soft and a little vulnerable. "I do not want you to think that by marrying me, you have lost your freedom." He looks around them, at the high ceilings and the tall windows. "And so here we are."

"Dream," Hob says as earnestly as he could. "It's just a habit. I hum when I feel like it's too quiet. It just so happens that the songs I pick are...well. But if you enchant a violin to play by itself and follow me around, I assure you the humming will cease, or if it persists, then it would be to the tune of Mozart or Bach or whichever composer you pick."

He places his hand against his husband's cheek and watches as Dream leans against it before turning his head to kiss his palm. Hob's heart breaks at the tender movement. How long had Dream been worried about this?

"As for my freedom," Hob says, "You did not clip my wings. You unbound them. And since you have, I have never felt happier. With you by my side, I feel like I can achieve anything. You opened my eyes and taught me better. Helped me unlearn all the false teachings I grew up believing to be true. You have made me into the best version of myself I could ever hope to be, and I would not have anyone else by my side. I'm glad I'm spending my eternity with you."

Dream's eyelashes flutter in pleasure at his words before he leans in and gives Hob a soft kiss on the lips. Hob returns it with a passion, wanting Dream to understand that Hob has already decided his fate, and that he has chosen Dream. Will always choose him. Each and every time. Hob needs him to understand that. But how..?

An idea forms in his mind, and as soon as their kiss reached its natural conclusion, he pulls Dream towards the church proper.

"Hob?"

"Come, husband," he says, still filled with a giddy kind of joy whenever he says the title. "I want to make something clear to you."

Dream follows him.

A few moments later, the two of them stand in front of the door that would open to the main hall of the church.

"Is it empty?" Hob asks.

"Yes," Dream says. "The midnight mass won't be starting until later this evening."

"The midnight mass?" Hob repeats in shock. "Is it already Christmas Eve?"

Dream nods.

"Good," Hob says firmly. "Even better." He opens the door, and indeed, there was no one inside.

Hob marches them past the rows of votive stands, past the carved wooden pedestal holding the lit advent candles nestled upon a wreath of evergreen, and right up to the altar. Then, with only a moment's worth of hesitation, Hob shoves everything on the altar crashing down on the ground: the book stand, the large Bible it's holding open, candelabras with unlit candles, and a couple of flower vases. He winces as the objects make a dreadful amount of noise, the water from the vases seeping onto the pages of the Bible, the heavy book stand crushing the flowers, the candelabras dented in a couple of places, the candles placed upon them rolling across the floor.

"Is there a point to this destruction?" Dream asks behind him, sounding adorably confused as to why his usually mild-mannered husband is acting this way.

"No," Hob says, then turns back to Dream. He wants to see his husband's face for this. "I just wanted to clear the altar for my offering."

"Your offering?"

Hob starts to strip, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth, eyes darkening as he understands what Hob is trying to do.

"I am offering myself to you," Hob says, and starts reciting Dream's many titles. "--King of Dreams and Nightmares, One of the Seven Rulers of Hell, and my beloved husband. I would have you stake your claim on me in front of all the angels and saints, right at the altar of the god I used to worship."

Dream stares at him, now fully naked and slightly shivering from the cold air, his nipples pebbling. "You do not know what you're asking for, Robert Gadling," he says, though if the echo of Nightmare's voice tainting his is any indication, then Hob knows exactly what he's trying to do. "This would be unlike our marriage. Offering yourself to me in this way..."

"Can I be any more owned by you?" Hob asks, genuinely curious. "Am I not offering you myself, body and soul, so in the future you will not do stupid things like think I would want to be away from your side? Away from our home?"

"You would be offering yourself body and soul to me, Hob, this is true," Dream says. "But you must know that in offering yourself to me the way you are planning, naked and willing upon an altar, you are also offering to bear my children."

"Your chil--" Hob gapes at him and looks down at himself, at his own body, which is still very hairy and very male. "You can get me pregnant?" He asks, only sounding slightly hysterical.

Dream nods gravely. "And now you see why offering yourself this way to me would be unwise. However, I have noted your intention, and will try not to do...foolish things in the future."

"And if I want it?" Hob asks, unwilling to leave just yet without being fucked here, in the place where he went through life like a ghost, upon the very altar he stood behind and spoke words of faith while having none in his heart. He feels his cock growing hard under Dream's eyes, the hunger in them barely restrained. "If I want to become pregnant with your child?"

Dreams eyes are turning so dark, it was like the stars in them have started to go out one by one. The end of multiple universes. "Hob."

"I am willing," Hob says. "And while I am no longer a virgin, I had been when you first--"

"You should not say these things," Dream says in Nightmare's voice, stepping forward into Hob's space. The shadows were gathering around him and slithering around Hob's feet like snakes. "Not unless you want me to fuck you pregnant in the house of your god."

Hob steps closer until his naked body is flush against his husband, precome staining Dream's dark robes, then leans upwards so he could kiss Dream's and Nightmare's fanged mouth. They nip at his lips and push him back against the altar, the stone cold and hard against his back. Hob moans and twines his arms around their neck, letting them lift him so he could sit on the altar. "Haven't you heard, my husband?" Hob murmurs against their lips. "I worship a different god now."

--

"More," Hob begs, an indeterminate amount time later. Dream's cum drips from his hole and onto the altar, but still Hob spreads himself open. "Again."

Dream kisses him lovingly and obeys. Half of his face is Nightmare and the other half is Dream. He only gets this way when he's feeling so much pleasure that both sides of himself come out to play. Hob loves him like this. Dream is generally a gentle lover while Nightmare prefers a hard fuck. But both of them at the same time means petal soft kisses from Dream while Nightmare chokes him with a hand around his throat as his cock jackhammers into Hob.

"Insatiable," Dream says in Nightmare's voice as he thrusts hard into Hob. It's good that the altar is made of stone or else it would have broken under their vigorous fucking. "Do you really intend for me to breed you here? Are you not going to be satisfied until my seed takes?"

Hob moans. Yes. That would, in fact, be the ideal outcome. He spreads his legs wider.

"And to think you had been a virgin when I married you," Nightmare says in Dream's voice, possessive and fond at the same time. "Your hole was so tight I had to spend hours with my tongue between your legs to loosen you up. And now your body knows my cock so well you can take me with minimal preparation."

Hob squeezes him as much as he could in retaliation, though it was a weak little thing, his hole already fucked sloppy and loose.

"What a slutty husband I have," they tell him. "Uncaring that at any point now, the deacons and the sacristans will be arriving to do last minute preparations. I doubt they'll have anything to say about the mess you made on the floor, not when they see a former priest of this church getting fucked like a whore right on top of their sacred altar."

Hob mewls at that, aroused beyond belief. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. How he should instead feel humiliation flooding his veins at the thought of being found in such a position by the people who used to respect him.

But oh, to be found pleasing his eternal husband, undeniably marked with his teeth and claimed by his large cock...

"Want it," he gasps. It was so hard to speak and his thoughts are a scattered mess. "Show. I'm yours."

"You want me to continue fucking you in front of them?" Nightmare asks, delighted. "You want me to laugh in their faces as they wield their wooden crosses at me when they try to banish me? Shall I bathe them in flame and watch them burn alive when they do?"

Hob doesn't care. He could barely remember them anyway.

"It is tempting," Dream admits. "I want to see the look on their faces when they realize that Father Robert didn't just disappear mysteriously, but was instead granted a better life. However," and here he grinds harder to emphasize his point. Hob keens, toes curling and legs shaking. He has lost count of how many times he came, but he could feel the pressure building in his stomach once more. He'll probably cum dry this time. Or totally lose control of his body and squirt all over Dream. It's already happened once. "I do not want anyone else to see you like this. Only I should have that privilege. Don't you agree?"

Hob nods frantically. Whatever his husband wants. Fuck, his cock feels so good. Hob wants him to fill him up more until he grows round with his cum.

"No, I think we'll just leave them a nice little Christmas present." And with that, Dream wraps his hand around Hob's cock and starts stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. Hob practically seizes, wailing, cumming dry, as Dream pounds him harder through his orgasm before shooting another batch of cum straight into Hob's newly formed womb.

--

When the first group of deacons arrive to make the final preparations for the Midnight Mass, the mess on the floor that Hob created is not the first thing they see. Nor do they notice that the altar was desecrated by a truly overflowing amount of both human and demon cum.

They would have noticed these things, but Dream kept his promise and left them his Christmas present, to help make the church look more festive at such an important time in their liturgical calendar.

He did this by covering every interior surface of the church, from ceiling to floor, and not missing a single statue, with fresh, bright red blood.

[theacedragon0w0]

Mending bridges

This is when Sage returns to the hotel to grab their things and Charlie wanting to give them a parting gift

"You're sure you don't want to come back?" Charlie asked Sage, to be honest she thought of them being one if the few souls here in hell that could be redeemed.

Sage was grabbing the last of their items, since now the extermination was over they had the opportunity to comb through their items in their old room. They convinced their partner's that it would be a quick trip, but they compromised that Hazel would accompany Sage for the retrieval.

"Trust me I am sure, and look you will find another Cook to help you with meal prep, since now you have a functional kitchen."

Vaggie, who's hand was resting on Charlie's shoulder added, "And you are content with selling your soul to the Vees?"

Sage grunted, "It's Velvette that I gave my soul to, and yeah I can say I'm content with spending my days with her, Hazel, Rosalina, and the others that don't just see me and the sweaty food servant."

Charlie couldn't rebuttal as she knew how often Sage would butt heads with the other patrons, with her, Vaggie and Lucifer being the exceptions.

"And do they make you happy?"

Sage, gripping their denim jacket that they were wearing, smiled, "yeah, they really do, I can't imagine how I managed to got through day to day before they came."

Sage turned to face the couple, "Vaggie you get it don't you? If given the chance you'd clip your wings for Charlie's happiness? And Charlie, you would take on 100 angels if it means to keep Vaggie safe?"

The couple looked at each other, grasping the weight of Sage's analogy, they understood the devotion that Sage went to working for them and for Velvette, but with Angel free from his contract, Charlie couldn't help feel like Sage was ensnared the same fate. "Listen, I won't ever force you to break your binds, but understand that the doors are always open if you ever want to come back."

Sage chuckled, "Yeah, I appreciate the gesture" getting ready to leave with two duffle bags worth of stuff before being stopped, Charlie handling them a flat box.

"Consider this as a Thank-you-for-working-here-parting-but-not-a-forever-goodbye gift."

Sage, reading Charlie's ansty body language, figure to open the present to see what they were given by the princess of hell herself

It was Sage's red vest, the fabric iron pressed as if it was preserved against time itself.

Sage didn't know how to react, they actually enjoyed wearing the uniform but it was one of the few things that made working at the hotel somewhat bearable to work in.

Charlie's face sunk seeing Sage's melancholy face, "you hate it don't you?"

Sage, trying to save face "No-no I love it honest! It's just, it has a lot of weight on this you know."

"Told you it was a bad idea honey," Vaggie consoled Charlie, attempting to reach the vest but Sage yanked away from Vaggies reach.

"I didn't say I didn't want it, besides, you two were the only two that made this dump worth staying, if only temporarily."

Charlie, still upset but didn't want to make Sage stay anymore than they wanted, offered their hand for a shake, to which Sage dropped their stuff and pulled Charlie in for a hug, grabbing Vaggie in to join to.

"Thank you for what you guys did for me, honest."

--

Sage exited the hotel, with Hazel waiting by the luxury car that Velvette had sent them over with, her body stiff and her ears pinned backwards.

"Took ya long enough, I was bout to bust in there thinkin you were held hostage in there."

Sage, looking at Hazel with love reassured her "I don't doubt that, it was just Charlie and them giving me their best wishes and such."

Hazel huffed, helping Sage with their bags and inspecting Sage's gift.

"Boss ain't going to like it that you are bring this back, she'll most likely burn it."

"Maybe, I'll try to convince her to change it at least, she said that purple is more my color anyway."

Hazel pecked Sage's nose bridge "That I agree with."

Sage looked at Hazel and thought of her, Velvette, Rosalina, the other guards Sydney and Iris, hell even Xana crossed their minds

Why would anyone wanna go to heaven when they have a slice of it here?

[chronicleking]

「 @universestreasures​ | Kisara」 issued a challenge:

Her wings and tail were in full view as Kisara gazed upon him, for she had no need to hide her true self before him when they were here. She pats the white fabric of her gown on her lap, an invitation for Seto to join her and relax in her lap. The dragoness could see something hidden in his radiant blue eyes, something that singled a deep concern. "Tell me what ails you, my dearest." (From Kisara, Nobles UwU.)

He doesn't relax, even as she comes into his full view. His shoulders remain squared and his gaze remains one carved from ice. A harsh expression to most who found themselves exposed to it, but to Kisara... she always managed to see past his frigid exterior-- Treating the glass surrounding his heart as if it were more akin to that of a window than the mirror he viewed it as.

--An opaque mirror which reflects that of the world around it, the beauty and misery of it all, and keeps it out. Or a crystalline window which allows the light to pass through it to combat the darkness sealed within.

Either way; the glass cracked before Kisara's silvery-toned voice.

It was a dangerous weapon. One that only the maiden could wield. One that could destroy him at any moment should she so choose.

He stops in his tracks the moment she spoke, as if he dares not to overshadow the tune with the echoing of footfalls. A few seconds pass before Seto responds in kind-- only after the lingering vibrations in the air settle completely.

❝ Shouldn't you know by now? I don't bring my business back into your bedroom. ❞

The words he speaks are cold in nature, but the voice that delivered them told a slightly different tale. To the untrained ear it was easy to miss, but for those close to him they knew it was Seto's way of acknowledging concerns without completely invalidating them through blunt rejection.

He just... rather not talk about it right now. Not when Kisara's inviting gesture drew him in so.

...It's not information he rather her be privy to either. Considering the weight of what's just been thrown upon him. But he can't just hope for her to drop the matter so easily. Had it been anyone else he would have had just told her to forget it and let him be.

❝ ...Those old geezers, ❞ Mentioning them at all should spell out his troubles. The elders have been nothing but troublesome since the moment Seto's memories burdened him. Not only do they cause him to struggle at every turn with his rise to power, now they're trying to use him as a bargaining chip! HIM! If they think they can do such a thing without retaliation on his side then they were sorely wrong. ❝ I'm going to change the way things are run around here, I swear it-- ❞

The coat hanging off his shoulders slips off with ease, the lustrous fabric flowing into rippled piles on the white tiled floors. It was if a waterfall had just run dry-- beautiful as it's last drop fell before then revealing all the uglied jagged dangers that lay beneath it's surface. Seto was much the same. All the bright whites of the surface of his world couldn't begin to bring light to the darkest parts of himself.

At least, That was what he once thought. That was until he had met Kisara, who's light threatened to obliterate him completely if he wasn't careful when basking in it.

When he lowers to his knees before her it's with great care despite how his body argued with him to simply accept her and trust the weight of it all to her; his troubles as well as himself. Instead he first places his hand atop her own, welcoming the warmth of her skin that came at a great contrast given how cold to the touch she appeared to be.

A beauty, carved of marble and ice.

How part of him wished to preserve her seemingly delicate nature, despite knowing very well how wrong that perception of her was. The other part of him knew better than anyone-- That she was not as fragile as this form would lead most to believe. But knowing that wasn't enough for Seto.

It didn't matter if he could believe in Kisara's power. It didn't matter if he could trust in her or Mokuba to protect themselves. With the way things were now none of that mattered. It was only a matter of time before something outside his control would happen again-- And with the recent announcement of his arrangement resounding inside his head and heart it was becoming clear. Now more than ever.

He couldn't sit around and wait any longer, he had to start pushing back against these ridiculous traditions. He wasn't going to remain a pawn on someone else's playing board forever. He was going to become a king-- The King of Kings of this land and do more than return it to it's former glory. He was going to usher in an entirely new age; one where Kisara could once again spread her wings outside the walls he had built around her. As his eye finally locks his gaze with her own his mumbling rant changes into something full of resolve.

❝ --I swear it. On my very life. ❞

It's only then that he seems to relax all at once. As if an incredible weight was finally withdrawn from his shoulders as he finally accepts Kisara's invitation to lower his head down onto her lap. But even this seemed more like a deep bow-- a sealing of a promise-- than anything. -

[comfortscripts]

11:11 ¬ Ben Barnes

Plot - Ben and Y/N were the perfect example of 'Right Person, Wrong Time' but will the timing ever be right? Genre - Angst/Fluff ♥︎☁️ Pairing - Ben Barnes x GN!reader Notes/Warnings - This is based off 11:11 by Ben Barnes (which is phenomenal) and basically revolves around the idea of lovers coming together at the right time. Might change this later because I think I can do better. Requested by @awesomemikaus and hopefully I did the request justice! Word Count - 1.1k

Filming Narnia: The Voyage of The Dawn Treader

Bundles of fabric, safety pins littering all surfaces and a steady stream of frustrated whispers encapsulated the atmosphere of the costume room. You ran around trying to assist wherever you could, trying to anticipate your boss' next move, all in the hope of getting a step further in your career.

Isis was an incredible designer and working for her, on a movie as big as this, could really step up for bigger things. But there was one thing that clouded your thoughts, one very attractive actor to be precise. Ben Barnes was everything you could wish for in a man, a handsome gentleman who had more talent than he knew what to do with and more love than you knew existed.

Over the course of filming, the actor and yourself found comfort in your strange arrangement. Longing looks and lingering touches were all it could be but it was enough knowing that he felt the same. Late nights of whispered confessions as you twirled his silky locks around your delicate fingers, mornings of giggles and moments of hidden pleasure, but both of you knew that it wouldn't work.

Final days of filming stalked closer and the fear of separating engulfed the young lovers minds as they embraced in the secluded hotel room, trying to take any remaining minute they could.

"But what if this could work?"

Shifting your head to meet his hopeful gaze, you felt your heart drop. "Ben, we know it can't. We both are getting to live our dreams and we need to focus on our careers before we can focus on love." Gently caressing his jaw with a soft touch, you felt on the verge of tears. "Trust me, if I could, I would stay like this forever. But I know that I would hate for your talent to be wasted, for you to prioritize me over the brilliant actor you can be and all the experiences that come with it."

Ben's calloused thumb brushed away a small tear that escaped from your entrancing eyes, his own eyes conveying a storm of emotions before stealing a intimate kiss from your lips. The fleeting moment was accompanied by your beating hearts becoming one.

Breaking away, the dark-haired man took your own hand in his. "Promise me this, when we are ready, we will come back to each other."

"I promise"

Filming Shadow and Bone

A lot can change in 10 years. After Narnia, you found yourself being offered jobs in more prominent movies, designing for Marvel and multiple Netflix series. Whilst your career was perfect but your heart still yearned for Ben.

He took off. Watching him grow from a far, cheering him on whenever he landed a new role but secretly praying he would never forget you. That actor you knew had blossomed into a dashing man who was confident in his talents.

Shadow and Bone was like a beautiful present wrapped in gold. Asking you to be the lead costume designer for the show had your pulse racing but knowing that you'd see Ben again, knees weaken at the news. Armies of butterflies invading your stomach as you designed outfits for General Kirigan, whilst you let your mind wander to how it will be seeing Ben again.

The start of production came quicker than you expected. Nerves bubbled over the surface at the gravity of this job but also at how Ben would react to seeing you after all this time. Was he with someone? Did he remember me? Was this a mistake?

But all nerves were washed away as soon as your eyes connected with his deep chocolate orbs. Senses lighting up as your heart instantly recognised the man who it had longed for all these years. Feet unconsciously moving as your bodies gravitated towards the other like magnets.

Embracing the taller man, you felt the tickle of his coarse beard against your neck as he breathed in your aroma as if to remind himself after all these years. To onlookers, it might seem like old friends sharing a hug but the both of you could feel the fire ignite under your skins, after being dormant for so long.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again"

Loosening the tight embrace you had around the man, you felt a light blush grace your face as you offered a beaming smile. "I'm sure you can't be more excited than me."

His laugh rang through the air at your words but also in relief, you had missed him as well. Wrapping an arm across your shoulders, the older man led you towards the local town whilst you caught up. Conversation flowing like it had never stopped, laughter erupting like there was never distance and hearts beating like they were never apart.

Settling down on an old oaken bench, you felt the warmth radiating off the Brit as the brisk Hungarian air sent shivers down your spine. You both knew what the other was dying to ask but the fear of ruining the moment was too overwhelming, it had been 10 years in the waiting and a simple question could break it all.

Filling your lungs with the cold air, heart beating against your chest, you mustered up your courage to ask. "Do you still believe in the promise we made?"

"The memory of us has been playing in my head for the past 10 years, no matter who I dated, or even who I loved. That promise is something that I pray stays true because my heart has only ever longed for you"

Tears begin to well in your eyes but this time, from happiness, from love. Laying your hand against his large roughened ones, you breathe a sigh of relief. "I have wanted to be yours since that first day on set all those years ago but now, I am truly ready. If you'll have me."

The warmth of his hand graced the side of your frost-kissed cheeks, he connected his lips to yours. Emotions hidden for years unlocked at the loving touch and love overflowed into every movement you made against his inviting lips. Sparks danced across your senses, stronger than you had ever felt.

Reluctant to pull away but comforted by the security of having one another for good. That hole in your heart had been filled by the love that was locked away over a decade ago. Soft smiles decorated their faces and eyes shone with adoration at the love that was now theirs.

Sometimes, the stars align and help two lovers find their way back to own another.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

[bemylord]

aot boys as your boyfriend

♡ character: eren, erwin, armin, jean.

♡ warnings: fluff, gender neutral, some curse words.

♡ note: it's my vision of how aot boyzz will act if they'd fell in love with ya. i already did with levi, so i give a link to that chapter.

ᴇʀᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀɢᴇʀ

you've been stuck in his head the whole night. he has daydreamed about you almost every night.

eren isn't the weak boy who'd be scared to tell you his feelings, just he has some insecurities about it. maybe he feels something because you did awake his titan when nobody can't do that; maybe because he was listening to your voice while he was a titan.

you're dexterous and have some skills in how to kill titans. eren thought maybe your ancestors are ackerman?

but he decidedly tunes himself to ask you on a date. 'y/n, are you busy?' 'nope, eren, is something wrong?' 'yes, no, but.. would you mind to go on a date with me?' so, you had your first date under stars, gazing at the shooting star and made a wish. after that night, you entered into a relationship with a titan boy, without even knowing it.

eren'd call you love or baby. even if you both are in the public, he doesn't care what whoever will say: you're his lover and he wants to make it obvious to everyone.

when you inside walls, having a quiet, kinda day-off from the training and cleaning, eren calls it cuddie-day. why? nothing better to do than having you in his muscular arms, burying his face into your hair and finally rest. you both have a chat about nothing, just half-muttering 'til you both fall asleep.

it's kinda egoist but when you two outside the wall, eren'll keep an eye on you. he kills titans within twenty meters faster than you, so you could continue riding.

his palms have calluses and scars from the fight that he had in the past, but you think it's manly. you always rub his rough skin when you've got the opportunity. for eren, he'll do everything for you just so you keep rubbing his scabrous skin.

during the cuddle session, yeager will cover your face with quick but gentle kisses, holding your jawline delicate, pattering on your cheeks with his thumb.

eren tries to make you feel happy and loveable no matter what. also makes sure that you're knowing that you're safe and protected by him.

you should whisper in his ear dirty phrase, as he gets in the mood right away.

ᴇʀᴡɪɴ ꜱᴍɪᴛʜ

you're his hope and support, his sun and his moon. you mean a lot to him.

overprotective bby. before every expedition, he'll insist on you to stay inside the wall. it's not about trust, it's about he'll be focusing on you, he'll certify every second you aren't surrounded by the titans and you've enough gas.

still, he prefers you to be home, waiting for him. the thought of you biding your captain and lover, gives him the energy to come home safe.

he allows you to wash and treat his wounds after a mission. you kiss his tensed muscular, giving him a soothing back massage, running your hands on his body. 'you finally home, my love. other people and i are safe because of you and your teammates. i'm very proud of you'

after an exhausted and long trip, he asks for a few days off to spend with you.

as your captain, he needs to make sure you're strong and have knowledge of how to kill enemies.

erwin's palms are huge, so you're comparing your hand by pressing your palms in his. after years of using the vertical maneuvering equipment, he also has some calluses. the captain loves those moments when you're interlacing hands, despite his coarse skin. 'do you like hold my hands even if they're unpleasant to the touch?' you laughed, kissed his outer part of the palm. 'yes i do, captain, and i do like kissing them'

his confident way of speaking, you consider as something cute at him.

you need to obey, that erwin is dominant in the relationship.

his favorite kiss is neck or collarbone; pressing the lips against your smooth area around the neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, and mumbles some phrases - best way to kiss.

erwin calls you sweetie or honey. everyone in the survey corps knows you both are dating.

no one from organizations will dare to flirt or say something rude to you: whether it's military or scout regimen. it's quite simple, they're scared to die or be eaten alive by a titan. 'y/n, honey, i just want you to know that i love you' 'i love you too, my love' before and after mission, in the morning or before you both go to sleep, during cuddle, erwin tells you a lot of i love you's

ᴊᴇᴀɴ ᴋɪʀꜱᴄʜᴛᴇɪɴ

i guess jean is the kind of boyfriend who'd hold you by your waist all the time when you're at the public.

those tender and affectional quick kiss on your lips while holding your hands in his.

jean knows what he does whilst kissing you if you get what i mean; holding your waist or he runs his finger down your cheek, drawing patterns on them. in the beginning, jean was timid and uncertain about his movements, he hesitant about what he can do, what he can't. now, he determined the way he kisses his lover.

he likes to brag about you a lot. if someone from the corps is looking at you, he talks to them like that: 'are you jealous that they chose me, not you? get the fuck off them, bastard, or else i'll punch in the face'

he's kinda yandere if someone is staring at you.

if you were brat to him or you had been annoying him for some reason, he'd press you against the wall, holds your hands above your head, smirking at your face expression: he took off guard, you helpless and vulnerable. 'you had been a brat, y/n. do you want my kisses or something more? anyways, i'm here to give everything you've been craving for'

at those moments, jean being as cocky as he could be. he's dominant, controlling your movements, and impudent as fuck.

funny-unfunny jokes; compliments a lot if you feel chagrin or downtrodden. he understood you've been through some difficult problems, and living in the world when you need literally survive every day is sick. that's why jean wants to be your sun and the person who'll protect you.

he prefers to call you heartie [because you got the key to his heart] or angel. 'in the world full of ravenous titans, i want to be the one who makes you smile, heartie. take my hand in your, and let's create our world together'

ᴀʀᴍɪɴ ᴀʀʟᴇᴛ

armin is a sweet boy, who'd treat you like a queen.

read a book before fall asleep. you lay down on his chest, listening his calm voice, falling asleep. it's his preferred to end the day.

far beyond the wall, you are acting in unison: he protected you, you protected him. while he's thinking about a strategy you're killing titans or vice versa.

his hugs are warm and cozy. he put his palms at your back, rubbing your skin through the fabric or if you had some spicy night, pattering on your back indecipherable traces;

those dialogues with a cup of tea, when you half-muttering, in the room, that illuminated by the candles, enjoying that atmosphere.

armin loves to take a bath with you. delicately washing your skin, especially if you've got wounds or injuries. once you fell asleep whilst armin was cleaning you.

i think armin would switch. he likes being a dominant one, having right as he wants to, but he also likes when you're taking the control of his body.

armin has small palms with long fingers, milky skin. his hands always warm and delectable to the touch. in addition, armin is a touchy-feely man: he enjoys hugging or interlacing fingers.

idk why but i think armin'd like to have midnight walks on small alleys in the town, dreaming to change this place. he lives here in fear of the unknown what will be next, so armin'll do everything that he could do.

you capture his spirit, make him lose his breath when you smack your lips against his one's. those spontaneous kisses, you know.

occasionally, he gets sudden bursts of tenderness lol but hear me out: you both are doing nothing or training together when suddenly armin wants to kiss or cuddle you. it's just something tantalizing feeling he got. 'you're so beautiful right now, y/n, i want to give you a kiss' 'only now?' you smiled, receiving a shy kiss. armin blushed at your words; he doesn't mean you look unattractive yesterday or something like that. 'i'm sorry, baby, i didn't mean it, i-' 'i've got you, love, don't worry. let me give my kiss' armin gave you a thousand kisses later, as a token of his infinite love for you.

//~~//

yeap i did it. soon part 3 with tsukki-tsukki.

tomorrow i'll post a request with tsukki and do the rest with aot boys.

[caixxa]

hiiiiiiiiiiii caixa , here are my questions for the writers ask:

3, 4 (for one hundred percent yours), 6 (for the built to last series), 10, 11, 14, 17 !

Hi love and thank you!

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Hmm not sure if I should be proud but slutty younger man seducing an older man to dom him, quiet domestic moments, undefined or open relationships, underlying emotional (but not necessarily romantic) bond in seemingly casual sexual relationships.

4. What detail in [one hundred percent yours] are you really proud of?

The thin tube beanie pulled down over the face and used as a blindfold (and for choking). All the details of how the fabric moves with breath, gets damp, clings to lips, et cetera.

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [Built To Last ] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

I think I poured in everything that I wanted to!

10 answered

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

I'm extremely picky and character-oriented when I choose reading and writing. Sports rpf fandoms have such a huge pool of characters (yes, in fictional context they are characters) to choose from, and I can't simply have the same fannish love and interest for them all. And I feel very differently about players as players than players as fandom characters. I will read a journalistic article, watch play videos or interviews about anybody, but I am interested in reading fic only about few select favorites. And I feel comfortable writing about players who give me a feel that I have enough to work on as a character in the base knowledge I have about them. Does this make sense?

I have gotten only pickier over the years. When I started, I picked my reading based on the vibe I got from the summary and tags even if I didn't even know how the guys looked like. That gave me a great deal of good reading because the big pairings like sidgeno or 1988 attract so many writers that the cream that rises on the top is a luxuriously thick layer.

I'm a polyshipper at heart but at the same time I'm secretly pretty otp/notp about my guys. Some pairings just don't give me the "I want to crash these barbie doll's together and make kissy sounds" vibe. And I don't want to waste my time in reading that I'm not super invested in, so if there's someone who doesn't attract me at all, I am likely to skip it.

So, I've become picky and will now only pick fic about players and teams that are dear to me. Maybe it's this "be the change you want to see" thing, if I want more diversity and exposure for my poor little rare pairs, I will dedicate my fic reading and writing time to those rare pairs. And when my knowledge about the sport and the fandom grows over the years, I know more precisely what and who I like or don't like.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

At this point most of them are like this! I read so little. It's also character driven, there is stuff that I will only read about certain players. A/b/o and BDSM au are some of those.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I wish there was a hockey rpf Ice Road Truckers AU! I used to watch the show but I don't know anybody else who does. Some of the routes were on Lake Winnipeg and I had a Jets players as snowed-in truckers fic idea in my head for a long time but never wrote it.

--

Thank you for the ask! If you read this all you're a real trooper!

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 27)

The closer we get to the end, the more nervous I am, and maybe you are too, because things are going to go horribly awry and only suffering is to come. Fate is adamant that a specific twelve year old must die, and we really have no choice but to watch it all unfold.

In this part, we will discuss the chapters building up to the New Year's Concert, where Reo will attempt to assassinate the ESP.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six

Ruka finds Natsume in the snow. He asks where he’s been, and Natsume responds that he went to see Mikan. Natsume imagines that Ruka will be jealous, because he feels guilty. He’d been putting his own wants first this whole night, and he hadn’t even considered Ruka.

Expectation vs. Reality. Ruka, best boy.

But Ruka is not jealous, or he’s very good at hiding it. He beams at Natsume, offering only congratulations and support. He’s happy for them, that both of their wishes came true. In fact, Ruka was also wishing for it, that Mikan and Natsume could find each other.

Natsume apologizes, because Ruka’s cheerful support only makes him feel more guilty, but he doesn’t tell him for what. He will not recount the details of the night, particularly of the many kisses shared between him and Mikan.

There’s a happy moment between Natsume and Ruka until, of course, Natsume starts coughing violently. He coughs up blood again, and when Ruka asks him if he’s okay, he’s ready to downplay it, already hiding his hand so that his best friend won’t worry. But Ruka grabs his hand and looks at the blood on the glove, and there’s a somber moment between them. Natsume tries to talk, but Ruka knows he’s just going to try and downplay it again, so he interrupts.

The best friendship in all of fiction. I stand by this forever. You can't change my mind.

Ruka has watched Natsume suffer the whole time they’ve been at the academy, even before then. He might not have had all the details, but he’s known that Natsume’s life was agony. He was helpless, and even became a burden (in his own view, not Natsume’s). He pleads with Natsume not to hide from him anymore. They’re meant to be best friends, and all Ruka has ever wanted was to be Natsume’s support system, but Natsume shut him out in the guise of protecting him. He keeps all his pain locked away and deals with it on his own.

Watching someone you love suffer and not being able to do anything about it is a tremendous pain, Ruka says. Natsume must sympathize. He will say something similar later on about Mikan’s situation.

Ruka loves Natsume. Natsume might have thought that he dragged his only friend into a bottomless pit of despair but Ruka asserts he’s never once regretted following him to the academy, not even for a second.

Ruka is confessing now. Natsume must know now that his existence is important to at least two people who love him unconditionally, but he doesn’t internalize it. Maybe he can’t. He’s too stuck in the role of martyr that straying from it would go against the very fabric of his own identity. He exists and has always existed to protect others. Protecting himself or even considering himself doesn’t align with that identity. No matter how much Mikan and Ruka plead with him to keep himself safe, he can’t abide. They’re more important than he is. He fails to see how much heartbreak and sorrow he will leave in his wake of self-destruction.

Natsume can’t internalize it. He can’t take it in and change course. It’s too late for that, in his mind. But he can tell Ruka the truth, because supporting Natsume is all Ruka wants.

He confesses too. He’s afraid. He doesn’t like thinking about the future, not even a year from now, because he’s scared he’ll be dead by then.

He says his secret fear out loud, that he won’t be able to protect her, and it’s still so heart-breaking that he still only sees his own value in how much he can protect people. He will shorten his own life to get her out of the darkness she’s ended up in. He doesn’t see worth in his existence just for the sake of living, of breathing, of smiling and laughing and crying and existing. Instead, his value is conditional. He is only so good as he is able to protect others and when he can’t anymore, then he is no longer valuable. It’s a glaring sign of a ridiculously low self-esteem.

He wants to choose life! He wants to live! Oh, this makes it worse...

But something has changed. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to live and be with her forever. He can’t be with her if he’s dead. It’s a selfish thought, and as I’ve been saying, that’s a wonderful thing. If only that selfish impulse were stronger, than maybe things wouldn’t be so doomed in the coming week. But Natsume’s ingrained martyr complex is stronger than anything, and his new flicker of selfishness doesn’t stand a chance.

Ruka promises he’ll do anything to support Natsume and Mikan’s future together. And so Natsume asks Ruka to protect Mikan if he’s no longer able to.

I personally don’t think he’s handing Mikan over here. This whole conversation’s context is specifically about protecting Mikan, and how Natsume wants only to keep her safe, even at the expense of his own life (though he’s actually more cavalier with that than he lets on, so it’s not much of an “even”, is it?). If Natsume is dead, he wants somebody he trusts to watch over her and prioritize her as he has. Who better than Ruka, who loves Mikan too and will want to keep her safe as well?

Or. You could just. Not die. Just a thought.

Natsume has never treated Mikan as an object to be won. He’s in fact made several comments about not “competing” at all. If he was able to give Mikan to Ruka, those two would be together now already and Natsume wouldn’t be the one holding Mikan’s alice stone. He is not any more capable of giving her away then he’s been before, and he’s less motivated to now than he’s ever been. Mikan is his, after all. Why would he “give her away” so soon after promising to be together forever?

He’s only concerned with Mikan’s safety and freedom here. If he dies in the pursuit of that, which he will, then someone else needs to make sure she’s safe and free. What she does with that safety and freedom is not in his or Ruka’s or anyone’s hands. I imagine Natsume, who got jealous of Mikan thinking of all her important people when making her alice stone would also get jealous at the thought of Mikan falling in love with somebody after his death. It might occur in the distant future, but it probably wouldn’t be any fun to imagine.

You may disagree with me, but I just can’t see it that way. I just don’t see it.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven

It’s New Year’s. Mikan’s birthday. There’s a celebration happening in the dorms, just like last year, but Natsume isn’t dressed in traditional garb to welcome the new year and feast like all the other students.

Instead, he’s waiting for Narumi in a hallway.

He wants all the information he can get, so he can get Mikan out of her cage sooner. Narumi isn’t talking, always willing to act dumb to get out of things. But Natsume knows better. He saw Narumi in the flashbacks, and knows how much Narumi loved Yuka. He would’ve done anything for her, even if it resulted in his own death. Narumi should understand how Natsume feels, then. He knows Mikan is suffering and in danger, but he can’t do anything about it. He says something to the effect that he shouldn’t even be living at this point, again reiterating that his life only has value if he’s able to protect people, particularly Mikan. If he’s unable to do that, then he might as well die. There’s really no difference, he says.

Jeez, kid, relax.

Narumi tries to point out that Natsume is dying, as if perhaps the kid is unaware of this, but Natsume grabs him and declares that he will not end up like him. Natsume seems to understand Narumi (probably more than I can! Haha) and that his life has been empty and soulless for a long time. Narumi is full of regret and has been for years, but Natsume won’t be like that. He won’t live with regret. He’ll do anything he can to save Mikan, and he’ll die without a single regret. He also claims he won’t give up on the idea of sharing a future with Mikan, and that makes the inevitable doom of their romance all the more tragic. Natsume isn’t planning on dying. He’s not imagining that he doesn’t even have a full two days left to live. He’s thinking he’ll push himself to the end of his rope, save Mikan, and then live happily ever after. It’s naive and childish and ridiculous that he really believes he can have his cake and eat it too, but he does with his whole heart.

"I want to live," is enough for me. I stopped reading after that. LET THIS KID LIVE.

Natsume tells Narumi to stop underestimating him for his age. But Narumi agrees: he doesn’t want Natsume or any of the other kids to end up like him and his generation did. He wants things to be better, for the new generation to have a happy and hopeful future to look forward to instead of surrendering to a life of misery and regret.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine

Natsume and Ruka are something like partners-in-crime now. They both know that taking out the ESP is the only way to free Mikan. They are spying on Reo, who has come under the guise of performing for the New Year’s concert, who spills that Z wants to assassinate the ESP.

Tsubasa and Tono quickly join the conversation, although they’re somewhat unwanted.

Reo keeps talking, and now all four of them are privy to his plan. Tono scolds Natsume for trying to get involved when it’s obvious Z is already on the case. Let them do it, he says. Keep yourself safe instead of putting everything on your own shoulders. Naturally, this is Natsume we’re talking about, so no amount of logic will get into his head, but it was worth a try, Tono.

Natsume's little face here is my favorite. His little angry expressions are always the highlight of any page.

Hearing this warning, Natsume can see the sense in it. He doesn’t want to leave his fiancee alone and heart-broken by his loss (more proof that he doesn’t really believe he’ll die) tomorrow, but to his horror, Koko was reading his thoughts aloud.

Natsume is embarrassed to be put on the spot, and he didn’t want to hurt Ruka’s feelings, so he takes out his anger on Koko. Then he punishes Tsubasa for teasing him about how fast he’s going with Mikan when Tsubasa is actually just slow with Misaki. Then it’s revealed that Tsubasa did finally confess to Misaki and got the answer he wanted, which only pisses Natsume off more, inexplicably. He’d be angry either way, just because it’s Tsubasa. He probably just wants to take the focus off himself and the fact that he’s already proposed to Mikan.

Tsubasa was in fact inspired by Natsume’s commitment to protecting Mikan. He confessed because his kouhai was so determined. But he also expresses concern for Natsume’s recklessness. Protecting people is a worthwhile pursuit, but so is valuing your own life. Other people depend on him and love him, and losing would hurt. He doesn’t have to do everything on his own. Working as a team can ensure his safety and keep him living longer. They’re all on the same page, after all, so why not join forces and get it done more efficiently without Natsume being the martyr again?

Yeah, Natsume, go to therapy. Like, yesterday.

But as the group splits up, Ruka holds Natsume still. He wants to talk about what happened on Christmas, but Natsume doesn’t. He’d rather keep that to himself, not at all willing to hurt Ruka’s feelings after he’s been nothing but supportive.

But he can’t lie, and Ruka has expressed interest in hearing all the truthbombs Natsume can dish out, so he comes clean. They exchanged alice stones. It looks like it pains Natsume to admit it. He’s consumed by guilt for the role he’s played in hurting Ruka. But Ruka is still just happy for him. He again offers congratulations, and all is well until Koko announces that Natsume and Mikan kissed a lot too. Apparently, Natsume has been thinking about the kisses so often and shamelessly to the point that Koko is concerned.

Ruka gets upset, but not out of jealousy. He hits Natsume rather pathetically, adamantly demanding that he be honest and tell him everything instead of keeping secrets all the time. Ruka doesn’t care that Natsume has been “selfish” and has kissed Mikan and gotten engaged with her and met with her. He is a fan! He’s Team NatsuMikan now too! He just wants Natsume to stop lying to him, not even to spare his feelings. If Natsume can’t be honest, then Ruka can’t do his job of supporting him. Friendship is a two-way street and can’t work if the friends can’t rely on each other for help and support. Going through good and tough times together is the key to any lasting relationship, and for that to work Natsume needs to talk to him instead of holding back.

Ruka is so cute here. Absolutely adorable. I shall adopt.

Natsume apologizes and the chapter ends on a light note, with the four of them teasing each other and laughing.

But tomorrow will be a different story. Many horrible things will happen tomorrow night, and the bright future Natsume has finally allowed himself to consider will burn up and die.

Conclusion

In the Rapunzel story, the prince was blinded and forced to walk around the forest unable to look for his lost love. I imagine that's why the chapter title image for Chapter 147 has his face covered in bandages. The story of Rapunzel is a tragic one, but it ends in a happily-ever-after. The consolation we have is that the story of NatsuMikan is more like the story of Rapunzel than of Romeo and Juliet, though it certainly doesn't feel like it for the next thirty-something chapters.

I didn't reread this at all before posting because I'm really tired. Thus, I claim no ownership over any mistakes. They can't be helped.

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[giorno-plays-piano]

Treasure hunt Part 2

Pairing: dragon!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of breeding, non-con.

Words: 2035.

Summary: No knight would dare to save a sacrificial bride of the dragon.

Part 1

______________

Stepping on the cold stone floor of the cave, you carefully circled around the mountains of gold and silver and moved forward. Navigating in the dark was incredibly hard, but the soft glow of gems and shining armours here and there helped you to get through. 

You were in your old torn nightgown again, the fancy garments Steve had gifted you laying on the bed along all those necklaces, earrings, cuffs, broches and rings finished with precious stones. You didn't need any of those as you run towards your way out of the deep cave. The only thing you craved for was your freedom.

Almost tripping over the golden spear, you finally saw the moonlight coming from the entrance of dragon's dungeon. You held your breathe. You were so close.

In a second you sprinted towards it with gleeful abandon, thinking of the dark night sky, huge fields and mountains surrounding the cave. It was scary to think you would have to fend for yourself from now on, but you were a traveler. You could make it as long as no one tried to seize you like those villagers, now all gone thanks to the dragon's wrath. You gulped. You prayed he would sleep soundly while you sneak out in the darkness of the night.

A part of you felt guilty for leaving him after everything he had done for you, but being his little pet because he deemed you too feeble to leave was humiliating. Maybe you would find some other way to thank him for his generosity later. As of now, the only thing on your mind was getting away from this place.

You could already feel the slight chill in the air when you got closer to the huge entrance of the cave and rushed towards it, thinking of nothing else but the cool wind blowing outside. Your lips curled when you saw the moon and stars high above you. However, before you stepped on the grass, you felt a push so strong you ended up thrown far back at the rocky floor and yelped in sudden pain - you crushed your elbow, blood seeping from it on the cold stone beneath you. Tears sting at your eyes as you hugged your arm and bit down on your lip to stop screaming.

What was that? What had pushed you so hard it sent you flying? You saw nothing in front of you, no scary creatures guarding the entrance of the prison you were locked in. Yet something didn't want you leave.

... or rather someone.

In a few moments you heard a distant sound of flapping gaunt wings and stilled. You had awoken the dragon with your cry, and now he was coming for you. You had failed terribly.

His blue eyes were glowing in the dark brighter than gems as he flew to you in his true form, big as a mountain, while you stared at his scaled golden wings with horror. His monstrous shadow covered you from above before he started landing, his gaze disturbing, anxious. A flap of his wings set off a little tornado, and you pressed yourself to the floor in panic. He was going to eat you. Burn you. Make you suffer for your disobedience. You had to stay in the cave instead of opposing his wish to protect you.

You sobbed quietly once the dragon had partly changed his form in haste - although his body was human, his sharp claws and long tale belonged to the dragon, his new appearance strange and frightening. He hurried towards you, his eyes on your blood-stained arm.

"What happened to you, my love?" Steve asked, bending over and reaching for your elbow. "Why did you leave your bed?"

What could you answer? With eyes full of tears, you kept your mouth shut, watching him growing with worry at your silence. You had betrayed his trust. 

"I will heal your wound, stay still." He sighed when you chewed on your lower lip, afraid to look at him.

The ointment suddenly appeared in his hand as if by magic, and Steve had torn the cotton fabric forcefully to look at the blood seeping from your arm. He said nothing at all as he wiped the wound and applied fresh-smelling balm on your skin. You felt disgusted at yourself: your savior had been so patient and kind, yet you preferred to escape without expressing your gratitude.

"You gave up all the gifts I brought you, my love." The dragon stated calmly as he finished. "Why? Don't be silent, sweetheart. I demand you to speak."

Desperately wiping the tears falling again and again with the back of your hand, you nodded. You could not bring youself to open your mouth.

"Why?" He asked one more time, his eyes the same color as the dark sky again. "Why do you want to leave me, my love? Have I not treated you kindly? Have I not given you everything you wanted?"

"I want to see the night sky." You muttered under your breathe, looking at the torn hem of your nightgown. "I want to feel the grass under my feet and listen to the chirping of the crickets."

"You are not my prisoner, sweetheart. I can bring you wherever you want me to."

A whine rebounded from your chest at his words.

"I don't want to be a sacrificial lamb." You sobbed, shaking your head desperately. "I don't want to be a pet. I don't want to ask for permission every time I step outside the cave."

"You are not my pet." The dragon whipped his huge sharp tail with such force it ruined one of the mountains of gold close to it, and you squeezed your eyes shut, terrified of his temper tantrums. "You are the one I've chosen to keep by my side, shield from the dangers of the world and share my treasures with you so you would share yours. Why isn't it enough? What else do I have to do?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, his claws dangerously close to your body as if he were going to sank them in your sensitive flesh and tear you apart. He would kill you, oh he would, you felt it in your bones. 

"I have nothing to give you, Steve, Sarah's son." You uttered and finally raised your head to meet his darkened gaze. "And I want nothing from you. Why do you want to keep me? You won't profit from it."

His eyes softened at the sight of your flushed face, wet from tears still streaming down your cheeks and chin. You looked so pathetic in front of him in your old nightgown, degraded bloodstains covering once white fabric, yet so beautiful, so lovely it enraged him to think he could lose you despite all his efforts. It bewildered him how fast he had grown used to your calming presence, your smell, your voice. You said you had nothing to give him, but you were so wrong. He wanted you. He wanted to feel you close, see your pretty face, touch your tender body heavy with his child, your breasts full of milk... He wanted you like no other treasure of his. No one but you could give him what he desired the most.

All of a sudden, he jumped at you and covered your trembling shoulders with his callous palms, his hungry mouth devouring yours while you were frozen on the spot. His hot tongue had poked at your lips, and you gave up to him, granting him access and barely recognizing what you were doing. It felt like a shock jolted him, followed by a pleasant tingling, and the dragon slammed his mouth down against yours with a groan.

"You have a lot to give me." He crooned when you were left gasping for air, astounded and confused. "You have something no one but you can grant me, sweetheart."

You gasped once his clawed hands cupped your soft belly through the thin cotton fabric, watching the man panting and looming above you. You realized just how wrong you were, thinking of him as your protector, a knight in shining armor while he was exactly who villagers told you he was - a hungry monster craving for his bride's warm flesh, just in a different way. 

"No, no." You tried pushing him back, and his sharp tail hit the ground loudly, making you shiver. "P-please, I'm only human. I can't do it."

"My mother was human too." Letting out a chuckle, Steve lowered the nightgown on your shoulders while you desperately clenched the fabric in your arm, your other palm on his chest to prevent him from coming closer. "Why are you afraid? I won't harm you. In the end, this is the destiny of all women, isn't it? To become a good wife and mother. Surely, it is better to belong to me rather than any filthy peasant?"

You couldn't keep arguing, knowing your words would fall in deaf ears, and tried breaking free from his grip only to make the dragon more excited as he climbed on top of you, lifting the hem of your nightgown as his hands trailed upward. His palms were burning your thighs when you whimpered, shaking and moving beneath him like a snake. Why was he doing it? Did he force himself on each and every bride of his and got rid of them later once he got bored?

"Please, please let me go." You pleaded, feeling him leaving hot kisses down your neck and shoulders, his lips dry but soft. "Let me leave, I beg of you!"

"Oh you can't leave, sweetheart. You've eaten the dragon fruit, remember?" His toothy smile made you feel sick. "Now you are bound to me."

"Like all of them were?" You yelled in disgust and despair, staring at the dragon's hollowed blue eyes. "Did you truly let them go as you said? Or did you eat them when you no longer loved them?"

Your words made him laugh as he bared your breasts, ripping the fabric apart with his claws but avoiding touching your skin before his hands fully tranformed into human ones. Dragon's enourmous tail layed close to you, its razor-edged tip reminding you Steve could kill you within a few seconds.

Then he stroked your wet cheek with his fingers and cooed softly, his gaze darkening at the sight of your angered face. "None of them deserved to stay, sweetheart. I let them go. I don't know why you insist I eat humans as if I were a lowly beast, but if you're so eager to see me doing it, I will eat you."

Your mouth tasted like copper when you bit on your lip too hard, missing the mischievous look in Steve's bright blue eyes as you flinched from his touch, his tail now pressing you to the cold stony floor. The dragon backed down a bit, and you saw how he hungrily looked at your thighs and belly. He prepared to devour you, tear your flesh apart, and you were to die at his hands for your stubbornness and stupidity. Trembling like a leaf, you shut your eyes, preparing for the end.

Then you winced from a tender touch, Steve caressing your naked mound with his hand lovingly, his eyes watching you intently. What was that? Was he going to sank his teeth into?..

You covered your mouth with your palm as you felt his long wet tongue on your gentle folds. Gods, it would be even more painful than you had ever imagined. This perverted monster wanted to devour your womanhood. But before you could cry out in pain, you suddenly mewled from his pleasurable kitten licks and squirmed, trying to get up to see what the dragon was doing.

"W-wha..."

"I'm sorry, my dear." Steve smirked, raising his head a bit and pressing a shameless kiss to your mound. "But this is how I like to eat cute little girls like you. So, keep this pretty hand away from your mouth and let me show you how good I can make you feel."

_____________

Tags: @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @kawairinrin

[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Chapter Summary: Caleb was loved, in so many different ways, by so many people. The Nein were a whirlwind of chaos and dick jokes, but they were his. And Essek... even when Essek did not use the words "I love you", every word he said and every touch he offered was proof enough. In other words, the Mighty Nein crash at Caleb and Beauyasha's place and shower them with affection.

Notes: Chapter title is from Five by Sleeping at Last. Here's some fluff. Caleb is still Caleb, but everyone loves him and wants him to be happy. Hug your sad wizard friend/research partner/it's complicated.

****

Chapter 2: But something gets lost from a safe distance and now I can't put my mind to rest

There was enough furniture in the house to sleep for the night. After an enormous grocery shop that made gratuitous use of Yasha’s muscles, Beau’s superhuman balance, and Caleb’s telekinesis, the three of them collapsed on the couch.

Beau piled her feet onto Caleb’s lap, resting her head on Yasha’s. “Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“You good now?”

“I think so.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nein.” Caleb had zero interest in talking about how much he had cried on their kitchen table earlier. He wasn’t ready to process it.

“Cool. Good talk.”

Yasha smiled down at Beauregard, fondly but with an edge to it. “Shh.” She put her finger on Beau’s lips. “Let us just… be quiet for a while.”

Caleb tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He drifted close to sleep, but Essek’s voice filled his mind.

“Caleb. How was the house? I am in a safe place. I will visit when you have a safe landing spot. Talk soon, love.”

Caleb couldn’t help burst into a grin. “Hallo, Essek. We bought it. Veth gave me the money. Go to the Grove when ready. I will come get you. Ich liebe dich.”

“Gross,” said Beauregard. “You know I can understand you now, right?”

Caleb pinched her ankle. “I remember.”

“Beau,” sighed Yasha.

“I’m kidding. I’m happy you’ve worked things out with him.” She shifted, digging her heel into his thigh. “Look, I don’t give a fuck about your sex life--”

“Good.”

“--but you know you can tell me shit, right? It was just the two of you for weeks, and now it’s… not. Are you okay with that?”

Caleb sighed; he already missed Essek dearly, but he always knew it would be like this. “Ja. We talked about it a lot. We want to be together as much as we can, but we are practical people, ja? I will bring him around soon, for a few days at least. Rexxentrum is not safe for him.”

“Well, good thing you have your own space. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at her. “We are more likely to stay up late talking.” Sex with Essek was more of a (great) side benefit than a core element of their relationship A relationship they had never bothered to define. It was what it needed to be in the moment.

“That’s even worse, Caleb.”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

Beauregard shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fuckin’ romantic as shit.”

“Ja, I am sure that you, the woman who makes out with her girlfriend in front of all our friends, is disgusted by romance.”

Beauregard grumbled incoherently at him.

****

Caleb was soon preoccupied with ferrying the Mighty Nein to the new house. He first collected Veth, Fjord and Jester from Yussa’s tower. Kingsley had wanted to explore Nicodranas for a while, without Fjord and Jester’s supervision. They had tentatively allowed it, not that they could’ve stopped Kingsley even if they had wanted to.

“Omigosh it’s so pretty !” Jester screeched upon seeing the house. “The windows are kinda boring, though. Can I paint them?”

Caleb was not in the habit of refusing Jester anything. “I suppose. Ask Beau and Yasha.”

“Which door is theirs?”

“The right. It should be unlocked.”

Jester tore ahead and disappeared inside. Fjord hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, gazing up at the exterior.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” he said.

“Ja, the previous occupant is a professor at Soltryce Academy. She lives alone, and it was too much space for her.”

“You’re okay with that?” asked Veth.

“Ja, she was very nice. She lives on Astrid’s estate now.”

“Trent’s old place?” asked Fjord.

“Ja.”

He whistled softly. “That must be weird.”

Caleb didn’t want to talk about it. “The professor gave us a good deal. I am meeting her for coffee tomorrow to talk about Evocation.” He looked down at Veth. “Thank you for the money.”

“I just wish I could’ve given you more, Cay.”

“It was plenty, Veth.” Caleb led them inside and picked Veth up so he could give her the hug he had wanted for days.

******

Next, Caleb teleported to the Blooming Grove. The grass had grown back where it had once been burned, and the house had been repaired. The tangled residuum trees had held strong, keeping the corruption of the Savalirwood at bay. It was quiet, save for the distant clattering of dishes coming from the house.

Caduceus appeared in the doorway before Caleb had taken more than a few steps. “Oh, excellent. Essek’s in the garden. Go get him. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Caduceus didn’t specify where in the garden, but Caleb assumed he was giving him the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself. Caleb walked further into the grove, occasionally stopping to cradle a blossom or sniff a particularly sweet scent.

He spotted Essek’s broad-brimmed hat first. On loan from the Clays. Caleb approached quietly, watching Essek hover over the bed of a herb garden, wearing the rose gloves Jester had made him while he carefully pulled weeds with a look of utmost concentration. The kind of look that made Caleb remember how attractive it was to watch him work.

As Caleb drew closer, Essek froze. Looked up. Relaxed as his face broke into a smile.

“I am sorry I startled you,” Caleb said, closing the distance.

Essek floated away from the herbs and opened his arms, accepting Caleb into them. “It’s all right. You know I’m a little… jumpy these days.”

Caleb kissed his neck; Essek was taller than him when he floated, and only when he floated. “Are you sure you want to visit Rexxentrum?”

“No one will expect to find me there. It will be fine for a few days.” He kissed Caleb’s forehead, and then lifted Caleb’s chin to kiss his mouth. “I wanted to see your new house. And you.”

Caleb dropped his head to Essek’s shoulder, breathing him in. This was the only peaceful moment they would have all day. Essek tucked Caleb’s head under his chin and gave him a squeeze.

“Caleb, are you all right?”

Caleb laughed softly, remembering the first time Essek had asked him in the heat of battle. “I don’t know. This is a lot.”

Essek kept squeezing; they had both discovered one rough night in Aeor that Caleb found this kind of careful pressure extremely comforting. “I understand. This is a huge change for you. Are you overwhelmed?”

“Ja, very.”

“I hope having me there will help, for what little time I can give.”

“You are already helping, Essek. Danke.”

Essek kissed the top of his head. He had slowly begun to initiate more physical contact, and their time together alone in Aeor had accelerated the process. It let Caleb pull back a bit and let himself accept Essek’s affection once in a while instead of constantly being the one to initiate. It was good. They were good.

Fuck , Caleb had missed him.

****

After saying his hellos and goodbyes to the Clays, Caleb palmed a small stone Yasha had dug from the garden bed behind the house and teleported himself, Caduceus and a disguised Essek. They landed in Caleb’s currently sparse sitting area, as planned.

“This is my side of the house. We are working on the furniture situation.” Caleb took them on a quick tour of the house, and was pleased to find Essek equally excited by the possibilities of the study as he had been.

They then used the door on the middle floor to cross into the other side and down the stairs into the crowded sitting area. Yasha was sitting on the rug, stitching a thick floral fabric to make curtains while Jester “helped” by painting tiny dicks on it. Beau and Fjord were sitting on the couch, watching with a mix of amusement and concern. Veth had probably been with them, but launched herself at Caleb for a hug as soon as he had appeared.

She had more or less glued herself to him since she had arrived, evidently sensing his lack of equilibrium. He was grateful she was there to ground him. For a long time, she and Frumpkin had been all that held together the tattered shreds of his mental health.

Caduceus slipped into the kitchen, but was the least sneaky man alive when he wasn’t trying to prank his siblings. He had a parcel in his hands, brought from the Grove. Caleb followed him.

Caduceus carefully stripped off the brown paper packaging to reveal a small wooden crate, from which he lifted a tea set complete with a kettle. He filled the kettle with water and set it over the fireplace, directing Caleb to light it. Caduceus pulled out a few small boxes of tea and cooking herbs from the Grove, arranging them in cabinets.

“I’ll bring another set next time I visit,” Caduceus promised. “Until then, you are required to spend time with the ladies. No locking yourself in the study and forgetting to eat.”

Essek chuckled from the doorway, knowing full-well Caleb would do exactly that. Repeatedly.

“We’ll go shopping together tomorrow,” Caduceus continued. “There are some things you three need for a good, complete kitchen and I don’t trust you to remember any of them, even with your memory.”

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Caleb was getting emotional again. “I, uh, am having coffee with an Evocation professor tomorrow morning, but we can go after that.”

Caduceus smiled at him. Soft, knowing. “I look forward to it.”

****

The Nein had apparently agreed without Caleb’s knowledge that they would stay on Beau and Yasha’s side for the night to give Caleb and Essek some privacy.

Caleb had ultimately decided to use the larger bedroom (the rest of the Nein may have insisted he treat himself). He was glad for it now that he had Essek in his bed. They were too tired for sex, and not really in the mood, but cuddling is a lot more comfortable when you’re not afraid of falling out of bed.

Essek had arranged things so he was lying on his back with Caleb curled around him. Caleb rested his head on Essek’s chest, listening to the gentle drumming of his heart, while Essek drew lazy patterns on his back with a finger. Spell symbols, mainly. Some Caleb recognised, and some he didn’t.

“This is a good location,” Essek said quietly. “Beauregard showed me a map of the city. It is central, but not too close to anything that would upset you more than the city in general already does.”

“Rexxentrum doesn’t upset me,” Caleb mumbled, halfway to sleep already. He tended to sleep better with trusted company these days.

“Beauregard told me what you said the first time you stepped foot here in years,” Essek said softly.

I don’t know if I can do this. “That was some time ago. It’s… easier now.”

“That does not mean it is easy.”

Caleb sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Okay. It’s not. But that’s not… the last time I had a house was the Xhorhouse, and we all knew that was never permanent. The only home I’ve ever had that was supposed to be long-term… I burned it. The shitty hospital room they kept me in for eleven year was a roof over my head, one I barely remember, and that was… not a home. I was homeless for a long time. I have slept in the woods, in the streets, under bridges, where I could find even the tiniest bit of shelter. Now I own a house .”

“Caleb, I told you in the Grove this is a huge change for you.” Essek’s voice was soft but firm, as it often was when he thought Caleb was being needlessly stubborn or foolish. “You have been through so much , and now you are doing normal things like buying a house and putting down roots. And you have many painful memories here. I believe you will be okay, but you do not have to be. Not before you’re ready.”

Caleb felt foolish for letting this get to him so much. The last few days had been full of nothing but good things. But he was exhausted nonetheless, and eternally a hair’s breadth away from tears. Even in his worst moments, he had never been fragile in this way,  like he was a bucket of water with a hole in it that would leak at the slightest provocation.

Essek pressed his palm down between Caleb’s shoulder blades, forcing him to exhale. “Caleb. Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself time.”

Caleb chucked a little, despite his mod. “That is your specialty.”

“And I have taught you well.”

“The best teacher I ever had,” Caleb said quietly.

“You deserved better. Let yourself have better now, in your own time.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Stop pushing it. You know better than anyone it doesn’t work that way.” Essek’s hand slid into Caleb’s hair, cradling the base of his skull. “You of all people deserve patience and kindness, most of all from yourself. I will remind you of this.”

“Thank you.” Caleb pushed himself up on his elbows, finding Essek’s features in the dark. “You know, this is probably the safest I have been in close to twenty years.”

Essek reached up, tucking a strand of Caleb’s hand behind his ear. “Good. You deserve it. Even if I never have a moment’s peace for the rest of my life, all I want is for you to have all the safety and kindness you could ever need.”

“I would give it up in a heartbeat if I could help you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” Essek said warmly, but with a firm edge. “There are a great many things we have already given up. That one is not an option. Of all the people I have known in my 120 years, you deserve a lifetime of peace the most. Even if you will get bored eventually.”

Caleb slid a hand over Essek’s cheek, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “Remember when we thought we would never be the kind of people who would make big declarations of love at each other?” Because even if Essek wasn’t explicitly saying I love you , the words he did say were dripping with diamonds of unadulterated affection.

Essek huffed a soft laugh. “Most things between us do not need to be said. This does.”

“Thank you, Essek. I love you too.” Caleb rested his head over Essek’s heart once again, and let the gentle rhythm lull him to sleep.

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Johnson x M! reader Pt5

Warning: IDK

Summary: The Ghouls aren't so far, Anthony grows desperate and Ethan finds himself becoming buddy with you. Alison comes home and Johnson keeps you much closer than normal.

?

I woke to hear Ethan attending to yet another Phone call "Yes, Doris I'm trying. His friendly, yes I know". I hear him say "No, It's the same two o'clock sharp" I peek my head out from the trailer. Ethan paces with a frown on his face "For fuck sake, Doris". "Doris I'll talk to you soon" I watch as he hangs up.

I duck back in the trailer 'Who's Doris and was he talking about me' I think as I stare at my hands. "Hey, Y/N your awake" I jump a little when I hear Ethan's voice. "Oh uh hey Princey, do you know where's Johnnycakes" he nods. "His inside the store, purchasing some things" I nod as I grin a little. "I'm pretty sure Matty had head to the Bathroom" Ethan adds while I look to the said store.

"Can I trust you, Ethan?" I ask all of a sudden, Ethan looks me up and down and nods. "Yes, you can trust me. Why do you ask?" I just shrug "Oh nothing just thought I'll ask". Ethan smiles while Matty returns "Hey snooze ball your awake" he says as he ruffles my hair. "Hey, not the hair!' I protest as I move away. Matty chuckles a little "You just have to face it, you're the little man of the group" Matty pipes up.

I just roll my eyes "Johnson finally let's get moving" I saw the tall man himself. I leap out of the trailer as Johnson hands me a Lime slushy this time "They had Lime this time". I smile "Thanks Johnnycakes" I sit at the back once again "We're heading back to 707 within three days," Matty says. "Oh thank goodness I need a bed," Ethan says to which caused Matty to smile. "What about you Y/N. Would a bed feels nice for once" I shrug "I don't mind stargazing". Matty smiles and laughs a little "Stargazing, must be nice" I smile "I saw a shooting star once when I was five. I remembered how I reacted.".

"How did you react?" Johnson asks "I hopped with joy and I wouldn't stop smiling".

Johnson smiles for he could see you leaping with joy at such a small little moment and he couldn't blame you for you were only five around the time.

A little Y/N sat watching the night sky from the porch with his sister Alison. He had convinced his older sister to accompany him just so he could stargaze together. The two siblings sat in their pajamas in comfortable silence "I'll love to see a shooting star" you spoke.

"I had never seen a shooting star before" Alison adds as she hugs you "I would watch shows and read books just so I could describe them to Josto when he was four. The idiot had to wear an eyepatch". Y/N smiles remembering the said story, Josto had fought a raccoon. "Lucky enough his nowhere near-blind and the fact he protect our mother when she was pregnant with the twins".

"Josto grew irritated about the damn fabric. He'd try and take it off but he wasn't allowed to. He had gone as far as to try and hide it before bedtime only for Koba to find it.". Alison laughed along with you "I'd make a wish Y/N but I can't tell you okay. Y/N you can also make a wish too". You nod but with a sudden "Look Y/N!".

You followed your sister's gaze to see a rain of shooting stars, such warmth, and joy within the sky nightlights. You bounce with joy, a smile that welcomed the very sight. Arms flapping and a leap down the steps of the wooden porch. A light spin when you wished for nothing but for your sister's happiness.

Alison on the other hand wished for the same thing but for you. Alison adored your boyish grin and how it evolved throughout the years. How it changed from pure innocence to a charming male who has nothing to lose.

I sat with a smile while I watch the boys play baseball "so you just didn't stop punching the guy, woah" I exclaim. Ethan nods while I just shrug "it is what it is" Matty's eyes cast to me as he throws the ball.

"What about you Y/N?" the blonde asks as I frown a little "it really depends would you like me to rant off the mouth?". "I'll listen and these two would listen too" Johnson nods as Ethan gives me a reassuring look. "Nah, maybe another time" Matty rolls his eyes as Ethan cracks his neck but Johnson kept quiet.

Anthony bites his nails as he looks at his pocket watch "one Mr. Zippy, two Mr. Zippy three Zippy". The redhead nips at his index nail when he heard a car approaching "are you Anthony?". "Yes that's me" the brawler looks him up and down "are you on something?" Anothony shakes his head. "Oh, god no!" Anthony lies, before meeting the mysterious man he snorts a line of snow.

"Good, now get in" the ginger nods and climbs in "you must be wondering why Joel called". Anthony nods "tell him when Alison would arrive" Anthony sighs. "She arrives this afternoon nothing later than five" the driver nods "you've balls for betraying Don and his family".

Anthony doesn't feel like a big shot - he felt the opposite- he wanted to vomit. He smelt nothing but booze off the man and the car made him feel like he's sitting in an ashtray. Anthony wanted out but he's too deep and now you are in the hands of the brawlers. "I just want Y/N to be safe" the driver scoffs "Whatever you say champ".

"Oh, Natasha it's lovely to see you!" Josto hugs the brunette while Alison takes the couple's luggage. "Okay, where's midget I need to talk to my little dumb brother" Josto froze. The twin chokes on their drinks while Don inhales and exhales. "Alison hun, can we talk in the kitchen" the oldest nods with confusion.

"YOU ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN!" Alison roars as her significant other comforts her. Hot angry tears fall from her tired eyes "Ali love please calm down". Alison buries her face into Natasha's sweater "We are gonna find him and we'll shower him with affection". "Spring would be the most beautiful moment of our lives. Alison close your chocolate eyes and see Y/N smiling at you in the meadow".

Alison could see your smile and can see the smug glint in your eyes "Missed me, sis". She smiles and kisses a worried Natasha "I love you midget" Natasha rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, love" Natasha and Alison are a power couple that would rule one day. They both deserve a happy ending where they hold each other with passion for their love shall burn forever.

A ghouls biker ducks out of sight when Johnson turns around "Y/N you'll stay by me" I look up at him. "Don't I do that anyway?" the tall man sighs "you'll glue yourself to me. Don't walk off with anyone besides me and Matty". "What about Ethan?" Jonhson frowns "I don't know, he seems more jumping than usual".

"I can handle myself" I elbow him a little but I'm met with a smile-less face and zero sense of laughter. "I know you can handle yourself but I'll hate myself if something happens to you" I nod. "I understand Johnnycakes" Johnson nods while Ethan exits the gun store.