#will supply the rest upon request <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[croquettish]

did someone say they wanted bg3 valentine's cards? no?? well you're getting them anyway

[ssahotchnerr]

i just want a hug from Hotch so bad!!! 😭🤧 can i request a sunshiney and oblivious reader and Hotch hugging and sharing his coat bc she forgot hers and insists it’s too cold for Hotch to just give her his, so obviously the smartest solution is just to share hehehe? 🥰 and ofc the team makes fun of him bc he’s a huge softie for her!!! ❤️🍯

tysm! i absolutely adore your fics!

survival instincts

AWWWW cw; fem bau sunshine!reader, established relationship, playful banter and fluff <3

Patience was a virtue, one you felt as if you exhibited thoroughly. You were easygoing, positive, sensible when it came to others.

So waiting for the local PD to wrap up their analysis of the crime scene would've been fine, if the temperature hadn't been plummeting by the minute.

And you hadn't foolishly left your coat back at the precinct.

Your nose was numbing, you were beginning to shiver in place; the sun wasn't there to provide any supplemental warmth. The clouds were a menacing, gloomy gray that was darkening, with the tiniest bit of gleam coming from behind. In an hour or so, night would be upon you.

You breathed out, watching your breath fan out in a cloud, hoping it would entertain you enough to stop thinking about your growing frigidness. Your gaze furthered past it as it expanded, landing on Aaron and his warm coat.

The visual caused you to think about the earlier morning, warm in the comfort of bed. Laid beside Aaron, enveloped in the weak comforter the hotel had to offer - which didn't matter with the warmth he consistently provided. You would've done anything to go back to the moment. And so, a plan to remedy your problem quickly developed in your mind.

"Aaron." You whisper-yelled, despite the fact he was a mere foot away. His eyes were locked forward, without a doubt ensuring the crime scene wasn't being compromised by the officers poking around.

His brown eyes found yours, "Hm?"

"I'm cold." You whined with a playful pout, your eyes begging for help.

"Then maybe you should've remembered a coat." He teased, hands buried in his coat pockets.

You quipped by use of a cheeky expression in return. You gazed at the asphalt below, the wind whipping your hair around your face. You mumbled a feigned, solemn, "Maybe."

He began prying his coat off his shoulders, "Here, let me-"

"No silly. Then you'll be cold. And we can't have that, can we?" You rolled your eyes, bringing yourself in front of him. You slid your arms around his middle, underneath his coat - thankfully unbuttoned - and embracing him tightly.

The long coat he wore was loose enough to shield your sides, provided mild coverage from the wind, and whatever was left was made up from his body heat. Immediately, you began regaining warmth head to toe.

"Sweetheart, this isn't very convenient." You felt his chuckle rumble through him, gently jostling your head as it rest on his chest. But still his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "Or professional, given the circumstances."

"This is merely a survival technique." You mumbled insistently into his shirt, a smile tugging at your lips. "Close contact preserves body heat. I'm just doing what it takes to survive. I don't think the Bureau would be very happy if one of their agents froze to death while on the job."

Aaron hummed at the stretch of your proposition. "Well, I think the Bureau would presume their agents would have the intention to bring a coat."

You scoffed lightly, causing him to laugh again. "Well, do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah, you could just wear my-"

"I already told you no. And my supporting evidence," You insisted, your voice laced an almost, mischievous wisdom. "You're just getting over a cold, which won't be returning if there's anything I can do about it. Plus there's a reason I call you a furnace. This, you," You tightened your hold on his as if to prove your point. "Can supply me with more warmth than a coat ever could."

He laughed softly. Again it was leaning more on the rigid side, conscious of any wandering eyes. He did, however, sneak a quick kiss to the top of your head. "If you say so."

You closed your eyes, releasing a content sigh and savoring the warmth, as well as Aaron's contact. One of his hands softly brushed a spot along your back. However, your shared moment of solitude was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Aww, can I join?" Derek gushed, shit-eating grin on his face. JJ had an equally as smug grin as she trailed up from behind him.

You shot him a look, one that read ha-ha funny as well as amused, while Aaron subtly narrowed his eyes. He then turned his head in the opposite direction, his cheek resting against your head comfortably.

"Cuddling on the job, huh? What would Strauss have to say about this?" Morgan continued to tease, and Dave even took out his phone, discreetly snapping a picture.

"He's just doing his job. Looking out for a team member by preventing potential frostbite. Or hypothermia, even." You arched an eyebrow playfully, your fingers clutching onto the fabric of Aaron's shirt underneath his coat. "And there's nothing wrong with that."

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Roleplay

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: The boys roleplay dastardly highwayman and rescuer.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, d/s dynamics, roleplay, CNC play, gunplay, slightly rough vaginal sex, dirty talk, cuckolding play, mention of breeding, oral sex (f to m), blow job, spitroast, orgasms, aftercare.

Word Count: 4.8k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the amazing @colettebronte, asking for some roleplay in the Lessons universe. How could I say no to that? She chose which role the boys would play. Beta read by the amazing @sorryallonsy. Gif by @captainbucky-yt. The image is not particularly relevant to the story, but they both look delicious. Enjoy! <3

“Do you really think a highwayman might have seen us?”  you query, your head resting on Anthony’s chest as he strokes your hair idly. “Yesterday, in the carriage,” you clarify as Benedict lifts his head from your belly and shoots you a querying eyebrow.

You are all lying together, entwined in post-coital bliss, under a large oak on their country estate on a beautiful summer day. The day after your eventful carriage ride here with them.

Anthony’s responding chuckle vibrates under you. “Tis possible, my sweet girl,” he opines lazily, using his other hand to shield his eyes from the sun cutting through the leaves above.

Your thoughtful mien has Benedict pushing up onto his hands and hovering over you, his hazy eyes observing you with a knowing quirk on his lips. 

“I think our girl likes that idea,” he intuits, always correct in his ability to read you.

“I would prefer one of you be my robber, not a stranger,” you confess, smiling when they grab one of your hands each.

“If that is what the lady wishes….perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” Benedict opines silkily,  lacing your fingers with his. “Can it not, brother?”

“What are you thinking?” Anthony hums, bringing your hand to his face.

“Perhaps the old phaeton in the stable can be put to good use?” Benedict suggests, lowering himself to kiss down your ribs. “I do not see why we could not steal away somewhere within the grounds and make our sweet girl's wish come true. One of us can play the dastardly highwayman lurking by the roadside as she rides by…” he trails off, getting distracted by the softness of your skin, dropping kisses onto your belly now.

“...And one of you could play my rescuer who draws up upon horseback?” you supply, a little breathless at the images already tumbling through your mind as their lips trace over your skin.

They both chuckle at that, Anthony dropping a kiss on your forehead and Benedict onto your hipbone.

“I am more than certain that could be arranged,” Anthony confirms, an admiring twinkle in his eye as you twist to look up at him. “This evening, in fact…”

“But which would you be, my lord?”

“What do you want of me, my girl? Do you want me to be the gallant hero?” he questions, his fingers tracing your cupid’s bow before sliding between your lips; his fingers still tart with your arousal as he presses upon your tongue. “Or the man who will hold you up? Whose demands you will need to submit to? To plead to spare your life?”

“The latter,” your reply muffled around his questing fingers, a frisson low in your belly that he may fuck you by the roadside in the dead of night.

“Then I shall ride in to rescue you,” Benedict affirms, his fingers flexing between yours as you now look down at him, his chin resting low upon your stomach.

“But not too soon…” you appeal with a wink, “and I think my rescuer should help me with my pleasure too, no?”

They both laugh knowingly at that. 

“Your wish is my command….” Benedict offers, nudging this nose into your belly, which now fizzes with excitement about the night ahead.

—

You dress in a delicate cerulean blue silk gown that clings like liquid satin to your bare skin, foregoing any underwear, as is so often your preference when playing with your boys. Your outfit is topped off with sparkling sapphires and diamonds draped around your neck and wrists, no doubt priceless heirlooms from the vault Anthony holds on the property.

The hallway clock softly chimes midnight just as you steal out of the servant's entrance, meeting Benedict in the courtyard by the stables, already standing ready with a horse and a small, buggy-type carriage.

“You look beautiful,” he remarks, flattery just falling from him as ever. “I assume you know how to steer a phaeton?” he checks as you draw up to him, the moonlight throwing his face into handsome relief.

You nod, and he moves aside to assist you in climbing into the simple open-top carriage with an exchange of smiles.

“You remember where to go, correct?” His voice is soft as he hands you the reins. 

“Down past the lake, take the left fork, follow the hedgerow until the thicket of trees,” you parrot the agreed directions from earlier. You can only assume Anthony is already lying in wait for you there.

Benedict nods, and then his demeanour changes, leaning in, a hand curling around your neck.

“Be careful out there, my sweet. Highwaymen may lurk,” he warns, slipping effortlessly into his heroic character. 

“Perhaps a kiss for good luck upon my journey…. ?” you coquette, enjoying the way his pupils dilate.

He sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss that makes your heart pound and your body tingle, his tongue warm and insistent over yours.

“Good luck, my fair lady,” he exhales as you part, taking a step back to bow with a flourish.

You giggle and shake the reins to take off, elated your evening adventure has begun.

—

It is less than five minutes later when you arrive at a copse of trees, the bright new moon illuminating the fields around you as you slip under the shadows of the mighty oaks on either side of the track. 

“STAND AND DELIVER!!” 

A loud, clear voice rings out as you slow your horse to a stop, belly aflutter with anticipation. Emerging from behind a tree is a tall figure dressed in a black shirt and trousers, and as he draws nearer, you see a familiar, handsome face disguised behind a simple black mask. 

Anthony.

You gasp as his leather-gloved hand draws a gun from his waistband and points it at you, blood running hot at his complete commitment to the roleplay.

“I have nothing to offer you, thief!” 

Your protest is exaggerated but triumphant as his gaze falls to your decolletage, swelling with each exaggerated breath, your neckline scooped intentionally low.

“Get down at once, and perhaps I will spare your life, for I know you lie,” he counters, “those jewels around your neck, I wager, are worth more than my entire house….”

In your eagerness, you stumble slightly as you climb down from the carriage, and strong hands grasp your waist and right your stance on the ground.

“Unhand me, ruffian!” 

Your theatrics are met with a flicker of tacit approval across his face.

“Not until those jewels are mine, fair lady!” highwayman Anthony contends, a predatory smile that has his teeth glowing in the low light, his firm grip upon you flexing.

“Please… I'm sure you are a reasonable man,” you change tack, still heaving breaths. “I simply cannot give you these jewels. They are too precious to me. They are a gift from my love.”

Framed by the mask, his dark eyes flash possessively, and there is a slip of softness in his expression as you say such words, knowing the truth behind them. 

But then his tongue pokes out, licking his incisor almost menacingly. One of his hands bands behind your back, yanking you flush against his firm body.

“Do you really think you are in any position to negotiate, my fair lady?” he withers.

Your heart quickens as he places the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. 

“It is not loaded,” he whispers, a warmth behind your ribs as he breaks character for a split second of reassurance before his expression is back to flinty. 

“Please….” you implore.

He ignores you, crowding you backwards into the side of the carriage, the shiny lacquered wood of the wheel spokes digging into your spine. Once trapped, the hand around your waist moves to grasp your necklace, his leather glove cold on your breastbone.

“Take this off, or I will,” he orders; it’s a resonant threat that vibrates right into your body.

“Then you shall have to, for I will not!” you spit out, struggling against him for good measure, wanting nothing more than for him to rip the jewels from your body. And then your dress.

Just as promised, he is a little rough as he manhandles you, spinning you around so your breasts are pressed into the side of the phaeton, the unmistakable heat of his arousal on your tailbone as he leans into you. 

He yanks off his gloves with his teeth and brushes your hair aside, unclasping the necklace and slowly tugging one end so it falls off behind you. A frisson runs the length of your spine as his bare fingers trail down slowly over both of your arms to your wrists and flick open the hinges on the bangles there, removing them too.

“These jewels are beautiful, my lady,” he concedes, pocketing them, “but I demand more…”

“Please, brute, you have taken all I can give you!”

“Oh, but that is not true…” he rumbles hotly into the nape of your neck. 

You gasp as a hand cups between your legs through your thin dress. 

“Your greatest treasure is the only one I cannot take with me….” 

He ruts himself into you, intent unmistakable, as his fingers curl into the fabric. The softness of the silk over your already throbbing clit has you biting your lip.

“No, please, let me go…” 

You amp up your performance, pushing back into him, looking over your shoulder with a fiery challenge that belies your words.

“I demand satisfaction!” 

With that, he kicks your feet apart, rucking up your dress until you feel the cool night air swirling around your buttocks and between your legs. Then there is a pause as his hand travels up your naked flesh, a hungry noise escaping his lips as he buries his nose into your hair, 

“Perhaps I misjudged…” he rasps, words huffing warm over your scalp. “No stockings. Nor underwear. You are far from a lady….”

“How dare you!” 

You struggle again in his grip, loving the way his hold gets more insistent, moaning loudly as his fingers curl into your folds, already leaking profusely from the moment he emerged from the trees.

“Shut up,” he gruffs, dropping the gun into the carriage in front of you. “The more you struggle, the more I will take.”

This play already has you desperate for him, blood boiling with pure want as his fingers tease your clit.

“No, you beast, I shall not give in…” 

Your objection sharpens his resolve, the wool of his trousers chafing the back of your thighs as he rapidly yanks open his britches one-handed. 

Your cry echoes around the tree canopy as his rigid cock roughly ploughs into your pussy from behind, the force rocking you up onto your tiptoes. The sheer stretching invasion has you grabbing the carriage for leverage, wanting to voice your approval but too committed to the role you inhabit to allow yourself.

“Please, mister, no!” 

You twist to meet his eye, silently begging for him to go fast and hard, take you mercilessly as you pretend this is not every wish you had for this night. Loving the feel of his fingertips curling around the crest of your hips, readying to take you hard. 

And then he does—pulling out almost entirely, then ploughing back into you harshly. Immediately setting a nearly punishing rhythm, the dirt beneath your silk shoes crunching under your foot as you rock with his motions, you calling out loudly with each jolt.

“Quiet, or I will spank you,” he warns, his face wild, even obscured behind his mask.

That’s an open invitation you are not going to refuse.

“Stop!” you yell, goadingly.

There is a stinging slap across your buttock that has you lurching, your head lolling down, a huge, unseen smile claiming your lips, little sparks of fire radiating from the point of contact, a beeline right for your clit.

“No more!” you pant, staring at the ground and rocking back into his snapped thrusts, wrenching a moan from you with every move, his cock a delicious heavy weight cleaving you open, as it always is. You could never tire of this feeling, when he takes you so hard you can only cling on for dear life.

“All I heard is more, fair lady,” he laughs darkly and spanks again, your other cheek this time, a matching handprint you feel glowing.

You pitch forward and teeth the carriage as he fucks you. His moves are harsh, grunting with each thrust. You bite down, knowing the dental imprint you leave will be a great source of pride for him, a lasting memento of just how untamed he can make you.

“Tell me you want this!” He demands, grabbing your throat and yanking you backwards, your spine flush to his front, speared deep onto his cock as he stills.

“Never!” 

His hand spanks you again so forcefully your eyes roll back. He withdraws slowly, then thrusts up so deep your toes leave the ground, him supporting all of your weight. It’s always so wonderful to feel like a rag doll in his arms when he is like this, speared open, utterly malleable to his onslaught.

Suddenly, movement catches the corner of your vision, and you look askance to see Benedict approaching, shirt billowing in the wind as he rides his galloping horse majestically across the moonlit field toward you. His horse whinnies as he dismounts in an athletic leap, bounding towards you.

“UNHAND HER AT ONCE!” 

His voice is a bellow the likes of which you have never heard from his before. It makes you clench reflexively around his brother’s cock, and you wonder how much jealousy is behind the following line that Anthony sneers.

“It appears you have a rescuer, my lady. How entertaining. Who is he?” Anthony demands, spinning you around to face Benedict while still buried inside you.

“My husband,” you improvise provocatively, pushing back into Anthony.

It’s not something you had discussed with them for the roleplay, merely that Benedict would be your rescuer. But the look of unbridled desire that engulfs his face as you bestow him as such for this scene makes your lungs catch, his whole body puffing out with pride. 

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wife.” 

Each word is its own sentence, his voice dripping with possession and intent, inhabiting outrage so perfectly.

“Too late,” Anthony snarls back. “I am already inside her, and she is thoroughly enjoying it. Her smart mouth may protest, but she is positively flooding over me.” 

That triumphant verbal swipe makes you stutter. Evidently, Anthony has been taking notes from his poetic, dirty-talking younger brother, who stands before you now, a quake in his being that could be a husband’s rage, but you know to be pent-up desire—his gaze trained on your exposed lower half.

“Wrong…” Benedict growls, taking a large step forward, pressing into your front so you are sandwiched between them. Your very favourite place to be. “She may be drenched, but you are not the cause, merely the beneficiary.” 

Benedict’s sizeable right hand curls into the hair at the nape of your neck as he stakes his claim on you with his words and deeds: drawing you into a plundering kiss, the outline of his cock growing harder, pressing hot into your belly, before he breaks away to continue speaking. 

“She is my obedient little one,” he proclaims, cupping your jaw to make you stare up at him, even as Anthony’s cock rocks deeper into your pussy, challenging his claim. “As soon as she so much as scents me in her periphery, she is dripping down to her dainty ankles. And that is why she is mine. My wife.” 

Benedict’s resonant cadence vibrates your chest and has you swaying, desperate for him as well. You feel Anthony twist a fraction to grab something from the carriage behind him, still rock hard inside you. 

“Do you forget, Sir, who has the true weapon here? Anthony challenges.

The cold barrel of the gun is pressed to your temple again. 

You mouth the words not loaded to Benedict, and he responds in kind, I know, before stepping back and holding his hands up in faux capitulation. 

“Please,” Benedict changes tack, “take our jewels, but please do not harm my wife…”

You are enthralled by this—the planning they must have done together to execute this and how effortlessly they both inhabit their characters. A collaboration that speaks to their growing acceptance of each other as equals in this dynamic. Even though you can see the lines blurring as they goad each other within the roleplay, spectres of their past power dynamic, where Anthony would taunt Benedict with you, setting rules that always gave him the upper hand.

“I have already ruined her,” Anthony smirks, thrusting once for good measure and making you moan before stilling again. “But I shall offer you a deal…”

“Anything…” Benedict pleads, utterly convincing now as the distressed, cuckolded husband.

“You may watch me fuck her, plant my seed in her, and I will be happy to leave empty-handed.” 

“Or…?” Benedict prompts, sensing an alternative.

“You may join me in taking her. I will not seed her, but I will depart with every single one of your jewels,” Anthony declares, nodding to Benedict’s ring on his little finger.

“Wife…. I shall let you choose.” Benedict's eyes scoot to you, still embodying his role, but his gaze pleading to let him in on the fun.

Silently, you hold out your hand to him, inviting him in. He takes it, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles briefly in reassurance. 

“You have a deal, highwayman,” Benedict concedes to Anthony, pointedly removing his signet ring and handing it over your shoulder.

Anthony pulls out of you, making you whine at the loss, a droplet of wetness trickling down your thigh as he spins you around to face him. 

“I think your wife should be naked, would you not agree?” Anthony posits, his fingers trailing your scooped neckline to the swell of your breast as he gives an order: “Undress her for me.”

Wordlessly, you feel Benedict plucking at the buttons over your spine. As they relent, he moves to tug the slackened fabric down off your torso, and the blue silk flutters to the ground, a shiver running over your skin as a cool breeze swirls around your naked body. 

Anthony sucks in a breath, taking a half-step back, his eyes raking covetously over your naked skin. 

“You permit your wife to parade in public without any undergarments?” he chides, his tone dripping with judgment.

“Permit her?” Benedict chuckles, bemused.

You inhale sharply as he wraps an arm around you, hauling you snugly backwards into his frame, his long fingers then spidering down your lower belly, right into your damp slit. 

“I veritably insist upon it,” he gloats. “And she is more than keen…”

His teeth catch your earlobe as you whimper and writhe on his touch, little sparks of pleasure pinging around your body. 

“Always so ready for me, are you not, my darling wife?” 

You twist to meet his gaze as you nod obediently, and he rewards you with a crooked smile and a light pinch to your engorged clit that makes you cry out for him, punctuating his point. You yearn for him to take you roughly, needing this husband version he plays so well to claim you as his. 

“You are a lucky man, betrothed to such an eager little vixen,” Anthony concedes, staring you down, provocatively wiping his lip with his thumb, hunger barely contained as he watches you ride his brother's fingers. “Perhaps she can lick clean the mess she made of me while you take your pleasure?” he adds casually.

“I will do it,” you volunteer brightly, almost preemptively, and far too enthusiastically for being held ‘hostage’.

“Come now, sweet girl, at least try to act as if you are mildly perturbed by our predicament…” Benedict deadpans genially, his fingers stilling as he breaks character, and Anthony chuckles, looking equally entertained by your outburst.

“Sorry…” you whisper over a giggle, and it earns you a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them, their eyes glittering with amusement. “Please continue…” 

Benedict slides his fingers out from between your legs, you whining from the loss. But you soon quieten as you realise he is unbuttoning his trousers, knuckles brushing your bottom as he peels them open just enough to free himself, veritably pulsing for the promise of his cock too.

“Bend over and suckle him, wife,” he orders, back in his role, knowing how much you adore detailed filthy instruction from him.

“Yes, husband,” you demure, lowering yourself as requested, widening your stance as you do so—a blatant invitation for him to take you.

“What an excellent, obedient thing,” Anthony observes, his hand gliding into your hair as you peel his trousers open further, pressing your face into his crotch before sucking his tip between your lips, glazed with your arousal.

“She’s a wonder,” Benedict concurs.

Anthony’s fingers flex on your scalp, and his thumb rounds your jaw to pull down your chin, opening you wider. He thrusts into your mouth; your hands cling to his muscular thighs as his tip nudges the roof of your mouth, tongue pressed into his underside. 

He groans loudly, your tastebuds flooded with your tart juices and a bead of his salty precum. He withdraws then drives back in, nudging deeper this time, knowing it always makes you mindless, his grip solid on your head as he starts to fuck into your mouth. It has you squirming with supplicant need, begging Benedict silently for his cock, too, as he teases your slit, grinding his head over your clit.

Your call is entirely muffled around Anthony as Benedict finally takes pity on you, thrusting deep into your pussy, in one rapid, forceful move. Both ends of your body are utterly invaded, one of your favourite places to be, a carnal loop of pleasure that only they can provide. Anthony’s hands are heavy on your scalp as Benedict's grasp your hips almost punishingly tight—something so thrilling about you being bent over entirely naked between their clothed bodies. They work together to ensure maximum pleasure for you, intuiting your needs, Anthony withdrawing just as you need to draw breath but always keeping you singing with need, his cock something to muffle your noises, to suckle upon as they both drive you higher.

You sag into their hold, relying on them to keep you balanced, pliant to the push and pull of your being between these men as they use you just as you want them to. Entirely possessed by them, played expertly by both as if an instrument for all of your mutual pleasure. Always intuiting your needs, Benedict reaches down, pulling your arms backwards flush with the sides of your body, twining his fingers in yours, a possessive hold that means you have no purchase to prevent Anthony’s thrusts into your mouth. 

Benedict’s pace builds slowly, his cock grinding all those places deep inside only they can reach. His thrusts that cleave you open timed perfectly, his fingers curled over the pulse point on your wrist, syncopating his movements with each beat of your heart.

Anthony groans, causing his cock to vibrate as it passes through the tight ring of your lips. The tingle has you moaning too, a call and response that notches things higher.

“I will not last,” Anthony grits out, teeth clenched, his fingernails digging into your scalp, his thrusts into your mouth urgent now, barely allowing you any reprieve.

“Do as you will…” Benedict grunts, his noises guttural as you clench around him, a vice that has him dropping your wrists, sensing how close you are, too. One of his hands grabs your hip roughly as the other ploughs into your slit, catching your swollen, throbbing clit.

He changes angle to spear deeper, harsher, and you scream around Anthony’s cock, which fills your mouth now, breathing harshly through your nose as he uses you mercilessly.

“Look at me,” Anthony commands, grabbing your head to tilt your face upwards, his cock tip grinding the roof of your mouth, your hands again on his wool trousers for leverage as you stare wide-eyed up at his handsome face, angular and determined.

“So fucking beautiful,” he croaks, his thumb rounding to blot the tear forming in the corner of your eye from not wanting to blink. 

“Better and more priceless than any jewel,” Benedict taunts, still impressively embodying his role, each word heaved over a breath, “and all mine.”

The possession with which he growls that last word, plunging harder than he ever has, is the catalyst for all of you. The vibration of your scream around Anthony’s cock as Benedict glances at your hilt is what tips him over. A heavy pulse travels up the length of his cock, and his fingernails cirls into your scalp as he comes, a salty rope splashing into your throat that you swallow reflexively as Benedict's fingers and cock send you over the edge, your vision whiting out, as your whole body convulses, strong hands bandying around you to hold you upright as your knees almost give out, everything in your snapping taut as you come so hard you swear stars dance before your eyes. With an almost howl, Benedict roughly pulls out of your convulsing pussy, a warmth splashing over your lumbar spine as you all pant loudly.

Before you are fully cognisant, strong arms pull you into an embrace. You recover, caged by Benedict, his chest warm against your spine as he murmurs sweet words in your ear. In front of you, Anthony refastens his trousers, pulling the gems from his coat pocket, still impressively in character.

“I shall greatly enjoy the spoils of this evening,”  he taunts, holding them up so they sparkle in the moonlight. “But, if you should ever wish to share your wife again, you know where to find me…”

“How do you know I will not tell others of your location? Force you to move your despicable, criminal activities elsewhere?” Benedict counters as you drowsily enjoy their little theatrical, continuing purely for your amusement.

“Because of the way your wife is looking at me…” Anthony crows, stepping forward again to run a finger over your chin and swollen, darkened lips as he repockets the loot. “As if she wishes to ride away with me as much as she wishes to remain with you.” 

He draws you in for a fierce, possessive kiss, you gasping heavily, pliant under his invasion, still dazed from your orgasm. 

“Perhaps one day, if you are a good little thing for me, you could even earn your jewels back…” Anthony contends. “Until then, I bid you adieu…” he signs off, bowing, then turning heel and disappearing into the night.

—

A few minutes later, Anthony saunters back from bridling the additional horse onto the phaeton. Himself again, the roleplay scene over.

“Our poor girl cannot wear this; 'tis too caked in dirt and mud now,” he rues, no trace of the menacing highwayman to be found in his tone as he scoops your trampled dress up from the dirt track.

“We will just have to keep her warm for the ride back, brother,” Benedict advocates.

Anthony hums in agreement, chivalrously whipping off his shirt and helping you into it with affectionate kisses. After a quiet spell in their joint embrace - always your favourite place to recover from such vigorous adventures - they both tenderly assist you up into the carriage, arranging you snugly between them upon the simple bench seat. Both wrap their free arm around you as they grab a horse rein each. You burrow into their comforting presence as the carriage trundles away at a leisurely pace.

“Did you enjoy our roleplay, my girl?” Anthony checks, tone laden with affection, as Benedict turns to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Yes, you were both so wonderful, exactly as I had hoped and more. Thank you,” you sigh contentedly, nuzzling into them both in turn.

“I cannot wait to hear of your other fantasies, sweet girl. I assume you have many more,” Benedict guesses, accurate as always.

“I am rather taken by the idea of adventure on the high seas with two swashbuckling buccaneers…” you confess, even as you have to stifle a yawn, the sway of the carriage and their warmth soporific.

“Well, after you have had some good rest, my darling girl, perhaps I will seek out our grandfather’s cutlass…” Anthony offers as he laughs genially.

You perk up, and your head pings between them. “Is that a promise?”

“Most definitely,” they answer in unison, two pairs of amused, sparkling eyes meeting yours as the beauty of Aubrey Hall hones into view in your periphery.

You cannot wait.

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[theoldsports]

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

[haikyu-mp4]

Stable foundation

You and Aone are good cop + bad cop when your daughter acts up, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @dira333. word count; 644 – f!reader

Your daughter is generally a saint, calm and kind like her dad, creative and sweet like you. However, every parent has to scold their child sometimes, and your daughter really did it this time. The two of you stood in front of your newly decorated hallway, your son in another room doing his homework and probably completely uninterested.

It wasn’t supposed to be newly decorated. Your daughter had taken it upon herself to un-whiten the walls with oily crayons and waterproof markers that would definitely be a pain to remove, if you didn’t have to just paint it over.

“No!” you yelled on instinct when you walked past the hallway and saw her sitting there with her art supplies. At the sound of your indignation, Aone stuck his head around the corner in a silent question before coming fully into the room to see.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

“We have so much paper, why would you draw on the walls?” you asked rhetorically, the frustration clear in your voice and making your daughter tear up quickly. She stood up, holding her hands out and wiggling her fingers as if presenting a masterpiece.

You looked at your husband with furrowed brows, only to find he was looking at you for help already. It would have made you laugh, hadn’t you been so frustrated. Aone cleared his throat. “It’s a really nice drawing, but now we can’t frame it.”

Pursing your lips, you were between cooing and scolding. If that was his biggest worry, you sure chose a good husband.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pouting and dropping the red and green crayon she previously held in one hand to make a double line.

While you picked the girl up so she couldn’t do any more damage, Aone went to pick up her supplies and put them away. “You can not draw on the walls,” you told her, strict voice having even more effect now that she was in your arms and so close.

Her lip quivered, making her rub her face and smudging colour there too, so you tried to pull her arms away but she thrashed in your hold. Aone came over when the little girl yelled for him, resting a hand on her head to calm her cries.

“But mommy, you said you wanted to put more pictures on the walls,” she cried. You took in a sharp breath, now with your own welling tears as she so sorrowfully admitted to her kind intentions. She’s so much like her dad.

Two days ago, you had thrown out a comment to your husband about wanting more art on the walls and that you should buy more frames for your kids’ stuff.

“Let’s get you washed up,” Aone said, taking the girl from your arms and throwing you a reassuring smile.

While you took the time to calm down and assess the damage and how you would fix it, Aone helped her wash and then set her up with some food in the living room where her brother could watch her for a little while.

As he came back, you were slumped on the floor, stained washcloth in hand and about three different soaps laying around you. Aone noticed how the cleaning had ultimately made the damage worse and puffed out a breath of air before squatting beside you. He licked his thumb and rubbed away a smudge on your face, which reminded him much of your daughter a couple minutes ago, then ran his hand down your jaw to direct your eyes to his.

“It’s fine. I will paint it. She will learn.”

You were tired from work lately, so overwhelmed that things like this made the scale tip. That’s when you were glad to have such a stable husband.

“It’s fine,” you repeated like an affirmation.

Aone smiled. Another day of supporting his perfect family.

masterlist

for the requester: I haaad to make Aone good cop, that cutie.

[daughterofthemoon11]

Can you do number 2 with gojo? thanks <3

"Wildest dreams"

a/n: Kicking my feet, giggling, and going CRAZY with the new Gojo content. Anyway, enjoy :)

You found yourself lying on the hard hotel floor, exhausted from last night's mission. The discomfort of sleeping without a proper bed didn't help matters. You were sent on a faraway mission but things had gotten out of hand. Three sorcerers had attacked you last night because they disapproved of Suguru summoning cursed spirits, they saw him as a threat. As a result, you were caught up in a fierce battle with them. Suguru got highly injured in the fight, and against his complaints, you all agreed that he would take the only bed, leaving the rest of you to sleep on the floor. 

It was while you slept beside Shoko and Gojo that even with your eyes closed you could feel his gaze upon you. Or perhaps it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

When you drifted off to sleep, a peaceful and beautiful dream unfolded. For the first time, Satoru's eyes were inches away from yours, captivating and deep, resembling vast oceans with sunken ships. As you locked gazes, you noticed a spark within his eyes that you had never witnessed before. The unspoken emotions he held were clearly visible in his intense gaze.

Years of stolen glances and silent longing seemed insignificant at that moment. The wait had been worth it. His warm look made your heart flutter uncontrollably. In a hushed tone, you whispered his name, "Satoru."

 "Yes, princess?", he responded quietly. 

Struggling to contain the emotions rushing over you, you confessed under your breath, afraid that speaking louder would cause the world around you to shatter, "I think I'm in love with you." 

A smile appeared on his lips.

Leaning in, he kissed you passionately, the intensity of his embrace leaving you breathless. His hands held you firmly at the waist, drawing you closer. You placed your hands on his neck, playing with his hair, which felt like silk between your fingers. 

Lost in your slumber, you didn´t notice that Gojo had been observing the scene for the past ten minutes, a wide smile adorning his face. He admired your sleeping features, his grin growing even larger.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and the sound of Shoko's voice discussing Suguru's condition filled the room. You opened your eyes to find Satoru propped up on one elbow, his gaze fixed upon you, a mischievous smirk on his face. His white hair was messy, and his eyes and lips appeared slightly swollen from sleep. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

"You talk a lot in your sleep... do you really love me that much?" he teased.

His words struck you, and you were mortified, a blush spreading across your cheeks. Had you been mumbling all those things in your sleep?. Trying to maintain your composure, you replied with a hint of confidence. "Only in your wildest dreams."

"Well, it seems like I was just in yours," he replied, his tone teasing.

"Are you done confessing your dying love for each other or plan to help me out?" Shoko interjected, opening a bag filled with supplies to tend to Suguru's injuries, earning a chuckle from the dark-haired sorcerer lying in bed. 

a/n: English is not my first language, so if you have any suggestions please let me know. I will continue working on your requests, thank you for the support. <3

@toujours-black

[the-teufort-nine]

Howdy howdy! Have a bit of a silly tf2 request if you like. GNC reader, and use whichever Mercs you would like. (Though I will request Demo, as he needs more love.) Romantic or platonic, whichever you like.

The reader is a Fae! They have about the same amount of power that Merasmus is supposed to have, but is actually one of the most chill people you would ever meet in your life. The kind of person who is very, VERY hard to piss off.

Reader randomly shows up from time to time around base, honestly just hanging out most of the time. Upon a comming solstice however, reader will have the ability to grant someone their greatest wish, for a price, of course. (They would happily lower the price, but magic thrives off equivalent exchange.)

What do you think the Mercs would wish for? What would they be willing to give up?

Oooh a Fae reader! You guys are creative >:3 Short lil blurbs ahead

Mercs x GN!Reader | Winter Solstice Wish

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Silliness Mostly | SFW | Cw: none! ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Demo and Medic

Scenario: Reader is a Fae who decides to grant their lover one wish during the Winter Solstice. What will they wish for? What do they give up?

Demo:

I think Demo would definitely wish for either an unlimited supply of Scrumpy, or for his eye back! Perhaps his incredibly powerful Fae partner's magic could finally break the curse on his eye socket. Or, if he's feeling particularly sentimental, he could wish that his adoptive family was still alive. He loves his mom, of course, but he loved them too.

As for what he'd give up... I think he'd either give you part or all of his real name, and simply go by his Class name for the rest of his life, or he'd give up one of his organs. Medic can always replace it after all!

Medic:

Medic is an interesting one, because anything he wants, he could probably get himself. I think Medic's greatest desire, if he had a partner that he truly loved, would be the security that he wouldn't outlive them, wouldn't have to watch them die. He would want to also be able to reunite with them in the afterlife. Problem is, Medic knows that, despite his confidence and skills, he can die.

The solution? Wish to be a Fae like you! As for what you get out of this deal (aside from a Fae boyfriend/husband who's going to look gorgeous forever)... How does a soul or two sound?

[baldurs-simp]

maybe write something about Halsin preparing for hibernation, we don't talk enough about that :3

I love this idea! Definetly not somethng talked about. Thank you for requesting. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

Summary: You have to say farewell to Halsin for just a few months as he prepares for his bear to go into hibernation.

Warnings: just some fluff

"What are you doing?" you question, resting your hand on the doorway as you watch Halsin pack a few supplies into his backpack. There's a small pang in your chest, fearing that his love for you has run out and that he's leaving the grove, as he had done with his last grove, seeking something new.

Halsin turns to face you and he senses your fear, giving you a sweet smile as he begins to step forward to take your face in his hands and tenderly kiss your forehead. "Nothing you need worry about, my heart," he whispers, running his hands down your arms to give them a comforting squeeze. "The cold months will be upon us shortly. I am simply making provision for the hibernation."

Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you lean back slightly to see his face better. "Hibernation? You mean..." Your words trail off, realization hitting you, and a smile slowly spreads across your face. "Your bear."

Halsin chuckles with you, glad to see the worry leaving your mind as your shoulders lose their tension. "You know how it can interfere with my life. Some years go by without me feeling the need to hibernate. But this time, I feel it just as I feel the seasons changing," he says, stepping away from you to continue packing things into his pack.

"How long will you be gone for?" you question, picking up a loaf of bread from the table to bring over to him.

"It is hard to say. Perhaps a few months, perhaps a few weeks," he says, taking the bread from you with such gentle hands that it almost contradicts the beast he can change into.

"Well, I shall hope for the latter. What of the grove? They might be lost without your guidance," you mention, leaning against the table as he fastens the buckle of the pack, securing all the content within.

He chuckles, the laugh reverberating in his throat as he turns to face you fully. "I am sure they will be alright in your capable hands," he says, placing a finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him when you turn away to hide your flattered expression. "I shall not be far from the grove. Should anything happen, believe me when I say that I will know of it. You will not go without my protection."

"So you are leaving the grove in my care? I question your wisdom in that choice," you laugh, stepping closer to him as he rests his hands on your hips.

"You are wiser than you give yourself credit for," he mentions, smiling down at you as he marvels at your beauty. "And I am sure others will help where needed. I do not expect you to take on all the responsibilities of an Arch Druid so soon while I am away."

"Can I not come with you?"

"As much as I would like that," he starts, caressing the side of your face with the back of his hand. "Your place is here, my heart. I cannot allow you to come with me as I fear that you will not be as safe out there as you will be here."

You lean into his touch, placing your hand over his as you breathe out a sad sigh. "Then I shall eagerly await your return. Even though I will miss your warmth in the cold nights."

Your words make him laugh again as he leans forward to press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. You hold his close, savouring the moment as you do not know how long you will have to go without it.

You walk with him through the grove, talking about unimportant things, just living in the moment you share with him because you know you will miss him.

As the wind picks up slightly, you feel the coldness in nature's breath. Halsin turns to look back at you before he reaches the treeline. Watching as he leaves the grove behind, venturing into the forest, you have no doubt that you will see him again. Even if it is in bear form.

And it brings a smile to your face.

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

Hello there!!

Really adore your "Too Soft to be a Pirate" work!! It's beyond incredible! I can't thank you for such a lovely piece!

Saw your requests are open, so here's my silly little thought:

Izzy Hands x Reader. Mutual pining. Fluff.

Besides being a certified badass, Reader is also a skilled artist. Stede, ever the enjoyer of art, buys the necessary supplies. Here come the portraits, landscapes and so on.

During some moment of quiet on the ship, Izzy is looking for the Reader and finds them in one of the somewhat secluded rooms of the Revenge, making a portrait of Mr. Hands himself.

They talk their pining through as a crew. Maybe even kiss about it lol.

Thank you for you works once again <3

Thank you for all the kind words @imchloefuckingprice-blog <3 I wrote the first part of this in Lucius's point of view, because he's the best when two people don't know how to express their feelings. I hope this was what you were looking for.

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Masterlist

A Brush of Fate

Lucius prided himself on his keen observational skills. After all, he had recognized Stede and Ed’s feelings for each other long before they did. Now, his perceptive gaze focused on the unmistakable connection between you and Izzy. One night, while Lucius sketched and you painted, you opened up to him about your feelings for Izzy. Despite Lucius reassurances, you remained unsure about Izzy reciprocating your emotions. You insisted to Lucius that Izzy was still caught up in his feelings for Blackbeard. However, Lucius saw Izzy’s lingering gaze directed toward you from across the deck, noting his subtle attentiveness as he went out of his way to help you with tasks around the ship.

The more Lucius thought about the relationship between you and Izzy, the more it seemed to fall into place. Your undeniable skill with a sword and adept sailing skills meant you never pissed Izzy off like the other members of Bonnet’s crew. You were a certified badass and your artistic talents formed a quick bond between you and Lucius. You were Lucius’s favorite person on board, second only to Black Pete. Lucius believed Izzy would have to be an idiot not to have feelings for you. However, in Lucius’s opinion, Izzy frequently displayed behaviors that bordered on idiocy. 

“What are you working on today, babes?” Lucius inquired with a smirk as he entered the former ballroom, closing the door behind him. Lucius already knew the answer, observing a subtle shade of red flash across your face. 

In response, you turned the easel to face him and the doorway. Lucius gazed upon the beautiful portrait of Izzy hands before him, experiencing a pang of pity for its painter. 

As a thought crossed Lucius’s mind, he burst into laughter. “I can’t imagine what Stede would say if he knew you were using the paint supplies he bought you to create that. I feel like he would have a conniption.” 

After laying eyes on one of your small paintings, Stede had purchased supplies for you, hoping you would help replace the artworks lost on The Revenge during the era of the kraken. He confided in both you and Lucius, expressing his desire to make the ship feel like home once again. He wanted things to get back to normal and to help Edward feel comfortable. 

“I made those for Stede,” you remarked, and Lucius followed your finger to two paintings leaning against the ship wall to dry. One depicted The Revenge, and Lucius couldn’t help but marvel at the delicate details of the ship, rolling his eyes at your undeniable talent. The other showcased Ed, dressing in his exquisite purple attire from the night of the fancy party. You even included the tiny purple bows adorning his beard. 

“He’ll actually love those,” Lucius huffed, surprised to find no sarcastic comment to direct at the paintings. Playfully, he rested his chin on your shoulder from behind as you both admired the portrait of Izzy. “Now, who will this portrait go to?” Lucius teased. 

“No one. I’ll probably paint over it once I’m done.” 

“Why are you painting it then?” Lucius asked, disappointment evident in his tone. The portrait was beautiful, and he hoped you would give it to Izzy, finally admitting your true feelings. 

“I thought that if I painted Izzy, his face would get out of my head,” you replied quietly, and Lucius couldn’t help but hear the vulnerability in your voice. 

Lucius empathized with that line of thinking, but in a slightly different way. He recalled how he had sketched Blackbeard’s face for weeks, only to be snapped out of it by Black Pete. “I get that,” Lucius replied, pursing his lips and scrunching his face, before lifting his sketchbook to reveal one of the many drawings of Blackbeard. 

He observed the relief that washed over your face at being understood, forming a smile at the drawings. “Flower Blackbeard was my favorite,” you chuckled.

“Maybe…” Lucius lingered, playfully bumping his hip into yours. “You should give Izzy the painting, and that’ll get him out of your head” he suggested with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You responded with a sarcastic laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes. Lucius dropped his playful expression, reciprocating with a roll of his eyes. Deep down, he just wanted you to be happy. Over the past few weeks, Izzy had grown on him, and while he may not have thought Izzy deserved you, it was clear that he was always occupying your thoughts. 

“I’ll leave you to moping and painting then,” Lucius said, patting your shoulder before heading out of the ballroom with a clear objective in mind. 

He found Izzy in the hallway leading to the captain’s quarters, gazing at one of your new paintings Stede had just hung up. This sight caused Lucius to smirk; he knew he was right about how Izzy felt about you. Determined to push you two together, he decided he would do everything he could to make it happen. Lucius was tired of seeing you unhappy when all that seemed necessary was to talk it through. 

“Pretty good, right?” Lucius slid into the spot next to Izzy, crossing his arms and directing his gaze at the painting. The painting depicted a simple sunset over the water, yet it radiated a quiet beauty. 

Izzy only replied with a grunt, clearly annoyed that Lucius had caught him staring at your painting. 

“I didn’t know you were such a lover of art, Iggy,” Lucius continued, attempting to poke at him further. “You and Stede must have so much to discuss.” 

“What the fuck do you want, twatty?” Izzy snapped in response. 

“There’s a leak in the ballroom,” Despite his usual quick-witted nature, he knew this lie lacked conviction. 

“Why the fuck is that my problem?” Izzy grumbled. 

“Blackbeard told me to tell you, so you could fix it.” Lucius’s arms involuntarily squeezed more tightly across his chest as he lied, but he tried to relax once he noticed. 

“Well… you told me, so fuck off.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucius quickly retreated from the conversation, hoping his lie was convincing enough to get Izzy to go where he needed him. Lucius perched himself on one of the mast tops, carefully watching the direction Izzy departed. When he noticed Izzy heading toward the ballroom, Lucius bit his lip with anticipation. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Izzy slowly wandered down the hallway, heading towards the ballroom, frustrated at being the one who always had to fix the ship’s problems. He was even more annoyed by Lucius teasing him about you. He couldn’t help but stare at your painting. It was beautiful, just like you. If it was so obvious to Lucius how Izzy felt about you, then you must be aware of it too. Perhaps it was some inside joke between the two of you. Izzy had held feelings for you for quite some time now, witnessing how you found beauty in the small details that most people would overlook. Your ability to turn the mundane into lovely paintings had captivated him, and with each stroke of your brush, his admiration for you grew. 

Feeling discouraged, Izzy had almost decided to give up on his feelings for you when he opened the door to the ballroom and found you immersed in painting. He was taken aback for a moment, not realizing that this was where you created your art, and then confused about why Lucius had sent him here. There were no visible leaks in sight. That’s when he saw a portrait of himself staring back at him. His jaw dropped as he tried to understand the meaning behind the painting. 

“Fuck off, Lucius,” he heard you say as you continued to paint, not turning towards the sound of the door opening. Izzy contemplated whether he should leave, feeling like he had interrupted a private moment. However, in his moment of indecision, you turned around to face him. Izzy observed your eyes widen in surprise, followed by your cheeks blushing a deep shade of scarlet. “You’re not Lucius,” you whispered quietly, regaining your composure. 

Izzy tried to rack his brain, attempting to find a reason why you would be painting him, but he couldn’t come up with a single explanation. A moment of silence stretched between you both as you stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Izzy glanced over at the two other paintings in the room. “Are these for Bonnet?” he questioned, gesturing towards all the paintings. 

“Those two are. This one is just something I’m doing for fun,” you replied, and Izzy sensed the nervousness in your demeanor as you spoke. 

“Why?” Izzy inquired. 

“I feel like you have a face that’s worth being painted,” you whispered. 

Izzy didn’t know how to respond to your words; they seemed sincere, but this whole scenario didn’t make sense to him. Why did Lucius send him here? Taking a moment to examine you, he noticed you were in an old, oversized shirt covered in paint. As he gazed at your face, he observed a bit of paint smeared across your nose. He wasn’t sure what information he was trying to glean, but he also enjoyed just looking at you. 

Realizing he had been staring at you for too long without a response, Izzy quickly found his words. “Lucius told me there was a leak in this room.” 

Izzy watched your face contort from one of nervousness to annoyance. 

“Of course he did,” you snapped. Izzy observed as you dropped the paintbrush onto a nearby stoll where your paint sat, glancing towards the door as if you were going to find Lucius yourself to teach him a lesson. “There’s no leak, Izzy.” 

Finally, the pieces snapped together in Izzy’s mind. Lucius’s teasing remark and him sending Izzy to find you painting a picture of him–it was all part of a big joke, and he realized he was the butt of it. Izzy felt anger rising within him. He never expected you to treat him like this, and the revelation left him feeling both hurt and surprised. 

“Oh, I see. You and Mr. Spriggs are joking around and wasting my time,” Izzy spat as he began to turn towards the door to leave. 

“Wait, Iz.” Izzy felt your light grip on his arm, pausing at your touch. “Lucius knows how I feel about you, so I think this was his way of forcing me to tell you. I’m not trying to waste your time or play a joke on you.” 

“How do you feel about me?” Izzy whispered quickly. He felt his demeanor instantly soften and turned back towards you. 

“I like you, Israel Hands,” you said steadily, your big eyes gazing into his, seeming to search for any sort of reaction. 

When he gave none, you grabbed Izzy’s hand, leading him towards the painting, gesturing to your work as you spoke. “On the outside, ruggedly handsome, worn by the sea, tough but your eyes… There’s a gentleness you can see in your eyes. The way they soften when you talk about something you love, the subtle warmth they hold when you smile. I like you because I see a complexity in you, Izzy– a blend of strength and tenderness that intrigues me.” 

Izzy turned towards you, prompting you to face him. His fingers reached up to gently trace the paint on your nose. You closed your eyes at his touch, opening them to meet his gaze once his hand fell from your face. “Paint?” you asked in a soft whisper. 

“I like how you look… even with paint on your face. Especially with paint on your face.” Izzy confessed, his tone tender. “I like you.” 

Izzy gazed down, captivated, as a sweet smile stretched across your face. His eyes lingered on your lips, attempting to memorize their shape and color. A silent anticipation filled the space between you, Izzy pondering the sensation of your lips against his, the curiosity and desire swirling within him. You closed the gap between you, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss. The connection was soft and sweet. Time seemed to stand still as your lips gently explored the contours of Izzy’s. 

“I fucking knew it,” Lucius’s voice rang out from the hallway in delight. 

Izzy immediately let go of you, worried about your reaction to Lucius seeing you with him. You only replied with a giggle, shutting the door quickly. “Fuck off, Lucius,” you sang playfully. 

As your arms warped around Izzy, pulling him in for another kiss, he heard Lucius’s annoyed voice through the door. “I feel like I deserve a thank you, at least.” 

For the first time, Izzy was thankful to Mr. Spriggs for sticking his nose into everyone’s business. Thanks to him, he was getting to hold you in his arms, instead of just having to admire you from afar. You had told Izzy he had a face worth painting, but in Izzy’s mind, you yourself were a work of art.

[simp-ly-writes]

Space Cat

─────── · · A Doctor Who Story (pt.3)

Pairing: 10th Doctor & Cat-Hybrid!Reader, Donna Noble & Cat-Hybrid!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a cat hybrid. How? You have no idea- just like you have no idea how you ended up in what is defiantly not a police station.

─ · · WARNINGS: silliness, bickering and possible non-canon behaviours. eventual x reader

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 894

─ · · A/N: so now I am kinda obsessed with these dynamics.

─────── · ·

You roll over with laughter, wiggling on your spine as your tail lightly waves side to side. Your teeth are popping out as you peer down at the Doctor who offers you an eye roll before giving your head a scratch and picks himself back off the floor.

The console hums underneath you and after all the action of the day, the growing trust of those around you, and of course, the air conditioned space. You feel your eyes closing in fluttering moments as their voices quiet down. Your legs go limp next with exhaustion as you let out one last meow before welcoming yourself back into the dream world.

─────── · ·

Your ears twitch at random, your paws running yet your body lays stagnant. The Doctor peers down at you, eyes holding concern as he looks you over yet his voice tells otherwise. "What on earth are they doing?" He questions, walking closer to you before being gently guided away with a light scolding.

"They are happily dreaming, Doctor. Best let the little thing rest after the day its had," Donna explains in a hushed whisper. The Doctor looks back over his shoulder and then back at Donna before allowing her to lead him towards the living quarters.

"How much longer till we arrive?"

"Not too long now, best you get some rest as well," the Doctor states rather than asks before looking around the space as if discovering it for the first time. He becomes lost in his mind again, walking in circles around the room- seemingly in conversation with himself before he exits the room once more to find something to amuse himself with.

─────── · ·

You don't end up being able to fall asleep for long as the hard surface you lay upon chips at your sore bones. Stretching with a few small cracks sounding, you hop down to the floor and circle around the platform debating which hall to walk down.

As if the room can hear your inner conflict, small lights on the floor beckon you towards a dimly light hall as you begin your parade. With every step you take, your curiosity grows tenfold to the seemingly never ending doors that flank either side of you.

You knock your head against them, forcing them to open as you take in various work spaces to supply rooms. Walk-in wardrobes from every era of humanity and even some costumes you had never seen before alongside a botanical garden.

You press a claw into your leg in an effort to pinch yourself out of whatever dream you still found yourself in yet reality came crashing down at the sudden voice that had you jumping up and back into their arms.

"You do know, curiosity killed the cat, little thing," the Doctor chuckles out to you. You can tell he is mostly joking but as you peer up into his eyes, they hold a degree of unspoken grief from within them that has you wishing you had your human tongue back to ask.

You both stand there quietly for a second before he is leading you further into the green space. He doesn't explain anything in the room nor where these exotic and quite possibly out-of-this-world fauna has came from but he carries you to a corner of the room where a small swinging bench sits underneath a tree.

Taking in the space, you swear to feel the faintest of breezes take a turn around the room as you snuggle into the cushion you had been placed onto. The Doctor kicks back, allowing the seating to rock back in forth in gentle waves as he opens a book and produces a cup of tea from god knows where.

You are chirping again in laughter as your head finds one of the few pillows displayed and in that moment you take a view of the outside world or in better words, endless space. You stand up abruptly, yelling out in shock that has the Doctor spilling his drink all over him with soft curses as he snaps his gaze towards the empty space before you both.

"What do you see?" He asks you expectantly yet you fail to answer, jumping of the bench and racing towards the glass wall. It is cold to your nose as you make smudge marks in it. The Doctor copies you, pushing his face against the glass in an effort to see what you do.

His calmness to the situation has the fur on your back raising in concern and a mixture of fear. You peer cautiously back up at what you believe to be the man before you as he crouches down to pat your head as you swat his hand away with a harrowing hiss.

The Doctor raises his hands in surrender, "Some creature you are, and heres to think we were starting to get along with one another..." His voice trails off looking back into the void of starts.

You don't know how much time passes before a series of footsteps emerge from down the hall. You turn your head to see the familiar red-haired woman making her way towards the both of you, coffee cup in hand as she clinks it with the Doctors empty one on the bench.

"So, whats for breakfast today, space man and cat?"

─────── · ·

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) ... (pt.6) (pt.7) you are here

[whimsicalcotton]

I'm gonna be honest I just love the way you write amberpricefield so much. I've never even played the game. I love them so much. If you're still taking requests please pick your favorite.

skdfjsdhk thank you anon 🥺🥺🥺

thank u also for the free reign! here is some incredibly stupid Everybody's (Actually) Fine AU nonsense for u <3

--- --- ---

50: Nicknames/Pet Names

There’s a list of things other than “Max,” that Rachel and Chloe call her that probably runs a mile long. 

Chloe likes to stretch her name into a wide variety of different shapes — some more ridiculous than others — and though there apparently exists some method to her madness no one else seems to know quite what it is. Mad Max, Maximilian, Maximum Turbo-Force Dork. Max could fill up a whole notebook with just those, let alone the pet-names. Chloe was once solely an ironic user of the word babe, so Max has been told, but she’s long since fallen into the trap of habit and now throws it around far more casually than Max can handle. 

Rachel has also grown fond of playing around with Max’s name, but she leans more towards the terms of endearment. Max has lost count of the amount of times she’s gone all red in the face after being called honey or love or darling. There was even that one time Rachel had the audacity to call her babygirl in the middle of the dorm hallways, which made her fluster so hard she’d immediately started babbling some lame excuse about the time before literally running all the way back to her room. 

All this is to say: Max has been thinking it’s time for some payback.

So with devious plots in mind from the moment she gets up — perhaps Rachel is starting to rub off on her a bit — Max makes it her day's mission to give the two of them a taste of their own medicine. 

She catches Rachel first. Lingering in the dorm halls, fittingly enough, knee deep in yet another unnecessarily tense looking party planning conversation with Victoria. Of course, Victoria is often the only one who suffers in a conversation with Rachel, so when she turns to see Max approaching her expression shifts easily into one of earnest excitement.

“Morning, Max,” she greets, apparently feeling generous in her sparing Max from having to get flustered in front of Victoria. Her mistake. 

Max takes a final little breath for courage, and goes for the metaphorical kill. “Good morning, sweetheart. Am I seeing you for lunch today?”

She tries not to smile so hard watching Rachel’s cheeks turn red.

“Y-Yeah,” Rachel answers, looking momentarily horrified by her stammering before straightening up. “Yeah, sure, lunch. I’m there. See you then.”

As Max is taking her leave, hardly capable of stopping herself from skipping the whole way, she overhears their chatter resume. 

“Bitch, didn’t you literally just tell me we were gonna go over this shit again at lunch?” Victoria snaps, incredulous. “Oh my god, you’re down bad. That was pathetic. Well played, Amber, truly.”

“Shut the hell up, Chase,” Rachel hisses back. “Tell anyone what just happened and you’ll be on your own supplying party booze for the rest of the year.”

Max gets Chloe later on, during the aforementioned lunch hangout that Rachel is apparently snubbing Victoria to be present for. 

She’s in the midst of chowing down on some of the sweets Max brought along, getting bread crumbs and icing sugar all over herself in the process. By the time she’s done, there are patches of powdery white and a hint of jelly still adorning her face. Rachel tries to hide a bout of snorting giggles upon looking at her.

“Jesus, you’d think we never feed you,” she says, still covering her mouth with one hand and handing Chloe a napkin with the other. 

“Yeah,” Max agrees, taking the napkin in Chloe’s stead and reaching up to wipe off her face. “You’re making such a mess of yourself, baby.”

Chloe’s eyes go wide as saucers as she squeaks out an astoundingly unsure, “I sure am.” She lets Max finish cleaning her off before seemingly coming to her senses and going even redder than Rachel had earlier. 

Speaking of, Rachel’s gone a little pink again herself. She looks over at Max with a gaze as hungry as it is curious. “Man, you’re out for blood today, aren’t you?” 

“Just having a bit of fun,” Max assures with a smile, watching on in unabashed satisfaction as Chloe devolves into a grumbling, mumbling mess hiding her face in her hands.

[writingwhimsey]

Hello! I saw the prompts and I was hoping i could request! I was thinking of Shingen + the first prompt in the list, it can be written however you want <3 thank you!

Thank you for trusting me with your favorite (and one of mine, I mean how can anyone not love Shingen?)! I just love getting to write for this hunk of a loving man! Hope you and everyone else enjoys!

Smut Is In The Air

Suitor: ikesen Shingen

Prompt: "I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist."

NSFW 18+ content

Together Again

I stood eagerly waiting at the gate, my eyes looking for any sign of him. When I heard the sound of horse’s hooves on the ground, my heart leapt in my chest. A smile naturally came to my face as Shingen came into view on his horse. He looked so incredibly handsome, like a prince or brave knight on his horse.

Shingen smiled as he caught sight of me. He slowed his horse and came to a stop, dismounting and handing his horse off to one of the attendants. As soon as he was free, I rushed over to him, his arms already open and waiting for me.

“Welcome home, Shingen!” I greeted him as I threw myself into his arms, wrapping my own around his middle.

Shingen chuckled warmly as he enveloped me in his embrace. “Perhaps I should go off to more battles just so I can be greeted so enthusiastically upon my return by my beautiful goddess.”

“Oh no you don’t.” I replied, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “While I enjoy greeting you like this, I still prefer it when you’re home…and speaking of battle, you weren’t hurt at all were you?”

Shingen lifted a hand to caress my cheek. “I prefer to be home with you as well, my love.” He told me. 

“I notice you didn’t answer my question. Were you hurt?” I asked.

Shingen lowered his voice so that only I could hear his next words, as there were some soldiers and attendants still around. “I did suffer, but I don’t want anyone else to know. Would you mind treating me in our room?”

I gasped as I looked up at him. “Of course!” I replied, taking his large hand. “Come on let’s go.”

It didn’t take too long for Shingen and I to reach our room. Once we did I was instructing him to sit down. “Okay, where are you injured? Let me take care of it.” I said, going to grab the bandages and other first aid supplies we kept on hand.

“My goddess is truly a wonderful one. Wanting to treat me so.” Shingen said, as he sat down. 

I turned back to him and walked over to kneel down in front of him. “Where is it?” I asked.

“Mmm…it’s here.” Shingen answered, gesturing to his lips.

“Huh?”

Shingen grinned. “My lips suffered a grievous injury and the only thing that can cure them is a kiss from my one true love.”

I looked at Shingen, blinking in disbelief before smiling and shaking my head. I did playfully bat at his shoulder. “You had me worried! I thought you were seriously injured!”

“Forgive me, but I couldn’t help myself.” Shingen replied, his arms reaching for me and wrapping around me, pulling me into his lap. “Though I do consider my lips missing yours to be a great deal of suffering.”

“Well…mine have been suffering similarly as well.” I replied. 

“We certainly can’t have your beautiful lips suffering any longer.” Shingen replied, his fingertips sliding beneath my chin, coaxing my gaze up to his.

Our lips met in a sweet kiss. When we broke the kiss, I looked at Shingen. “Hmm, I missed you, my love.”

“As I missed you, my darling.” Shingen replied, resting his forehead against mine. “I thought of you every night while I was away…and dreamed of you every night.”

“Really?” I asked. 

Shingen nodded. “Yes. Every night. I dreamed of coming home to you. Kissing you. Holding you…I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.”

I felt myself warming at his words and how his voice pitched lower as he spoke of how he missed me. I looked deep into those gray eyes, seeing how much he loved me and desired me. I saw my own desire reflected in those gray pools. “Hmm…I think we could easily make those dreams a reality. I mean, we’ve already kissed and you’re holding me…we just have one more thing to complete.”

Shingen grinned at me. “I was hoping you would say that.” He replied, gently pushing me back on the tatami mat floor and sliding his body over mine. “I adore you, my goddess.”

I smiled up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “As I adore you, my darling.”

Shingen leaned down, bringing his lips to mine as his hands moved to caress my curves through the fabric of my kimono.

“Mmm, do not tease me, my love.” I told him, wearing a pout. 

“What do you mean?” Shingen asked.

I reached and undid the obi at my waist, allowing my kimono to fall open and bare myself before his worshipful gray eyes. “I want to really feel you.” I told him, reaching for his hand and bringing it to my breast, above my heart. “Skin to skin.” 

Shingen’s face flushed with pleasure. “My goddess is bold tonight…I rather enjoy it. Nor can I deny such a request.” He said, sitting up to undress himself before leaning back over me.

Shingen pulled me into his embrace, his large frame fully encompassing my smaller body. I wrapped my arms around him as our lips met in a passionate kiss. Shingen’s tongue danced teasingly along the line of my lips, slipping between them.

I eagerly met his tongue with my own, my hands sliding over the strong muscles of his back… good lord was his body amazing?! Shingen’s large hands moved over my body, caressing my tender flesh in my most sensitive of places. 

Shingen’s lips moved from my mine to trail along my jaw and down the side of my neck. “Mmm, your skin is as soft as ever.” He murmured. “I’ve missed touching you over these last few weeks.”

“I’ve missed your…t-touch…” I replied, my voice turning to a moan when Shingen’s hand slipped between my thighs to toy with my sensitive bud. His long calloused fingers stroked me in the most skillful manner and perfect rhythm only Shingen could do. “Ah…Ngh…Shingen!”

“How I have missed the sound of my name being sung from your gorgeous lips.” Shingen murmured into my ear before giving a playful nibble to my lobe even as his fingers continued to stroke me, building my pleasure.

“Hmm…Shin…gen!” I moaned. “Mmm…I want…more…I need you…” I pleaded wanting to be as close to him as possible,

“I cannot deny the pleas of my goddess.” Shingen replied. 

“Besides…we have to…make your dreams…come true.,.” I told him, giving him the most alluring look I could.

Shingen smiled at me, removing his fingers from between my thighs. He positioned himself between my legs. Shingen’s hungry lips captured mine, his hot tongue diving into my mouth even as he plunged his cock into me, filling me completely. 

I responded, my legs wrapping around his waist, and my moans spilled into Shingen’s mouth as he filled me and overwhelmed my senses. In this moment, Shingen was all I could see and feel, he was the very air I breathed. His hands roamed over my body and his lips left mine only to trail over my neck.

“Mmm…I love worshiping you, my goddess.” Shingen murmured into my ear. “You always look so beautiful, but I especially love the way you look when I make love to you.”

“Mng… Shingen…I love you.” I told him, my voice a moan. 

“As I love you, my goddess.” Shingen replied, kissing lovingly over my neck and chest, all while continuing to thrust into me.

My hips bucked of their own accord, meeting each of his thrusts. I wanted nothing more than to keep being close to Shingen. I indulged in the loving pleasure that Shingen readily shared with me. I could feel the white hot heat building up inside me as Shingen continued to make love to me.

“Shingen!” I moaned as I felt that coil that had been winding tight finally snapped, sending me into pure bliss.

Shingen let out a groan of my name as my walls clamped down on him, pulling him into his own release. His hips slowed before stopping, him remaining inside me. His forehead rested against mine, gray eyes gazing into mine with such love and desire.

He kissed me gently, lovingly on my lips. “I love you.”

I smiled up at him. “I love you, too Shingen.”

“Now…let me continue to love you. We have a lot of missed time to make up for.”

I smiled at him, lifting my hand to caress his cheek. “Only if you let me love you in turn.”

“Happily, my angel.” Shingen replied, before kissing me once again, our long passionate night only beginning. We would spend the night drowning in our love and passion for one another.

Taglist:

@limonzu @zulablaise @kisara-16 @tele86

and adding @venulus and @tiny-wooden-robot because Shingen

[the-dixon-effect]

Evergreen

A/N: this is actually my first ever fic from a request lol. you can find the request here, thanks so much anon :)

A/N: this might just be my favourite yet 😍

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: out on a run, the pair is attacked by a herd of walkers and gets injured fighting them off. holed up in a bunker in the woods, feelings are confessed under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

words: 2.9k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: a little gore (it's a twd fic, come on), language

As you wrapped your arms tightly around Daryl's waist and rested your head on the length of his shoulders, he took this as an impression to speed up and the bike quickly disappeared from the sight of the watchtower. Instead of the usual back-by-nightfall runs you were accustomed to, Rick had decided to send the two of you off on a recon mission searching around the outskirts of a nearby town. The plan was to spend the night in an old apartment building, clearly indicated on the map you were provided with. If the aim was to bring back a stock of useful supplies, you would have taken a truck instead, and probably another pair of hands. But today, it was just the two of you enjoying the hot Georgian summer, and you had other things on your mind.

One night alone with Daryl far away from the rest of the group? This was the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the archer you'd been pining over for months, and, depending on how it goes, you might just confess your feelings for him. You had to contain your excitement when Rick briefed the both of you about the plan.

You trusted Daryl, and even trusted his instincts enough to close your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. Just as you were getting carried away in your usual daydreams about the archer, this time with him in a little closer proximity, you looked up and diverted your attention to the situation in front of you.

"Oh, shit," you heard him say. The sound of his voice was almost completely drowned out by the familiar growling noises you knew all too well.

"Oh my God, I thought- I thought Rick and the group cleared this road!" you said, heart pounding at the sight of fifty-or-so walkers heading straight towards you.

"Yah, thought so too. C'mon, let's turn around-" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed five or six lamebrains that must have wandered into the road at the sound of the motorcycle engine. Soon enough, the entire road was blocked on either side and Daryl had no choice but to brace himself for a sharp turn into the woods.

"Hol' on, I'm gonna go slow through the trees." At this point, you had completely abandoned your train of thought, and focused on holding on tight in fear of getting hurt.

As Daryl weaved the bike in and out of the trees, you started to speculate what he thought was the best next step. Now surrounded by woodland and sufficiently in the clear regarding the herd, he slowed down for a second, keeping the roaring engine switched on.

"Daryl, what the hell do we do now?" you said with the slightest chuckle. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, but at least you weren't surrounded by a hundred or more rotters who were hungry for your flesh.

"I think I know where we are," he drawled, stepping off the bike that was still running. "There's a bunker round 'ere somewhere. We'll have to sit tight down there for a little whi-" he was cut off by a walker that seemed to come straight out of nowhere. You leapt off your position on the bike and immediately plunged your buck knife into the skull of the walker that knocked Daryl to the ground. Dragging the corpse off of him that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be that of a former factory worker judging from the uniform, you lay on all fours over him for a moment, catching your breath. Luckily, the two of you seemed relatively unharmed. You rolled over and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, the bike that you forgot to set upright by flipping the kickstand came toppling over and landed right on top of Daryl. You heard a yelp of pain before leaping up once again to heave the vehicle off of him. To your dismay, the bike was much heavier than you had imagined. If only the roles were reversed, Daryl would've probably been able to lift the bike off of you with ease. After struggling immensely for a few moments, you managed to lift up the motorcycle and this time, you leant it up against the nearest tree, albeit a little frustratedly.

"Damn bike..." you said, earning a snigger from the man laying on the ground. You turned to him and knelt next to him, noticing the bleeding from his upper chest. "Shit, Daryl! Are you alright?" you said, attempting to peel off the layers of fabric that concealed the wound. If you knew a little more about bikes, you might have been able to determine the specific part of the vehicle that was sharp enough to hurt Daryl in this way, how deep the wound might be and what you could do to help.

"I'm fine," he said, a little weakly.

"You're not, Daryl. Let me help you," you pleaded. He stood up on his own, brushing away your helping hand. The usual stoic presence of the man was a little diminished, and he wobbled as he stood. You also noticed his odd stance and remembered how the heavy wheel of the bike dug into his right leg. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Told ya', I'm jus' fine. Bunker's that way," he hesitantly pointed in the direction the bike would've been heading. "C'mon, leave the bike here an' we'll walk," he drawled.

"Are you sure? You think you can walk that far?" you questioned his strength, considering he already appeared to be limping and he hadn't even started walking yet. You reached for his arm and draped it over your shoulder, in your best effort to help him walk. The bloody patch on his shirt was growing and thought it best to hurry to this bunker so you could patch him up.

A thought entered your head. Fuck. This was not how your day was supposed to go, you mused. You'd reach the destination, make conversation with him about this and that, occasionally giving him your best doe-eyes. Once nighttime arrived, perhaps there would conveniently only be one double bed in whatever cabin you chose to hunker down in, and your plan would be set in motion. You figured that that would all be happening right now if you hadn't dropped his own fucking bike on him!

After about 20 minutes of walking side-by-side in relative silence, you started to feel a little disheartened, though, despite the nature of this particular plan B, you still enjoyed his company and proximity. "Righ' here," Daryl gestured to a small brick structure just big enough for a single wooden door. Completely abandoned, there was moss growing on the walls and took a small shove to force it open. As it creaked inwards, you were met by a dark, damp staircase leading straight into the ground.

"After you," you spoke, somewhat hesitant to enter the dilapidated bunker.

The underground room was filthy, yet, at a glance, it seemed fit for a one-night stay, and in these circumstances, you didn't really have any other choice. It was small and cramped inside, almost completely filled with cheap furniture that was covered in a thick layer of dust. When Daryl put down his crossbow after thoroughly checking the space for any more walkers, you approached him and urged him to rest on the single bed in the corner.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, looking up at you as you searched for the medkit in your bag and set it down on the ground. "Take off your shirt." he obliged and you ran your fingers over the cut that stretched a little further than you had previously determined. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean for this to happen," you said softly, tracing your fingertips over his torso. "I think you'll need a couple stitches. Let me fix you up, since it's my fault in the first place."

"It's not your fault," he said, looking at you with those deep blue eyes that you adored so.

"Well, it is. It takes an idiot to get off a bike and not flip the kickstand," you said with a sweet smile shaping your lips as you prepared to stitch the wound.

He chuckled a little at this. "It's fine, done it myself countless times," he began. "At least when I did it the bike didn't crush me in the first place," he said sarcastically, and he was smiling now, too. You giggled at his response.

"Do you think your leg will be okay?"

"Dunno what yer talking 'bout."

"Don't be like that, Daryl. You were limping all the way over here."

"I'll be fine, jus' give it a day," he drawled in response.

You sighed, in somewhat admiration of his stubbornness and forbearance. You trusted his instinct yet still wanted to do anything to help him. He winced silently as you began to stitch the wound after cleaning it with an alcohol pad.

Time passed quickly in his company, and, unusually, you didn't seem to mind not being able to see how much the sun had set. You set up a dim lantern in the centre of the room, and appreciated how the soft, warm light made his face glow. It felt so good, for once, to feel totally safe from any threats from the world above your head. Perhaps that feeling of safety came from simply being near Daryl, you figured. Any feelings of discouragement from earlier that day had dissipated.

For dinner, you scavenged for anything that you could find in the cupboards that was more appealing than what you'd brought with you. Daryl had struck the jackpot you supposed, after finding nothing yourself.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there," he spoke up, holding his findings up proudly.

"Perfect," you said, unable to contain your grin just from looking at Daryl, and how he slowly let his guard down in front of you and relaxed.

You sat across from each other at the makeshift dining table, stealing glances at each other as you tucked into your 'white trash brunch', as Daryl called it.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Hm, the food?" his innocent response made you laugh.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, being here, completely safe for once instead of being in the prison, where it feels like the fences could fall any second. Just being with you." you said, thinking out loud.

He smirked up at you upon hearing this. "Oh yeah?"

You hummed in response. "I, uhh- I was real worried earlier. 'Bout the walkers, then the cut. And, you," you spoke.

He was surprised at your words, but it felt good to hear that coming from someone else, to hear that they care about him. "Dun' need ta be. I should be the one worryin' 'bout ya'," he declared.

The two of you finished up and decided it was time to get some rest. Despite your best effort to persuade him to take the single bed, he resigned to the couch in his stubbornness that you couldn't argue with. You both ended up talking for a while before you fell asleep, sharing views about members of the group, and swapping stories about your best walker kills, or anything you thought worthy.

"I mean, have you ever met anybody who introduces themself by their full name to everyone they meet?"

"Rick Grimes," he said mockingly.

"I mean, I love the guy. But there's just something a little more admirable, more real, in guys like... you."

Quickly after your little confession, you drifted off to sleep, but Daryl found that sleep did not embrace him as easily that night. His head was full of you, and the last thing you said to which he'd offered no response. In truth, he too was thrilled to be able to spend this time with you, and didn't care in the slightest about your little accident earlier. He thought it was sweet how you rushed to take care of him, though he hated being the one who needed taking care of in the first place. You always seemed to be busy at the prison, chatting away with Maggie or working down on the farm. He was hesitant to approach you, in fear of saying the wrong thing or scaring you off. He thought about your gentle fingertips brushing over his wound, and the other scars on his chest that you noticed. What did you mean when you said, '...guys like you'? Do you... like him that way too?

He slowed down his thoughts. No, no, he can't start thinking like this. Not when you were turning in your sleep just a couple metres away. Perhaps, another day, he'd work up the courage to tell you how he felt. For now, he couldn't risk ruining the time he had alone with you until you returned to the prison.

When you awoke in the morning (or, it felt like the morning, you couldn't tell though due to the lack of natural light underground), you contemplated how that might just have been the best sleep you'd had since the fall began. That was probably thanks to Daryl practically sleeping next to you, you figured.

You turned over, still wrapped in the dusty sheets, to appreciate the sight of Daryl Dixon in the morning. He stood in the corner of the room, bags packed, fiddling with what looked like an arrow. You rubbed your eyes and blicked, once, twice, in an effort to get a better look at whatever he was doing. Unlike Daryl, you didn't share his anxiety surrounding telling you how he felt. If you could make it clear to him in any way possible that you care about him, you would.

You stood up and grabbed your flannel shirt from the heap you left it on the floor. Your legs were exposed as you stood across from him, wearing a pair of skimpy pyjama shorts, a tank top and your red flannel jacket. It was safe to say that Daryl liked the view.

Over breakfast, you discussed the plan for the day which involved navigating back through the forest to find the bike, and then going ahead with the original plan, which was scouting around the outskirts of the nearby town. Daryl, distracted by his late-night thoughts, couldn't help but notice your hair, your morning expression, and your clothes, in a way that he hadn't done before.

"Yeah, yeah. This time, I'll try not to drop any heavy machinery on you," you smiled.

"Mm. Better not." If it meant that you would brush your fingertips over his chest again, he would happily let a hundred bikes fall on top of him.

As the two of you gathered the last of your belongings, you exchanged glances before climbing the concrete staircase and opening the door that led to the forest floor. What you were met with, however, was a crowd of walkers that all turned to face you as if on cue. It didn't even look like a herd, just a mess of stumbling corpses circling the bunker. They must have sensed you, somehow; but there was no time now for figuring out how this happened.

Suddenly every decaying face spun and came at you from every direction, and you simply looked at each other before deciding that there was only one thing to do: run.

So you ran, and ran. You ran until you noticed that Daryl was lagging a little and you remembered his leg injury from the day before. You grabbed him and pulled him into the hollowed-out trunk of a large oak tree. Your heavy, laboured breaths were silenced by his hand reaching over your mouth. He used his other hand to make a 'Shh' sign. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as the walkers passed you by, wincing at the occasional growl or smack as they snapped their decomposing jaws shut.

You had to say something, now. Or else you'll wish you'd said something later. "Daryl," you whispered, meeting his eyes and still trying to be as quiet as possible. These may not have been the perfect circumstances for confessing your feelings for the man currently stood a couple inches away from your face, but they will have to do.

"Daryl, I- I need you to know something," he wished you would just stay quiet. If anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. "If we don't make it back, or- or if something happens, I need you to know that I love you. M-Maybe more than I should. I just- I can't help it and I had this plan of how the run would go and I didn't mean to injure you or-"

For God's sakes, Y/N, why were you still talking? There's a damn herd walking past and- Daryl knew that there was only one way to shut you up. He placed his hand on your neck and moved his lips to meet yours. He let himself get lost in the sweet kiss as soon you rested one hand in his hair and the other on his chest. He'd wanted this for so long, and he felt a pang of guilt for letting it happen in such dire circumstances, and not in some place safe, like back at the prison. You pulled away, suddenly remembering where you were.

"I, uh- Do you...?" you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"Yeah... I do," he began. "C'mon, the walkers are gone. Why don't we finish this up back home?" he smirked.

"That sounds like a great idea."

[laszlossweetcheese]

hii! may i request laszlo x gender neutral reader whos a supernatural being? they could be a werewolf, or a ghost or even a witch, up to you tbh!! fank you <3

It's been too long, but I'M BACK! Thank you so much for your request! I think I'm going to do a second part to this one, so apologies in advance if it's a bit slow going here.

Laszlo x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader is a witch trying to make it on their own as a healer. They encounter an interesting new visitor.

Warnings: None

Growing up as a witch in the south had its issues when it came to cultural beliefs about other supernatural beings. You were taught by your mother and her coven that witches were above all, and despite constant arguments with your elders, they remained stuck in their centuries old ways, unwilling to change. As a young witch with a natural talent for healing and the desire to use this skill for the betterment of all supernatural beings, that was something you couldn’t stand for. So, you made the bold decision to move from your home in Georgia, all the way to Staten Island. 

You’d heard that witches near more progressive cities had more of an open mind about equality in supernatural society, but upon your arrival to the big city, you found things weren’t much better than they were back home. It was very kind of the coven that had taken you in to welcome you so warmly, but after a couple of months watching your new witch-siblings make plans to extract the semen from local vampire clans in rather outdated and barbaric ways, you decided to fly solo. 

Returning home would only prove to your mother that you couldn’t handle life that far away from all you’d ever known and you were desperate to prove her wrong. Determined to improve your healing methods and expand your knowledge of other supernatural species, you began visiting the local night market to speak with other beings and collecting as many books as you could. Understandably, most of the other spooks haunting the area were wary of you and your motives, but you pushed on, thankful your stubbornness was finally useful for something. After a while, you had gained something of a clientele, and your humble townhouse became a magical clinic of sorts. 

Being on your own for the first time in your life felt strange at first, but now you had settled into a comfortable routine. Most of your clients preferred to visit you under the cover of night, so you spent your days resting and gathering supplies in preparation for your nighttime patients. It wasn’t the highest paying job by any means, but you finally felt like you were doing something meaningful with your life. Those who couldn’t pay for your services with human money had the option of paying you with knowledge of their species or various ingredients for your remedies, so  you were making great progress in finding new treatments for a much wider variety of ailments.

It was a quiet Autumn evening when your doorbell rang, signaling your first visitor of the night. You left your mortar and pestle on your kitchen island and wiped the remnants of various herbs from your hands onto your apron as you hurried to the door, excited to have company. “Oh, Guillermo! Welcome back, it’s been a while,” you say with a smile to the darked haired man on your stoop. As you step back to let him in, you notice another man standing a few feet behind him, looking rather skeptical of you. His dramatically gothic attire was enough to let you know he was a vampire, even without your witchy senses and you understood his hesitation. Witches and vampires were historical enemies. “And who’s your friend?” You add, offering the vampire a friendly smile in an attempt to gain his trust. 

Guillermo had become somewhat of a regular after stumbling upon your apothecary bundles at the night market. He’s your only human customer, but you’ve welcomed him nonetheless, having found his company to be rather enjoyable. “Hey, good to see you! This is Laszlo, one of the vampires I live with…he’s…well, he’s sick, so I brought him here hoping you can help him out,” Guillermo replies, rubbing the back of his neck a bit nervously as he leans in closer to you. “He’s still not totally on board with getting help from a witch, so…I apologize in advance for anything he’s about to say or do,” he whispers.

“I can hear you Gizmo,” Laszlo huffs, earning an eye roll from the familiar. “And I will not be apologizing for telling this semen stealing demon to fuck off if things get too handsy.” “I’m so sorry,” Guillermo sighs. “It’s alright,” you laugh, standing to the side and opening the door wider for them to enter. “I understand the hesitation, Laszlo. I promise your semen is safe.”

Laszlo is still hesitant, but he follows Guillermo inside, watching you carefully as you close the door behind them. “Please, make yourselves comfortable on the couch. Do you want any tea or anything?” You ask, waiting for them to get settled. Guillermo politely declines your offer and the two men sit down on your sofa, Laszlo still looking tense. You sit down in the plush chair across from them, your hands folded in your lap. “So, Laszlo, what seems to be the issue?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, witch,” the vampire huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Now that he’s in better lighting, you can see dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted. 

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” Guillermo spoke, not wanting to drag this out. “And he’s having trouble turning into a bat.”

“Shut the fuck up Gizmo, you’re giving the witch too much information!” Laszlo hisses.

“Hmm…not sleeping…can’t shift…Laszlo, you have dirt from your homeland under your coffin, yes?” You ask, ignoring the insults. 

“Of course.”

“Alright. And have you been feeding regularly? Nothing’s changed with your diet recently?”

“No, nothing different.”

You think for a moment, getting to your feet and walking over to the bookshelf reserved for your texts on supernatural beings. You pull out a book on vampire anatomy and skim through it until you find what you need. “How long has it been since you’ve had a virgin's blood?” Laszlo takes a second to think it over before giving an answer. “Several months now that I think about it.” He turns to Guillermo, pointing a finger at him. “Thanks to this shit familiar not doing his job.” 

Guillermo gives you a deadpan look, making you struggle to hold back a laugh. “Well, it seems to me like you just need a dose of virgin’s blood to get a good night’s sleep. Once you’re well rested you should be able to use your bat form again,” you explain, closing the book and returning it to its place on the shelf. 

“Great,” Guillermo sighs, looking exhausted himself. “Guess that’s up to me then.”

“Not at all!” You interject, stepping into the kitchen. You return with a cold bloodbag straight from the fridge marked ‘virgin’ with black sharpie. You hold it out to Laszlo, who takes it and looks it over. 

“Right…so I drink this and boom, I’m cured? And you’re not going to take my semen?” Laszlo asks, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“Like I said, your semen is safe. If I wanted your semen I would’ve taken it already,” you tease, nudging the bag into the vampire’s hand. He finally takes it, still eyeing you as he bites directly into the bag and sucks the whole thing dry within seconds.

He lets out a satisfied hum, licking his lips clean. You watch him with a smile, proud of yourself for your diagnosis. “That blood is going to hit you soon, so I recommend you get going. It’s going to be a lot like taking a bit too much NyQuil when you have a cold,” you explain for Guillermo’s sake so he knows what to expect. “He’ll probably be out for a few days straight to catch up on sleep.”

“Thank you. Seriously, he has been such a pain,” Guillermo says, standing up to give you a handshake, which you return happily. “How should we pay you back? I brought you some spearmint seeds, but I don’t think that’s enough for the blood you gave him.” 

You take the packet of seeds he holds out to you. “That’s perfect, Guillermo! Thank you.” You look over at Laszlo, who looks like he’s fighting off sleep the best he can. “On second thought…I think I’ll be needing that semen as payment.” You bite back a laugh at your own stupid teasing.

“I told you, witches are not to be trusted!” Laszlo slurs, stumbling to his feet and pointing at you. “I don’t care how sexy you are, you are not taking my semen!” 

Your laughter can’t be held any longer at his reaction and you put a gentle hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “Laszlo, I’m only kidding! How about this, you both have to promise to visit me again.”

“We’ll see, witch,” the vampire replies, still swaying from drowsiness. 

“I think we can manage that,” Guillermo chuckles. “Thanks again, you really saved me a lot of trouble.” He hooks an arm around Laszlo to help hold him up and you open the door for them. 

“Anytime! Let me know how he does,” you say, giving them both a wave as they head outside. Guillermo gives you a wave in return with his free hand and then turns his attention back to helping Laszlo stay upright, the two bickering as they stumble off into the night. You watch them with a fond smile, laughing to yourself as you head back inside. 

[blueseachelle]

I Could Be Lonely With You

Part 3

Ominis Gaunt x Pureblood! Hufflepuff?!? Fem! Reader

It seems like everyone is just as hyped as me for this series! This is Part 3! Poppy is definitely an actual friend. Not an acquaintance. She a real one.

Here's the link to my Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist for the other parts of this story and other posts!

It has been a couple months since Y/n joined the fifth year. She has caught up to the rest of her classmates, but she can't catch a break. She was doing Merlin trials and helping others constantly. She is always away from school. Now, she rarely sleeps there. Ever since she discovered her ancient magic abilities, she gained insomnia with it. Restless nights seem to follow her as she went.

Y/n dueled Sebastian a couple times because he asked, but it always ended with her giving him a hand, saying thank you, and walking off. Sebastian was trying to reach out by requesting a duel, but she never stuck around to talk. The only way he would hear about her excursions outside of school was through rumors and eyewitnesses. The only time they actually "hung out" was when he had to escort her to Hogsmead to get some supplies and a new wand. He always thinks back to that day and it makes him smile. He liked her around. She was a breath of free air to him. He knew Ominis would like her as well so, he wrote her an owl.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Y/n finally got back from her mission. She walked into her dorm for the first time in a week. Her robe's sleeve got torn when she was raiding a tomb in search of someone's dead relative's notes. She walked in to see Poppy sitting on her bed. She held a stack of letters. Upon hearing someone enter, she looked up to see the blonde-haired girl.

Poppy gasped and stood up. The letters long forgotten on the bed.

"Oh, my Merlin! What has happened to you?!?"

Poppy rushed to Y/n's side. She removed the torn robe to reveal Y/n's underclothes. Her once-nice shirt has cuts and dried blood that her cuts once leaked before she took a Wiggenweld potion during battle. Y/n just looked over at the girl with tired eyes and just shrugged. Poppy set the robe on her designated desk in the room,

"I'm going to quickly go draw a bath for you and then, I'll check up on your wounds. While I'm gone, take a seat and relax. You have a bunch of Owls that you haven't got to on your bed."

Poppy gave Y/n a small hug before running off.

Y/n was internally grateful for Poppy. She did so much for her. She'll have to give her something as thanks soon. Or maybe just show her the vivarium she recently has been fixing up and the animals she has saved.

Y/n sat on the edge of her bed. She looked at the scattered letters and picked them up, reading the names as she did. When she went to the last one, the name was very different than the others. Sebastian Sallow.

'Why would he want to write me an owl?'

She carefully opened the letter. She read its contents and sighed. The letter was about 2 days old. She left him out to dry. He is probably worried or feels like he has been ignored. Right before she could write a response, Poppy returned. She walked over to Y/n and held out her hand.

"I'll help you get there since you're tired. We need to hurry because dinner is coming up quick and the water is cooling as we speak."

Y/n nodded and grabbed the brunette's hand.

"Thank you, Poppy. For everything."

Poppy smiled,

"Of course! Now, while we get you cleaned up, you can tell me what the infamous Sebastian Sallow wanted of you!"

____-----____

After a relaxing bath with the help of Poppy, you got dressed properly. You didn't have a robe because well... It needs repair. You just wore your knee-lengthened skirt and a fresh button-up. You tightened your tie as you and Poppy made your way to The Great Hall.

"So, I'm assuming you are going to sit Sebastian tonight? At least I think you should."

Y/n looked over at her,

"Are you sure? You did so much for me. I don't want you to feel saddened or anything."

Poppy shook her head,

"Of course I'm sure! You are gonna be amazing! Just be wary of the stitches on your shoulder. You know the hand signal if you need me."

Y/n and Poppy made their hand look like a Kneazle. (Since Kneazle's have longer ears and the closes thing a Hogwarts animal can look like the Llama hand sign, that's what I'm calling it. You do the Llama hand sign as the signal.)

They both laughed as they arrived at the large door. Poppy looked at Y/n and gave her a reassuring nod. Y/n nodded back as they entered The Great Hall.

_-_

Sebastian send his owl to Y/n two days ago. No response, nothing. To say he was upset was beyond how he felt. He looked for her at every meal. She never showed. He was getting worried.

Tonight, he sat next to Ominis like usual. He just rest his head on his hand and watched The Great Hall doors.

Ominis heard Sebastian sigh. He raised an eyebrow at him.

"What seems to be the matter? You're going to burn a hole in that door if you stare at it any longer."

Sebastian turned to look at Ominis. Crossing his arms during the process,

"Well, I'll have you know that I have invited Y/n to come to sit with us one night. I sent the owl two days ago and no response. She hasn't come to eat either in those two days. I'm just keeping an eye out for her."

Ominis smirked slightly,

"I may be blind, but you are not her keeper. She is probably out busy helping the townsfolk. Like she always seems to be doing."

Before Sebastian could rebut, the doors opened to reveal said Hufflepuff. Sebastian instantly caught her gaze and waved to her.

The blonde walked over to the table. Sebastian patted the seat next to him. She sat down and gave him a smile,

"I'm sorry I didn't send you an owl as well. I've been tomb-raiding for the past two days."

Sebastian nodded,

"I understand. Tombs aren't gonna raid themselves."

Ominis then cleared his throat. Sebastian instantly got the idea,

"Before we continue, Y/n, this is my best friend, Ominis."

Ominis "looked" over at the two,

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n."

Y/n instantly recognized the fog clouding his vision. He was blind. Y/n's eyes softened a little,

"It's nice to meet you to Ominis."

After the little meeting, Ominis, Sebastian, and Y/n talked to each other like old friends. Sebastian took a sip of his drink,

"So, Y/n, why were to tomb-raiding and how did it go?"

She smiled,

"I was helping some people reclaim their grandparents' research that was stolen from them. I found everything they lost and it went fine duel wise. I had some potions on me so, all good."

Sebastian put a hand on her shoulder and smiled brightly. Y/n instantly flinched and removed his hand.

Sebastian looked at where his hand was and his smile faded. Blood started to seep through the fabric covering the injury.

"You're hurt. Can I see, please?"

Y/n just locked eyes with him. She looked at Ominis who "looked" at them with concern. She sighed,

"I just have a couple stitches. I couldn't go to the nurse because they would lock me in the castle and I have to fulfill my assignments and help people I promised."

She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and moved the collar over to the stitches. Sebastian inspected it carefully,

"We need to put another layer over it so it won't open or bleed through your shirts."

Ominis handed Sebastian a napkin folded in half so it was thicker. Sebastian thanked him and put it on the wound. Y/n sucked in a breath as he applied a little pressure. Ominis gestured to Y/n,

"Who helped you so we can get them to come over?"

Y/n sighed,

"I'm one step ahead of you."

She lifted her hand up and did the signal. Sebastian smirked,

"You had a signal to get you out of any awkward situation?"

You nodded,

"It's a girl thing. Saves use more than you will ever know."

Ominis shrugged off his robe while he stood up. Poppy rushed over to Y/n's side.

"My Dear! Are you okay?"

Y/n nodded. Ominis stepped carefully over the bench to the trio,

"Her wound started to bleed through her shirt. She needs a layer on it so we have a napkin on it."

He set his robe over Y/n's shoulder,

"Wear this so you can hide the blood. It will keep you from getting cold too."

Sebastian looked at Ominis in shock. He was never this... kind before. He usually only kept to himself.

Y/n shook her head vigorously,

"I can't possibly take your robe."

Ominis's face shifted to a pleading one,

"I don't want a Prefect to see that blood and you be trapped like you said. So, take it and return it when you can. It's not a choice now."

Y/n's heart began to race. She didn't know why she got so nervous all of the sudden. She barely got out a small okay before Poppy helped her into the robe. Poppy held the napkin gently to the wound.

Y/n looked at the Slytherin duo before Poppy escorted her away,

"Thank you both. I appreciate it."

Sebastian gave her his famous grin,

"Of course. It's only our obligation to help a wonderful girl like yourself. Feel better. Come see us when you are up to it."

Y/n blushed and turned away quickly. She and Poppy walked away from the two. Poppy giggled and talk to the blonde, probably talking about the two being in love with her.

Sebastian turned from their figures and looked to Ominis, which sat back down after hearing there footsteps depart.

"So, Ominis, what's with the sudden kindness? You'd rather let someone suffer than give up your things. What's up?"

Ominis shrugged,

"I never met her before. I know you and her are going to be close and I want to have a good first impression. Is that against the rules now?"

Sebastian raised and eyebrow,

"No, it's not against the rules. It's just different. She probably gonna be sticking around us more. I can tell."

Ominis shrugged,

"You're friends are mine usually so, I don't mind."

Sebastian gave him a slight look still but decided to drop it because he knew Ominis wouldn't tell him. No matter how much he pryed.

_-_-_

Poppy wrapped your shoulder once you got to the common room. She looked a the blonde as she tightened wrap,

"You know who's robe you have?"

"Yeah. Ominis's."

Poppy nodded,

"Yes, but do you know his last name?"

Y/n shook her head. Poppy giggled,

"As you know, Slytherin is a pureblood house. Well, Ominis is the purest of the purebloods. His last name is Gaunt. He usually is cold and aggressive to everyone except Sebastian. Well, he showed a new side of himself. Just for you. You, My Lovely Y/n, may have two boys interested in you. Sebastian reeks it and Ominis is expressing it. Crazy, huh?"

Y/n just sat there. Mostly in shock. She took in a breath and breathed out a "It is crazy."

Poppy tied the wrap,

"There. All done! Now, we can head off to bed and I'll check on you in the morning."

Poppy gave Y/n a big hug, which Y/n returned. She mumbled a "thank you" into Poppy's shoulder. Poppy nodded,

"You're very welcome. Have a good rest. See you in the morning."

The hug was released and they went there respective ways.

Once Y/n sat on her bed, she let out a breath. The Slytherin robe was still wrapped around her body. She looked at the serpent symbol that was embroidered into the fabric. Under it was in small cursive, Gaunt. She went to take it off but the smell of the fabric flooded her senses. The robe smelt of books and... was that a citrus smell? It smelt... inviting.

She decided to change into night clothes but wore the robe over it. She sat down at her desk. She got out some parchment, a quill, and ink. She started to write a letter to her mother. She told her about her time around the castle and all the people she met. She told her about the night she just experienced. She ended the letter with, Gaunt was his last name. What do you know of them? Are they as stuck up as my bio father was? She of course told her mother and father how much she missed them and loved them so. The muggle world was so much more different than this world she entered.

After Y/n finished, she sealed the letter into an envelope. She went to her owl that sat on a perch by the end of her bed. She gave it a small head scratch and a treat before giving the letter to send.

As the owl flew out of the window, she sighed and lay down. Stared at the ceiling, she didn't have time for love. Time for anything in that case but maybe she should try her best to become friends with Ominis and Sebastian. She shall see what her mother says before continuing. Her mother's opinion meant the world to her. She was her best friend. She always had an answer for everything.

Y/n slowly closed her eyes and fell into a restless sleep like usual.

_-_-_-

Ominis lay in his bed in his dorm. All that filled the room was Sebastian's somewhat soft snoring.

Ominis was restless. He swore that he heard of the girl that had possession of his robe. His sightless eyes stared at the ceiling. After about 10 minutes of thinking, he finally shut his eyes.

He was on the brink of sleep when a memory surfaced.

Ominis around the age of 8 hid around a corner as his father and mother discussed some important matters with an unknown man. His gruff voice explained that the arranged marriage between the Gaunt and the Dacre cannot commence. The man explained that his daughter was taking in the night along with his wife. Ominis's mother was furious. She shouted at the man, My son's only chance was your daughter. No one wants a blind husband. You have until Ominis turns age 18 to find your daughter or you're the whole household falls. The man stuttered and agreed before leaving. Little Ominis was left in shock.

Ominis shot up out of his bed. Her. Y/n Dacre. Is supposed to be his...  Fiancée? Thoughts ran through his head a million miles a minute. If she is here, was she really kidnapped along with her mother? That isn't possible. There is more to Y/n and he is going to get to the bottom of it.

[for-all-time-imagines]

Gud morning/afternoon ^-^ Can request scenerio MEDIC with Godheim Ayn? After his route I need more Ayn content TvT

Have a great day/night!

Comprehensive List of Scenarios Prompt List

Ayn (Godheim)

3.  MEDIC :  for one muse to show up at the other’s doorstep injured.

Ayn expected you to arrive at his doorstep that night but he wasn't anticipating the torn clothes and the angry red gash on your abdomen.

He gets alarmed at the sight of your injury, eyes surveying you as you lean onto the doorframe for support. He immediately wants to ask where were you, how did this happen, why were you so careless? It's not as if he has ever told you outright to stay vigilant of your surroundings but that's supposed to go without saying. While he trusts you enough to let you handle yourself, there are moments when his mind wanders to you. In theory he knows how to handle injuries so he's sure he can help you if the same thing were to happen to you. He has ran this hypothetical situation in his head more times than he would ever admit to you but now that it has turned real, his mind is racing so fast he's not sure what to do next.

The sound of your labored breathing snaps him out of his thoughts. He swallows down all his unanswered questions and files them for later.

"Don't just stand there. Get in," Ayn instructs, his tone far more scathing than he wants it to be. He wishes he can tell you that he didn't mean to sound so harsh, that the anger in his voice is not directed to you, but your perception of him is a trivial matter and his mind is more preoccupied on helping you make your way into his room. From the way you mumble a thank you with a strained smile, you understood where he is coming from.

After Ayn situates you to the foot of his bed, he takes his time to examine your injuries; they're thankfully not serious enough to the point of immediate medical attention, but you're bleeding enough that you require the treatment either way. He turns to the supply box, absentmindedly clicking his tongue upon the realization that it's nearly empty.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"Our supplies are running out," Ayn replies as he pulls out what remains of the ointments and bandages. You only stare at him in response without saying a word and yet your guilty expression speaks volumes. He sighs, making a mental note to restock first thing tomorrow morning. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. Our situation may be dire but supplies are not as scarce as you think they are. There will be enough for everyone."

Somewhere along the way Ayn is completely focused on treating your wounds, forgetting that he had originally intended to ask you how you got into this situation. He's not sure if you're able to sense his curiosity or if you just wanted to tell him what happened because he didn't have to say anything before you start explaining what got you into this state: a couple of thieves that got violent when you happened to stumble on them by pure chance.

As you spoke, Ayn can feel himself seethe but he tries not to let it show in his motions, careful not to aggravate your injuries as he rubs ointment on you. He guessed as much that your wounds were from an assailant, and while he isn't too pleased with that outcome, he would rather take this than have you struck by a Glacial Butterfly. You wouldn't have knocked on his door earlier if the latter happened to you.

It only takes a few minutes before Ayn finishes up, tying the end of the bandage wrapped around your abdomen with a tight knot. You thank him again after he gives you the typical reminder to get more rest and to not push yourself too hard. You get up from the foot of his bed to leave, but you haven't even reached for the doorknob yet when he grabs your wrist.

"Hold on." Ayn narrows his eyes. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going back...?" you answer, not quite sure what he's trying to do. You look down to where he's holding you, equal parts confused and curious and expecting. "If you're so worried about me getting ambushed again, you can walk me back."

"That's not the point. Did you seriously forget everything I just told you? You need to rest." Ayn waits for the realization to dawn on your features before he lets go of you. "You're staying here until you feel better."