#until it’s more of a golden honey blond than white blond

[ken-dom]

Stay Quiet, Stay Near, Stay Close

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2.2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You help Colt unwind with a hot bath and a massage.

Can be read as a part two to my previous Colt fic or can be standalone.

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I don’t know what it is about Colt Seavers (particularly with long hair) that makes me desperately want to soothe him via handjob but here you have the second version of exactly that — unlikely to be the last! @heresthestorymorningglory was my partner in crime as usual and gave me the perfect Colt song for the title, from Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, hot bath, hair washing, massage, handjob, praise, crying, before during and aftercare!! Long hair Colt!

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Even beneath the shimmering softness of warm, soapy bath water, Colt’s body lays heavily against yours as he sinks further into your safe, massaging hands.

With your legs either side of his waist and his back to your chest, you can feel every breath he takes, slow and steady. It’s kind of like a physical meditation that soothes you from the outside in, and you wonder how heavy you’ve become, too, while you’ve been soothing his aches away.

His head rests, lolling in the crook of your neck with long damp strands of blonde sticking to your flesh among the rising steam, slightly darker where the tips have met the water.

Kneading the flesh at his broad shoulders in a soothing rhythm, you bite your lip to resist the urge to let your fingers wander. You want to slide them further down his muscular arms and caress those firm contours, but that would be purely for your own pleasure and this is about Colt.

You can’t quite see his face from here, just a glimpse of his handsome profile out of the corner of your eye, but you can hear the infrequent little catches of breath and feel the way he tenses up for a moment every time he bites back a moan.

You can see the rest of his body clearly enough though, golden in the warmth of the candlelight. His slowly rising and falling chest, his knees protruding from beneath the bubbles where his legs are spread, feet planted firmly beside yours. And you can see the way his body is reacting to your touch; as your eyes drag over his form again, you notice his fingers tighten their grip around the rim of the bathtub.

‘Huhng-’ he grunts, knuckles turning white.

‘Sorry,’ you breathe, withdrawing your fingers and gradually resuming the more measured pace you’d set before letting yourself get carried away with his big strong arms carrying you and the way his muscles might flex as he touches you, and accidentally pressed your thumbs just a little too sharply into his shoulders.

‘S’alright,’ he slurs, dropped against you again, far too relaxed to bother much about separating words unnecessarily. ‘Felt good.’

Oh.

Despite sharing a hot bathtub, your naked bodies pressed together under hot, steamy water, you’re very aware that you’re here because you’re trying to help him relax, to ease his pain and hopefully to get a good night’s sleep. But the way your body reacted to those two innocent words that dripped off his tongue like warm honey — Felt good —  isn’t exactly conducive to focussing solely on Colt’s shoulder tension.

You close your eyes and recompose yourself.

‘You… want me to do that again?’ you offer, hands hovering, and Colt nods his approval with a quiet hum.

Watching his hands closely, you dig the pads of your thumbs firmly above his shoulder blades, loosening the knots you can feel there with a little more force than before. You feel him jolt as you work them out, and see his knuckles turn white again as his fingers grip the edge of the tub.

And you hear him moan.

Oh no.

You know Colt’s moans exceptionally well. They’re always so loud and unrestrained, and you’re surprised he’s lasted this long through a massage without one or two escaping until now. No mistake, you want to hear them – of course you do! But you’re not sure how good of a job you’ll make of soothing him for a restful night when all you can think about is the way he sounds when you pleasure him.

Please him, you correct yourself.

Then again. Perhaps that would help…

You slow the rhythmic circles to a stop. It’s reluctant, but necessary if you’re going to at least attempt to concentrate. You can always return to rubbing steady patterns into his supple flesh as he lays in bed beside you later. With that in mind, you grab the shampoo bottle to move things along.

‘Scalp next, handsome,’ you say softly, mindful that he’s already somewhat of a puddle and the last thing he needs is a bolt of your over-enthusiasm at getting your fingers tangled in his luscious hair.

‘Mmmh,’ he hums, not even bothering to nod this time. He can feel himself melting against you, feel how heavy he must be becoming while he actually feels like he’s floating.

You wonder if washing his hair will finally send him off to sleep and you’ll have to drag him out of the bath after somehow managing to slide yourself out from underneath his burly frame… but whatever. He needs it, it’s working, let him have it. Worry about the rest later, post-hair wash and scalp massage.

You squeeze out a dollop of shampoo, warming it between your palms, sliding your fingers from the nape of his neck and up, deliberate and so sensual that Colt begins to hum again. It’s a little more high pitched this time. Whiny.

He shivers against you, skin prickling with tingles, and with some effort, he lifts his head to allow you the space to continue exactly what you’re doing. Don’t stop, he thinks, but he isn’t sure how to say it out loud. Maybe he is saying it? He can’t quite tell. It doesn’t matter. You’re not stopping. He knows you won’t stop as long as he needs it. 

A low groan drags from his throat, though, head as heavy in your hands now as his torso feels against yours, and his hair tangles around your fingers as they drag, slow and mesmerising, over his scalp. Another little moan.

You allow your eyes to drag over what you can see of his body again. As a treat. The way the light dances on the contours of his chest, those husky arms, the tip of his thick cock appearing from beneath the bathwater…

Oh.

‘B-blended… ice…’

You’re brought back to your senses by Colt’s incoherent muttering, realising that your fingernails are scraping quite harshly against his scalp, but he mustn’t mind it too much because there’s still a low groan lacing his stuttered words.

‘Spicy…’

Margaritas. He’s putty in your hands, achingly hard, and muttering about margaritas. 

This is the man you adore. And he needs you.

You rinse the shampoo away as best you can at this angle, and reach for the conditioner, squeezing a helping onto your palm.

‘Wanna make margaritas later?’ he drawls. It's the most coherent he’s sounded since insisting that you use the neroli and amber bath bubbles he likes, but that was before climbing into the tub and immediately melting, mind and body, against you.

Even Colt isn’t sure where his question came from because all he can think about now is how he wants your hands, soft, clever, precise hands, between his thighs now instead. Another question he isn’t sure how to translate from hazy thought to speech. But margaritas, sure. That appears out of nowhere.

Maybe he isn’t sleepy at all but just… zen? Random thoughts he matches up with feeling close to you spilling out while he feels safe enough to let them?

‘I think we can stretch to margaritas if you’re not too relaxed to sit up,’ you appease him.

‘Mmh. I’ll manage.’

‘You sure about that?’

You finally allow a hand to glide down over his chest, soft from the steam, and rest it at his belly where the water gently laps against your movements.

Your breath catches in your throat at how firm he feels under your palm, the way he trembles just slightly as your hand travels lower. The way he whines.

His breath catches at the exact same moment; your touch sending tingles coursing down to his core. The hazy air thickens in the split second that you both freeze, and he grits his teeth, seeming to regain some coherence now you’re doing exactly what he wanted. Kind of embarrassing though, right? To get a hardon from a scalp massage and the way your fingers pulled at the long strands in the process…

‘Was kinda hoping you wouldn’t notice.’

‘Pretty hard not to,’ you reply under your breath, but he hears you and you can practically feel his smirk. ‘You know, I’ve heard that hair conditioner has some excellent… other uses.’

‘Oh?’

You slide your other arm around his waist, revealing your palmful of the silky product.

‘Trust me?’

‘Yeah-hhhnnng-’

Your fingers close around his length, conditioner-covered palm coating the half of him visible above the water. He shifts to reveal more and you begin to stroke, long and slow, kneading lightly, just as you had with his aching muscles.

But it’s easier to massage with the addition of this impromptu aid, the thick, glossy liquid allowing your hand to glide over his skin with ease.

‘Feel good?’ You press your mouth to his neck, keeping the pace of your slicked up hand steady as your tongue slips from between your lips and drags over the sensitive flesh, lips closing now and again to nip at his skin and feel him shudder.

His cock twitches inside your grip, strong enough that you can feel it begging you to jerk him faster before his blissed out brain catches up and he moans, ‘Please- please-’

He’s bucking his hips enough that the gentle lapping of the water escalates to loud sloshing against the sides of the tub and hot, scented water splashes over onto the floor, steaming puddles quickly cooling against the tiles.

Every laboured breath Colt takes in is exhaled laced with a grunt or a low whimper, echoing around the room and surrounding you both with the sounds of his pleasure. It’s turning desperate though, and you don’t want him desperate. You want him to enjoy the journey, ride it out with nothing but bliss.

‘Shhh,’ you soothe him, working the heel of your other palm over his shoulder again as you stroke his cock in the same rhythm. ‘It’s ok. Tell me what you need.’

The combination of the soothing touch at his shoulder and the electric touch lower down – the one setting something ablaze in his gut – is driving Colt wild.

You can feel it radiating from his pores and don’t require a verbal response to decipher what he needs. He needs exactly this, until he doesn’t anymore. And then he’ll need you.

‘You need to cum, don’t you, baby? Is that it?’

Colt’s head drops back against your shoulder, heavy again as the tension that’s been coiling, hot in his gut, subsides with the increased speed of your hand and the languid swipes of your thumb over his steadily leaking tip.

He manages a low hum, and you don’t push it. You could carry on, slow your hand back down and force him to use words, to beg, before you’ll allow his release. But that’s not the point of this, and it’s not what you want. You want him sated and comforted and safe. 

‘It’s alright, let go for me,’ you coo, and without a beat, he does, a thick creamy rope splattering up over his chest and dripping down, mingling into the bath water.

A growl tears from his throat as his peak hits, tapering off into a weak little whimper, and he slumps, his weight almost crushing you if it wasn’t for the small volume of water still in the tub with you. Colt wonders if you’ll notice the tears dropping into it.

You do, but you say nothing. In another position, you’d have wiped his cheeks, so instead you file it away.

You manage to release the bath plug with your foot, letting the water drain as you hoist him forward and upward, clumsily reaching around for a jug of fresh, warm water to rinse the both of you off. Untangling your bodies, already sweaty from shared heat, you climb out and wrap yourself and then him in a fluffy towel and help him climb out of the tub.

Colt’s legs feel wobbly, and his head is spinning a little as his blood finds its way back from his core to his extremities. The heat of the water he’s been soaking in for probably too long isn’t doing much to help matters. He feels woozy, but still safe.

Before he knows it, you’ve dried him off, guided him onto his bed, plumped his pillows to support his back, and slipped his favorite joggers on for him. He can’t remember if he saw you bothering with underwear, and he doesn’t care. He can feel aftershocks in his soft cock, and it’s reassuring, somehow.

You realise as you sit on the edge of the bed that you didn’t actually condition his hair. You’re careful not to cause any knots where it’s still wet as you brush through it for him. It doesn’t matter. Next time, you will, if the feel or smell of it doesn’t get him too excited and distract you both again.

Colts whole body feels incredibly silky against the fabrics, and he can’t remember ever feeling quite this good as he wriggles against the sheets, settling in. 

‘Still want that margarita?’ you tease, and with his eyelids too heavy to keep open now, he just huffs a gentle laugh and lets sleep wash over him.

[wsancho]

Them FF6 Blond Shades

In the spirit of procrastination, I’ve been thinking about hair and eyes. It’s one of those things that I can’t get out of my head until I write it down somewhere (even though I don’t do art and I don’t describe jack shit when writing🤷🏻‍♀️)

In ProJared’s review of FF6, he says the sprites were created first, and that Amano used them as inspiration for his concept art. Regardless, both are canon even if contradictory, and I’d say it’s up to each to choose their preference because reasons 😌

Terra’s fandom wiki says she has green or blonde hair and green or violet eyes. I didn’t know her eye color was debatable too (but look, her hair looks greenish on the first image 😚). I like her being as otherworldly as can be, so I prefer green hair and violet eyes.

Celes and the twins have blond hair and blue eyes. The sprites and concept art gave them the same colors, and they’re so alike that some NPC mistook Celes for Sabin 🤨 (maybe those three have reality-bending levels of sexy. Just saying 🤷🏻‍♀️).

To me Celes seems paper-white-pale with light blond hair and light blue eyes.

Soraya Saga, who created the twins, noted that they have “honey-blond” hair. I was a bit apprehensive about this, but the twins’ regality is pretty heavy-handed and a shade of blond that is more golden goes along those lines. Also in Figaro, blue eyes mean royalty, but I think there’s more to this idea if we ignore that it wasn’t even canon take the parallels from Xenogears Fatima lore to complement the FF6 Figaro lore. It’s not just blue eyes, but a specific shade of blue that runs in the family. I think honey-blond hair goes nicely with a darker shade of blue eyes. So going by this, the twins’ colors would differ from Celes’.

When I learned about the “Figaro blue eyes” I also wondered if Gerad should hide his eye color (especially from Figaroan thieves), and as it turns out, his sprite has brown eyes. This could be just a lazy color swap, but I like how this can add up to the lore 🙃

For Kefka, the wiki specified blond hair and green eyes. There’s no specification for Gau, but his sprite’s eyes are green and his hair looks like Kefka’s, less yellow and more ashy than Celes’.

This Gau art has light blue eyes, so I guess that’s another possibility 🤷🏻‍♀️ There’s also the other Amano arts that show him with green hair. I like to think his hair is blond but not that clean. He’s like a sloth growing algae on his fur 😅

Locke’s colors aren’t in the wiki, but I like dark ash blond for him because it resembles his sprite. His eyes are consistently brown.

Relm and Clyde’s hair look pretty similar, somewhere between Locke’s and Kefka’s colors. I think Taylor Swift’s color could be ok for them too (more like Locke's hair).

Relm’s wiki says she has blond hair and blue eyes. Clyde’s sprite has black eyes but Shadow’s look blue, and I like her having her daddy’s eyes 🥰 (ignore that her sprite has green eyes and one Amano art gave her amber eyes).

There’s no info about Leo’s colors, but many in the fandom make him to be black. Years ago I learned about a group of dark-skinned people with blond hair known as Melanesians. Maybe Leo is one of them 😁

His sprite is white-skinned and has blue eyes, which can also be an option, but I prefer the super rare Melanesian ethnicity for him. It makes me happy 😌

Setzer is said to have silver hair and purple eyes, which probably means he’s albino. I think he uses that purple shampoo to make his yellowish/whiteish hair look silver 😌

[idontknowwhatimdoinglol]

Modern blood of zeus x reader (assistant) pt. 1

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

you walked up the steps of the large building, you nodded to the doorman as he opened the large glass door for you. today was your first official day at Olympus. co. the biggest entrepreneurship company in the world.

you didn't expect to get the job and honestly still weren't sure that you weren't hired for other reasons besides the ones on your resume. you walked up to the receptionist, she was wearing a pretty flower blazer and pink skirt. she had olive skin and evergreen hair. "hello, I'm the new assistant." you say with a smile. she returns your smile "Alright, I'll check you in. May I have your name?" she asks sweetly. "y/n l/n" you say. she types it into the computer practically at an inhuman speed. "alright someone should be down to give you a tour in a few minutes, feel free to sit on one of the lounge chairs while you wait" she says pointing towards the elegant black leather chairs towards the left side of the room.

you nod to her before walking and taking a seat. you fiddled with the small golden necklace you wore for a few minutes before someone walked up. she was tall, with long white hair and tanned skin. she wore a short blue dress that wasn't the typical office wear everyone was wearing. "you're y/n I assume? My name is Artemis, and I will be the one showing you around today." she says with a kind smile. "it's a pleasure to meet you" you nod. She gives a hidden smirk "Follow me" she says leading you toward the elevator.

before pressing the button she turns towards a blonde male at the reception desk "Apollo if you could kindly wait until you're at home to make out with your girlfriend that would be appropriate." she smirks, and the man turns with a similar one. he was surprisingly taller than Artemis and wore a slightly more formal outfit. he had long golden blonde hair and golden eyes.

he blew a kiss goodbye to the receptionist and walked over. "so this is the new assistant our father hired." he tilted your chin to look at him "I personally can't say I blame him. I'm Apollo, son of Zeus" he smirks teasingly. "lay off of them brother, they're still so sweet and innocent" Artemis teases. she leans over and hits the button to open the elevator. "let us start." she gestures for you to walk in.

you walk in followed by them, you try to hide the blush of being in such a small space with them, you had to admit that they were both very beautiful. "what are your roles in the company?" you ask, truly wondering because their names never were mentioned in the interview when talking about the departments. "oh honey, we don't work here. we just wanted to do the kind thing of giving you the proper welcome tour" Apollo says with the same teasing smirk. "You're making them blush dear brother, how cute" Artemis comments.

the gods were on your side as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the floor they were leading you to, saving you from your embarrassed blush. they led you down the hall to what looked to be a fancy breakroom, it had a beautiful view of the city and a full kitchen. Artemis sits at a table next to a woman with pink hair and a magenta mini dress. "aw who the cutie?" she asks. "this is y/n, they're my father's newest assistant." Artemis says taking a strawberry from the pink-haired woman's lunch. "this is Aphrodite, she's the head of our beauty department" Apollo says resting his chin on your head. "Its a pleasure to meet you," you say,

she laughs a bit "You're so kind and innocent, are you sure you're here to be an assistant?" she smirks hinting at something else. The twins roll their eyes. "I doubt he would hire another one for those purposes so close to the company's anniversary party. we all know he won't risk Hera causing a scene in anger." Apollo says, "Don't blame Hera for that. it's how any sane person would react if they knew their husband cheated in front of her for months." Artemis says losing her smile a bit.

Aphrodite smiles a bit. "I know, but the possibility is still there." she says in a sing-song voice. "well we must get going, we wouldn't want to make y/n late on their first day." Artemis says hugging Aphrodite and standing up. Aphrodite waved goodbye to the three of you as the twins led you from the breakroom.

they led you back to the elevator. "we're heading to the top floor now, I'm sure our father has work for you to start." Artemis says. you nod, and the three of you stand there waiting for the doors to open. once on the top floor they opened with a ding, the three of you stepped out to be greeted by a woman with a purple braid.

she was wearing a purple pantsuit with a purple cape. She looked at you with disgust and tilted her sunglasses down to look at you better. "so this is his newest one." she said with quiet hatred before walking away, her heals clicking against the ground. "who was she?" you ask looking where she left. "that's hera, shes Zeus's wife. try to avoid her she isn't too fond of his assistants." Apollo warns. "she's really pretty." you say.

"She was a model before she met her husband. but then once married she gave it up to help him with his business." Artemis says. "ah there's my new assistant, I hope that you've been welcomed properly." Zeus says walking from one of the offices. he was probably the tallest person in the office, he wore a blue suit with a purple flower in the front pocket. his greyish-brown hair down over his shoulders. he nods to his two children to leave, and they give you a last look of good luck before walking to the elevator. "if you would kindly follow me, I'll show you to your desk" he says gesturing the way. 

- - - - - . o 0 O 0 o . - - - - -

[dulcetdemoness]

her secret

summary: your friend needs something more than hugs.

tags: cunnilingus, overstimulation, angst

wordcount: 967

---

“Y-you’re, you’re making a mistake,” you said breathlessly now that Emma had reached over her seat to place a kiss against your neck. A flush of warmth overcame you.

Ever since middle school, you’ve always harbored a crush on your best friend, but you knew things wouldn’t go anywhere because she had eyes only for Draken. 

“Ken and I got into a fight again,” she murmured in between more desperate kisses. God, she smelled amazing. The irresistible scent of her Juicy Couture perfume drove you crazy. Even more so when she had on that peach-pink lip gloss that was sticky-sweet against your neck. Her lips trailed low and lower still, whispering towards your exposed collarbone.

 Dammit. You couldn’t focus.

“Let’s go inside and talk about it.” As much as you wanted her, you didn’t want to take advantage of her sadness. You loved her more than anything in the world, but a simmering desire stirred in your stomach and you couldn’t contain it if she kept this up any longer.

She broke away from you. With a French manicured finger, she traced little hearts and clouds against your thigh. She had a habit of doing that whenever she was lost in thought, drawing invisible shapes against your body like you were her mood board. “I don’t want to talk,” she said.

You placed a hand over hers. She froze and looked up at you with glossy eyes. You wanted to kiss away her tears before they fell. To catch her heart before it shattered.

“What do you want, then?” you asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you.” She pulled away and sighed. “What was I thinking? Of course, you don’t want me like that.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “I know I’m beautiful. I turn any man’s head whenever I walk down the street. But with Ken… it’s like I’m invisible! What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” you said too emphatically. She was impetuous and reckless and sweet and that was what made her so amazing. How could anyone not see that? The very suggestion that your friend was unremarkable made your blood boil.

“Then don’t leave me tonight.” Emma begged, voice dead with defeat. She rested her head against your shoulder. “I need you.”

It was in the darkness of your home that Emma transformed into a different person. She grasped your shoulders and kissed you deeply. The sheer force is dizzying. Bruising. No one ever consumed you like this before, as if you were about to disappear any second. Then again, she wasn’t really holding you, but the man who broke her heart. 

You stumbled backward onto a couch. Or maybe she pushed you. You can’t be sure. Excitement and longing and lust made everything hazy. The golden street lights filtering through the blinds catch in her honey blonde hair. You brush the locks out of her face. She straddled your lap and stripped off her sweater, revealing a lacy white under-wire bra. Your heart raced. Your first instinct was to look away, which you did until Emma stopped you. She cupped your chin between a thumb and forefinger.

“Look at me,” she commanded softly. “Do you like what you see?”

You nodded.

“Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.” The word came out hoarse, so parched were you to run your tongue all over her. 

She smiled. “Unclasp my bra.” 

You followed her instructions. The bra dropped to the floor and her breasts, round and full like fat raindrops, bounced from their restraints. She laughed, seeing you marvel at them until you closed your mouth over one of her hard nipples. Just like that, Emma crumbled. If you were hornier, the sound of her moans would’ve been enough to make you climax.

You gave each breast equal love, squeezing, nibbling, and kissing. Emma’s body arched against yours in response. She moved her hips, rocked them. Your panties never felt so slicker. It took every inch of restraint not to push her face against your clothed cunt. The urge died as she smothered your face with her breasts. You didn’t stand. Not as she unbuttoned your blouse and tore off your bra. Not even when she rubbed her stiff nipples against your own, furthering the unprecedented amount of stimulation you couldn’t handle.

As if knowing you were nearing your breaking point, she got off of the couch and sunk to her knees before you. Her lips curved into a naughty smirk as she slid your panties down. Just enough to drink in the sight of your wetness that betrayed your want for her. 

Her breath tickled your thighs. She tore them apart.

With her tongue, she drew a long line along your pussy. You squirmed. This shouldn’t have felt so good. Especially when she drew careful patterns against your clit like you were art in the making. 

Heart, cloud, heart. Triangle.  

Circle. Star. 

Cloud. Triangle. 

Heart.

Circle. Circle. Circle, circle, circle, circle…!

You grabbed a fistful of her hair and let out a cry, the sound pleading and pathetically tortured. She plunged her tongue inside you, thrusting. Thoughts came crashing down.

Your body writhed against her. Your hips convulsed. Like a blown candle, the orgasm was there and gone. Marks of her desire trailed your body, the only evidence of your friend having ever fucked you. ‘Fuck’. It was too vulgar a word to describe this. You couldn’t call it love-making, though. That word was reserved to lovers. Husbands. 

Emma’s lips glistening with infidelity. She licked them. Her gaze darkened with a sexual appetite that left you shivering. It traveled up your body, devouring every inch of you. This wasn’t the sweet girl you grew up with. This was a woman who harbored secrets and you became one of them.

“Ready for more?” she asked. 

[beachlasgna]

Easy For You - Armin Arlert x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

cw: smut, sexual content, dick riding, dick sucking, romantic smut?

lol first tumble post with my fav short smut shot (:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

At last.

You sigh in relief, pushing yourself off the old, wickered rocking chair in the corner of your bedroom. Immediately, you feel the weight of all your bones in your body dragging you down. After years of working as part of the Survey Corps, now officially resigned, you had the aching in your body as a reminder of your dedication. You move slowly and steadily to ensure that the infant you have cradled for the last hour or so, rocking her to sleep, would stay asleep. Peeking below you, you looked at the creation in your arms.

A beautiful baby girl, with a round cherub face, a button nose, and the largest blue eyes you had ever seen. She was simply laying silently in your arms, gently breathing into slumber. The baby girl looked just like her father, an encasing brightness and warmth in one little human. You smile before you, gently taking your thumb over the blonde hair on her forehead and brushing it aside. You make your way to the bassinet next to your bed and lean over to put the little one to rest.

After placing her down, careful not to wake her up, you tiptoe towards the door on the adjacent side of the room. Slipping through the doorway, you partially crack it behind you and face the room before you. A narrow office room with four walls stood in the dark, one side of the wall was boarded up with shelves upon shelves of books, floor to ceiling. The other wall was covered in a multitude of variations of the world, pinpoints scattered across each longitude and latitudinal line. On the far end of the room was your husband, hunched over the wooden desk with nothing but the flickering candlelight for exposure.

His golden hair was disheveled from its normal style, the buttons to his white button-down undone, and his shoes have been kicked to the side. Invested in what was presented to him on his desk, he has yet to hear you walk in, his nose too deep into paperwork you didn't quite understand for him to hear. The responsibilities of the commander of the Survey Corps were a burden to bear. You advance, making it over to the corner of the desk before he could finally recognize you.

"You're still working?" You ask softly.

Armin's ears perk up to the sound of your voice, his eyes glowing in the light when he caught sight of you, "My love."

After pushing his chair back from his desk, he welcomes you in his arms and you melt into his embrace. All day you had been busy with your own set of chores and duties, the only time you were able to sit down and see one another was a late lunch until you were back to work. To be able to fall into your lover's arms after not seeing one another was a relief.

One of his gentle hands swoops underneath your jaw, and he places a chaste kiss upon your lips, warm and tasting of citrus and honey—his favorite tea. You recall brewing it for him earlier in the night, some hours ago when he mentioned he would be coming to bed soon. Though coming to bed soon turned into a few more reports, and a few more reports turned into much more work than he anticipated.

But you are kind. You are understanding. You are patient.

You tuck your nightgown underneath you as you take place on his lap, legs over his thighs as he nestled himself into your chest. Sleep was overcoming his face, heavy-lidded eyes, and a weak smile. Being enveloped by your warmth could just as easily coax him into slumber. You wrap your arms around his neck as you lean closer to him, planting loving pecks upon the top of his blonde hair. Your fingers dance from the collar of his white button-down to the hair resting against his neck.

"Has Maren fallen asleep?"

"Yes," You sigh, combing your fingers through his hair, "After I rocked her in the chair."

He chuckles lightly, "I'm surprised she stayed asleep, even with the creaking of that old chair."

"It is easy to fall asleep in the arms of someone you love." You smile softly, pulling back enough to look at your lover, "Come to bed, my love. Your work will wait for you until the morning."

Armin inhales deeply at your mentioning of his task at hand, turning his attention to the scattered papers and ink across his desk, "There are only a few more negotiation documents I have to review, and then I just need to prepare them for the conference in two days."

"A few?" You raise an eyebrow, hearing that phrase far too many times.

"Yes, I know." He reaches up to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth, "I'm sorry for making you wait, dear. Please, if you are tired, go rest."

On nights like these, you found yourself falling asleep wherever was most comfortable, and closest to him. Sometimes the rocking chair, more often in the chair rested beside Armin's desk, where he would then carry your unconscious body to the bed. When you had fallen asleep against the headboard of your bed, Maren rested on your bosom, the rise and fall of your chest lulled her to sleep. Armin would come in exhaustedly, but the sight of his two favorite girls made his tired heart skip a beat. He wouldn't fail swooping up his little one, rocking her back to sleep before kissing you goodnight.

"Nonsense." You place a kiss above his ear, "I will just wait for you here."

Armin doesn't argue with you, he knows better than to deny your presence. He obliges when you make yourself comfortable on his lap, resting your chin over his shoulder and he tucks himself closer to the desk. While you rest in his embrace, he resumes his review, analyzing important documents that you were much too tired to ask about. You loved listening to him talk about his vast plans of reestablishing a presence in world politics, a world much bigger than you remember before. However, you soon feel distracted by the building heat radiating against your thighs.

You could feel the blood rush down toward the apex of your legs, moisture collecting under your dress as your heart beat a few extra steps. It has been a while since the two of you have had any sexual interactions, both are much too busy with your work, yours being your child. Yet, you couldn't help but plant more measly kisses on his neck to earn his attention. While you curled his hair around your fingers, not only was his groin growing warm, but his skin was warm as well against your cold lips. You continue to trail kisses down his neck towards his collarbones before his neck rolls to the side.

A groan travels from his throat, "You are very distracting for just waiting, dear."

"Please, Commander Arlert. Don't let me disturb your work." You coax, your hands wandering further than the collar of his shirt. 

Armin only hums, adjusting in his seat as your trail your hands down his sculptured chest, making contact with the bulge growing in his jeans. With your lips on his neck, you could feel his jaw clench for a moment once you began palming him through his jeans. He was growing harder with each stroke of your hand. When you start to fumble with the button and zipper, he relaxes and comes to help. He takes one hand away from the desk, assisting you with taking down his jeans. Together, you rise from his lap and help him shimmy down his bottoms and briefs, dropping them to the floor.

Armin's hardened length slaps against his stomach, the tip already seeping with pre-cum, and when you take his length in hand, he was hot and throbbing. He has needed relief for a while, and you were just the remedy. You lower down to your knees, inching yourself closer between his legs, muscular thighs with thick etched scars caging you in. A reminder of his own work in the Survey Corps. You bring your mouth forward to give his tip a few open-mouthed kisses, the taste of his pre-cum settling on your tongue.

There wasn't much of a reaction coming from him just yet. His head was propped up with one hand, the other skimming through pages of a booklet you were unfamiliar with. So, without protest, you continue. You part your lips, your tongue grazes the underside of his shaft before curving over the head. You did this not once, not twice, but three times before you hear your first reaction; a soft and shaky exhale.

"God, you—" He swallows, "You feel amazing." His hand leaves from holding his head up, going in front of his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

Pleased so far, you move down on him further. More than just kitten licks, but dragging your tongue in bold strips along his length, jerking your hand in languid up and down motions as you did so. The more your licked, the more you were able to lubricate his hard cock with your saliva. Then, you wrapped your lips around his girth and began bobbing your head up and down. That earned more of a response from him, especially when you began to suction your lips around him and move faster.

Armin's other hand leaves the desk, finally purchasing a chunk of your hair and holding it in hand as it moves up and down with your head. While his mind was previously on documents requiring his full attention, it was no longer available. He struggled to remain focused, watching your lips kiss the base of his cock, come back up, just to go back down for more. You took his cock so well that he had completely forgotten about what he was last doing. Besides pulling your cheeks taut as he tries to nestle himself deeper into your throat, using your mouth to his liking.

"Oh, fuck— please. Please, let me—" He begins, but you silence him.

You go beyond what you can take, forcing him deeper, feeling the back of your throat close down around his cock. Armin grunts, unable to speak coherent words until you rise, bringing your head up once more.

"My love, please—" Armin chokes out, "Let me feel you. It has been too long."

You catch your breath, wiping the excess saliva coating your lips after coming off of him, your eyes answering his pleas. You push yourself off of the floor before him, when he is quick to capture your mouth with his own. He can't seem to get his hands off of you once you had finally earned his undivided attention. His hands were now traveling down the material of your nightgown, his eyes following, bunching up the ends of your dress as a way of asking for permission. Which of course, you grant.

"Here, baby. Hold this up." He requests, ushering to the bunch of cloth in his hand.

You take the material in hand before you carefully place your knees on the outsides of Armin's thighs, sliding your weight onto the chair. Then, you take the hem of your gown to your mouth and bite down.

Armin reaches up, sliding his hand underneath the fallen hair in front of your face, clearing your vision. "I'll make it easy for you, love."

Both his hands come down to assist you, one hand sinking into the fat of your hips, the other wrapped around his cock to guide you on top. You could feel the heat of his length between your legs, hot to the touch, while you eased yourself downward. The moment your walls make contact with his head, he leans his head back and groans. You sink on his cock all the way, bottoming out and Armin sucks in his bottom lip.

"You feel so good. So tight." He huffs, blowing the blonde wisps off hair from his face, "So perfect."

Then you are both moving. Armin rests underneath you, thrusting his hips up and ricocheting back to his seat. You hum into the material of your dress, letting it soak up your moans as you use his shoulders as support. He watches the sight of his cock disappearing into your heat, and appearing once more, rings of white slowly forming around his base. He guides you up and back down on his length until he is drawing pathetic whines from the both of you. You tried your best to keep quiet, careful not to wake up the sleeping child next door. However, it became harder by the second Armin looked up at you, bright blue eyes filled with so much lust and desire.

"You know, I can't help but remember—" He breathes, a soft smile flashing on his face, "The last time we were like this, I filled you up. I filled you up so full. Do you remember what happened next?"

Your eyebrows knit together in pleasure. You could feel a familiar pressure building up in your core, the feeling of Armin's cock sliding in and out of you edging you closer. You try to keep your focus on your lover's voice calling you back down to Earth, but you feel an attainable high within your grasp. Soon, your eyes fall shut, and you nod at your recollection of the last time.

"You became the cutest mommy. I remember— you begging me to fill you up, Stuff your full of me, give you a baby." A devilish grin pulls on his pink lips, "I'm about to make you a mommy again. Yeah, I will. Would you like that? For me to fill you up with my seed?"

You nod your head vigorously, agreeing to anything to have more of your doting husband. You wanted him, you wanted him to so badly. You yearned to feel him in each part of your body—over the miles of your skin, in your hair, inside of you. You remembered all the nights you would lay in the bed you share, tucked underneath the cool sheets, waiting for him to join you. Finally coming behind you, taking his hands to your hips and wedging his cock between your supple thighs looking for any sort of friction. In your half-sleeping stage, you would always come to his aid, ready to give him just what he wanted.

That tight, sweltering pressure in your core is drawing nearer. Then, Armin unhooks his arms from under your hips, wrapping them around your waist as he hugged your torso tightly. Hugging you close to him, little pathetic shoves come from his hips from underneath. He whines helplessly now into your skin, his lips brushing against your abdomen and he held you close to him. The sound of his sweet voice calling out to your travels through your body, and in a quick moment, you are clamping down on his length.

"Oh, I feel you. I feel you coming." He groans against your skin, "Yes, my love. Come on my cock, that's it."

Your muffled moans were audible through the cloth in your mouth, crying out in pleasure as your head rolls back. Armin's chin tips up, looking up in your direction. The sight of you losing yourself over him tips him over the edge, squeezing his arms around you and he's hammering himself into you from underneath.

"Oh, fuck— I'm gonna come— I'm-!" He grunts, and throws his head back along with yours.

Armin doesn't have the strength to finish his sentence. He is already whimpering, shooting hot ropes of release inside of your walls, his legs stuttering underneath you. The material of your dress drops from your mouth and your hips fall flat to his groin, locked together with sweat and sweet secretion sticking to your skin. Exhausted, you drop your forehead to his shoulder, chasing after your lost breath. His hands still never left your body, coming from around your back to your spine, where delicate fingers traced up and down.

Suddenly, there is a high-pitched cry coming from the other room, and you both perk up at the sound. You must have made too much noise just now for Maren to wake up. Instinctively, you rise from his lap, setting your legs down and adjusting your dress to hurry over, but Armin stops you before you can. 

"I will get her, my love." He reaches for your arm before you can leave, struggling to slip up his bottoms and briefs. After he adjusts, he leans forward to you, one hand placed on the small of your back, and the other cups underneath your jaw, hastily placing a kiss on your lips.

"Please, sit back and wait for me. When I return, it will be my turn to take care of you."

[rosie-love98]

The Women Of Oropher's House:

Winduirost:

Wife of Oropher and mother of Thranduil.

Name means “Windy Rain” in Sindarin. She was called this due to her gray eyes.

Daughter of Tauraear (“Vast Ocean”) and Erinmidh (“Morning-Dew”).

Was sister to an elder brother named “Duinlung” (“Riverbend”) and a younger sister called “Loebnen” (“Fresh-Water). Along with their parents, both Duinlung and Loebnen would be killed during an Orc attack in the First Age 585. Winduirost was the sole survivor when Oropher had managed to rescue her.

Married Oropher in the First Age 588 and made the move to Mirkwood with him.

Had the unique trait of having golden-blonde hair. This may be the result of a Vanyar or Noldor ancestor.

Winduirost didn’t think highly of the Silvans of Mirkwood. This was why she was against Thranduil marrying her handmaiden, Lisselote.

When Oropher gave Thranduil and Lisselote his blessing to their engagement, a petty Winduirost gave Lisselote dozens of hard tasks to prove her worth.

When Oropher perished during the War Of The Last Alliance, Winduirost would soften her harsh judgment thanks to Lisslote’s kindness towards the grieving queen.

Sailed to the Undying Lands in the Third Age 87, shortly after the birth of her grandson, Legolas.

Despite (somewhat) softening her cold disposition, it still didn’t stop Winduirost’s initial objection to Legolas’s romance with the Wingildi, Nenselde. Though, in Winduirost’s defense, she had more legit reasons.

Lisselote:

Wife of Thranduil and mother of Legolas.

Name means “Honey-Blossom” due to having honey-blonde hair.

Daughter of Malinurin (“Yellow-Sun”) and Tuilevire (“Spring Rose”).

Had a younger sister named “Incadaisime” (“Small Daisy”).

Was a hand-maiden to Queen Winduirost when Lisselote became acquainted with Thranduil.

Married Thranduil in the Second Age 3500. They were engaged back in 3429 but they were forced to halt the wedding due to the War Of The Last Alliance breaking out.

Was given the White Gems Of Lasgalen as a wedding gift from Winduirost on the late Oropher’s behalf.

During an Orc attack on Mirkwood, Lisselote was kidnapped by the enemy and taken to Angmar where she’d be tortured to death. 

Her untimely demise was sacrificial as the Orcs were trying to find and kill the then-infant Legolas. Little did they know Lisselote had given Legolas to her maid-servants who were already protecting the other Mirkwood Elflings (including little Tauriel).

This Orc siege had also cost the lives of Tuileveire and Incadaisime. As for Malinurin, he had already died during the War Of The Last Alliance.

Nenselde:

Wife of Legolas and mother of Marillalote.

Is the very last of all the Wingildi (“Foam-Maidens”) to have been created. 

Name means “Sea-Child” in Sindarin.

Unlike the Wingildis, she was made with the tear of Nienna. As a result, she was made and grew as an Elf child rather than a grown adult like her sisters. Yet, the other side-effect was that Nenselde was prone to grief and depression.

When Nenselde was a small, Elf child, she was given to Osse and Uinen to raise along with Wingildis.

By the time she turned 200-years-old, the now adult Nenselde would be so overwhelmed with her depression that she left her family for seclusion within the Bay Of Belfalas.

As much as she loved her family, Nenselde forbade herself from returning to them. The likes of Gandalf and Cirdan even tried to talk with her but whenever that arrived at Belfalas, a nervous Nenselde would hide away from them.

For centuries, Nenselde would be all alone at the bay until the Fourth Age arrived. From the Fourth Age 190-220, she would have mysterious visions of Prince Legolas Of Mirkwood. From all of these shared visions, the two would grow romantically close.

Yet, as Nenselde longed to be with Legolas and his friends in the Undying Lands, she was still torn with the Bay Of Belfalas. 

To make matters worse, their shared dreams would be corrupted by an evil force, the Dark Tree Cult that also made both Legolas and Nenselde undergo a deadly coma.

Still, by the Fourth Age 221, Nenselde would finally leave the Bay Of Belfalas and wed Legolas to the joy of Gimli Gloinul, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Gandalf The White along with Thranduil and Winduirost.

Marillalote, Legolas and Nenselde’s daughter, would be born shortly after the wedding in the Fourth Age 225.

Marillalote:

Name means “Pearl-Blossom” in Quenya.

Was going to be called just "Marilla" but Legolas wanted to pay homage to his late mother.

Born in Tol Eressea, an island of the Undying Lands.

Thanks to having Gimli Gloinul as her godfather, she’s prone to having a Dwarf-like personality; adventurous, strong-willed, along with being able to forge and wield an ax. This is why she’s often called “Dwarf-Kin”.

Also, like a Dwarf, Marillalote is knowledgeable on mining and jewelry-making.

Godmother was Legolas’s childhood friend, Tauriel.

As a Wingildi on her mother’s side, Marillalote inherited the ability to sing wildly.

By the time Marillalote was 20 (seven in Elf years), Gimli, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee would all pass on peacefully.

Would eventually marry Elenimir (“Star-Jewel"), grandson of Elboron (son of Faramir and Eowyn) and his wife, Alasse (daughter of Aragorn and Arwen) in the Fourth Age 500. 

Elenimir and Marillalote would later have two sons and two daughters.

[general-ida-raven]

I hate You The Least - Chapter 3

Jude Voss has had her life flipped upside down twice in her life. The first time when she was thrust into a galaxy-wide war as a Separatist strategist, and the second when she was taken hostage by Clone Force 99. A prisoner turned unexpected baggage when the war came to a brutal end, she alongside the Bad Batch have to navigate the aftermath that is the Empire as well as navigate everything in between- down to how they feel about each other.

Pairing: eventual Hunter x Jude

Mostly follows canon, SLOW BURN, enemies-to-lovers, angst, occasional swearing, eventual fluff (no smut)

Jude had no coherence of how long she’d been asleep when her eyes flickered open to the sound of footsteps entering the brig. Her head lifted off of its place leaned against the wall just in time to see the door open, frowning as she watched one of the red-and-white armored clones shove a young girl into the cell. She stumbled, short blonde hair falling haphazardly in her face as she caught herself on her hands and knees. 

Jude waited until the cell door closed again, her hazel eyes narrowing as the clone moved away. She looked to the girl a moment later, frowning as her eyes glanced her over. Kaminoan uniform. But why’s a kid here? 

Golden eyes met her own as the girl sat herself up, blinking. A timid smile crossed her lips and she waved, quietly inching toward the bench on the far wall. “Umm… hi.” 

Jude blinked slowly, hand lifting to brush her brunette hair back from her face. “…hey,” she uttered finally, because what else was she meant to say to a child in prison?

The girl glanced around slowly, hands tucking between her thighs. “I’m Omega,” she informed after a moment, giving another smile to Jude. 

Jude raised her brow slightly toward the girl, unmoving from her place against the wall. “…hello, Omega,” she said dryly, leaning her head back into the wall as she closed her eyes again.

“What’s your name?” Omega’s voice chirruped, sounding closer than before. Jude’s eyes half-opened, not daring give the girl another glance in case she considered in invitation to come closer. 

“Goodbye, Omega.” 

Thud. Thud. THUD! 

Jude shot upright, eyes flying open as she lifted herself from shallow sleep. Her gaze was met with a dark-clothed leg and, pressing herself back into the wall in surprise, her eyes moved up. 

Her eyes locked with Wrecker’s. The large clone blinked down at her, looking almost dumbfounded, before he glanced over to Hunter whom stood on the other side of the suddenly-too-small cell. “Uh, Sarge… we got company here.” 

“She is not the only one,” Tech observed from nearby, his honey brown gaze down on Omega as she blinked up at the squadron. He lifted an index finger, brow raising. “Our mission was not a total failure.” 

“Goodie,” Crosshair’s voice hissed, tone dark as he glared toward Omega and then toward Jude. “Just what we need.” 

Omega blinked as she watched them, glancing up to Hunter as he knelt in front of her. “I warned you not to come back.” 

“Had to.” Hunter gave her a gentle smile. “We were looking for you.”

Omega blinked at him, glancing to Jude before pointing to herself. “Me?” 

Hunter hummed, head tipping at her. “What do you say, kid? You want to come with us or did we get captured for nothing?” 

“You came back for me?” Omega’s tone was filled with unbelief. 

“That’s right.” Hunter chuckled faintly at her expression, nodding. “Or you can stay on Kamino, if…” 

“No, it’s like I said!” Omega shot to her feet, eyes hopeful. “I want to go with you!” 

Jude watched the two, eyes narrowing slightly. Her gaze flickered to Crosshair, watching his expression closely as he stared toward Hunter’s back. Something’s not right.

“How touching.” Crosshair’s voice practically hissed as he watched the two, meeting Hunter’s gaze as the sergeant glanced to him.

Wrecker cleared his throat before Hunter could do more than narrow his eyes. “Uh, Hunter… how are we breakin’ out of here?”

“I’m working on it,” Hunter responded with a glance to Wrecker, eyeing Crosshair. 

“You know what you should work on?” Crosshair hissed, eyes dark as his hands fisted at his sides. “Explaining when you went soft.” 

“Stow it, Crosshair,” Echo growled from the cell’s other side, arms crossing over his chest in warning. 

“Don’t you see we’re in here because of him?” Crosshair countered sharply, jabbing a finger toward Hunter as he looked to Echo. “He had us disobey orders.” 

“I didn’t know you considered disobeying orders a problem,” Hunter responded, voice low. 

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Jude looked to Crosshair at the hiss in his tone, her legs drawing closer to herself and out of the clone’s path as he stepped toward Hunter. “Every choice you’ve made since Kaller has been wrong. First the Padawan, then Gerrera. You’re becoming a liability.” 

Hunter’s eyes flashed, something dark and dangerous captured within them. “We can debate my choices later,” he growled finally, stepping toward the marksman. “For now let’s focus on getting out of here.” 

Jude turned her gaze away from the clones, allowing for it to travel out of the cramped cell and out to the brig where the guards were stationed. Their posture was lacking, tones undeniably bored as they spoke to one another. Not even a glance was passed toward the squabbling prisoners. What good employment. 

Jude pushed herself to her feet as a trio of new clones entered into the room, their posture far more alert as they crossed to the cell while one of the posted guards reached for the lever to lower the ray door. “CT-9904, come with us.” The trooper stared blankly through his visor down at Crosshair, blaster held in one hand as he stood just outside the now-open cell. 

“No, no, no. We stay together.” Hunter’s form moved in front of Crosshair’s, concealing the marksman partially from view as his gloved hands raised. 

Jude’s eyes widened as the butt of the trooper’s blaster struck into Hunter’s stomach. Down he went, dropping to his knees and hunching over himself while Omega let out an audible gasp from the bench behind him. Damn.

Crosshair’s eyes watched the sergeant go down, his gaze calculating. He slowly stood, stalking after the trooper with a last glance back at his brothers before the ray shield flickered back to life. 

“Gotta say,” Jude said dryly, eyes turning down to Hunter as the sergeant slowly stood to his feet. “Wish I could’ve been the one to do that.” 

Hunter growled in her direction, gray eyes flashing. “Shut up, Voss.” 

“Make me, Sergeant.” Jude spat the title just as he’d spat her last name; harsh, no real respect behind the word. 

Hunter came nose to nose with her, eyes narrowed and gaze dark as he seemed to loom over her, his broad form doing wonders to help with his intimidation. “I’d love to.” 

“Hunter.” Tech’s flat voice earned the clone’s attention, Hunter turning his back to Jude a little pointedly as he glanced toward him. “As much as you are enjoying the intimidation of our fellow cellmate, I do suggest we focus on something more prominent.” 

“Escape,” Hunter guessed, the tight fists at his sides relaxing slightly as he nodded. “Yeah.” 

How the hell did that work? 

Jude stared after the clones as they stepped quickly out of the cell, the guards collapsed and unconscious at their feet. She stood in the now-unobscured doorway, certain that her expression was a deadpan but unable to fix her slack jaw as Echo scooped the last blaster from the floor. 

“Sarge.” Jude blinked as Wrecker’s voice sounded, the burly clone looking toward her and causing her shoulders to stiffen. “What do we do with her?” 

The hell does he mean?! 

Hunter’s gray eyes moved back to Jude, intense as they met her own gaze before slowly narrowing. “Grab her,” he said finally, turning toward the door as he adjusted the blaster in his grip. “She can’t stay here. She knows where we’re going.” 

No I don’t! Jude’s chance at argument was cut off as Wrecker grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of the cell. She fought against his grip, free hand shoving at his wrist as she pulled backward. “No! Let go of me! Leave me here!” 

“You don’t get a choice.” Jude gasped as the cold muzzle of a blaster pressed to her temple, pupils dilating as Echo’s voice spoke close behind her. Before she could do more than try to turn the stun blast hit her with a swamping wave of pain, legs buckling and sending her full weight into the floor while Wrecker conveniently decided then to release her.  Her head thudded into the durasteel floor, breaths gasping weakly as her blurry gaze stared up at the clones around her. “Wrecker,” Echo’s voice murmured somewhere far away, blurry form nodding toward her in invitation. The large clone hefted her up and over one shoulder, the squadron’s voices growing distant and swimming with the rest of her mind as shadows creeped into her vision and sent her into darkness. “Let’s go.” 

Tags: @high-ct5555 @bananasugarwarrior @domino-twinss

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Verlaine and Rimbaud appearance hcs

 -> Happy creation day Verlaine! I conjured these up and thought it would be fun to share them :]

Verlaine

☆ Face wise Verlaine has a more triangular, sleek face. High cheek bones, and a sharp but not particularly wide jawline. His nose is long with a bump on the bridge before turning up at the end. Feature wise it's all very fox like, you could say. 

☆ Paul has heterochromia, one honey brown eye and one sea blue eye [because canon can't fucking decide what it wants them to be]. They turn upwards slightly at the end and are thin. His pupils aren't circular, protruding in spikes around the edges. They vary in length and almost mimic an explosion. Paul's eyes seldom ever shine, usually remaining focused and sharp, yet distant, always carrying a certain hate and loneliness to them. However with those he cares for [Rimbaud and especially Chuya] they could be described as kind. Post SB they are no longer as hateful but more empty, melancholic [though shine sometimes when visited by Chuya - because fuck canon]. He has a beauty mark under his left eye.

☆ Paul's skin is warm in appearance, carrying a light orange undertone, and it is also quite warm to the touch. There are wrinkles by his eyes and slight bags, and his lips have an upturn at the end - casually he always manages to look amused. He has several scars along his body, including one extending from between his ring finger and middle finger all the way down his forearm to his elbow, along with circular scars on his back from the lab tubes and other smaller ones littering his skin. His skin is otherwise soft, and his nails are filed down. Paul also has several moles, including on just above his right hip and one on his left collarbone.

☆ Posture wise Verlaine stands tall, never slouching or anything like that. He walks fast and with confidence and grace, though sometimes the walking almost comes off as angry. His hair is a honeyed blond and very silky to the touch, falling to just below his mid back when down. It's wavy until the ends in which it’s more curly.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Rimbaud

☆ If I had to choose one word to describe Rimbaud’s appearance overall it would be gloomy. 

☆ Rimbaud has a more oval face shape but with kind of strong features. A more defined jawline, a slightly hooked roman nose with visible but not high cheekbones. His forehead slants back ever so slightly, his nose extending past his chin a little more than is typically seen. Profile wise he’s somewhat crow like.

☆ Rimbaud's eyes are an almost golden green, though are usually somewhat dark. His eyes are downturned and hooded, always somewhat heavy and tired yet despite that they carry an almost eagle like sharpness - a result of him being a spy. Rimbaud’s eyes have a dull glow to them, however they also hold a hidden tenderness to them, a melancholic gentleness that’s only ever visible when he’s away from prying eyes - whether that be alone or solely with someone he cares for.

☆ His skin is pale, a grey-white with pink undertones, and his cheeks and nose are always flushed due to the cold. He has bags under his eyes and crows feet. Rimbaud’s lips are a pale red and thin, usually kept in a straight line. When he smiles it’s small but loving, and he has dimples. Much like Verlaine he has a few scars on his body, though the most noticeable ones are a gunshot wound on his right hand and a long scar extending from his shoulder blade to his mid-back. His hands are calloused, but the rest of his skin - while extremely cold - is soft and pleasing to the touch.

☆ Rimbaud's posture is usually hunched over, curled in on himself to preserve warmth, however when on a mission he stands tall, confident and determined. He walks fast and never dawdles. His hair is slightly curly and very soft, fluffy though always a little tangled. 

☆ Tl;dr: Dilf

[inkwell-and-dagger]

·{†}· Halos And Horns ·{†}·

A/N: it's 4 am. send help. also vee belongs to @paranoia-exe

CW: angel whumpee - demon whumper - demon caretaker dynamic, slight religious themes, blood, captivity, impalement (? ig)

{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}

A crown of golden fire, moulded until silky smooth and emitting only a gentle glow. Two amber eyes, soft like honey, six more milky white ones resting on the angel's cheeks and forehead. Once beautiful, long hair, cut short during its time in captivity. A messenger of God himself, a beauty to be reckoned with. Though, in this story, the angel has been forsaken. Nailed to a wall with its wings stretched out gracefully, crimson liquid painting the walls a vibrant shade of agony, it stands silent. A statue.

A silver tongue and a heart of stone. Glaring eyes, scouring for any hint of an error. Of imperfection. Perfection is what he desires from his decorations. Nails and hammer in hand, he pretends. Pretends that the angel stood silent like a statue isn't actually a sentient being. In his eyes, it is nothing more than a bragging right.

The same silver tongue and long blonde hair, a charming demeanor and an irresistible elegance. Yet, the demon has a soft spot toward the forsaken angel. Taking it in as though it were a child, tending to its wounds and treating it like the human it is. The demon isn't just a demon to the angel, either. He is like a father.

{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}

[johnlocked-swiftie]

When We Were Holy

Summary:

"Two angels, now fallen, tumbled to earth with only each other.

But enough of that. This is what happened first. This is what happened when they were holy."

After Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were detectives and doctors in the Victorian Era, they were angels. They fell in love in heaven and earth.

Can heaven really be heaven if angels are bullied and two boys can't kiss?

Can Sherlock and John always find each other, no matter whether heaven or London?

Can they have the courage to tell the world that they belong?

Told through the eyes of...someone.

When We Were Holy

Endless blood running from shoulder blades, crimson running with silver. It wouldn’t kill them. It was more of a reminder. Of the lives they once lived. Of the lives they gave up. Of what they did for love. Romeo and Romeo, facing the consequences. The detective and his doctor, feet touching the earth that was once so far below them. The blood you could hide with jumpers and long Belstaff coats, but it was always there. Crimson and silver. Everything they lost.

Everyone always talks of fallen angels. No one ever talks of what they gave up. Of what was so important that they would throw away heaven.

There are fallen angels that trade heaven for hell. And there are fallen angels that trade heaven for love.

Two angels, now fallen, tumbled to earth with only each other.

But enough of that. This is what happened first. This is what happened when they were holy.

——————

The first time Sherlock Holmes and John Watson met, they were children, as young as angels could be. Sherlock looked an angel, high cheekbones and curly raven hair and eyes an endless pool of blue-grey-green. John almost looked human. Almost unremarkable. Blond hair, ocean-colored eyes, and tanned skin. Sherlock was drawn to his gentle smile, his desire to befriend the lonely little angel that was Sherlock Holmes.

For perfect, kind, all-knowing beings, angels can be awfully cruel. Blades coated in holy honey didn’t make the wound hurt any less. And there were plenty of wounds. The crimson blood they shared with humanity was streaked with a shining silver that made it clear that they were so much more. Sherlock learned the color of his blood not from a mindless scrape or an accidental cut, but from a gold-bladed knife taken to his arms, in retaliation for a comment about how Evangeline was kissing Joseph and dating Aaron, and that she should really pick one.

How nice red and silver looked, smeared on a golden blade.

Could heaven be hell? It seemed that way. Were angels really the best and the purest, if they carved lines, and once the word freak, into the skin of one of their own? It didn’t seem that way.

Sherlock was drawn to humanity. What was it like to be so limited? To look up at angels and see themselves, but better? (That wasn’t ego. It was the objective truth.)

Every angel’s wings looked slightly different. Some wings were long and thin, with equally long, thin feathers that were more of a silvery color than pure white. Some wings were shorter and curved up, sporting thick, fluffy feathers the color of the purest snow. Sherlock’s wings were the former, and John’s were the latter. Despite what some people believed, a certain type of wing doesn’t mean you are better or worse. It just meant that you were slightly different. And since no two pairs of wings were the same, no one could really complain.

Within mere months of meeting, Sherlock and John had become… friends. It was a strange concept to Sherlock, but nonetheless, it was happening. John had other, more normal angels willing to spend time with him, and yet he chose Sherlock. Why? John replied that no one else wanted to fly low over humanity’s skies, until there was nothing but a thin layer of clouds between them and the people they used to be. This made Sherlock’s cupid bow lips turn up into a grin. He was wanted. It was a new feeling. And, for once, a feeling he didn’t hate. 

Angels aren’t born, they’re made. When a human has done more good than bad, they would be born as a baby angel. Sherlock wondered who he used to be. A famous scientist, maybe, or a detective? He bet John was some kind of hero. The kind that went unnoticed by everyone except heaven. He seemed the type. When Sherlock told John this, he fidgeted with the hem of his robe and told Sherlock that he thought far too highly of him.

Sherlock was shocked when he saw the crimes humans regularly committed, crimes that hurt not only their leading organizations, but other humans too. He decided he would like to help, no matter what. He made notes on who was guilty and who was innocent, and, in the depth of the night, flew down and let the note land on the doorstep of the grieving family. He only singed these notes “An Angel.” When he saw the thanks he received, he was happy. When he saw criminals be put in jail, he was ecstatic. 

John warned Sherlock that he was going to get caught and punished for interfering in human affairs like this. And he joined him, two pairs of holy wings dashing through the skies to make sure one more criminal sees nothing but bars for the rest of their (short) life.

They traded an eternity of democracy and perfection for an eternity of adrenaline rushes and dark London streets. And they never regretted it once.

Sherlock fancied himself a machine, too above the human race and even other angels for silly things like romance. John fancied himself a date to all the angels, having a new woman on his arm every week and leaving her behind in an instant to fly low under the clouds, adrenaline in his veins and a note in Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock fancied himself above love, until he saw John Watson laugh.

He’d seen John laugh hundreds of times, but there was just something special about this one. Maybe it was the way the sun caught on hit golden-blond hair. Maybe it was the way his ocean-blue eyes lit up. Or maybe it was nothing at all. But somehow, Sherlock was struck with something inexplicable. It made him stop in his tracks.

It was love. Love in all its glory.

And Sherlock Holmes knew he was screwed.

Angels are always left with their Dying Mark. A Dying Mark is the mark of what killed you. Some are more obvious, whereas others if it was a disease, not recognizable at all. Sherlock and John both had a similar Dying Mark. A slit of a stab wound across both their necks. The scar had faded to a thin pink-white line, but it was still there. If they stood next to each other, the two marks combined into a straight line. Almost as if they had died together, wrapped in each other’s arms as the killing blow was dealt.

John called that a sign, something that was ever so romantic. Sherlock scowled, privately blushed, and wondered if they knew each other in a past life.

If Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would always find each other.

Sherlock asked the Leaders why two boys can’t kiss. They told him that God said they couldn’t, and what God says is always the rules, and if you have a problem, just pretend you don’t. Sherlock thought that that was a rather stupid rule, but just rolled his eyes and left. He decided that he didn’t have to follow stupid rules, and neither did John.

Sherlock Holmes first kissed John Watson after a case was solved. Adrenaline pumped through their veins, wings flapping to keep them just a couple feet above the ground they were forbidden from touching. And as their feet slowly lowered them to the ground, they shoved their lips against each other, John pulling Sherlock down to meet him, Sherlock’s hands coming to cup John’s face, tilting his head up to meet Sherlock back. John flew up a couple inches, so they were the same height, and the wind from his wings make Sherlock’s curls flutter. It seemed natural, like they’d done it before.

Maybe in a past life.

Two strikes down, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Touching Earthen ground and kissing another boy. Tut, tut. Sadly, no amount of sibling meddling helped you when you reached strike three.

A wicked smile. The former detective and his former doctor wouldn’t last much longer here. I knew they were interfering with human affairs, but I didn’t have any proof. I’d get some soon. They’d make a mistake. Lover boys, send your hearts to Earth because you’re not staying in heaven.

It was a warm, sunny August day when they were caught. It was only a matter of time. Sherlock had told the angels that they were spending some time alone, which was not, technically, a lie. They were in a park somewhere in Human London. Regent’s Park, John thinks. Warmth filters through wisps of clouds and coats their backs and hair like ambrosia, making Sherlock’s dark curls reflect almost purple, and aged John’s blond swoop into wispy grey the color of a storm cloud. Four blue eyes twinkled like ocean stars with love and happiness, and hands and lips met at the same time, smiling into each other’s mouths.

They let their guard down.

Ultimately, it was a laugh that did them in.

Angels have a special laugh. It rings out like music, like church bells. It makes you turn your head, makes you smile. No human laughs like an angel.

“John, remember the case with the empty house—” John quickly shoved his hand across Sherlock’s mouth, laughing like he was drunk. Maybe he was.

Drunk on love. Drunk on hope. Drunk on the maybe-promise that they could be together, lay on cotton candy clouds and press sloppy kisses into each other’s mouths, curling up next to each other, breathing only when absolutely necessary.

How stupid he was.

That was when I found them. That was strike three. A rare smile graces my lips just thinking of it.

I dragged the both of them back to the heaven that they did not deserve. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand, whispering sweet nothings that disappeared in the space between them. Sherlock was pleading for forgiveness, words lost as they rose up. To whom was he pleading? John? Me? Did he know? More importantly, did it even matter?

It didn’t.

Due to (most) angels being perfect, there aren’t many laws that aren’t explicitly God’s word. And it was God’s word that they had to preside over all fallen angel trials.

The trial was over quickly. Too quickly, in my opinion. I presented my evidence, beaming the photo of their feet touching the ground, of the letters floating onto the ground. Of their sinful, sinful kiss.

I hope it was worth it. 

My sharpened teeth slot together in a grin. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, facing the consequences of their actions. Wings forever clipped. Sent to Earth. Maybe they’d join hell, like Lucifer (troublesome as he may be, I have to admit that he knows how to go out with style) but maybe they’d stay. Be unremarkable. Be human. Endless crimson-and-silver blood flowing through shoulder blades, feathers gone.

I wondered, then, if anyone would make the connection between the fallen angels walking the earth now, and the famous detective and doctor of so long ago. I wondered, then, if anyone had read the books, had seen the movies of a certain Victorian-era detective and his loyal army doctor.

I wondered, then, if anyone would recognize Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.

They did.

They did.

They do.

——————

Sherlock whispered in John’s ear, sitting on top of a roof. They were no longer able to fly off, hover above the beautiful twilight of the darkening sky. Purple and navy and bright, beautiful magenta, all painted in broad strokes across the sky. A few stars shone through, penetrating the navy like a hole puncher breaking perfect circles of paper away.

“Do you ever miss when we were holy, John?”

“Do you ever miss when we were holy, Sherlock?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Not so long as I have you. I’d take the pain, the loss, the humiliation of losing my wings all over again, so long as I got to spend one second more with you, my love.”

“…I love you too.”

here’s the ao3:

[tinyowlthoughts]

Technoblade and the Isle of Aeaea

It had been a long while since men landed on her isle. Circe carefully slid her shuttle between the wefts of her loom, humming lightly as the island whispered of mortal footsteps on the shore. Only one set - a lone traveler, then, lost in the storms of the sea and seeking refuge until the heavy, dripping clouds passed. The wolves rumbled - they could smell their kin on the man, and while the mountain lions were not as fond they did not move to attack. Not a warrior then - at least, not a true one. Not a threat to her and hers. 

The color of the thread shifted beneath her fingers - a pale pink bloomed from the previous white, an abrupt change from the emerald-green leaves she had been weaving. The goddess paused, examining the hue closely - most men who stumbled upon her island were red or orange, perhaps alternating shades of emerald and dark grays (there was a fleeting memory of a man with blonde hair and crows wings and a ridiculous hat, a laugh on his lips as he introduced himself as Hades and took the hand of his wife Persephone as they chatted about their marriage, sealed with pomegranate seeds).

It was no matter, and she had no time to dwell. The mortal was approaching her palace, pausing only to scratch the ears of her guards. The wolves were more than happy to bow their heads and wag their tails. The mountain lions, lounging upon the stones of the mountain that circled the cove, showed less enthusiasm but were no less excited for the ear scratches. The goddess wondered about the mortals size - it had been long since her pets were able to hunt fresh meat.

Heavy steps echoed on the polished marble steps of her temple, and she smiled - a good-sized man then, to make a good sized swine. No - no, a boar this time. Her guards were growing round and lazy, they needed the exercise of a proper hunt. She finished the row and set her shuttle aside, still humming as she turned to the open archway to greet the newcomer.

Circe had been right - he was large, a towering young man of twenty or so, broad shouldered and brushing nearly seven feet. Beneath the thick, red himaton that hung over his shoulders was a white chiton that had seen better days. Both were crusted with salt, and even the sandals tied up his caves were sparkling with dots of white. In contrast to his masculine form, his hair - the same pale pink of her weaving, the same hue of the small flowers that grew upon the hills of the Acropolis - was twisted into delicate braids, woven with gold chains and pinned up off his neck. A diadem - thin and gold, but bearing a heavy red jewel in the center - rested upon his head, matching what jewelry she could see beneath his sea-soaked clothes. 

A man of wealth, then - not that it mattered to her. Men were men, swine were swine, and men were swine. She stood, absently running her fingers down the front of her own loose chiton and adjusting the golden leaves that formed her belt. Her fingers brushed the potion vials nestled in their hidden pockets for only a moment before she clasped her hands before her.

"Greetings, wanderer." She bowed her head. "You are welcome here. Please, enter and join me at my table." She gestured to the grand, carved stone table, where many men before this newcomer had dined and fallen to her charms. Unlike those other men, this one didn't immediately enter and fall gratefully into a seat. He scanned the room with eyes so brown they were near red, right hand brushing over his hip. Beneath his shifting himaton she caught sight of a hilt, gilded in gold and shaped into something she could not discern. A warrior, then - more meat for her loves to eat.

"There is no threat," she simpered, moving to the shelves carved into the spotless marble walls and pulling out bowls that filled with the finest of fruits and meats at her touch. "You are in the home of a goddess, one who does not harm mortal men." The words were true, thick as honey on her tongue, and she watched the enchantments that wove from her voice relax the man. His shoulders fell from his ears, and he stepped through the threshold, approaching the table.

"Eat, drink, I am honored to have you here." She set the bowls down and fetched a flagon of wine from the chest beside her loom, placing it before the head of the table alongside a golden goblet. "I am Circe, goddess of herbs and potions."

The man lowered himself into the head chair, though he paused at her words. He glanced up at her, gaze scouring her face, before he finished sitting, relaxing in the thick cushions. "I am Technoblade," he offered, gaze drifting over her as he took her in. This was familiar territory, and Circe allowed her chiton to slip a bit, the loose fabric sliding from one shoulder. Men were swine, and swine liked to eat, both with mouth and eyes. 

"Technoblade." She rolled the name on her tongue - it was familiar in a way that it echoed something from long ago, from before the times of Odysseus and Ulysses, when gods were young and mortals younger, when the Titans were still fresh in the memory and Cronus still a lingering nightmare. A historian for a father, then, she reasoned and brushed off the lingering sour taste the name brought to her tongue. A historical name for a warrior wanderer. "Welcome to my table, Technoblade. Please, partake, there is no cost." She poured him wine, the goblet filled near to the top.

He nodded - a man of few words, which she could appreciate - and picked up the cup, taking a sip. His shoulders fell even further as her special blend did its job, and she turned as though to put the wine back in the chest. Instead, she seized her staff - her favorite, a heavy oak branch inscribed with runes inlaid with gold - and turned, quick as a whip. The man hardly had time to jerk in surprise before the magic had seized him, and he was transformed.

Pink skin slid into rough, bristly fur, linens tearing as limbs shortened and twisted and fused, fingers and toes growing into thick, black hooves. A tail sprouted, and tusks grew from an elongated snout as the transformation finished. Where once had sat a man now was a large boar, clothed in the rags of his former form. It sat on its haunches, front legs keeping it upright, looking about dazedly as the rational thoughts slipped away, the mind of a simple beast taking over.

The Goddess of Transfiguration (and witchcraft, and potions, and magic itself) smiled, gripping her staff tightly. It had been quite some time since she'd gotten to stretch her magic, and the beast before her would make a wonderful quarry for her dear guards to hunt. Why, he had enough meat on him to make sure they each got a good serving! In fact, he was…oddly large. Almost unnaturally so. Perhaps it was simply that he was a boar, instead of her usual choice of domestic swine? Or maybe his own large size as a human had something to do with it - Athena, during one of her weaving lessons when she was just a small child, had spoken of something called 'matter' and 'mass', and the 'scientific theory'. She hadn't cared then, more interested in creating images in her work, and to be honest she didn't care now. Apollo and Athen could muck about with that 'wisdom' and 'science' and such nonsense, she had much more important matters to attend to. Such as getting this new boar into the woods, so her guards could eat.

Only, when she moved towards the creature to begin shooing it away, it looked at her - not in a way a beast would look, with fear and alarm and confusion, but with a human gaze. One filled with derision and annoyance and just the faintest bit of amusement. Then, quick as she could blink, the boar was gone, and the man was one more in the chair, clothing back in place (though a bit worse for wear than before), and hair once more perfectly set about his head. He didn't say anything, just held her gaze for a long moment, before reaching out and picking up his goblet once more. Circe, flabbergasted, opened her mouth, trying to come up with some excuse, some apology - a potion mix-up, perhaps, or a slip of the tongue - but as he took a sip, all she could see was the amusement in his eyes.

The swine.

She swung her staff towards him and uttered the words again, in a near snarl this time, and the man once more was replaced by a boar. The goblet fell from his hooved hands, dropping and spilling wine across the table, himself, and then the floor. The boar glanced down at his stained clothes and huffed in annoyance, then looked back up to meet her eyes again. His gaze was painfully human, painfully rational. 

Then he was human, and brushing himself off, adjusting his shirt and frowning down at the new deep purple stains. "You could have waited until I set my cup down," he told her, voice gruff but tone only lightly chiding - no panic or fear at the fact that she had turned him into a beast twice now. Circe gripped her staff tightly with both hands, wracking her mind for the answer. He had no moly upon him - the spell wouldn't have worked the first time if he did, and she'd rid the island of it after Ulysses had sailed off with his men. There was no charm or blessing that she could see upon him, and her islands and wards hadn't warned her of another being, mortal or otherwise, accompanying him here.

"Who are you?" She demanded, voice high and tight.

Technoblade - the sour taste remained on her tongue, the nudge that it wasn't right, it wasn't a true name, but a nickname, a moniker, for something fearsome - bent down to pick up the goblet. As she watched, it filled with drink - something darker than her wine, crimson where the light hit but near black otherwise - and leaned back in the chair, which seemed more like a throne with how he sat, one leg loosely crossed over the other, lounging before a goddess as though he had not a care in the world.

"Technoblade is what I prefer," he took a sip, and the faintest red stain was left at the corner of his mouth. He didn't look at her as he spoke, keeping his gaze to the cup instead, swirling the liquid inside and tracing it with his eyes - had they been red before? Surely not. "But I have been known by many names in the past." And as he spoke, his face changed.

"The Erymanthian Boar," his head sharpened into that of a boar once more, with razor sharp tusks that jutted nearly a foot from his face, a shaggy mane of black bristles replacing his hair. Still he spoke, mouth moving even as it changed again.

"The Calydonian Boar," the fur smoothed, the bristles shrunk, the snout shortened, but the swine was no less dangerous, the golden markings of Artemis picked out on his forehead in shining lines of fur.

"The Clazomenae Boar," wings sprouted from his back, the mark of Artemis fading (not that Circe noticed, too aghast at the feathered limbs that brushed each side of her room, at the power they heralded, too aghast the mistake she has made). 

"But you likely know me best as my true self." And then there is nothing - no room, no table, no man. Only darkness, so thick she cannot see her own nose in front of her face. "Erebus."

Circe does not know how long they stay there in the darkness - in his domain, the domain of Erebus, God of Darkness and Gloom, Lord of Tartarus, the First Ruler of the Pantheon, child of Chaos themself. It could be seconds, or minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks or months or YEARS.

And she is not alone. She can feel his eyes on her as she stands, gripping her staff, gaze straight ahead - not that it matters, he is the darkness, she could be engaged in a staring contest and not even know it right now - 

Then it's over. 

They are in her temple once more, and Erebus, God of Darkness and Gloom and everything else, is lounging in the head chair, which is now a proper throne, made of black marble with gold veins that look too much like eyes for comfort. He is sipping from the goblet, watching her with a raised brow. When she says nothing, he drains the rest of the drink and sets the cup down gently, then laces his fingers together and rests his hands in his lap.

Where before he had the demeanor of a weary but wary traveler, a man lost to the sea seeking refuge for a night, he is now nothing but confident, radiating power and contentment, the control of the situation firmly in his grip. Despite being the same size before the darkness, he takes up the entire room, and she has to strain against his presence to resist the urge to flee. He considers her, with those bright-red eyes, then nods to the seat closest to him.

"Now that we have that mess out of the way," he snaps his fingers and a book appears in his hand, bound with leather and pages edged in gold, "I'd like to hear your version of events. Ulysses has been quite insistent that you are the villain - and after that whole thing," he waves his hand, as though to encompass the past few minutes hours days weeks years, "I'm inclined to agree. Mnemosyne and Clio were too nervous to approach you themselves, so I came at their behest." 

"You…what?" The staff in her hands slips a bit, and Circe grips it tighter, pulling it against her chest. Erebus - Technoblade? - raises a brow from behind the thin, gold-rimmed glasses that are now balanced on the bridge of his nose. He motions to the seat closest to himself again, and after a moment of her brain stuttering, she decides she doesn't want to go back to the true darkness of his realm and shakily takes a seat.

"Ulysses's buddy Homer is writing down his whole journey," Technoblade - Erebus? - sets the book down and pulls a quill from nowhere. It's made with a large, dark feather, one she recognizes as a crow - but crows don't grow that large, do they? - and begins making a note on a clean page. "He's apparently exaggerating quite a bit - it's driving Clio mad, have you met her? Inaccurate historical records are her greatest fear, and his 'ode' is quite self-serving and apparently embellished to Tartarus and back. I promised Clio I would do some fact checking." He looks up at her, waiting for a reaction. With the spectacles on his nose and a blotch of ink already staining his fingers, he appears - well no, he is still terrifying, but it is tempered somewhat. 

Resisting the urge to leave her temple and start a new life on another island, or turn him into a swine one more time (Third times the charm, as the Fates like to say) and run for it while he turns back, Circe rests her staff on her lap and bites her lip, thinking over his words. Then, a thought strikes her.

"Has he mentioned that we have three sons together?" 

The god blinks, then a wide grin crosses his face and he turns to his book, beginning to scribble. "No, no he has not." He snorts (it's particularly pig-like, she notes), and absently grabs a grape from the plate nearest to him. In all their spell casting, the food has remained, as delicious and inviting as ever (though she notes, peering at the goblet that had appeared at her elbow at some point, her special herbs and spices are gone from the meats and drinks). "Tell me about them." Erebus glances up, and Circe can't help but compare him to the other men who have come here.

Despite his history, his names, his ability to transform to pig and back, he's the least swine-like man she's ever met.

"Well, our eldest is Telegonus…"

(And later that day, when Technoblade returned to his home in the Underworld and greeted his family, he took great delight in telling Eros (who was going by Wilbur for the moment, after visiting Germania and thinking himself funny) that his attempt to set him up on a date had failed.)

So I just had a weird but funny thought

Technoblade likes Greek mythology

There exists the idea that Technoblade can switch from human form to pig form at will

Can you imagine the absolute fucking power play it would be if he stumbled upon Circe’s palace and she threatened to turn him into a pig only for him to just??? Do it himself???

Like, where do you even go from there? What’s the plan anymore?

Or he gets turned into a pig and then looks her dead in the eye as he transforms himself back

[xoteajays]

Okay! So.. I've recently rewatched High&Low: End Of Sky. Elly's really covered in tattoos, that was noticeable because his character was the one wearing tank tops and sleeveless shirts in this movie. So Elly and Anarchy are definitely covered in tattoos. I know about them so far.

And everyone's hair was freshly dyed too. Rocky's hair was more of a golden blond instead of silvery platinum blond, Cobra's hair was even dyed a slighty darker blond. Same with Takeshi's hair being way more darker than his honey blond hair. P's even brighter vibrant hair before.

I'll excuse Smoky's silvery blue gray hair. Just because they were only trying to make it seem like his hair changed since he was dying, from the toxic chemicals. So I will completely excuse Smoky from this.

My White/Green character. Her natural hair color would probably be a light brownish blonde. Similar to a gold honey color. But she just dyes her hair any colors she wants (platinum blonde, dark brown, colors).

The Daruma Family Base is a gambling business. And, the women, I'd have to be honest.. I don't really know what their job is. Since I've only ever seen them dance in the background. Like Club Heaven women.

~

That is definitely Hiroto's personality towards most people so that.. I'll never be surprised if he's like that with any friends, and even whoever he's attracted to. Since he is like that with Masaki. It's not surprising.

Hyuga's mean because he is very short compared to everyone else. But yes.. Depending on the type of girl he's in a relationship with, also depends on how his partner would act or react about this comments.

Murayama's a playful tease, not a mean tease like Hyuga would be.

And out of Rude Boys, I would have to say that P and Yu are the more giggly ones since they always giggle about everything. At least Yu is a character who's always like that. Not sure about Smoky and Takeshi.

~

Exactly! Gun-woo actually mentioned that to Woo-jin when they were eating at that buffet restaurant... That he worked multiple jobs just so he could provide for him and his mother. This sweet boy! And that did include working in restaurants, especially barbeque restaurants too.

And Jin seems the most knowledgeable about meals containing a lot of noodles. Like ramen. Or is it ramyeon? Since Korean says that very differently than other Asian countries. But he cooks so many cuisines with noodles. But, besides that, he really does seem to restaurants or order take out a lot. Based on what we know of his backstory though.

~

That was my original intention for my romantic ships in Bloodhounds, for any stories for Bloodhounds. Unless, I actually decide to make one more character so they both could be with someone. But I'm selfish.

Yes.. If Gun-woo did train during Woo-jin's healing time then he might have only did basic training, at least until Woo-jin was able to start his training with Gun-woo. But now those boys could also fight men who are three, maybe four, times their size. Including men like In-beom.

~

Who knows? The show is starting. You will probably learn more about other characters, only if you want to learn about any other characters though. But.. Hopefully the show continues to be a good series too.

See! Yes. I didn't want to say anything. Not that I would spoil you with details like that.. But the chaos does happen after the car accident. I'd have to say Kuryu has to take notes on real hit and run car accidents - because they don't know how to do that right. They know want to do.

Obviously! This is Vincenzo. And this is Jung-ki as Vincenzo. He's just too attractive. When I'm attracted to older men, Jung-ki is that man.

I'm attracted to Asian men.

But yes. Vincenzo quits smoking by the end of the first episode so it's not like you would see him smoking. But, the teenagers, he just beats them anytime he sees any of them attempting to smoke around him.

i’m have a bit more of an appreciation for ice/elly. he’s kinda hot tho. blame the exile videos.

everyone dyed their hair before fighting ranmaru and kuryu gotta look their best ahdhdkfkdl

except smokey. who is horribly dying … :(

~

hiroto’s like. a lil mean and huffy and pretends often that people annoy him even when he actually likes them. gotta break through that facade to get to the gooey endeared center. god no wonder shizuka likes him, he’s like yui.

hyuga’s the kinda guy to laugh even when his shy gf is pouting and embarrassed. he’s like ‘i’m kidding - i’m kidding!’ but his girl is still upset about it and calls him mean. it doesn’t faze him.

pi and yu would be giggly about it. takeshi’s a little more serious, helps her to her feet, makes sure she’s okay, but he’s still clearly pretty amused.

~

gun always gets stuck cooking the meat when he and jin go out - not that he seems to mind, but still. he’s always manning that grill. that scene with the trio going to lunch was funny. jin and gun bickering because nobody turned the grill on before gun got back, jin jumping in to tell ju that gun’s an excellent cook and not to tell him when to flip the meat.

jin seems the type to eat a lot of those ramyeon/tteokbokki/rabokki cup things. or he just goes to that spicy pork place a lot. he can cook noodles on a stove but not much else. just basic things. boil eggs, stick noodles in pot. nothing complicated or too difficult.

~

yea i can see gun only doing basic training since he probably spent most of his time in the hospital with jin, probably worrying that myeong gil’s men might come back and try to finish the job. then jin gets better and they’re somewhere safe and gun goes hard into training.

~

episode 2! also good! entirely based in the main plot. the cop is pretending to be ha joon’s character’s dead best friend’s cousin and just got hired into the gang. also! the cop’s wife! who is a detective! is ha joon’s character’s childhood friend and first love!! i fucking knew it! i had a hunch from ep1! this man is going to fuck your wife!

i’m only halfway through ep4 because it was getting too close to midnight and i was tired after a crummy night (stepped on a screw in my backyard and got it stuck in my foot, mum laughed at me because only i could find the one random screw in the grass in our whole backyard the one time i go outside. touching grass is dangerous), but the building people are all. so annoying??? like yall are so needy and flipfloppy and kinda rude??? this man just got out of hospital after getting slammed by a truck and you’re accosting him??? can he rest???? fuck off??!? i think they’re the reason i stopped watching the first time because they irritated me.

[tenacious-minds]

We’ve all seen narcissas hair, with the white-blond underneath and the black on top. I always thought it was odd, that her hair would be blond— none of the other blacks has anything but dark hair. I thought it even odder that she would have dyed it. Either black on top or blond underneath. It doesn’t seem very wizarding, never mind pure blood.

Consider, however, that although much rarer, Piebaldism can appear on the back of your neck. Seeing as it’s a genetic condition, draco would very likely also have a lighter patch of hair, and most likely Cygnus or Druella would also have it.

[wakandama2]

Surprise Surprise.

This is for @blowmymbackout she requested this FOEVER ago and finally got the finishing inspiration to get it out. 100% This new season has already inspired some small works out of me for Fez. I hope yall freak hoes like it 🤪🤪🤪

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, PURE SMUT! Car sex, un-protected sex, piercing play, food play (just whip cream tho) Teasing.

Fezco tried to be lowkey about it but you could read him pretty well about it.

He loved gold.

Especially seeing you in gold.

Honey blonde braids, Gold earrings, gold nails, gold grills, gold clothes, gold chains- it looks so right on your silky brown skin to him it was near hypnotizing. You look godly rich to him every time you time you wore his chain or watch or rings.

You knew this very well and planned to have this man absolute gone on you with your plan for his birthday.

“These are so cute!” your homegirl gushed over the rings displayed on the black velvet in your two’s favorite Body-Mod shop.

“I know right! Reggie said she’ll change out my regualr sterling bars for them at a discount since I’m getting you know what done on Friday.” You teased as you looked closer at purchase.

Two golden heart outlines that had a simple bar through them. The ball ends on the bars were small rosy colored crystals.

“I don’t know how you do it Y/n! All this planning and suspense. Fezco gonna pass the fuck out when he sees it.” She rambled and you smirked.

“I know! I can’t wait to see his face. Feel what he gonna do about it too.” You winked and she cackled.

💛💙💛

Bass drifts from the party toward the foggy window of Fezco’s car, you two feverishly kiss into one another, fueled by Henny. Fez presses against the locked door as you sit on his lap facing him. Your sharp, metallic nails scratch lightly at Fezco faded head as the man sucks down your neck. He flips your skirt up so he can properly grip your ass, exposing your white lacy panties to the air. He goes to take those off when you grasp his wrists.

You give an airy chuckle when he hums against your throat, smacking his lips off your skin to look you in the eye.

“You good?” he whispers, and you hum back.

Fezco can only swallow as you delicately play your fingers down from his head to his face than to his neck. Your thumb softly circles his Adam’s Apple for a moment before your hand dips on his chain.

“I want this.” You whisper back.

Fezco leans to the side, kissing under your ear as you unclasp the pieces and place it on your own neck. You bring his hands up and place them.

One to your breast.

The other to feel his gold around your neck.

His head comes around, kissing his tongue into your mouth as Fezco takes the hint and slowly closes his wide palms around your throat. The cold chain-link pressing onto your soft hot throat, pressured by his wide and warm palm. His thumb runs over your new nipple ring in curiosity as he gives your breast a fully squeeze. It draws a sharp and lusty hiss out of you that make Fezco’ s dick jump.

You drag your hands down his front until the meet his belt and with a practice ease your take off his belt and unbutton his jeans. All why he keeps a steadying choke on your throat and the muffle of his mouth on yours. Fezco flicks the heart ring in your nipple, and you feel his dick jump in your hand as you moan in his face. He pulls back and watches your face as you pant between the twinges of pain and pleasure. Slowly, he flicks the ring. Up, down. Up, down. Like it’s a switch that further turns you up.

“These new uh?” he teases huskily, and you give a soft whimper and nod.

“Yea Fezy- you like em?” you tease back. He pulls your shirt up and marvel at the matching gold and crystal hearts pierced through your nipples. The shiny gold bounced on the rich brown of your skin, you feel Fez start to harden up again as he licked his lips and gave you a sharp looked that promised he was gonna- Eat. You. Up.

“I got heart eyes just for you baby.” You whisper with a little sway on him. Teasing the length of his chain down a little more so the cool link lay between your cleavage.

“I ought to call your Sweetheart.” He chuckles as he fully cuffs both your tiddies and firmly places his face between them. He licks, flick and bites at your chest as you moan at his antics. You feel your legs shake a little, skin getting hot as your pussy threats to flood as he goes to push you back on your back. You feel his right hand side over to your panties again.

Quick to get control back! You grip his dick again. Lightly rolling your thumb around the slicking tip. You mute your groan through a tight smile when he flicks the ring with his tongue.

“Don’t you want to see how your dick look between Fezy? Cause I do… I wanna see you write all over em.” you whisper.

That all it takes for him to raise up and reposition himself. You wink at him as you take your shirt off and lick your lips to get to work.

💙💛💙

Fezco watches you swayed in the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth. Wearing nothing but his tee-shirt and your panties.

Panties that you refused to let him take off all night as you rocked his world. Even after he drove you back to your place and went to return the favor. All you had to do was kiss his tip again and he was gone. Fezco licks his lips, frustrated to only taste your gloss left behind.

And not the taste of your pussy, his favorite flavor.

You peep Fez through the bathroom mirror as your spit out the foam. He swears he sees you smirk as your reach over, grab his basketball short from your pile of his stolen clothes, then put them on.

Weeks of taking his hands from your thighs to put them on a breast or around your neck.

Weeks of you slurping those lush lips of you to his neck or chest or dick.

Weeks of your dirty tongue whispering all kinds of sinful promises in his ear as your hands melt him.

Why are you hiding that pussy from him?

Fez wants nothing more than to eat until he drowns. To see you flood over his dick like the way you’ve been doing him for the last month. But no, it seemed your pussy was Fort Knox and Fez locked out.

Until.

Sweetheart😽💛: Happy Birthday bby! Come by and let yourself in at mines at 8. I gotta present and cake just for you (kissy face & present)

Fezy💙💛💙: Bet, hope you well rested

Fezco chuckles at seeing the warm string light set up in your window when he pulls up to your place. He lets himself in, humming as Smino plays softly on your living room speaker, a gold and red Happy Birthday Banner strung hung above the dark wooden dining table. With you sitting pretty, shaking a can of caramel whip shot.

Dressed in nothing but skimpy gold bikini bottoms and his chain you snatch weeks ago from him. You honey blonde micros splayed down to your waist. Those golden heart nipple rings he had grew to love on display, skin moisturized and body shimmer twinkled over your brown skin.

“Happy Birthday Fezy!” you cheer at him as he closes the door behind him and slowly comes over to you. Taking in the intoxicating display you set up for him.

“Damn baby, you lookin fine as fuck” he whispers huskily as you smile up at him.

“And it all for you baby. You spray out a shot of whip cream on your fingers. Fez is quick to lick it off your golden stiletto nails before further grasping your wrist and kissing down your arm. You giggle at the tickles of his kisses playfully placing more whip on your breast and moaning as his sucks it off your skin. Swirling his tongue through your nipple rings.

His hand massaging a mound as the other pulled your closer. He sucks roughly as he trails back up your chest, determined to mark you up with hickies, until his kisses your lips. The sweet taste of caramel passes to your lips.

“I got a little treat for you too baby.” you whisper into his face when he smacks away from the kiss.

“Really?” he hums and you nod with a smile.

“It's your favorite flavor, I got it all decorated for ya.” You say as your hands play down his chest.

“Well shit, where it at?” he plays along, watches with licking lips as you trail small shots of cream from your right knee and leading up your thigh.

Fezco gives your a big kiss. Hands entangling in your braids as he clutches your face. His wide tongue pushing the sweet caramel taste back and forth between your mouths for a moment before his slowly backs up and goes down.

You give a soft hum as one hand stays busy flicking your nipple rings and groping the swell as the other massages behind your knee. Fezco takes his time in licking up the trail of cream, the table creaked quietly as you lean over him.

You laugh as he kisses the front of the bikini bottoms before untying the ends. The thin fabric falls to off and he tosses it to the floor.

“Surprise!” you says as your lean back and displayed in your pretty pussy was a golden barb VCH piercing. Like drips of gold adorning your clit.

“Ah shit you a fucking freak baby.” Fezco says in shock and you smirk as he drags your hips forward. Leaning back you take a whip shot yourself, tapping the can to the table.

“I know you think I'm pretty in gold Fezy. Oh!” you're jolted out of trying to taunt him further by the sharp pleasure sent by him flicking your bud and the gold ball.

He teases with placing hickeys on your inner thigh, his nose teasing the fold of your pussy, small licks and flicking over just the piercing ball. Your hand flies to his head and your little sounds spur him further into eating your pussy. You little jumps pull a cocky feeling out of Fez, you were NOT expecting how quick playing with the piercing in your pussy would turn you on that quick.

You moan out as he swirls his tongue are your clit then is pressed the cool balls of the piercing against. He winces as your nails scratch behind his ear and the side of his head. His tongue drills into your finally, his nose pressing the piercing as he did. It send your shaking and mewling his name.

You gasp as you squirt and Fezco laugh rumbles against the soft skin of your lap. You're dripping all over your fucking table and Fez was laughing. Fez pulls back licking his lips, his thumb wiping the dribbles off his chin and you watch him smirk and lick if off his fingers.

“Oh, I'm getting in this.” he says sharply. Glaring over your legs, massaging the meat of the your thighs as the shake before getting up. You watch as he looms over you, the jingle of his belt and you wince with a moan at the feeling of his shirt scraping over you. Your skin hot and sensitive as he leans in, on hand entangling into your hair as he presses you into the table with his body. He gives you a wet kiss, you shiver again as you taste yourself on him.

“Come on baby, wrap them legs around.” He says. Slapping the side of your ass and your whine as you do it. He pulls you up and you gasp as his the head of his dick grazes over the folds of your pussy lips.

“Fezy!” you whisper, you both groan as he sinks into you. He grips your hip and soon the table is creaking loudly as he fucks into you. Your legs weakening as waves of painful pleasure jolt into your with each buck of his hips, hit of his dick. Fezco hisses curses under his breath when your pussy grips him and squirts again. The lewd wet sounds drawl over the creaks of the table as his pumps become sloppy.

“Fuck baby!” He hisses. He slowly pumps you as your shake with another orgasm before pulling out and finishing on your stomach. You both just breath for a moment before Fez steps back, looking over you. He licks his lips to see the glit and glisten of you as you sit up.

“You full of surprises baby. Shit.” he swears and you smile.

“Just for you Fezco.”

TAG LIST

@siriuslycollins-blog @blowmymbackout @im-a-deceptikhan @rexorangecouny @sunflower-honeyy @uhlxis @chaneajoyyy @kdoxkeic @shookmcgookquen @dayasbun @uraeus56 @madamslayyy @jeyramarie @grahamsquad-blog @blueoz @jay-the-mothafuckin-gay @seducinganakin @ahlittlelost @free-range-tiddies @melaninmarvelgirl62 @ctrlszn @charmed-asylum @darkangelchronicles @itstaliaduh @pantherxrogers @taylortheeshowpony

Sorry if i missed tagging you message me if you want in on the tag list!1

[bucksfucks]

  𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃steve has always had his eyes on you, yours on him. catching you on the beach he finally gets a taste of what he’s missing. 

pairing┃achilles!steve x f!reader

word count┃1,721 words

warnings┃beach sex, semi-public sex, a lot of nudity, oral, fingering, skinny dipping, soft smut, light degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃this is very loosely based off of the story of achilles, like...very loosely. the only similarity is the blonde hair and the fact that steve is a demi-god, other than that, it’s self-indulgent <3

     He isn’t really sure when he first saw her. 

    All he knows is that he can’t keep his eyes off of her as she wanders through the cobbled street.

    She’s dressed in a simple gown, slightly weathered with loose strands floating above her feet as she wanders through the bazar. There’s an airiness to her, light and free as he sees light emanating from her. 

    He’s perched on top of a thick tree branch that’s able to hold his weight. Legs swinging and hair blowing in the summer air as he crunches down on the last slice of his clementine. 

    He wonders if she’d be sweeter than the sweet juice coating his tongue. 

    “If you stare at her any longer you’ll burn holes through her skull,” he feels a nudge against his right shoulder, pushing him slightly forward as someone joins him on the large branch. 

    He ignores the remark, scoffing as the bitter peel falls from his hand and other the grass below where it would be hoarded by squirrels and chipmunks. 

    Bucky’s legs dangle with Steve’s, touching but not connected as he continues to admire the way she picks a few apples into her woven basket. 

    He pays no attention to Bucky, the sound of his voice outweighed by the thoughts of her. 

    “Steve?” It’s a question as he finally snaps out of his haze, “what’s gotten into you?” Bucky asks, a genuine sense of wonderment in his tone as the younger of the two sighs. 

    “I think I’ve been struck by cupid himself.” He says aloud and Bucky can’t help but roll his eyes, but the smirk displayed on his lips makes him happy, happy that Steve has finally taken a liking to anything other than the bronzed shield he wields. 

    “I hear she has no lover,” Bucky whispers cheekily, the words catching Steve by surprise as he feels his heart leap towards her. 

    “Who told you that?” Steve asks, bewildered, amused, and hungry for more information. Bucky just laughs, jumping from the branch effortlessly before craning his head up to look at the golden haired man.

    “You’ll have to find out for yourself.” 

~

    The waves crashed against the shore, sand growing damp as you dug your toes into it. The sun was slowly fading, but still just as hot as you closed your eyes and let the sunshine was over you. 

    The beach was always a safe space, providing you with recluse when you wanted time with the most important person; yourself. 

    The woven basket you carried, now filled with fresh fruit and a jug of water, sat half buried in the tan sand, acting as a weight on the rag you lay for when you emerged from the water. 

    Shedding your clothes, you made your way beneath the waves, relishing in the cool water against your skin as your mind wandered back to the bazar. You saw him, perched atop a tree, lounging with his bow and arrow across his toned chest and back as he ate the sweet clementines you’d been trying to find. 

    Everyone knew of Steve, but vert few knew Steve. 

    He wasn’t like you or anyone else you knew, part God as his walked with a high head and a glimmer in his eye that made him shine. 

    When you made your way back onto the beach you were tired, taking you time to re-dress as you dig into the basket, an apple in hand before you’re biting down on it. 

    It’s sweet, quelling your hunger just enough, but it doesn’t satisfy you. 

    “Apples are sweet, but the summer is the season for clementines.” A sweet voice rings out from behind you, turning around to be met with none other than Steve.

    He was barefoot, buried in the sand, his bow and arrow still slung across his back and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander across the vast expanse of his broad chest. 

    A smile stretches across your lips, tantalizing Steve as he takes a few steps closer until he’s at the edge of the rag you’re sat on. 

    “Perhaps I can entice you with one, instead?” He smirks, the orange fruit resting perfectly in the middle of his large hand as he sinks to his knees. You bite at your bottom lip, meeting his gaze. 

    “What is Steve, Son of Peleus doing talking to just a mere mortal?” You tease, craning your head slightly upward as Steve tosses the fruit upward, catching it with ease. 

    “Have you forgotten, my dear?” He muses, rolling the fruit towards you as you catch it in your own hand. “The sea is also my home, this is where I go when it calls me.” 

    His words are so soft, voice sweet like honey as it flows through the air and you feel the warm breeze surrounding you like a hug from Aeolus himself. You felt the familiar rush of butterflies you often felt when you thought about him, but here he was, in front of you with a beaming smile on his lips. 

    “Has it called you today?” You asked, a soft whisper and almost barely audible as he leans closer, “the sea amongst other things are calling me.” 

    Your heart is racing in your chest, he smells like lavender, almonds, and earth as he pulls back. He’s quick on his feet, marvelling at the muscles and strength he posses as he strips of the rest of his clothes. 

    It’s not hard to believe that he is part God, Adonis himself having competition as he flicks his eyes up at you. 

    “Join me,” he says gently, outstretching his hand before you’re stripping once again, clothes in a pile with his as you take his hand, submerging beneath the water. 

    He clearly belongs in the water, waves calming around him as he wraps his strong arms around you to bring you close to his warm body. You’re lost in the blue of his eyes, like the sky met the sea and you never want to look away. 

    “I have been dreaming of the day I can get my hands on you,” he admits faintly, your breath hitching in your throat as you can’t resist the urge to smile. 

    “The day that my lips get to meet yours,” your heart is now tumbling, core aching as you feel him stiffen against you. 

    “The day that I get to taste you.” There’s a glimmer in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and yearning as you tangle your fingers in the hair that rests at the nape of his neck. 

    Steve wastes no time in wrapping your legs around his waist before his lips are on yours, hungry and passionate as he steals the breath from your lungs until you’re dizzy. 

    Water sloshes around your bodies, breaths hot and heavy as wandering hands squeeze at your flesh and curves, Steve memorizing the way you feel. 

    Your eyes are closed, lips still on his as he carries you both onto the beach and onto the warm cloth lining the sand, gently setting you down. You take a moment to admire the way his wet hair hangs in front of you eyes, pieces of it seemingly glued down to his forehead. 

    “You are breathtaking, practically Aphrodite herself,” he mumbles against your neck, lips passing by your collarbone before he’s peeling the sweet fruit in front of your eyes. 

    “Open,” the command is gentle as you do so, parting your lips to welcome the fruit slice. You moan at the taste, relishing in the sweetness of it before Steve is running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

    His lips seal yours once again, body heavy on top of yours as you feel the weight of his cock between your thighs. It swells when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. 

    “Mmm, so sweet, my dear,” he mumbles against your mouth, “but I can think of something sweeter.” He purrs, nose running between your breasts until he’s situated right above your hair decorated mound. 

    “Oh,” you gasp when he throws your legs over his broad shoulders, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as Steve laps at your folds. 

    You’ve never experienced pleasure like this, every part of your body feeling as if it’s on fire as he groans against you, “so sweet.” He praises your legs beginning to tighten around his head. 

    “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he pants, emerging with wet lips as his fingers are still focused on you. You can’t keep your eyes open, back arching as you lose yourself to the pleasure; waves crashing in the background. 

    “I need to feel you, sweet. Feel all of you.” He whispers, low and raspy as he holds himself over you on his forearms. He smells like you, tastes like the sweet orange juice, and you’re hypnotized. 

    “Steve,” you can only croak out his name before he’s filling you. 

    He’s thick and it stretches you like no other as his low groans and grunts fill your ears. 

    “Feel so fuckin’ good,” the curse causes you to clench around him as he smirks. 

    “My sweet, sweet, sweet girl.” His voice is much lower this time around, tone slightly condescending as his hips rock against yours. 

    “Here I thought you were innocent,” he smirks, “but the sounds you’re makin’, oh they are anythin’ but innocent my filthy little girl.” 

    Steve’s words, combined with his deep thrusts have you digging your nails into his lightly tanned back, crescent shaped indents the only reminder of you.

    “Be mine,” he gasps, your eyes shooting open as those words leave his mouth. His lips are wet and parted, ragged breaths leaving them as he trains his eyes on you. 

    “Be mine and I will show you the world,” he promises as his hips stutter inside of you. You nod your head, “yes, yes!” 

    Your words are a double edged sword, a promise and a plea as you feel the white hot pleasure seeping through your bones for the second time that night as your name leaves through his mouth. 

    By the time you open your eyes next the waves have calmed and the moon is now showing her face, stars littering the sky as Steve’s eyes are a muted cerulean shade.  

    “You are my Clementine, sweet like the summer breeze.” 

[pleasantanathema]

Pretty Please | Porco Galliard

Paring: Porco Gallaird x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, face sitting, ~sixty-nine~

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Thank you @present-mel​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for these yummy requests. 🥵 I just want to be so filthy with our sexy, whiny boy. My requests are closed, but I’m still working on ones still sitting in my inbox  💕

           You could always get whatever you wanted from Porco Galliard. All it took was honey-sweet praise and perhaps a well-placed hand on his chest, in his hair, just little things to fluff him up, to have his ego simmering under his skin. And the most satisfying thing was taking that pride of his and turning it into little, desperate, panting whines.

           He was already losing control, pink blush dusting across his cheeks and the bridge of his cute, up-turned nose.

           “You like that, Pock?”

           His fingers curled in your hair, the strands tightening around his knuckles.

           “Don’t,” he groaned, thick neck tilting back against the pillow, “I told you not to call me that.”

           But when did you ever listen to him anyways?

           You smirked, flattening your tongue as you swept quick, tempting kitten licks along the pretty, swollen head of his cock. God, he was already so hard, twitching up towards his stomach as your mouth gathered what was already leaking from him. Your hand was pumping slowly around his thick shaft, a heavy vein throbbing beneath your thumb.

           “Fuck, you’re always s-such a tease.”

           It was true, you always reveled in being able to make him fall apart, to build him up throughout the day to only keep the tension rising once you got him alone.

           He was your dirty little secret to do with as you please, though you were sure you had him convinced he was the one in control. Porco was tugging you closer, urging your hot tongue to glide farther down his cock. You indulged him, even using your cum and spit stained lips to slip along silken skin, sucking ever so gently as you leisurely played with him.

           His hips bucked when you placed a soft suck at the base of his cock, so close to taking one of his plump balls into your mouth, but still not close enough.

           Another guttural moan spilled from his throat, pitch turning a little higher when you finally slid the head of his cock with your mouth, cheeks hollowing for only a moment before you released him with a wet pop from your lips.

           “D-don’t,” it sounded like he was out of breath, “don’t stop.”

           Your grin was tugging at your cheeks, even as your tongue swirled teasing circles around his flushed tip.

           “Don’t stop or what?”

           “Or I’ll make it to where you can’t walk tomorrow.”

           It always impressed you how long he could hang on to his pride, even when his cock was begging, weeping for your mouth.

           “Sounds more like a promise than a threat,” you mumbled before sinking a few inches of him into your wet mouth.

           You moaned when you heard him whimper, cock so sensitive that your tight sucking had him so, so close to that edge of euphoria that he wanted to experience. You knew it was cruel, to toy with him for so long, but nothing was more delightful than hearing Porco let out unruly whines. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been between his legs now, long enough to make your knees ache against the mattress and your lips to be a little numb.

           He pushed your head down farther, hips thrusting upward so his cock could brush the back of your throat. You sunk your fingernails into the corded muscle of his thigh, attempting to settle him back down so you could keep edging him farther.

           “Mhm, you feel so good baby, take my cock so fucking well.”

           Your ears burned from the praise, head bobbing up and down, fat cock pressed snugly into your cheeks. But you were still slow, deliberate, dragging your tongue and your lips at just the right pace to keep him on just the brink of orgasm.

           Saliva was spilling from your lips, coating his length and making it easier and easier to slip your mouth around him, to go down just a little farther each time.

           His sounds were incessant, a mixture of heavy pants and trembling, high-pitched sobs. The sweet noises resonated directly between your legs; you felt slick drooling from your pussy, felt the muscles in your lower stomach clench.

           He fisted your hair angrily when you slipped his cock back out of your mouth.

           “No, no, no I’m so clo—”

           “The walls are thin, Pock, you need to be quiet.”

           His brows were furrowed over golden eyes as he watched you shift below him, back of your hand wiping away the mess from your mouth. He unwound his fingers from your hair as you climbed over his outstretched legs to stand next to his bed.

           You gripped his chin, pressing your lips against his in a quick, greedy kiss that had him groaning at the taste of his cock lingering in your mouth. Fuck, his lips felt so good, plump and hot and so comfortably melding into the movements of your kiss, slanting and sucking and whimpering.

           But you quickly replaced your lips with a thigh, letting his lips ghost along your skin as you settled your hips above his face. He locked his brawny arms around your legs, eager to bring your wet cunt to his mouth.

           “Can’t have you waking up everyone in the barracks with your fucking whining,” but it was you who let out a soft mewl when his tongue lapped at your clit. Fuck, his face felt too good against the flesh of your thighs, lips and tongue hungry within your folds. Strong hands were bruising against your skin, pulling your weight farther down onto his face.

           If only you could tell Marley that the true power of the jaw titan was that he could eat pussy until a girl went blind with pleasure.

           You smoothed your hands over his broad chest, fingers sinking into the dips of hard muscle. Your head hung low as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth was working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. You always knew his smart mouth would be talented.

           Your vision was blurring from all the bliss, but you still couldn’t take your eyes off his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the blonde, downy hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum was still leaking from his flushed head, pooling into his skin as his cock bobbed and twitched at the sounds of your moans. You were so tempted to touch him, to pull and tug and tease, but you knew it would drive him wild if you left him aching.

           Your hips jerked and rolled from his ministrations, bursts of pleasure spreading over your nerves like hot, rippling webs beneath your skin. Then his tongue was pressing against your tight hole, gathering all your slick onto his tongue and drinking like a man parched.

           “Oh, oh fuck,” you pressed your lips together, legs starting to tremble as his tongue thrusted up inside of you, “fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good,” it was all a messy whisper, just hot air into the dimly lit room.

           But then his tongue was back to soothing over your wet hole, lapping slowly and pulling you away from the churning coil within your belly.

           “Please,” his voice was muffled by your cunt, lips moving against your folds, “p-please, suck my cock.”

           His cock was twitching with every plea.

          You doubled over in pleasure just from his words, the shock of him actually begging into your pussy making your mouth fall open with a satisfied moan.

          Your fingers skimmed over his still spit-slick cock, body leaning forward so you could trace your tongue across the throbbing veins. He was still whining, whimpering from between your thighs, so fucking ready for the release you’d been denying him. And you were getting closer with every curl of his tongue, the tip of it fast and hurried as he licked against your clit. You felt like you were on fire and drowning all at the same time, lungs struggling to take in enough air before you plunged your mouth around his cock.

          You didn’t hold back this time, cheeks hollowing as you sucked him in hard and fast, head bobbing and your palm wrapping around his base. You always loved how he tasted against your tongue, salty and sweet, even though his thickness led to a sore mouth in the morning.

          The noises he was making were suppressed, being soaked up by your cunt. The vibrations from his mouth only added to your building delight, made your hips become more desperate. Continuous moans of your own spilled over his cock that was now stuffed deep into your throat.

          Tears were pricking at your lashes, ready to dribble down the apples of your cheeks. Your hands were grasping onto his thighs for leverage and stability, trying to keep your mind focused on pleasing him even though his mouth was driving you mad.Your nose was buried in the blonde, wiry curls at the base of his cock, bumping against his skin, filling your senses with him, with Porco. A tumble of curses were soaked into your pussy, the hands on your thighs gripping meaner as you pulled back and repeatedly sucked him deep into your throat.

          You were sure that all the slurping, wet sounds were even louder than his earlier whining.

          You knew he was cumming by the weak cry against your pussy, his mouth pausing for a moment as euphoria washed over his body in curt waves.

          “Ah-ah, fucking...finally...”

          You let his cum slide down your throat, struggling to gulp the stringy substance down in its entirety to avoid a mess. Your mouth was full of the bittersweet taste of him, his cock pulsing and throbbing against your cheeks.

          The moment his spent cock fell from your mouth, strands of drool still dripping from your lips, Porco was pulling you back, pulling your weight fully onto his face as he resumed devouring you.

          Fuck, you felt like you were sinking, each purposeful lick against your pussy sending you deeper and deeper into a pleasant abyss. His tongue was far too skilled; he knew exactly how to lap and kiss at you to keep your body shaking and wanting, all his attention centered around the tight bundle of nerves that had your belly tightening.

          “Porco, Porco, fuck I-I’m gonna—”

          You felt your orgasm spill onto his cheeks as you found your own release, ecstasy blooming from where his mouth was still relentlessly licking between your folds. Your walls were clenching and unclenching, looking for the fat cock that should be filling your needy cunt. You felt your sanity momentarily slip away, mind and body overwhelmed with the feeling of him, the taste of him still present in your mouth. Then, you were falling, you chest pressing into his stomach and your nails scraping against his thighs.

          A few moments passed as you caught your breath, sore thighs still trembling on either side of his face. Finally, you rolled next to him on the bed, one hand pressed between your breasts like you were trying to catch your racing heart.

          “And here I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” he chuckled, grinning as he licked your slick from his lips.

          “Oh shut up.”

          He leaned forward, shoulders rolling as he maneuvered himself on top of you, mouth pressing against yours with a sloppy kiss.

          “Didn’t hear you complaining when my tongue was in your cunt.”

          “But I did hear you begging, Pock.”

          Because you always got whatever you wanted from him, and the memory of Porco whining into your pussy was something that was sure to keep you awake a little longer at night.