#ooc. and then realizes he wants him 'carnally'

[saturnmused]

nhalin losing his virginity to astarion? more likely than you'd think--

[missaengg]

Caught Red-Handed

Day 6 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptations hosted by @xxsycamore Featuring: Love and Deepspace | Zayne x f!reader Tags: mdni, shameless smut, face fucking, rough oral sex, rough sex, spanking, punishment/discipline, vaginal sex, creampie Prompts: Discipline/Punishment | "You know what happens when you do that." A/N: Decided to combine the prompt list hosted by @natimiles, @valkyyriia, and @candied-boys found here with the dialogue prompt list hosted by @xxsycamore found here. Zayne is OOC for this fic, but the prompts made me think of MC stealing Zayne's macarons and thus this fic was born. Enjoy! ao3 link here.

“You know what happens when you do that.”

A deep, stern voice cuts through the darkness. You freeze, flinching when the light flickers on and catches you hunched over in the act of sneaking towards the fridge.

“I told you the macarons were for tomorrow.” He steps closer, closing the distance between where you’re standing and the kitchen entrance. “I told you what would happen if you don’t listen to me.”

You straighten your posture, plastering a giant, fawning smile on your face. “I wasn’t going for the macarons!”

He arches an eyebrow at your blatant lie, and in a silky tone asks, “And that’s why were you sneaking through the kitchen in the dark?”

“I was thirsty. I wanted to get something to drink.”

“Mmhmm…” Zayne hums, taking another step closer. “And that’s why you were hunched over like a cat burglar?”

“I– I–” you stammer, eyes darting about the kitchen for an excuse, any excuse you could use to throw him off the scent.

Zayne reaches you, and you scuffle back trying to leave some space between the two of you, jumping when your back hits the fridge with nowhere to run. “Admit it, darling. You were going for my special, gourmet, blueberry macarons that I was saving for tomorrow.”

You gulp, the flinty glint in Zayne’s eye pinning you even further back onto the solid appliance behind you. “I– I wasn’t. I swear,” you sputter quickly, but you can tell he isn’t buying it.

He traces his finger down your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Do I need to punish you? For disobeying me? For lying?” He gathers both of your wrists, pinning them in place above your head, leaving you vulnerable to him. Leaning on his other forearm against the fridge, he towers over you intimidatingly, his tall, broad stature swamping your much shorter frame.

“No?” you squeak out, shivering at the absolute carnal heat in Zayne’s stare.

The corner of his mouth pops up at your shivering body, relishing the fear flooding your face. “Too late, darling. I think I need to remind you what happens when you disobey me.” His hands graze down to your collarbone, resting dangerously above your heaving chest.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of the fact you’re not wearing a bra under a fairly thin shirt that will do absolutely nothing to hide the effect Zayne’s having on you, and when an ominous, smug smirk crosses his face, you realize that he’s most definitely noticed the way your body’s responding to him.

“Oh? Does your body remember? Or maybe…” he traces the outline of your breast coming dangerously close to the small bump peeking through your shirt without touching it, “…maybe you enjoy it when I punish you.”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper hoarsely, swallowing thickly. You’re trembling, and if it wasn’t for the way your nipples poked through your shirt, it would be easy to assume you were trembling from fear, not anticipation. But not Zayne. Zayne knows you too well. He knows when you’re trembling in fear and when you’re trembling in excitement.

“Hm.” Zayne’s large hand roughly squeezes your breast in his palm, just hard enough to let you know he means business. “Still lying to me.”

“I’m not— I’m not—” you stutter as Zayne pinches your nipple, hard, a hiss instinctively escaping you at the sudden pain. You debate whether you’ve come too far to admit to lying about the macarons, about lying to him, and about savoring the way he manhandled you when he pushed you, but the pain and resulting pleasure muddles your brain making it difficult to think.

“Darling, if you come clean, I’m willing to be lenient with you.”

“I–” you begin, but the way Zayne is roughing you up is sending delicious tingles down your spine, pooling into an electrifying puddle in your core demanding more. You wonder just how much harder he would go if you refuse to acquiesce. “I’m not lying.”

“I see.” You can see the displeasure that settles on Zayne’s forehead breaking his usual stoic nature, but underneath the displeasure rumbles a feral hunger, one that would devour you if you both were to allow it. “Naughty girl, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

He kisses you forcefully, demanding entry, claiming your tongue. You eagerly follow, the thrill of his dominance over you bringing forth a neediness in you, a desire to be consumed. His kisses are relentless waves, crashing down on your lips without any room to breathe or gather your bearings. The growing throb between your legs aches with a ferocity, and your aching cunt grinds against him, delighting in the bulge that’s developed in his plants. You jerk back into the fridge abruptly when Zayne bites down savagely on your bottom lip.

“Not yet. You don’t get to cum until I say you can cum. Do you understand me?” The steely frown Zayne is giving you steals the oxygen from your lungs, your breath catching in your throat as he stares you down with his sharp hazel green eyes. “Darling, do you understand me?”

You weakly nod, but the frown on Zayne’s face deepens.

“Tell me you understand me.” He waits until you utter a simple ‘yes’ in reply, and then releases your arms, pushing you down to your knees. Zayne undoes his belt and pants, shoving them to the floor into a pool around his ankles, his erection springing free in your face.

You can’t help, but stare at it standing prominent and proud against his lower stomach, the tip leaking a single glistening bead his underwear wasn’t able to wick away. Your mouth parts involuntarily, your tongue darting out and running along your lips at the sight before you.

Zayne has his hand over his erection, sliding up and down the shaft. “Open,” he commands, and as you do so, he grabs the back of your head, guiding it to his cock. “Take it.”

You place your mouth over the tip, the tip alone filling your mouth. Zayne twitches, a harsh grunt escaping him at the way your lips close over him, enveloping him in the warmth of your mouth. Galvanized by his reaction, you suck down, but yelp when Zayne snaps your head back by your hair.

“Not tonight.”

Tears sting your eyes from the prickle of pain on your scalp, but you understand when your eyes meet his, and you see the cloud of ravenous lust hanging in them. Zayne tangles his fingers in your hair, gripping tightly to the point you’re sure he’s pulled out at least several strands. Sparing you no mercy, he thrusts into your mouth forcing your jaw open wider to take his sizable girth. His pace is furious, using the back of your head to slam mercilessly down your throat with each pump. You grip his thighs wretchedly, focusing on trying not to choke, tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill over.

“Good girl, taking your punishment so well,” Zayne purrs in between guttural grunts. “Is that why you disobeyed me? You wanted me to punish you?”

Your tears finally spill over, dripping down and mixing with the frothy saliva covering his dick, the sight of which only encourages Zayne to fuck your mouth with more zeal. You whimper around his cock, his fingers tangled in your hair in a vice grip, holding your head in place for his feverish rutting.

“What’s that, darling? You want more?”

You look up at him through tear-soaked lashes, your hooded eyes begging for him to touch you. A lecherous, predatory leer flashes across his face. Your mouth is on fire, but you can barely feel the pain so enraptured by the brutality of his dick driving in and out of your drooling mouth and the feverish heat settling in your throbbing cunt desperate for him to brutalize you there once he was done using your mouth.

“Heh…” Zayne somehow picks up the pace, going even faster than he was previously, if that was even possible. “I’m going to cum, and you’re going to swallow every last drop. Do you hear me?”

He’s buried deep down your throat when he states his intention to cum, and your nose brushes the locks of dark, curly hair at his hilt as you nod. He pumps furiously. Once. Twice. Three times, and then he bursts, spurts of hot cum shooting into the back of your throat rapidly. His cum is exiting so quickly you struggle to keep up, choking down his load in your attempts to swallow.

“Good girl,” Zayne pants, holding your head prisoner deep on his cock while it pulsates in your mouth. “Take it all.”

He only releases you when his cock stops pulsing, pulling you off of him. You can only sit there dazed, cockdrunk, staring up at him with hooded lids. You imagine the filthy mess you must look, drool and cum smeared across your lips, dripping down your chin, hair tangled from Zayne’s fingers, eyes red and swollen.

“Aw, spent already?” he coos wiping away the remnants of his fucking off the corner of your lip with a sick, sinister sneer. “Well, too bad, darling because I’m not quite done with you yet. Strip.”

Your hands move before your brain processes what Zayne’s said to you, clutching the hem of your shirt and pulling it off over your head.

“Faster,” Zayne barks.

You’re trembling so hard your fingers fumble with difficulty undoing the buttons and zipper of your pants. Zayne growls ferociously, his patience wearing thin, and forcing you onto all fours, rips off the last articles of clothing covering your body. You hear Zayne rustling behind you, his breaths thick and heavy in the otherwise quiet kitchen. You’re helplessly naked on all fours on his cold kitchen tile, legs spread apart giving Zayne an obscene view of your sopping cunt, slick with how much you want him.

You can feel him kneel into position, and after a brief pause, you jolt with a start at the heavy thwack raining down on your ass. You sharply exhale, your knees buckling from the biting, lingering pain.

“Disregarding doctor’s orders.”

Thwack.

“Lying to me.”

Thwack.

“Shall I go on?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sobs rising in your throat, but another biting smack releases the cries you’re holding back.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

You pitifully nod, shaking from the pain radiating up your back and down your legs. From past experience you know your ass is colored a brilliant hue of bright red, and you know what will come next, a filthy, merciless pummeling of your slutty little cunt.

Zayne peers at you, his dark, narrowed eyes appraising you carefully. “No, I don’t think you have.”

He seizes the sides of your hips, and without warning, Zayne plunges deep into you. You let out a strangled cry at the sudden intrusion and sharp pain as his hefty dick callously sinks into you, dropping to your elbows.

“Za– Zayne,” you gasp, your hands clawing at the tiled floor with nothing to hold onto.

Zayne fucks into you ruthlessly, his fingernails digging into the sides of your hips drawing crescent-shaped lines of blood.

“Oh, fuck, Zayne,” you barely moan, the feel of him battering your cervix and dragging along your walls mixing pain with pleasure.

Zayne’s animalistic grunts alongside the torrid slaps of flesh on flesh fill your ears. He’s fucking into you with vehemency, driving into you so deep so quickly, it leaves you with no respite from his battering assault. Without missing a beat, Zayne hauls you until you’re upright and bouncing on Zayne’s lap, one arm wrapped around your waist and manhandling you on his cock, the other snaked around your chest with two of his fingers shoved in your mouth. You suckle on his digits, moaning around his knuckles, pussy clamping down on his rutting dick.

“Fuck,” Zayne groans at the sensation of your orifices tightening around him. “Such a… naughty girl.” His pace is growing erratic, a sign he’s ready to snap. “Cum for me. Say my name when you cum.”

The ferocity of your pussy clamping onto him is also a sign of your impending eruption. By this point, you’re seeing flashes of stars, the dull ache of his cock ramming against your cervix combined with jolts of white-hot electricity pushing you beyond your limits. “Zayne, I’m– I’m close.” He’s pushing deeper and deeper into you, harder and harder until you’re sure your folds will be just as bruised as your cervix inside. You’re wailing as each snap of his hips edges you closer to bliss as his hands roam and pinch at your flesh. Your head snaps back, and screaming his name, eyes rolling back into your head, you feel your walls pulsate in a frenzy.

Your shuddering ecstasy snaps the last shred of self-composure Zayne has, and he hurls himself into you releasing ribbons of his cum, each wave milked from his cock by your walls rippling along his shaft in a vice grip. Each wave fills you to the brim, the excess sliding down your thighs, hot and blistering on your skin. His hold on you relaxes, and you slide to the floor, not having the strength to support yourself without Zayne’s help.

The cold of the tile seeps into your back as you lay there panting shallowly, eyes half-closed, Zayne’s cum leaking out of your stretched, gaping hole and down your ass in surges. Zayne chuckles from above taking in your used form – battered, bruised, abused – and presses a bruising kiss to your lips.

“I hope you learned your lesson, darling.”

You nod, only half hearing him in your exhausted blissed-out daze.

“You won’t steal my macarons again in the future, will you?”

“No,” you whisper.

“Good girl.”

A sudden chill blows over you when Zayne opens the refrigerator door, illuminating how flushed you still felt from Zayne’s ravenous activities. He rummages for a moment before snapping the door shut, and something cold presses against your lips. You open your mouth without thinking, allowing him to shove something in. Chewing, you note the delicate crunchy texture and the taste of sweet blueberry on your tongue.

“You took me so well, I’m giving you a reward,” Zayne purrs silkily, smoothing your hair back and watching you eat his macaron. “Say thank you, Zayne.”

“Thank you, Zayne.”

Zayne brusquely captures your lips, stealing some of your reward still present in your mouth, and dragging his tongue along the trails left by your tears, he murmurs, “That’s my good girl.”

[mini-ism]

#— CORRUPTION FT. WELT

⋆ warnings: ADULT CONTENT (MDNI). corruption kink, slight manipulation, pretty ooc, praise kink, loss of innocence. NO BETA READ!

⋆ pairings: welt yang x reader (gender neutral)

⋆ notes: i just thought welt with a corruption kink would be hot 😓 hopefully this fulfills its intended purpose

⋆ welt just can’t get enough of you, of this. you’re just so, so good, and he’s just a dirty old man. you look so incredible, so delicate, so innocent, even while you sit on his cock. you ask him, “am i doing it right?” awaiting his praise. he tells you that you’re doing wonderfully, that you’re so good for him. you love the way his praises make you feel. he loves that you’ll do anything, even if it’s dirty and against your morals, just for his approval.

⋆ welt loves when you bend over for him. he loves how apprehensive you are at first, but when it’s him and his sweet, loving words, you’ll submit. he loves that you don’t know how dirty he is, how dirty his actions are. you’re his perfect little angel, he’s gonna show you what feels really good.

⋆ welt adores how you’ve grown to love the vulgar things he makes you do for him. he loves how lewd you can get, mostly without realizing it. his encouragement can push you to do absolutely anything. he loves the way you’ll let him touch you whenever, he loves when you submit without any defiance. he adores when he gets to use you like a toy.

⋆ welt gets so turned on when you beg for more. something about seeing you lose your innocence, piece by piece, to him, while you mewl for more is so erotic. you beg for him to do filthier things to you, to defile your being and innocence, to take over your every thought, to make you sex-crazed and impure. he adores the power he has over you, stirring that greedy part of you to ask for more.

⋆ welt’s actions and words are so different, he’s particularly brutal with the way he fucks you, but the way he speaks to you makes you scream for him, scream for more, it pushes you to your absolute limit. he urges you to let go of your purity, to ignore every limit and every ounce of morality left within you. he’s so good at what he does, he’s so good at getting you to do what he wants. it’s hot watching you submit to the carnal pleasure he’s giving you, watching the innocence in your eyes twinkle and fade away. you’re so naughty for him.

[ryukatters]

Ok so imagine:

Gojo is pretty emotionally disconnected from most, refuses to let himself get attached most of the time after everything thats happened to him.

And then you show up

He doesn’t want to slip up. He doesnt want to form another bond like that. But its like he can’t stop it. Maybe you just remind him of what he’s lost, maybe it’s the way you see him as him rather than “the strongest,” an annoyance, or something shallow. It happens slow, so slow he barely even picks it up, but the feelings bloom. You just enrapture him. And he remembers everything that happened last time he got so close to another person, and he’s terrified to accept it but terrified to turn it away and loose the last chance he might have at a relationship like that.

so he takes it, tries to claim you in every sense of the word. You’re weaker than him, possibly even an underling, so there’s definitely a power dynamic that makes it easier for him to keep control. Maybe he tries to keep you hidden, but maybe he likes to drag you around like a dog, only loaning you off to somebody else when it gets too dangerous. Either way, it’s not like you can run because he’d definitely find you. He is absolutely NOT going to lose something so important to him, not again. He’d do whatever it takes, even if it meant making himself look like the bad guy in your eyes because you understand him so well, so he’s sure he can turn your relationship back to the positive side with just a little explanation and coercion

(idk if this may be a bit ooc but… its been rotting in my brain ty for letting me dump it here)

trigger warnings/content: yandere, stalking, power dynamics, obsession, Gojo is a few years older than reader, no smut, just word vomit

It starts off small. You’re a budding sorcerer, a few years Gojo’s junior, and also a new teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High, trying to adjust to your new job. Gojo takes it upon himself to mentor you. You don’t think anything of it, other than the fact that it’s a little intimidating to have the strongest sorcerer of the era to serve as your guide.

You’re strong, he can see. You’re hardened by a few rough years of working in the field, but even despite barely meeting you, your facade cracks and he can see the goodness underneath.

Gojo’s impenetrable most days. To a lot of people, he might be a loud, annoying nuisance, but to you, you see a broken man who tries to keep everyone at arm’s length at the expense of his pride and reputation as a formidable sorcerer.

Gojo’s extremely intelligent, and uses it to play his cards wisely. It took him years to build a persona that’ll prevent outsiders from ever looking in. You manage to unravel him day by day, and it almost frustrates him.

Almost.

Until he realizes there’s no point in fighting the inevitable— he’ll have to let you in eventually.

There’s a fear in Gojo’s eyes when he sees you. It’s like all tomorrows appear in a blink. Your entire essence, so good, so innocent about the cruelty of the world. It reminds him of innocence he once had in his youth. Something about you is so magnetizing, and no matter how much Gojo wants to fight it, he can’t help but be pulled in.

He wants you. And he wants you to want him. Need him. Desire him carnally in the way he does you.

Slowly, he lets you see parts of him that no one else has ever seen. His love is so overwhelming, and because it’s Satoru— with his sweet words and seemingly good intentions— he manages to have you fall for him too. And when he finally, officially has you (because let’s face it, he decided you were his long before that point), he manages to keep you under lock and key.

For your safety, he reasons.

After all— is he really the strongest if he doesn’t do what he can to keep you safe?

The rose colored glasses seem to wear off over time, and you start to see Gojo for the monster he really is.

It takes a few months of garnering courage to even attempt to begin planning your escape from him. You do it slowly, but carefully, calculating every step to make sure you don’t leave a trail behind.

You get one of the auxiliary managers to buy you a back up phone, set up a whole new bank account overseas, and eventually *secretly* book a ticket to a whole different country— one far from the grasp of Satoru Gojo.

Fate, by some miracle, seems to be on your side. Yaga calls both of you in for an emergency meeting. Gojo is being sent away on a week long mission abroad to snuff out a new curse user group that has connections to one here in Japan. You— a local mission to check out disappearances in a nearby town.

You can feel the hostility radiating from the man standing next to you. You dare to take a peek, and you see nothing but an airy smile. “Yaga, I’ll take care of their mission. It should be quick for me—“

“No, Satoru. They haven’t been on a mission in months, thanks to you being greedy and taking on everything. Being a good mentor means letting them take calculated risks.”

With that, both of you sign off on paperwork and begin to prepare for your respective missions. The atmosphere is tense in Gojo’s home— the same one he made you move into just a few months prior (“So you don’t have to worry about commuting so far. ‘Sides, there’s a lot of creeps lurking around out there, and I’m not talking about curses.”)

Gojo refuses to leave you until he makes sure that you’ll be safe. Borderline threatens Ijichi to keep a close eye on you, and the poor man is nothing short of pissing his pants.

He pulls you aside before Ijichi starts preparing the veil. One hand rests on your waist, squeezing almost a little bit too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go, while the other tilts your chin up so you can meet his gaze.

He has his blindfold on, but you know all of his attention is on you. “I know you won’t have service inside the veil, but the second it gets lifted you’re going to call me.”

You nod, and listen like the good girl he likes you to be. With that, he gives you a kiss on the forehead before he leaves.

You manage to locate the missing victims and exorcise the curse in less than 48 hours. You do as you’re told and call Gojo. He picks up after the first ring, and you think you can hear a shuddered sigh of relief on the other line upon hearing your voice. He tells you he has to go, only because duty calls, and that he’ll talk to you soon. Be good. Update him. Don’t leave without permission.

As usual, you appease him.

You make it back home in record time, tell Ijichi to wait outside because you need him to take you somewhere.

You leave your phone behind— the one that Gojo has the location of— and shut the door with nothing but a small suitcase in tow.

Ijichi stammers, you want to go where? Alone? Does Gojo know about this?

You tell him there’s no time for questions and to start driving.

He drops you off at Narita, in the international terminal. He’s visibly sweating, no doubt fearing for both his life and yours once a certain white haired sorcerer gets back from his mission. You give him an easy smile and thank him, and he speeds off, probably to go into hiding as well.

Your hands are shaky as you hand the boarding pass to the flight crew, and the tremors don’t stop even as you take a seat inside the plane. Even when you arrive at your destination, lay down in your bed in what’s going to be your temporary home for who knows how long, does your anxiety fail to cease.

Gojo knows something is off. He’s blown up your phone with endless calls and texts, called Ijichi countless times, and even asked Yaga about your whereabouts. Nothing. Your radio silence confirms his intuition. He finishes up his mission quickly, before the one week allotment is up. The first thing he does when he steps foot in Japan is immediately teleport back home.

He’s met with silence, and hardly any trace of your cursed energy residuals to be seen. You’ve been gone for a few days, he deduces.

Anxiety starts to prickle the back of his neck, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt this much concern for anyone. Are you hurt? He tries calling you again, until he hears it. The slight buzzing sound emanating from your shared bedroom.

He picks up the device and sees the log of notifications. You really were gone.

Satoru looks through your phone— messages, emails, camera roll, bank statements— anything, anything to give him a hint as to what you were up to. Nothing. That’s okay, onto the next plan, which is honestly what he should’ve done first.

Being the strongest sorcerer had its perks, but none of them were greater than his privilege to investigate into people’s background history.

You know deep down there really was no escape from Satoru Gojo. That no matter the distance, he’d find a way back to you.

So when you see Gojo sitting on your bed in your hotel room, a part of you isn’t that surprised. The rest of you is paralyzed with anxiety of what comes next. You want to run, but you can’t. Your eyes begin to shift towards the still open door, trying to assess your options, but you’re hardly given a chance to finish your thought before Gojo is in front of you, closing the door. Effectively shut away from the outside world.

He’s not wearing his blindfold, you noticed. Which means he’s probably been tracking the flow of your cursed energy the moment you stepped foot into the lobby.

His stormy gaze meets yours, and he smiles. Your stomach drops.

“So…” he starts, voice sinfully low, “thought you could get away, hm?” He’s backed you up against the door, his strong frame pressed against yours.

Words bubble up your throat but die as they reach the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to set him off. You’ve only been given small glimpses into Gojo’s more sadistic, domineering side, which he does on purpose to serve as warning. You’re not like anyone else, so I’ll be good to you. In return, you must be good for me.

You start to tremble, legs beginning to fail you— but Satoru’s there to hold you steady. He uses one hand to grip your face, squishing both of your cheeks until your lips are pursed. He watches with deep adoration and fascination at how pliant the flesh is between his fingers. It’s like you were made for him.

“I’m willing to forget that you did this,” he hums, placing a quick peck to the tip of your nose before he presses his forehead against yours. “If you promise to get in that bed with me until I’ve decided you’re forgiven.”

Work belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not repost, recommend, or translate my writing on TikTok or Twitter.

[archivesofthevoid]

Would you mind if I request kissing headcanons for Rolan, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin with gender neutral s/o?

It's currently 4 am as I'm writing this and pulling this all out of a magic hat (aka my brain) so HERE WE GO!!

Rolan: personally I do not know that much about him yet!!! Though I'm going to try based off the vibes of what I've seen from him. So I apologize here if it's ooc!! But I think his kisses would be very.. sophisticated? Like okay- they're so loving and soft. Light, too. Sometimes it feels like he's trying to keep them professional and away from prying eyes. HOWEVER there's some times when he's a bit more vulnerable and he holds you for a moment longer than he should. You both don't often get a chance alone together but when you do, he's grabbing you by your cheeks in the most gentle way he can muster and kissing you like it's his life support. Which sometimes, it kind of is.

Astarion: oh boy. See this guy? His kisses can vary. At first they were rough and seemed to be fueled purely with carnal desire. However as time goes on and the two of you become more entrapped with one another, you notice he's become softer. More delicate. He likes the kiss to last and for it to linger on your lips after it's over. Other days when he's feeling down and vulnerable because of everything going on (specifically with Cazador) - those moments where his head gets to him and he's scared he's going to lose you or get taken back?? He kisses you so desperately. He'll cling to you and press into your lips. It's full of despair, desire, and need. Belonging. He needs that reassurance that you're here and that you're real. That you'll stay. Please don't ever go, he needs you so bad even if he sucks at showing it.

Gale: at first his kisses were unsure. With the whole loyalty to Mystra thing he's got conditioned into his brain - he felt like he was betraying her. Though as time went on he realized he actually loved you. Whatever he felt with Mystra he realized wasn't genuine. Well at least not on Mystra's end. But with you, it's different. He knows you love him and care for him. You don't see him as some prize to flaunt off to others for power. So after awhile, his kisses become sickeningly sweet. Sometimes they're rushed if you guys are quick to set out on the road again. Other times he will let them linger. Or sometimes he'll give you multiple kisses in one go which leaves the both of you giggling at the end. He's such a hopeless romantic that once he actually has you the way you want him, he's completely whipped for you. He's the type of man who loves with his whole being like it's breathing.

Wyll: he's actually such a big sweetie that it definitely shows in his kisses :(( /pos!! They're never long and don't often linger. Very light and sweet like warm sugar. Sometimes he doesn't even kiss you on the lips. His go to places most of the time is on your wrist, your knuckles, your forehead or your cheek. He really loves to grab your hand and press a kiss into it while smiling at you. His eyes hold so much warmth in them that you could feel like you're drowning if you're not careful. He's so caring and gentle. He's the type to cover you head to toe in tiny little kisses if you'd let him. Sure, kisses on the lips are nice but he wants to cherish every part of you he can.

Halsin: another man who worships you and the ground you walk on. Most of his kisses are on your forehead, cheek, or shoulders. He tends to your wounds first out of everyone in the party and spends the most time on you. Even if you're all healed up, he's still there - telling you how strong you are for standing your ground with such a violent battle. He leaves kisses in his wake wherever he can. His kiss to your lips though? They're so brutal. It's like his carnal beastly urges come out to play when he kisses your lips. Sometimes, much like Astarion, he uses his teeth. He'll nip at your lip and plead for you to just let him devour your mouth with his own. He doesn't often give these types of kisses because quite frankly he holds himself back. If you ask though he'd be more than willing to kiss you like that more often.

[monaisdark]

KEN x READER

➵ cws; f!reader, noncon, misogyny, talk of virginities, unrequited feelings, slight thoughts of death at very end, reader is a doll, bad ken :( ➵ a/n; ken is definitely ooc but idc i need him carnally. wrote this so fast after seeing the movie (amazing btw) spoilers be warned!!! p.s inbox is open ^^

Barbie's plan is in motion, and it seems like everything is going perfectly. Dolls are getting un-brainwashed left and right, including you. The moment you snap out of your trance and look down to see the incredibly small pink skirt and lace top dawning on your body, you can’t ever believe you agreed to wear that when Beach Ken gave it to you from Stereotypical Barbie’s wardrobe.

Ken. The one who started this mess. The one had you serving brewski beers and listening to long explanations on stuff you pretended to care about. A certain emotion pooled in your would-be stomach.

The Ken you used to watch pine after Barbie so deeply, the one that you always tried to console when Barbie rejected his advances. Now he’s taken over her house; well, Barbieland in general. How could he?

As Stereotypical Barbie hugs and welcomes you back as you leave the van, a thought pipes in your head. Maybe he’s doing this because Barbie doesn’t want him. She was so headstrong, front and center in every party she hosted, her smile iconic in every way imaginable. And Ken… was always on the side. Whenever he danced with you at her parties, his eyes were glued to her.

It hits you, he thinks this will work. That maybe she’ll turn around and jump into his arms once she notices what a big, strong, man he is. It won’t work and you know. But, he doesn’t. 

A Barbie fills you in on what they’re doing, and how they want you to distract Beach Ken as long as possible while they round up more Barbies to un-brainwash them. Telling you how it’s perfect since he had you around a lot and he’ll be none the wiser to realize everything that’s happening.

♡♡♡

“Hi, Ken!” You exclaimed as he let you into his dojo mojo casa house. “Hi, (Y/N)!” A smile framed his face once he saw you. The artificial-looking moon hovered in the sky as a quiet hum surrounded you in the empty neighborhood.

“I was looking for you, how come you aren’t with everyone at the bonfire on the beach?” His face seemed to drop but he didn’t let go of his macho persona. “Wasn’t feelin’ it. Rather…” He thought for a second, “Watch horses. Y’know. Man things.”

You nodded, “Oh, yeah! Love all these horses you have around.” It clicked that he was avoiding things, avoiding Barbie. He wanted so desperately for her to come to his door. For her to come to him. Instead, it was you who knocked and stood in her clothes. 

He huffed thanks and sat on the couch, you following beside him as he stared at a white horse gallop loop on the screen in front of both of you. It was obvious he was still bothered by his situation. A pang of sympathy left at the tip of your tongue, “Are you okay?”

This seemed to stir something in Ken, the air felt thick. “What am I doing wrong?” His voice was low. So quiet that you were almost sure it was like he didn’t want you to hear him.

But you did and you felt… bad for him. You grabbed his hands that laid on his lap with one of yours, “Ken, you can’t make something that won’t happen, happen.”

He brought his eyes from the TV to now stare at you. His blue eyes held something brooding behind them, but it didn’t deter you from continuing. “Some Barbies don’t have a Ken. Not everyone is made to follow a set of expectations, like how there’s one Alan… or me.” You trail off to include yourself, hoping he sees how you understand him.

“What I’m saying is, it’s okay that Barbie doesn’t want to be with you. I’m sure there’s more for you out here. Someone for you.” You tighten the soft grip you have on his hands to show comfort. 

His face is almost unreadable, an uncomfortable silence echoes in the living room as you wonder if you messed up in trying to help. His hands now grasped yours, although a lot tighter than you’d liked. Ken chuckled, but it carried a sense of something you couldn't quite place.

“I’m an idiot!” His voice finally booms to break the silence in the house, “You’re right. You’re right. I don’t need her.” You would’ve been more optimistic in helping with his realization of independency but the grip he had on your hand was starting to hurt.

“I’ve spent so long trying to make her notice me, but why would I need her when I have you?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to stand but he immediately brought you back down on the couch.

“No, no. That's not what I meant, listen to me–” He inched closer to you, using his strength to pin you down on the large couch. “No, you’re supposed to listen to me.” Betrayal, sadness, fear. So many emotions you weren’t used to swirled inside of you. 

“You’re perfect, y’know? I’ve been thinking about this, us. I wasn’t sure but the way you’ve been by my side all this time, so ready to make me feel better.” He speaks as one of his hands leaves your wrists to dough at your breasts through your lace top.

“So happy to follow me around with bewski beers and to wear the cute little outfits I picked out for you. Dare I say, you look better than Barbie in them.” A dark laugh left his lips, the contrast making your stomach turn as he ignored your small pleas for him to let you go. “Now I see so clearly. We should’ve been together all this time! Ken and (Y/N). I like the sound of that more.” 

You weren’t sure why your chest seemed to pound, or your mouth felt dry, or why tears pricked in your eyes. This wasn’t meant to happen. “What– what are you doing?” You felt almost twice as small as you normally were, wishing your body would shrink and wiggle out of his grasp.

His hand trailed from your chest to under your skirt, between your legs. A gasp left you when he rubbed the foreign part of you covered by a thin underwear.

“The books I’ve read said this,” His hand gave you an oddly warm sensation down there, “It’s important for us to be together. To make you mine.” Suddenly he spread your legs apart to peel down your underwear.

You’re terrified to move, not even noticing that there wasn’t a grip on your wrists anymore. His demeanor alone was enough to keep you down. 

You knew what you had down there, a vagina, and you knew Ken had a penis. Though everyone in Barbieland had one or the other, nobody acknowledged it. It wasn’t something that was shunned per se, but it was like how some dolls had breasts and other’s didn’t. The peak of anything suggestive was making out, and even that disinterested you.

Now, whatever Ken is doing, is making you feel as if you're about to melt. His fingers circle around your entrance and you don’t even get enough time to get used to that feeling before he pulls away and starts lowering down his joggers to free his aching cock. His stupid faux mink coat already having been long discarded right next to your underwear. 

His breathing is heavy, “That should be good, right? You’re ready now? For the sex?” Ken stares at your flushed state with lidded eyes, “I can’t wait anymore. Don’t worry, it should feel amazing!”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s kissing you now, loud moans leave his lips as he sinks into you. Pain. It hurts so bad. Whatever he said about being ready, you definitely weren’t.

The stretching tears you apart and you’re unsure if the burn will ever go away. Ken’s body lays on top of you, a blubbering mess. “Ah, ah, this– this is great, so good.” 

So many feelings overwhelm you in a way that it makes you want just to scream. Hate. Hate is the strongest one. You guys used to be good friends. Everything used to be right. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. You can only repeat that in your head once he starts to thrust into you. 

“Y-you’re mine, aren’t you? Ah– I, I took your virginity. That means, agh– that means you have to stay with me.” His voice mixes in with the sound of his skin slapping into yours, he says something about patriarchy and virginities. He’s claimed you, as the book says. 

You wonder how long this is going to last, you’re pretty sure he’s feeling amazing, but all you feel is an ache. The pain travels up and down your body as all you can do is whimper weak cries. “(Y/N), ah-- I love you.” Ken’s thrusting faster, trailing kisses down your jawline. “Say it back, (Y/N).” 

No, you can’t and you won’t. Ken keeps moaning and saying he loves you over and over again. Each time it’s like he expects you to respond with the same thing back, you don’t. It doesn’t stop him though, his movements become more and more messy. You think he’s getting tired when a harsh snap of his hips with an especially loud moan takes your breath away. A new feeling. Full. 

Again, you didn’t know what just happened. A confused sob is finally let out once you catch your breath, “Ken, what did you do?” You hope he understands you through your choked breaths.

He ignores you, taking sight at the mess he just made. White cum drips out of you, a beautiful scene. “Oh, (Y/N). I wish you can see how perfect you look right now.” His hug around your body is suffocating, "I'm so excited for us to do so many new things tonight."

The new thought of dying creeps into your mind. 

[legobiwan]

I’m freaking out because i just...i’m SO psyched for the Kenobi series but i’m so afraid that they’re gonna give him a romance. I hate it because i...i just, and you’ve talked about this before, he’s he perfect Jedi. To Obi-wan, being a good person IS following the code, even after the order is gone. He wouldn’t have realistically ever left the order for kryze (even tho i don’t consider that canon that always felt ooc to me) or the others bc he’s completely devoted to the code above all else 1/2

Especially after what he saw happen to anakin and padme because of that attachment. I highly doubt he would, 8 years later, be willing to even have temptation of a romantic partner. And god forbid we hear more Rey Kenobi theories. I’m just worried Disney is going to do a disservice to his character bc hollywood HAS to have a romance plot in everything. Do you think they’ll go down that route? 2/2

So we’re dealing with a few different issues here. Let’s break this down:

“The Perfect Jedi”

Obi-wan attempts to be the perfect Jedi. He tries, oh so hard, to keep himself at that exacting, impossible standard. Of course, no one is the perfect Jedi - not Obi-wan, not Yoda, not Mace Windu - and certainly not Qui-gon. (And yet there is something in there, the delicate balance of striving towards excellence as opposed to striving for perfection, and it is an important distinction, one that I don’t think the Jedi, as a whole, always got correct as a sense of extremism took root within certain sectors of the Order.) Now, the reason behind this predilection - well, we could point at a few factors. Obi-wan’s sense of impostor syndrome (not at all helped by one Qui-gon Jinn, who seemed to be constantly thinking Obi-wan was somehow behind on his development, as shown in Master and Apprentice.)

(There’s a whole other meta I’ve touched on regarding the whole inter-Lineage…I don’t want to use the word trauma, but let’s just say they all inherited their predecessors’ issues and manifested them very differently.)

But yes, from the get-go, it seems that Obi-wan needs to prove himself. To Qui-gon, as a Padawan. To Qui-gon’s memory, when he takes Anakin. To Anakin, to prove he could be the Master of the Chosen One. To the Council. Etc. It’s a lot of pressure on one person. And the thing is, Obi-wan cracks, more than once. His sardonic, biting sense of humor is indicative enough of his less-than-perfect adherence to the Code, not to mention all the rules he bends for Anakin, his devotion to Satine - which is an interesting case study. In the end, Obi-wan does not succumb to Maul’s taunts to go feral/Dark Side but Obi-wan’s actions on Mandalore, precipitated by his very un-Jedi actions regarding Satine, set off a cataclysm of far-reaching events. As does his refusal to kill Anakin on Mustafar, which could be construed as a wild infraction of the Jedi Code. I mean, had Obi-wan killed Anakin, made *sure* of it and not walked away, what would have happened?

And yet, he tries to do good. Even as he realizes his faults, his part in moulding galactic events. Obi-wan could have done more, could have done differently, and yet despite his awful circumstances, he never gives in to hate. He is flawed, imperfect, but still holds on to some core part of himself. And I think that core part is something…that’s not the Jedi Code. The Code, in the end, is meaningless after Mustafar. (And I really REALLY hope the series touches on this idea of loss of faith, because Obi-wan held on to the Code so tightly, as a way of justifying so many of his actions because what else did he have? And I love existential crises when they’re not my own. HA!) The Code may have been his way of telling himself he was doing good - was doing what Qui-gon wanted, what the Council wanted, what was best for Anakin…but I wonder when Obi-wan sat down and thought about what he wanted for himself? Without expectation, without other people’s narratives. (Okay, so I may be projecting a bit here.) 

I’m getting off-topic here. Would Obi-wan have left the Order for Satine? No. He would have thought about it, fantasized about it. But at that point, he would have been too wrapped up in expectations to actually do anything about it. And by the time the Clone Wars came around? He was too responsible, too enmeshed. And…you know, I get it. I’m around Obi-wan’s age in TCW/RotS. There’s so much narrative to unpack in your life, so much expectation that you can internalize or throw away and whose story is it anyway? Those around you? Your own? Some odd mixture therein? But Obi-wan wasn’t ready to let go of that narrative, of those expectations, of the ghost of Qui-gon and so, no, he wouldn’t have left the Order. But there would be nights, those nights. When the lights have dimmed in the quarters on board the Star Destroyer, when the company you keep is an empty durasteel table, half a bottle of Corellian whiskey, and twenty years of what if…

But you were asking about romance, about attachment. (So often conflated, although never one and the same. Or perhaps they are different terms for the same idea, not love in the carnal sense but illogical devotion to someone or something. I always like the idea of there being many words, ideas for love, as the Greeks made popular in our culture. Love, or attachment to an idea or a thing can be just as wonderful, as intoxicating and dangerous as it can be with a person.) 

Realistically? An Obi-wan set adrift in Tatooine might get attached, despite everything. (The novel Kenobi does a fantastic job of illustrating this.) We yearn for connection, and someone who has all but cut themselves off from interaction with other beings…how long can you hold out? 

This isn’t to say I would support a full-fledged typical Hollywood romance in the series. Because honestly? Not the time or place. 

Now, if it is something where Obi-wan feels a connection with someone and then purposefully acts against it? I would be okay with this. As it would be in service to the idea that he is (tragically) cutting himself off, believing himself to taint others, to be less than. And given the trajectory of recent streaming, I’m more confident than I would have been a few years ago that a series can do without a “typical” romance. (Which…thank the gods for that development. I don’t mind natural romance (I’m looking at you, Good Omens), but the shoe-horned heteronormative plots I was forced to endure through the 80s, 90s and early 2000s were…tiring, to say the least.)

We’re in a new era now, with these streaming services, with the impact fandom has on media, with social mores changing for the better, in my opinion. (But seriously, it’s wild for an old fogey like me to watch unfold. A little weird, I’m not going to lie, but on the whole, a positive development.) I’m going to put my faith in a few things, including a) Ewan McGregor wouldn’t have signed on to this if it weren’t going to be something interesting and nuanced (and gods know he held out long enough, so I’m assuming the man has standards) and b) Disney wants our wallets and has a pretty good grasp of its demographics (probably a scarily accurate grasp, but that’s another story for another time), so I’m not too worried about a prototypical romance plot.

Now, as to Rey Kenobi theories, I have to admit, I enjoy them, only because I’ve been struggling for more Kenobi content recently. I doubt that’s the route they’ll go down, especially in light of all the rumours circulating about Episode 9. And so, in the end, what I hope (and believe) we’ll get is a very human story about a man who tried to live by a narrative and failed, and tried to reconstruct himself not totally escaping the chains of those events and people, but still trying to do good.

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven / A Taste of Summer

BEAT THE HEAT

One-shot #: 11 / #: 1

Disclaimer:  One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder:  I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating:  M (Suggestive and sexy?)

Note: Entry for the #ZoNaSummerFestival event. Theme: Ice Cubes.

Summary: The swordsman and the navigator find a way to cool down amidst the heat.

“You gonna drink that?”

Nami blearily opened one eye to stare at the speaker.

She frowned when she realized Zoro was standing beside her, pointing at the pitcher of water Sanji had thoughtfully placed near her orange smoothie before heading out with the others to explore the island where they just anchored.

Lifting her sunglasses to glower at the swordsman for disturbing her, she muttered a ‘no’, before lowering it and settling back to continue her interrupted nap.

She was about to doze off again but was distracted by the sound of glass clinking. She opened an eye again and watched Zoro downed a glass of water without a pause. From the sweat glistening on his muscular body, she surmised he must’ve finished working out and had just come down from the crow’s nest.

She continued to gaze at him as he wiped the sweat off his brow, filling the glass again.

“Why is it so hot?” He complained, brusquely dropping down the lawn to sit beside her deckchair. The ice cubes that the cook graciously filled the pitcher chinked against each other as Zoro set it down in front of him.

“Because,” Nami responded in a lazy manner. “We are in a summer island, moron.”

“Tch,” Zoro sounded out. “You just had to place an insult there witch.”

“Can’t help it,” Nami shrugged, crossing one leg languidly over the other.

“Where are the others?”

“Out exploring.”

“In this heat?”

Nami turned her face towards him. “Well we need to know what’s in that island don’t we?”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“Not up to it.”

Zoro had the gall to look a little surprised. “You are passing out on mapping the island and treasure hunting? Wow.”

The navigator lifted her head slightly to glare at him. “Of course not! I will go later. When it’s not this hot!”

“For a moment you got me thinking that we swapped you with another person in the last island.”

She moved her leg to kick him on the shoulder. Her feet slid across his sweaty skin much to her consternation. Zoro caught her ankle before she can do any more damage.

“Eww Zoro!”

“What?”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, pulling her leg out of his grasp. “You are sweating like a pig.”

Zoro merely raised an eyebrow at her. “And you’re not?”

“I am. But not like you!”

“We are in a summer island, idiot.” Zoro threw her words back at her. “What do you expect?”

“Why you…”

“Stop it Nami. It’s bad enough that it’s sweltering in this place. Let’s not try to get on each other’s throats.”

“Hmph!” As much as she hates to admit it, he was right. It was too hot to engage in their usual petty squabble.

Zoro rolled his eye at her as she settled back on the chair. As much as he’d want to spar with her verbally, the summer heat is taking too much strength to even do anything but breathe.

Silence reigned between them. He would leave her to her nap if she would just leave him alone to sit silently under the shade of her striped beach umbrella. Though he really cannot understand why the heck she’s sunbathing in this kind of heat.

He flicked a glance at her. Nami was quiet now, her breathing even. She must’ve fallen asleep.

That was rather quick. He had to admire her tolerance for weather. Even he had trouble resting since it feels like he was being cooked alive.

A soft breeze blew from the port side. Not enough to actually cool him down but it is appreciated.

The soft tinkling of the ice cubes melting in the pitcher caught his ears. Shrugging, he grabbed one and started rubbing it on the back of his neck.

Holy shit. That felt good! Really good. The coldness of the ice and the soft breeze served to cool him off a bit and it felt wonderful that he couldn’t hold back a groan.

Nami stirred a little. She had dozed off for a few seconds and was on her way to a much deeper slumber when she heard him groan. It was sounded so… sensual that she can’t help but pried an eye open to see what’s causing it.

She drowsily watched the swordsman as he leisurely ran an ice cube just beneath his nape. The melting water skidded down his muscled back and Nami held her breath as she continued observing what was supposedly a simple act of cooling himself.

Something suddenly stirred inside her. Something she was quite familiar with.

Something she more often than not feels whenever she was alone with the swordsman.

That certain carnal craving for the ex-pirate hunter decided to rear its unwanted head—that one damned thing she kept carefully hidden under wraps.  

The navigator—now wide awake—continued watching as if in a trance. She yearned to grab the ice herself and stroke it on broad expanse of his back and his chest. She longed to trace the water gliding down his body with her lips and tongue.

She bit at her inner cheek. To be honest, it was not the first time she thought of trailing her lips and tongue all over his finely-toned built.

Her face heat up as she remembered all the erotic fantasies she had involving her green-haired crewmate.

Zoro chose to tilt his head towards her at the exact moment. Their eyes met and she felt like she would abruptly combust under his piercing stare.

“That looks nice,” she managed to say.

“Yeah…”

She removed her sunglasses.

“Here,” Zoro offered, grabbing another ice cube from the pitcher and nonchalantly placing it on her leg.

“Aah! Zoro!” She yelped at sudden cold sensation.

“Relax Nami,” he laughed at her reaction. He traced a path upwards, past her knee and stopping midway on her thigh before gazing amusedly at her. Her leg involuntarily flinched trying to get him to move it up, wanting to feel the coolness higher.

She frowned when he withdrew his hand to snatch another cube. Her body instinctively edge closer to him, waiting for his ministration.

But she was disappointed when he rubbed the ice on his neck instead of her leg.

Her chocolate brown orbs followed the melted water trailing down from his neck, his chest, his well-defined abs…

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. The ice cubes were supposed to help cool them down.

But why was it heating her up inside instead?

She cringed when a cold sensation suddenly grazed her collarbone. Her eyes flew open and was surprised to see that Zoro had moved closer to her.

“You looked like you need to cool off,” Zoro muttered, though with a hint of amusement in his tone, rubbing the ice he was holding on her skin. “Your face is all flushed.”  

She couldn’t very well tell him that it was not the weather but him that was reason. Instead, she opted to close her eyes and just revel in the sensation of Zoro rubbing an ice cube over her. It’s not every day you get this kind of treatment from the ever stoic swordsman.

“Mmm… that feels good.” She murmured.

Zoro’s lips quirked at that. Nami looked so pleased, the expression on her face making her lovelier to look at. She had tied her hair in messy bun, with a few stray tendrils escaping it, curling at her neck. He brushed away a lock with his finger before grazing her neck with the ice.

Her lips curled contentedly at that. “Zoro…” she all but moaned. “That feels fantastic.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm… way to beat this heat.”

She looks so blissfully satisfied with what he was doing. Boldly, he moved his hand from her neck, to her collarbone and down the swell of her breasts where he stopped, the ice in his hand had melted completely.

She breathlessly called his name again and was looking at him with eyes half-lidded.

“Liked it?”

Nami grinned brazenly. “A lot.”

“You are not charging me for all these touching, are you?”

She pouted. “I’m gonna if you don’t continue.”

Zoro chuckled and placed another ice cube—this time just on top of her navel—tracing a line upward, watching the water mark left by its melting form on her smooth skin.  

She bit her lip as shivers ran down her spine. That felt absolutely good.

“Nice?” Zoro asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. “Really nice.”

When he moved his hand this time, it was towards the opposite direction. He began to trace the ice downwards, past her navel, stopping just right on top edge of her bikini.

She shuddered involuntarily and bit at her lower lip.

Their eyes met. They held each other’s gazes for a moment, each realizing that they both want to cross the imaginary boundaries they had set up for the other.

She continued holding his gaze as the ice and his finger inched lower, deliberately pushing the skimpy cloth down as he leaned his head towards her…

“Oi Nami! Zoro!”

And Zoro pulled back immediately just as she suddenly sat up from her seat. In just a few seconds, the swordsman was already standing near the railing, calling out ‘Oi Luffy’; the ice cube and her completely forgotten.

Or so she thinks.

Zoro suddenly tilted his head back at her and she caught his eye. They stared at each other for a few seconds before his gaze riveted on the pitcher near her.

A smirk suddenly appeared on his lips. One that promises nothing good for her.

She responded with a mischievous smile of her own. If this is how he wants to play it, then Kami, she’s all for it.

There wouldn’t be enough ice cubes in the world to quench off this heat after all.  

[fyrapartnersearch]

A very witty title!

Hey everyone!

So, I'm craving some M/M roleplays at the moment. You can call me Katie, by the way! I’m 23 years old (in two months anyway, so for now still 22), so no worries in that department and I wish you’d be over 18 years old as well.

Since this seems to be a deal breaker for a lot of people, I'll get it out there now: I'm most comfortable playing the sub/bottom character. So, if you’re looking for someone to play a switch or dom, I’m sorry but I’m not your girl for it.

I prefer playing over e-mail, possibly skype.

When you send me an RP request: 

- Something about yourself, please. I like to know my RP partners

- Something about your RP style (how much you usually write, past or present tense, etc.)

- Your limits (What you will not in any circumstances write)

- What you'd like to RP with me

- Smut or not (I'm fine with both tbh, though I do love smut in my RPs) and if you’re looking for a mostly smut or mostly plot kind of RP

A bit about me and how I write:

- I adore long replies (I can write up to about 4 pages on Word, in some instances), but 1 decently sized paragraph is the minimum for me. If the replies I get are shorter than that, I'll get bored easily.

- I usually write 3rd person, past tense, and in paragraphs. I ask you don't write 1st person or script style.

- Plot! Plot is a must!! I love plotting, and creating worlds and all that. I adore smut and I can write an RP that's 80% smut, 20% plot, but there still has to be that little bit of plot too :3 

- I love talking OOC and gushing about our characters, creating soundtracks, plotting and all that, but if you don't like it that's ok too. I only ask that you can talk with me OOC enough for us to get the plot figured out.

- I am a full-time student at university, so it might sometimes take a while for me to answer. If I haven't replied within 3-4 days, feel free to ask me about it though!

- I don't use face-claims, and rarely use anime/manga characters, simply because I can't find a picture that looks exactly like what I imagine my characters to look like. It's ok if you want to use pictures etc. for your character though.

What I like:

- Fantasy

- Medieval fantasy

- Historical settings (especially court settings. Anything with nobility/royalty)

- Drama, heartbreak, arranged marriage, secret lovers, forbidden love, assassination attempts, action, etc.

- Anything fairytale-ish, with princes, pirates, sorcerers, werewolves, vampires, demons, mages, [i]dragons[/i], etc.

- Cultural differences and misunderstandings

- Soulmates

- Alpha/beta/omega dynamics (and Mpreg!) 

- Smut

- RP partners who can bring something to the RP. I want a partner who can make the plot move forward and gives me something to work with, because if I have to drag my partner along, I will get bored quickly

- Us coming up with the plot together. I don't want to be the only one coming up with all the ideas 

I'm honestly not too keen on a modern setting, most RPs I've had in modern setting have been more or less boring tbh, but I can be persuaded to try it again if the plot is good enough (aka. there has to be a lot of action and preferably drama).

Pairings I'd like to try:

(The roles I'd prefer to play will be in bold)

- Demon/Angel

- Demon/Human

- Incubi/Human

- Shapeshifter/Shapeshifter

- Even more specifically: Any canine shapeshifter/feline shapeshifter 

- Prince/Rich noble

- Prince or king/ Prince in an arranged marriage scenario

- Human/Merfolk

- Vampire/werewolf

- Shapeshifter/human

- Alpha/omega

- Pirate, assassin, mercenary/nobility, royalty

There are so many more that I can't even remember them all, but these are just some suggestions! Don't be afraid to ask me if I'd be interested in something specific even if it isn't mentioned here.

A few plots I'd like to do: (YC = your character, MC = my character)

Assassin/Nobility plot:

Hired to assassinate a king/nobleman/important political figure, YC gets to work. He's supposed to disguise himself as a noble/someone who can earn his target's trust, but what he isn't counting on is running into his soulmate while on the job; his target's son, MC. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, he first plans to earn MC's trust and begins courting him, but his plan goes awry when YC realizes he's starting to have real feelings for MC. Does he betray MC's trust and use him to get to his target, or does he abandon the mission, we can plot this further together.

Arranged marriage plot:

MC and YC are due to be wed sometime soon, their fathers have arranged the match to end the long-lived wars and strives between their clans. MC has to move from his home and land to a completely new environment and culture, where his husband-to-be isn't in the least interested in even trying to make the marriage work. YC flaunts his lover around in front of MC (maybe not realizing it hurts him more than YC meant for it to), and MC - having given up on the thought of a happy marriage - in turn seeks the company of others. A third party intervenes, opposed to the marriage, and MC and YC have to flee. While they're running away from the conflict, they realize they have much more in common than they originally thought.

Demon summoning:

MC is a human who, on a day of boredom, decides to try out a demon summoning. It was supposed to be a joke, something to relieve his boredom, but turns out demons do exist. YC is one such a creature, and happens to be the one MC accidentally summoned. MC isn’t in too much of a hurry to sell his soul to the Devil and go to Hell after he dies, but YC can’t go back without a soul, more specifically the soul of his summoner, so they’re stuck together. Needless to say, MC is not bored anymore.  

Soulmates: 

In a world torn by wars, famine and poverty, two princes are born to opposing sides. One, YC, becomes the Emperor at a fairly young age, forced to face the horrors of war as the leader of a nation. The other, MC, is the youngest prince in his family, living his whole life sheltered from the life outside of the palace walls. At night he dreams of another life, his past life where he had found his soulmate, wishing to find them again, imagining everything will be a fairytale after he does. When he is abducted by YC’s men and held hostage in YC’s castle, he must face reality when he realizes the young Emperor hardened by years of war is the man he’s seen in his dreams. Their kingdoms have been mortal enemies since the beginning of time, but can that change? 

Ancient Egypt:

YC is a pharaoh in ancient Egypt, or a world resembling that of ancient Egypt. MC is his lover, previously a slave or servant who caught his interest, now in a rather influential position as someone the pharaoh himself favors. As any ruler, even YC has enemies in his court, those who wish to rule in his stead, and indeed one stormy night when MC is on his way to YC’s chambers, he overhears a conversation between some of the most powerful people in the country about an assassination plan. He brings the news to YC, of course, but even with him aware of the plot to take his life, he cannot stop it. Having to flee with MC, YC - once the most powerful man in the country - has to start anew from the very bottom.

Gladiator plot:

YC has been brought to mighty Rome as a slave, now to be trained as a gladiator in the most renowned ludus (a “gladiator training school”) of Rome. The owner of the ludus, a wealthy man of high social standing, promises fair treatment to those who do well in the arena. He has sons, the youngest of whom (MC) is not as interested in the art of warfare and fighting as his father would hope. When MC expresses a carnal desire for YC, neither of them thought their secret meetings in the dark would lead to love. A gladiator - a slave – and the son of a nobleman can never be together… in Rome, at least.  

UHm, I probably forgot something, but feel free to ask whatever else you want to know! ^^ Hope to hear from you soon!

My e-mail: Katie_Vainio@hotmail.com

[farcry5selizabethdewitt]

Joseph Seed listening to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On and it gets a little steamy...

OOC: I haven’t made any Joseph Seed x Elizabeth posts at all and I feel like that’s a crime. I love Joseph to pieces, and I know he’d have feelings for Elizabeth because her life story is very extraordinary, her abilities could further his ambition, and she deserves a man who is going to nurture and protect her (After all the loneliness, pain and suffering she’s endured/she’s been single for like 100 years)  If you guys like this and want a (sexier) lewd version I can oblige, but you’ll have to tell me or otherwise I won’t know XD

Joseph retreated to the privacy of his residence within Eden’s Gate that night. To unwind he’d showered, slipped into sweatpants, and lounged around the house with his hair down. While dusting off his old record player and pulling out some records to listen to with some headphones...he accidentally mixes up gospel music with the Greatest Hits of Marvin Gaye. Decides to kick back and listen to it. Closes his eyes and lays back on the couch thinking about his wife...and the first time they made love....’We’re all sensitive people, with so much to give...understand me, sugar...since we’ve got to be here..Let’s Live...I love you.’ He vividly remembers how every touch, every kiss burned his skin with a delightful tingles, each second he knew he’d come undone if she continued to allow her lust to consume them---but in truth he’d gladly indulge in the lustful act of fornication with his beloved over and over again, because as Marvin said ‘There’s nothing wrong with me loving YOU...baby, no no..AND...Giving yourself to me can never be wrong if the love is true!’ ‘Don’t you know how sweet and wonderful life can be!’ God, dictated his actions, it wasn’t a happy coincidence he was wearing sweatpants...the button on his jeans probably would have popped clean off right about now, or the zipper would have broken more than likely both if he were realistic. God and his dearly departed wife only know how the Lord gifted him with an endowment that could pleasure the most experienced of women. His wife, Mary, was not ready for him that night. He knew he’d caused her a great deal of pain in the beginning, and they had to take baby steps to get to the point where she’d loosened enough to ease his mind. After that, they became consumed by pure animalistic pleasure. The part of his heart and soul that dictated his actions, assured him Mary would be the one he’d grow old with. But...now that she was gone, it should have made listening to this record heartbreaking...but....there was another.... ‘I’m asking you, baby, to get it on with me!’ And as he sat there, with his hand down drifting south, he thought of her. The effervescent beauty of strong European descent, who made his loins long to spread his seed once more. He did not know she was to be his bride, his one and only, the one who’d come to take his seed and birth him an heir. Up until now, he hadn’t thought much about his legacy. Would appear that God had given him a second chance at love... and second chance to bring life into this world, to continue his bloodline.  ‘I ain’t gonna worry, I ain't gonna push. I won’t push you, baby.’ Part of him wanted to be ashamed, to take the record off the needle and break it in half as he gripped himself with a firm hand. But the other part...the more carnal part that wanted to believe that Elizabeth truly was a gift to him from God Almighty...wanted to continue indulging in his fantasies...just the sight of Elizabeth in his heart’s mind aroused him. The way she rejected him and his teachings, her anarchist ways, before she was simply a nuisance his brother's sought to deal with, but to him, he saw a wounded soul who needed redeeming...a woman who could be so much more if given the chance. And now.... ‘So c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby. Stop beatin' 'round the bush, hey’ His body ached, when he thought about how she’d look in a state of motherhood, pregnant at the altar, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back very long with her---he’d impregnate her before their wedding, as soon as possible. He needed to impregnate this Angel of God, to possess her, to claim her, the borderline blasphemy of worshipping the ground she walked upon. For if he did not, his brothers most assuredly would consume her whole with their own untamed lusts. Eden’s Gate needed a Mother, and Joseph could not think of a better representation of Motherhood to lead by his side than her. Before he realized what he was doing, he was to the halfway mark, where he knew he couldn’t stop, he didn’t wanna stop, he helplessly moving to the music and bucking his hips.  ‘You know what I'm talkin' 'bout! C'mon, baby Let your love come out! If you believe in love, let's get it on! Let's get it on, baby. This minute!’ Repeating the phrase, I love you, Elizabeth, I love you~ As he thought about her smile, the way he nose wrinkled a little right before she sneezed like a kitten, how she licked her lips slowly in the Autumn heat, when the sun threatened to beat down a man and the sweat rolled off Joseph’s body. He knew as he sat there arching off his seat and moaned wantonly in a way that would have made his beloved go into ovulation the second she heard his ‘mating call’...that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. He knew because of the way she’d been acting lately---how her eyes would linger on his shirtless body, his she’d turn back to gaze at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, how painfully obvious she wanted to let her lust consume her as she stared at him in a way that told him she wanted to have him for herself, the way she looked for small ways to touch him nonchalantly, the list continued ect. (At this point he’s listening to the next song: Sexual Healing)

He wanted to do things to her that would make God cry. And he didn’t want to stop until they were panting heavily, completely satisfied, the sweat of his body covering her. What brought him to the brink was the thought of her naked, a crumbled mess on his bed, and him panting beside her before pulling her into his chest to spoon. He didn’t mean to let out the series of moans that would have made even a succubus blush, but the climax was well worth the abstinence he’d abided by for years. His vision went white, while he finished himself off, trying to release as much built up love as he could. Settling back down on the couch as he slipped the headphones off, throwing them aside, breathing hitched as stared up at the ceiling, mouth slightly open, as he cleaned his hand. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the one. He’d broken his abstinence for her and she needed to be punished for leading him into temptation, by becoming his...to accept her role as Mother of Eden.  “Soon,...my love. We’ll be together...we’ll be a family...and I’ll give you the motherhood you’ve so longed for...Once you’ve experienced being full of my child...you’ll never want to leave my side.” He was going to be fruitful with her, very..fruitful...he wanted a huge loving family. All would come to pass. He’d make sure of it. 

[vermiculus-incipiens]

OOC INFORMATION:

What’s your name? Naya

How old are you? 20+

Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: CST

IC INFORMATION:

Character Name: Dorcas Amaia Meadowes

What’s a hobby or pastime that your character enjoys? Dorcas enjoys smoking weed. She likes to smoke before she leaves her house to take the edge off, and she definitely has to smoke at night when she’s alone (although it does not do much for her paranoia). It started when she was young, younger than she cares to admit, but she is not ashamed of it. While she will occasionally drink, smoking is her first choice because it leaves her with a semblance of control she loses when she gets drunk.  

Do you have any preferred ships or anti-ships? I am very much open to interpretation over development! It’s easy for me to wish for a ship, but what is even better is when another mun sees something in my character that might fit like a puzzle piece to theirs. With Dorcas it is a bit complicated. She’s a very tactile person. Human touch is something she needs as a release from all of her anxiety, and after she realized how much intercourse calmed her down, she learned to never go longer than a week without ‘releasing steam’. That isn’t to say she couldn’t be romantically involved, but it would be something I would want to plot out to see what end game might be. I tend to play Dorcas as bisexual with a preference of women over men. I don’t have set characters I believe she would be attracted to over others because I simply do not know who she would click with and who would find her mentality appalling! But in an ideal situation, I would like for her to have at least one established connection.

What do you think your character’s Boggart would be? If their greatest fear isn’t something that could easily take a solid form, what is it? Why? Ever since she was a little girl, Dorcas has feared darkness above all else. Seeing. It’s simple. Fundamental. When encased in darkness, Dorcas is at her weakest, and she knows it. I’m not sure if a boggart could embody darkness, but if it could, that would be what she saw. She’s not big on ‘not knowing’, and to her, that’s all that darkness symbolizes. The unknown.

What’s your character’s biggest pet peeve? Judgmental people. She was always the first in school to pipe up when purebloods with chips on their shoulders started in on some unfortunate muggle born or half-blood. Slander never settles well on her ears. It usually prompts her ‘act before think’ mode. Even now it is possibly her biggest trigger. She will run into any situation. She will fight back to anyone who inserts themselves in business that does not belong to them, whether friend or foe. Similarly, she does not like being judged. A little venom enters her words when she senses someone is judging her, whether friend or not. She simply isn’t keen on the idea of someone looking down on her for a personal opinion. (fun, fun hypocrisy plots here if she ever talks with someone who believes fully in blood supremacy!).

What would you consider to be an eccentricity of your character? Dorcas sleeps an average of 3-5 hours a night. As a kid she woke up ridiculously early because lying in bed made her overactive imagination conjure up every boogey man it could find, and as Dorcas grew older, the amount of time she could actually stay in bed grew slimmer and slimmer until one day she realized she did not need much at all to survive.

What is/was your character’s favorite subject in school? Why? Defense Against the Dark Arts. School was hard for her. She tried. Hell, did she try. Considering her home life resided in the muggle world, awe alone propelled her to do as well as she possibly could. The problem was, no matter how hard she tried, most of the time she could not put all of the pieces together. Reading and writing and testing— those things always left her wound up like a jack in the box. Defense was not like that. It was all action and showing how it’s done. She excelled in showing out, and being at the front of the pack for once had a powerful effect on her.

What time of day is your character’s favorite? What time of year? Dorcas spends all night waiting for the break of day. She is a sunrise over sunset kind of person, and while she is not the type to get all poetic, the way the sky changes from dark and oppressing to full of color in a span of minutes is enough to make her believe in the spontaneous overflow of feeling some old man coined a century before. Sunsets mean endings; sunrises always promise something new, something she has not seen yet. Similarly, her favorite time of the year is spring. Winter tends to make her anxiety worse. Her mom always said it was the lack of sunshine, and sure enough, when the grey clouds receded to make way for bird chirpingly bright sunshine, the knot in Dorcas’ abdomen untangled slightly.

What’s your character’s Patronus? If they can’t conjure one, what would it be if they could? Why? A gazelle. “The cheetah is their chief predator - also a fast speed animal. However, they are able to out run the cheetah because of their better movement’s. Cheetah’s usually run in a straight line but the gazelle can move in zigzag’s. This is to avoid the cheetah from catching them. They, however, have a tendency of turning around to find out if their predator is almost catching up with them. When they do this, it gives the cheetah a chance to kill them.” (https://www.auntyflo.com/magic/gazelle)

What is your character’s biggest vice (bad habit or immoral craving)? Dorcas would not call it immoral, though others certainly do. Her proclivity to believe sexual partners are as casual as a drinking mate tends to make the brows of other more prominent people arch in the most scandalous manner. Dorcas would never call herself a hippie, but anything less than free love seems anal retentive to her. She believes in the carnal aspects of humanity. Love, war, it’s all the same at the end. She has urges; ignoring them only makes her anxiety worse. Others believe she does not have a moral compass. She is waiting for those people to find a better stress relief than an orgasm before she listens to their advice.

Is your character an introvert or extrovert? How well do they handle social situations? Dorcas is extraverted by far. One of the main reasons her anxiety flares up so badly at home is the fact that the solitude allows the silence to grow to deafening volumes. Dorcas needs to bounce her thoughts off of someone to hear what she needs to do or sort out how she’s feeling. Because she has not found a way to talk about her anxiety, which is why it keeps on growing and festering. She prefers company to solitude because when she is left alone too long, the paranoia becomes too much, and the more withdrawn she becomes.

What is your character’s diet like? What’s his or her favorite food? Food is a comfort for Dorcas. I imagine her anxiety gives way for attention disorders, and in Dorcas’ case, it manifests as hyperactivity. As a result she picks at her food rather than eating most of it, but she is always one of the first to mention food. Her favorite food is breakfast. She isn’t the best chef, but over years of trial and error, she’s grown really proud of how good her pancakes are.

How do you think your character’s psychological issues have manifested and changed your character up to this point? Dorcas has always been scared. When she was young she would lay in the bed next to her mother and cry out for her. In school, she made sure purebloods knew she was not someone to underestimate so that she would not be one of the ones at the mercy of prejudice. Now she is the first to volunteer for missions because putting the fate of something so important in someone else’s hands is too risky. The way she releases all of that pent-up energy is doing something. She is not the type to sit on her hands and wish the bad away. She does not have time to wait. People question her act first mentality, but it is all Dorcas has ever known. In her eyes, they won’t win the war by talking people to death.

Give us a headcanon for your character. Anything is acceptable. Dorcas has a blind cat. She found it as a kitten, screaming for help because all of its siblings and its mother had been struck by lightning. It is not the most attractive cat (scars where his eyes once were, no fur on the tip his tail, and he walks with a slight limp), but she loves him more than nearly all humans because he ‘sees’ her at her worst and loves her anyway. He’s awful to her guests, and she never gave him a proper name because she never planned to keep him. So she simply calls him, ‘Stray Cat’.

[bughead-fic-request]

Psycho Killer: Chapter 3 - You Used To, You Used To

Summary: Archie Andrews hated when his job took him to high places. Betty Cooper loved when her job took her to posh places. Jughead’s job only took him to dark places. This is a story chronicling the lives of three young hired killers. AU/Majorly OOC, sex, swearing and violence.

Words: 1,981

Warnings: Violence, swearing, sexual conversations

A/N: I edited this myself so there are probably errors. This is chapter 1 and 2 and also find the story on AO3.

Also, I need to make sure that you all know that these people are moral ambiguous, their compass does not point due north. These people are not 'normal' so if they say or do something that seems awful, that's because it is. Life means something completely different to them and in their line of work, life has no value until a dollar value is placed on it.

Jughead Jones’ job only took him to dark places. He didn’t get to go to fancy parties or stalk around in high end neighbourhoods. He didn’t get to watch his marks from a distance in a park or across the room at a fundraiser. When Jughead met his mark it was already too late for them. There was already fear in their eyes, tears and snot dripping down their faces knowing that a swift and painless death was not in their future. He would never know who there were, he would only ever know their end.

His marks were always brought to him, they were always naked and the kill always took place in a basement or in the middle of nowhere. He would set up a video camera in the corner of the room and he would do whatever the client had requested of him. The video was delivered to the  after completion. On the rare occasion, the client would be in the room with him but the price to do that was substantial. You’d really want someone to suffer to pay for that.

He worked alone, only the sounds of his victim screams accompanied him and they continued to accompany him long after they had died.

The words ‘please’ and ‘you don’t have to do this’ had lost all meaning to Jughead Jones.

He didn’t like what he did but he knew he needed to do it. He knew death was a part of him and without this job he wouldn’t be able to function even half normal. It was one of the reasons he left medical school and joined the army. It didn’t take his superiors long to realize where Jughead excelled and he was promoted to the position of military torturer. His official title was interrogator.  

Not long after that the company he worked for now, Attentäter, found him and offered him a job. It was more money, it allowed him to take his “interrogation” to completion and he could leave his old life behind.

At work people didn’t gravitate towards him, they didn’t ask how he was or what he did that weekend. People were afraid of him. Other than himself, only one other woman specialized in torture and he didn’t like her. She was too much like him. He couldn’t bear to see himself reflected in her eyes.

So he kept to himself, only spoke when someone spoke to him and hung out exclusively with Archie and Betty. They were the only two people who wanted anything to do with him. He was used to this, he didn’t have any friends when he was Forsythe Pendleton the Third either. He was always an outsider, he was always alone and he was fine with that until he met Betty Cooper.

From the moment he laid eyes on Betty he was enchanted by her; her humour, her spirit, her beauty and her passion. She was free in all the ways he was not. Jughead was a slave to his need to kill while Betty did it for the rush, she did it because she liked the way she felt when she took a life.

He was thrilled when they were assigned to the same handler after orientation and training, it felt like it was meant to be until Archie Andrews walked in.  

Jughead wasn't confused as to why Betty chose Archie. He was handsome, confident, funny and he had an aura about him that drew you to him. Even Jughead wasn’t immune to his charms; he never thought much about his sexuality but he knew if Archie asked him to bed he would say yes. The most important quality Archie possessed was his ability to know what he wanted and how to take it. He asked Betty out the second after their first meeting with Cheryl was over and that was that.

Jughead never stood a chance.

He marvelled at Archie and Betty’s confidence, they were so self-assured in every aspect of their lives while Jughead was only confident in one part of his life; killing. He felt confident with a gun in his hand, he felt secure when he slid a knife into someone’s neck, he felt sure when he put a saw to bone or a scalpel to skin. He found it amusing that he had the knowledge to save a life but the only time he felt like himself was when he was ending one.

The three of them arrived home a little after one. Jughead found himself sitting on one of their overpriced crème coloured sofas with a bottle of bourbon in his hand watching Archie and Betty dance to a Drake song. This was how Jughead spent most of his nights. Getting drunk, watching them dance, watching them cuddle, watching them whisper and laugh as he waited for them to go bed.  

Jughead was a fool for not asking to be reassigned but he knew he couldn’t be away from Betty. While he wanted for her in a carnal way, friendship was enough for him. He needed something with her rather than nothing at all.

“Jug!” Betty shouted. She was drunk and could no longer walk in a straight line. She flung herself onto the couch filling the space beside him as she curled her yoga pant clad legs under her. She smelled like tequila and the cranberry body lotion she loved. Jughead buried his nose in her hair and pulled her close so he could breath in her intoxicating scent.

“What is it, Bets?” He asked calling her by her nickname.

“Come dance with me. You never dance with me.” She purred as she placed a hand on his thigh.

“Why do you love dancing so much? Especially to this shit.” Jughead inquired pulling his face away from her as he pointed to the iPod dock.

“Because the body is meant to be used and before mine stops working I intend to use it in every way I know how.” Archie answered pragmatically as he downed a shot of tequila.

“What he said.” Betty said with a wink, resting her head on his shoulder.

“My body doesn’t look like yours Arch, it doesn’t move like yours either.” Jughead put the bottle up to his mouth and drank it’s contents while he tried to ignore Betty’s hot breath in his neck.

“It would if you taught it how, Jug. You’re an expert in hand to hand combat.” Archie responded. “If you can do that then you can dance.” He winked at Jughead before grabbing a slice of pizza they had picked up on the way home as he disappearing into the kitchen.

Betty grinned and skimmed her lips across Jughead’s ear and whispered, “Dance with me. I’ll show you how.”

Jughead realized that he had no choice, he had to dance. She stood and pulled him up with her as she pushed her body up against his and draped her arms around his neck as a new song started. “I love this song.” She whispered as the sound of ‘Got to Give It Up’ filled the condo.

Jughead placed his hands and her waist and swayed with her. “D’you like this song, Juggie?” She asked, slurring her words and using him to keep herself upright, her last drink must have put her over the edge.

“It’s all right.” Jughead said looking at her hooded blue eyes.

They moved slowly to the beat. “See you know to dance, all you have to do is sway and roll your hips.” She giggled.

“Are you okay, Bets?” He wrapped his arms around her waist holding her tight against him, afraid that she might fall over.

She nodded while slowly licking her lips. “I’m just trying to relax and have a good time but right now, I need to pee.” She pulled away from him and stumbled down the hallway.

He found his way back to the couch and his bottle of bourbon. He directed his attention to the television which was playing an endless loop of infomercials and sex chatline commercials on mute. Jughead watched the TV while he listened to Archie break things in the kitchen and then swear copiously.

“Jug?” Archie yelled.

“Yeah?” He said finishing the bottle and putting it on the coffee table.

“Can you call the maid in the morning? There’s glass all over the fucking place.”

“You always do this Arch.” Jughead sighed, running his hands over his face and then looking towards the hallway. “Betty, you all right?” He called hoping she wasn’t sick.

“Do you want her tonight?” Archie asked leaning against the doorway with a dishtowel in his hands stained red with his blood. He had undone two more of the buttons on his shirt and Jughead knew that if Archie drank anymore he would start to get loud and violent. Archie would never direct any of his violence at Jughead or Betty but they had replaced nearly everything in the condo because of his destructive behaviour. They all drank too much but Archie indulged to a dangerous degree and he had no discipline or self control when he drank.

Jughead wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. “What?”

“I said do you want Betty tonight?” He had a lazy grin on his face.

Jughead rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably at his red haired friends question. “Seriously, Arch? She’s not a thing.”

His grin grew wider as he walked over to Jughead and plopped down on the adjacent couch. “I never said she was but she does love sex and she loves you so I figured…” He trailed off waiting for his roommate to finish the sentence.

Jughead undid a few of the buttons on his shirt. He suddenly felt confined by it. “You figured what?”

“That you’d get some! We talked about this man.” He said leaning forward slapping Jughead on the arm. “I know you haven’t gotten laid in a long time.” Archie popped a peanut into his mouth that Jughead didn’t even know he had.

“Archie, she’s with you. She’s yours.”

Archie closed his eyes, sighed and stood, shaking his head. “You just told me she wasn’t a thing, Jug. How could she possibly be mine?”

“You coming to bed?” said Betty in a quiet voice, interrupting their conversation. She had changed and was in a t-shirt and black panties. Her face was free of makeup and completely beautiful. “Are you coming to bed?” She asked again, her eyes drifting to Archie and then landing on Jughead.

There was a moment of silence and Jughead knew that Archie was looking at him waiting for him to take Betty up on her offer. When Jughead did nothing Archie sighed angrily, “Yes, I’m coming.”

Her smile grew and her eyes lingered on Jughead for a moment before Archie pushed her down the hallway.

Jughead looked around their penthouse condo, all wood and crème. Not too big and not too small, enough furniture and pictures of them but not too many, just enough to make it look like they were normal people.

It was all an illusion though, they weren’t normal and they never would be.

He rose from the couch and realized how drunk he was. He stumbled into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and groaned when he saw the shattered tequila bottle and Archie’s blood all over the floor.

He used the washroom, went to his bedroom, stripped down to his boxers before collapsing into bed. He could hear Betty and Archie talking but it was just murmurs. They hadn’t started having sex yet but they would, they did every night. Jughead took his noise cancelling head phones and put them on playing a random mix of rock and metal.

It was the only thing that drowned out his roommates and the screams that echoed in his mind.

[carnalsociety-rpg]

HEY UPPER EAST SIDER, WELCOME TO CARNAL SOCIETY

Kayla, you’ve been accepted as Maverick Lewis with Charlie Hunnam as your faceclaim. Congrats! Please read through our checklist and turn in your account within 24 hours.

                    THIS I KNOW, THE BEST IS YET TO COME.

OOC Information. Name/Alias: Kayla. Preferred pronouns: She/Her. Age: 23. Timezone: CST. Triggers: None.

THAT’S ONE SECRET I’LL NEVER TELL.

IC Information. Name: Maverick Lewis. Age: Thirty-six. Gender: Cismale. Pronouns: He/Him. Sexuality: Bi-sexual. Faceclaim: Charlie Hunnam. Occupation: Musician. Headcanons:

i.   Maverick was born and raised in the Bronx to a mechanic and a waitress. They struggled to make ends meet and were living paycheck to paycheck. With parents who were always working, Maverick and his younger siblings hardly had any adult supervision. He grew up running the streets, getting into trouble with law and had gotten into the party scene at a young age. It was during those years that he would really get into the drugs and alcohol that it had taken a decade and a half to get away from.

ii. His grandfather had given him his first 8-track player when he was ten. Over the years, he had stolen and collected dozens of cassettes of his favorite bands and it was during that time that he truly got into music. Although he’d originally wanted to become a drummer, singing was more his speed. During his high school days, he and some of his best friends had formed their own little garage band and it was at that time that he truly felt like he’d found his true calling.

iii.  Having hardly grown up in the lap of luxury, he has worked his ass for for everything he has. It has been an emotionally taxing journey, a road with many ups and downs. He and his band mates have sacrificed a lot for the sake of moving their careers forward, which put a strain on their relationships with one another as well as their loved ones during their early stages of the band.

iv. During his younger years. he and his band had each taken to their own vices to cope with the stress and general chaos that came with their band becoming a success. Drugs, alcohol and women were enough to keep some of them from showing up on time to recording sessions, inhibit their minds from being able to write some of their own songs or even just be in the same room as one another without an all out fight ensuing. It was at that stage of their lives that it had really taken a toll on their relationships with one another and had managed to give the band a bad reputation for trashing hotel rooms, getting into fights with paparazzi and late night benders.

v. Maverick loves love, but love doesn’t seem to love him. He’s tried to stick it out in relationships that he’s had in the past but after an ex high school sweetheart, two ex-wives and an ex-fiancee, he’s pretty much realized that his own issues have been the root of the problems that ha polluted the relationships and had sworn of relationships until he could get himself into a better mindset.

vi. Years of issues that were not simply limited to alcoholism, drug addiction and general chaos between band members had come to an end when the band had taken a hiatus in early 2016. The majority of them had opted for rehab while they had lost their close friend and drummer to an overdose later that year. It was after that loss that Maverick truly started to take his recovery seriously and mend his relationship with his band and loved ones.

Associations:

Things that you think of when you think of your character. Give us an idea of their aesthetic.

Secret:

[REDACTED]

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME.

Pinterest. Mockblog. Playlist.

[carnalsociety-rpg]

HEY UPPER EAST SIDER, WELCOME TO CARNAL SOCIETY

Ali, you’ve been accepted as Blair Waldorf with Poppy Drayton as your faceclaim. Congrats! Please read through our checklist and turn in your account within 24 hours.

                    THIS I KNOW, THE BEST IS YET TO COME.

OOC Information.

Name/Alias: Ali Preferred pronouns: She/her Age: 27 Timezone: EST Triggers: Student/teacher romances, pedophilia

IC Information.

Name: Blair Waldorf Age: 27 Gender: Cis-female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Pansexual Faceclaim: Poppy Drayton Occupation: CEO of Waldorf Designs

Headcanons:

i.

Since she was a child, Blair Waldorf had planned her life out very carefully. Of course, her life took a few (okay, more than just a few) twists and turns that forced her to edit her plan. After testifying in Chuck’s defense after the incident on the roof, Blair fully believed that she had finally gotten everything back on track. And for a while, it truly seemed that way. She was truly happy (a rare occurrence for her) as she continued to work under her mother’s tutelage at Waldorf Designs and grew even closer, if possible, to Chuck. But of course, life just had to ruin her timeline once again. It hadn’t even been a year since the incident, as it was now known, that she discovered her pregnancy, and despite the fact that it was certainly not on her plan quite yet, she decided to embrace what life continued to throw at her. Blair Waldorf was done questioning fate (at least, for now).

Henry James Bass was born on June 13th in the city that had held so many infamous adventures for his parents. When he came into the world, Chuck joking swore that there was a storm raging outside that signaled bad things to come. Blair, on the other hand, insisted the sun was shining which proved that there were good things in store for their family. This is the story they always told about Henry’s birth, and no one ever quite knew who was telling the truth. No one ever really stopped to consider that maybe they were both right.

Although Blair detested the idea of the whole ‘barefoot and pregnant’ marriage ideas (ridiculously tacky in her opinion), she wasn’t overly fond of having their son prior to marriage either. The two eloped in Paris on a spur-of-the-moment vacation to visit her father when she was barely two months along. Although everyone knows that she was pregnant before their marriage, it’s one of those things that people simply don’t talk about; at least, they don’t to her face.

ii.

But all good things come to an end. Whether it was her postpartum depression or Chuck’s dedication to work or her own insecurities, she’ll likely never know. In the months after Henry’s birth, their rushed marriage seemed to fall apart. Though they kept it civil in the public’s eye and for the sake of their son, they soon realized that they had rushed into something they were not ready for, but had no way out of. They were married barely a year before they separated, followed by a divorce about six months later. Henry was barely two before their divorce was finalized.

Although she still feels it was what was best for her and Henry, she does regret how everything worked out between her and Chuck. She fully believed that they were it for each other, but things just didn’t work out the way she wanted it to, and their relationship further deteriorated after the divorce. They were just barely civil to each other in public for the sake of their son, and things were worse behind closed doors, especially after Blair was given primary custody of Henry.

iii.

In some ways, Blair has grown up a lot since the time that Gossip Girl reigned over the Upper East Side. She’s much more confident in herself and has worked on controlling her pretentious and somewhat obnoxious side. She’s definitely had to mature, especially after taking on a higher role in Waldorf Designs (now CEO once more) and having a child looking to her to set a good example. Of course, she’s still the same overly ambitious woman with refined (and sometimes ridiculous) tastes and certainly is still just as scheming (or manipulative, depending on your view), but she just attributes that to her upbringing. She doesn’t like to leave things to chance, and instead will make sure things go in her favor. Blair still doesn’t trust easily, especially after the implosion that was her marriage, but she still has her close friends that she would do anything for. She hasn’t dated really in the year since the divorce, despite being urged to by her friends; she can’t really see letting another man into her life when she’s already so busy with the business, her son, her charities, and her booming social life.

She has taken up yoga as a way to stay calm. It started as a joke during the separation period from Chuck. Her therapist suggested it as a way to control her outbursts, and she decided to try it on a whim. And she found that she actually enjoyed it. Blair liked how it seemed to help her focus in the morning and allowed her to start her day off on the right foot. She tries to do it every morning in her apartment before her coffee and finds that her days are usually better when she does it.

Although Audrey movies are still her favorite, her son isn’t the biggest fan. She would love to say that he’s had refined taste from an early age, but Henry clearly prefers the boxed macaroni and cheese and Disney movies that Dorota sometimes plays for her own children. So far, Blair has seen his favorites,Coco and Moana, more times than she can admit, but at least they have a better plot than a princess waiting around for a prince. She even finds herself watching them sometimes after he falls asleep, still clutching his stuffed giraffe (long story), although she’d never admit to it in public. She likes that her son is seeing happy endings in movies, and that he will believe in them; she thinks that it’s really important that, despite the fact that his parents aren’t together, that Henry sees that there are happy endings in the world.

iv.

About six months ago, Blair received a phone call that rocked her to her core. Her step-father called to tell her that her mother had had a heart attack while they were at Masa and had been rushed to the hospital. Although her mother was survived, the doctors told the family that Eleanor needed to take a step back from her active lifestyle and would need to focus on her health and not her business.

And Blair once again became the CEO of Waldorf Designs. It was something she’d eventually planned on becoming once more, but she had assumed she’d have more time before taking on that responsibility again, especially as she was now raising a toddler. But she couldn’t let her mother down and stepped back into the role with gusto. The business is continuing to flourish under her new leadership, and she’s even thinking about moving into other markets as well like home design. While she once would have considered it to be more trashy than classy, she recognizes good business ideas when she sees them. Plus, it’s not like her brand would ever be sold in Walmart or anything like that; it’s still going to be aimed at the upper class though she is also considering launching a more affordable option so that her business will really be a household name.

v.

The night of Chuck’s death, she was supposed to meet with him. It was something simple, just getting him to sign some forms for the exclusive preschool they were putting Henry in. Blair had been meaning to get him to sign them for some time now, but after playing phone tag for days, she had texted him that she would be over that evening to finally get the papers signed so that they could move forward with their son’s early education. Her last communication with him was a text telling him that he better not be drunk when she got there. She ended up getting caught up with work and sent a text saying that she’d meet him the following day, but it was too late.

The police showed up the next morning at her apartment with Dorota shaking her awake, a look of panic on her face. Blair can still remember the confusion and annoyance at being woken up earlier than she had planned on followed by the disbelief at the sight of the officers in her foyer. She couldn’t tell you what exactly they said to her, just the message behind their words. Her ex was dead.

She had always assumed that she and Chuck would eventually patch things up, despite their divorce. The just needed more time to grow into the people they were meant to be. Now, she’ll never get the chance, and her son will grow up without his father.

Fun Fact: I typed Waldork instead of Waldorf way too many times in this.

Associations:

a smile half feral and half charming. dark lipstick stains on white collars. red roses in silver vases. infamy follows in your wake. fiercely loyal. never forgetting an insult. chocolate truffles and rosé for breakfast. vulnerability hidden behind layers of confidence and sass. lace slips and leather jackets. clever as the devil and twice as petty. a face straight out of myths. chin raised in defiance. the hug of a treasured child. born to make history.

Secret:

[REDACTED]

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME.

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