#I never want to draw another petal again

[incognit0slut]

hii, i love you’re writing and i have a song request idea. the song too sweet by hozier would be so cute it could be angst to smut and it could happen late morning or late at night since the lyrics. idk if it makes sense i just thought it’d be cute 😭. again i love your work sm okay, ty, bye 🫶🏾💖🫶🏾💖🫶🏾

Spencer thinks you’re too sweet for a damaged man like him.

Warnings: (18+) Professor Reid x Student Fem Reader. Age gap (he’s in his 40s or post-prison era, Reader is in her 20s). Angst and smut. 2.8k words A/n: anon I took your request but I changed it a little to how I interpret this song… which means a lot of ANGST💔 I hope you don’t mind

He knew you were here. He always knew. The usual chaotic sprawl of books scattered throughout his apartment seemed to be in order, and there was a comforting scent lingering in the air that unmistakably belonged to you.

Although Spencer could never really put his finger on your scent. Sometimes you exuded a sweet fragrance, like the delicate petals of a flower, while at other times, a crisp, fresh aroma lingered around you, reminiscent of a morning breeze, or perhaps the soft scent of rain. 

But it didn't matter whether you smelled like a garden in full bloom or the crisp air after a rainstorm, the mere proximity to you brought him the peace he was all too familiar with, and that calmness enveloped him as he made his way toward his bedroom.

You looked like an angel. Sweet, calm, serene. His eyes drifted towards your sleeping form, and he couldn't help but wonder how you could sleep so well after the conversation you both shared this morning. The weight of your mutual decision to end things for good hung heavy in the air, yet here you lay, seemingly unaffected.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, each rhythmic pattern of your breathing seemed to draw him closer. One step, then another, until he found himself standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, vulnerable in your sleep. And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, he sank into the space beside you.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and so did his heart. Spencer knew this wasn't the wisest thing to do. He was supposed to be the responsible one, after all, he was older than you. With age came experience, or so he believed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the voice of reason.

But as he lay beside you, he couldn't help but question his judgment. Was it truly wisdom that guided him, or was it simply the fear of facing the unknown? Age and maturity seemed like a flimsy construct now, overshadowed by the raw intensity of his emotions. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on your waist.

One touch, he told himself, one touch was all he would allow himself.

You felt the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, grounding you in the present moment. Spencer watched intently, well aware he should have pulled back, yet, despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to let go, his grip on you tightening almost instinctively.

His gaze traced your face in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Despite the early hour, your features seemed to radiate with a warmth that defied the darkness of the dawn. The lines of worry on your brow softened, your lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a fleeting moment, you appeared to embody the very essence of sunshine itself.

It was a peculiar sight, Spencer thought, considering how the world beyond the window remained shrouded in darkness.

"You're home," you muttered as if the word home was a concept you both shared. Perhaps it had once been true, or perhaps it was a dream that had never quite materialized. He felt a pang in his chest, a bittersweet reminder of what once was, or what could have been.

"You're not supposed to be here," he mumbled softly.

"I was going to give you back your keys, but you weren't here," you confessed. "And I wanted to wait for you."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "So you decided to wait on my bed?"

"It seemed like the most comfortable spot."

"You've always liked my bed."

You shook your head. "It's not the bed, per se. It's the feeling of being close to you..." Your gaze softened as you met his eyes. "Even when you're not here."

Time seemed to stand still as he met your gaze, a rush of emotions swirling beneath the surface. "I'm not here most of the time," he said after a pause.

"I know."

"That's not fair to you."

A heavy silence fell into place.

"I know," you replied quietly.

"And the next time we do see each other," he continued, his tone tinged with resignation, "Is when I'm standing in front of class with you sitting between the seats."

"Spencer, I know," you pressed, your voice barely concealing the ache in your heart. "We went through this conversation this morning."

"Then why are you still here?"

You held his gaze, your eyes reflecting countless emotions—sadness, longing, and perhaps a hint of defiance. "Because," you began softly, "I still can't bring myself to leave."

His heart clenched at your words, the weight of them settling heavily upon him. He had expected defiance, anger, perhaps even resentment, but your quiet admission caught him off guard.

"Why?" he asked.

You looked away. "You know why."

He knew the reasons, of course, he knew them all too well. But hearing them spoken aloud, seeing the pain reflected in your eyes, brought the harsh reality of the situation. He reached out, gently grasping your chin and guiding your gaze back to meet his.

"This is for the best," he replied quietly, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. He knew the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the truth—that perhaps, deep down, he was trying to protect himself as much as he was trying to protect you.

"For me or for you?"

He hesitated, the lump in his throat growing heavier with each passing moment.

"For both of us," he admitted softly.

It was the truth, undeniable and painful. He couldn't deny the impact of your relationship if it continued down its current path. Not only was he much older than you, but he was also supposed to be your mentor, your teacher, your professor.

His role was meant to guide you. He was supposed to impart knowledge, not to engage in illicit affairs behind closed doors. He had allowed himself to become too invested in you, to give you more attention than was appropriate, more than was fair to his other students.

But it wasn't just about him anymore—it was about you. He couldn't bear the thought of tainting your pure, sweet soul with the darkness that came with him. He had done things he wasn't proud of, and made choices that he wished he could undo, and now, as he looked at you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame.

You deserved better than to be with someone who carried the weight of his past like a heavy burden.

"So this it?" You asked.

All he could do was nod. A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Fine. Just..." You paused, taking a shaky breath to steady yourself. "I'll leave as soon as you tell me the truth."

He felt a knot tighten in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave."

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, the pain evident in his eyes as he struggled to find the right response. He knew that he had to be honest with you, no matter how difficult it might be.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. How could he deny the truth when every fiber of his being longed for you? How could he let you go when you were the one thing he couldn't bear to lose?

"I..." he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the courage to speak the words you so desperately needed to hear. But no matter how hard he tried, the words refused to come.

"Say it," you urged. "Say you don't love me and I'll leave you for good."

Taking a deep breath, he met your gaze and braced himself for the pain his words would inflict on you.

"I don't love you," he whispered, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they left his lips. It was a lie, and he knew it. And yet, he couldn't find the courage to admit his feelings for you.

The air around you seemed to thicken with tension. He had braced himself for the pain his lie would bring, but nothing could prepare him for the look of hurt and disbelief that crossed your face at his words. You were the one who asked for this, yet hearing him admit to it so easily shattered your heart into pieces.

"You're... you're lying."

Spencer felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at the sight of your pain. He knew that he would regret what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of you walking away without knowing the truth, without knowing how much he truly cared for you.

So he closed the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss.

But as quickly as it had begun, it came to an end, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You pulled back and searched his eyes for answers. "You're lying," you repeated.

He sighed heavily, his forehead resting against yours. "I-I don't love you."

Your chest tightened again. How could he say that when his touch was so tender, when his gaze held so much depth? Frustration and hurt boiled over as your nails dug into his skin, gripping his wrist firmly as you held his face close to yours.

"Stop lying to me," you pleaded almost desperately. "Stop fucking lying to yourself."

He closed his eyes. He knew that he couldn't keep lying to you, and yet, the words refused to leave his lips, trapped by the fear of what might happen if he dared to speak them aloud.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart as he pulled you closer, not knowing what else to do to ease the pain away.

So he kissed you again.

He kissed you as if he was apologizing, each gentle press of his lips against yours a silent plea for forgiveness. He kissed you as if he needed to convey his feelings that he couldn't express with words, his touch speaking volumes where his voice fell short.

He kissed you as if you were everything to him, as if the taste of you was sweeter than any other, as if he couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it. He kissed you desperately and unapologetically, it was sweet yet painful, tender yet desperate, as if every moment shared between you was both a blessing and a curse.

You could taste the bitterness of goodbye on his lips, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go, not when his touch still felt like home. So you pushed your tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste of him even as you knew it would only make saying goodbye that much harder.

Your breathing became heavy as you felt his hand glide down from your cheek to your neck. He then pulled away, his lips still tingling from the taste of you as he licked them unconsciously. His gaze followed the movement of his hand as it settled on your breast.

You could feel the tension between you crackling in the air, the desire that pulsed between you almost tangible, as he brushed your nipple over your shirt. A gasp escaped your lips as he continued to tease you, each touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

You knew that this wasn't the wisest thing to do. You were both playing with fire and giving in to the temptation could only lead to more heartache. But you couldn't help yourself, not when your body was coming alive with the familiarity of his touch, not when you knew that this might be the last time you could feel him as close.

So when his hand slipped further down, tracing a path over your stomach, past your legs, you let him. The anticipation built within you as his touch hiked up your skirt, your breath catching in your throat. And when the rough pad of his fingers ghosted over the material of your panties, you found yourself instinctively spreading your legs apart, inviting him closer.

As the first electric surge rushes through you, the smallest of breaths escapes your lips, signaling the release of the tension you had been holding in your lungs. Your hands found purchase against his shoulders, nails digging into his t-shirt tightly as you felt him pressing onto your folds.

You both stared at each other, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you. There were so many emotions in his—sadness, frustration, and a burning desire that mirrored your own. And yet, despite the turmoil that raged within him, you found yourself unable to look away, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

As his hand worked its magic between your thighs, you felt yourself growing wetter by the minute, desire pooling low in your belly. And then, with a sense of purpose, he pulled his hand away, his fingers deftly finding the band of your panties as he coaxed the thin material down your legs. 

How did he manage to bring himself into this situation again? It was a familiar pattern, one that he had promised himself he would break, and yet, here he was, like a moth to a flame, irresistibly drawn to you.

Or perhaps it was more like you were a precious flower, delicate and beautiful, and he was drawn to you like a bee to nectar, unable to resist the sweet temptation that you offered.

Whatever the reason, he knew that he couldn't stay away from you. With trembling hands, he buried his fingers between your thighs once more, finally touching your bare, slick skin. The slickness of your arousal coated his fingers as he explored every inch of your delicate folds, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

And then, unable to resist any longer, he pressed a single finger inside your entrance, the sensation causing you to gasp in pleasure. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your tightness enveloping him, before picking up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing moment.

"Please," you muttered, gulping and concentrating on the feeling of him slowly pumping his single digit in and out of your tightening, dripping walls. 

But what were you begging for? For him not to stop? Or for him not to let you go? Maybe both, and for now, the only thing he could do was give you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension building within you, the way your body arched and trembled. And as he continued to pleasure you, he made a silent vow to himself—to give you everything he could at this moment, to make you feel alive and wanted, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

So he continued to move his finger inside you, and as he felt you drawing closer to the edge, he knew that he couldn't stop now. His thumb found your clit, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as he applied gentle pressure. Then with a sense of urgency, he plunged another finger deep inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your nails digging into the fabric as you clung to him desperately. "Pl-Please," you begged, heavy eyes searching for his own. "Please don't leave me."

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the depth of emotion written plainly across your face. He couldn't bear to look at you any further, so he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing tender kisses against your skin as his fingers continued their fast-paced rhythm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "I'm so sorry."

His words were barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths, but you heard him clearly, and a loud moan ripped out of you. This was the cruelest form of rejection; to find pleasure in his touch only to be denied the warmth of his affection. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for playing with your emotions, for making you believe there was something more. But as his fingers continued their relentless assault on your senses, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy, you found yourself unable to resist.

So you surrendered to him completely, because all that mattered was here and now—the ache between your legs, his lips worshiping your body, and the undeniable connection that bound you together, even as the world threatened to tear you apart.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid angst

[ghulehunknown]

Papa Headcanons - 💋💑

Day 15 of KINKTOBER is here! 🎃

**WARNING - NSFW**

Also available on AO3!

My headcanons of ~lovemaking~ with the Papas

Primo

Perfectly content to lay on his back and watch you ride, too old and tired to do anything wild and crazy

Had lots of wild sexventures in his youth and is happy to have missionary or cowgirl sex for the rest of his days

Refers to the act as “making love” for general sex, or “fornication” for a quickie

Always conscious about wearing a condom

Lots of kissing and cute pet names

Rarely, if ever, says he loves you but treats you so sweetly you know he does

Switch but mostly a pleasure dom

Won’t stop until you cum

Surprisingly gentle touch

Painfully aware of the size of his member and makes sure to ease into you and makes sure you’re very wet and ready for him

Secondo

Prefers to let you ride him but he controls the motions and speed from the bottom

Also loves spooning you so he can reach around to your front

Has a good read on facial expressions and can generally tell what you’re in the mood for and pays attention to your body language during sex

Comes prepared with toys, lube, condoms, dilators, and other accouterments

Loves to play with your nipples

Leaves you one of his button down shirts to wear afterwards

Indulges in a cigar or cigarette, or a glass of whiskey, in bed with you after

Almost always a dom and will play it rough when you want it

Easily makes you cum multiple times

Wants to service and be serviced by his sub

Loves facefucking you

Terzo

Romantic gestures- lights lot of candles, spreads rose petals on the floor and bed, dims the lights, draws you a bubble bath, sends you roses or a lunch delivery at work

Seduces you all day through texts which include “So what are you wearing? 😼” and “Wanna fuck?”

Has an extensive toy collection

He calls the act fucking but definitely adjusts to the mood/vibe depending on whether you want it slow or fast

Desperate to get you off multiple times

Won’t let himself cum until you have at least once before him

Studies your body’s reactions so he knows when you’re about to have an orgasm

Gets turned on by turning you on

LOTS of foreplay and lots of lube

Consistently asks if you’re comfortable

Likes to switch positions a lot

LOVES doggystyle because it makes him feel bigger

Is relieved when you say you’re on birth control but has condoms in his room and office just in case

Loves cumming inside you but also loves to spill his seed on your chest and see how much you milked him

Switch, but can easily adapt to whatever works in his partner dynamic

Cardinal Copia

Finishes quickly and is a little ashamed about it but is assured when you tell him it’s okay and you know he’s just so turned on by you that he couldn’t help it

Sniffs your underwear you left in his room the night before to get hard again and anticipate the next time

Nearly cums his pants just during the makeout session pre-sex

Carries a condom in his wallet

Wants you to undress him

Surprised and overjoyed if he makes you cum but often confuses your moans as orgasms even if you haven’t yet

Keeps asking “Is this okay?”

Acts like a Casanova IRL but when it’s just the two of you he gets a little shy

Not sure how to incorporate toys but is willing to try

Popia

He absolutely calls it “making love”

Has clear distinctions between just fucking and lovemaking

Absolutely loves facing one another on your sides, one leg hooked over your hip to press you up and down on his cock, so he can look you in the eyes and kiss your face

Loves missionary too

Almost more excited for foreplay and the chance to see you naked than (penetrative) sex

Whispers “I love you, I love you” while kissing your face

Switch; wants to fuck you and also get fucked

Proud if he can get you off multiple times in one session

Can sense if something is wrong or you’re uncomfortable and will stop immediately

Lowkey begging you to peg/top him since you started dating. He’s never tried it but wants you to dominate him

Enjoys cumming inside you because he’s never felt closer to another human than in that intimate moment. The first time he said he loved you was when he came inside you for the first time

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band smut #papa emeritus x reader #ghost band fanfic #copia is my husband #kinktober 2023 #terzo #copia emeritus #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus smut #the band ghost fanfiction #terzo fanfiction #terzhoe

[gingernut1314]

Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 3

Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade. 

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve. 

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy. 

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight. 

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked. 

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor. 

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian. 

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops. 

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life. 

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two. 

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction. 

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.” 

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again. 

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes. 

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at. 

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him. 

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago. 

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part. 

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.” 

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular. 

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.” 

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.” 

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind. 

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers. 

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread. 

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another. 

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours. 

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted. 

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants. 

Almost. 

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started. 

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement. 

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat. 

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin. 

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly. 

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.” 

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.” 

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.” 

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again. 

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.” 

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights. 

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?” 

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open. 

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance. 

“You are such an --hic--asshole.” 

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips. 

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.” 

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong. 

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again. 

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him. 

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up. 

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear. 

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder. 

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle. 

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail. 

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see. 

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it. 

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice. 

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose. 

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps. 

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness. 

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up. 

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more. 

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes. 

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island. 

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers. 

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state. 

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that. 

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you. 

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief. 

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair. 

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more. 

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across. 

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. 

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time. 

Gods how you wanted to give in. 

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods. 

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off. 

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting. 

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm. 

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore. 

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship. 

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship. 

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out. 

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you. 

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed. 

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side. 

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept. 

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to. 

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

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#mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x Y/N #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x Y/N #one piece #opla #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #dracule mihawk opla #dracule mihawk one piece #dracule mihawk #dracule “hawk eyes” mihawk #hawk eyes mihawk #little game #divider by saradika graphics #divider by saradika

[kasagia]

in “a powerful man” how do you think coryo would take it if the reader told him that she’d forgive him completely only if she was allowed to have an affair with another man once too, since he had one with livia? love your fic btw ❤️

Thank you veeeeeery much, dear anonymous!!! I'm so glad you liked it!! 😊😊🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

I think this is probably the first time someone has asked me a question about one of my oneshots, so let's make this a headcon. (Also, because I have neither the inspiration nor the time to write, maybe it will stimulate me somehow and I will feel more willing to write again. And maybe I got some inspiration too.) 🙈🙈

I'm talking about this 'version' of Coryo.

How do I think Coriolanus would react to you wanting to have a 'revenge affair' as a price for your forgiveness: (with smut?)

NO. A definite and categorical no. Coryo has no intention of sharing you, even for the shortest moment, with anyone else. You are his fiancée (not willingly, but still), and he will not allow the hands of some lesser man to stain what is his,

Does he want your complete forgiveness? A return to what once was between you? A carefree relationship where you trusted him and freely showed your devotion and deep feelings? He admits that it would be nice, but he doesn't want it at that price,

Coriolanus will have you anyway. It doesn't matter whether you let him or not. You are his new obsession—the future First Lady. And after being elected president, he knows that nothing can stop him. He has the most power. Over everything, including you.

Therefore no. He disagrees.

He is ready to break you, to force you into the woman of his dreams, to subject you to thousands of manipulations, than to allow any other man to get close to you. You have no right to betray him. Never. You are committed to him for the rest of your life, and he will do anything to make sure you know that.

He will even go as far as threatening your family and loved ones (especially your younger sister, for whom you have a soft spot). Therefore, you have no choice but to play wisely in Coriolanus' game, in which you have become a forced participant.

Let's imagine you make him this offer...

"Where does this sudden surge of tenderness come from, my petal? I'm not complaining, but usually when it comes from you, it also comes with a price to pay. What do you want from me this time?" He asks you after a particularly hot, passionate, and affectionate session in his bedroom, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, lazily drawing patterns on his chest with your finger. You shrug, pressing a kiss on his jaw. He hugs you tighter, dipping his head and burying his nose in your hair. You lie there in each other's arms for a moment. You wait for his heartbeat to slow down a little and for him to relax enough for you to ask him your question. "That was nice, right?" You ask innocently, continuing to caress his chest muscles with your feathery touch. "So much so that I'm afraid of what you'll ask me after this." He jokes and presses a kiss on your temple. "Wouldn't you rather have it all the time? My voluntary affection, passion, and desire? To be adored by me not only in front of the eyes of the Capitol?" You ask, placing small kisses on his neck. You distract him for a moment. He closes his eyes and bites his buttom lip, holding back a moan as you suddenly suck on his skin. You make sure to leave a hickey there as you lightly bite his skin. You pull away, then, so you can look into his eyes. "What do you want?" He asks curiously, his hand caressing your waist and every bit of skin he can get to despite you being wrapped in the covers. "Do you remember when you cheated on me with Livia?" "It wasn't cheating; I only did it because I had to. I felt no pleasure with her. No, as I feel each time we are together like this. But continue." He interrupts you, frowning disapprovingly. He didn't want to think of it as a betrayal. More like something... business. The thing he simply had to do for his career. You shiver, feeling sick just thinking about it. "I want the same." "You want to sleep with her?" He asks amusedly with a small chuckle, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between you for a moment after your words. "Not with her. With someone else. You know. Feel the thrill of something new and exciting. Besides, it would be a perfect proof of your devotion, don't you think? I would know that you were able to rise above your pride and that I could trust you again. That we are both equal. Enough to make me fall in love with you again. Didn't you promise me that? That you will do all in your power to make me love you again?" "Oh, and I will. But I'll kill all the men in Panem before I let anyone lay a finger on what's mine. And you, petal, belong to me. You will fall in love with me again. If not of your own will, then thanks to my... nudges in the right direction. It's up to you how painful they will be." "So you don't want my forgiveness?" You ask, furious, trying to match his scowl with yours. He squeezes you tighter, making you bite your lip, holding back a hiss of pain as his fingers dig painfully into your hips and buttocks. "Not necessarily. I want you. And I got you. All to myself. What difference does it make if I have to hold your throat or your hand while I am pushing into you?" With that question, he wraps his hand around your throat and presses his mouth aggressively against yours, allowing you no resistance. You moan as your tongues intertwine, and he hovers above you again, his length pressing alive and hard against your thigh again as he grinds against you, spreading his pre-cum on your skin.

Will he admit to jealousy? Of course not. He will keep telling you that you are his. That, as his property, you must obey him; otherwise, he will ruin your scientific career and take away the research you are working on.

Another excuse is that the Capitol thinks you are the perfect couple. What happens if someone finds out you're cheating on them? Coriolanus cannot let this happen. After all, the reputations of the two of you are the most important thing to him. He won't risk it in any way. And certainly not, so you can fuck another man.

And there would also be the problem of quietly disposing of your potential lover's corpse, because there's no way Coriolanus would let someone live who had tasted his First Lady's pussy.

Let's assume this does happen and you are having an affair…

Saints, help the one who dared to sleep with you behind Coriolanus' back.

There's no way he wouldn't find out about it.

You're so followed and watched over by his men and spies that it's a wonder you managed to sleep with anyone else and even keep it a secret from him for some time.

But when he finds out... it's an understatement to say he was furious. He was crazy. But if he had learned anything, it was how to plan revenge, how to strike, and when, so that his victim would never get up and regret ever going against him and becoming an obstacle.

Of course, your lover ends up dead after many weeks of being followed (to such an extent that he went crazy, feeling constant anxiety and eyes on the back of his neck), brutal interrogation by peackeepers, charges of high treason, and a public execution preceded by dosing him with various poisons and undergoing painful experiments. (Coriolanus even personally castrated him.)

But he's not just taking revenge on your lover. You get punished too.

The peacekeepers won't let you into the lab. Your parents and sister are forcibly sent to one of the districts for 'the holidays' without being able to contact you. Dr. Gaul can't talk to you either. You are confined to your house, unable to contact anyone who is not Coriolanus.

And he waits patiently until the loneliness and inability to do anything begin to affect you.

For the first few weeks, you struggle, trying to get out. You quickly realise that you don't have this option. His most trusted people and the Avox make sure you don't leave your room. And you start going crazy. You miss conversation, touch, and another person. You even miss Coryo.

Three months of your isolation has passed when he appears in your 'prison'.

He accepts with a huge smile that you throw yourself at him, begging for forgiveness. You rip off his clothes before he can even respond to your pleas and pleasure him as best as you can, just to regain any semblance of freedom he once gave you.

You spend the whole night pleasing him, but he doesn't say a word, only moaning and grunting, even as you cry, begging him to say something, as you ride him like your life depends on it (which actually isn't far from the truth).

The next day, he is not in bed in the morning.

Instead, a crowd of make-up artists, designers, and maids come to prepare you for YOUR WEDDING.

You find out that he made people in the Capitol think that your family was spending one last vacation together before you got married. And he, being a good fiancé, let you go.

You're too busy thinking about finally being free from the confines of four walls of your room to even think about what a son of a bitch he is.

And after the wedding, when you go on your 'honeymoon' and he holds you on his lap in your compartment on the train, he mocks how little it took to break you and that you have to make up to him for 3 months without you, when he had to hold back and keep control over his desires so as not to come to you too soon.

When I kiss you and gently strip you of your wedding dress, you realise how far he can actually go to get what he wants.

You decide to play by his rules. Pretend to be an obedient and loving wife. At least for now.

You will slowly regain your old life. And maybe if you play smarter and manipulate him more delicately without showing too much act of rebellion, he may become your puppet and not the other way around. After all, you both were powerful. In your own way.

And you both win and lose in different batches of this game between you two.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #young coriolanus snow #oneshot #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coryo x reader #snow x reader #snow lands on top #the hunger games #hunger games au #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #coryolanus snow #coryo x you #coryo x y/n #tbosbas #tbosas #smut #anon ask #anonymous

[infinite-orangepeel]

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

#steddie kinktober is in full effect #steddie #steddie kinktober #steddie prompt #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #fruity four #stranger things #steddie brainrot #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie x steve #steddie au #steddie my beloved #eddie munson/steve harrington #eddie/steve #steve/eddie #steddie fanfic

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hayloft.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to farm.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, implied minor character death, and implications of violence/forced cannibalism.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

“Sounds fun! Looks so too!”

Mahito’s fingers tap and tap on the glass, unsurprisingly never leaving any fingerprints or smudges. He is a curse, after all. It makes sense. Not that you have to be reminded of such, with how little he knows of human culture, the world at large, or with how much he shapeshifts into a disembodied head at night to scare half-awake you. 

You are both sitting on a giant bean bag in the shape of a green slime of all things that Mahito brought in an hour or so earlier. Mahito, as expected, takes up most of it with a malformed arm wrapped around your shoulders and back. 

In your hands is a Nintendo Switch, the sticker case on the joycons, and the screen itself somewhat peeling off, but still the pink bunny and strawberry drawing designs stay intact.

The YouTube app is on, showing a playthrough of Stardew Valley. This part of the sewers had two bars of wifi from the little ramen place above it, something you are grateful for in some aspect. Because of it, you have one more piece of entertainment that is now Mahito bringing you back stale snacks and stuffed animals (that you pray to whatever higher power that they were not alive before Mahito got his hands on them) and nearly smothering you with hugs. 

This is calming. When you just read the dialogue of the characters and listen to the music and pay attention to the satisfying sight of the farmer planting pumpkin seeds and apple tree saplings, it is calming, you are calm, Mahito is, at least partially, calm.

Mahito wanted something to watch today and brought the Nintendo Switch for you to play with as he simply observes. It could be worse, you reminded yourself before you attempted to protest, stopping yourself. It could be much worse. He could turn you into the Nintendo Switch, or much, much worse.

It can be so much worse. He can be so much worse. Your life as a captive can be so much worse. Everything can be so much worse. That is a line you never want to cross because everything can be so, so much worse than it already is.

Mahito raises his free hand, and you pause the video, just as you were taught to. He then points again at the field of two-dimensional, square-like crops all in multiple rows of hoed soil. 

It’s springtime in the game, you think, from how the cherry trees have pink blossoms and petals falling onto nearby ground all around it.

Mahito counts with his fingertip, jumping from one plant to the next and then from one row to the next.

He whistles, and it makes you flinch because that is the same noise he makes whenever you scream, a reaction to when he brings a body part of someone you loved here, throwing it down beside the small dog bed you were given for good behavior, the blood staining the fabric as it falls with a grotesque, sort of plopping sound.

If Mahito wants to grow vegetables and fruit in the few places this sewer has sunlight, he can be your guest.

“Potato, cauliflower, garlic… green beans, kale, parsnips, rhubarb, strawberries…” He says each word like he has never heard of them before. Considering he has never really set foot in a grocery or convenience store for anything other than chips, it is not all that surprising. With another wave of his hand, you rewind it to the moment where the farmer character starts watering the seeds when they are freshly planted. He waits. So do you. “Sounds good! We can make some cheese cauliflower, parsnip soup, pizza, hashbrowns… just imagine it! Yum… I can just picture it now.”

With yet another wave of his hand, you stand up and so does he. Relief goes through you, like a ghost, both horrifying you and making you feel the smallest bit of hope that for once Mahito can act normal.

…

“M-Mahito, vegetables don’t grow that fast.” You say, looking down at the plate of baked fish with what smells like kale and garlic underneath, along with lemon and salt. “H-How-”

“It’s simply the power of love!” Mahito exclaims, inhaling loudly to smell the dish in front of you two. He sighs softly. “A pure demonstration of my love, all I do for you, and all I will do for you in the future.”

You could have sworn that there was the smallest voice from the fish if Mahito’s bragging of how much work went into making you a dish from Stardew Valley was not so loud.

Help me.

“Dig in, cutie!”

You would do anything for Mahito’s grin to not turn into a frown, so you pick up your fork with trembling, scarred hands.

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere mahito x reader #yandere mahito #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #mahito x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open! If you still have open slots/want to do this <3

I'd like this letter to go to Tighnari, please and thank you! Subtle yandere and SFW. Thank you again!

The contents of the letter are as follows:

"Tighnari!

Things have been absolutely marvelous in Mondstadt. Your idea to visit my family was genius. It's been a long time since I've been back home. My mother asked why you didn't accompany me, isn't that cute? She called you her future son in law.. Then asked when we'd be giving her grandbabies.

I have been missing you to pieces though, my love. You would love a few of my friends over here, they're interested to learn more about you! Well.. aside from one. He seemed a bit upset when I gushed about you. But never mind that! How are things back home with you? How is Collei? Please let her know that Amber sends her regards. But most importantly! How are you?

I also hope that the package I sent gets to you safely. I thought you'd really appreciate my finds.

Love you so much!

-♡"

The package itself is smaller in size, yet still larger than the envelope sent. Inside the box are new glass storage jars, made for storing herbs and spices. Aside from the jars, there's a hand woven bracelet. It matches with Tighnari's typical attire, and is woven in order to prevent fraying or breakage. There's another, tiny sticky note at the bottom of the box with a doodle of Tighnari and his partner. They're stick figures and holding hands.

꩜ Letter Content: GN! Reader x Slight Yan! Tighnari, SFW, no gendered terms for reader, possessiveness from Tighnari, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Tighnari was absolutely covered in pollen when I picked up his package in Sumeru, HAHA! However, judging from his droopy ears and tail, I think he really misses you :( ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

Sent back to you is a small, lovingly handmade, woven basket that you recognise to be the handiwork of Tighnari. Weaved between the strips of dried Kalpalata lotus vines are cute tiny flowers native to the forested area around Gandharva Ville. There’s a ribbon tied around the handle in your favourite colour that’s lightly scented with the perfume of Sumeru roses.

A dark green fabric that matches his fur colour sits nicely atop the contents of the basket, it’s embroidered with the stick figure drawing of you and Tighnari. The Tighnari stick figure is made of thread in a light emerald green that’s the colour of his eyes while your doodle is woven in a gorgeous shade identical to yours. There are extra little hearts floating around the two of you in the embroidered picture too, how cute! 

Removing the embroidered cloth cover from the basket, you first take his letter out. Reaching into the envelope, the first thing you pull out is pressed Nilotpala lotus petals. They retain a delicate faint glimmer of how they shone when they bloomed at night and infuse the parchment in the envelope with their light floral scent. His reply is written in his usual scrawling handwriting you see in his research journals but there's an underlying tenderness present. You think he makes a noticeable effort to ensure that his words are more legible, especially just for you. His response reads:

“My dearest lotus,

It’s about time you wrote back! Just before I got your letter, I was going to mail you a lengthy lecture regarding important safety tips while one is travelling. Really, with your extended silence, I was worried about you for a bit, lotus. It's good to hear you're enjoying your time in Mondstadt with your family though, how’s the flora diversity there? I do hope you bring me back some flower and mushroom samples.

Collei too sends Amber her very enthusiastic regards, she was so excited at the mention of Amber, the way her eyes lit up was precious, I wish you were there to see it, lotus. Now, I’m sure with your keen eye you’ve noticed all the flowers included in the basket. I can’t take all the credit, it was Collei who helped to collect the flowers for the basket. She came back with so many that we spent almost a whole afternoon just picking out the best ones for you. Seriously, you should’ve seen the way she came into the hut with her arms full of flowers, I didn’t even know how she could see in front of her!

Also, new jars! You know me so well, how did you figure out I was running out of them? Gods, thinking about the hassle of procuring them gave me such a headache. You really are my saviour, gods, I miss you so much… Please come back soon, lotus, I’m getting sick of longing for you. Your lovely handmade bracelet has done well in curbing the urge to go over to Mondstadt to sweep you back up in my arms. It’s beautiful and I appreciate all the work you put into such a sweet gift, lotus. I’d never take off the bracelet, ever.

I’d hate to nag but do take care of yourself alright, it worries me to be so far away from you. (this part is written in a small font, but squinting, it reads out) Especially where you can meet with all sorts of people… and that friend of yours you mentioned. Ugh, I feel my headache coming back.

Help me pass my well wishes on to your mother, and tell her that calling me her “future son-in-law” is not too far off from the truth. Write more often to me alright, lotus? Hearing from you helps keep my longing in check. Come back soon!

Ever awaiting your return,

-Tighnari -”

Tucked underneath, is a sealed bag of dried mushrooms, the kind that Tighnari favours the most. It warms your heart to know that he’s willing to part with the stash of his favourite shrooms to make sure you’re eating well in another region. Tacked on are some collated recipes for the ingredient, with little notes scribbled in the margins on how the default recipe can be improved after gathering feedback from many many many rounds of him cooking it for you. Everything is so sappily domestic that you’re sure your mother would coo over how adorable the two of you are when she finds out about his gift.

And finally, there’s a small box at the side, crafted in the form of a lotus using expertly preserved Kalpalata lotus petals. Gingerly opening up the petals reveals an exquisite ring resting in the centre, woven from sturdy plant stems entwined with golden fibres that almost seem to shine. The stems are fortified with a sheer shimmer of dendro (no doubt Tighnari’s) so that it endures, staying evergreen. Included is a tag reading: “A temporary placeholder for an engagement ring, so that no pest steals you from my side while you’re away ♡”

Slipping it on, it fits perfectly, snugly home on your ring finger. You’ve never told him your ring size though, lucky guess?

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

#📜.qi musings #📜.qi celebrates #📜.Mailroom Open! #📜.qi chats #chats with 🧸 anon! #yandere #SFW #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #genshin fluff #tighnari x reader #yandere tighnari #tighnari fluff #THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVE LETTER ANON!!! #hope you like his reply <33 !!! #📜.qi writings

[hannahssimblr]

On a bright, clear morning, our art class gets permission from the principal to embark on a trip to the park. It’s an exciting prospect to us students, a trek all the way across the road from school, totaling a distance of one hundred metres from the back gates. It feels every bit as exciting as our fourth year school tour to Rome.

It’s cold, but there is the slightest tinge of spring in the air, and though the grass and the earth is damp I find a place to sit nestled among the newly sprouted wild flowers because I think it might be nice to try and draw them, but also because Michelle and Evan were sitting here first and Jen still has me on a mission to befriend them. 

“Pay attention to the colours when you’re doing your drawings today,” Ms. O’Reilly says, “Oftentimes things aren’t as they seem when you really look at them. Yes, the grass is green, but can’t you see yellow there too? Blue in the shade? There’s a whole range of values and hues that you don’t see at first glance, nor will you unless you take the time to really observe and take it all in.”

“That’s how you should think of me,” I nudge Michelle, “Like the grass. I’m not just green, I’m shades of blue and yellow too.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh wow, so now you’re a poet.” 

“I knew you’d think that, and you know what? It comes naturally to me, I’m just that kind of person.”

I catch her smirking before she turns her face away and pretends to be interested in what Evan is drawing in his sketchbook. “What’s that?” She asks him, and he flips his hair out of his eyes, “the drain. I think it’s more interesting than the trees and shit, you know? Like, that juxtaposition of the man made in the middle of nature.”

I snort, “I take it back, I’m not the poetic one after all. Wow, that’s deep. I never thought of a drain into the sewer in those terms before.”

His shoulders stiffen, “Hey, what are you getting smart for? Didn’t you get detention a few weeks ago for vomiting on the floor in Mr. Doherty’s class?”

I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his rudeness as such, so I laugh, “Nah, man, rumour. I did throw up, but not on the floor. I was hungover,” A shrug, “What can you do, huh?” 

Michelle huffs out a laugh, “Surprised you didn’t see each other in detention. Jude is the only person I know who has to go more often than you, Evan.”

“I’ve got detention again yesterday” he boasts, and I indulge him, “For what?”

There’s a satisfied glint in his eye, “Fireworks.”

“Where?”

“Just in my locker.” 

“No way,” I let out a squawk of a laugh, “I got caught for that once too.”

He glances around awkwardly, unable to decide if I’m engaging genuinely with him or taking the piss again, “Really?” He says with cautious interest, “When?”

“Oh, like a few years ago. Second year I think, sometime around Halloween, but someone ratted me out,” I jokingly jab my thumb at Michelle who gasps in outrage, “It wasn’t me! Jen and I knew about it but we didn’t say anything! I don’t know who it was.”

Evan rests his pencil on the page, “What were you going to do with them?”

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

“Me neither,” he says, actually smiling, “I was just storing them. Actually, I turned myself in once they made that announcement that someone was seen with them. I didn’t want them going through my locker or anything, like, doing the whole search operation thing.”

“Yeah, who knows what might be in there.”

“For sure,” he goes back to drawing his drain and I begin to sketch in the petals of a crocus flower next to my shoe. After another short moment his curiosity gets the better of him, “Hey, what’s the worst thing you ever got detention for?”

I chuckle, “When I was twelve I set a fire in the boy’s bathroom.”

An incredulous pause, “That was you?”

“Yeah, like, it was an accident though. I’m not an arsonist.” 

“Yeah that was wild,” Michelle muses, “I remember having to keep it a secret, because Jen and I knew but nobody else did. We weren’t even supposed to know it. You remember how the school made us all go to an assembly about it and they brought that fireman in?”

Evan nudges her with his elbow, “You knew who it was the whole time? You never said!”

“I’m a good secret keeper!”

He looks at me with intrigue, “What happened? What’s the real story?”

“So I was skipping class. I used to get really bored in Mr. White's History so I hid in the toilets and then when I was there I guess I realised I didn’t have anything to do. I had this lighter in my bag that I’d found in the yard, so I started lighting little pieces of toilet paper on fire, you know, just to watch them burn up and turn into nothing, but if it got too crazy I’d just extinguish them in the toilet. Anyway, I got carried away and decided to light the whole toilet roll on fire and then,” I shrug, “you know the rest, I suppose.”

“I remember that day so well, do you-” he cackles, “-do you remember how they didn’t replace the toilet paper dispenser for the whole year? It was just this big hunk of melted plastic stuck to the wall of the stall.”

“Really? Nah, man, I didn't go back into that stall ever again. That’s hilarious.”

“You mean to this day? Five years later?”

“Yeah, seriously! I can’t face it, it just brings me right back there, to getting screamed at in the principal's office and then them calling my parents and all…” the jovial spirit in me falters and this memory, “...who, um, weren’t happy about it and all. Uh, but the main thing was that we talked the principal out of expelling me. I got suspended for a week and then a month straight of detention instead, so it worked out okay.”

“And you talked them out of expulsion…?” Evan prompts.

“Oh, you know, I’m just good at bullshitting,” I say vaguely, though the reality was that I sat at the principal’s desk, my body racked with breathless, terrified sobs until I almost puked, snot pouring down my face, swearing on my pre-teen life that it was an accident until they let me off easy out of pure pity alone. 

I concentrate on my crocuses for a while while Michelle and Evan draw too, the three of us in content silence while Ms. O'Reilly walks around the group to look at our work. “Beautiful,” She says of mine, and the compliment fills my insides with such joy and acceptance that I can’t hide it from my face. 

“Who’s the teacher’s pet now?” Michelle mutters as Ms. O’Reilly moves on.

“Jealous?”

“No.”

“Can I see yours?”

“Why, so you can gloat?”

“No, c’mon, I’m curious.” 

She sighs and tilts her sketchbook to me so that I can see the trees she has drawn. She has a soft line, feminine, cautious and a little shaky, but she’s captured the scene nicely, how the spindly, bare branches of the chestnut tree cut through the clouds and frame a hazy February sky.

“That’s lovely,” I say. “Not that I’m surprised, you’ve always been a good drawer.”

She looks at her work doubtfully, “I’m not sure, I think I fucked up the scale of some things.”

“Nah, you’d hardly notice.”

“Hm.”

“When did you change your mind about art school?” 

“Huh?”

“I thought you wanted to pursue it. I remember you saying that a while back.”

She scoffs, “Oh yeah, years ago. It’s not a practical choice though. What am I going to do with an art degree? Work in McDonalds? I think it’s better that I go for something with more prospects like, um, law or business or medicine.”

I smile, “Yeah. Okay. I think that’s your dad talking.”

“That’s what I think,” Evan pipes up, “Don’t I always say it, Michelle? They’re all boring choices, and you are so not boring. You’re a creative soul.”

“Aw, thanks baby.”

It takes all of my willpower to resist pulling a face. Baby? I almost say something about how horrendous it is for me to be subjected to their emo love before I remember that my task is to be nice to them. It’s going so well, I shouldn’t jeopardise it no matter how tempting.  

“Hey,” she spins back to me, “Can I see that drawing you did of me in class? You never showed me in the end.”

“Well, you didn’t ask,” I flip a few pages back and hold it up to her, her own face, a direct, impatient gaze and mouth slightly pursed in concentration. She stares at it like she’s gazing into a mirror. 

“You made me look very pretty,” She decides after several moments. 

I steal a glance at her. It’s not difficult to, because she is very pretty, she’s always been that way as long as I've known her with those deep, dark brown eyes and heart shaped face. It is her personality and attitude in the last couple of years that's the real pity. I smirk, “Well, you know, I appreciate you saying that, because it really wasn’t easy for me…”

“God, you’re insufferable,” she complains, rolls her eyes and turns away.

I go back to my crocuses. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #thank you to the pose makers for this one #my sims no longer have to use the drawing tablet wooo

[nanomooselet]

My Brother's Keeper (V)

This whole memory retrieval/assimilation scene is interesting for a number of reasons (putting aside the continuous wails of agony emitted watching it; I know I discuss it calmly, but that's because I'm a wizard I compartmentalise/modulate my tone in text. Hooray for incomplete degrees).

In the score, this bit is called "The Memory World of Knives" - these are Knives's memories, ones that he can share with Vash for whatever reason. By that token, then, it's how you can figure out which incidents Knives has direct knowledge of and involvement in.

He remembers the blood-soaked room of withered Plants, of course. Doubt he'll ever forget it. Not because of the Last Run, but because it's when Vash turned on him and their confrontation was put on pause - up until now.

Vash fleeing the SEEDs wreckage in ep 1/8 then entering the Plant room in ep 9, Knives withdrawing, then showing up at Jeneora Rock in ep 3, then finally Vash entering Knives's piano room in July at the end of ep 10, and the confrontation/manipulation/awakening/battle over 11 and 12. It's all a single argument/fight split into parts, separated by over a century.

Funny that the only thing Knives seems to truly regret about it is cutting off Vash's arm. Maybe… maybe because it's the one wound even he can't lie to himself about inflicting. I wonder, does he believe it was his one mistake? If he'd found another way, Vash wouldn't have stuck a gun in his face? Which makes him trying to "fix" it being what clues Vash in that he's being lied to some sublime irony. Vash doesn't trust a world where his brother never hurt him.

Anyway, Knives was obviously there in person to destroy Jeneora Rock, so he remembers that. Knives definitely intended Rosa's rejection to happen when he left her alive (interesting that he only uses her voice, not her appearance. This man has a problem with women) and he would have learned about Tonis's injuries from Zazie via the cage of bug-Worms.

Then comes the crashed ships and the vanishing reporters. Roberto and Meryl don't do anything but stand there looking blank, and that's because Knives doesn't have anything to do with them. He doesn't care to learn what they mean to Vash, so he doesn't bother to twist it. He goes for “oh they'd hate you if they knew about what you've done”, and as Vash's shame makes him vulnerable, he rips them out of Vash's head. That's them disposed of and he doesn't think about them again. (More fool him.)

The guilt that Knives planted in Vash is his primary weapon. Remember that it was his guilt that made Vash want to die in the wake of the Fall. Knives is using it to chip away at his will to resist; every time Vash is reminded of it, he reels and his defences weaken.

Similarly, it's why we don't see that much of Rem and nothing of her post-Tesla except her running into the fire. What we do see of her makes her look rather one-dimensionally nice, well-meaning but suspiciously secretive, and Vash food-obsessed, dorky, clingy, insecure and oblivious. Meanwhile Nai is very clever and perceptive and handsome and perfect and amazing with his super cool powers, just like Rem said. But she didn't actually mean anything to him.

It's conspicuous that he also doesn't actually talk at all about poor Tesla and tries to dismiss her significance ("she was but a grain of sand in the desert of their misdeeds" is a banger line, by the way; the English localisation is always excellent but goes off as the series draws to its climax, and it don't stop 'til the credits roll on the finale). These are the rare points you can find honesty in anything Knives says: via what he omits.

You have to keep in mind throughout this entire sequence that besides the geranium petals and Vash cuddling Rem in the fields of geraniums, Knives is in control. This is his world, and these are his memories that he's using to infiltrate and tear Vash's memories apart. It's not objective - there's no context, for one - nor is it complete. Vash's perspective is absent.

It's actually a bit surprising how rarely Vash's voice comes through in the series. From what I can tell it's mostly Knives's perspective that's assumed.

But oh yes, Knives knows all about the Punisher. He built the Eye of Michael, after all, and Dr. Conrad works for him. Rollo crying out to Vash for salvation that he never received probably came from Dr. Conrad, as well as that it was Wolfwood in the end who killed Monev.

And here we are at last. The dreadful cost and hidden purpose I mentioned all the way back in Part I comes due. Wolfwood's purpose, the poison lacing Knives's helpful gift. He's the viral shell carrying Knives's infection. Because Vash opened his heart to Wolfwood as a friend, he also opened it to Knives.

And so, from the inside, Knives begins inexorably to devour his brother alive.

Knives-the-person wearing the Punisher's face to fire Punisher-the-weapon and kill Rollo/Tonis, the child Vash couldn't save, is his most perfectly constructed and vile feat of manipulation below I did it all for you./Everything I did was for you. It has an almost perversely admirable precision.

Silly Vash. Did he think he'd made a friend in the Punisher? Brought out the goodness in him? The Punisher is a monster, a killer, a weapon and what's more, one who was always being wielded by Knives. He betrayed you; he isn't a good man and he'll never change because humanity never learns. Just like Knives told Vash all those years ago. Was it really "Wolfwood" who Vash loved, or was it only the part of him that was shaped by his real brother? (It's the former because Vash clocked him from the start and could tell Wolfwood never wanted to be the Punisher, but even if Knives wasn't gleefully monologuing he'd never hear it. I hate how much he's enjoying this.)

Everywhere you turn, Vash, and no matter far it is you run, I'll be here for you because I love you. (I won't let you get away.)

How foolish you are, little brother, to have your hopes kindled because you "saved" a monster. One only lives if another dies - and a monster would rather die. You should let it happen. It's a necessary sacrifice. It's mercy. Death is a wonderful thing. (Death is a mercy Tesla never received. And perhaps still hasn't.)

You're too weak to give it to them. That's why they'll never love you as I do. You make the false promise that is hope for salvation, and inevitably you fail to fulfil it, and they will always turn upon you in their despair. (I am the only one who will protect you.)

There is a single promise that you can always keep. Your real purpose. The reason you exist. What a weapon is for. Have mercy. I will wield you. You need not continue to suffer. Don't fight. Submit. Give yourself to me. Let go. Unleash your power.

By the way, literally every single one of the things he's using to heap blame on Vash is Knives's fucking fault and he is the worst brother ever of all time forever and ever amen. And a liar. Knives can never forgive humanity, he says, because only he loves Vash enough to protect him from humanity. Even a human's love, he says, is a leash; contingent upon Vash's charm and usefulness and indistinguishable from hatred...

Knives either lives on opposite planet or he's secretly human.

And still. And yet.

I pity him.

(Okay. We're in the home stretch now, guys - and believe me, I deeply appreciate your support - but you might want to brace yourself.)

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part VI)

(Part VII)

#trigun stampede #trigun meta #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #millions knives #tristampparty #waffled a bit on the imagery but yeah actually knives IS a pathogen #bacteriophage bombs etc #his blades make him look like a paralysis tick #once he withdraws them vash drifts downward. empty #it took a lot of willpower to avoid typing “you dick” over and over in allcaps throughout most of this #i hate him #terrible terrible plant man #tw abuse #so much abuse #meta: my brother's keeper

[unhappy-last-resort]

What Lovers Do (Yandere Roland x GN Reader)

Warnings: non con, implied past non con, smut, no mention of readers genitalia, implied bondage, penetration, use of lubricant, slight spoilers for future chapters but if you don't know then you can't tell

A/N: I started this at 4 AM this morning, apologies if the writing is a bit stiff I kinda wanted to get something quick out.

As always, constructive criticism is welcome and I hope you enjoy.

Status: Not Edited

"Then...can you tell me if I'm performing or being genuine right now?" The question was thrown at you with a chuckle and a certain glint in his eye, like he was a gambler about to win a bet. That should have been your first warning to say no, or better yet say nothing at all.

"I think..." It was less of a thought and more of a hope at the time. "You're being genuine." You spoke softly, as though you might shatter something if you spoke too loud despite your silly costume and unique setting. The maze you had cleared together now behind you, faux flower petals gently danced in the air above you. Despite the mechanoids of Constellia lacking a complete understanding of human aesthetics and choices, their imitation of them never failed to impress you.

In return, Roland gave a hearty laugh as he closed the distance between you two. "Is that so, Babylonian Commandant?" He reached his hand up and before you could stop him, you were stripped of your Sharksphere-esc head, leaving your face in his full view.

He held your chin gently, yet firm enough to hold you in place as he leaned in close, "Since I'm being genuine, why don't we commit ourselves to one another and do something only lovers do?" He whispered with a small smirk that barely contained his excitement.

While you had momentarily forgotten the differences between constructs and humans, but Roland was quick to remind you as he pulled you towards him, his other hand going straight to your crotch causing you to gasp and swat his hand away, which he ignored in favor of teasing you with his fingers.

"Roland, wha-"

"Shhhh...." He hushed you gently, as if he was consoling an upset child. "It's alright, just follow my lead and everything will be easier." You tried to push him away to no avail, it felt like you were trying to push a wall. Your struggling meant nothing to him as he held you tightly enough to keep you in place, but not so much that it was painful.

Despite yourself, you could feel your body responding in kind to his deceptively gentle touches and the occasional fleeting kiss on your skin as he whispered little words of praise or comfort to you, steadily drawing you into your first unsteady orgasm of the day.

Which led you to now, your costume and pants stripped from you and his artificial cock buried deep inside of you as he held you pinned to the floor, his black coating making him look like a wraith among the sea of pink and purple hues. It was so swift that you hadn't the chance to process what he was doing before your eyes widened and a stilted cry left your lips at the sudden intrusion. His faint scent of roses making your head spin as your walls spasm around him, struggling to adjust to him.

"Shhhh, Mon Chéri it'll feel better soon, just wait." Roland held your cheek, making you look into his heterochromic eyes. One the color of the color of the sun and one the color of blood. Both looking at you almost sympathetically, had it not been for the subtle glee in his eyes you might've believed that sympathy to be true.

Before you could muster a reply, he very gently thrusted into you. It was clear now that he had slipped a lubricant on you amidst your earlier distraction of his insistent kisses as he removed your pants, easing your walls into accepting the stretch as each inch slowly sunk into you.

"This isn't..." You shut your eyes tightly as he slowly thrusted into you again, more lubricant this time than the last quickly turning the intitial pain into pleasure. "This isn't what lovers do."

Roland raised a brow, his hips pulling back only to steadily push into you once more, reaching deeper with the help of the lubricant as you heaved an unsteady sigh. The sensation wasn't as painful as you'd hoped. "Isn't this what lovers do in a place like this?" Another drag of his cock easily had your body relaxing against the colorful floor of the venue. Empty chairs watching you both from a short distance away.

"They'd say their vows and consummate their love, ensuring they always love one another until the end of time?" His hold on your wrists had a grown a little tighter as a squelching sound filled the silence between you. You could feel arousal hightening your senses and making your body receptive to his actions despite you wishing it wouldn't.

Roland smiles sickeningly sweet as he leans in, your faces mere breaths apart. "You want this too, I can tell." He whispers before placing small kisses on the corner of your mouth. You take in a breath, about to protest before his eyes narrow slightly and a sudden thrust of his hips takes your breath away and leaves your mind buzzing with pleasure.

He kisses your face a few times, humming in satisfaction with your silence as he sets a steady pace inside you. Each thrust making his tip hit that place that had you seeing stars. If you didn't know any better, you would say it was almost with practiced precision, like he knew every inch of you better than you could ever hope to know yourself.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he decorates your neck with kisses, his iron grip on your wrists never once loosening. "You know, I was surprised when you contacted me." He whispers breathlessly, lightly nipping at your skin as your unsteady breaths turn into squeaks and moans. "I was certain this was a mere trap, or something so important it had left you desperate to achieve your goal no matter who you had to do it with." At that moment, a chime sounds and the doors leading to the exit of the maze open and all you can do is stare at it through glossy eyes as pleasure hits you like a wave with every thrust of his hips.

Roland chuckles again as he looks down at you, a gloating smile playing on his lips as he watches you fall apart, your human desires overtaking any protest or fight you might've had. "But when I came here and found out that you were simply naive enough to seek company from your enemy, well..." He drifts off, as his hips start slamming into yours with something that mimicked reckless abandon yet lacked the recklessness, being more akin to something designed for squeezing every little bit of pleasure out of you. "I couldn't help myself. How could an actor like me resist such an interesting plot?"

You jerk suddenly, your eyes seeing white as an orgasm crashes into you, leaving you dizzy in its wake as Roland's thrusts don't slow down or stop for a second. "You are such an interesting human. Like a blooming flower on a battlefield, I can't help wanting to pick it up and keep it for myself." He whispers with an edge, each brutal thrust of his hips making you writhe underneath him as your pleas are reduced to senseless babbling.

He leans in, your foreheads resting against each other and in this moment his expression falls away into something softer, almost loving. "We spent so much time arguing amongst ourselves, but seeing you like this makes everything we've done worth it." His voice sounds soft and raw, like a confession whispered only for his ears.

"C-can't...what...mngh..." Roland smiles and cups your cheek with his hand, freeing one of your wrists now that you can't struggle. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and it sickens you how genuinely happy he looks, his eyes full of adoration as the gentlest smile plays on his lips.

"I love you so much, you have no idea how many nights and days I spent on this Earth yearning for something to truly call mine." His pace becomes faster, any embers of your sanity fading with each slap of skin as the body heat of the construct above you rises. "And now, I can finally say..."

He grunts, his body shuddering as his eyes snap closed, a growl reverberating in his chest as he struggles to hold something back. "I can finally say..." His voice module strains as he arches into you, his cock somehow reaching deeper as he places messy kisses along your neck before he brings his face back up to yours again.

"I love you." His whispered words can barely register before his lips crash into yours, his eyes open to drink in every expression you make as he moans into the kiss. Your hips instinctively buck up into his as something hot coats your insides, he gives a final thrust to make sure you take every last drop of what he has to give and the sensation is enough to make your back arch as your second orgasm takes you.

He kisses you again and again, barely letting you breath as his other hand abandons your wrist and settles to hold your hip instead. "You have no clue how long I've wanted this to be true. Even if this is just a dream, or a play, I'm tired of playing to the audience's whims." He sounds ecstatic and desperate as he wraps his arms around and lifts you up as he slowly stands with cock still buried inside you, as if his previous orgasm meant nothing to him.

"Where are..." You slump against him, your head resting on his shoulder. You could barely speak, only just now having been given the privilege of breathing as you're vaguely aware he's walking, colors and light shifting around you in a blur.

"A proper place to continue our act, of course." He says as if it's obvious and kisses your forehead. "I'm not done yet." You're vaguely aware you're indoors again, a small living space greeting you, or perhaps you always were and you were too tired to notice.

"I hope this is to your taste," Roland says with his usual bravado. "Because we'll be here for a while." The bedroom door opens, revealing a bed illuminated by surrounding candles and the glitters of chains tied to its bedposts.

#unhappy writings #unhappy drabbles #yandere roland #yandere roland pgr #yandere pgr #yandere punishing gray raven #yandere noncon #yandere robot #cyborg yandere #yandere #yandere male x you #yandere male x gn reader #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #tw.nsfw #tw.yandere #tw.noncon #yandere writing #yandere writer #yandere male

[theprinceofliones]

🔞nsfw🔞

I tagged it so ya’ll can’t come get me *runs off*

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Tristan tastes like what Lancelot thinks rose petals would.

He's soft at his core, soft and slick, and so very /pink/. His tongue laps up the sweetness spilling from his cunt, his fingers dipping into the softness of his insides that wrap around his digits like a vice---as though it never wanted them to leave.

Lancelot's hair is tugged on harshly, causing lightning to shoot up and down his spine every time Tristan pulls on his golden locks, his fingers tangling in thick strands to pull him closer, to feel /more/.

He sighs into Tristan's core, wraps his lips around the sensitive bundle of hot pink nerves atop his cunt, sucking on his clit and Lancelot thought Tristan was going to yank his hair straight off with how wound tight he was and the powerful grip he had on his blonde strands, as if he needed some sort of grounding or else he’d fall apart.

Tristan’s chest heaves and his legs shake atop Lancelot’s shoulders. He whimpers and whines and squirms and /fuck/, he’s the most beautiful thing to ever walk this mortal plane.

Lancelot uses his thumbs to spread his folds open and he /spits/ right onto his open core. Tristan jerks with a gasp before he moans as Lancelot doesn’t hesitate for another second, diving right back into his meal.

The younger Prince shakes like an uncontrollable leaf, his hands suddenly releasing Lancelot’s hair to reach up and tangle in his own silver strands. It’s as though he doesn’t know what to do with them, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the sensation that Lancelot is gifting to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tristan pants and suddenly sits up, running a hand through his hair before grabbing onto Lancelot’s strong shoulders and /digging/ into his skin. “Lance, Lance, Lance—“ Is the mantra he’s repeating and Lancelot can’t help but grin cheekily into his slick folds.

He reaches behind Tristan and pulls him impossibly closer by his bare ass, his digits digging into the meat of his bottom and Tristan squeals with it as he twitches sharply.

After all, who the hell needs air anyway? It’s overrated, if you asked Lancelot. Why would he want to do something as stupid as breathe ‘air’ when he could spend the rest of time right here between his sweet prince’s legs—right where he could give Tristan everything he /deserved/?

Suddenly, Tristan seizes up and his breath hitches and Lancelot knows he close and resumes his licking and sucking with a newfound vigor.

“Close,” Tristan gasps out. “/Fuck/, Lance, I’m so fucking close, /please/.”

Lancelot promises to deliver.

He slips two of his long fingers back inside of his cunt again and Tristan falls back against the mattress of his bed with a moan of pure relief as soon as he does.

He curls his digits upward so fast and hard, over and over again and Tristan can do nothing but take it.

It’s all too much, that tongue sucking on his clit, those fingers beckoning him closer and closer to release—it’s all too much.

With a long, drawn out moan, Tristan clamps around Lancelot’s fingers and orgasms against his tongue.

Lancelot groans as soon as that sweetness, deeper and warmer now, floods his tastebuds and he licks it up like a madman starved. He draws out Tristan’s orgasm until the younger prince is whining sweetly and twitching in overstimulation, pushing at his head gently as he whimpers now that his pleasure has turned to borderline pain.

He released the hold his mouth has on his cunt and ever so carefully slips his fingers out of his pussy, watching as a string of slick still connects his wet fingers to his now swollen core. Lancelot sighs and licks his digits clean and Tristan flushes in mortification.

“Gods,” Tristan pants for air, still thoroughly wiped out. “What the hell are you, anyway? Some kind of sex demon or something?”

Lancelot laughs and licks his soaked lips. “Nah,” He says, voice a little hoarse and Tristan sits up to nuzzle their cheeks together as a ‘thank you’ for treating him.

“I just like the way you taste, is all.”

#smut #nanatsu no taizai #mokushiroku no yonkishi #the seven deadly sins #the four knights of the apocalypse #tristan liones #lancelot #fandom police don’t get me #I am merely a pawn in nakaba’s game

[tleeaves]

The art is lovely and now I'm gonna ramble because that's what I do when I care about something.

For the love of women, please PLEASE can fan artists remember to add muscle to their Shadowhunter ladies? I'll commend Bowater for cleverly giving James that sculpted and lean look without making him a beefcake (nothing against beefcakes, I'd love to hug them), but Cordelia is once again suffering from Arms And Shoulders Too Slender It's Hard To Even Imagine Her Picking Up A Sword. There is some there, yes, but artists shouldn't be afraid of giving particularly Female Main Characters weight and toned muscle. Cordelia is supposed to be nearly the same height as James as far as I can remember, and she's curvy, and full, and she wields a sword like it's second nature to her. Please explain why she looks so tiny in James' lap.

Also I'm pretty sure marriage runes are supposed to go over the heart whenever possible (thinking about Will's parabatai rune being over his heart instead -- he didn't get Tessa to draw over the scar, did he??) and... either I'm looking at the picture wrong or James' rune is not over where his heart should be.

For the matter, where are their other runes and scars?? James' Voyance rune isn't even on his hand. And I'm pretty sure he's right handed. I could have that wrong though.

Another thing: no one can ever decide what Cordelia's hair looks like and it's the funniest thing to me. This is what happens when all you do is vaguely say the colour is like fire but also like rose petals but also a flowing river of those things but also is Red (probably for redhead, but then from there I never understand where the rose petal analogy comes from considering the typical rose is a deep bloody colour -- I do acknowledge the existence of those light orange varieties though which might more closely resemble red hair). In the end, I'm glad readers can infer what they want and imagine the characters how they like.

Anyone else think James looks like he's built like a tennis player? Oddly specific, maybe, but it was a thought I had. Mostly the arms and somewhat narrow body.

James' hair is nice, his eyes are an interesting take on gold in the shadows. Bowater managed to also make him look closely related to his father, so bravo for that.

In the end, the focus is obviously on the marriage runes and not other physical aspects outside of it being clear that this is James and Cordelia. Bowater's style is very beautiful and elegant. Love the way fabric and lighting is done too. I'll add also that it is possible to be a smaller person who is slender but still strong so I mean Cordelia's not necessarily done wrong, I just interpret her appearance differently. Obviously, they're both hot and they're both attractive and I have my qualms with the series, chronicles, and author -- the fandom I am so-so on, though I'm still here, aren't I? And I'm taking the time to ramble about my thoughts on a piece of fanart -- but this is good. Gorgeous, even. Both James and Cordelia are beautiful.

#side note: am I the only one who thought cc made a mistake trying to describe james as handsome in cordelia's eyes #as opposed to matthew being the beautiful one #when there has always been a deep and aching strange beauty to james?? #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #vaguely crediting charlie bowater though it isn't like you can't find a dozen more copies of this with the credit #also yes I mercilessly picked this apart because I am still trying to find avenues to express my dissatisfaction with tlh #I search for flaws what else can I say #I am aware of it but it's hard to turn those thoughts processes off #maybe I'll write a post at some point all about the authors I once Loved that I am now deeply critical of #a lot of people would hate me for it but eh #also we all know about the marvelisation of cinema #but is it time to talk about the marvelisation of book series/worlds? #or perhaps it has a better and more book-focused name? the jkr approach? rick riordan's marvel-esque flaw? the sjm plague? the clare affair? #we'll workshop it #maybe it's the curse of middleschool-YA series and the issue of aginh readers in fandoms #and I don't mean this as discriminatory against anyone older in fandom because there is not really a limit nor should there be #for most media #but the issue of when the readers grow up amd authors try to accomodate for that -- not necessarily by making their work more adult -- #but by making MORE because there is also an influx of new fans and they want to stay relevant while retaining the old #it's a whole thing though I'd need to sit down to properly organise my thoughts to talk about it

[v3nusxsky]

Hii.

Can you do a lady lesso x female reader when leonora finds out readers pregnant by her(...magic)

Then a very happy soft part. Few months later (Not labor) these two couple fighting cause reader needs help shaving but she's embarrassed. Leonora ends up helper her in the end anyways, probably reader strapped down to a chair fighting to get out.

Helping hand

*Authors note~ I love this idea so much. Stubborn reader is a dream to write*

Trigger warnings~ pregnancy smut alluded to

Prompt~ see ask^^^^***

Magic certainly had its benefits. You were completely not complaining when it enhanced yours and lady Lesso's sex life. Lesso had surprised you one night by enchanting her strap on, recreating a realistic cock. Neither of you had done this before so neither of you knew that you could very well get pregnant. It was no surprise really, with the amount of times you were both brought over the edge that night that you were in fact caught pregnant that very night.

You remember telling Leonora, she went through a flurry of emotions in the space of a minute. After the realisation hit she lit up in an unmatched happiness. You were pregnant with her child. Something she never thought would be possible. All the dirty thoughts she'd spewed that night about making you pregnant and how amazing you'd look carrying her child would come true. That night you both celebrated, all night long. Just basking in the love you shared with one another, Leonora becoming more gentle with your body, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. You couldn't help but giggle at her cuteness and remind her that she wouldn't hurt either of you.

Your pregnancy had been a little rough at the start. Your morning sickness was crazy but Leonora was amazing with you. Dealing with your mood swings and cravings. She seemed to enjoy every moment with you and this pregnancy. When you started to show she would make sure to stand behind you, hands cradling your bump stroking gently. If there was anything you had learned from this was your girlfriend had the most loving caring side but it was rare that she showed it, perhaps your child would be the one to soften her around others.

On your twentieth week of pregnancy, you were offered to find out the gender. Before you even had the chance to respond to the question, Leonora was quick to affirm that you both indeed wished to know. Your breath hitched as tears filled in your eyes. A girl. A beautiful baby girl, that was yours and Leonora's. Perfect. You knew she would be. Knowing now you knew her name. You knew that you'd love this precious girl more than life itself.

Lesso was noticing how frustrated you were becoming at yourself. Your growing belly was beginning to make life more difficult. You're back ached, your ankles swelled up and truly it felt like breathing was getting hard. Lesso, loved to tell you the science behind it, that your organs were moving up slightly to accommodate your baby. Truly, you knew that. But you craved your independence back and often found yourself upset at the thought your body wouldn't be the same again. Would lesso still want you?

Around the seven month mark, you'd completely given up. Lesso wanted you, and you wanted her, your pregnant belly getting in the way of things meant you didn't get that kind of intimacy anymore. You didn't want Leonora to see you while you were unable to keep up on your personal grooming. Deep down you knew she didn't care and you knew she wild gladly help you shave if you asked her to. But the thought of admitting defeat, admitting your stomach was so big now you couldn't see your toes, truly upset you and made you feel like a failure. Something so simple and yet you couldn't do it. And that's why you'd been a foul mood for the past week until Lesso worked out the problem.

You had a routine, every evening Lesso would draw you a nice warm bubble bath, sometimes even adding rose petals or scents to it. You settled into the water, letting the heat working to soothe your achy muscles. With a happy sigh, you lay there tracing your bump and talking to your daughter, you were completely lost in your own mind to the point you didn't realise your girlfriend has joined the room. She listened as you told your daughter a story of you and her other mother, recognising it as your first date, and smiled. Truly you'd be a wonderful mother, the stubbornness you were exhibiting now would be used to keep your daughter safe.  

"Sweetheart? Pop a leg up on the side of the tub" she murmured startling you slightly. Your daughter kicking excitedly at her other mothers voice. "Leo, not happening" you whispered eyes closed as you soaked in the movement of your daughter. "Darling, let me help you"

"No Leo. I'm ugly and fat. You aren't seeing me like this" she sated your stubbornness coming through. Only then that's when you felt her join you in the bath. Where had her clothing gone? You couldn't help but ogle your girlfriend, truly she was magnificent. Leonora using it to her advantage she managed to sit you up on the side of the tub, and began to help shave your legs.

When you realised what she was doing you sobbed. Truly you felt so ugly and this act of care mixing with your hormones was just too much. As soon as she completed her task she managed to settle you back into the water. Your chest against her back as she traced patterns onto your belly. "Lilah flower mommy is so stubborn but that's a good thing because she'll protect you just like me. She loves you so much sweetheart." She murmured dropping kisses to your neck.

There in this moment you couldn't help but wonder why you were so stubborn when Lesso would do anything for you and your unborn daughter. Truly this was everything you ever dreamed of.

Word count~ 1029

#anon answered #fanfic #lady lesso #sfgae #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #lady lesso x you #leonora lesso x reader #dean of evil #anon requests

[witchersmistress]

Stolen by the monster pt 2

yes that first gif is not the man in question but i loved it so meh

I do not own August walker or MI6 by any means nesscary

Permission to copy my work in anyway is not acceptable.

with all that being said, here you go;

Your POV

Several weeks have passed since I've been taken. I refused to speak with him, August or Gus Gus when I wanted to irritate the man, after he left me breakfast. I locked my doors at night, but I doubted that would stop him but he never came in. On my second morning I was fitted with a tracking bracelet that would take an amputation to get off. The sick fuck just smiled at me while he placed it on my ankle and kissed my calf when he was finished “More clothing will be arriving for you this afternoon and anything else you need, please let me know. He's an odd duck to say the least. Doesn't mean I did enjoy making the list of items to get. A few i threw on there just to see his reaction but there was none, they all arrived. The sex toys included.

By the end of the second week I was allowed access to his “Home” if he wanted to go for the modern day gothic Batman look he sure hit the nail on the head. An open concept living room and kitchen, tall ceilings made me feel small. Even with the wall of windows he had at the back of the house, it was still rather dark. I found several empty bedrooms on the main floor and another room that was locked, i trying to pry it open when a low rumble of a laugh intruded the space “Petal'' the voice cooed i turned my gaze to the man before me “Gus Gus'' his eyes narrowed showing his displeasure, his hand reached out and grabbed my wrist “Come” he spoke it wasn't a suggestion it was a command. I followed him through the living room to the stairs. I came down and we took a left heading back to my room, when we stopped outside a set of dark oak double doors. Releasing my wrist he pushed the doors open revealing a large room, covered ceiling to floor bookcases and another set of wall to wall windows. Leading me in slowly, I spun in a slow circle to take it all in.  

“Petal'' he called, drawing my eyes to where he stood. He was by a large fireplace and he beckoned me over. Walking over to look up at this looming figure. I felt small and meek in his shadow, sitting down on the couch he poured himself three fingers on whiskey and threw it back before pouring another. He sat in the chair across from me “Petal'' he said again “You must be wondering why i've taken you” with  a smug smile “I've been wondering that, id imagined it had something to do with my father”

 I cocked my head waiting for a reaction but he merely sipped his drink and leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs. He chuckled, “What gave you that idea?” mimicking his movements “Growing up I heard the stories of my father and what a great man he was, it wasn't till I was older I understood that I'd never met him. Until 4 years ago, my mother returned from one of her trips with my stepfather in tow, an obnoxious man if you ask me, and she got a call, stepping outside to take it. It was my father, Ethan Hunt, the same man who believes that you are dead.. CIA Special Agent August Walker ``I leaned forward and plucked his whiskey glass from his hands, plastered a shit eating grin on my face and took a sip, feeling the burn as the whiskey went down. 

I felt a surge of power rush through me as I thought that I finally had the upper hand on him, sitting back and taking in his hard stare. I slowly uncrossed my legs,the tennis skirt I wore barely covered my black lace thong that left little to no room for imagination. Shifting my hips to the right and recrossing my legs as he watched me slowly with a calculated look. I smirked into the whiskey glass taking another sip. He was up and out of his seat in an instant. He grabbed me by my throat and pinned me to the back of the leather sofa.

“Listen here petal” he spits. “Just because you know my name doesn't mean you know me.. The things I've done would make your skin crawl and your body would fill with disgust” when in fact my body was doing the exact opposite, a pool of liquid warmth growing in my low belly, my thighs dampening from my leaking arousal. I placed a hand on his wrist, to steady myself as I rubbed my thighs to relieve this building pressure. He scoffed at my actions “Look at you the wanton whore, are you so deprived for attention that youd fuck a man like me? A monster they call me, willing to sacrifice the whole world to build it a new”

His left hand found my jaw “Open” he ordered, i shook my head trying to fit his grip “Open your mouth before i break your jaw petal” i reluctantly obliged, the whiskey pooled on my tongue. His hot breath fanned over my face as he drew near “Don't you dare bite me little girl” I glared at him, the anger and lust rising. He placed his warm mouth over mine and lapped at the pool of whiskey on my tongue. He was slow and methodical at first just barely giving in. releasing my throat he gave in to carnal desire, he drank the whiskey from my mouth, in one gulp, the excess dripping off our lips and down our chins. 

He tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth, biting so hard he drew blood. Ripping his mouth from mine and throwing me back into my chair. Chest heaving, his eyes black with desire “Do not try that again” before storming out of the room leaving me a shaking with need in his big leather seat 

August’s POV

Slamming the door to my office, I let out a frustrated growl. My cock throbbing in my slacks begging to be let free. I cant lose control, especially not with you. Moving over to my desk I pull open my computer, I log into the security system to find you. I open my slacks and fist my cock as I'm waiting for it to load. That perfect mouth and the way the whiskey tastes on your tongue. I fist my cock again trying to relieve the pressure. The system booted up and I found you in your room. Spread eagle fingering your pink glistening pussy, you let your head drop back with a roll as you stuck 2 fingers in your slick cunt. “Fuck”  whipping the precum from my tip to lubricate myself. you began riding your fingers with such vigor. your juices dripping down your hand to your wrist, you are fucking soaked. you slowly pulled your fingers out before reaching over to the bedside table where you had a toy waiting, making a show of it.

you brought the tip of the toy to your lips and licked it before putting it in your mouth, getting it nice and wet. My balls ached for release but I held back as I watched you, sliding it down your neck to circle your perky breast and down your stomach to your dripping pussy, rubbing the tip back and forth collecting moisture. As you pushed the toy in between your folds, you looked directly at the camera and gave me a wicked smile. you knew I'd be watching, you wanted this.

 I should have turned it off but I couldn't help but watch you as you rode yourself  to climax, soft and sultry moans coming from the screen as I leaned back, cock in my hand and following suit. You are absolutely stunning when you  climaxing, it wasn't your moans or your panting that sent me over the edge, it was my name. On your lips as you came hard, you laid back and were panting. your legs are still trembling and your lower abdomen is still spasming. I spilled into my hand desperately wishing that it was you.

 The wicked girl looked back at the camera with a sly grin as you pulled out the toy and tucked it under your covers. Tucking my semi hard cock back into my slacks, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, I walked over to my safe and pulled out the sedative I used on you. Drawing up the amount I needed and making my way to your room. Using the master key to open the door I slipped in and shut it behind me. That black and white cat stared at me. Hissed and darted to a chair. “Stupid cat,” I muttered , making my way to the figure on the bed. Your short breaths told me you were still awake but not for long. I pulled the  cap off the needle and made my way towards you, pulling back the covers when I heard your voice “Stop” I stopped in my tracks and you moved to a sitting position “ I’ll let you do whatever you want, you don't need that.'' I placed the cap back on the needle and placed it on the bedside table.

you swallowed with an audible gulp. A better man would think twice, but I have no such compunction. I sat on the edge of your bed trailing my fingers up and down your skin. I ran my hand down your thigh, to your calf then ankle before grabbing it. With little force I opened your legs to see that pretty pink pussy, still glistening with your orgasm. “Hmm” was all I muttered before dropping to my knees before you. Wrapping my arms under your thighs,  I pulled till your ass is part way off the bed. you breath hitches as I nip at your soft thighs. 

“Pray tell why do i not have to sedate you? It's rather fun that way '' I bite into another spot on your thigh leaving you a hickey. Fumbling with your words. I gave you a sharp nip to your clit to prompt your response “Maybe I also have something against my father” you whimpered as I drew closer to your pussy, you smelt devine. Fan my breath across your warm core desperately trying to gain any friction.

Darting my tongue out to lick you wet folds, you let out a low whine “please August” promptly stopping, “Tell me what i want and i'll devour you like you are my last meal” releasing a low whine in frustration “My father, all he could talk about was you and how you were dangerous and deranged. I was there at the camp that day your life was supposed to end.” suckling on the tender flesh of you inner thighs, slipping in two digits into your aching cunt, probing lightly “Go on, i'm waiting but i'm not a patient man” squirming where i held you, “Seeing you made it real for me, my father hated you and you'd be his downfall” humming in satisfaction, i liked your thinking. Sucking your swollen clit into my mouth and added another finger stretching you wide feeling your wetness spill down my fingers “Please August” you begged

“Then what?” sticking my tongue into your needy hole, absolutely dripping wet, swirling my thumb in your juice, I created a trail from your cunt to your tight hole. You squeaked at the touch. Flicking my eyes up I watched you struggle to get the words out “ I want to.. To… fuck August i cant” curling the two finger still inside i hit that spot causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Releasing your throbbing numb “Tell me and you can cum all over my tongue and fingers” taking your clit back in my mouth and giving it a sharp tug. “Fuck August…” I slowed my attack of your body to a deathly slow pace. You blew out a frustrated breath. “I want you to use me to get revenge on my father by any means necessary.” the thought of that alone, i was hard as stone. “Good girl” I quickened my pace, coating my finger in your juices, I made my way to your back entrance and pushed in with little resistance. “Fuck petal your so tight i can feel you squeezing my fingers” 

No response, just moans. “I can't hold back much longer,” I smiled wickedly. Flattening my tongue, I licked at your folds pulling your clit back into my mouth with a harsh suck and pulling you over the edge “AUGUST '' you cried as you rode my fingers. Drawing out your pleasure till your legs were absolutely shaking but I wasn't done with you yet. With drawing my fingers and giving your thighs a couple more nips for good measure I placed you back on the edge of the bed, moving from my knees to full height, my cock tenting my pants. Watching you gasping and with your hair a mess. You looked so good. Leaning over “Had enough?” we locked eyes and your eyes narrowed “Not even fucking close” 

with a devilish grin, i captured your lips with mine, giving you a taste of you off my own tongue, reaching for the zipper on my slacks "Well then petal, let me defile you in everyway"

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