#nobody would care if it were a family of bakers

[sleepyangelkami]

PERVERTED I c.grimes

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.3K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you and carl had been best friends for as long as he can remember but lately he's feeling new emotions towards you, ones he doesn't think are too good for a girl like you. as if the world had been listening to his sins, they let him stumble upon your panties, left idly in your laundry basket.

 𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, pervert!carl, innocence kink, corruption kink, masterbation, dom!carl, sub!reader, dirty talk, wet (day)dream, kinda manipulative carl, upskirting, aged up characters, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

you still remembered the day you sat in your dad's farmhouse, surrounded by your family when you heard blood curdling screams from a man out front. you were young then, maybe just after turning eleven when you escaped out the front door, seeing a man carrying what appeared to be his son in his arms, covered in blood.

that was the day you met your soon to be, best friend.

over the years, you and carl grew close. some would say you were best friends, that was what you'd say too. you grew up with all older sisters so you didn't really have anyone your age growing up. not until you met carl and you knew you could trust him with anything. he always told you so. told you that you need no one if not him.

eventually you landed yourself in alexandria. with everything that had happened back at the farmhouse, then at the prison, then the death of your dear sister beth, maggie decided it would be best if you went to live with her and glenn. so that was exactly what you did.

alexandria was unlike anywhere you'd ever been your entire life.

it was blissfull, peaceful.

carl loved alexandria too. it had everything he could possibly need. his own room, his own comics, posters... you. he'd been sitting idly on his bed, flipping through a comic book and not so much as taking notice to the absolute mess in his room. he usually got like this on weekends, letting the room go absolutely horrid with a mess. he knew by any minute now you'd come stalking through the door, brows furrowing at the untidiness of his room.

knock !

ah, there you were.

carl tried to fight back his smile as he tossed the comic book to the side. "come in!" he yelled, flipping himself onto his back as he'd been laying on his stomach.

with no surprise, you stalked through the door. your lips were pressed into a smile as wide as anything, pretty white dress sat across your figure. it made carl remember just how innocent you were to the world around you. you had no idea of what thoughts ran through men's minds when they saw you. he had an overwhelming fear to protect you from it. but if he did, he wasn't too sure if he could protect you from him, too. "hi!" you practically beamed as you came in through the bedroom door.

"hey." situating himself up on the bed. "how was work?"

you worked in the kindergarten near your house. you'd always liked kids, having a certain bond with them that no one could quite explain. you liked taking care of them, you liked playing with them. judith was one of the many you took care of. of course, you were only eighteen so you didn't take care of them full time, you worked with another one of the staff members. "good!" seating yourself on the bed. "i got off early so i helped carol with her pie."

carl couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. his little baker. "that's good, baby."

baby.

to some, that would seem absurd to call your best friend. it would seem like the time of thing that you'd call your girlfriend or your boyfriend. that was what your new friend ron had told you when he'd heard it himself. that night you asked carl if it was odd, if the names he was calling you truly were weird. nobody else called you those names but you supposed you'd never questioned it for how long he'd been doing it. he'd shrugged his shoulders, telling you not to listen to ron and that it was, in fact, normal but if ron or anyone else had called you such names that you should tell carl immediately.

you'd only nodded your head, brain sort of scrambled.

"are you still okay for tomorrow?" you questioned, eyes scanning his face.

every saturday was the same. he'd come over to yours or you'd come over to his. tomorrow was scheduled to be your house, carl was supposed to come over and you'd have your saturday sleep over, filled with movies, junk food, really anything a teenager could get their hands on in an apocalypse. "'course." he practically scoffed out.

it was a tradition, one that could never be broken. "okay." you grinned, eyes flickering across the room before your smile slowly faltered. "carl, your room's a mess!"

carl only groaned in response, picking back up the comic and landing it on his face. he began arguing, telling you to leave it but you were already beginning to clean around the room, shocked by the state it had been in.

knowing he couldn't convince you to stop, he peeled the comic book off his eyes to take a look at you. and that was when he saw it. you bent down to pick up something that had been tossed idly on the floor. he watched as your skirt rode up, giving him a view of pretty pink fabric, covering what he so desperately needed to see.

instantly, his eyes widened slightly.

he'd thought about you like this before. it was only natural for a boy who grew up with you by his side for what felt like his entire life. he had you looking up at him with those doe eyes all the time not to mention the way you paraded around in dresses and skirts as if no one could see.

he slipped the comic book down onto his crotch, covering his obvious hard on. perhaps he was the problem. perhaps the problem was the way his eyes stared at the place he should have been looking away from.

but his feelings had been so... strong lately. it was like something had snapped inside of him and he couldn't stop thinking about it. about you.

more importantly, the sounds you'd make as he slammed his dick inside of you, or how wet you'd get over the simplest of things.

after all, he was your best friend, he'd seen you in many ways. he'd noticed it before, when he was touching you a little too much and suddenly you couldn't get comfortable, the smallest of whimpers leaving your lips as you cuddled into him, thinking the feeling would go away.

he knew exactly what he'd been doing.

his day dreams were cut off by rick entering the room, without knocking. that was how he always knew when it was you at his door, the only one in the world who knew how to knock.

you'd gone home some time earlier, leaving him with his impending thoughts. he'd tried not to think about it, about you, truly. but the way he'd seen your pretty panties lining your clothed pussy earlier had practically sent him over the edge.

"hey." rick walked inside the room, glancing around. "your room looks clean." clothes folded away, nothing thrown on the floor, no cups or dishes sat on the desks. "so i take it y/n was here."

"yeah." carl sat up against the headboard of his bed. "did you need something?" because rick didn't just make his way to his room for no good reason. i mean, he was a busy man.

he scratched his beard. "yeah, was gonna ask because a couple of us are going on a supply run tomorrow and i was wondering if you wanted to come." tomorrow. saturday. you and carl's night.

he contemplated.

the way his mind had been moving lately, perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea to have a sleepover with you just yet. he needed some time to himself, to cool off. he didn't know if he'd be able to control himself if you cuddled up against him the way you usually did, your legs hooked around one of his, sighing softly when you had no idea what he was doing to you.

maybe it would be better off if he called tomorrow night off. it was only one saturday, right? "yeah, yeah sure lemme just run over to y/n's and let her know."

rick was somewhat curious when it came to you and carl. you always looked so happy next to him, big eyes lighting up while he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. he'd also seen you two going through the trenches, even when carl was covered in mud and blood, some walkers, some human, some even his own, he'd still pull you aside, grasping your arm and holding you to the side, making sure nothing got to you, not even one of the group members. he wondered sometimes, just what was going on between you two. sometimes, he thought you guys were dating in secret, behind his back which he wouldn't be all too angry about. but there was a longing look in his son's eyes, one that told him he didn't have her to himself, not yet.

"oh, well if you have plans―"

carl was quick to cut the man off, picking up the jacket you'd folded and left on his chair. "no, no it's fine." slipping his arms in the holes. "she won't mind."

he wondered if you would.

surely, you were bound to be upset. you loved the saturday sleepovers. he'd imagine that you'd give him those doe eyes, showing just how upset you were but you'd shrug it off with a little smile, telling him to be careful. you always wanted so desperately to please him. he could see this, he adored you for it.

across alexandria, carl knocked against your front door. he waited momentarily before doing the same thing again. when he received no response, he made it his business to slide the unlocked door opened. he called out for glenn and maggie across the hallway, receiving, yet again, no response.

then his feet made it towards the stairs. he found himself walking around until finally, he stood in front of your open bedroom door. "sweetheart?" he called out, this time much softer.

from the door at the end of the hallway, he heard the response. "one minute!" the yell was from you, behind the door. "'m in the shower!" you had this weird thing about you where you showered multiple times a day, scrubbing your skin raw. sometimes you thought you'd never scrub off the mud that covered you from when you lived on the roads. carl noted that when he'd see your arms slightly red after the shower, not from the hot water. but he never mentioned it.

"okay!" he yelled back, now suddenly aware of the running water. "I'll be in your room!"

he heard a muffled 'okay' from behind the door before entering your room.

the walls were baby pink, everything else being a mixture of white and pale colours. what could you say, you were a sucker for pastels.

the room was like it had always been. he'd been in there a thousand times before, whether it was for a sleepover, for a mere five minutes to pop in when he was on his break or reading a comic book to you while sat perched on your bed, or holding you while you cried.

the point was, carl knew you through everything in your entire life. this room was practically his too. the same way his own was practically yours.

one thing was for sure, there was enough of each other's clothes in the other's room for it to be considered one another's.

speaking of clothes, his eyes snapped over to the basket of clothes that sat idly on your bed, waiting to be thrown in the wash. he assumed that's what you were going to do when you were out of the shower.

his eyes caught a glimpse of one of the shirts he owned. he knew you took it. rolling his eyes, he picked it out of the basket, stepping backwards as a couple pieces of clothes left.

"fucking idiot." he mumbled before picking the pieces up, placing them back inside the dirty basket. then his eyes caught that familiar pink cotton material.

he swore he held his breath.

the panties you'd worn earlier, clad across the part he so desperately wished to see. he couldn't help the way his hand reached down before standing up. every other piece of clothing, he'd tucked back into the basket. but this particular piece of clothing, he held it for a moment.

was it so wrong? to think of your innocent best friend in such a way? had you ever... thought about him like that?

questions swarmed his mind before you entered the room.

he spun around, tucking the garment into his back pocket. he used both his hands to lift the flannel back over his jeans, making sure the garment couldn't be spotted at all, even if someone had looked from behind.

"you okay?" you questioned, now dressed in a pale yellow shorts and a large sweater. it was getting dark outside, he noticed. probably your pijamas.

he watched as your hair dripped onto the floor beneath you. "yeah, yeah, i... needed to talk to maggie about something." he didn't know why he was lying. he really did need to tell you something but his mind was in scrambles, thinking of the piece of fabric in his back pocket, he couldn't possibly respond right.

"oh." you faltered slightly. "well, she's not here but―"

you frowned at how quickly he cut you off. "that's fine, i'll just tell her tomorrow." he crossed your bedroom, passing you to walk out the door.

you followed in confusion, wondering why he'd been so eager to run away. "well, i'll tell her you came by." wondering what was up with him at all. carl never acted like this.

suddenly, the boy swung around. "no, no don't tell her." waving you off. your brows were knit together in utter confusion. "i don't think i wanna talk about it with her anymore so... night!" practically racing out the front door and slamming it in his leave.

you stood stumped at your front door, confusion evident in just your eyes. "night carl..." mumbling before turning around, wondering what all of that had been about.

the sun had set when carl finally took the garment out again.

he knew it was wrong, he had to know. at least subconsciously, anyway because he waited until everyone else in the house had fallen asleep until he took them out. at this point, he'd been dressed down to just his boxers. it was late, time for the sleep he knew he wouldn't get. not when that image of you, bent over, was burned into his mind.

the mere thought had his hand inching downward while his other held the pretty panties in his hands. he stopped himself.

this is wrong. he thought. so fucking wrong.

but he felt so tempted.

the panties sat in his hands were the same ones you'd wore today, the same ones he'd seen you bent over in. he couldn't stop thinking about it, whether his hand continued down or not.

what you didn't know, couldn't hurt you.

surely, you'd never find out about something like this. he was safe, for now. his hand inched down, tracing just beneath his boxers before pulling out his length. he felt himself groan at the mere touch. he'd been hard since you left, it hurt. and he knew if you were here, you'd do anything to make sure he wasn't in pain.

even if he meant the blasted thing he was about to do.

his hand wrapped around his dick, he breathed out before pumping it once, then again, then again. "fuck." he breathed out, his head falling back and his mouth falling open.

he'd touched himself a thousand times before, for as long as he could remember, his mind always traced back to you. it was impossible to escape your grace. but there was something about holding your panties in his hands that made him feel even better.

as wrong as it may have been, he couldn't stop himself now.

if he was going to do it, he was going to go all in.

aimlessly, he used his other hand to prop your panties against his cock. they fell so loosely around his length causing him to groan. with his right hand, he held onto the panties before pumping his cock over and over again. he groaned, loudly enough before practically shoving his face in the pillows beneath his head.

"fuck, fuck, fuck..." his hands were big, long slender fingers wrapping around him. he could imagine you trying to take it. he'd imagine he'd have to coax you, gently running them up and down your thighs before pushing them inside. you'd be so wet, gushing over his fingers.

then he imagined you taking his dick, an impossible task.

he could imagine your pretty virgin hole, so tight. he couldn't even imagine you taking your own fingers let alone his dick. your walls would be so tight around him, clenching as he pulled every last moan out of you. you'd whine and writhe against him, it all becoming too much too quick.

and he wouldn't care. "take it, take it." carl mumbled into the air of his bedroom, eyes shut and imagining you while his hand never stopped its constant attack on his own dick. his hand sped up, so quick that he could barely breathe. "hah, good girl." his voice breaking, slightly higher pitched. "my good girl, mhm, good girl." breaths falling from his lips like chanting prayers.

it was wrong, to think of you like this. he knew that but he was too damn perverted.

he'd imagined what he could have done this morning, you bent down and picking something off the floor. he could have grasped your hips, holding them in place and peeking the skirt of the dress above your hips, getting the view he really wanted.

he'd imagined peeling the fabric of your panties away, getting a view at what he needed the most. the same fabric that was sat around his cock.

he couldn't stop the noises that left his lips, trying so hard to stay quiet but the way your panties felt against him was enough to have his hips rolling even if they hadn't wanted to. it was like you were there in front of him. he could ram into you as he pleased, holding your hips close as you sat on top of him. but he'd do all the work, of course, anything to coax those little whines out of you.

the many times he'd pulled at your hair for a reaction or rubbed your thighs gently, every murmur of a whimper that would leave your lips. he imagined it a thousand times louder now.

he couldn't help himself, flipping over so he was sat propped up on his knees but his hips thrusting forward into the little material.

the head of his dick hit against the mattress with every thrust, your panties wrapped up in his fingers and his cock.

he felt a sudden familiar feeling build up in his stomach. "fuck, baby, feel s'good." practically pussy drunk by now, despite the fact he hadn't even touched your pussy yet. "shit, jus' like that, c'mon, sweetheart."

"please, carl!" he could hear your whiny voice now. "touch me, please, please."

your voice, albeit in his head, was enough to send him over the edge.

he came with his eyes closed and mouth open, a moan falling from his lips. not just any moan, your name. he felt creamy liquid gush out of his dick, landing all over the pink panties that lay in his hands.

he thrust his dick over and over until he ran dry. then, he collapsed with a pant. his lungs were burning, they were raw and his head fell against the linen pillows. he barely so much as glanced down to your stained panties that wrapped around his fingers.

one thing was for sure, he needed to get to this damn saturday sleepover. fuck the run.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[elfven-blog]

Radiance

Summary: Criston feels anger when a man looks at you, he kills them when they dishonour you, what happens when you finally uncover that? Yandere!Criston Cole x F!Reader CW:MDNI, 18+ Only, BIG descriptions of violence, masturbation, flagellants (self whipping), PinV, yandere, Criston hates himself. Word Count: 2.7K

The first has been some third son of a nobody lord that had come to the capital in search of glory, or honour or some other such bullshit. No one had searched for him even his family hadn’t cared when he didn’t send a raven or return home, he disappeared and everyone thought him to be just another soul lost to the radiance of King’s Landing.

He hadn’t deserved such radiance anyway.

The second had been the baker's apprentice. That one was a shame to lose, his bread had been Criston’s favourite. But still, he had to go when he tried to capture the radiance too.

Criston could still feel the bones of the third. Not because he felt bad, no, because you had tended to them. He remembered the prickly feeling up his arms when he’d turned the corner and you’d been there, terror ringing through his ears as your own brow furrowed and your lips parted at the sight of him. Blood drenching his knuckles and pooling on the floor, you hadn’t asked questions. Just simply took his arm and led him to your chambers where you cleaned his hand and tended to the cracks in his knuckles.

He remembered every detail of your room, how the door of the wardrobe was slightly crooked and your blanket was too small for your bed. How you hang your nicer dresses on one side, the ones used with day-to-day service of the Queen and some that were clearly not as nice or expensive on the other side. How you had your family's flag stitched into your blanket.

That had been the very thing to get you both talking, you noticed him staring at the sigil and spoke to him in a soft smile. “Grandisons” was all you said and he turned to you with a raised eyebrow and a tilted head while you carefully cleaned at the cut on his knuckle. You hadn’t needed to tell him it was the Grandisons sigil, he already knew it. Some of them had marched with him, some of them were at court too and he already knew you were one of them. Had known it the moment he had seen you and heard you speak.

After that it didn’t take him long to have short conversations with you, it had started when you were waiting for Queen Alicent to finish her bath in the other room while you decided on which dress would be suitable for the sept. He’d leant over and whispered which dress would compliment Alicent’s hair the most, you’d smiled and picked it. Then it developed into something more, until there was a burning in Criston’s veins and he couldn’t believe he was actually speaking with you rather than admiring you from afar.

After that there had been more. None of them deserved your radiance to shine on them, and he made sure they wouldn’t dim such light. Of course he paid his penance too, the sound of the whip against his back deafens his ear with each flick of his wrist. His tanned skin lined with scars, old and new. Some of them reopened when he would serve his punishment, the blood would trickle down his back and pool at the floor until it was large enough to stain the front of his calves and only then would he stumble to his feet and clean himself.

But sometimes even that wasn’t enough. Take today for example, you’d been given a day off as Alicent was attending her husband which meant you donned clothes that were less modest. And here Criston kneeled, shirt discarded and the whip in hand as he painted the expanse of his back in the same red that bled from his lips as he bit at them. All the knight had seen was your collarbones and his mouth had run dry, his mind filled with nothing but how he could mark that clear skin and the way you’d gasp for him. 

His cock strained against his breeches, tears in his eyes as he begged whoever was listening to help him in some way. The whipping was useless as it numbed his back and the pain seemed drowned out with the sins playing behind his eyelids. 

Before he knew it, the whip was on the floor and his breeches were pulled down his thighs just enough that his hand could wrap around the base of his cock. Criston’s head fell back and he ignored how his hair fell into the scratches on his back, far more focused on the images in his mind.

The swell of your breast hidden beneath corsets and dresses, the time your hand wrapped around his wrist but he imagined it wrapped around his cock instead making him gasp as he squeezed his own hand around the base.

His breathing turned shallow as the sound of his hand around his cock filled his chambers, groans and pleading falling from his mouth each time his hand slid to the top and his thumb circled the head. Precum oozed from the slit and dribbled over his fingers, making it easier for him to pump up and down.

Criston’s other hand moved down his body to under his cock, cupping the heavy balls that sat beneath. He gasped as he rolled the sack in his hand for a moment, crying out your name like a prayer causing his hips to buck up.

It didn’t take long for him to fall apart, shuddering breaths and spit drooling down his chin as white painted the stones of his floor. The ache in his balls less now but the guilt in his heart rearing again.

He stood in front of the Queen’s chambers a few days later, knowing the Queen had travelled to Oldtown to see her brother. She hadn’t take you with her, choosing instead to take the nanny and one of her lady’s-in-waiting that had come from Oldtown. Leaving you to tend to the duties at King’s Landing.

Criston raised his hand to the large ornate door, taking a breath before knocking against it. He stopped for a moment when there was no reply, his hand lowering as he shook his head and turned around to walk away.

The heavy sound of the door unlocking and opening, your voice drifting into his ears but instead of your usual happy voice there was a stutter and the sound of sniffling.

“C-criston?” You’d never said his given name before, it made his heart stop as he turned to you. And that momentary glee flashed to anger and concern at the sight of you. 

Face puffy, trails of tears down your cheeks, the whites if your eyes turned red and your bottom lip jutted out in a tremble. He was infront of you within seconds, his hands cupping your face with a gentleness he awarded nobody else.

His brows furrowed in concern, thumbs stroking at your cheeks to clean up the tears as the corners of his lips turned “What happened?” he whispered, frown deepening as you shook your head and closed your eyes. 

It took everything in him not to force you to look him in the eye, instead he looked you over to see if there was anything physical and when he found it that same anger he felt for the lordling and the baker’s apprentice filled his veins. White hot and burning his hands “Who did this?” 

There was silence for a few minutes before he got a name from you and although part of him tried to quell that familiar urge to beat this man to a pulp in favour of comforting you. His sanity lost and he turned around to find the one who had dared leave bruises along you. The man who had marred your skin in purple and blues.

When that anger left and the black faded to the recesses of his mind, Criston found himself kneeling above what was once a face but it was now so broken and destroyed that they probably wouldn’t be able to tell who he was anymore. 

He had only stopped at the feeling of something warm against his back, his eyes moved to his fist to see two smaller ones wrapped around his. The once clear skin covered in the sticky red that dripped from his fists, and his ears picked up the panic cries of “Ser Cole! Criston! Please!” 

It was only at the panic in your voice that he could finally be Criston again. The look in your eyes made his heart squeeze, the panic and frenzy as your breathing turned shallow and your grip tight against his hand all made him stop.

“Please, Criston, please stop” and he did. His eyes softened and he managed to catch his breathing as his hands unclenched and covered yours instead. He brought your own hands to his lips so he could kiss each knuckle so softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to, to see me like-“ but Criston couldn’t finish his sentence before you were standing up and pulling him with you. His brow furrowed as he stumbled after you, your head turning around and around to make sure no one saw either of you walking away or the blood on Criston’s hands.

You led him to your own chambers this time, locking the door behind you and triple checking to make sure it was locked before you walked behind the screen in your room. Your hands shaking as you pulled the chain that released hot water into your copper tub. You weren’t afforded the big fancy room like the royal family but as a lady-in-waiting you were given a few luxuries.

Only the sound of flowing water filled your room for a moment, and you turned to choose which scent to add to the water. But you froze once it was added, a knight probably shouldn’t go around smelling the same as one of Queen Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting.

“Criston, you need to get undressed” you said when you peaked around the screen and saw him standing there, his head lifting up to look at you through those dark brown eyes that you were used to. 

Puppy dog you used to tease him as but how could you think of him like a puppy after what you just saw? Your eyes drifted to the blood splattered across his armour before you had to turn away again.

Through the silence the sound of metal hitting the floor was heard and then cloth as Criston undressed. You kept your back to him as you heard footsteps come closer before his voice cut through the stillness of the room in a low grunt.

Only once he was submerged did you finally turn around, the sight of his torso bared made you pause for a moment and forget what he had done before you cleared your throat and shook your head. 

You dipped your hands into the water and used it to wet his hair, Criston’s body going pliant as his head followed your hands until it rested on the tub and his eyes slipped closed while his mouth went slack.

Maybe he was still a puppy after all. The corners of your lips quirked up as you wet his hair and then took some of your shampoo to lather him with, fingers massaging into his scalp which caused you to falter when a moan slipped from his mouth.

Criston didn’t seem to notice, only frowning when you stopped but that was quickly wiped away when you continued again. Once his hair was clean, you moved on to his hands and turned the water red.

For a moment you considered telling him that he needed to clean his own chest but you are a sinner. And you cannot help yourself as you lather your hands in soap and bring them to Criston’s chest. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he groans and arches into your touch, so you continue to massage the soap into him.

Your hands dip lower until they’re beneath the water and you can feel his stomach flex beneath your palms. Your mouth parted as you watched Criston’s brow twitch and his teeth bite into his bottom lip. Both of you waited with bated breath as your hand sank even lower until your fingertips touched where you both wanted.

Saliva gathered in your mouth at how he was already hard and when you didn’t move, Criston’s hips moved up slowly forcing your hand to slide down until he nestled against your palm instead of your fingers. That’s all it took for your hand to wrap around him.

His eyes flew open and he took a sharp breath as his gaze landed on you, when you didn’t move he raised an eyebrow and rolled his hips up again which made you narrow your eyes. Your hand squeezed the base of his cock and his mouth dropped open in the most heavenly whimper.

You wanted more of those noises so you slid your hand up, enjoying how Criston gripped at the edge of the tub when your thumb circled the head. His cock heavy as it twitched in your hand, the water churning around him as he seemed to plant his feet and the way your hand slid up and down until he was oozing.

“M-more, more please” He begged so prettily under your touch, white mixing with red in the water the closer he got. Eyes fluttering and thighs shaking as his words slurred into whimpers and whines for you.

You wondered how he would react to your warmth and then the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. Criston made a noise of discontent as your hand released his cock but his eyes trained on you as you undid the layers of your dress, he couldn’t wait for you to be entirely naked before he was reaching for you.

Wet hands soaking your slip as he grabbed at you and pulled you close until you could stumble into the bath. His eyes rolled as you sank down onto him until he was snug in your tight cunt, your hands against his chest to brace yourself. Your cunt ached as he stretched you open, and you waited for a moment for that ache to go away.

Criston pawed at the wet dress around your hips as he waited for you to start moving and when you did, it was better than his imagination could conjure up. Your pussy fluttered around his prick as you rode him, his hips beginning to lift up to meet you.

Water sloshed around the tub, splashing out of the sides and onto your floor as your hips rolled against his own. Criston whined as his face buried into your breasts, mouthing at your nipple through the fabric making you gasp and grind harder onto him.

His fingers twitched against your hips before they started pulling your dress up and over your head, you heard the wet sound of it plopping on the floor and Criston groaned at the sight of your bare breasts. His hands groping at them “So perfect” he moaned as he peppered them in kisses.

Your hands curled into his hair, tugging it making him whine against you and his cock twitched inside of your pussy. Your grinding had slowed for a moment but as Criston suckled a nipple into his mouth, tongue lapping against the skin as he muttered around your breast.

“Gotta worship you” his hands squeezed your breasts moaning when you began to speed up your pace again, his one hand letting go to slide down your stomach until his hand rested just above your cunt, thumb circling at your clit and groaning when you squeezed around his cock.

Your head fell back, pleasure building in your veins and tightening your stomach as you gasped. It was all too much with his finger circling your clit, his wet mouth on your breast and you couldn’t get away from his cock. You could practically feel Criston grinning as your pussy spasmed around him, thighs tensing and squeezing at his own as your grip pulled at his hair until it stung his scalp.

Criston joined you in your orgasm, hands wrapping around your waist to keep you on his cock as he jerked inside you before rope after rope of hot sticky cum flooded your cunt. Leaving both of you boneless and panting like dogs.

The knight looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes as he nuzzled your breast, beard tickling your chest as he pouted “You’re not angry?”

You smiled, letting out a breathless chuckle as your hand petted his hair “How could I be?”

[ashtavula]

I don’t know if you’re taking asks or anything and this is my first time ever even asking anything on tumblr BUT ANYWAY

Trey, Azul, Lilia and Leona with a pastry chef/baker reader?

I just think it would be so darn cute-

You're right, it's a super cute concept!

Trey, Azul, Lilia, and Leona with a pastry chef reader

Trey:

- He's firmly convinced that he's found his soulmate. Seriously, Trey thinks you're absolutely perfect! The two of you often end up in the kitchen, coming up with new recipes and enjoying the fruits of your labors. Though, he does end up feeding you by hand more often than not. He just likes taking care of you. At least, that's what he claims.

-He can't wait to introduce you to his family, and show you their business. He's pretty proud of it, and the thought of you making things in his family's bakery makes his heart flutter. He's already dreaming about just how wonderful it would be to work with you, side by side in a kitchen surrounded by his supportive family. The idea of you being a part of his family, of being a Clover? He's struggling to stop himself from putting a ring on your finger right now.

Azul:

-Azul's torn between having you bake things for the lounge, or keeping your sweet treats all to himself. In the end, he'll have you whip up some samples for him to try, and then you can teach the twins later. Please don't comment on the fact that his cheeks turn pink when he's eating your desserts, or that he's always willing to indulge in something you've made, even though he's watching his weight.

-Speaking of his figure, he's more than a little worried about gaining a few pounds from eating what you make. Don't misunderstand, he loves you, but he's afraid that you won't like him as much if he gets "fat". He'll be over the moon if you try to make healthier sweets just for him. Azul also wants to introduce you to his mother. He just knows the two of you will get along. And she'd be over the moon once she learned about your skills in the kitchen.

Lilia:

-Hope you like having company in the kitchen, because Lilia refuses to let you bake alone. He's always sticking his fingers where they don't belong, stealing little tastes of what you're making, and trying to "improve" your recipes. And if you get mad at him, he'll just coo out apologies and kiss you until you forget why you were upset at him to begin with. Honestly though, keep an eye on him. Lilia can and will try to add something "nutritious" to your sweets. And nobody likes petit fours with pureed liver filling.

-Lilia does really enjoy watching you feed Silver, Sebek, and Malleus your treats. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, seeing you take care of his boys. It makes him think that you'd be a wonderful addition to his and Silver's lives. He'll teasingly call you Silver's other parent, and will sigh contentedly when the boy quietly compliments your skills. Please give Silver more of your baking. He needs it, and it just makes Lilia more affectionate with you.

Leona:

-He honestly doesn't care for sugary confections, but he'll take a bite of what you give him. It makes you happy to see him eat it, and he wants to keep you happy. Even if that means swallowing more sugar than he would normally consume. You do notice he prefers it when your baked goods are more savory, or if their sweetness comes from fruit instead of sugar. And it's a pleasant surprise for him when you take his tastes into account. He also doesn't mind if you share what you make with others. Just don't be too generous, yeah? Don't forget, lions can get territorial, especially yours.

-Seeing you feed Cheka makes him feel...odd. On the one hand, he can begrudgingly admit that it's sort of cute to watch you bond with his rambunctious nephew. On the other hand, it makes him think more about the future with you. You wouldn't be allowed to bake for yourself at the palace, but wouldn't his brother insist on you being a part of the royal family? He hates the idea of his family forcing you into a role you don't want. Honestly, thinking about it makes his head hurt. So for now, he'll drape his arms around you while you help Cheka frost a cookie.

[theemporium]

15 with steve please!

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

.

As sad as it sounded, Steve got pretty used to people zoning out when he spoke. 

Yeah, he had people who fawned over him and girls who flirted with him and guys who wanted to be him when he reigned as King Steve, but none of them ever really listened to him. Neither did his teammates on his basketball team. Neither did his parents. 

Nobody ever really focused on the words he said, nobody ever really bothered to remember them either. 

Things shifted when the world of the Upside Down came crashing into his life. When his close knit group of friends became a group of rangly kids that Steve never considered would change his life for the better. When he learnt that popularity and numbers meant shit when you had people who would die for you, who would care if you died even. 

And as much as he loved and adored his little found family, his luck with girls didn’t become any better as the years passed.

When he was King Steve, they just used him for his looks and social status. When he was working at Scoops Ahoy, they flirted with him in hopes of a discount or a freebie. When he moved to Family Video, they just saw him as a cute face to play about with but eventually leave in the dust. 

And the saddest part of it all was that Steve never expected it to change, he never expected that his life would be anything but bad luck and bad dates. 

Then, after being dragged into a campaign last minute for the sake of filling numbers by Dustin and Eddie, he met you. 

You were pretty. So fucking pretty that sometimes it made his heart race and his brain stop working and he was pretty sure he would forget his own name if someone asked him. And you were funny, in an effortless way that made his cheeks hurt every time he was around you because you just made him so happy. And, by some fucking grace of god, you liked him. 

Or at least, he thinks you do. 

He really fucking hopes you do. 

But his doubts got the best of him and he allowed himself to push away the question he was desperate to ask you, no matter how much Eddie and Robin hounded him to just bite the bullet and ask you out on a date. He couldn’t fuck it up, and he couldn’t lose you. 

And then you sauntered into Family Video less than three hours after his shift started, smiling brightly as you dumped a container on the counter in front of him. 

“Uh,” Steve glanced down at the container before looking up at you, finding his cheeks flushing slightly at the smile you gave him. “Not to be a stickler or anything, but this doesn’t look like a copy of Jaws.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging the container closer to him. “Open it.”

“Open it?” Steve parroted. 

“Yes, open it,” you said to him, almost rolling back on your heels as you watched him reach for it. “It’s for you.” 

Steve remembered a vague conversation he had with you a couple of weeks back. He offered to drive you back home after a campaign and ended up parked outside your house whilst you spoke for two hours before eventually leaving the car. It had left him giddy for days after—much to Robin’s amusement.

He didn’t think you had actually listened to him during that conversation, let alone remember a single fact from it. Maybe because Steve wasn’t used to being the one having something done for him.

“You said they were your favourites when you were younger,” you started when you noticed the way he fell silent after opening the container. “The bakery didn’t make them anymore so I tried my best go at making them myself but, uh, I’m not really a baker.”

Steve stared at the box in front of him, containing around ten dinosaur shaped cookies with green icing and multi-coloured sprinkles decorating them. He felt his throat close up when he noted the different faces and expressions on each cookie, all homemade by you just because Steve stupidly admitted to you that he used to love the dino cookies the local bakery made whenever he stayed with his grandmother before she died. 

The nerves started to eat at you the longer he stayed silent. “Do…do you like them?”

Steve finally tore his eyes away from the cookies, blinking back the wetness in his eyes as he gave you such a soft smile it made your heart sore. “I can’t believe you remembered.” 

“Dino cookies are hard to forget,” you joked lightly, your expression a little sheepish. “I’m sorry if they taste like shit—”

“They are perfect,” Steve said with certainty. 

Your brows furrowed. “You haven’t even—”

Not missing a beat, Steve grabbed a cookie from the top of the pile and shoved a large chunk in his mouth as he took a bite. His eyes widened a little as he looked down at the cookie before shoving the rest in his mouth. 

“Holy shit,” he murmured, blushing a little when he heard the way you giggled at his muffled words before he made sure to swallow the cookie before continuing. “You actually made those?”

“With my own two hands.”

“They’re insane,” Steve said, pretending like his heart wasn’t thundering against his chest. “I—thank you. So much.” 

“Anytime, Stevie,” you answered with a smile. 

“You think you can teach me the recipe?” he asked, partially joking and partially serious because anytime spent with you was a win in his books.

“Does Friday work for you?” you asked and he nodded. “Perfect. It’s a date.” 

Steve didn’t even get the chance to respond before you turned on your heel, walking out the store before he even opened his mouth. But he looked down at the box of cookies, a wide grin spread across his face and found himself eager for Friday to roll around.

.

[the-way-astray]

Keefe headcanons???

when keefe realized he could inflict, he had mixed feelings. on one hand, he always wanted to be able to. on the other, he can only really do it because his empathy's so strong and why is his empathy so strong? because of his mom's genetic manipulations. so like. he struggles with that

he takes longer than cassius to do his hair. look, i know canonically he makes fun of how long cassius takes to do his hair, but you know keefe takes longer then thirty-one minutes, let's be so for real here, anon. canon doesn't exist actually

anyway fitz taught him to do his hair, actually. they were experimenting and keefe liked that style so fitz taught him how to do it

speaking of fitz, they share a room in the elite levels. oh, but the elves don't really do sharing rooms because there's space enough for every- well, guess who doesn't care. that's right. me

keefe learned his . . . dubious use of empathy from his dad. when he was a kid, his dad would always read his emotions and then just casually tell his mom what he was feeling, so keefe learned to do the same thing and doesn't realize it's fucked up

fitz was the first one to call out that behavior but keefe still struggles with it

fitz keeps keefe in line. in my head

fitz is actually the one that won't let keefe touch his hair everyone has it flipped

this post is turning into a keefitz post lemme backtrack

keefe really likes the elvin equivalent of oranges/citrusy fruits and in unraveled if i don't see him intimidatingly eat a lemon like an apple i will simply perish

before the series started, he changed his hair and eye color all the time with elixirs from slurps and burps so he did know dex kinda even before sophie was in the picture

one time he dyed the tips of his hair black so he looked like a porcupine

he's one of those people that buries himself under the comforter even if it's like 150 degrees outside and inside (i think this is canon actually)

(spoilers for crooked kingdom whoopsie) you know that scene where they fall through the ceiling because they spilled really potent acid on the ground? keefe has definitely done that. that's why Nobody Goes To The Fifty-Sixth Floor Of Candleshade. there's just a gaping hole in the floor between the fifty-fifth and fifty-sixth floor

keefe decorated the rim of said hole with tiny chunks of lumenite he secretly shaved off his dad's statue and since his dad never goes to that floor he doesn't know about it

keefe performed the elvin equivalent of a satantic ritual with the hole (he was high on fathomlethes)

his favorite scent is sharpie. unfortunately he's never actually smelled it before. come on, shannon, give the people (me) what they want in unraveled

when he first heard about sophie (not from fitz) he thought she was a rumor

he's ridden verdi before once when grady made him do chores waiting for sophie to come home

he fell off. painfully

he has never baked ever not even once in his entire life. not ever. this is important to me

keefe and fitz are the epitome of the newest, hottest romance trope that's taken the book world by storm: baker x cannot bake for the life of them

keefe was the one that painted that vacker family portrait actually

della told fitz she wanted to commission a portrait of them to celebrate alden's recovery and fitz was like "i know just the guy"

fitz just didn't tell sophie that because he didn't want to ruin the mood during the flashback scene

remember when fitz said he went to the hekses place for a delivery once? actually alden took keefe too and keefe thought it was cool. yes i know canon says keefe wasn't there and thought it was gross but we ignore canon in this headcanon household

he tried to convince fitz to join his hair and eye color changing ways by changing his eye color to teal and hair color to brown but alas fitz refused to join him

oh shit i'm keefitz posting again

he only turned the lab table to silver because it was ugly he wouldn't have done it if it wasn't so crusty-looking why doesn't lady galvin appreciate his efforts no one understands him

he once showered in the elvin equivalent of orange juice

[daitranscripts]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Pt. 11

The Servants' Quarters

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost First: Gaining an Invitation Previous: Meeting Morrigan

The PC enters the servants’ quarters.

PC: This could be worth checking out

They gather their party and enter the quarters proper. There are numerous corpses lying around.

PC: Must be the elves Briala’s people are looking for. Sera (if present): Whoever did this oughta be down here somewhere.

The party enters the kitchen.

Party comments:

Sera: Caught in the middle of this crap. What fully qualified arsehole stops to kill a cook? Vivienne: They always kill the servants first, my dear. Otherwise, they could run and warn someone. Sera: Oh sure, reasonable, innit? Frigging garbage. Varric: Assassins are a shy lot. Can’t have dangerous bakers raising alarms. Sera: Food was good too. Bastards.

Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Sera: Nobody asked for creepy, alright? Shut it! Solas: They’re already dead. You can’t help them. Don’t let their memory overwhelm you. Dorian: “Death by Apple Pie,” a lovely poem by our dear friend Cole. Varric: These poor sods aren’t doing much of anything, kid. Cole: Not them. The others. They came when they heard the crying. They don’t understand. Repeating noises: sobbing, pleading, prayers. Waiting for answers. Varric: They’ll be waiting a long time, then.

Blackwall: Why kill the servants? They were unarmed. Solas: Because they were in the way, of course. These were minor obstacles in the path to someone’s power. Vivienne: They always kill the servants first, my dear. Otherwise, they could run and warn someone. Sera (if in party): Oh sure, reasonable, innit? Frigging garbage. Vivienne: The defenseless are always the first casualties of war. Varric: Sorry to break it to you, Hero, but this is what they call “collateral damage.” Like a war loan that’s late a few payments. I hope we find the bastard that did this.

Cassandra: Someone will be held accountable for this.

The party continues into a courtyard. The PC crouches to get a better look at the dead body there.

PC: This was no servant. What was he doing here?

Party comments:

Vivienne: This man was a Council of Heralds emissary. Curious to find him here.

Sera: This guy’s way too fancy to belong down here. What’s his story?

Varric: Does this guy seem out of place to anyone else?

Cole: He doesn’t belong. Even if he weren’t dead, he would be wrong.

Party comments:

Blackwall: That knife bears the Chalons family crest. Gaspard’s crest.

Dorian: Is that the Chalons family crest? What have you been up to, Gaspard?

Cassandra: The crest of the Chalons family. Duke Gaspard will answer for this.

Solas: That would appear to be Grand Duke Gaspard’s insignia on the dagger. How curious.

PC: Is that… Gaspard’s family crest on the hilt of that dagger?

PC: Time to have a word with the duke.

The party hears screaming. An elven woman is being chased by the harlequin assassin, who vanishes after attacking her. Venatori rush into the courtyard.

PC: Venatori agents! PC: That must be the Venatori leader.

They fight until the Venatori are defeated.

PC: The Venatori were watching this approach. They’re organized.

The party continues through the area and into the grand apartments while fighting Venatori, arriving at a door at the end of the hall. The PC unlocks it and picks up an elven locket.

Party comments:

Vivienne: An elven locket, stored away in a palace safe. Unwise, Celene.

Sera: (Snerks.) The empress can’t give up her pretty thing.

Solas: Is that elven? Odd to find it here.

Dorian: Well, well, Her Imperial Majesty has a fondness for elven keepsakes, I see.

PC: An elven locket is a strange thing to have hidden away in a safe in the empress’s palace.

Party comments:

Varric: I’ll admit: I didn’t think the empress was this sentimental.

Blackwall: A token of affection from… happier times. Celene must still care for Briala.

Cole: Stored sorrow, hidden hurts. She couldn’t throw it away.

The party continues, chasing the harlequin.

Next: Briala to the Rescue

[fagcrush]

I don't think anyone thinks Theil or your story is bad. Indifference isn't the same as hate. They're no better or worse than the other thousands of tav ocs on here, but we straight up don't know enough about them to have an opinion. Dropping an entire fic about a character that nobody has been given a reason to care about isn't going to work for anyone, unless they're popular with an established following. And even big creators have flops.

One thing about Theil that I don't get from their backstory is their personality, and how they are as a person? You gave a laundry list of things that happened to them, but not really how these things affect them. Losing their parents, discovering magic powers, and living on the street must have had some effect on them, surely? Nobody gets through that upheaval without changing even a little bit. "They went through things that would straight up break another person, but they didn't really care and were fine" doesn't cut it unless you explore why they didn't care.

Have I really. Not talked about their personality at all and why they're so... Unaffected by shit.

I can't remember what I say on discord vs what I say on Tumblr these days (I also think I said some of this in my more detailed backstory post? but I can't find that one anymore since Tumblr search ate it.

Anyway

They mourned their parents somewhat, but no more than one would a teacher or an older community member. Once that feeling passed they were actually somewhat happy because they had no one telling them what to do, and actually... Managed pretty well on their own. Between their magic, sneaky hands, and cute face, there wasn't a whole lot of a struggle. They stole what they could and knew how to make a cute face and look like a helpless kid if they needed anything. There's one baker in particular that they could pretty much ALWAYS get something off of. He called them curls bc. Curly hair, curled horns. Curls. (They also didn't talk a whole lot then. Which is funny bc as an adult they can't shut the fuck up.)

Somethin also worth noting is Theil feels anything negative and lies even to themself about it. A part of them did always know a lot of their life was Fucked. They could see families pass them by. They could tell that other kids had better lives. As they got older. They felt lonely with their hookups and never having any commitment. It's why they latched onto Reya so hard.

And especially over the course of their adventure they have to Face the Facts like. Fuck. They saw a guy make a deal w a god and become an embodiment of evil for his daughter. But they kind of spent their whole life shoving any pain WAY DOWN and never let themself feel it because they just hate it and feel weak if they aren't keeping that tough exterior.

And once again this absolutely gets worse when they meet the party because. Well everyone's got their problems. I have to shoulder them. I don't have time for their problems plus my problems are so small compared to theirs (buddy u have just as many problems as the rest of them).

They would eventually break but they were really damn good and spending 31 years of their life pretending to be okay when the reality was they were just seconds from snapping at any given time.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Vast!Jon Au - time for some REVEALS

Oh, oh, oh, there are some BIG CLUES as to what's going on in this scene.

Fair warning: We don't know no stinking timeline. I am back on my self-indulgent bullshit, y'all, and that means it's ALL going in the pot.

Martin/Jon Childhood Friends

Vast!Jon, professional photographer

Lonely!Martin, YouTube baker

A plane crash! Angst! Drama!

Old guys playing dice with the universe!

Stoker brothers! Archivist Sasha!

Agnes Montague?

Mike Crew???

Nothing is sacred here.

And now... phase two.

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

A week of nothing is good for them all, surely.

Jon and Martin text constantly, but Jon will not show his face, or say what he’s doing. So that’s fine.

Sasha swears she’s okay, and shows up for dinner with the Stokers. She won’t talk about Jon. So that’s fine.

Martin is sure none of this is fine.

But he’s in a holding pattern until Friday, which is when he must be at the top of his game. He spends some of his waning bank account on a haircut and a manicure, ensures his clothing and makeup are on point, and prepares for the show of his life.

Not one job application he's sent out has gotten a nibble.

This Lukas thing, whatever it is, has to work.

#

Tim calls it The Martin Effect.

Danny calls it a little bit spooky.

Martin calls it working the room, and considers it an easy performance. Even when performing for a bunch of weirdos.

The Lukas family is… more than a little bit weird, actually?

They’re all tall and freakishly pale, which has to be genetic. Eyes like ice, all of them. They stand in a cluster, watching their guests, like freaky gods made of stone and misanthropy.

Oh, their smiles are friendly, and their handshakes are good, but Martin is skilled at reading people and knows damn well not one of them is actually friendly at all.

But they sure do have a fancy as fuck house.

They'd invited him to their manor, in Kent - which is nearly eighty miles from London, and would have been an automatic no (Martin has seen horror movies) - except that they prefaced the invite by explaining it had to be on a certain date because others’ schedules weren’t very flexible.

Those others were several people like him (nobodies) and several of those YouTubers mentioned in the note (nobodies who’d made good).

The Lukases even sent a car to get him. With drinks.

Fancy. 

Also weirdly lonely, because there was a divider so he couldn’t even speak to the driver, and the car wasn’t a limo but it was too big, and Martin sat in the back and played on his phone and felt severely out of place.

He’s still doing this.

The Mooreland House came looming out of an unseasonable fog like something in a ghost story. Huge, all gray stone, somehow both absurdly posh and weirdly featureless, it does not feel welcoming.

Martin arrived at the same time as everyone else, coordinated. 

Then it was awkward-as-fuck meetup time, which is fine by him.

“No, that’s completely reasonable,” he says to his fellow nobody’s absolute rant about comment misbehavior. “It feels very personal, really.”

His fellow nobody beams like Martin gave them a prize.

Martin doesn’t mean a word because the rant is stupid. They’re internet comments. Yes, humans make them, but it’s humans on the other side of a screen, faceless, nameless, person-less.

Which is how they view you, even though they have your face and name, he thinks, but outwardly commiserates with BabyBrian (whose makeup isn’t very good, but Martin won’t tell them that), then moves on to meet the next nobody in line.

He’s spent time with nearly all the nobodies now. It’s horribly familiar; same as moving every few months and first trying to make friends, then moving every few months and just trying to make peace, same as not mattering and nobody mattering and sinking slowly into himself and his mum not caring, until they came to Bournemouth, when he was six, and his father walked away, and mum didn’t want to move again.

And Martin found Jon.

And for the first time in his life, felt seen.

He remembers that. Even though he was young, he remembers meeting Jon, more clearly than he recalls his father’s face.

But that doesn’t matter, because none of these people are Jon. 

It’s so damn fake. Martin’s good at fake. He knows how to stammer just so, when to drop his eyes, how to smile. 

Just keep it together, he tells himself, because he doubts very highly that the Lukas family (who is watching all of this with unreadable expressions) is going to give them all the golden ticket.

It’s obviously some kind of competition, though to what criteria, he doesn’t know. 

So. He’s himself.

The part of himself that doesn’t have Jon, that is.

There are two nobodies left to talk to in this group, and lucky him, they’re standing together, making it easy. “Hello!” says Martin brightly as he walks over.

So, two things immediately jump out at him.

One: they are absolutely nothing alike, but when they turn as one to look at him, he feels in his core that they are absolutely the same.

Two: that something same is whatever horror now lives in Jon.

It damn near throws him.

They’re connected. They’re serving evil gods. He’s certain.

Martin smiles more brightly to cover his spike of terror and offers his hand. “Martin. I bake muffins.”

The guy responds first, smiling just as brightly and shaking his hand. “Mike. I do optical illusions.”

“Oh, I’ve seen those!” says Martin brightly. “I recognize your voice. CrewsClues, right?” It is a hell of a channel. Obviously, it must be camera tricks, some kind of manipulation, but no one’s ever figured out how he does it.

For the first time, Martin is afraid that maybe it isn’t technical prowess behind those tricks.

This guy can livestream, and while livestreaming, twist a road into spirals, or make it seem like the building he’s walking by has just rusted itself to holes and timber, to mold and curling paint. Fascinating stuff.

Mike also does gross food stuff, but Martin loves food, and won't think about that.

However, he wonders why the hell this guy isn’t on camera.

Mike is fucking hot. Fit, toned, tanned; nearly white hair, shocking blue eyes - and, intriguingly, the branches of some kind of lightning-scar peeking above his shirt to kiss his throat.

Maybe he doesn’t go on camera because his smile is as fake as Martin’s.

Something in the eyes…

Mike Crew is not a friendly person, and Martin logs him away as dangerous.

“That’s me,” says Mike. “This is Agnes.”

Agnes is… Well. Intense is one way to put it. She is unblinking, still as a sheathed knife, and does not smile. Her hair is long and auburn, her eyes seem almost orange, and she’s nearly as tall as Martin.

She also doesn’t shake hands, apparently. “Hello.”

“She’s got that It All Burns channel,” says Mike.

“Oh! Oh, that’s… wow. Fascinating,” says Martin, looking fascinated, internally terrified.

It All Burns somehow combines an unnerving, visceral fear of the dark - of what’s in the dark, unseen - with sudden and violent flame, and there’s never any way to know just what she’s going to set on fire.

Martin hadn't even know the channel was run by a she. The host never speaks.

Of course, it isn’t real, say the comments, because it’s illegal, the things she burns - from as small as fancy men’s watches to entire derelict flats. Because someone would have caught her if she were actually doing arson, and besides - no matter what she’s burning, the flame she sets always looks the same.

It’s white. 

The last time Martin glanced at her comments, speculation was still rife as just what she was doing to make flame white, regardless of fuel.

He stopped checking after that. Agnes’s videos disturb him.

Agnes disturbs him more.

Now that he knows monsters are real… “It’s great to meet you,” he chirps, smiling brightly. “Hey, can I refill your drinks?”

“Naw, I’m about to bail,” says Mike with a shrug that stretches his half-buttoned shirt (white, to make his tanned skin more interesting). “I don’t think this is for me, anyway. I was curious, but I don’t really need the help.”

“Lucky you,” Martin laughs. “Well, I’m glad I got to meet you.”

“Yeah,” says Mike, with an unexpected and appreciative look. “You’re cuter than on your videos. Maybe we should collab, sometime.”

Martin laughs like that wasn’t absolutely audacious flirting. “I don’t really know what baking and illusions could do together.”

“Could do a test. See what happens to muffins over time.”

Mike had a couple of live feeds constantly monitoring food allowed to rot.

Martin pushes those out of his head, because they’re gross. There are maggots.

Why the fuck live feeds like that had an audience, he has no idea, but he’s not letting anything like that near his muffins. “Not a bad idea. Let’s chat about it sometime, okay?”

Mike knows.

He knows he just turned Martin’s stomach.

Mike's smile is cruel.

Martin’s is sweet and sunlight and fresh-found honey.

“See you,” says Mike, and leaves.

“So that was - ” Martin starts, but Agnes is leaving, too. Did they come together? “Not for you, either, huh?” says Martin.

“It’s a trap,” says Agnes.

Martin can’t quite hide this reaction. His eyes go wide, and he goes too still, just for a moment. “What?”

“I like you. I hope you lose,” says Agnes, coat donned, hair pulled free from her collar. She meets his eyes, pinning him again. “Good luck.” And she leaves.

“But what are you - ”

Nope. She’s not going to tell him what the trap is. She’s gone.

Oh, Ariana, we’re really in it now, he thinks hysterically, and sips his drink to cover it.

So does he leave?

He has no other options. He tried to get a job. He tried to get a loan. He has to do this.

He can’t take his mother into his closet-sized flat. Not only would her hospital equipment not fit, they would definitely kill each other within a week.

Jon…

He knows Jon would take him in.

He knows Jon would spend his own money to care for Martin’s mother.

Martin will not do that. He’s refused the offer before. He won’t.

He doesn’t even know why, but he won't.

“Excuse me, everyone,” says a cheerful voice, and Martin turns to find yet another Lukas has joined the fray.

This one’s different, though. He’s not so pale. His smile reaches his eyes. “Thank you all for coming! My name’s Evan. I guess you all know why you’re here, so I won’t drag it out. Leave the long speeches to the old guys, right?”

And it’s not really funny, but his delivery is so charming, and so personable, that Martin finds himself chuckling with the rest of them. 

“It’s time for your individual interviews. Now, I need to stress this: just be yourself. A front isn’t something anyone can maintain forever, and we’re looking for genuine above all else here. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, only one of you is going to get the sponsorship this quarter.”

Yeah, they’d all guessed. A few people sip drinks, nervously.

Martin is not one of them.

“We’re going in alphabetical order,” says Evan. “And hey - there isn’t anything to be afraid of, all right? In fact, we’re giving you all financial compensation for spending the day with us so nobody feels like we wasted their time. Right! Martin Blackwood?”

Oh good, I’m the guinea pig, he thinks, and raises his hand and smiles. “Present and accounted for!”

“Come on dooooown,” says Evan.

Martin snorts. Only one other person in the room seems to get the extremely dated Price is Right reference - the sea captain, Peter Lukas.

Everyone else's looks are just... stone.

“Follow my aunt Susie.” Evan shakes Martin’s hand. “Love your muffins, by the way. They’re great for parties.”

“Right? Thank you,” Martin says, feeling like this is the first time he’s smiled for real all day, and follows aunt Susie down the hall.

[sargewood]

IM STARING SOOOO INTENTLY AT canon(ish?), logan loves benny and later sarah but feels like a homewrecker

ok this one i can already tell is going to be my legit baby so here's a few pieces of it so far <33 i'll probably decide later on down the road if benny comes back after he leaves or not but idk yet! i might make him and sarah logan's wags and let elias keep his job lol

“But this is our dream?” (Logan) “No, Logan, this is your dream. I want to be a father. I want to be a family with Sarah.” (Benny) Logan reels back like he's been smacked. “Oh. I get it. I'm not a part of this like I thought I was then.” (Logan) “Logan, I didn't mean it like that. You have to know I didn't mean it like that!” (Benny) “I thought this would be better, but it’s not.” (Benny) “We tried, right?” Logan curls in on himself, feels impossibly small. Just wants Benny to say this ever meant something, anything to him like it did Logan. “We did try.” (Benny) “I know we were waiting to see if it would get better once we made it to F1, but it’s just not getting better. I think we both have to admit that.” (Benny)

“This is hard, but I think you were right. You should go be a dad to Kobe and Nala, spend time with Sarah.” “I won’t stop you, but are you sure Logan?” Logan nods. “Yeah, I can’t keep taking you away from your family. It’s not fair.” “You’re my family too, Logan. Whatever happens, I need you to remember that, yeah?” Logan nods to appease Benny, but he knows that Benny’s just saying that to make this easier, to make Logan feel better about essentially firing his trainer. Knows that eventually communication will peter out to obligatory texts and that Logan has to find a way to cope with that and move on. He can’t keep doing this to Benny or Sarah. He can’t destroy their actual family.

Logan’s phone lights up with the name ‘Sarah ❤️’ and the picture that the three of them took on the beach in Miami in 2023. Logan has a feeling as to why she’s calling, but can’t let it go unanswered. He couldn’t do that to Sarah, so he takes a deep breath and unlocks his phone. “Hello?” “Hi, love.” “Hi, Sarah,” Logan says. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” She asks gently. And something inside Logan breaks. Suddenly he’s sobbing down the phone with shuddering gasps racking his body, unable to catch his breath. “Hey, hey. You’re fine, babes. I need you to breathe for me.” He’s fucking trying, but his body just won’t cooperate. Sarah can hear him struggling, and it breaks her heart. “Do you need me to do anything?” Sarah asks. “No,” Logan chokes out. “Will you just talk? About anything, I don’t care.”

fuck it i'll include the playlist for this one too, it's more infidelity/guilt vibes but there are a few repeats

you signed up for this (maisie peters)

the blue (gracie abrams)

is there something in the movies (samia)

i know it won’t work (gracie abrams)

aeroplane (greer)

the other woman (lana del rey)

triptych (samia)

picture you (chappell roan)

coffee (chappell roan)

why did you marry (nataly dawn)

i don’t sleep well (hello saferide)

i do (reneé rapp)

high infidelity (taylor swift)

right where you left me (taylor swift)

go home (lucius)

don’t tell my mom (reneé rapp)

the kids don’t wanna come home (declan mckenna)

the one that got away (katy perry)

as long as we’re together (the lemon twigs)

why didn’t you say that? (the lemon twigs)

pool (samia)

to me it was (samia)

orange show speedway (lizzy mcalpine)

reckless driving (lizzy mcalpine)

called you again (lizzy mcalpine)

just dumb enough to try (father john misty)

nobody sees me like you do (japanese breakfast's version)

everybody does (julien baker)

your father (the front bottoms)

when u love somebody (fruit bats)

tornado warnings (sabrina carpenter)

things i wish you said (sabrina carpenter)

talking to strangers (maisie peters)

tough act (maisie peters)

bad decisions (bastille)

good lesson (bastille)

make me cry (noah cyrus)

fell in love without you (motion city soundtrack)

rewind (goldspot)

where’s my love (SYML)

meant to stay hid (SYML)

bottom of the ocean (miley cyrus)

not like the movies (katy perry)

grow as we go (ben platt)

same boat (lizzy mcalpine)

illicit affairs (taylor swift)

if you leave (orchestral manoeuvres in the dark)

also probably half of lizzy mcalpine's new album will end up on this list as well because that entire album is about logan and benny

[sylibane]

You had a normal upbringing, probably in a small farming village, a modest town with a few shops at biggest. You were raised a farmer or a herder or kitchen hand or baker or assistant in a little shop. You were raised by grandparents or an aunt and uncle or someone who knew the parents you never did, or only barely remember. Maybe you had a couple friends, or maybe you had none. You might not feel like you fit in with the normal people around you, because you’re a different kind of normal, a normal hero with a normal upbringing until a wizard or a princess or a magical creature shows up and whisks you away on an adventure, a blank page waiting for its glorious story. There have been a thousand heroes like you before, and a thousand more to come. Except…

Your magic manifested way earlier than it should have, enough that you became the town witch, either replacing one who suddenly died or filling a position that had never been taken before. You can’t go off on an adventure when you have a responsibility to your home.

Your adopted family knows what you are and have used you as their main source of income since you were small. Maybe even the whole town depends on you as a tourist attraction. By the time your destiny comes for you, you resent it so much you want nothing to do with it.

Everyone has been suspicious of what you really are since you were small, so you leaned into it. You didn’t manifest anything cool, so you took up stage tricks or learned magic to fill the gap.

You spent years preparing for your destiny. You know who it was who left you with your adoptive family and who will come for you, and you’ve followed their exploits through stories and rumors, working your hardest to be like them. But when you finally meet, they reject you. They’ve decided you actually weren’t the chosen one, they’ve concluded the source of your magic is evil instead of good, they can’t stand something about you, or you’re just not the bright-eyed innocent that they hoped to shape in their image. Whatever the reason, you’re without a mentor and without a clear path forward.

You learned of the prophecy connected to you prematurely, and the destiny laid before you will end badly for you, or for the people you care about, or force you to be someone who you’d hate to be. But if you know the conditions, maybe you can avert them and through fate off course.

Someone else took you first. Not a mentor who would teach you to save the world, but one who taught you to be a crafter or entertainer or scholar or merchant or criminal or any of the thousands of professions that make you less of a blank page.

Your destiny came with a tidy inheritance. It’s enough to hire a team of experienced adventurers to do the work for you. Hopefully, your patronage technically counts in defeating your destined nemesis.

Nobody ever came for you. No herald to tell you who you really are, no villain to burn down your home to spur you into adventure, no divine sign. You’ve spent your whole upbringing waiting for something that never came. Your only chance for a destiny may be to make one for yourself.

You didn’t live to fulfill that destiny. It wasn’t even act of evil, just an accident or illness. But your ghost lingers, and you must find and guide someone else to be who you couldn’t.

They’re not you. They’re your best friend. You know a destiny is coming for them and they won’t be able to handle it. But you could. You’re not just going to be their funny sidekick at best or one of the people who dies in their tragic backstory at worst. Maybe you have to fake a miracle or a birthmark. Maybe you have to fully take your friend’s identity. But whatever you do, you’re going to save your friend from their destiny by taking it upon yourself.

[follyglass]

Follyglass : Hang

“All of the frames in this museum are merely stringent tradition, a mirage that plagues me in its constancy,” sniffed the gallerist eying the carved wood and gilt. No matter how many times she had said it aloud now, the gallerist had yet to encounter a like mind. After all, most people were culturally conditioned regard frames as a mere device in service to what really mattered: the delicacy, the pretty visions made by mixing powdered jewels in oil and swishing them about to mimic light and shadow and magnificent life rendered on a smooth piece of wood or copper. Most often they were portraits of those that were and now were nevermore.

Everyone remembers the cake that’s here and gone, nobody gives notice to the plate, unless it is filthy or cracked.

The gallerist thumbed the pendant at her collar, a small silver capsule that housed a gilded splinter; it was what remained of a work by Wm. Goodricke.

One day, she would find another frame by Wm. Goodricke, that bastard.

Ages ago, those that crossed the ocean did so with portraits of their loved ones. Since passage was prohibitively expensive for a whole family, there was one chosen to safeguard their surname, and then paintings were made and frames were carved. It wasn’t a cheap bit of magic at all, but it saved room and feeding. Shipwrecks and fire were fervently discussed. Children were calmed with cakes laced with laudanum. The painter worked their oils in a bid for the most realistic rendering down to the wife’s wry smile and the son’s plaid coat. When the painting was complete, the framer bound them so as to constrain their comings and goings… unframed portraits would awaken whenever they so chose, but a ship was not the place to reawaken. The one trusted family member carried them aboard, silent, careful.

On the new shores the frames were split and a family could spring forth groggy– but whole– from a painting to begin a new life away from what troubled them.

For many, this was a blessing.

But even the most benign of tools are found to be weapons by those that figure out how to wield them thusly.

The fearful Jack Westbury, known around The Ditches as Hollow-Eyed Jack, was eventually captured. The justice sentenced him to be painted, and so a rather glum-looking forest scene was painted, and Jack was placed behind a particularly crooked and particularly dead tree. The framer that bound the painting even signed his work: Wm. Goodricke. Many rejoiced. It was a punishment that required little of the taxpayers’ or crown’s money, and was not as distasteful as the crowd-pleasing tortures; surely, this was a kinder way to mete out justice.

More grotesque cases were found to be fit for The Painting, and eventually there were enough to fill out a gallery. Wallpapered in damask with tasseled curtains, this jail held no danger of stench or violence, and so many paid coin to witness not only the criminals themselves, but also to wonder at the skills of the artists and to see the rare but celebrated frame-breaking and freeing of those who had served their time. Most gallery-goers nibbled on thyme cakes and sipped ginger fizzes while guessing at crimes.

One-by-one more galleries were added, and people like the dishonest baker (guilty of padding his breadloaves with sawdust) found themselves hanging in gold among the crowds’ hush. Many took pleasure in the portrait of a rather ugly dog that nipped at people’s heels, relieved they could stroll Cotton Lane without being chased after. A father who had sent their eight-year-old son off with a tin of tea and a kiss in the morning had found his son the next day in the galleries, staring blankly from a lovely lake scene, for the crime of approaching the queen’s swans. The guards sternly reminded him that there were to be no outbursts in the gallery, lest he wanted to stand the same shore as little Henry.

Among the cruel jokes, there arose mutterings about justice, about liberty. A plan was enacted under the belief that cruelty of the system would not reach for the gloved hands of a group of lovely young women.

So, the gallerist and what she would come to think of as her sisters protested. They too, were hanged, bound by a frame crafted by the magic of Wm. Goodricke.

It was then that the public realized a wrong word, might cause them to spend more time in the galleries than they meant to, and so the galleries became vacant. Without the public funding, they closed. A fire took the records, and the nobles – eager to own the rare, the curious – exchanged anonymous money for paintings. Hollow-Eyed Jack was said to reside above the fireplace at a castle in Luxembourg. The baker was spotted at an auction.

Over decades, some frames cracked. Some were simply removed for cleaning or in exchange for something more fashionable, and those that were painted were set blinking out into a world that they knew nothing of. But they were free.

Through luck, the gallerist had found and freed the boy only three years ago. She helped him to learn the ways of the new world, even though she herself was stumbled daily by things that the modern folk found commonplace. And now she spent too many weekends of her young one-hundred-and-twenty year life searching for what might remain of her sisters in little shamble shops and museums and estate sales so that she might do them justice.

[testormblog]

A Playmate

I began my second school year.  At least, school provided me with a stable environment.  My home life was about to be upset.  Early in 1950, I’m told a playmate will arrive later in the year.  I found this news strange.  I reckoned no other child would want to join my family.  Then I learnt it would be a baby.  To me, a baby was a human doll.  I didn’t play with dolls.  I had never before given babies a passing thought nor where they came from.  Somebody repeated the ridiculous old age adage that they grew curled up in cabbages when I asked how it was coming.  I thought, ‘Really!’  I had helped Dad pick the cabbages in our garden and hadn’t found any babies.  The subject was closed.  It wasn’t as though I cared about the truth anyway.

Mother didn’t seem to physically change in shape.  One day, she left to stay with Grandma in Beenleigh for her confinement, whatever that was, and I went to Nana’s and Pop’s.  I was very pleased about this.  Perhaps, I could stay with them and the baby with my parents.  Every day after school, Nana handed me a glass of fresh milk and a couple lebkuchen, German gingerbreads, then asked me what I had learnt.  Soon after, we received a message that Mother was at the hospital.  A few days later, she brought home a screaming baby.  So, I assumed the blighter came from the hospital.

Mother had wanted my brother.  She possibly was trying to repair her marriage and image.  One child families weren’t favourably viewed by the community.  The government was strongly pushing for an increased birth rate after the war.  Mother said it was wonderful for me to have a sibling.  She added I’d need to look after him.  I thought how was I supposed to that.  I was only seven years old.  Gary became the centre of our family’s life and I was pushed further into the background and forgotten.  That was how I saw the situation.  As far as being a playmate, that wasn’t plausible.

Whilst few were looking, I had grown into my own person with thoughts, ideas and yearnings.  At that time, nobody thought I’d amount to anything in my life.  Yet, my parents believed my baby brother would achieve everything.  He was a ‘second time lucky’ child.

Gary knew from the moment of his birth that he was tied to Mother’s heart strings and he could tug them at will.  As a child, he was the opposite of me.  He wasn’t inquisitive and preferred to play quietly wherever he was deposited.  He always sat on Mother’s right side and she rewarded him for this.  No matter what, I was relegated to her wrong side and deprived accordingly.  The more Mother gave him the greedier he became.  It was a game of emotional blackmail, which he played well, never having to earn his rewards.  Dad went about his life, followed his race horses and didn’t become involved.  How Mother spent her money was her business.

When Gary began school, I’d have two years of primary to go.  Of course, Mother entreated me to protect him from the crop of bullies, who inhabited that year’s senior class.  Unfortunately, the school’s bullying culture seemed to repeat with each new class, fuelled by teenage testosterone.  Whilst I’d honour my promise to Mother, the bullies wouldn’t dare harass my brother.  By that stage, I’d earn myself a level of respect from the other students both in the classroom and on the sports field.

Gary convinced Mother of his assumed intelligence, which she promoted to anybody with an open ear.  His false assumption led to woe and caught up with him.  He never passed the scholarship exam held at the end of primary school.  Mother concocted some hairbrained excuse to hide her embarrassment and foolishly hoped that his brilliance would shine in junior high.  It didn’t!  His subsequent marginal grades, with only a few averages, weren’t sufficient to earn him a path in life.  So, Mother sweet talked her sister’s husband to hire him as an apprentice baker.  Whilst Gary learnt to be a reasonable baker, he lamentably developed an appetite for his products.

As my life would progress, I’d consign my brother to its extremity.  He would be given everything I wouldn’t be.  However, despair and disaster always followed for him.  His choices led to obesity, an early heart attack, a heart transplant and an untimely death.  He was Mother’s cash funnel until the day she died.  Though, I’d need to face and overcome many obstacles, the world would rotate in my favour.  I’d become everything he didn’t.  I’d succeed and he’d fail at life.  I was the lucky child; I just didn’t know it!

[newhavenrp]

Is that MURRAY BARTLETT? No, that’s MICHAEL BAKER. The 45 year old MERMAN OMEGA MALE is a PLANT SHOP OWNER. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be BUBBLY & ROMANTIC, but beware, they’re also known to be SELF-CONSCIOUS & CLINGY. Their friends also say that they’re into BREEDING, ROMANCE, LEATHER but don’t you dare trying GORE, SCAT with them.

Michael was born on land, in a human hospital and with a human doctor and human nurses, but nobody seemed to mind at the time. Then again, his parents - both merfolk could easily pass as humans. When they weren’t out for blood - or a swim, nobody would guess. That might’ve saved their lives when the horde came. But … Michael wasn’t old enough to remember, he only heard the stories as he grew up. The stories of how the humans erased most of their family once upon a time. They used to live in a small village by the shore - with direct access to water. But that village was no more and shortly after that, Michael’s parents decided to leave town, too. They traveled for a long time, but eventually settled in Arizona over thirty-five years ago. 

He grew up a happy child, but during high school he noticed that he felt himself drawn to the unknown. His first crush wasn’t on a merman like himself - like his parents demanded, no. It was a wolf and Michael crashed hard. He learned a valuable lesson from that. Crushes don’t have to be reciprocated. Sometimes… they were just one-sided and it would be his luck to solemnly engage in that kind of experience through high school. He was cute, they told him, but not the kind of cute they were looking for. The pressure from his parents didn’t help, especially because they didn’t know he didn’t really find himself interested in merman at all. What could he say? He just .. found no appeal in them. At the young age of eighteen, Michael left Arizona to try and find a life of freedom and being himself in San Francisco. He got to be independent and free for a long while, but … love still didn’t want to find him, not for long anyway. Michael kept himself afloat with odd jobs here and there, lucky his landlord seemed to have taken a liking to him. When Michael fell in love… he did so with all of himself and no matter how often he told himself he was moving too fast… his heart decided it wanted what it wanted and most times that was a hook-up, one that never meant to stay. 

When lucky his relationships lasted a few months, but at some point in time his lovers would just …. leave. Michael couldn’t grasp why he was denied the joys of life this way when all he wanted was to love and be loved in return. He didn’t care about anything else. Sure, he loved his friends and family and all that, but … he wanted to find love. Hell, he left home to find it, knowing his parents would never let him be happy otherwise. He told his family, in a letter after an accident that almost killed him, that he .. would never be the son they wanted him to be. He’d never marry the person they chose for him. He’d never marry their chosen little mermaid. He didn’t want to. 

He thought he found true love in another wolf, in his twenties. A guy who definitely was too good for him, but when they ran into each other at the grocery store… the fire was real between them. They dated for a little while and everything seemed great, then Michale found out he was dating a doctor. Michael, the guy who - in his late twenties still lived on the goodwill of others and odd jobs. But .. they were happy? At least for a while, until the same thing that always happens .. happened. He messed up. 

Michael went out with friends and they were drinking and having fun and he let them talk him into participating in a wet panties contest, which … is exactly what it sounded like. They’d undress everything except their underwear, they’d dance and get wet. The prize was five-hundred dollars, too and Michael was fit, so his chances actually weren’t bad. He won. But he also lost at the same time, because his boyfriend and his posh friends had decided for a fun night out laughing at the mortals and the one bar they decided to go to… had Michael dancing almost naked on a table. 

He’d never felt this embarrassed. 

His boyfriend saw him and ran and despite chasing him half naked down the street.. he didn’t know humiliation until he opened his mouth. 

That break-up definitely had been one of the hardest. Michael dove into the nightlife for many years after, enjoying life and chasing pleasure and lust rather than to let his desire for love dictate his life. And that almost cost him his life. For a while it looked like Michael wasn’t going to leave the hospital alive, but … he made it. If.. with a permanent affliction to his name. HIV positive. 

The next time Michael fell in love… was his thirties. Honestly, this time.. he thought that was it. He thought that, mature as they were, that this was it. They both wanted love, they both wanted family. Stability. They were engaged when his fiancé decided that he didn’t want to live his life with a partner who was HIV positive. So… he left. Michael told himself he was done looking for love, because.. he thought he was. He wanted to be. But his heart never stopped looking. 

He left San Francisco after that, though and moved to New Haven. He’d .. fought the pressure for a while, but the humans were growing restless - a little more every day. His parents refused, so Michael went by himself. He finally got to work at that plant shop he’d always wanted and within the next ten years he should become its owner.

A broken heart can't look for love no more.

[mercursxd]

michael. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • isms. • memes. • thread tracker.

Is that MURRAY BARTLETT? No, that’s MICHAEL BAKER. The 45 year old MERMAN OMEGA MALE is a PLANT SHOP OWNER. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be BUBBLY & ROMANTIC, but beware, they’re also known to be SELF-CONSCIOUS & CLINGY. Their friends also say that they’re into BREEDING, ROMANCE & LEATHER but don’t you dare trying  GORE & SCAT with them.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Michael Baker

Nickname(s): n/a

Age: 45

Species: Merman

Secondary Gender: Omega

Occupation: Owner of Plant Parenthood

Family: tba (dame), tba (sire)

Mate: TBA

Likes: nature, peace, quiet, a good fight, training, spending time with his pups

Dislikes: 

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'9

Weight: 160 pounds

Build: fit

Hair Color: Brown/Gray

Eye Color: Blue

Wing Appearance: tba

Tattoos, scars: n/a

SEX

Kinks: Service Tops, Praise, Biting, Rimming (receiving), Spanking, Marking, Oral, Choking, Vanilla Sex, Leather

Anti-Kinks: Scat, Gore, Vore, Calling him Daddy

Note: He’s a bottom.

Michael was born on land, in a human hospital and with a human doctor and human nurses, but nobody seemed to mind at the time. Then again, his parents - both merfolk could easily pass as humans. When they weren’t out for blood - or a swim, nobody would guess. That might’ve saved their lives when the horde came. But … Michael wasn’t old enough to remember, he only heard the stories as he grew up. The stories of how the humans erased most of their family once upon a time. They used to live in a small village by the shore - with direct access to water. But that village was no more and shortly after that, Michael’s parents decided to leave town, too. They traveled for a long time, but eventually settled in Arizona over thirty-five years ago. 

He grew up a happy child, but during high school he noticed that he felt himself drawn to the unknown. His first crush wasn’t on a merman like himself - like his parents demanded, no. It was a wolf and Michael crashed hard. He learned a valuable lesson from that. Crushes don’t have to be reciprocated. Sometimes… they were just one-sided and it would be his luck to solemnly engage in that kind of experience through high school. He was cute, they told him, but not the kind of cute they were looking for. The pressure from his parents didn’t help, especially because they didn’t know he didn’t really find himself interested in merman at all. What could he say? He just .. found no appeal in them. At the young age of eighteen, Michael left Arizona to try and find a life of freedom and being himself in San Francisco. He got to be independent and free for a long while, but … love still didn’t want to find him, not for long anyway. Michael kept himself afloat with odd jobs here and there, lucky his landlord seemed to have taken a liking to him. When Michael fell in love… he did so with all of himself and no matter how often he told himself he was moving too fast… his heart decided it wanted what it wanted and most times that was a hook-up, one that never meant to stay. 

When lucky his relationships lasted a few months, but at some point in time his lovers would just …. leave. Michael couldn’t grasp why he was denied the joys of life this way when all he wanted was to love and be loved in return. He didn’t care about anything else. Sure, he loved his friends and family and all that, but … he wanted to find love. Hell, he left home to find it, knowing his parents would never let him be happy otherwise. He told his family, in a letter after an accident that almost killed him, that he .. would never be the son they wanted him to be. He’d never marry the person they chose for him. He’d never marry their chosen little mermaid. He didn’t want to. 

He thought he found true love in another wolf, in his twenties. A guy who definitely was too good for him, but when they ran into each other at the grocery store… the fire was real between them. They dated for a little while and everything seemed great, then Michale found out he was dating a doctor. Michael, the guy who - in his late twenties still lived on the goodwill of others and odd jobs. But .. they were happy? At least for a while, until the same thing that always happens .. happened. He messed up. 

Michael went out with friends and they were drinking and having fun and he let them talk him into participating in a wet panties contest, which … is exactly what it sounded like. They’d undress everything except their underwear, they’d dance and get wet. The prize was five-hundred dollars, too and Michael was fit, so his chances actually weren’t bad. He won. But he also lost at the same time, because his boyfriend and his posh friends had decided for a fun night out laughing at the mortals and the one bar they decided to go to… had Michael dancing almost naked on a table. 

He’d never felt this embarrassed. 

His boyfriend saw him and ran and despite chasing him half naked down the street.. he didn’t know humiliation until he opened his mouth. 

That break-up definitely had been one of the hardest. Michael dove into the nightlife for many years after, enjoying life and chasing pleasure and lust rather than to let his desire for love dictate his life. And that almost cost him his life. For a while it looked like Michael wasn’t going to leave the hospital alive, but … he made it. If.. with a permanent affliction to his name. HIV positive. 

The next time Michael fell in love… was his thirties. Honestly, this time.. he thought that was it. He thought that, mature as they were, that this was it. They both wanted love, they both wanted family. Stability. They were engaged when his fiancé decided that he didn’t want to live his life with a partner who was HIV positive. So… he left. Michael told himself he was done looking for love, because.. he thought he was. He wanted to be. But his heart never stopped looking. 

He left San Francisco after that, though and moved to New Haven. He’d .. fought the pressure for a while, but the humans were growing restless - a little more every day. His parents refused, so Michael went by himself. He finally got to work at that plant shop he’d always wanted and within the next ten years he should become its owner.

A broken heart can't look for love no more.

[onbanksofadragonriver]

“You’re free to atone as the man you are.”

[sanjisblackasswife]

Sjskwjskwk I had a cute random thought and I would LOOOOVE if you attempted it!! (Pretty please) Jus a cute lil short of reader attempting to make her own food because she feels she’s a bother to Sanji since he’s always making her things. Kind of like wanting to make him something in return but she fails miserable and he catches her in the act?? Idk random ik lmao but it would be darn cute😪😪💙

That’s TEW cute. Okay, enjoy!

Baking for Sanji (FLUFF)

WC: 900

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: None! Alotta fluff though.

-

“So two cups of milk—dammit where is the measuring cup?”

You managed to have the kitchen to yourself now that everybody has gone to bed. Even the cook of the ship considering he was exhausted from not only making meals all day but from having to fight off countless unneeded enemies that approached you all in the sea.

You couldn’t help, but notice how quick and swift Sanji was to save you from many close calls as you were fighting as well and he does it constantly. Sure, you all have grown to respect, know, and even become a family so it’s normal you all have each others back and it’s appreciated without saying, acts of service was everybody’s love language to each other including you, but you also wanted to give him a little something as a thank you. He mentioned he enjoyed a specific pastry once, but he never had the time to make it and you actually knew what he wanted because you’ve had it before in your childhood.

However you wasn’t a very good baker, but you wanted to try it none the less and surprise him that morning. As a thank you.

“Dang it!” You screamed the metal mixing bowl slipping from your clumsy fingers and crashing onto the recently cleaned floors. You mentally slap yourself hoping nobody heard and comes rushing in. It was already a pain to get Luffy out of the kitchen before you started.

The kitchen that was usually filled with delicious aroma that could overflow the ship was now filled with burning crust and sounds of the fire alarm going off. Your Sanji’s apron was covered in chocolate and flour as well as your hair, face and arms, you immediately grabbed a towel to fan out the smoke curses flow out your mouth of how annoyed you were at this whole silly situation and you hope Sanji doesn’t get too mad if he caught you ruining his kitchen.

“Y/N?”

You felt you organs drop down your stomach, you turned slowly, face hot as can be hoping it wasn’t the cook, but of course it was.

“What—what are doing? Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry!” You groaned in defeat leaning on the kitchen island, “I am I really wanted to make that chocolate pastry you liked and surprise you, but my dumbass can’t bake for crap so I thought okay maybe if I followed the directions I wouldn’t mess up, but half of your cookbooks are in French and I could only use the pictures, and then I panicked an—“

Sanji Just started laughing, his voice erupted in the room and bouncing off the walls, the look of pure horror and panic was so cute to him. He stared at you the entire time with big round hearts, you were so cute! You had on his apron that he never really cared to use, but it fit you like a glove, it reminded him so much of when he first started cooking. Of course he wasn’t angry, he was flattered.

“Hey! Stop laughing!” You poured out your lip sulking on the messy counter, he wiped his teary eyes and pulled out a cigarette to light before coming next to you and rubbing your back. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat. He would have ate it whether it came out perfect or burnt. The thought of you cooking for him out of the blue made him smile with glee. Sanji turned at the mess you made did happily sighed.

“How about we bake it together, sweetheart?”

You side eye’s him, your cheeks warmed again seeing as he was so close to your side, hand dangerously low on your back tracing shapes on your skin. He grabs the towel and wipes your cheek gently, earning him a small grin from you.

“You’re not mad?”

“Never! I could never be mad at you! It’s the thought that counts, my love! Besides you look so amazing in that apron!”

His heart eyes were all over your body, he truly adorned you and so you both spent the night in the kitchen baking and having some nice quality time together. Sanji usually doesn’t enjoy cooking with others, but you made it fun.

Mostly because all you did was keep him company as you talked and taste tested for him while sitting on the counter.

“And Voilà!” He pulled out the plate to you, they looked and smelled amazing, your eyes drooling over the sweet treats in front of you and there was no mess to clean afterwards.

“Perfect as always, Mr. Prince.”

He blushed, taking a pastry in his hand he held it up to your mouth , “Say ah.”

You do as told and took a bite, he smiled at your happy reaction to the taste, it was heavenly,

“Thank you! Next time I have to bake for you though!”

“No worries, Angel. Its my pleasure to feed you.” Sanji kissed your forehead before giving you another pastry to eat, but this time you pulled him in between your legs and fed him.

“Say ah.”

His face was so cutely pink as you placed it in his mouth to bite into making you giggle, it reminded you of when you were a kidand you expressed that to him before as he was mixing the ingredients which is why he made sure to take his time, because as much as you appreciated Sanji he damn sure appreciated you.