#she gives him the raw materials and hints

[sinestrosmind]

all it took was one ask on my dash to revive my MCU hyperfixation and bring Ironverse back to fight Chief for the braincell

bunch o screenshots under the cut

"Casey listen to me; when I get to the other side, you close that door." "What?! Sensei, no!"

"I can close it, I can shut the portal down!" "No- wait!"

I LOVE THESE PARALLELS SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEAAAAA

and to endgame too!!! the helicarrier and the Genius Built drones

this is why I say Flame would be freaking out during the events of the Rise movie!!

I would love to see everyone's reactions to Flame staring out in horror as the prison dimension portal opens over New York and she's suited up in her MK60, her vibranium suit, and her helmet retracts

they see her face, see the fear in her eyes, the look of someone who's definitely getting hit with pretty negative deja vu and is Not Having A Blast

and she just goes

"I've seen this all before...."

I bet Jr would FREAK OUT

[luvrgreyy]

LEAVING ME TO BLEED

best friend!leon x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

18+ MDNI. situationship kinda, one-sided pining, break ups, alot of angst/no comfort, fuckboy leon, love bombing(?), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praise, no aftercare. lmk if i missed anything.

leon had been through it again. another relationship gone bust. it left him restless, empty. it wasn't as though he expected much anyway, he was more than used to the disappointment by now. but that never made the sting of a broken heart any easier to bear. it gutted him every single time.

he'd been here countless times before, needing your warmth to heal him, your body to provide some temporary relief from his heartache.

on this particular occasion, he found himself knocking against your door.

there was a silence before it creaked open, and you stood there with your hair a mess and eyes heavy. it was late. he reeked alcohol. his eyes were puffy, red rimmed from all the sleepless nights.

“hey,” his eyes softened at the sight of your bleary gaze, an unspoken apology already lurking. his lips part slightly as he tries finding the words for what he wants to say, but nothing.

“leon?” you whispered back, rubbing at your eyes.

he abruptly pushes past the door and reaches out, cupping your face tenderly with his large hands before bringing his lips crashing down on yours. it was rough, hungry, a raw expression of his need.

your lips yielded softly to his onslaught, a faint groan escaping your throat as you melt under the intensity of his kiss.

“lee,” he could hear the sleep in your voice as you mumbled something about it being late.

“she.. she left me.” he rumbled, dampness of tears threatening to form in his eyes.

“help me feel better,” he choked out. “please.”

you tried to say something reasonable, something that might make him see the situation for what it was, but you’re silenced with another kiss, pressing you against the wall.

everything inside him demanded that he had you right there and then, and he was willing to do anything to make that happen. a groan rumbled from his chest as he wrenched himself away from the kiss, leaving you panting and breathless.

his eyes search yours for any sign of rejection or disgust, but he saw nothing of the sort. in fact, he saw something that made his heart ache just a bit more. he saw affection, longing, and a hint of lust that stirred inside him, it was intense, an itch that had to be scratched.

leon kissed your neck, his hands cupping your breasts through the sheer material of your shirt. he whispered something into your ear, so soft that you had to strain to hear it. it was a promise, an assurance that things will be different from now on. but you knew deep down that it was a ploy, a desperate attempt to make you give in to his demands.

and in that moment, your heart was too weak to resist him. you allowed him to strip away your resistance, let him drown in his desperation and need. but there was a soft, bitter realization that lingered in the back of your mind — he was but a man, a man who only sought you for comfort when he was hurting.

and you were just a woman, a woman who was always willing to provide that comfort, no matter how temporary, no matter how much it hurt when he left.

shivers raced down your spine as his rough hands caressed your skin, stripping you bare and letting your clothes drop in a messy heap on your bedroom floor. you could almost feel the desperation in the way he touched you, as though he'd never felt skin as soft and supple as yours. you sighed softly as he ran his fingers along your waist before tracing a line lower until he cupped your ass. his fingers flexed gently as he gave it a good squeeze, making you shiver.

he groaned against your neck. "you’re so pretty."

you didn’t respond, instead focusing on the way his rough palms felt against your skin. he cupped your face in one hand, tilting it upward for a searing kiss. you let him have it, kissing him back just as intensely, your body trembling slightly as desire began to build. you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline as he devoured you with his mouth.

his lips left yours, trailing hot wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. his teeth sank into your skin gently, leaving faint marks.

his knee pries your legs apart, pressing down on the damp fabric of your panties. “so wet,” he hums against your skin. you whimper softly, burying your hands in his hair as he slipped your panties to the side and slid a finger inside you. your cunt began to pulse around him, your hips rocking slightly against his touch.

“lee, please,” you pant, hips shifting to accommodate the probing finger.

“please what? c’mon, tell me what you want”

“more,” he dips another finger inside you, drawing more soft moans from you as you arch into him.

leon continued to torment you with his fingers until you were moaning and writhing beneath him. you craved more, ached for him to fill you fully, to quench this insatiable desire that burned in the pit of your stomach.

“god, fuck me, please” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. it was a mistake, a raw, vulnerable plea that you now regretted. and as soon as the words left your lips, his fingers became relentless, thrusting inside you as his other hand gripped your hips.

“yeah? you want me to fuck you?” his breath was hot against your ear. he finally lifts himself from you, coming down to rip your panties off you.

you gasped at the sudden loss of clothing, feeling completely exposed as he loomed above you.

leon kicks off his jeans, releasing his engorged erection to your eager gaze. you wanted him inside you, needed him there to soothe the ache that was consuming you. leon spread your legs wider, running the head of his dick against your soaked entrance. you whimpered at the contact, reaching out to wrap a leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

“please, leon,” you whispered, arching upwards, begging for his cock.

he doesn’t allow you adjust, eagerly plunging into you. a low cry escapes your lips as your nerves were set alight with pleasure.

“so fucking tight,” he gritted out. "i’ve missed this."

his dick bottoms out inside you, making you gasp loudly. “i’ve missed you.” he whispered softly in your ear, and it almost seemed sincere. almost.

your eyes fluttered shut, you were too lost in the pleasure to form any words, but you managed a faint hum. his hips began to piston, driving himself deeper into your quivering sex. “don’t know why i even bother with other girls, i got my girl right here,”

“lee,” the whine slips your lips and your brows furrow.

he pulls nearly all the way out and then slams back inside, a deep groan leaving his chest.

"what? you're my girl, aren’t you?"

you gazed up with watery eyes and nod. a part of you wished that he would mean those words, that there could be something genuine between the two of you. but you knew that deep down, that was just wishful thinking.

sweat dripped down his face as he drove you higher, his fingers digging into your hips for leverage. in the back of your mind, a small voice warned you to be careful. what would happen once the high wore off? would he leave you lying here, all used up like before? hold you tight like he probably did with all is girlfriends after fucking them senseless?

you cry out softly, your hips bucking helplessly beneath him as you slowly come down from your peak, eyes half-lidded. he grunts as he pulls out, painting your stomach with thick ropes of his cum.

leon collapses beside you, breathing heavily. you could sense that he was already drifting off to sleep, his mind already occupied with his next mission, his next woman. you roll to your side, knowing that this was all you'd ever be to him — a warm body to quench his need when he was hurting. nothing more.

his arms creep around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. you let out a soft sigh, trying hard not to let the disappointment show as you burrow into his warmth.

he held you as he fell asleep, his body heavy with release and his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. you laid still in bed, tears stinging your eyes. the silence stretched on, filling the room with a heaviness that was hard to shake off. you deserved better than this. and you knew this.

a tiny part of you wished you could change things — you wished you could make him care, to treat you as more than just a convenient warm body. but as you stared into the dark ceiling, you realized that was a vain wish. leon kennedy would never change. he would always be the same man, broken and jaded.

you knew that once morning came, he would be gone, and the cycle would begin anew.

[a-court-of-mischief-and-madness]

Midnight revelations

Part 1 ----------- Part 2

Eris Vanserra x rhysand sister reader!

Summary: rhysand's sister has always felt lonely considering all the demons and skeletons from her past make her heart ice cold. What happens when she meets someone who has enough fire to warm her heart and unravel her?

Note: hi everyone this is my first time ever posting a story, I have always been addicted to writing but I have never publicly showcased my work. Therefore I urge you all to enjoy this. Feel free to leave a comment about what you think :)

♧------------------------------------------------------------♧

You clutched the fabric of your dress, a breathtaking gown that shimmered with every subtle movement. The deep, royal blue material cascaded down to the floor in luxurious folds, catching the light and creating a mesmerizing array of sparkling reflections that mimicked the starry night sky. The bodice was meticulously crafted, hugging your curves with an almost ethereal grace. Tiny, delicate crystals were sewn into the fabric, forming intricate patterns that danced along the neckline and down the fitted sleeves. These sleeves, adorned with intricate floral patterns, exposed just a hint of skin, creating an alluring contrast against the otherwise modest design.

The slit of the dress was daring, extending provocatively up to your upper thigh. With each step, it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of your leg, adding an element of sensuality to the otherwise elegant ensemble. The cool night air whispered against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the chill, you felt a surge of confidence wearing the dress, its beauty giving you a sense of empowerment.

The Night Court had always been your sanctuary, a haven with your brother Rhysand and his mate, Feyre, after the harrowing events under the mountain. You silently cursed Amarantha for ever laying her hands on him, for the ball of trauma she had inflicted, now masked by his composed exterior. Tonight was a reunion for all the High Lords and their families, celebrating Amarantha's defeat. The meeting was to take place in the Court of Nightmares, a place you dreaded—not only because of Keir, but also because of the lecherous behavior prevalent there. Everyone had to mentally prepare to ensure nothing went wrong. You hated that daily routine of donning a cold mask, a habit that began over a hundred years ago...

"Kill the woman first," Tamlin's father barked, his voice cold and merciless.

"No, please, no. I'm begging you, please don't," you pleaded, your throat raw from weeping. Blood coated your arms and legs, seeping from the wounds on your back where the High Lord of the Spring Court had tried to clip your wings. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the terror you felt for your mother. Your wings had vanished when he tried, baffling him and fueling his rage. In his anger, he slapped you, the sting of it radiating from your cheek.

"It's okay, please do it to me but let her go," your mother sobbed, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. You tried to protest, but your mouth was clamped shut by some unseen force, preventing you from speaking or moving. You were helpless, forced to watch as the nightmare unfolded before you.

The High Lord of the Spring Court approached your mother with a knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. Your mother looked at you with tear-filled eyes, her face etched with sorrow and resignation. "I love you," she mouthed, her lips trembling.

You screamed against the spell that held you, your heart shattering with every step he took. The knife glinted in the light, each reflection a dagger to your soul. He reached your mother, and without hesitation, he slashed her neck. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the ground crimson. Your mother crumpled to the floor, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, louder and more primal than any sound you had ever made. It broke the spell that bound you, and Tamlin and his father staggered back, their faces painted with agony and shock. You rushed to your mother's side, falling to your knees beside her lifeless body.

"Mother, no," you sobbed, cradling her head in your hands. Blood seeped between your fingers, warm and sticky. Her eyes, once so full of life and love, were now empty and glassy. You rocked back and forth, your cries echoing through the cold, heartless chamber. The world around you seemed to blur and fade, your vision clouded by tears.

Suddenly, a familiar presence enveloped you, a comforting darkness that wrapped around your soul. Your brother Rhysand appeared, his power crackling in the air, but it was too late. The light in your mother’s eyes had already faded, her body growing cold in your arms. Rhysand's eyes widened with horror as he took in the scene, his rage palpable.

"She’s gone," you whispered, your voice broken and hollow. "She’s really gone."

Rhysand knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with grief. "I’m so, so sorry."

The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed your entire being. You clung to your mother’s lifeless form, your sobs echoing in the silence. The room around you seemed to spin, the walls closing in as darkness began to creep into your vision.

And then, everything went black.

When you awoke, the memory of your mother’s death was etched into your mind, a scar that would never heal. The image of her lifeless body, the blood, the pain, all of it haunted you. It was a nightmare that you relived over and over, a wound that time would never mend.

Tears sprang to your eyes, but you held them in. "Are you all right?" Azriel asked, his voice soft but filled with concern. His eyes searched yours, a hint of worry flickering in their depths. You smiled, stood from your seat, and quickly brushed away invisible stains on your dress, avoiding eye contact. "If you need to talk, I'm here, you know," Azriel spoke softly. You glanced up at him. Azriel wore a tunic of deep, rich purple that seemed to complement his dark, mysterious aura perfectly. The fabric clung to his muscular frame in all the right places, accentuating his strength and grace. It was clear that every detail of his outfit had been carefully chosen, from the intricate stitching along the seams to the subtle shimmer of the fabric in the candlelight.

The tunic was adorned with subtle embroidery, delicate patterns that seemed to dance along the fabric like shadows in the moonlight. The designs were understated yet elegant, adding a touch of sophistication to Azriel's otherwise simple attire.

His hair was freshly combed, the strands falling in dark waves around his face. Each lock seemed to catch the light, creating a halo of darkness that framed his chiseled features. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, a sense of power and authority that was impossible to ignore."You look handsome tonight, Shadowsinger," you said with a deflecting grin. He sighed, not appreciating the change of subject.

Just then as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, a gentle hand touched you from behind .You turned and your heart swelled with warmth as you beheld Feyre, her eyes sparkling with affection and admiration. She wore a gown as resplendent as your own, adorned with jewels that seemed to catch the light and reflect it back in a dazzling display of beauty.

"Feyre," you breathed, a smile spreading across your lips. Her presence was like a balm to your soul, a reminder that you were not alone in this world."You look stunning," Feyre said, her voice soft and full of sincerity. She reached out, taking your hands in hers, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Truly, you take my breath away."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, moved by her words and the genuine love that shone in her gaze. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "You look absolutely radiant yourself."

Feyre's smile widened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close as if she never wanted to let go. The scent of her hair, mingled with the subtle perfume of flowers, enveloped you in a sense of comfort and belonging.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured against your hair, her voice filled with emotion. "Tonight is a celebration of freedom, of hope, of new beginnings. And I couldn't imagine sharing it with anyone else."

You squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of gratitude and love for this woman who had become not just a friend, but a sister to you. "I'm glad to be here too," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. "With you, by my side, I feel like I can face anything."

Feyre pulled back, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "You're stronger than you know," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "And tonight, we'll show the world just how powerful you truly are."

As you shared a tender moment with Feyre, a familiar presence approached from behind. You turned to find Rhysand standing there, his eyes shining with pride and love. His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail of your gown with a mixture of awe and admiration.

"Wow," he breathed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips at his words, feeling a swell of warmth in your chest at his sincere praise. Rhysand had always been a pillar of strength and support, and his approval meant more to you than words could express.

"Thank you, Rhys," you replied, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. "It means the world to me."

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, yet electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "And tonight, I hope you find it."

"I'm just grateful to have you both by my side," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You and Feyre mean everything to me."

Rhysand smiled, a soft, affectionate smile that reached his eyes. "We'll always be here for you," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "No matter what" you gave him a small smile.

"I suppose Nesta and Cassian won't be joining us tonight," Rhysand remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Feyre chuckled, shaking her head knowingly. "I believe they've found a different way to celebrate," she said with a teasing smile. Rhysand groaned theatrically, rolling his eyes. "Let's just hope they don't add to the drama with some new trauma," he quipped, his tone filled with mock exasperation.

Feyre giggled, her laughter ringing with warmth and affection. She nudged Rhysand playfully. "Oh, come now. They're just taking advantage of the freedom we fought so hard for," she said, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Rhysand sighed dramatically. "Well, let's hope they remember their manners this time," he said with a smirk, earning a laugh from Feyre.

You linked your hands with Azriel and shot Rhys a wink and a smirk. "Not like you were any different, brother." Feyre laughed, and Rhys nudged her playfully before Azriel winnowed you away.

The ballroom was opulently decorated, the light casting a warm glow on the throng of guests. All the High Lords were present: Tarquin, Tamlin—who you barely glanced at—Kallias and Vivien, looking regal as always, and Beron with his son Eris. You despised Eris for what he did to your cousin Mor, the reason she couldn't attend tonight.

For a moment, your gazes locked. Eris's amber eyes roamed over you, lingering on the delicate embroidery that adorned your gown, the way it hugged your curves with subtle grace. There was a glint of curiosity in his gaze, an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His smirk deepened slightly, a knowing glint flickering in his eyes as he took in your appearance.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks under his unabashed scrutiny, a mixture of annoyance and a strange thrill. With a subtle shift, you turned away but his amber eyes seemed to catch yours at every turn despite your efforts to avoid him, a smirk forming on his lips as he assessed you. You blushed, heat rising to your cheeks as you took your seat next to Azriel.

Rhysand began briefing everyone as each High Lord took turns expressing their joy at being free.

You looked down as Feyre spoke, "Please enjoy this party, take it as a new beginning." All the High Lords rose and began to mingle. You stood, but Azriel caught your hand. "Where are you going?" he asked, worry in his eyes. "Relax, Azriel, I'm just getting a drink," you said, and he nodded, releasing you. Rhysand seemed to have noticed and looked at Azriel; you knew they were communicating silently. As you moved gracefully through the crowded ballroom, the delicate fabric of your gown rustling with each step, you made your way towards the wine table. The air was filled with laughter and music, the chatter of High Lords and Ladies mingling in a harmonious symphony of celebration.

Just as you reached for a glass of wine, a sudden commotion broke out nearby. A drunken couple stumbled past you, their unsteady steps threatening to knock into you.

You stumbled, your balance faltering as you teetered on your heels. In an instant, you felt a pair of strong hands grip your waist, steadying you before you could fall. Heat surged through your body at the contact, your heart pounding in your chest. You looked up, breath hitching, and met those familiar amber eyes. Eris. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken. The smirk on his lips was infuriatingly confident as his hands lingered on your waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl that sent shivers down your spine. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

His words were laced with a teasing edge, but there was an underlying sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to step back, to create some distance between you, but his hands tightened slightly, holding you in place. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into the background as your senses narrowed to the man standing before you.

"You should watch where you're going," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "This place can be dangerous."

"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to appear unaffected. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. "But I can take care of myself."

He chuckled softly, a rich, melodic sound that sent another wave of heat through you. "I'm sure you can," he replied, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tender, and it took everything in you not to lean into it.

You finally managed to step back, his hands reluctantly releasing you as you put some much-needed distance between you. "Is that any way to thank someone?" Eris drawled, the smirk never leaving his face.

You took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the lingering warmth from his touch and the way your heart was still racing. "Thank you," you said again, more firmly this time. "But I don't need your help."

"Of course," he said, inclining his head slightly. "But the offer stands."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind swirling with a mixture of irritation and something else—something you weren't quite ready to acknowledge. You watched him go, his confident stride and the way the light caught his hair making it hard to look away.

Finally, you took a deep breath and made your way back to your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where he had touched you. You sat down next to Azriel, who gave you a questioning look. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. "Just ran into an old... acquaintance."

Azriel's gaze flicked briefly to where Eris had gone, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "If you need anything..."

"I know," you said, cutting him off gently. "Thank you, Azriel."

As the night went on, you tried to focus on the celebration, on the laughter and the music and the sense of freedom that permeated the room. But every now and then, your thoughts would drift back to Eris, to the way his hands had felt on your waist and the look in his eyes. And you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than you had ever realized.

[snakes-and-fluff]

Milgram drought be hitting hard... Anyway I was thinking what an anime of each prisoner's personal story might look like (assuming all isolated from each other and Milgram as a facility does not exist) ((also assume each 12 episodes long)) also assuming they're psychological dramas because. Milgram

Haruka: The main appeal is the artstyle, drawn like animated child's drawings for most of the time but a few scenes an episode is instead depicted in starkly realistic illustrations (not animated). It's told from the perspective of Haruka who keeps insisting he has a good life even as all the facts point otherwise, finally culminating in the murder late in the show, at which point the artstyle changes to be a strange mix of the previous two

Yuno: What first presents itself as a peppy slice-of-slice soon devolves into a painfully raw story of a teen girl. The winner of many awards but not that popular with most people who claim to find it too dry and boring

Fuuta: The murder happens towards the end of episode two but it isn't revealed to the audience exactly what happens until much later. Fuuta's behaviour clearly changes after that point and he keeps getting harassed by people who were previously friendly with him, but the actual flashback reveal is only in ep 8. The show leans very heavily into the "is he a bad person?" question and the fandom is known for starting debates about it in the comments of completely unrelated posts

Muu: It was a dark setup from the start but not many people expected a murder in episode 7. The anime switches POV between Muu and Rei until Rei dies, then it switches between Muu and a student counsellor (who doesn't know about the murder and is just trying to solve the bullying but the tension comes from the fact that the audience and Muu keep being worried about her potentially learning about the murder)

Shidou: The most niche of the bunch, some people weren't a fan of how medically accurate it was while others rejoiced in that fact. The whole thing is a flashback as it's established that Shidou has left the medical industry in the first episode but it is slowly revealed why and the circumstances behind his family's deaths as it goes on

Mahiru: Yuno's might have been a bit misleading at first but everyone who saw the promo material knew what was going down. Mahiru's managed to keep the dark twists under wraps, genuinely being sold as a cute love story though there were hints from the start. It's unclear when exactly the death happened because as it goes on it starts timeskipping and flashbacking without warning and it's clear that Mahiru isn't quite sure herself of what is actually happening

Kazui: Hinako is dead before the series even starts and it is actually told from the perspective of someone who works with Kazui slowly uncovering what happened out of morbid curiousity. Kazui is the very definition of unreliable narrator and nobody knows what to make of whatever information comes directly from him. Some fans don't like the way the show never seemed to decide on a single answer as to what happened while others praise it for it

Amane: The fandom is small but loud (though it is always recommended as "this one will tear your heart out"); the tale of a child embroiled in an awful home life, using a unique visual style of poppy colours and thick outlines to sharply contrast the horrible things being portrayed. The murder happens at the end of the last episode, giving the closest thing to a "happy ending" they could achieve for Amane, though it is left ambiguous what would happen to her next

Mikoto: Told in a non-chronological style, the reveal of the murder is towards the end (around episode 10) leaving the rest of the time as wrapup as Mikoto finally comes to accept the truth of the situation. There are still arguments in the fandom years after it ended if the murder was metaphorical or not

Kotoko: She's presented as a really cool vigilante at first but then it slowly unravels as she reveals more of her violent side and that her kill count is a LOT higher than previously thought. Her personality is divisive among fans but everyone can agree that the opening is a banger

DISCLAIMER: I just realised that some of these can be read as me throwing shade on the fans of a particular character; I promise 100% that isn't the case this was just a fun thought experiment!

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #2

Latex Love 🖤 / Masquerade Ball 💃

For a culture that eschews Mundane holidays as strongly as it does, the Nephilim world goes buck fucking wild for any reason to celebrate. Alec has counted sixteen ice sculptures in this room alone, all made of Seelie ice so they’ll barely melt over the course of the evening, and that’s not even counting the carved ice runes keeping the raw bar cold. 

The occasion? It’s Consul Penhallow’s fiftieth birthday. Or it’s her fifth service anniversary? Alec’s not really sure. Izzy whispered it to him behind her hand after two glasses of champagne and he’s pretty sure she didn’t know either. 

He shouldn’t even be here. He has acres of paperwork piling up and a brewing civil suit between two rival warlocks that’s going to give everyone in a ten-block radius an ulcer if he doesn’t defuse it in the next few days. The last thing he needs is to be holding another glass of champagne in the ballroom of one of Lorenzo Rey’s insane properties, wearing a mask that obscures most of his face and half of his vision. 

Not to mention the inherent food safety risks of the raw bar. Eurgh.

He peels away from Jace, who’s diligently trying to figure out who literally everyone in the room is, with Clary hanging over his shoulder offering hints, and goes to inspect the rest of the appetizer offerings. He squints through his mask at the overembellished script on the little toothpick flags at the front of each platter. If Izzy weren’t already two drinks deep and totally bought into the quote unquote romance of a masked ball, he would have ripped the thing off half an hour ago, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion she’s got some kind of tracker on him to make sure he complies with the theme.

“What a spread,” comes a velvety voice from behind him, and Alec whirls, almost sweeping a platter of salmon tartlets to the floor. 

“Uh — what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says the stranger, not sounding it. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just admiring the opulence. Clearly the Clave spared no expense to celebrate Consul Penhallow. If only they’d devote the same resources to infrastructure.”

Alec, caught off guard, huffs out a laugh. “I know, right? We could actually convert to green energy instead of just saying we will every few years.”

He can’t make out the stranger’s eyes behind his elaborate mask, which is disconcerting. With his luck he’s probably talking to someone responsible for the green energy initiative. 

But the stranger laughs. Alec could swear his voice sounds familiar, but it’s so loud in here and everything echoes off the flagstone, so maybe he’s wrong. He doesn’t look like anyone Alec knows, from what he can see of him. He’s wearing a suit made from deep, rich purple material with a gold floral design that looks like it would have a texture if Alec reached out and touched it. His hair is dark and falls in a glossy swoop over the right eye of his intricate gold mask; the left side of his mask is adorned with peacock feathers so Alec can’t see either of his eyebrows. He’s a bit shorter than Alec, and he’s a lot rounder. Like, a lot rounder. 

“But still,” the stranger is saying. “I can’t complain. I’m here, aren’t I? I never could resist a party.”

Alec tries not to stare, because he can’t actually think of anyone in the Clave — anyone in the Nephilim world, really — who’s fat. Is that weird? That’s probably weird, right? 

But this guy — maybe it’s his size, maybe it’s his whole purple getup and the peacock feathers, but he looks like the word he uttered a moment ago: opulence. Hoping he can’t see too much through his mask either, Alec subtly checks him out: a round face beneath the edge of his mask, pretty lips, soft double chin. Thick arms, plump hips, a rotund belly that sets his stance wide. His suit fits him well, and he carries his weight like he’s not interested in making himself smaller. Alec’s throat is suddenly as dry as his love life.

“Like what you see?” asks the stranger, his voice tipping up coyly. He turns in an exaggerated circle for Alec to drink in, finishing with a graceful little bow that makes his stomach pour forward. 

“I, uh, just — I really don’t know who you are,” Alec stammers. “But I guess we’re not supposed to tell, right? It ruins the mystique or something?”

“I’ll ruin your mystique,” the stranger purrs, and Alec must look verklempt because he adds hastily, “Care to accompany me through the hors d’oeuvres? I’m famished.”

He holds out a hand like the Southern belles in that Mundane movie phase Izzy went through back when she was thirteen. He’s even wearing lace gloves, for god’s sake.

Alec is zero percent sure about taking some random guy’s hand in a crowd of his coworkers, friends, and loved ones, but then he remembers that probably no one can tell who he is, either, and so why the fuck not. 

He takes his hand. The guy’s hand is warm and soft beneath the lace, nails glinting darkly, and his grip is firm in a way that makes Alec feel secure. They’re just two guys being dudes, cruising the appetizer table in a very casual way.

“Not feeling the raw bar?” Alec jokes nervously, and the guy purses his lips. Can the guy feel his hand sweating? “No? Not an oyster guy?”

The stranger scoffs. “Once you’ve had them prepared the selkie way off the coast of the Hebrides, nothing else quite measures up. And besides, I haven’t lived for centuries just to go belly-up from some improperly chilled oysters. Seelie ice hardly maintains the temperature that premium seafood requires.”

Alec momentarily gets derailed by belly-up and can’t help dropping his gaze down to where the stranger’s stomach rounds out just inches from his own. It’s oddly tantalizing, and he swallows once, twice, before trying to latch onto some more relevant information. Centuries — so he must be a Downworlder. 

 “Centuries?” Alec echoes. “Which was your favorite?”

It feels for a second like it might be a stupid question, but the stranger replies without missing a beat. “I’ve a taste for the Baroque period, if you couldn’t tell.” He gestures to his outfit with a flourish. “I sat for Rubens back in the day, if you get my drift. I actually had this mask specially crafted for a ball in Antwerp back in, oh, it must have been 1611, maybe 1612.”

Alec doesn’t know what half of those words mean, but from the guy’s tone, he thinks he might be flirting. “I don’t know who that is,” he admits, taking a plate for himself and handing one to the guy. “The Shadowhunter education isn’t big on art history.”

“Really,” says the guy, and he sounds genuinely interested. “But — all the angels!”

“Yeah, I mean, half of those aren’t actual angels. They don’t really look like that. Or, I guess, maybe they would to a Mundane, but they’d get blinded by divine light way before they could tell what an angel looked like anyway.” He takes a Gruyère puff for himself and then, on what feels like a daring whim, puts one on his stranger’s plate as well. The stranger’s pretty lips curl into a smile. There’s glitter on them, or something? Izzy would know what it’s called, and she would never stop making fun of Alec if he asked. 

“You know, that’s oddly reassuring,” muses the guy, popping the Gruyère puff into his mouth and reaching for another. “I’ve always wondered if those horrible little ill-proportioned cherubs are what you Nephilim see in times of crisis.”

Alec bursts out laughing despite himself. “I don’t think the Clave could take itself half as seriously if they were.” The stranger smiles too, warm and soft, and Alec backtracks: “Hey, wait, you still have to tell me about sitting for Ruben or whoever.”

The guy hesitates, and for a horrible second Alec is sure that he’s blown it. But then the guy leans in and says, his voice low and rich, “Proposition: Let’s fill some plates and find somewhere a bit quieter.”

It sends a chill through Alec in the good, sexy way. He nods his agreement, and the guy gives one quick, pleased nod, as if to say, It’s decided. “There’s a courtyard around here somewhere, if I’m not mistaken.”

Alec smirks. “Oh, so you’ve been to Lorenzo’s parties before?”

“Have I.” He grimaces. “A necessary evil in my line of work, I’m afraid. One must keep things diplomatic, no matter how tacky one finds them.”

Alec snorts. Part of him wants to say fuck the food, let’s go hide in the courtyard, but all he can see is this guy’s perfect mouth and he kind of wants to see more of it. And if there’s something mesmerizing about watching him carefully choose and then eat appetizers, well, then, Alec is simply not going to dwell on that right now.

He throws some stuff on a plate and tails his stranger through the room, breathless despite the fact that his legs are longer and he doesn’t need to work to keep up. Alec’s spent a lot of time quietly lusting over all the stupidly hot things guys do when they don’t know someone’s watching, but watching slim, muscular guys amble around the training room and strut around in leather is very different from watching this guy. His big belly pulls him forward, and the slight sway of his gait makes it clear that his thighs rub together despite his fancy suit. His ass is tremendous from behind, not just in size but in — Alec doesn’t know what word to apply to it. It’s majestic. He thinks about running his hands over it, skimming over the rolls of his wide hips and up to the ample plush of his belly, and he almost drops his plate.

“Oh — here,” says his stranger, hanging a quick left and directing Alec out a hidden door to what appears to be a small, private jungle. “It’s quite lovely, I’ll give him that. Even if it’s a bit — gauche.”

The air outside is cool and a little wet, not humid but almost dewy in a hopeful, vernal way. His stranger sets his plate down at a little wrought iron table in the corner by a small waterfall set into the lush greenery and rockwork. His stranger eases into an iron chair beset by frilly curlicues, and it is not lost on Alec how much he overflows it. If the seat had arms, he certainly wouldn’t fit; as it is, he has to scoot the chair back from the table so it doesn’t dig into his belly.  

“I wanted to be chivalrous and get you another drink,” sighs the guy, reclining a bit in the chair in a way that puts not just his gut but the bulk of his thighs and snug seams of his trousers, “but alas. Now that I’ve sat, I fear I won’t be getting back up for a while.” He palms his enormous belly, and Alec, eyes wide in sudden, abject enchantment, swears he can see him wink through his mask. “It’s a lot of effort to haul all of this around.”

“I’ll get drinks,” Alec barrels over him, and before the guy can even finish his sentence, he’s off and running, practically colliding with the first cocktail waiter he sees. He grabs two champagne flutes and gets halfway back to the buffet before realizing he has no earthly way of carrying two glasses and a plate. Suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world to get this guy something nice to eat now that he went to all the work of taking Alec to his romantic secret courtyard. Either the alcohol is going to his head or he’s literally under a spell, and he’s pretty sure that the Clave’s suite of pre-event warding would prevent the latter.

His stranger has worked through quite a bit of his plate by the time Alec returns, panting, and sets the glasses down between them. The guy tips his head up to Alec, chin muddling softly into his soft neck, and smiles at him dreamily. “Thank you, darling. Sit, eat, and I’ll explain Rubens to you.”

Alec sits and eats and watches his guy eat too. Between bits of his anecdote, his guy has something to say about each hors d’oeuvre, remarking on the flavor balance or mouthfeel or seasonality, and Alec soaks it all in, rapt.  

“And so Rubens,” he’s saying, “had a penchant for — fuller-figured girls, if you will, like yours truly.” He pauses, preens. “I was quite large even then; it’s a shame it’s been rather lost to time. If I remember correctly, I was Rubens’ only male nude. It’s truly a triumph; he painted me spilling out of a dressing gown, fresh from the bath, all rosy and damp —”

Alec chokes on a crumb of tartlet crust. His brain feels like that video Jace showed him of an entire fireworks display going off at once. 

“And by ‘lost to time,’” concludes the guy cheekily, “I mean ‘spelled into oblivion in my apartment, lest the Met acquire one of my greatest honors.’”

“You’ll have to show me,” Alec grinds out. The guy’s lips curl into that smile again, and slowly, he reaches one plump, begloved hand across the table. Alec takes it. And maybe he is under a spell, because he can barely believe the words on his tongue even as he cues them up.

“Can I kiss you?” 

His guy’s smile widens. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And well, Alec’s not going to make him get up for it, so he scoots his chair closer to his stranger and leans forward until he’s practically sprawled across the guy’s stomach. He cups his soft cheek in one hand, breathes in his sweet, spicy, incense-y smell —

— and their masks bash together.

“God damn it,” says Alec, and the guy laughs. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. You’ll see it in the Rubens eventually, I hope.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Alec, grinning back. His own mask is pretty plain — black with some silver scrollwork. Izzy picked it out under strict instruction to get him the least obnoxious one available. “On three?”

“On three,” his guy agrees, and they count together: one, two, three.

Alec pulls off his mask, already feeling a big dumb grin spreading across his face — until he looks across the table, and the grin falls away as his mouth drops open.

This guy’s eyes are familiar — golden, expertly made up. His pudgy cheeks belie his high cheekbones, and the coquettish, self-assured look on his face rings one too many bells. No. No no no no. He has not spent the last hour getting hot and bothered over Magnus Bane, serial flirt, general pain in Alec’s ass, and half of the warlock civil suit that’s currently driving him insane.

“Well,” says Magnus as Alec gapes, “I must say that wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for.”

“No!” says Alec, categorically unable to process this. “I know you! You’re — you’re —”

“Thin?” supplies Magnus. “Slender? Trim? The masculine ideal? A South Asian Adonis?”

“Yes!” says Alec helplessly. “Why are you even at Lorenzo’s if you’re in a fucking lawsuit against him? Wait, is this a disguise? Is that it? What the fuck, Magnus?”

Magnus, to his credit, looks only marginally fazed by all of Alec’s to-do. “No, darling,” he drawls, drawing a hand down the wide, lush expanse of his middle. “Not quite, at least. This isn’t the disguise. But the body you’re familiar with? That’s camouflage, Alexander. Look around. Do you see anyone at this party who looks like me? Do you think any of them would take me seriously in this body? For the ones charged with stewarding the supernatural world, Nephilim have a list of prejudices as long as both of your legs.”

Alec goes quiet. 

“And yes,” Magnus goes on, “I am, at present, legally entangled with Lorenzo Rey. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to miss out on the chance to sneer at his decor and enjoy his bonnes bouches and champagne. Et voilà: in this body, he’d never guess.” He gives a theatrical shrug and fixes Alec with a coy, catlike gaze. “What can I say, I’m a petty creature. Still want to kiss me?”

And the thing is that Alec does. Maybe he could stand to learn a thing or two from the Downworld about how shortsighted the Nephilim can be, and maybe he’d better also do some soul searching about whether he’s got some newfound preferences or if he’s been repressing these like he’s been repressing everything else. 

“On one condition,” he says, and Magnus lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?”

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, giving Magnus a hand up and going a little weak in the knees as Magnus rocks forward and levers himself up with a soft noise that Alec wishes he could play back again and again. “Let me at least buy you dinner first. It won’t be bone bush or whatever you said, but there’s a really good Italian place up near the Institute. Cloth napkins, everything. My treat. And the chairs don’t have arms, either. And, um.” He laces his fingers through Magnus’s, and Magnus steps closer, the heavy curve of his belly brushing the front of Alec’s suit. 

“Yes?”

Alec’s finding it a little hard to breathe. “I don’t want you to think that — you’re still, uh, — I think you’re still —”

Magnus waits. 

“I think you’re really hot like this,” Alec finishes. “Like, you look so good that you’re making it hard to talk. Or think. I don’t want you to think that I don’t think that about this body. I do. Like, I really, really do.”

Magnus cups Alec’s face in one hand, and he’s so close that Alec can feel the warmth radiating from him, the soft give of his body. “Alexander Lightwood, a romantic,” he purrs. “Who would have thought?”

“It’s my mystique,” says Alec, jamming his own mask back over his face and gesturing for Magnus to do the same. “Come on, before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

Magnus’s hand is snug around his as they spill out of the party. The sweet, soft air smells like hope.

[plaindangan]

All Makoto wanted to do when he grew up was open a nice quiet coffee shop by the edge of town. And to his credit, he sorta did! But with all of his sexy employees hitting on him and every customer that walks in, the shop is anything but quiet

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view!

A nice little quiet coffee shop...

Oh, if Makoto could only look back at his younger self and just shake his head at how much went awry.

Don't get him wrong - he loved doing what he does and made quite the killing as the central hub of the town for get togethers...but, well...

He had also had to deal with a lot of...interesting people as his regular customers.

"Heeeeeey, mind giving me some...extra cream~ I'd do it myself, but that's only for private matters, big boy~" said Miu, her flirty expressing contrasting, yet complimenting, her body being covered in machine oil and essentially dress in just a ruined bra and panties.

"Heeeeeeey, Mack!! Gimme a dozen donuts and I'll let ya cop a feel~" Akane said in both jogging shorts that barely covered her phat ass...and nothing but a small towel around her shoulders to cover her puffy, voluptuous, tits.

"Oh my, you truly know how to warm a girl's heart with your coffee...perhaps, after school I can come back to give you some tutoring?~ Chisa said flirtatiously, complete with opening up her dress shirt to give him a hint of cleavage.......only for her big boobs to pop out completely since it was already strained.

"D-damn it, what the Hell does he still see in her!!!!" sniffled out Kanon, wearing essentially a gyaru's attire that left her thong-clad doughy ass out and had her make-up running, before looking at Makoto after taking a sip of coffee. "...Say, you're cute wanna fuck my ass in the alleyway over?"

Yeaaaaaaaaaah, Makoto had his hands full...but! Surely, his employees were bett-oh, who was he kidding?

They were worse.

"H-hey, boss!! How do you fuck these croi-!!! Oh shit, sorry!! Find! Find these croissants! Fuck me!! GAAAH! I mean, not fuck me, fuck me! Just regular fuck me!! N-n-not that I want you to fuck me...I mean I kinda d-!!! SHIT!!! FUCK-!!!" Mukuro stuttered out, faced red in embarrassment and a bit of lust as she was looking at her cute boss all over. In her embarrassment, she ran out of the room...unaware that her pants had sagged enough to the point of showing off her freckled, plump, booty and camo panties in front of Makoto.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I-I'm sooorrrryyy!! I-I thought my b-big, silky, u-udders would enhance the coffee!! Pl-please don't fire meeeee!! I'll do anythiiiing!! Y-you can even titfuck me, or use my ass as a stress toy, or, b-better yet!!! F-f-fuck me raw, right here and right now!!!! Just don't let me gooooooooo!!" said a crying Mikan after being caught using her own milk as a 'special ingredient' due to request from a particularly bully-esque customer. As if to prove she was serious, Mikan flipped up skirt - showing off her pantyless, bushy, pussy (which was already wet) and eager to be taken right now...in front of a lunch rush.

"Sigh, you look as if you need a break. Now, now, now - a brief nap will not harm your business, Master. Oh, forgive me. Force of habit. Anyways, Master Naegi, just lean back in your chair and all will be fine. I assure you, I'll get everything in order, the building will be spotless and you can enjoy some 'material' I made in the meantime. Just leave it all to me, Master!" vowed Kirumi as she left Makoto's office. As for the material? Why it was several sex tapes of Kirumi herself, riding a dildo and putting a vibrator to her wet folds while moaning 'Master Makoto's' name~

Yeah, so safe to say Makoto never knew what a 'quiet, peaceful,' coffee shop was like.

[renaiswriting]

Baci di Luna (part 5)

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol/Reader

Summary:

Saying I love you was never easy.

Having to say it in a language that wasn't yours was not easy either.

Imagine the struggle of that, and now add it to loving someone whose family thinks you're a monster.

It can't be easy at all.

Word count: +4.1k

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of burning. (I think that's all.)

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"Noah, stop it already!"

 

Noah had been banging on the bathroom door for several minutes already, hurrying you to let him into the bathroom so he could take a bath, but you knew that more out of haste to perform some personal hygiene (because Noah had never been much of a baths' lover, no matter how short they were), he was looking for excuses to distract you from meeting Seungcheol.

 

Your younger brother was jealous, and although you would have usually found him adorable, he was starting to wear on your patience a bit.

 

"If you keep banging the door, I'll tell mom." You warned him. And this seemed to be somehow effective, because the banging on the door stopped for some time.

 

You tried your best to dry your hair with your towel, but it was still kind of wet.

 

You had put it on a high ponytail and your favorite pink lipstick.

 

"All yours." You told Noah once you stepped out of the bathroom, giving him a questionable look when you found him lying down on the floor.

Your mom was on the couch, knitting a new scarf for Arianna since she had lost hers in the move and had already made the whole house crazy by constantly wearing her scarves.

Your mom looked at you twice, the first had been a distracted glance while the second scanned you up and down, her brow furrowed.

"Dove vai vestito così?"

Until those moments you had avoided mentioning to him the plan to go out with Seungcheol because of this very questioning.

Your father, who had been more focused on taking inventory of the raw materials to make the various delicacies sold at the bakery, also looked up, one of his eyebrows raised. "Yeah, where are you supposed to go all dolled up like that? You're not supposed to work at the bakery today."

"I'm going to meet Seungcheol." You explained, trying to avoid sounding nervous, you didn't want them to suspect you liked the poor boy or anything, it would be all very awkward if Seungcheol came back to the bakery after that. Your father had always been known in the family for making jokes and hinting at the boyfriends and girlfriends his sons had had so far. He shrugged it off with a shrug of his shoulders. There was nothing to hide. You were going to get together with a friend. "You've already met him."

"Chi è Seungcheol? Non lo ricordo." Your mother asked , and you couldn't believe how she didn't remember Seungcheol considering how many times he had been to the bakery.

"Yes, I don't remember any Seungcheol either." Your father nodded his head, agreeing with his wife.

"He's tall, dark hair, big round eyes..."

"Quello del cornetto? Va bene, puoi andare ma porta Arianna con te."

You guessed that by now the Cornet boy had officially acquired the nickname Seungcheol.

 

"No! I can't bring Arianna with me; he's my friend. I want to be able to talk about things with him, but Arianna will get bored. Please, Dad?"

 

Your father looked conflicted. "I don't know. What do you say?" he asked his wife directly. "(Y/n) is old enough not to need a chaperone, don't you think? Maybe we should trust her with this."

"Dove vi incontrate allora?"

 

"I don't know, we were just going to walk for a while; we didn't agree to go to a specific place."

 

"Va bene, ma torna a casa prima delle sette." Your mother agreed, her index finger pointing at you. And that was more than enough time, it was almost four and you weren't even sure you would have something to talk about for more than an hour.

And that was more than enough time; it was almost four, and you weren't even sure you would have something to talk about for more than an hour.

 

"Where are you going?" Arianna asked, entering the room where you were all wearing her pajamas, shorts, and barefoot. Her eyes looked over your figure, stopping when she realized something. "Those are my earrings! Take them off; I was planning to wear them today."

 

"Sure thing, it absolutely goes well with your outfit." You replied, rolling your eyes but taking them off anyway, giving them back to her before finding some others to use instead.

 

One of your parents must have told her what your plans were for that day because Arianna walked into your shared bedroom whining. "I wanna go too!"

 

"Well, next time, maybe. I told Seungcheol it would be just the two of us today; I really want to make new friends here."

 

"If he's going to be your friend, then he has to get used to your family." She pointed it out, throwing herself on her bed, her legs resting against the cold wall. She had started doing this after and before every meal for some reason; apparently it was good for digestion or something like that.

 

"Well, yeah, but it would be rude to just show up there if he wasn't being told in advance. Why do you suddenly want to meet with him anyway? Does my little sister have a crush that I haven't caught on to?"

 

Arianna rolled her eyes and said, "None of that. But if you're going to where we went last time, I want to go there; they gave us food. It was delicious; I still want to punch myself because we didn't bring more."

You pick up your biggest pillow and throw it at her face, taking her by surprise. "Yah! That was not nice!"

"Be grateful for what they gave us; it was a nice thing for them to do. Don't act like a brat"

Ever since that night you went to Seungcheol and his friends' house, both you and Arianna had made a silent pact to never speak about it in front of any other member of your family unless you were looking for a punishment.

"And I don't think we're going there; we're probably just going to go on a walk or something like that, and I'll come back home. Next time, we can bring Noah to the lake and invite Seungcheol if you want."

"Sure," Arianna said, "bring Seungcheol for yourself and make me babysit Noah; at least bring someone of my interest too, would you?"

You raised your right eyebrow in her direction, looking at her with an expression that said, "I caught you lying to me."

 

"Like who?" You asked her, reaching for the ring your mom had given you to protect you.

 

"I don't know; the shorter one was pretty cute." Arianna replied with a shrug. Her hand was playing with her own hair, braiding it.

 

"And probably too old for you; why don't you try looking for some guy your age in town? I'm sure the butcher's son is a nice boy, and if you go out with him, we might get a good discount on fish." You joked.

 

"But I don't like him." Arianna protested.

 

"Well, then ask mom to introduce you to some of her friends' sons; I bet she would be thrilled."

 

Arianna complained a little bit more, but you ignored it as you made your way to the door, where someone was knocking.

Seungcheol was standing in front of the door, both of his hands in his pants pockets, and his feet were moving back and forth, resting all his weight on one foot at a time.

He was biting his lower lip, and when you opened the door, he looked like he was about to fix his hair.

 

"Hello," Seungcheol sighed with a small smile. His eyes traveled to how you were dressed that day before returning to your eyes. "You look really nice today."

 

"Thanks!" You replied with a big smile, looking over your shoulder when you heard footsteps coming your way. "We should probably get going before my brother finds a way to tag along."

 

Seungcheol's eyes moved behind your figure, and you realized a little bit too late that Noah had made his way to the front door before you could fly away. "If he wants to come, he can." Seungcheol whispered to you, sending you a reassuring smile.

 

"It's okay; he can come next time."

 

Seungcheol nodded. "One of our youngest probably might enjoy his company; he would love to have someone to play with."

 

You closed the door behind you as you both started walking. The day was pretty sunny, and it was really warm.

There was a gentle breeze that was caressing your skin and moving your hair gently out of your face.

 

"Oh no, just one sibling interested in your friends is enough." You joked, and just when you thought this would be just a comment to fill the silence, it seemed to catch Seungcheol's attention.

 

"Who's attention did my friends catch?" He asked with a teasing grin.

 

"My sister's; she swears she doesn't like them like that, but I'm pretty sure she would become as silent as a mouth if she's around them again."

Seungcheol laughed loudly, shaking his head. He looked quite relaxed, and his calmness was contagious, because suddenly all the nervousness you had felt while preparing was gone.

The path began to become more familiar as Seungcheol turned near Loco Thud's butcher shop. A large green wall opened up, leaving you in awe with each step you took closer to the forest.

 

No matter how much you saw it, the forest was still so beautiful that it seemed unreal.

 

"Where are we going?" you asked curiously, pausing for a few moments to watch a butterfly fly a short distance from your face.

 

"Are you hungry? I was thinking we could have a little picnic near the lake."

 

It hadn't been until that instant that you noticed the large backpack Seungcheol was carrying on his shoulders.

 

"I'm starving." You replied happily, touching your belly in anticipation of the food. "But you should have told me in advance; I would have brought some pastries from the bakery."

 

"No, it's on me. It was my idea. I managed to make Mingyu and Joshua bake these, though. So I bet they would taste delicious—probably not as good as the pastries your family sells, but I promise these will be good. I have tried them before."

"Trust me, I'm so hungry I could eat rocks." You joked.

 

Seungcheol made you walk to the spot where you both met each other the last time. There was a nice baby blue blanket on the floor and two tiny baby yellow pillows.

 

"When did you prepare this?" You asked, and it looked really pretty with the noise of the water running right next to your spot. The blanket was soft, and the pillow felt good under you.

 

"I bring these before going to your house. I wanted to ask Jeonghan and Joshua to help me, but they were busy. I got to steal Jeonghan's blanket though, so let's try to not demage it with food." He nervously laughed.

 

"No problem." You reassured him, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

 

Seungcheol opened his backpack, taking out from inside some orange juice, two cups, and a bunch of pastries. You couldn't help yourself but take a bite of one of the big, thin chocolate cookies; they were as big as your face.

Your eyes widened in amazement as a chocolate sparkle invaded your taste buds. The dough was so sweet, you felt like you could shiver with happiness.

 

Your hand scooped out some crumbs that had landed on your chin and clothes, covering your mouth as you continued to munch on the cookie. "It's so good!"

 

Seungcheol took a cookie identical to yours, devouring it in seconds. He nodded his head in approval, copying your hand position by hiding his own mouth behind it.

 

"These are Mingyu's; I always ask him to make this for my birthday because of how tasty they are."

 

"What did you promise him in exchange for these?" You asked him, laughing, "My siblings would make me pay them or do their chores for a whole month if I asked them to bake cookies for me."

Seungcheol laughed nervously. He had no idea how to tell you that he had promised Mingyu that he would take his nightly rounds if Mingyu accepted to bake stuff for his little date with you.

 

"I said I would do his laundry for a month." He replied instead. "Joshua was nicer; he asked me to do his bed instead for a week."

 

"You're the older one, aren't you?" You asked, nodding alongside Seungcheol when he confirmed it. "That's the blessing and the curse of the oldest; we can order around the house, but once they start growing up, they stop doing what we ask for if it isn't exchanged for a favor later." You laughed.

 

"Are you much older than your siblings?" Seungcheol asked and looked genuinely interested.

"Well, I'm three years older than Arianna and seven years older than Noah."

 

"You guys have such unique names," Seungcheol complimented. "I don't think I've ever heard someone with those names in town. I like them."

 

"Wait till you hear Noah's full name." You chuckled. "He's named after my mom's dying brother; apparently he asked her to name Noah after him. He's Noah Giovanni."

 

Seungcheol lay down on the blanket, his head on top of the small pillow, while his hands were comfortably crossed on his stomach.

 

"Two names? That's not usually the norm here."

 

"It isn't here. I had multiple friends and family members that had more than one name; some even had around three  names."You told him, lying down just like he was, enjoying the way the leaves on the trees were moving with the breeze, and sometimes some sunlight would make a quick appearance here and there.

Seungcheol's eyes were already on you when you turned to the side to see him more comfortably. He sent you a small smile when you both made eye contact.

"What about you? What's your other name?" Seungcheol's arm was under his face, his elbow pointing at you. He offered some orange juice that you accepted happily, sitting for some instants to take a sip of it. Your eyes moved to the water, and you were tempted to take some rocks and throw them in the water.

 

"I don't have any; the only one that has one is my brother." You mumbled, "But my mom told me once that if she could give me a second name, it would have been Isabella."

"You don't have a middle name, do you?" You asked him after some seconds of complete silence.

"No, but why don't you give me one?" He asked, moving forward to get some pancakes that he had told you beforehand had been made by Joshua. He had brought some honey, sugar, and butter to put on it.

"Me?" You asked with a chuckle. "I'm sad to inform you that my naming skills are not that good. I called a bunny pet that we had for a little bit of jumping because it jumped around a lot, and that's on my list of top-named objects and animals."

"Good thing to know that I'm not an object, then," he laughed. "Go ahead; if it's terrible, then the name would never leave this place."

"Seungcheol Oliver." You announced it proudly. It was the name of one of your childhood plushies that you sadly lost years ago in one of your family's moves to a new house.

"Oliver?" Seungcheol chuckled, nodding his head, satisfied. "Alright, I like it."

You took a bite of one of the brownies that were carefully placed on a plate, taking another sip of the orange juice. "Today's such a beautiful day." You sighed happily, closing your eyes when some breeze touched your face, moving your hair out of your face and out of your shoulders. Thankfully, it was already dry, and some of your curls have finally started to form in your wavy hair.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." Seungcheol replied happily, and you could swear you had heard a purr coming from somewhere. "How do you say that in Italian?"

"Oggi è una bellissima giornata." You told him slowly so he could catch the pronunciation of each word. He copied the sound as closely as possible, but his tickling accent made it a little bit funny to hear. You guessed that was probably how you sounded speaking in Korean as well.

"I wish I could speak Italian as well; it sounds so beautiful." Seungcheol sighed.

"But you do speak more than one language." You encouraged him, "Don't you?"

"I understand a little bit of English because one of my brothers speaks English, and I can introduce myself in Chinese as well. I can name random objects too, like doors or water."

"Teach me how to say Hello, my name's Seungcheol. I feel bad whenever I go to your family's bakery and your mom's the one attending it because I just can't say anything to her."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I told you how to ask for what you want to buy instead? I'm pretty sure my mom will know your name by now." You told him, trying not to laugh as you remembered what had happened earlier in your house.

"One thing at a time," he told you. Instead, his eyes were looking at you with such sparkle that you felt something warm run throughout your body, making you smile without realizing it.

And so you continued the rest of the afternoon eating and talking. Seungcheol seemed to try to memorize every Italian word that came out of your mouth with great effort, and sometimes, when he thought you were distracted by throwing crumbs of homemade bread to the small fish swimming near where you were in the lake, you heard him practicing in whispers the pronunciation of those words.

 

"It's getting late," you yawned. You had no sign of trying to stand up because you really didn't want the afternoon to end.

"Do you have to go home already?" Seungcheol asked, his face not making the slightest attempt to hide the disappointment behind his face.

 

"Yes," you sighed, just as sad as Seungcheol. The afternoon had passed so quickly that you were surprised as the sun began to set to give way to night. Time seemed to have flown by in the blink of an eye, and what had left you most pleased was that you had felt so comfortable around him. "My mom will scold me if I don't come back now. This Sunday, she won't let me eat the lasagna she's been anticipating for us since last week." You smiled at him.

 

Seungcheol nodded, understanding. "I'll walk you home, then. It's getting late, and it can be quite dangerous to walk at this time alone. Come on." He was standing up, his palm facing you, as he was waiting for you to take it and stand up as well.

His skin felt a little rough to the touch; there were some calluses on it, and a cut you had just noticed was still healing. A soft layer of pinker skin covered it. It was much warmer than your icy hands, and the warmth spread through the rest of your body, especially on your rosy cheeks, as I let him hold yours firmly.

 

A hiss interrupted the moment as Seungcheol let go of your hand with a great leap backwards. The movement had been so sudden that it made you stagger, landing you on your buttocks.

 

"Cavolo!" You swallowed your cry of pain, biting your lower lip, as your hands shot up in his direction, your knees digging into Jeonghan's blanket. "Are you okay?" You asked worriedly, your voice rising a little higher than you had intended. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to touch your wound; is it bleeding? Are you in a lot of pain?"

 

You felt incredibly embarrassed and guilty about what had happened. Seungcheol had been an angel to you, and you had only returned a wound.

Seungcheol kept his hand clenched with his other hand; his knuckles had turned white from the force he was using to put pressure on the wound. The muscle in his arm was strained, and some of his veins had been marked on his wrist.

Seungcheol was bent forward, snarling slightly.

"I'm fine." He replied that his voice had become a mixture of a whisper and a growl.

"Are you sure? Let me see! God, I'm so sorry," you continued, standing up and approaching him. Seungcheol turned the other way, preventing you from seeing his palm.

"Yeah! It doesn't hurt that much; don't worry." He breathed out, his eyes were closed into two lines, and his lip was being attacked by his upper teeth.

"Well, it doesn't seem like that; don't be stubborn and let me see!" Your hand pushed Seungcheol with all your strength, attempting to turn him around, but it didn't phase him at all. "Seungcheol." You insisted.

He turned around, checking how much it hurt when he started applying less and less pressure to it.

His hand was so red you would have thought he had put it straight into the fire; his burns looked third-degree, and there were already distinct blisters around a perfect circle on the inside of it.

 

The circle was a perfect copy of your silver ring.

 

"Che cazzo?! I think you should put your hand in the water. Doesn't it burn?"

"No, no, that's it. It hardly hurts anymore; we should go back; you should be home before your mother scolds you."

Seungcheol put all the things in his backpack, biting his tongue when some things brushed against the wound on his hand. Luckily, to ease some of the guilt you felt, he allowed you to help him put it away.

Seungcheol escorted you home as promised, and before you went inside, he grabbed you by the wrist with the hand that was still intact.

"Thank you for agreeing to hang out today; I had a great time with you."

"I had a great time as well; it was really fun! I'm sorry again for hurting you." You mumbled, moving your feet and avoiding his eyes. "But I promise I'll make sure to bring some pastries the next time as an I'm sorry present."

"Next time?" Seungcheol replied with a big smile, and his fingers softly brushed away some hair that was brushing against your eyes.

"Well yeah, if you want to. But I might have to warn you; my siblings will come as well." You joked.

"I'll bring some of my friends as well, then. I bet our youngest will want to make friends."

The door suddenly opened, and a woman slightly taller than you was standing up with both of her hands on her hips, looking at you angrily.

"Dove diavolo eri? è passato il tempo in cui ti dicevo di tornare! Perché sei andato nella foresta quando ci sono state così tante voci su lupi mannari e bestie pericolose?"

You had no idea how I had discovered that you had been in the woods without one of your siblings ratting you out, but none of them knew (at least as far as you knew) where they were going to meet; not even you knew where they were going until they arrived at the picnic already arranged.

You felt a little embarrassed with your mother mentioning the supposed werewolf in front of Seungcheol, but looking at him for a few seconds, he seemed to be as lost as you were.

"Should I apologize?" Seungcheol asked you; his eyes were wide open, and suddenly his posture was perfect.

"No, I think you'd better leave. We can arrange our next friend's outing these days; come to the bakery anytime you want. I still owe you a treat as an apology."

Seungcheol said goodbye to you with a smile, and in a few minutes he was already disappearing through the forest.

The pain in his chest began to increase proportionally as he moved farther away from you.

But he tried to omit it; he had been with you for hours, and by now that should be enough for his wolf.

We'll see you the next day.

The burn on his hand still burned, and he just wanted to get home so someone could treat the wound. He had been such an idiot; he should have paid more attention to your silver accessories. Who else if he didn't want to end up dead before he confessed to you that he was a werewolf and that you were his mate?

Seungcheol came home with a contented vibration in his chest.

It had been a good day.

[tatiejosie]

28 for Bella

ohohhhhh boy thank u for asking!!!!!

28. Top ten things that you love about your blorbo

• She's so pretty uwu <3 Her heterochromia is a really cool touch to her character design, and I love the punk 90s milf look. I'm using this opportunity to point out that Bella is unusually tall for a woman, but you can rarely notice it because Mandrake is the main Tall Bitch of the film, and there are few other adult humans to compare. I also very much enjoy her looks because she is Very Shaped and as much as I'm looking respectfully, I am most certainly still Looking. She's making it very hard not to look. [The film also never uses her looks to demean her character, but that's just Ghibli for you. Respect women juice has been dranken]

• She shamelessly reclaims her unusual appearance. Messy blue hair, mismatched eyes, pointy nose, massive stature and you won't see a hint of insecurity in this woman. She's glamorous and happily high-maintenance (wears makeup everyday, sharp manicured nails, hair-curlers routine), straying out of mainstream beauty standards whenever she feels like it (vibrant makeup colours, mismatched eyeshadow, bright high-heeled boots, skull earrings). Note the high contrast between the orphanage's matron and Bella. That woman sticks out like a sore thumb but she's oozing with confidence.

• She's not afraid of dirty labour and gross things. Look at her holding the damn slug with her bare hands and putting her entire arm into the gross gunk of her table without an ounce of disgust. She's not some dainty wimp who's afraid of chipping her perfectly manicured nails on the carcass of a roadkill. She's part of the primordial soup and she has no fucks to give.

• She is SO capable and versatile. Non-gentle reminder that Bella Yaga has been single-handedly managing the household; daily chores such as laundry, shopping, cooking (the artbook states that Bella is a great cook), probably cleaning to a certain extent; working on magic and the chores that come with it, foraging and gathering plants, processing the raw materials, preparing the spells and potions; and managing her spell business while maintaining her clientele and deliveries? And that's just the chores thing, but there's the whole bookkeeping aspect of maintaining the household and her business. Clearly Mandrake uses the demons card for any possible task, but she cannot do that, and the end credits show that Mandrake is only starting to learn how to cook! Bella is also the one who drives the car, and she seems to have the skills to repair it as well according to the credits. So yeah TLDR Bella is the housewife, the breadwinner, the Mom Friend, the Beer Dad, the Vodka Aunt, and the most reliable person of the house. We love a multitasking queen

• She's hot-headed and seemingly immune to bullshit - you're not getting away with being a treacherous little bitch without experiencing the Smack Of The Century. She also doesn't seem to be receptive to Earwig's manipulative ass trying to sweet-talk her way into practicing magic; I'm on the fence about the morality of Earwig's controlling behaviour so it's nice to have at least one character who doesn't fall for her bullshit.

• She's officially described as a skilled magician, even to demon standards! She has a whole ass notebook with hand-written spells that she probably crafted herself. And considering that the book looks childishly girly and worn-out, we can assume that she started writing in this notebook when she was a child.

• She's considerate and emotionally intelligent enough to live with and manage an unstable demon. Idk if that really counts as a quality because that's very much a fear response from abusive behaviour but hey, Mandrake loses his shit very easily and she's able to interact with him on a daily basis without dying so that's pretty girlbossy in my book. She seems supportive of him and obviously cares for him and his comfort, even if he's difficult. [Note that in the book, she does fight back when Mandrake assaults her]

• She's one of the queerest characters of the Ghibli pantheon. Excentric and glamorous, skilled beyond classic gender roles. She was ambiguously involved with Earwig's mother and Mandrake. Her husband is the twink of all times. She's the gruff drummer who starts the bar fight and WINS the bar fight, she's the blunt auntie who shittalks your parents with her cigarette hanging off her lip.

• She's a professional drummer and Mandrake thinks she's really skilled. Drumming takes a highly efficient coordination and an incredible sense of rhythm. Drummers are human metronomes with the stamina of a beast - they're the backbone of their band along with the bassist and yet they're always placed in the back of the stage bc otherwise they'll be too noisy and drown out the rest of the band. Managing to be both the brawn who bangs like a caveman, and the galaxy brain who maintains the entire song's tempo. Drummers are the unsung heroes hidden in the dark, carrying the weight of the drumline. That's Bella Yaga for you. /lh

• She still gets flustered when she's shown affection. That's it that's the thing I can't be normal about

Thank you so much for allowing me to be cringe about this specific blorbo, I love Bella very much and I feel that she deserves more love <3

[solmints-messyocdiary]

How my Slasher OCs smell like

Inspired by @rottent33th

T33th has given me the signal to write about how my slasher ocs smell like. Enjoy or not depending on what smells you enjoy. <3

Iris

I'll be 100% with you. Iris'... personal hygiene is a bit... bad. Primarily because she doesn't give a damn but also because she sometimes doesn't have time with all the slashing she is doing. Why clean up if you're going out again and dirtying yourself?

Anyways, she smells of blood, a bit of sweat, and BO with a very light hint of cherry/raspberry.

When she gets in her bimbo costume, she cleans herself up nicely and smells as if a PINK/Victoria's Secret/Juicy Couture perfume section puked on her. Really overwhelming. You'll smell her from miles away, lmao. Extremely fruity and artificial.

-

Odile

As previously mentioned, the smell of (frankincense - myrrh) incense, soil, and death have ingrained itself deeply on her. No matter how much she washes or scrubs until her skin gets red, there is always a hint of it on her. She feels really ashamed of that.

She also smells of moist and old wood (old church?) when she's hiding in an abandoned house or in the mausoleums.

Or of blood (metallic) and something... bitter-sweet after she has eaten raw meat and flesh. Tries to have aromatic flowers and herbs on her or as close to her as possible to at least fend off the rotting smell... Rosemary, coriander, basil, lavender, etc.

Odile loves taking baths and smelling nice. Who doesn't? So the moment she has a chance to wash herself thoroughly, she will use anything available. However, she likes products that have a sweet and/or floral smell, primarily that of roses and amber. Likes the smell of baby powder or aromatic powders in general.

-

The Patron

This man smells good! He likes expensive perfumes that stay on for a long time and have a rich and deep scent. That's why he uses Eau de Parfum more because they last much longer and have a stronger scent.

Uses woody fragrances (dry, mossy, etc) like sandalwood, sage, cedar, and so on with a citrusy hint.

He also smells of leather because he likes wearing gloves, coats, and shoes made of that material.

You know when an old book has that distinctive stuffy, vanilla smell? Yes, he smells like that a lot, too, because he spends a lot of time in libraries or museums. Also, there is a small hint of coffee and smoke on him because he frequents coffee shops.

-

Dogface

AXE BODYSPRAY AND OLD SPICE. DISGUSTINGLY OVERWHELMING. This man smells like edgy, bad teen boy locker.

Hair dye and hairspray.

Also, detergent and bleach because you know why.

-

The Nutcracker

He smells like nutmeg and cinnamon with a sweet almond undertone! Also wood due to his mask.

Old clothing.

Dust, I swear dust has a smell to it.

[chysgoda]

September 05: Barbarous

TW: Discussion of assault and punishment.

Note: since I haven't gotten around to expanding this part of my ancient world building, Moirae Bronzechild is Hades's maternal aunt. The Azem in this is Venat

The convocation doors slammed open and hit the walls with enough force to dent the plaster and inlayed brass. 

Fourteen heads turned to look at the woman who had barged in on their meeting. She was taller and broader than most Amaurotines, a fact easy to discern because she did not wear the communal robes or mask. Instead she wore A deep blue coat and black pants of some sturdy material. She was bare faced and the raw wrath on her face would make many quell and retreat. She had one hand twisted up in the hood of a young man who staggered behind her with only half of a mask hanging on the front of his robes. 

"How-" Pashtarot was half standing and cut his own words off when he saw his words trying to chase after this woman but moving as if they ran through hip deep sand. "What is the meaning of this?!"

When she was well into the room the woman raised her free hand and snapped. The doors slammed closed with the same thunderous boom they had opened with. She stormed to the circle of thrones on which the Convocation of Fourteen sat. She shoved the young man into the center of the circle. He stumbled and fell in a heap, quivering as the woman walked into the circle after him. 

"This," She sneered down and then turned to look at the convocation with steel in her spine and eyes. "claims to have come to my caravan at the behest of the Seat of Emet Selch. He beat one of my people near to death and tried to claim the protections of hospitality when caught."

"It is out of season for the Caravan of the Silvered Dawn to be so close to Amaurot." The seat of Azem pointed out from behind their black mask. 

"Be glad we were so close or else I would have brought you bones cleaned by the vultures in the badlands." The outsider turned to face the Traveler. 

"Only barbarians would-" Pashtarot's moist voice hissed. 

"Do not call my people barbarians when it is yours who-"

"We have moved beyond such-"

"Allow Caravan Master Moirae Bronzechild to present her case Pashtarot." Lahabrea interrupted the other convocation member. 

Moirae nodded her thanks to Lahabrea, the silver beads in her purple and red hair chiming softly. She turned to face the seat of the emissary. "Elidibus, you are the judgement of the Convocation. Witness this memory and judge its truth." She snapped and a vision of two people hovered in the air. One was the caravan master without her blue coat and the other was a dark haired youth dressed in a high necked sweater and wrapped in heavy blanket. 

"I can't go there! I can't face-" the youth was wild eyed and frantic. One eye swollen shut and the deep black bruise on the opposite cheek. 

The memory Moirae's face was gentle as she gave the young man a mug of something, "I wouldn't ask it if you Gaiar. Tell me and I'll take your words to the Convocation in Amaurot."

Gaiar laughed, the edges were hysterical, "what do the city folk care about us outside their walls?"

"I'll make them care," Moirae said, a hint of the steel showing that was for most in the woman physically present. "Give me your words and let me use them to make them see what has happened." 

The meeting chamber of the Convocation grew still as the grave as they watched Moirae carefully coax the story of his assault from Gaiar. When the memory was finished Moirae held the image making sure that the Gaiar's battered face was burned into the Convocation's memory the way it was hers. She snapped again the sound bringing the focus back to her as the image dissipated. When she spoke her voice was soft but carried to every seat. "And how do you judge this memory Elidibus."

The old man considered the man still cowering on the floor at the feet of a woman who radiated a contained force not unlike a member of the Convocation. "I judge the words of Gaiar and yourself to be true. We will consider them as we deliberate what is appropriate justice to be delivered to our citizen." The emissary held up a hand when Moirae took in a breath. "You brought him to our justice Caravan Master. We will pay such weregild as you feel is commiserate with the crime." 

"I will discuss that with you when convocation business is concluded for the day," Moirae nodded shortly. "From this day forward I will accept no Amaurotine citizen into my caravan for a year and a day."

"Ridiculous!"

"There are researchers who cannot move forward with their theses if they cannot travel with the caravan to gather data!"

"We have already agreed to a trial and the weregild! Would you punish all of Amaurot?"

"Yes." Moirae held her ground. She pointed at the young man at her feet. "I have welcomed every Amaurotine that comes into my caravan with hospitality and open arms. This may be the worst case but it is not the first time that my people have been harmed or taken advantage of. Your responses have been milquetoast at best. I will not suffer this anymore. We will return in a year and if the Convocation has found a way to prove the bonafides of those sent to us, and my people find it acceptable I will welcome your citizens once again."

Elidibus held up his hand when the Convocation began to speak over itself again. Reluctantly the elder statesman's call for silence was respected. "We can do naught else but accept your decree, caravan master. When you return in a year and a day, I hope that we will find common ground."

"As do I Emissary." Moirae bowed stiffly to the man and then vanished in a twist of blood red aether. 

[hadeschan]

item # K19B14

RARE Pra Somdej Luang Phor Pina Wat Sanomlao, Nua Pong Aa-tăn, Ta Thong. A Buddha amulet made from various types of powder of mystical plants, earth, holy powder, minerals, Lek Lai powder, and raw human flesh and blood. Luang Phor Pina collected all sacred materials while Luang Phor Pina was on his pilgrimage to the north of Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, and India .It was painted with gold metallic acrylic paint in the front. Made by Luang Phor Pina of Wat Sanomlao after BE 2530 (CE 1987).

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The legend has it that Luang Phor Pina “Plee”, asking the permission from spirit of the dead whose body belongs to with special ritual. The spirit of the dead will stay in the amulet to help the amulet owner for its own merits to the next world, and the spirit won’t do any harm.

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BEST FOR: The spirit in the amulet may trick you both visual and auditory hallucinations. The spirit helps comfort you and gives you peace when life is uneasy. You will NEVER be alone EVER, the spirit is with you everywhere you go. She, the spirit follows you all the time. She watches your back. She protects you, and your family and prevents danger. She blinds people who are going to harm you. She casts magic charm and love spells on people around you. Not only the spirit may communicate with you in dreams, or be seen or heard in daily life, but she also provides affection and companionship. This amulet has a tendency to draw positive energy. Kongkraphan Chatrie (it makes you invulnerable to all weapon attack), Maha-ut (it stops gun from shooting at you), Metta Maha Niyom (it helps bring loving, caring, and kindness, and compassion from people all around you to you), Maha Larp (it brings Lucky Wealth / wealth fetching), and Kaa Kaai Dee (it helps tempt your customers to buy whatever you are selling, and it helps attract new customers and then keep them coming back. Ponggan Poot-pee pee-saat Kunsai Mondam Sa-niat jan-rai Sat Meepit (it helps ward off evil spirit, demon, bad ghost, bad omen, bad spell, curse, accursedness, black magic, misfortune, doom, and poisonous animals). It helps protect you from manipulators, backstabbers, and toxic people. And Baihuay, the spirit of the dead may tell/give hints of winning lottery numbers.

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Contents of the amulet

- Pong Wan Roi Padd, powder crushed from fresh mystical plants.

- Pong Lek Lai, powder of legendary iron ore that has magic power of Kongkraphan Chatrie (it makes you invulnerable to all weapon attack), Maha-ut (it stops gun from shooting at you), and Ponggan Poot-pee pee-saat Kunsai Mondam Sat Meepit (it helps ward off evil spirit, demon, bad ghost, bad omen, bad spell, curse and black magic, and poisonous animals).

- Pong Din Saksit, sacred earth taken from many holy places in Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, and India.

- Pong Din Gon Gru Gao, earth taken from chambers in the stupa that stored ancient Buddha amulets.

- Pong Viset, the Holy Powder made by Luang Phor Pina himself.

- Raw human flesh and blood, the legend has it that Luang Phor Pina “Plee”, asking the permission from spirit of the dead whose body belongs to with special ritual. The spirit of the dead will stay in the amulet to help the amulet owner for its own merits to the next world, and the spirit won’t do any harm.

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Luang Phor Pina, the Abbot of Wat Sanomlao, Saraburi Province, living between BE 2456 (CE 1913) to BE 2545 (CE 2002)

Luang Phor Pina, born Tawai Hansarikit on March 1, BE 2456 (CE 1913) at Ban Hua Lamphong, Uthai Thani Province. Tawai was diagnosed with epilepsy, and his parents had no hope of curing Tawai. One day his parents took him to see Luang Phor Sin, the Abbot of Wat Nong Tao, Non Kilek, Uthai Thani Province. Luang Phor Sin advised that his name “Tawai” was not good for him, then Luang Phor Sin changed his name to “Pina” which means “without a care in the world or without worrying about anything”, and months later Luang Phor Pina recovered from epilepsy. In BE 2481 (CE 1938), Pina’s father passed away, and Pina became a novice for a merit to his dead father. Then Pina ordained as Buddhist monk at Wat Nong Tao, Uthai Thani Province. Luang Phor Pina moved to stay at Wat Koh Taypho, Chai Nat Province, and studied A-sup-pha Kammathān, contemplation on loathsomeness of human body from Luang Ta Kam of Wat Taypho, then Luang Phor Pina traveled to Wat Tham Tako, Lopburi Province to practice “Kammaṭṭhāna tradition”, the Thai Forest Tradition. Luang Phor Pina was later on his pilgrimage to the Northern Provinces of Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, and India. After coming back, Luang Phor Pina went to learn Kammaṭṭhāna tradition from Pra Archan Mun Bhuridatta Thera the Masters of Kammaṭṭhāna tradition at Wat Pha Suttawas, Sakon Nakhon Province, and Pra Archan Fund Archaro of Wat Pa Udom Somphon, Sakon Nakhon Province, Luang Ta Maha Bua Yanna Sampanno of Wat Pa Ban Tat, Udon Thani Province, and many Guru Monks of School of Pra Archan Mun. In BE 2527 (CE 1984), Luang Phor Pina was on his pilgrimage to Ban Sanomlao Khao Bot, Khok Yae, Nong Khae District, Saraburi, and found a ruin of an ancient  temple building, then Luang Phor Pina decided to stay here for the last chapter of his life, and developed this abandoned “Wat Sanomlao” temple. Luang Phor Pina passed away in BE 2545 (CE 2002). Luang Phor Pina entered into the rare spiritual meditative state of “Thukdam” after death. The Thukdam is a Buddhist phenomenon in which realized master’s consciousness dies in meditation, and remains in the body despite its physical death. Though they are declared clinically dead, their bodies show no signs of decay and are found to remain fresh for days or weeks without preservation.

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DIMENSION: 3.50 cm high / 2.30 cm wide / 0.80 cm thick

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item # K19B14

Price: price upon request, pls PM and/or email us hadesamulet@protonmail.com

100% GENUINE WITH 365 DAYS FULL REFUND WARRANTY

Item location: Hong Kong, SAR

Ships to: Worldwide

Delivery: Estimated 7 days handling time after receipt of cleared payment. Please allow additional time if international delivery is subject to customs processing.

Shipping: FREE Thailandpost International registered mail. International items may be subject to customs processing and additional charges.

Payments: PayPal / Western Union / MoneyGram /maybank2u.com / DBS iBanking / Wechat Pay / Alipay / INSTAREM / PromptPay International / Remitly

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[brathalo]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

pairing: mystery men x fem!reader

genre: ANGST, so much angst (jkjk . . . or not 😳😳) to fluff, and it's also highly suggestive, so 16/17+ onwards please!

word count: 1.1k words

tw/cw: none i can think off, tell me if i'm wrong tho!

- ̗̀#% ❛❛ THE BRAT SPEAKS ❜❜ : i thought of this whilst having my exam yesterday, and came up with the plot instead of writing my 1k word essay. if this flops i will eat my chair 💺. leave a comment if you liked it, mwah & thank you! ♡♡♡

he's confused, seeing your pissed expression and trembling lips. who did this to you?, he wonders silently to himself, before making his way to cup your cheeks in his large hands.

"fuck off, you asshole." you snap without a hint of hesitation, slapping his hand away as if it was a pesky mosquito. of course, it didn't hurt himーbut the small sting felt like a peculiar icy stab entering his heart, leaving him breathless and very worried.

"baby,"

"don't baby me."

shit. you're really mad. lord, oh lordーwhatever did he do! forget your birthday? no that's in two months and five days. didn't take out the trash? he's always skipping that part of his chore, but didn't he fix the cabinets and windowsills two days ago? surely that would've have cancelled it out.

he thinks harder, and harder. there's something he's missing out, something he's not realising . . .

oh right. of course, of course, how could he have forgotten?

"i'm sorry for eating your last cream doughnut." he murmurs meekly, head bent low. "i'll buy you three fresh ones today, how bout' that yeah?" his head rises with a tint of hope, a little sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

now usually . . . usually; you'd forgive him right away, and maybe beam like a little impーgrinning with an evil and victorious delight. therefore, it can be concluded that it was indeed an unpleasant, or truthfully speakingーa distressing instant, to take a glance on your expression and realise that, no, you weren't at all laughing.

your shoulders shook as silent sobs spilled out of your lips, tears pearlescent on your crinkled eyes.

"baー",

"shut up, please."

you raise your hand to stop him and he closes his mouth, eyes boggling out of his head like a fish.

why are you crying? why are you that upset?

his heart was racing and his throat was choking up, mind struggling to find a reason as to why you're this mad at him. what sin did he unknowingly commit to make you weep like this?

"you need to tell me what's wrong, love." he answers timdly yet gently, hands itching to wrap you in his arms. "please? i don't know why you're this upset and it's killing me."

a short chuckle left your mouth, raw and insincere. "you don't know why I'm upset? why don't you ask your other girl to guess why i'm this upset yeah? maybe she could give you a good few reasons."

you spat out those words and threw a small pink paper bag at him, the cursive on it reading a familiar popular name. he was gaping, and his eyes widenedーarm reaching out to stop you.

"s-shit, you found my present?"

you whipped around with an incredulous look on your face. "you sure that's mine, or hers?" he seems even more confused now, and it's ticking you off more then ever. "stop your stupid act for the love of god, i can't believe you could actually do this tー"

"wait." his voice was firm and low, eyes deathly serious, sombre. "wait. what made you think this is for someone else?"

without saying another word, he opened the bag and took out a prettily woven braーholding the strap with one finger. "look, it's literally your favourite color, i don't see howー"

your chest heaves, signalling an indication that you were going to cut him off. "do you seriously think i'm that fucking daft ?" you breathe, pointing your finger at the offensive piece of material. "it's literally three sizes too small for me. and the thongー",

you take the bag and lifted a tiny piece of lace, stretching it between your fingers in front of his heated face. "it's fucking miniscule."

a long period of silence hung in the air, the two of you staring at each other, each of your hand holding a part of the lingerie set. your eyebrows gradually furrowed as you realised, your shameless boyfriend was shifting uncomfortably while his ears redden, obviously trying to camouflage something below.

"no, hold onー" he finally breaks the hush, putting down the little bag and opening the bra with both his hands. without any warning, or even giving you the chance to comprehend his actionsーyou watch as he fits the bra cups snugly on your own two breasts, preposterously squeezing your soft mounds with a zeroed in expression, eyebrows scrunched in absolute concentration.

your mouth fell open in a mixture of astonishment and indignation, fists balled up as you were ready to punch the living shit out of his stupid (and clueless) face for the goddamned audacity.

"w-WAHT ARE YOUー"

he squeezes again, rendering you speechless.

"but . . . but it fits though . . .", he murmurs a little disorientedly, bending down as if his HEARING your breasts being fondled by his large palms.

"fuck . . . hands off." you say finally, pushing his broad chest away with burning hot cheeks. he silently steps back as you pulled off your shirt and unhooked your bra underneath in one swift motion, taking the laced material from his hands.

you slipped the straps on your shoulders, placing each breast in it's designated cup before bringing your hands behind you in attempt to hook the bra.

"see? it's too small for me. it can'tー", you turn around, taking it from your shoulders, placing it back in the bag. "it can't fit me."

unable to hold back a smile, your wiped the dried reminiscence of your tears from your face, crossing your arms together. "hey, eyes up here dummy."

"a-ah, ah yeah, sorry, uhー" he fumbled with his words, glancing up to your face and to the bra again, an embarrassed and slightly dazed look on his expression. "so like, two sizes too small?"

"three!" you say firmly, struggling to contain a giggle from escaping your lips. "so . . . so you tried buying me a lingerie set and got one three sizes too small for me?"

he looks around awkwardly, biting his cheek.

"i-iーuh," he looks down, heart flustered at the flashback he had running through his head at that very moment.

"i may have probably just like, squeezed, likeーmy own chest to guess how big you were, a-and like, uhーyeah, probably . . .", he trails off, refusing to even face you at that point. you blink for a moment and simulataneously arrived to the conclusion in your head, half-hoping you were terribly, terribly wrong.

"so, you squeezed every cup at the store and guessed?"

"i squeezed every cup at the store and guessed, yeah."

there was a pause for a while, and the two of you just stared at each other all over again, him blushing and nervous, and youーwracked with a confusing sense of guilt and glee.

a cry left your lips as you entered in his arms, except this time it was just a pretty brew of your laughs and sobs. "i swear to god, whyー", you were a mess, weeping on his chest and cracking up at the same time, burrying your face even deeper underneath his chin.

"i-i thought you were c-cheating on me with someone else," you cried as he laughed, patting your back comfortingly and dotting your head with soft kisses. "like i'd everー" he scoffs, taking your cheeks between his digits to make you look up in his eyes. "i'm so sorry princess, i know i should have asked for your measurements but i kinda' wanted to keep it as a surprise, y'know?"

you shook your head, pecking him right beside his lip with tipped toes. "no, it's on meーi shouldn't have freaked out like that too baby," you hum, pressing your chest a little harder on his own with a cheeky sparkle in your eye. "you bought it yesterday, didn't you? we can still return it, no sweat!" you smile, but it turned into puzzlement as he shakes his head at your suggestion, taking something out of his pocket.

"maybe try this first? the material's super stretchy so it could probably fit y'know?" he prods, handing you the skimpy little thong.

"yeah, but it'll be really tight up my ass," you frown, nonetheless taking your shorts off, putting it on just for him.

he whispers softly underneath his breath, watching silently in complete attentiveness as you slipped in the lace, his eyes wandering all the way down to the intricate piece of cloth lining your thighs and crack of your ass almost a little too perfectly.

"heh, exactly."

TELL ME THIS IS NOT ATSUMU, denki, tanaka, suna rintaro, kuroo, hinata, YUUJI ITADORI, gojo 💢😭, choso (he would never eat your doughnut though), BOKUTO KOTARO and midoriya izuku

[irrelevantwriter]

White Flag

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, slightly vulnerable Rio, declaration of feelings (sorta?)

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Part 5. Two months without seeing or speaking to Rio has left a significant mark and feelings finally decide to show themselves. Kinda.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good holiday or at least a chill Friday. I come bearing gifts with the next part of our favorite toxic saga. More smut for my lovely readers. But first, some plot. We jump right into it and just like our favorite non-couple, we gloss over a lot of bullshit and get right to the filth. But as a Virgo I love communication so I have to make these two stubborn assholes talk about their issues a little. At least in a vague way. Also, Rio has his read receipts on bc he is a petty king. There’s one more part after this and it's all naughty fun from here. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

A/N dos: I’m thinking about making the next part strictly from Rio’s POV. I feel like it’ll give us a peek into what he’s thinking and a new take on the series thus far. I’m excited to explore that so let me know what you guys think!

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 6 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

“So you’re just gonna eye fuck the hot stranger at the bar all night?”

Your friend’s teasing cut through the haze, jolting you back to the dimly lit bar. The music boomed around you while people drank and danced, enjoying the Saturday night out in the same way you and your girlfriends were.

“I was not.” You insisted, though the coy smile you wore said otherwise.

The group of women scoffed and rolled their eyes, seeing right through your faux innocence.

“Besides,” You started, taking a sip of your drink as the song changed into a bass heavy melody. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kara interjected with a raised brow, shaking her head.

You opened your mouth in surprise, but bit back your response when the other women chimed in.

“She’s right.” Evelyn agreed, throwing her dark hair over one shoulder.

“We knew you in high school and college, remember?” Nikki threw in, pursing her lips knowingly in your direction.

“Okay, so?” You said with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“You were all over guys like that when we were kids. Paul ended up being the black sheep of the bunch.” Kara reminded you with a laugh, Evelyn and Nikki joining in with their own drunken giggles.

“Yeah, we were convinced you’d marry a felon with tattoos and not a real estate broker who wore khakis.” Nikki quipped, causing another round of laughter and snorts.

“Okay, okay...I get it. So I had a type. I think I’ve grown out of it.” You cut in, sounding as if you were trying to convince them as much as yourself.

“Not if the hottie at the bar has anything to say about it.” Evelyn joked with a wink.

You shook your head as you took another sip of your drink, unwilling to let them see you flustered. Or that they were in fact correct. You definitely still had a thing for bad boys...bad men to be more specific.

The evening had been going smoothly so far. It was a rare girl’s night out. An event that happened only once every five years when kids were shuttled off to babysitters or their fathers, and the women were able to enjoy an adult meal with adult beverages. Schedules between four busy women didn’t often align so when they did, you all jumped at the chance to indulge in the nightlife you’d left behind in your younger years.

You’d been the one to suggest the bar. It was a swanky, sophisticated space with an air of youth. The perfect mix for your outing. You’d been here only one other time.

With Rio.

Thinking of the man made heat pool low in your stomach, despite your lingering frustrations. It’d been two months since that shit show of a night at your house. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. After that debacle, you blocked his number. As childish as it may have been, you were angry. Still were. And rightfully so. He’d been a complete dick. He’d chosen the most inopportune moment to make adjustments to your arrangement. He’d been careless in his deliverance, harsh even. The entire exchange had you questioning everything. And instead of analyzing the situation and communicating like adults, you’d decided to stop all interactions with him. You’d wanted to send a message. Just as he had with you.

After the argument, you’d been an anxious mess in the days leading up to the next drop. But it was all for nothing because Rio wasn’t there. And neither was the new contact he’d told you about. Instead, Mick was waiting for you and offering up no other information. And it’d been that way for two long months.

In the days since, your mind wandered to Rio often. Your body lingered on his phantom presence constantly. You replayed the conversation you’d had a million times over and each time it made deep fury spill over and mix with the lust still raging like white water rapids through your veins. You missed his touch. Missed his desire for you. Missed the way he made you feel, so supremely sexual and wanton. All things you’d been lacking in your marriage. And now they were suddenly hitting you square in the face and begging you to pay attention. Begging you to not lose the source of your sudden awakening.

You missed the toxicity of your interactions. You were two twisted souls fighting for control over a situation that belonged to neither of you. And in truth, the basis of your relationship with Rio was denial and attraction. It would continue to thrive on that as long as you both refused the obvious.

So maybe, just maybe you’d come to the bar in hopes of seeing him in order to test that theory. It was a slim chance he’d even be here, but you were just buzzed enough that you were willing to roll the dice and find out. Plus, your desire for him felt like an extension of your body at this point. You had to satiate it. Had to feed the raw passion that grew stronger each day without him. It demanded it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But your own hand didn’t ignite your body the same way his did, asshole or not.

“I’ll be back.” You called over the music, gesturing to the darkened hallway that predictably led to the bathrooms. Your friends nodded and went back to flirting with the handsome blue-eyed waiter.

You shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the bar. To the “hot stranger”. Whether or not he’d take the hint was on him.

You made it to the single-use bathroom easily. It wasn’t late enough for it to be crowded with the surge of a Saturday night crowd, but the place was still busy. You set your purse down on the sleek surface of the sink counter, admiring the emerald green tiles that paved the walls. The fixtures were brass and gleamed in the light of the vanity bulbs. It was a beautiful space. Carefully crafted for a magazine like Architectural Digest.

Your eyes swept over your reflection in the large mirror that sat over the sink. You made sure not a lash was out of place as you surveyed your appearance. You adjusted the low neckline of your yellow dress, the hue radiating more gold than you’d initially noticed. The silk material felt cool against your heated skin, the slit in the skirt offering some relief. The long sleeves of the garment added a sleekness to the otherwise risqué ensemble. You’d never worn the dress. But tonight seemed as good a time as any to debut it.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you pause, eyes watching in the mirror for who entered. You wondered if it’d be him. Wondered if he ended up following you like you’d hoped.

Your stomach knotted when Rio stepped in, closing the door and locking it with a resounding click. He was stoic. Shrouded in black and looking every bit as menacing as he truly was. A sight for your sore eyes.

You turned to face him, your chest both tightening and expanding at seeing him in the flesh. He made your heart stutter and your spine tingle, yet irritation slowly seeped into your pores, reminding you of the last interaction you’d had with him. It was a clash of sensations and feelings. It was utter chaos. And it's what you’d been missing.

Silence hung in the air as his gaze roamed your figure, appraising you hungrily. You shivered, careful to hide the gesture from his intense stare. You schooled your features and angled your chin up in confidence that you weren’t entirely sure you felt. But you weren’t going to budge. You were going to make him come to you.

He was leaning up against the door, a barely there smirk adorning his lips. His scent began to eclipse the smell of vanilla soap that permeated the air. Your eyes wanted to roll back at the familiarity of it. It was soothing. A comfort to your deprived senses.

“You miss me, mama?”

That deep rasp made your panties soak immediately. It was a question he’d asked you many times in the past, but you’d never felt it as much as you did now. Because yeah, you did fucking miss him.

You stayed silent.

He chucked at your refusal to answer. “Still mad at me?”

Again you said nothing.

He licked his lips, eyeing yours as he did. “I tried calling.”

“I blocked your number.” You finally responded, voice icy and detached.

“Damn, that’s cold.” He said with an amused shake of his head and a laugh, the sound making your nipples harden in traitorous lust.

“Why? Did you need something?” You questioned coolly, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your mounting arousal. Your thighs rubbed together, beginning to slid against each other as your arousal made itself known.

He stepped forward, heading in your direction with intent. You straightened your back, unwilling to let him get the upper hand on you. You knew what was going to happen. Knew where this was headed. So why not use it to your advantage? Why not toy with him for a change? He deserved it. 

You used the added height of your heels and eased yourself onto the countertop, parting your thighs slightly so that your dress fell between them. You leaned back on your hands, the chill of the marble countertop beneath you reminding you so much of that day in your kitchen.

Rio’s steps halted momentarily as he watched you, eyes zeroed in on the juncture between your thighs that was hidden behind the silk. Your pussy practically begged for his attention. Dared him to see your need through the fabric that shielded you.

You were still upset with him. Still displeased with the way he’d chosen to handle the situation and you. But more than anything you wanted him to succumb to you. You wanted to feel that thrill of having him at your mercy. So powerful, yet so fragile in the midst of his bliss. You wanted...no, needed him to wave his white flag first.

“Tell me then,” You began, slowly easing the hem of your dress up as you spoke. “Business or personal?” You questioned, wanting to know if he’d be truthful about why he’d tried to contact you.

He resumed his path towards you with a dangerous lick of his lips, but his gaze never faltered as it took in every new stretch of skin that was revealed. He tried to reach out and touch you, but you raised a heeled foot to his abdomen and stopped him, keeping him at a distance.

“Answer me.” You breathily demanded.

His face registered your words while his eyes took in the stretch of leg that kept him away. You eased the limb back down and waited for him to comply.

He decided to play along.

“Business.”

He continued walking when you didn’t stop him, standing between your legs and trailing his fingertips along the inside of them. His movements shifted your dress up even higher onto your thighs. The sensation would’ve tickled if you weren’t already deliriously turned on.

“Liar.” You accused, already feeling his warmth radiate onto you as he edged closer. His breath mingled with yours, mint and whiskey assaulting your nose.

“So are you.” He retorted, eyes planted firmly on your parted lips. He moved in until you were sure he could do nothing else but touch his mouth to yours. And yet you still weren’t going to meet him.

“So we’re both liars?” You asked, arching a brow up at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed, the tattoo splashed across his throat pulling your focus. You fell captive to his spell as you got lost in memories of licking and sucking the inked flesh, remembering the way he tasted on your tongue. The recollection caused your legs to widen and your back to arch into him, pushing your chest against his. God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly that your pussy clenched around nothing, as if feeling him already deep inside you. It was a silent call to a lover. One he would never hear. But he’d feel it soon enough.

Your clit throbbed against your lace panties, aching to be assaulted by his talented fingers. With him so close you could feel just how badly you needed him inside you. It felt wrong for him not to be. Felt wrong to not have him share a pulse with you when he was this near. You were going to remedy that.

“Well then,” You whispered, leaning forward to hover over his lips. “I don’t want you to fuck me in this bathroom.”

His hands glided up your thighs while his nose skimmed along your cheek. His breath was hot against your ear as he maneuvered himself so that barely a sliver of air was left between you.

“So I won’t.” He lied in return, the words coating you like his cum had done numerous times before.

In an instant your lips were being pulled to his. His hands were suddenly everywhere and all at once, seeking out your flesh in desperation. It pleased you to know just how badly he needed you. How badly he craved you.

He slid you closer to him, letting your lace-covered lower half come into contact with his crotch. Ragged breaths and low hums filtered through the air as your bodies grinded against each other, seeking firm hands. You could feel him pressed against the zipper of his dark pants. He was hard. The notion made you moan into his mouth, scraping your nails over his scalp.

It was just like riding a bike. Except there was an added layer of intensity this time that hadn’t been there before. His touch burned hotter than usual. Your grew cunt wetter with every pass of his tongue along yours. They weren’t new sensations, but they felt different. Indescribable. Perhaps it was the public sex. Perhaps it was the underlying tension. Either way, it was remarkably explosive.

You pulled away from his insistent lips to take in air. He continued on, mouth moving over your neck and across your exposed cleavage. He nipped at the flesh, his lips sensuously soothing the area as he explored. You pushed into him in invitation, widening your legs so that he could press harder into you.

You waited for him to take the next step. Waited for him to escalate the moment into more than just heavy-petting and sloppy kisses. His hands, as if reading your mind, traveled up the skirt of your dress and found the edge of your panties. There was no hesitation or teasing in his movements as he roughly pulled them off, the elastic popping against your skin and making you cry out.

Rio licked at your neck in apology, his own hands now moving to his belt. You shifted closer to the ledge of the counter and followed the trail of heat that led to his pulsing cock. His flesh bumped against you, the feel of him hot and heavy along your soaked slit making you whimper.

Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as he pushed forward and sheathed himself inside of you in one hard thrust. You gasped and tightened your legs around him, your right hand in search of something solid. It landed on the mirror behind you, your palm sticking to its cool surface as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

His facial hair scratched at your skin as he buried himself into your neck. He held your hips steady as he retreated and then plunged back into your welcoming walls, stretching you with a burn that made you hiss. Your pussy massaged his length with fervor, seducing him further inside and begging him to claim you once again.

You reached for anything you could to stabilize yourself as he fucked you into the reflective glass at your back. Moans and groans intertwined as your bodies rocked against each other. The soap dispenser fell into the sink with a loud clatter as you accidentally made contact with it. The stack of towels folded neatly near the faucet became disheveled as your ass knocked them out of place with the momentum from Rio’s cock. The entire vanity shook with each intensely thorough thrust of his hips into your womb. It was animalistic. The very epitome of what bathroom  sex in a bar should be.

No words were said. None were needed. Your actions led the conversation.

You squeezed your inner muscles around him, daring him to surrender before you. He twitched, his hips stuttering at the feel of you so tight and wet around him. He growled into your ear, a sure sign that he loved the gesture a little too much.

So you did it again.

“Stop that shit.” He grunted, hips picking up their pace.

“Cum.” You whispered in response, the demand disguised as a request.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you held him to you and clenched around him once more. You trapped him, giving him no choice but to experience your deliberate enticement. His fingers dug into your thighs almost painfully so, forcing you to wince.

He was close.

You reached between your bodies and massaged your clit, feeling your pussy react immediately. Sporadic tremors vibrated your walls and his cock, making both of you moan. Rio’s palm slammed into the mirror at your back as he rutted his hips harder into yours. He was rough and unforgiving, the aggression heightened by your disobedience. It had never quite been like this. There had always been a touch of softness, a soothing placation or word of encouragement. Not tonight. Not as he fucked you so hard you were sure the mirror was going to crack and rain down luminescent crystals of glass over you both.

You showed no mercy as you forced him to submit to you and your body. The precipice was there. It was within reach. You could feel that tightly wound coil ready to unravel. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Your mind was a prisoner to your pleasure. You thought of nothing but the sweet release that you knew was waiting for you. And it was. It was waiting for you with open arms as Rio finally came, triggering your own climax as he filled you so deliciously full of himself. His entire body tensed within you as he held you firm and painted your shuttering walls.

The familiar sensation only added to your high as your limbs tensed and loosened with each wave of euphoria that washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and catapulted through space as your body struggled to ground itself once again. Rio had gone rigid, letting you ride out your orgasm in peace as you suffocated his cock. His cum was already leaking from your walls before you’d even finished, a trail of him decorating your swollen pussy.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him staring back at you, his lips pulled into a lazy smirk. You mirrored his expression, releasing a breathless chuckle. Your body still hummed in excitement, but this time it was punctuated by the deep satisfaction that radiated from between your thighs.

“You good?” You teased, hands resting on his chest and feeling the rapid beats of his heart beginning to slow.

He laughed, the sound low and tinged with fatigue. “Yeah.”

He licked his lips and took in your disheveled state, gaze catching a glimpse of the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Let me drive you home.” He said suddenly, his arrogance alive and well.

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny him, but you chose not to.

“Sure.”

**********

The car ride was silent.

After your impromptu coupling in the bathroom, you’d made up an excuse about not feeling well to your friends and explained you’d already called an Uber. They were hesitant to let you leave alone, but somehow you’d persuaded them to stay and not follow you. You were sure the alcohol they’d consumed had something to do with it.

With hugs and promises of texts that everyone made it home safe at the end of the night, you departed from the bar with Rio in his Mercedes. He’d been driving for about ten minutes, the air not as tense as it’d once been. He seemed content to let the quiet linger, but you weren’t.

“What happened to the new guy?” You asked, glimpsing his face to gauge his reaction. It was dark in the vehicle, but you could still make out his silhouette amongst the various street lights.

He furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, confusion reading easily across his features.

“What new guy?”

“My new contact. The one I was supposed to have.”

“Didn’t work out. Mick has it handled.” He replied simply, gaze still trained on the road in front of him.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, the dryness in your tone letting him know you didn’t quite believe him.

He wordlessly turned onto your street and came to a stop alongside your driveway, putting the SUV in park. He angled his body to face you, trapping you in his stare.

“It was never about you.”

The question must’ve shown on your face because he continued.

“The switch. It wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t very convincing.” You deadpanned, scoffing as you played with the zipper of your clutch.

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he watched you. Watched you in that way that let you know his thoughts were as impure as the counterfeit money he produced.

“You look good in that dress.” He complimented, chin jutting out and gesturing to the fabric that adorned your body.

His praise made warmth bloom in your chest. The kind of warmth that was usually accompanied by butterflies in your stomach.

“Thanks.” You replied evenly, not letting him see just what his words did to you. Though you had a feeling he did, despite not bearing witness to it outright.

“Better without it.” He added with a slide of his wicked tongue across his bottom lip, his teeth following. The action was purposeful. Erotic. Blatant. It was all Rio.

You didn’t respond to his flirting. You only sighed, mirroring his position as you resigned yourself to have an honest conversation with the man.

“So,” You started, forcing your fingers to still. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed you for a long moment. Long enough that you started to feel self-conscious.

“You.”

You nodded, disappointed but not shocked by his reply. The word wasn’t new. Though it was lacking the hollow cockiness that usually accompanied it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke up before you could.

“In whatever way you’ll let me have you.” He admitted.

The statement caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to be cute or charming. He wasn’t being placating or condescending. He was being serious, the hardened intensity in his dark orbs softening to a tender resignation that you were sure matched yours.

“What about you? What do you want?” He repeated back to you, eyes narrowing as he waited.

You took a moment to observe him. Your eyes followed the arch of his brows and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. You studied the pout of his lower lip and his Adam's apple as it bobbed with his throat muscles. He was so many things to you. None of which you could put into words. You didn’t think a word had even been invented yet. It didn’t matter. You were both making your own rules. And it seemed, for once, that the both of you were on the same page and playing by the same rules.

“I want you to have me.” You confessed, meeting his gaze.

And there it was. He was resigned to having you in limited capacity. You were resigned to finally letting him have you. Two conclusions coming together at the same moment. You weren’t quite sure what that meant for you both, but it was a start. 

“Goodnight.” You whispered into the darkened cab, a small smile pulling at your lips.

You didn’t wait for him to react. You turned and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He didn’t try to stop you. You rounded the front of the car, hearing the driver’s side window slide down.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Rio asked out the open window, chin resting in his hand.

“At the drop?”

He nodded.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no real humor behind it.

“You wanna tell me again it wasn’t about me?” You challenged, a wide grin decorating your face.

He could deny it. He would probably try. But you knew the truth. And that was enough.

For now.

“Night.” He called, an amused upturn of his lips showing in the light of the full moon.

He turned to the street, starting the car as you walked up your driveway. His eyes followed you the whole way, ensuring you made it in safely.

You heard him drive away once you shut and locked the front door, your lungs releasing a long breath. You pulled out your cell phone and went to your blocked caller list. You selected Rio’s number and unblocked the listing, adrenaline releasing into your bloodstream as you did.

Almost immediately your screen lit up with a text.

Same time and place tomorrow?

You bit your lip, feelings akin to teenage infatuation bubbling to the surface. You hastily typed a response.

See you there.

The message was read immediately. 

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

[cas-kingdom]

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

1)

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

2)

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

3)

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

4)

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

[mrs-dr-reid]

My Personal Peter Parker Headcanons

Part 1/?

He’s a big fan of the Epic Rap Battles of History, so much so that he can tell you which battle is playing after only hearing the first few opening notes of the beat, and he knows all the words for every battle

When Taylor Swift started rereleasing her old albums, he became a hardcore Swiftie. He buys all kinds of merch (for himself and for you if you’re into Taylor’s stuff), he buys whatever album she drops next, and he dives head first into Taylor Nation Twitter, making conspiracy theories about what album is coming next and over-analyzing every single post she or her team makes to see what hints he can find, and you make fun of him even though you do the same thing

When he’s sad for any reason, he becomes a “Blanket Burrito”, aka he lays a blanket on the floor, lays down on the end of it, then rolls himself across the floor so he becomes cocooned in the blanket and just lays there on the floor in whatever position he ends up in after he’s completely wrapped up

He likes leaving little sticky notes around with cute messages on them for you to find, like one on your bathroom mirror that says “you look beautiful today” or one stuck to your car keys that says “you drive me crazy in the best way”, because he must always pun

One of his favorite shows is New Girl, and you always tell him how he’s like a weird combination of Nick and Schmidt, which he agrees with. He also always says “I refuse to pay for the wiffi!” and “Are you the criminals?! From the statistics?!” unironically, so it works

He volunteers at animal shelters in his spare time to hang out with all the dogs and cats because he frickin loves animals, and you have to go with him to prevent him from adopting all of them

He gets really into Doctor Who after finally caving and getting HBO Max, and his favorite Doctor is 11 because he’s an awkward beanpole like he is. You and him even go to New York Comicon as Clara and 11, and he even made his own sonic screwdriver

He needs to buy really strong sunscreen (I’m talking SPF 100) because he burns so easily. Like, he can’t even take out the garbage without putting on sunscreen because if he stays outside just a few seconds longer than he needs to, he has to bathe in aloe gel

He’s addicted to garlic bread. Dude can house an entire box of Texas Toast in one sitting, and still have room for more garlic bread

He can only drink coffee if it’s 90% cream and sugar, or if he can’t tell it’s coffee from the taste of it, so he is in heaven during Pumpkin Spice Latte season, because then he doesn’t have to dump half a container of creamer into his coffee to be able to caffeinate

He tells everybody his favorite movie is Empire Strikes Back, but it’s actually the movie adaptation of Moulin Rouge from 2001. He thinks nobody knows, but you heard him singing El Tango de Roxanne in the shower once. You’ve never told anybody, but only because it’s good blackmail material

For some reason, his spider powers gave him an extreme aversion to peppermint or peppermint flavored things (because apparently spiders don’t like peppermint), so instead of getting weird looks from people when he tells them he doesn’t like peppermint anymore, he just lies and tells everybody that he randomly developed a really bad allergy to peppermint that makes his tongue swell up and gives him a rash so they don’t ask questions

He still can’t tie a necktie, no matter how many tutorials on YouTube he watches, so you always have to do it for him

He starts collecting vinyl records after he found an old record player in a dumpster and fixed it up. You do a bunch of googling to find secondhand record stores near you, and you make a whole day out of wandering around all of them and finding the best deals

He still thinks the screaming goat meme is hilarious, and he still makes edits using that clip to send to MJ and Ned to lovingly harass them

He buys cookie dough with the intention of making cookies, but you guys just end up eating it raw because salmonella be damned

He is a serial phone charger loser, so he always buys the really cheap ones from the dollar store so he doesn’t lose any really nice ones. He’s only had to replace the charging brick once, but he always misplaces the power cord to a point where it’s kind of ridiculous

He acts annoyed when you do it, but he actually loves it when you steal his Midtown Tech sweatshirt because it’s ginormous on you and gives you sweater paws. He also thinks it’s kinda cute when you flap the sleeves around like the absolute dork that you are and pretend to smack him with them

[iricathel]

👃😍💋🔥

(🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️)

🔥 Piping Hot OC Asks 🔥

👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

-> Irina

Irina is obsessed with her scent, so it's only natural that she takes care that her scent is pleasant. In order not to make a salad of aromas, Irina uses odor-free products or products made of the same or similar material or that adhere very well.

The scent that Irina gives off body-wise has a vanilla essence base and coconut undertones, while her hair smells honey-based and cinnamon undertones. In itself it is a very sweet smell as if she were a romantically glassed vanilla cake, but Irina always tries not to make the smell too strong. If you don't like sweet scents, Irina's scent probably won't smell good to you.

-> Zazu

I would say that it does smell good since Zazu is addicted to cleanliness and order, so he shouldn't smell bad.

Its essence is quite typical of masculine perfumes, but quality perfumes. Those that when you notice on the street make you turn around. His scent would definitely have an Oriental aroma, with bases of black currant, salty vanilla and woody undertones for that depth. However I can see that Zazu would like to use shampoos that don't leave a strong scent on his hair, but perhaps a hint of ginger or mint will come through subtly.

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

-> Irina

She's definitely attracted to people who are ambitious, intelligent and have high expectations, but who are also honest, loyal and charismatic.

It is not surprising that Irina, being a woman who has great ambition and has a great power of self-esteem, wishes to have a partner with the same qualities, since the negativity of pessimism and laziness or indifference weighs heavily on her, and this irritates her. However, she knows very well that ambition without traits that reassure her that they will stay by her side is not something to be desired for betrayal and deception could be waiting around the corner any day when she least expect it.

-> Zazu

People who are very hard-working, activist and coordinative; although he often denies it, Zazu also finds innocence and kindness irresistible, but be careful! He likes this only because it causes him even more pleasure to corrupt these traits and turn them into a hopeless person who would be obsessed with him and highly emotionally dependent.

This is only explained because Zazu abhors very "free" people, basically that they do not have many responsibilities or that they simply do not attend to them. In the same way, Zazu loves to always be in control of the situation and the person, so finding a victim who can later become his puppet is more than a dream for him.

💋 : Is your OC a good kisser? How do they do it?

-> Irina

I would say yes. Irina has a lot of experience having previously had a partner for years, so she knows very well what details are the ones that best melt the heart and warm other things. In addition, she uses a lot of touch and play thanks to her flirty nature, but her kisses are enhanced more because she always keeps her lips well hydrated and exfoliated, in addition to using lipsticks with cherry, blackberry or vanilla flavors.

-> Zazu

Oh boy.

If you like slow, tender or romantic kisses... Zazu is definitely not your man. Although Zazu has enough experience, he doesn't give much importance to the other person's feelings. His kisses are full of passion, but aggressive and raw passion, explosions of very intense energy and, without a doubt, strong bites.

You can expect that after a session with him your lips will be swollen and very red, maybe even with small bruises with bite marks.

🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

-> Irina

If you are a person with whom she has not created enough trust or Irina is simply not interested in you, believe me that you will never make her blush. Her exception is when a person very dear to her flatters some attribute or quality that does not stand out at first sight (since I believe, she is used to compliments about her physique), yet another way is praising even the simplest thing she does, the praises make her face turn tonate red all the way to the tips of her ears.

-> Zazu

This bitch doesn't blush for absolutely NOTHING. But... saying that he's cute, adorable or a nice person (even if he is not)??? Boom. Congratulations, you have a blushy tsundere Zazu.