#I think I need to make their hair thicker perhaps?

[lavender-temult]

Otohan Thull. How does your hair work

#I think I need to make their hair thicker perhaps? #also mess with the colors a bit since it’s more silvery and less grey which is fine I guess just not quite how I’m imagining them #also mess with their skin tone ‘cause my current thing is more orangey than I’m imagining and I’d want it to be more red #also a little bit more saturated lol. but also not enough to blend in too much with her cloak thingy? eh I’ll play around with that #actually thinking about it I should probably make a reference sheet for her #and liliana too while I’m at it ‘cause why not #also otohan’s armor is fun to draw and I already did a bunch of sketches that also kinda double as a turn-around? The poses aren’t great fo #that but I still think it’d be fun. also I should rewatch the description of her backpack contraption thingy because I want sketch it more #anyways that’s that for tonight’s late-night art ramblings lol #art ramblings

[simpjaes]

JAKE... SLEEVELESS... IN THE POOL... pls write something i beg u

wc: 952 warnings: public fingering, ex boyfriend jake, he's kind of a dick [he didn't wanna be seen w u previously] [visual stimulation]

Water vs. wet.

You thought they were the same thing. Really, you didn't think anyone would be able to tell the difference while floating around trying not to ogle your ex boyfriend from too long ago.

It's not even that you want to fuck him, it's just that it's...him. Seeing him brings back the memories of all the wild and sleepless nights, hungover mornings, and messy afternoons.

Sure, he's not exactly a green flag, but in the moment he doesn't look so red either. Not with the way his arms flex when he wades around with that stupid snide smile on his face, stealing glances at you just to see if you're looking at him.

The difference between this water and the difference between being wet is that...well. You're wet in more ways than one. Sure, there's cool droplets running down your shoulders, just like the ones dipping and sliding down the lines of Jake's muscles, but there's also the other wet.

You feel it between your legs. Thicker than water, slipping down your folds in these bikini bottoms in an embarrassing reminder of who it is that does this to you, warmer than the water. If anyone were to walk up behind you and cup their hands over your core, they'd know. But no one would do that.

Except, someone definitely would. You stay in the pool as long as Jake does, wading around and pretending you're not dripping. Anyone else in this water would be horrified, surely, but not Jake. Not you.

It was always fun to be messy, dirty, and unashamed of it. Behind closed doors of course.

By the time night begins to take hold and you're still wading around, across the pool from Jake and being caught in the act of staring far too many times in the past hour and half since you've dipped in, he appears to be fed up with gawking.

Fed up with putting on a show. Fed up with pretending he doesn't miss fucking around with you. The pool lights shine from under him as the sun fades, still enough light from above to give him a warm glow. His hair half dry, the ends of his strands dripping, his muscles protruding and smile glistening and wide. You can't just look away, your mind racing in the realization that he's coming up to you. Like so many times before, when it was normal and expected for him to come up to you. It feels familiar when it shouldn't, thrusting you into the mindset of the smart-girl persona you had during that first year of college. Perhaps you haven't grown as much as you thought you had, especially when he's just as bold as he's always been. He touches you before he says anything, wading around you until his chest is to your back and his arms wrap around your waist as if the two of you never broke up in the first place. "You're not very subtle about it." You can hear his smile against your ear when he says it, dropping his head to prop on your shoulder. "You miss me?" You nod to him, all while breathing out a small "no." The feeling of his arms, bigger than before, making you feel the same comfort and intense need to cling to him. "Always were so bad at communicating too." He chuckles against you, pulling you closer against him and intentionally pressing his hips up, lining his length up with your ass. He's wearing shorts, hell, he's wearing a shirt too, goddamn him. But ah, that. That's still the same delicious size. You remember how hard he'd get himself for you, letting you ride him til he's dizzy and drowsy like he had no power to stop you. He was always bold, but never this confident. You remain silent against him, trying to ignore the people all around the pool and wandering in and out of the house. These things are expected at a senior college party, but still, you and Jake never were too crazy out in the open like this. In fact, you and Jake were never even supposed to be seen as an item at all. "Oh, suddenly you're okay with being seen with me?" You bite back at him, your body still betraying you in the way you hold his arms against you like you used to do in bed when he'd cuddle you. "Mhm." He smiles, walking backwards in the water with you in his grasp, up until his back is against the pool wall. "I was still thinking like a high schooler back then, not sure why I ever broke up with you." Ouch, your heart. You'd managed you get over him months ago, still took far too long though. "And you still stare at me like you could punch me in the face." Jake laughs this time, shaking one arm from your grip to trail down, cupping his hand to the seat of your bikini bottoms. "We always fucked instead, remember?" You can only nod at his boastful reminders. All those times where he'd blow you off in the hallways that first year of college. He needed a new image after all, one that you weren't part of. But goddamn, his hands are the only ones that know how to work you, especially when he's gently slipping a finger under your bikini and sliding only slightly. "Always got so wet too, just like this." He laughs almost as if he's mocking you for being so turned on by him. "You still want me?" You shake your head, ultimately trying to pull from him now, but he slips his finger in quickly, moaning against your ear with a tighter grip. "C'mon," He encourages your deep inhale to release in any sort of sound. "I'm letting everyone see now, aren't I?"

#enhypen smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun smut #ask #anon #hardthots

[junkdrawerfics]

You're Scaring Me

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Request - Can you write one where the reader does something major told her not to do and he gets mad when he finds out and then jasper tries to console her and she’s jus really guilty and upset and then the major comes back out and they talk it thru.

Word Count: 3558

Warning: Angsty maybe. Obviously some unhealthy anger stuff, but it ends well, I promise.

Note: I liked the idea of doing something with the wolves, but felt Jasper/the Major wouldn't ask you to stay away from people, especially if they were your friends. So I took a route regarding reader's safety, since he'd totally go feral over that.

---

Saying Forks was in the middle of a blizzard would be an under exaggeration.

You’d never seen snow like this. You could barely see past your front porch, it was coming down so hard. School had been canceled, of course, and Emmett had convinced the family it would be fun to try hunting with the added challenge of not being able to see.

Jasper had hesitated to join at first, to leave you alone in this storm since your parents were away, but it only took a little soft convincing from you for him to relent.

On one term, at least

“Please stay here ‘til we get back,” the blond repeats worriedly as he puts on a coat - that he doesn’t need, you might add

“It’s not that bad out, Jasper,” you chuckle, eyes glued out the window.

“Darlin.”

His voice shifts subtly. You blink, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Jasper stares right back at you, eyes narrowed, a familiar intensity burning behind them. Your body figures it out before you do, fine hairs standing on end, pupils dilating. A sharp contradiction to the smile that lights up your face.

“Yes, Major?” You ask, barely missing a beat. 

The man takes a step towards you, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight. It’d be intimidating if you didn’t know better.

“You goin’ to listen for me?” He asks, voice low, accent thicker than before.

“Of course, Major.”

The barest flicker of a smile pulls at the vampire’s lips. Such a sweet thing. The way you look at him - all wide, puppy dog eyes, attentive and loving - it makes him feel raw with the need to protect you, even if it’s just from the blizzard.

Tender in a way he’s never been, the Major touches your chin, drawing close enough that he can feel your warm breath stutter against his lips as he murmurs, “Then be a good girl and stay put for me. I don’t want you out in this weather.”

You can’t help but soften, fondness curling in your chest. He really is just a soft teddy bear at his core. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you insist, curling your arms around his waist, “I won’t go out, I promise.”

“Good.” The Major closes the small gap between you, lips pressing against yours in an unrelenting kiss. It’s all you can do to keep yourself upright as his hand curls along your jaw, drawing you closer, closer, until your head is spinning from the feeling. You’d think he’s going off to war again by the way he kisses you.

You can barely catch your breath when he pulls away. Heat blooms across your cheeks, and you bury your face in his chest to hide it, which earns a low chuckle from the blond. He presses another kiss to your temple, this one softer, gentler.

“Love you, darlin,” he murmurs, all honey and sweet and Jasper again.

You melt against him, voice muffled by his sweater, “Love you too, Jazz. Stay safe, please.”

“I won’t be long,” he reassures you, “Emmett will give in when he realizes all the animals are hidin’ from the weather.”

You huff a laugh. Perhaps. Emmett is stubborn, reckless, and stubbornly reckless. Once he has an idea in his mind, it’s hard to get him off it, like today. But you’re sure Jasper’s right. He’ll give up once he gets bored.

“I’ll hold you to that mister. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He leans down, catching your lips one final time. You can feel his grin through the kiss. “Just a couple hours, darlin’. I’ll drag him back if I have to after that.”

He’s still reluctant to leave, but the nagging worries are quieter now, enough that he can drag himself from the comfort of your touch to join his brothers outside. You watch them disappear into the haze of snow, like ghosts, before shuffling back to your kitchen to work on some homework.

It shouldn’t be so hard to stay busy until they get back. Right?

---

That’s what you thought, at least. But one hour quickly turns to two, which quickly turns to three and still no Jasper. By the fifth hour, you’ve finished all your work and find yourself staring into an empty fridge with a growling stomach.

Of course your parents would forget to stock up before going on a business trip.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glance outside. It’s still snowing, but not…as bad. You could probably make it to the grocery store and back without any problems. And you’d probably get back before they do, so Jasper wouldn’t even know.

Everything would be fine.

You layer up, tucking a scarf tightly around your neck. It might be a little lighter outside, but it’s still well below freezing. It’ll be quick, though. The grocer is maybe a five minute walk, and you only need a couple things.

Popping your hood up, you grab your house keys and venture out, shuffling the whole way there.

---

“Brave of you to venture out in this,” the cashier chimes, scanning your microwave meal and milk - you figure you might as well get stuff for breakfast too.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” you hum shakily, teeth still chattering as you hand him some cash, “I’d rather be cold for a bit instead of going hungry.”

“Fair ‘nough!” The cash register dings and he hands you some change. “Stay safe out there, miss.”

“Thanks.” You cast him a smile, “You too. Hope it clears up a bit before you have to leave.”

“God willing.”

You slip your gloves back on and heave the bag of supplies from the counter. 

On the walk back, you’re a little less careful, eyes wandering as you tread through the snow. The journey here hadn’t been so bad. Sure you’d almost slipped a few times, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it’d be. It was actually almost nice, once your face went numb at least.

Your thoughts wander to the food in your hands, pace picking up a bit as you think about how nice a warm meal will be after this. And well earned after a long day of work and a hazardous journey to get it. Maybe you could cuddle up on the couch and turn on a movie while you eat. That sounds ni-

-and you’re falling.

You screech, boots slipping against the ice as the world tilts wildly. Instinctually, your eyes squeeze shut and you wait for the impact, hoping your layers might be enough to cushion the fall.

They are, thankfully. But they aren’t enough to stop your ankle from twisting as you tumble a bit off the sidewalk.

The pain is instant. It pulses up your leg, sharp and fiery compared to the cold seeping into your bones. You suck in a sharp breath, teeth gritting as you bury your face in the snow. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from crying, that stinging sensation starting in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat.

God, you’re so screwed.

—

“Darlin, I’m back,” Jasper calls out softly, brushing the ice from his hair as he slips into your warm house.

Almost instantly, he can tell something’s wrong. Jasper stops, brow furrowing. Usually you’d be bounding up to tackle him by now, a beautiful smile on your lips, asking how things went. It’s something constant, a custom he enjoys more than he’ll admit.

There’s no greeting this time, though. Even as he stills, focusing on the sounds of the house, he can’t hear a thing. No footsteps, no heartbeat. It’s eerily silent, empty. 

You’re not here.

An uneasy feeling settles in his chest. Jasper speeds through the house, checking each room, hoping his ears are just tricking him. Maybe you’re just asleep or reading in some corner. With each empty room, though, the feeling worsens, gripping him by the throat, unrelenting and violent. He’s spiraling, he knows it, can tell he’s walking along an all too familiar edge, blurred between himself and-

The Major pauses at the door to your bedroom. Empty. Your coat isn’t where you usually leave it. Neither are your boots. It leaves little doubt in his mind where you’ve gone.

You didn’t listen to him. 

The blond takes a slow breath, holding back the anger that washes over him, white hot and smoldering. 

It’s rare for you to not listen to him. You know his none-too-gentle requests are for your safety, they always are. Because while Jasper would rather die a million times than see you hurt, the Major would bring the world to its knees if it meant keeping you safe. He’s never had something as good as you in his life and the need to protect that, to protect you, well - that drives him to his knees. And now you’re out in this storm. By yourself.

The door slams as he throws himself back out into the snow to find you.

---

The snow is picking up, you notice glumly as you carefully flip over in the snow. Even the slightest movement makes pain prickle up your leg, but you can’t lay face down in the snow much longer, not with how you’re quickly losing feeling in your nose.

You sniffle, swiping at your eyes to keep the tears away. What are you supposed to do now? It’s not like you can stay out here. Frostbite doesn’t exactly sound appealing, but neither does the idea of limping home with this pain. You could call…No, no, he’d be so mad. You can’t call Jasper.

Not that fate really cares about what you think.

You squeak when a pair of arms suddenly lifts you out of the snow. The only thing that keeps you from screaming is the familiar cold touch of your captor and the mess of blond hair flickering in the snowy breeze. The fear slowly disappears when you realize it’s just Jasper.

Quickly replaced by a tight, anxious feeling in your chest when you see the tense set of his jaw and how the lines in his neck stand out under his pale skin. He’s upset. He’s upset with you and your ankle is still throbbing and your eyes are stinging again and-

You inhale shakily, an apology ready to spill off your lips, but the look he gives you makes it all die on your tongue. His usually stoic expression turns dark, eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger.

“You open that mouth, sugar, and I promise I won’t be goin’ easy on you,” he drawls, low and heavy, accent dripping off each word.

Not Jasper. You bite your lip, eyes immediately dropping to your lap. Definitely not Jasper.

You can’t bring yourself to break the stifling silence after that. Not when you can practically feel the Major’s anger radiating from him, which does nothing to ease the turmoil swirling inside of you. The soldier is never this open with his emotions, usually so careful to maintain a mask of indifference. With each step, you can feel the tension rising, his grip tightening, and your chest almost hurts from how hard your heart is beating.

It all comes to a head when you make it to the house. The moment your feet hit the ground, and he knows you're safe, the reins of his control slip, an uncontainable rage burning through him.

“I told you not to go out,” he mutters, pacing back and forth in your small entryway. 

He can’t stay still, too scared of what he could do. Every cell in his body desires to pin you against the wall, handle you rough and selfish, make you realize how awful it felt to come back and find you gone. But he can’t. He won’t. That’s not what you deserve, he knows that. Jasper would be better at this, he would be gentle, but the Major has never been good at gentle.

You blink at him, wide-eyed from the door. It’s like watching a lion pace at the bars of a zoo, except there’s nothing between you and him. Nothing to keep you safe except him. He could do anything and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. You’re just a human, after all. And the Major has had his share of violence. Even though you know he would never hurt you, you can’t stop your hands from shaking.

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t going to be out long,” you try and explain, digging your fingers into the material of your coat, “I promise-”

“You promised you’d stay put,” he drawls roughly, hands clenching behind his back.

“I was just goi- going to get food!”

The blond grits his teeth, his usual impassive tone sharpening, “What on earth were you thinkin’?”

“I- I thought I’d be back before you,” you spit out, and immediately snap your mouth shut.

The Major stops pacing, every muscle in his body going rigid. You bite your cheek, pulse racing as he slowly turns to you, those gold eyes burning so dark you swear they almost look red. Like blood. Something tightens in your chest. That was the wrong thing to say.

“So you purposefully disobeyed my orders?”

“I didn’t-”

“You decided to be foolish and risk your life goin’ out in this storm,” he growls, slowly closing the space between you, “without anyone knowin’?”

You shrink back a little, panic clouding your head. The Major stops in front of you, frame towering over yours, making you feel impossibly small. Tears prick at your eyes as you shuffle back against the door, pain shooting up your leg as you put weight on it.

“Answer me, darlin.” He doesn’t relent, eyes burning into you. Waiting.

A lump forms in your throat. You bite your cheek, desperate to keep the tears at bay, eyes glued to his boots. You can’t. You can’t do this.

But the blood drains from your face when a fist slams into the door beside you, practically splintering the wood. You can feel it shake against you before settling into silence.

“I’m not goin’ to ask again, (Y/n),” he murmurs, deadly calm again.

You hold your breath, slowly bringing your eyes back up to the Major, and the look on his face makes your heart drop. It’s drawn into something unnervingly blank, cold. No more anger, just…

“Major-“ A tear breaks down your cheek, your voice unbearably quiet. “You’re scaring me.”

The change is instant.

Like light breaking through the clouds, the emptiness leaves his eyes, filling them back with warmth and concern and love.

And you crumble.

Jasper catches you with ease, arms wrapping around you tenderly as he lowers you both on the ground. You curl into him, face buried in his coat as the tears come freely now. You couldn’t stop them even if you wanted, and you’re just so tired, so hurt. There’s nothing left in you, all you can do is cry and cling to him for dear life.

“‘m sorry, I’m sorry,” you hiccup miserably, and Jasper feels his still heart break. “I’m so sorry, Jazz, I didn’t mean to. I just, I just needed food, and it wasn’t that far, and I thought- I thought-”

He hushes you softly, fingers brushing through your hair as he unwinds the swirling mess of your emotions. You can feel it, you’ve always been able to, the subtle shifts and gentle pulls. Never too much, because he knows you wouldn’t want that, but enough so you’re not drowning in them. 

Eventually you’re calm enough to take a full breath, the air stuttering past your lips as you go limp in Jasper’s hold. He draws you tight against him, brushing his hand down to rest at the nape of your neck, just a comforting, constant pressure. 

“You’ve nothin’ to apologize for, darlin,” he murmurs eventually, voice muffled in your hair. “I’m the one who should be. I had no right treatin’ you like that, no matter how worried I was.”

“But-”

“No,” he cuts you off firmly. “It wasn’t right, darlin. It was my fault for bein’ late. He…He’s mighty overprotective of you, and he- I don’t know how to handle myself well when it comes to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I do…” You sniffle, the sound soft and sad, but your grip on him tightens. “But I should’ve listened, then I wouldn’t have slipped and gotten hurt.”

Jasper pulls you back suddenly, brows furrowed in surprise, “What? You’re hurt? Where? Do I need to get Carlisle?”

You laugh weakly, his overwhelming concern easing the tightness left in your chest. The tension drips from your muscles, adrenaline slowing. “No, no, I’m fine. I just, I fell…outside and I think I twisted my ankle, is all.”

“Let me see.”

You squeak as he sweeps you up for the second time today. You wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the couch. Every touch is slow, careful, as he sets you down and goes to work on getting your boots off. You wince a little when you have to bend your ankle, and he murmurs a quiet apology.

Relief washes over you though when his cool fingers smooth over your heated skin. It’s like the best ice pack ever. You can’t help but sink into the couch with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

Jasper purses his lips. It must have been a bad fall since your ankle is angry and swollen. He should have come back sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have gone out in the storm, you wouldn’t be hurt, and the Major never would have scared you.

His thoughts flashes back to the look on your face. The fear glimmering in your eyes as he leaned over you. It’s burned into his mind, replaying over and over.

“Major, you’re scaring me.”

After a few seconds too long of silence, you peek an eye open. Jasper kneels, statue still in front of you, eyes set on something distant. A frown catches your lips, and you lean forward, touching his chin gingerly. Those gold eyes dart up to you, coming into focus, flicking between their usual warmth and a familiar steeliness. You shake your head fondly.

“Major,” you call, hand resting against his cheek, “come on, let’s talk.”

He straightens ever so slightly, but instead of drawing back like you’d expect, the stoic man covers your hand with his own, turning to skim his nose to the inside of your wrist. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed. You sit there, just like that for a while, watching him quietly.

When he talks, his voice is a low, calm rumble, his lips brushing against your skin, “I’m sorry for actin’ like such an animal, sugar.”

You purse your lips. A part of you wants to just forgive him. Move on from all of this and forget it. But then you remember the sound of his fist hitting the door, the way it resounded in your chest in place of your heartbeat. You’ve never felt like that, and you don’t want to feel like that again.

“I know you were worried,” you start nervously, wetting your lips. The Major doesn’t say a word, eyes set on you patiently, just waiting for you to continue. You take another deep breath, “I know you asked me to stay home and it upset you that I didn’t. I know you want to keep me safe. But…but it scared me, how angry you got, and that’s, that’s not okay.”

“It’s not,” he hums in agreement, thumb brushing soothingly over your pulse.

You nod and feel a little more confident as you go on, “I, I might do something you don’t like in the future, and if I do, you need to talk to me first. Nicely, please. I love you, like I love Jasper, but we’re equals, even if you’re a lot stronger and bigger than me. ” His lips twitch a little in amusement. You shoot him a scolding look, which makes him fall back into seriousness. “I don’t take orders. I listen because I know you care, but you need to listen to me, too. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls your hand back, pressing a brief kiss to your knuckles. It softens you a bit. A small smile draws across your lips. “You have my solemn word, it won't happen again. And my deepest apologies.”

“You’re forgiven,” you chirp. The last of your worries melt away at the smile he gives you, all lopsided and charming. You shake your head with a laugh, “But you owe me, mister.”

“Well, of course,” he concedes easily, desiring nothing more than to cheer you up now, “What can I do for you, little lamb?”

Shifting awkwardly, careful of your ankle, you jab a finger at the plastic bag you dropped by the door, “Make me some dinner! Cause I’m starving and that’s what got us into this mess.”

The vampire laughs, fully laughs. It’s something you don’t get to hear often, so you absolutely love it. Love him and the way his eyes crinkle with mirth as he pushes himself to his feet, tipping a nonexistent hat to you. Jasper.

“It would be my pleasure, darlin.”

“Thanks, hun.”

---

This was SO hard to write! I suck at doing anger, because it's hard to represent the unhealthy relationship stuff. I tried to turn it around cause I believe ultimately he's a respectful man, and that's how I want to portray him.

So I hope you guys like this! Sorry if the pacing's weird or anything, I just wanted to get it done!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #the major x reader #the major #angst

[sunkendreams]

Can I ask for a Vincent Sinclair smut PLZZZ🛐🛐 (I love him sm)

redamancy.

➾ pairing ; vincent sinclair x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 4.4K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), fingering (f!receiving), dry humping, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, making out, scratching, rough sex, slight breeding kink, vincent is pretty obsessive/possessive, darker vincent, choking

author’s note: I haven’t written for vincent in a hot minute but boy, this was a perfect way to get back into it! I plan on writing another bo/reader/vincent thing at some point and more bo/reader. Trying to ease myself back into all of this! Thank you all so much for your love and support!

Hot pearls of pale wax trickled from the numerous candles littered throughout the basement, basked within an orange glow. It only served to add to the warmth of the underbelly of the House of Wax, temperatures maintained to prevent any form of melting. Vincent had learned to temper it all over time — control the heat, master the atmosphere.

A silver scalpel idly shaped a column of wax, something that would soon join the displays up above. His movements were methodical, purposeful — he was a perfectionist. Every stroke had to mean something, appear flawless and without any imperfections.

He’d been making up for imperfections all his life — even still, Vincent was continuing to work himself ragged, to further his mother’s work. Perhaps, someday, it would make him more worthy in her eyes.

Footsteps reverberated throughout his underground mausoleum of wax, and he knew that it was you. Bo rarely, if ever, came downstairs, and his gait was often far more purposeful and aggressive than yours could ever be. He was hunched over his desk, guiding the flickering flame toward the wax, letting it melt and bend.

Vincent carefully began to mold the wax, shape it to whatever he pleased. It was a statuette, meant to resemble that of a serpent. Using the edge of the scalpel, he quickly carved in intricate designs as the surface began to cool, brushing off any excess with the pad of his thumb.

You quietly crept through the basement, making your way toward Vincent’s coiled frame, perched within his rickety chair. You always enjoyed watching him work — his artistic talent was mesmerizing to behold. With a light shrug, you tugged your robe around you, feet absorbing the warmth from the concrete floor.

It was common for him to wake up sometime in the night, leaving the space beside you to work. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could quell the raging thoughts inside of him, or the one activity that took his mind off of everything. Vincent could think of other activities to distract himself, but you needed to agree to it, too.

The cold dusk of Louisiana couldn’t reach either of you — not here, not in the warmth of the basement. It was akin to a sanctuary for you, this wax cathedral built to destroy and to create anew. There was something so fascinating about this place, something hauntingly beautiful and macabre all rolled into one.

“Hey,” You murmured, lazily rubbing at the back of your neck. His shirt clumsily hung from your frame, the robe haphazardly tossed over the garment. Vincent regarded you with a tender look in his eye, countenance shrouded by that familiar waxy veil. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Vincent shook his head, dark tresses idly brushing across the back of the woolen sweater he wore. You were often amazed at his heat tolerance, wearing thicker garments in a sweltering basement. He turned slightly within his seat, an open invitation for you to come and inspect his work.

There was a point in time where he had little desire for you to see any of his projects, but that sentiment had drastically changed. Vincent valued your admiration above all else. He turned the partially-finished serpent over, noticing your look of recognition and delight.

“That’s a basilisk, isn’t it? It’s beautiful so far.” You gently traced your index finger along some of the scales Vincent had carved into the surface. The initial grogginess of slumber was beginning to wear off as you stood at his side, gaze flickering toward the assortment of art tools, wax, and glowing candles.

“It’s for you.” Vincent’s hands moved sluggishly as he signed, feeling your fingertips grace his shoulder, nails idly raking across his back. He shivered, enjoying the light sensation of your touch, knowing that it was bound to contort and twist into a different sort of feeling.

Your lips curled into a smitten smile, teeth absentmindedly toying with your lower lip. “For me? Are you sure?” It belonged in the House of Wax, amongst all of his other sculptures and pieces of art. However, you weren’t about to stop him from his sentimental gesture. You loved everything he’d made for you.

With a brief nod, Vincent placed the statuette back down onto the debris-laden desk, swiping at a fine layer of wax flecks with his hand. Along the mantle situated above his workbench, you noticed a weathered photograph, partially obscured by a series of half-destroyed wax masks that he’d worn at one point or another.

Admittedly, you hadn’t seen the picture before — and you had memorized every square inch of this place by now. “Hey,” You motioned toward it, pointing at the obstructed photograph with visible intrigue. “What’s that?” You inquired, head cocking to one side.

Vincent’s jaw tightened, posture becoming somewhat stiff and rigid as he deliberately removed the picture from behind the masks. He’d forgotten all about it until you pointed it out — a sliver of him wondered why he’d even kept it at all. He cradled the tattered, dusty photograph within one hand, brows furrowing together.

It was Trudy Sinclair, forever immortalized within one still image, holding a very young Vincent, whose countenance was indistinguishable — marred and torn from his conjoined state with Bo. Her expression was arguably the kindest it had ever been, gazing down upon the near-infant Vincent with a look of fondness.

Even through the faded granules of color, you were able to make out the affection she held for him. Your heart clenched within your chest, primarily out of empathy for Vincent himself. Despite all his talent and efforts to regain some favor in his mother’s eyes, part of her would always see him as some disfigured freak, doomed to be trapped behind that wax mask.

Wordlessly, Vincent offered you the photograph, letting you inspect it for yourself. You treated the object like a priceless relic, gently turning it over within your hands. It pained you to know the fate that had inevitably befallen the Sinclairs — locked within a household filled with vitriol and parents whose passions often overrode any love they might’ve had for their children.

“This is Trudy, isn’t it?” You uttered, watching as Vincent’s head bobbed up and down in a stoic nod. Bo had received the short end of the stick when it came to Trudy’s love, but things were far from perfect with Vincent, too. “I’m sorry, Vincent.” Your voice barely drifted above a whisper, lips curling into a sympathetic frown.

His shoulders sagged in a gentle shrug, taking the photograph from you before placing it behind a cluster of half-burnt candles. “Nothing to be sorry for. You can’t change the past.” Vincent signed, concentration turning to you, instead.

He’d spent most of his life wishing that he could change his tumultuous childhood — he’d stopped long ago. He and his brothers would always be chained to Trudy, and there would always be a certain level of loyalty to her, even in death.

“I understand, Vincent.” With a soft murmur, you gently rubbed at the back of your neck, trailing your fingers across his spine. “Come back to bed with me?” You asked, head canting to one side. Vincent reached for your wrist, gingerly cradling it between his fingers, stroking along your forearm.

He wasn’t tired, but Vincent didn’t want to leave you alone, either. He moved up from his chair, lean musculature towering above you as he kept hold of your wrist, fingers drifting to twine around your hand. The two of you retreated into the alcove that served as his bedroom, if one could call it that.

The mattress was littered in blankets, indents visible from where the two of you slept. He’d fixed it up with doors that folded shut, similar to that of a closet. You settled back down, Vincent right beside you as he tugged you close, letting you lounge against his chest.

You sat up just a little bit, enough to see his masked countenance. “Could I ask you something?” Your voice was nothing more than a tender whisper, and now that you were awake, a string of thoughts began to nag at the back of your head. Pillowtalk with Vincent often became very emotionally-charged.

“Anything.” Vincent nodded as his hands moved, propping himself up enough to look at you, too. He had told you about his life some time ago — the intricate details and his own sentiments on the matter were left out and simply implied. You were a precocious and inquisitive individual, but above all, you were empathetic.

“This,” With a feather-light caress, you traced your finger along the cheekbone of his mask. “Why do you still wear it around me?” Your inquiry was innocuous, spoken out of genuine concern instead of malice or confusion. Vincent had shown you his face once before — and it never bothered you. It wouldn’t bother you.

Vincent’s throat became tight, jaw unusually tense as he attempted to muster up a feasible answer. It was an anchor for him — one way to feel less like a monster and a freak. “Habit,” He signed, but he knew better than to give you a false response. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or pity me.”

Your brows furrowed together, visage contorting with a look of mild confusion. “What do you mean, Vince?” You wondered if you��d done something wrong, stomach swelling with a wave of anxiety, but he seemed to catch this. He pressed a finger against your lips before he began to sign in a flurry of animated hands.

“I don’t want you to pity me for how I look. I’ve spent my entire life being looked at like a freak — like something fragile, something to feel sorry for.” Vincent finished with finality to it, hoping that you would understand why he continued to wear the mask. He knew that you still loved him, regardless of how he appeared.

“No, no,” You uttered, sitting up enough to stare at him, hands gently splayed across his taut chest. “When I saw your face, that night in the kitchen — the only thing that I saw was a survivor.” His eye sparkled whenever you spoke, hanging upon your every word. “You’re resilient and you’re talented, Vincent. You’ve never been a freak.”

It was the first time in his life that someone labeled him as a survivor — he hadn’t thought of it like that.

Most of his life had been about preservation — keeping the Sinclair name alive, to continue his mother’s dream, keeping Bo and Lester safe. Vincent hadn’t considered that his face was also a sign of resilience, of an endurance that even he wasn’t fully aware of.

You felt his hand reach for you, cupping your jaw with calloused, roughened digits, the practiced hands of an artist. His touch was filled with both adoration and a dark yearning, thumb sweeping over your lower lip. “You mean everything to me.” He signed, and you knew that he meant it wholeheartedly.

“You mean everything to me, too.” You murmured, careening into the warmth of his embrace, lips pursing to kiss the pad of his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” A breathy, passionate sigh left you when he coaxed you closer, slotted against his musculature.

His hawkish eye picked you apart from where you sat, the distance slim between the two of you. You were vaguely aware of his obsession with you, disguised as protectiveness and adoration — Vincent often made it explicitly clear that you belonged to him, drew a line in the sand with Bo over and over again.

As you lavished him in kind, tenderhearted words, Vincent’s innate possessiveness over you seemed to flare to life, malignant and very much alive. You were tethered to him until the end of time — a pretty, iron-wrought cage, inescapable — and admittedly, you didn’t want to be free from it at all. You stopped thinking that way a long time ago.

Vincent exhaled, dragging his hand across the slender expanse of your neck, digits exploring the canvas that was your flesh — all belonging to him. “You’re mine.” He signed, staking his claim for the hundredth time. Even through signing alone, his nature was desirous and rapacious.

Long before he’d entered this relationship with you, he was very indifferent towards you. It stemmed from insecurities, from rage, and from confusion — girls were always Bo’s forte and never his. Having you, something to covet, something to protect and to keep, Vincent was always worried that he’d lose it.

You nodded, breath hitching within your throat when he traced the pad of his thumb across your pulse point. Your heartbeat had climbed to erratic, excitable heights, mouth somewhat dry as he applied pressure underneath either side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” Parasitic — you leached from him, and it always took your loneliness away. You used to hate him for taking away your friends, but it almost felt like a wandering dream that didn’t feel real. Ambrose was where you were meant to be — meant to be with Vincent. You empathized with him, surrounding him with your affection and comfort.

A rugged huff emerged from the depths of his throat, feeling you climb closer, gaze glazed-over with desire. Wordlessly, Vincent removed his mask, placing the waxy veil aside as his mouth clamored for yours. The kiss was blistering, full of a rather oppressive possession and greed — he felt entitled to you, in some depraved sense.

Reciprocation made him giddy as your lips eagerly pressed against his, responding with a desperation that nearly bordered his own. Vincent squeezed your jaw, other hand relocating to slip underneath the baggy shirt you wore, brazenly groping at your breasts.

Your fingers scraped through his hair, digging into the base of his skull as he coaxed you down against the mattress. Vincent crawled on top of you, mouth briefly disconnecting from yours before he crashed back into you, parting your legs with his knee.

A low, raspy grunt escaped him when your lips continued their relentless assault, mouth parting to allow for a sloppy kiss. He was needy, desperate to feel you as he rucked your shirt up with one hand, fingertips tracing across the plane of your stomach. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine, arousal pooling between your thighs.

Heat blistered between the both of you, an amalgamation of desire, want, and the emotion of your charged conversation moments prior. Vincent savored it all — it still didn’t feel real sometimes, being physical with you. Some time ago, he felt unworthy, too horrid and too scarred, but you changed everything.

You changed the way he touched you — no longer hesitant or wrought with deliberation. He felt like a god, capable of conquering anything — even you. Instead, each touch was charged with lust, and the sensation was beyond mutual as you slipped a hand underneath his sweater.

Vincent was made of taut, sinewy muscle, littered in plenty of scars. His broad shoulders tensed when your hand pressed into the nape of his neck, toying with the collar of his sweater. In one fluid motion, he lifted it up and over his head, discarding it toward the foot of the bed.

He lifted two digits toward his lips, pressing them upon his tongue as he coated them in saliva. Vincent’s eye glistened with a ravenous sheen, fingers drifting toward the warmth between your legs. He brusquely shoved your panties aside, dragging those fingers along your slit, peppering your jaw in kisses.

“Vincent,” You moaned, feeling him cage you against him, arm bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. It was explosive — everything felt hot, as if the both of you were running out of time. “Touch me.” Your voice was high-pitched with a sense of urgency.

Your hips jolted forward, chasing after the friction his digits provided, feeling his mouth press hot kisses against your sternum. He branded you with his embrace, hoping to make it permanent — a mark, something that bound you to him. His lips sought to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth, suckling on the sensitive bud.

At last, he gave into your breathy demands, slotting his thumb against your clit as his middle fingers explored your cunt. An elated sigh escaped you, knees squeezing at his waist, hands splayed across his shoulders. He looked immaculate beneath orange candlelight — a deity of wax, perfection immortalized.

A ripple of bliss consumed you, body keening and arching into Vincent’s touch. His fingers lightly traced your core before dipping inward, forcing his way inside of you, feeling your cunt clench pathetically around his practiced digits. He lavished your breasts in a flurry of attention, throat echoing with a hoarse grunt.

Scars were crisscrossing all over his body, remnants of his victims that left their mark. Bullets, stab wounds, the diagonal, uneven slashes of knives and sharp objects. His skin served as a canvas for chaos, and you traced your fingertips over a livid mark on his chest.

Vincent shuddered, rutting his fingers inside of you before withdrawing halfway, finding a steady rhythm to piston in and out of your aching heat. He kissed his way back to your mouth, lips crashing into one another as he pressed against you. You could feel his erection snug along your thigh, prompting you to squirm.

You needed him terribly, unable to vocalize that want unless it was through a mess of needy moans. With a gentle shove, your lips tangled with his, tugging on his mane of dark tresses. Vincent huffed, digits curling into your cunt, eliciting a simpering cry from you.

He watched you through a lustful stare, glazed-over with rapture, drunk with desire. Vincent kissed at your throat, teeth teasing your flesh, feeling you roll your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Need you inside of me,” Your voice emerged as a hungry groan, clawing at the muscle of his shoulder. “Please, Vincent.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t seen you quite like this before — tangled up within your own need, aching for him in ways you hadn’t felt before. Vincent was delighted to oblige you, feeding off of your desire like a leech.

“How?” Vincent signed, and that singular word seemed to set off some chain reaction. Your stomach sloshed with anticipation as you rolled over onto your abdomen, able to hear the audible hitch in his throat, a raspy grunt tearing past his lips.

Vincent slipped his fingers from your cunt, digits coated in a thin sheen of your arousal. He grabbed at your hips, chest reverberating with a low rumble as he tugged you back against him. The metallic rattling of his belt sent shivers down your spine, able to feel the heat of his cock press against your slit.

“Vincent,” You moaned, and that was enough to get his blood pumping, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline as he let the head of his length slide through your slick a time or two. A soft yelp tore past your lips when he pushed himself inside of you, hunched over you, flesh feverishly warm.

A hand gently held the back of your neck, thumb grazing over the slender muscle of your jugular. His face was buried near your shoulder, tresses sweeping across your exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He filled you in a way that you never thought possible, causing you to whimper.

With a sharp thrust, Vincent began to invade your cunt, somewhere between tender and rough. He was always sporadic and unsure when it came to pace, but you thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictability. His cock lewdly slapped into your cunt, followed by the sound of his ragged breathing.

Wax-laden palms skirted across your body, one hand grappling at your hips while the other gathered at the nape of your neck. You huffed, face partially pressed into the mattress, body contorting and submitting to him as you had many times before.

You were perfect — his paramour, his muse.

A twisted desire began to wash over him like a tidal wave, borderline insidious as he rutted into you. Vincent’s love might’ve been perceived as sweet on the surface, yet it often veered off into a very vitriolic obsession. He wanted you all to himself, as much as humanly possible.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, full of a lustful fervor. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

He brought you back against him, caging your back to his chest as he rocked onto his knees. Taut, muscled biceps locked around you as he pistoned into you, cock reaching new depths until he couldn’t go any further. Vincent’s mouth clamored to your neck, kissing and biting wherever he pleased as he kept you snug against him.

“V—Vincent, shit,” You stammered, the newfound position taking you by complete surprise. A sensation of sheer want flooded through you, coupled with overwhelming arousal. He filled you completely, flesh dewy with a layer of perspiration, black strands stuck to his temples from exertion. “Please cum in me.”

Another hoarse, throaty grunt ripped through him, hands relocating as one palm groped at your soft, pliant breasts. The other had a mind of its own, snaking to the cleft between your thighs as he toyed with your clit. Euphoria gripped you then and there, causing you to squirm and writhe with pleasure.

Again, Vincent locked you in against his chest, huffing into your ear, biting at your jaw as he filled you up. Part of him wanted to devour you, but the added heat and friction, the swiftness of the moment was enough to make him exert all force.

If he could, he would’ve gladly drowned himself in you, let himself float away within your very presence. Even covered in a veil of sweat, your scent was saccharine, accompanied by his own musk from the cling of his clothing.

Vincent felt you reach for his hand, digits curling around his wrist as he played with your clit, hoping to get you to your peak, right alongside him. His palm wandered from the plump flesh of your chest toward your throat, wrapping around until he applied pressure along your windpipe.

Within the stifling warmth of the basement, the only sounds that reverberated throughout were your moans and his occasional grunt. Vincent’s breathing was heavy, chest heaving against your back. You moved with him as best as you could, nails digging crescents into the taut tendons of his forearm.

Arousal sat heavy within the pit of your stomach, thick and viscous. Vincent was relentless and unyielding, continuing to pound away at your cunt, gently squeezing underneath your jaw. The combined pleasure that assaulted your clit and throat were preparing to send you cascading over the edge.

“M’close,” You huffed, feeling his lips meet the dip between your neck and shoulder, face buried there as he rutted into you. Everything felt incendiary, as if you’d been set ablaze, only to sink further into the fire. He touched you as if you were molded from obsidian, covetous and desperate for you. “Vincent!”

He never slowed, still pounding away at you, cock unable to go any further before he pulled out just a little bit, only to shove himself back in. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his features, forehead pushing into your shoulder, still clutching at your throat.

You belonged to him — you always would. There was no one else for you, only him.

Vincent huffed, teeth sinking into your flesh until he slammed into you one last time, painting your insides with hot, virile ropes of his seed. He continued to rub circles around your clit, dragging you toward your peak. Your cunt clenched around him, eliciting a throaty groan from him as you came.

A myriad of moans and sighs escaped you, shivers rolling down your spine as your thighs twitched, ecstasy flooding throughout your body. Vincent soothed any bites over with kisses, staying in you for a moment longer until he reclined against the mattress, taking you with him.

You were on top of him, layered in sweat and his cum, palms spread across his chest. Vincent stared at you with complete and utter devotion, gently tucking away any strands of hair that were stuck to your temples.

“You’re perfect,” Vincent signed, tucking his thumb and forefinger beneath your chin. The sienna glow of waning candlelight flickered throughout your shared space, basking you in such an atmospheric light. “You look perfect like this.”

There was a darker undertone to his sweet words — and to him, you did look divine this way, covered in his seed, wracked with want for him. Vincent cared very little for moving in that moment, content to stay with you in the oppressive heat of the basement.

With a soft caress, your fingertips swept across the scarred part of his jaw, mouth clamoring for him in another kiss. He didn’t protest, hand slipping toward the base of your skull, coaxing you closer to him.

“I love you,” You murmured, watching the way his pupil dilated with understanding. “M’tired.” You sank down into the mattress, still staggeringly hot with no sign of changing, either.

Visibly, you were spent, exhilaration and your post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate into exhaustion. You smiled, laying down at his side instead, head curled toward the broad expanse of his shoulder. He locked an arm around you, caging you in, nowhere else to go — it was where you belonged.

There was nowhere you could go where he wouldn’t follow.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #house of wax smut #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #sunkendreams masterlist

[izvmimi]

cw: smut. both of you are inexperienced. handjob and cunnilingus only. fem!reader. reader has vaguely specified magic.

I want to do all the things that make you happy. 

Mash has a way of saying things that light a flame through your body from head to toe as though they are natural and hold minimal weight, as if the very idea of the man being at your service is a matter of fact, rather than a privilege you won’t easily give up.

It’s been a long road to making things official so to speak, converting the idea of friend into boyfriend, going so far as to having to use your magic to demonstrate the kinds of things ‘couples’ do. At times, it feels a little pushy and you wonder if you’re demanding too much of him, and that your next unexpected graze of his fingers might be met with recoil rather than softness. 

But when he holds your hand tighter whenever you reach for it, or rests his head on your shoulder; when he tells you how he feels, however serious or silly, you know that perhaps, at least for the time being, there’s something special between you. 

The only remaining matter is sex. Sex is something you’re hesitant to propose, particularly to someone who thinks of physicality only in the sense of battle or sport. You’ve laid awake many nights, conjuring images in clouds you think you could present to him to help better explain it, but your boyfriend is innocent like a child, and there’s no pure and demure way to tell him you want him so far up your center he needs a tour guide to come out.

But he’s told you, honestly and meaningfully, that he wants to make you happy, in any way he can. 

And so here you are, under the cover of night, letting him spoon you the way he knows you like, and wondering if he’s asleep yet.

“Mash.”

“Mm?” His legs fold, the fronts of his thighs pressing closer to the back of your legs. Sleeping together was something you’d also proposed, and for now it truly meant sleep, with some cuddling, and he’s found that he’s good at that too, fond of nuzzling his neck in the crook of your shoulder and inhaling your scent. You turn around and face him, and he’s not asleep or even tired yet, but his eyelids are lowered as he watches you, gold catching the moonlight. He’s pretty like this, mouth closed, and watching, attentive and waiting.

“Are you sleepy?” you ask. 

“I’m okay.” His hand grazes your cheek hesitantly then falls back under the bedsheets. “You need me?”

You fight the urge to pull his hand back to your cheek, then muster the courage to say, “Yes.”

He doesn’t ask how, because he can tell that there’s the same need in your eyes whenever he kisses you and pulls back too quickly, or when you watch a movie with him and a scene is particularly steamy, forcing your legs to press together as you lay against him, wrapped in a throw blanket. Instead of inquiring further, he turns your face towards him and lets his lips press to yours, tongue slipping quickly into your mouth, pulling your leg around his waist. You breathe him in until you’re practically dizzy, panting by the time you’ve pulled away from him. You never go further than this, but tonight, nipples pert against the thin fabric of your pajama set, warmth flooding the space between your legs, you are selfish enough to ask for more.

“Mash, can I… touch you a little lower?”

His hand takes your wrist and presses it to his abdomen, letting your fingers trace over the ridges of his sculpted core. His voice is breathy as he responds to you. “Here?”

“Lower.”

He nods and lets go of your wrist, letting you take the reins and have your fingers march slowly down, keeping heavy-lidded eye contact with him to make sure he’s okay. You travel to the soft hair of his happy trail, to the uncharted territory of his pubes and stop as he gasps, your hands reaching the root of his cock. 

“I-I can stop,” you say breathily. He kisses your wobbling lip, then smiles gently. 

“I don’t mind.”

Reassured, your hand closes around the girth of his cock, warm, thicker and heavier than you expected which makes your throat dry up and water just as fast once you start stroking. His eyes close as you pump his cock, leaning forward to suck kisses at his clavicle. He moans, a new sound that you haven’t heard, one that excites you and makes you hungrier for him - you pump faster, thumbing the pearls of pre coming from his tip, delighted in the fact that he feels good, you’re making him feel good, and soon-

He gasps and shudders, and your hands are now wet, sticky and he’s breathing heavily, looking at you again with a new hunger in his eyes.

“Can I repay you?” he asks, quickly, too eagerly. It’s all you want him to do, and your body arches as his fingers travel in the same way along your own anatomy, down the soft of your lower belly, past your pubes, lightly resting on your clit. There he lingers for a moment, and watches you for instruction. You don’t use the clouds you’ve prepared, rather you just whisper,

“Tap softly.”

He does, and he moves faster when you ask him to, slower when you do, the pads of his fingers surprisingly soft and careful. He dips his fingers in your warm center when you ask him to fill you, two teasing through your wet walls and curling, pressing up with gentle pressure against your front wall, the way you’ve guided him. Your stomach turns pleasantly as you careen into pleasure, and soon he’s up, straddling your legs, his other hand resting on your belly as he continues to move his fingers in and around your pussy. 

What shocks you, sending electricity down your spine is when he dips low and presses his mouth to it. 

“You, ah-” you moan and shudder involuntarily as his tongue replaces his fingers. “H-how do you…” your voice trails off as he continues to suck at your sensitive places, making your head rock back in need.

“I asked.”

The idea of him asking how to give you head should make you laugh, but you’re too busy letting your thighs squeeze around his head and hang off his shoulders. He’s doing a good job, it almost upsets you because perhaps you should have just asked earlier.

“M-Mash…”

He’s still working your center and now he seems like he’s gotten a rhythm to it, lapping up the juices that leak out of you like sweet cream. His hands dig into your thighs and his hands slip under as he eats, lifting your lower body off the ground to adjust his angle. 

He’s quiet and intentional, trying his best to make your body feel the pleasure you so desperately crave, to wear you out so you can fall asleep peacefully in his arms and not worry about if you’ll ever receive a sexual flavor of love from him, or how he feels about you sexually. He likes you in all ways, even if you have decided that him not wanting you sexually is acceptable if you can have the rest of his tender love and care.

Your head spins as the last long lick of his tongue from clit to taint sends you over the edge and you tremble in his mouth. He lowers you down as you shake, content to watch you let pleasure wash over you, hot and pliable before him as he settles on his knees.

“Do you feel good?” he asks.

He kisses you as you nod, then settles beside you. He smiles to himself as he stares at the ceiling, his own hand on his cock again, stroking up and down. 

“You wanna try something else?”

And as usual, Mash shows you that in all things physical, he's a very quick learner.

And more importantly, he's very good at what he does.

#mash burnedead x reader #mash x reader #mash smut #mash burnedead smut #mimi's notes #daydreams: mashle #shmimi

[lightwing-s]

Hello! I am in LOVE with your writing like omg you are incredible. Anywhoodles if you could write a Dick Grayson friends-to-lovers type beat I would be infinitely grateful!! If you're too busy that is A-OK. Thank you!!

found this forgotten in my inbox and for that i deeply apologize, but i think this came out great and made me want to expand it into a bigger imagine, perhaps 👀

The dinner table was full of old friends, finally getting together to catch up with life and the missing bits that work and adult life responsibilities have kept them from sharing with each other.

You and Dick sat in the far corner of the long wooden table, decorated with simple yet cute vases filled with plants your botanical knowledge wouldn’t know how to name, having arrived early, one of the first in fact.

Chatting away with Wally, who sat across from you in the small bench you and Dick had been sharing, you almost on top of him as the bench was too small for the two of you to share but the tightness never seemed to be a problem all through dinner, you felt Dick’s fingertips gracing your skin, playing with the thin strap of your dress.

You looked at him over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his, whose sparkle didn’t hide the smirk plastered on his face, even if you hadn’t looked lower than his irises. It gave you a weird feeling, something you recognized yet had never felt for him. It made the hairs on your arms rise, your cheeks to grow pink, and a sudden need to touch him to rise in your core.

All night you two were like this. Exchanging glances, smiles, soft touches. A hand on a knee, a soft touch on your back, tracing patterns you couldn’t figure out, but that you wished he’d never stop drawing. His arm laced around your waist, bringing you even closer to him, and your heart pounded faster than it ever did, not like the countless other times you’d hugged him.

No, tonight was different.

Tonight, Dick felt the need to touch you with his own lips, kissing your shoulder and robbing your attention from your friends. The smile you gave him setting the butterflies in his stomach alive, like they hadn’t been in a while, like they had never been with you.

Surely, many eyes were on you two. Secret conversations about your behavior, the way you two looked at each other, the flame you both shared. It was obvious to anyone staring, there was something blooming between you two.

As dinner came to an end and everyone went back to their normal lives, Dick followed your stumbling steps from a distance, close enough to hold you up but just far so he could watch your every move. He watched you with careful eyes, a tinge of amusement and a heart full of love.

“I’m not drunk,” you replied after he tried to hold you up after tripping one more time. “Just a bit tipsy.”

Grabbing you in his arms, he held you close to his chest, your arms lacing behind his neck, and your faces closer than they’d been all night. “Just to be safe.”

He walked you home like that for what seemed to have been hours, your nose on his neck making you inebriated with his strong smell. You swore you could feel his heart beating against your body, his blood running through his veins, and the sudden urge to bite on his neck came to you.

“Careful.” he warned as he felt your lips tingling his skin.

“Just one bite.” you moaned, begging him through your thick lashes.

The way she looked down at you, the way he bit his lips, sent shivers all throughout your body. Your tipsiness, forgotten.  It made your entire body warm, it made it jump alive, it made your heart beat so fast yet you felt like it had stopped. You felt like time had stopped. 

And then there were just you two. The air was thicker, heavier. Your whole body was warm, his face mere inches from your and his lips getting closer to yours.

When your lips touched it was like a dozen fireworks had exploded inside of you, filling you up with burning desire. He let your feet drop back to the ground, now holding you close by the waist, his mouth hovering over yours due to your size difference.

It fits. It all fits perfectly together. His lips on yours were like two puzzle pieces finally being put together, like a math problem finally making sense, like finding something you didn’t know you missed.

The way your tongues danced in synchrony, the way he held you up from falling again, your legs getting weaker by the second. The urge to be close, to be embraced, to feel this love burning on your skin. What was a soft kiss grew intense, his hands roaming at your body as yours pulled on the hairs at the nape of his neck, a position too dangerous for both of you to be in, too improper for the streets.

Breaking away for air, in his eyes laid a message. A message he was yours like you’d never thought of before. A message of his love and affection. A message that from now on, you two weren’t just friends.

#dick grayson fluff #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson blurb #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing blurb #nightwing x you #nightwing

[pursuitseternal]

“Thickening:” spicy morning after for Astarion x Cordehlia (f!oc) in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!OC | E | 3.6K morning after smut

Summary: Cordehlia wakes the next morning for another bout of eager Vampire between her legs, and as they return, the camp reacts.

CW: a hint of somnophilia, oral sex, flirtatious banter, sweet little hand-holding, camp reactions, jealous!Gale, and a journey to the Underdark underway.

Previous chapter | Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Chapter 7: “Thickening”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

Cordehlia woke shivering, not just from the cold dawn breeze. Something wet lapped between her thighs, gentle and deliberate, licking through her drenched seam. Shifting, she spread her legs wider, making more room for those all-too-familiar arms to curl behind her knees. As if she wasn’t already wet and slick enough from the three times they had coupled during the night… she smiled anyway, breathing a sigh, a noise of pure bliss as he swirled his tongue over her clit to great effect.

Astarion chuckled, low and deep and delighted at her body’s response, his fangs catching slightly on her folds as he smiled. He was beyond happy. Beyond filled. Even as his hunger for blood gnawed at his belly, his body finally felt warm, if only in his mind. Warm, relaxed, sated.

Cordehila scratched her fingers into his hair, no words from her mouth. Only the little mewls and breaths she sighed louder the closer he pushed her into climax. Waves rippled down her spine with each suck and swirl he made. Gods, for all the times he had tasted her, little ways they had joined before, the explorations of one another in their foolish youth… he was never this good.

She would bite her tongue and never complain over this, she giggled.

Long and cold and crooking, he slipped his fingers deep inside her clenching walls. Pumping them in and out and teasing whatever other pleasures he could from inside her.

Already so swollen, so wet and aching, it was more than enough to throw her back into orgasm. Her thighs clenched hard around his head, squeezing and trembling as she lost all control. The world around her blurred, her vision speckled with stars, her jaw clenching shut to keep the keening cries quiet in the silent dawn.

Those dexterous fingers, that eager tongue, he kept them gently pleasuring her until her body relaxed, limp and hot against the ground.

Then and only then, he looked up. “Good morning,” he purred, stroking his hands over her legs as he eased them back down.

Cordehlia only gave a deep, contented sigh in reply, a soft shake of her messy red hair as he slunk his body to lay beside her.

“I figured that you could use one more before we have to head back to join…” he grimaced in petty disgust, “the others.”

“You have to be cautious doing that, Astarion, my love,” she finally found her voice, quiet and thick as it was. “Do you know how many enemies of mine have had their necks snapped between these thighs in battle?”

His face lit up like she had offered him the most delicious of sweets, eyes wide and handsome features lifting in delight. “Hundreds? Thousands?” he nearly stuttered excitedly. “As if I couldn’t adore your body any more than I already do, my fearsome darling.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything,” she smirked, withholding her full smile and laughter even as it pained her. “I doubt if we begin again, it would go unnoticed this time.”

“Oh please,” he quirked his brows and licked his lips, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

“And what about the noise you made, hmm?” she let that smirk spread, grabbing right for his softened cock, softly holding his balls as he groaned. Feeling it twitching back to life, she craned her head in for a kiss.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, darling…” he rasped into her kiss. “But I think if that is your wish, I will need an extra little something on my tongue to keep me going…”

“Blood, you mean,” she feigned an irritated grumble, craning her neck, tempting him with that pale skin already punctured and marked fresh from the night.

He ran his tongue over the artery beneath that beautiful alabaster flesh. “My dear, nothing gets me harder than the taste of you, each and every time… so quickly too.” Pressing his lips over the recent wounds, he sucked gently. A groan sounding from her mouth. “Why, would you like a demonstration, with that hand of yours still holding my…”

“Shut up and suck, if you’re hungry,” she managed to say, a wriggle of her body beside him more as he pressed his lips closer. “But we really better be going…”

Asrarion lapped, just sucking enough to make those two little bite marks begin to bleed once more.

“But whatever happens, we are returning to the camp before every single person awakes to watch us walking back disheveled and…”

“Properly fucked?” he whispered between deafening sucks on her neck.

“Yes,” Cordehlia giggled. “Very properly fucked.” His cock stiffened in her hand, her fingers almost feeling the flow of her blood filling him in every vein, hardening his whole body, even as that length twitched to life.

“Sure you don’t think you’re a bit shy yet from properly fucked?” he asked, so slyly, so eagerly as he raised his bloodied lips from her again. A little thrust of his erection against her hand was to just add that little extra level of persuasion.

And Cordehlia just gave a low chuckle, gripping his length in that hand for a few little teasing strokes. “Mmm, perhaps better to leave you wanting so you’ll have a reason to invite me for another visit to your bed tonight….”

“Or perhaps I would be ever so more eager if you give in to me just once more, darling,” he purred right into her ear, letting the brush of his lips and the whisper of his breath tickle her.

Her moan, the way she twisted beneath him made him smile; she was giving in, that resolute little warrior melting away as her hand began working all the more attentively on his cock. The sweep of her thumb over his seeping slit sent a jolt through his body, his hips grinding into her hold.

Suddenly, she shifted beside him, scooting across the ground, sliding down his body, a mischievous grin on her perfect lips. “Since you’ve woken me with that talented mouth of yours, seems only fair I attempt to return the favor,” she rasped, a kiss against his belly, hands splayed on his hips to push him above her.

“I’ll admit,” he replied, a shiver of anticipation down his body, “I’m not always one for fairness, but this, I’ll enjoy…”

Cordehlia laughed, “Whatever pleases you, my love.” And with that, she softly licked the seed already dripping into the earth. That bitter tang, she had missed it. Not that she had tasted it since last they had…. Well, she tried not to let her fear make her stumble over her inexperience. Closing her eyes, she just savored him, the way his skin was oh so smooth… every little jab and twitch he made inside the heat of her mouth…

And then, he thrusted. Her throat closed around his length, making her swallow. A little gag around his cock.

It made him groan at the contact and pressure.

This time, she was ready, taking him in as deep as she could, pursing her lips around that long, veiny length. Giving him something to take pleasure in. “So good,” he rasped between his groans, “Gods, Cordehlia.” His body began to shake, his cock thickening the more he thrust into that entrancing warm wet.

She gave a laugh, the little extra vibrations of her voice running along her tongue as she swirled it along that little groove as he pumped in and out.

“You keep that up,” he groaned, leaning down to watch how she took him in her lips, “and you’ll return to camp with me already having broken your fast. A full belly, darling.”

She laughed again, wrapping her hand around what couldn’t fit inside, slowly stroking him. With a long, hard suck, she popped off his head, keeping her fist deliciously tight. “You’re one to accuse me of hunger, my love.”

Oh, he was close, her taunting enough to push him at last, one more time in the dawn. That warm, teasing damp of her mouth taking him back in, it consumed him, flooding him with that release, his body hitching, groaning, spasming until he filled her mouth and throat with his seed. But even more delicious was the feeling of her throat rippling, swallowing him down. Her tongue licking every last little pulse and squirt of his cum until he was empty. That beat of familiarity humming through him, body, mind and soul, once more.

“Feels… divine…” Astarion finally gasped enough air to speak. “Familiar again.”

He shifted to lay beside her, fixated by her smiling lips and bright eyes.

“Well,” she grinned, secretive and proud, the cat that ate the canary. Or the one who guzzled down her love’s spew. “Considering it was one of the first ways we came to… how would you put it… indulge one another? I’m not surprised it feels familiar.” Her fingers wiped the corner of her mouth. “I probably swallowed you down more than I had my first drinks of fairy wine by the time we were to be…”

Married, she choked on the unspoken word.

That sudden sadness turned at the corner of her eyes. No tadpole was needed for him to feel the slice of pain in her body. “Well, your experience came in handy…” he whispered, wrapping his long arms around her shoulders, drawing her to lay across his chest. Then he looked at her with all his teasing wicked mischief. “Handy… and mouthy too,” he taunted.

That little, cheap, plebeian humor did the trick, he breathed with relief, watching her pain turn to a slightly-peeved smile. “Now, I think we better not leave the others to suppose anything nefarious has happened. Well, nothing more than a good solid fucking…” He stood from her prone body, reaching that elegant hand out for hers. Pulling her to her feet, he planted a little kiss on the back of her hand before reaching for his discarded clothing. Cordehlia did softly giggle to herself, watching him shoving his softening erection into the top of his breeches. Laughter that made him twist those breathtaking features to give that stomach-fluttering smirk.

In the light of day, those scars were clear, the Infernal script covering almost every inch of his flesh. She shuddered even as she completed them, dressing herself.

Suddenly her mind ached, remembering that flash from the tadpole the moment they had met on the beach. It still felt real, fresh as if they were connected. But her mind was clear. The pain lancing through her back, the darkness and isolation, the imprisonment. Wanting to just be numb instead of having hope…

Now she knew.

She crossed over, catching him just as he was shuffling on his shirt. Pressing her fingers to the thickened rises and ridges, he stopped, frozen. Arms shoved in the sleeves about to shrug it over his body. “What does it look like?” he asked, so quiet, so strained. As if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “The poem Cazador carved in me…”

“I never learned Infernal, but it doesn’t look like a poem…” she traced over it, letting her fingers map out the design. “Can you feel it?”

He nodded solemnly, swallowing loudly as he turned. “I’ve always felt it, but I have never seen it. Mirrors are of no use when you have my… condition,” he replied, a blunt edge of defeat in his silken voice.

“Well,” Cordehlia murmured as she finished tugging her own clothes on, “your eyes are not the only set that can look at your body…” she reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Eyes to see and a willing heart to help you, Astarion…”

His face quirked, as if such words of love, of support were so unfamiliar to his ears. So strange. “Thank you,” he managed to reply after a moment.

They began walking back down the trail like that, hand in hand. Astarion didn’t want to look too closely, barely moving aside from letting their clasped hands sway in time with their ambling strides. Holding his breath and waiting for the moment she would free her fingers from his hold. To pull away from him. Inevitable.

But even as they approached the camp, their companions already seated around the fire, she didn’t budge.

Not even when they all turned to watch them stroll back into their midst. Touching.

“Well,” Gale cleared his throat. “I assume you’ve worked up the appetite.” His face grinned, a bit embarrassed perhaps. “Good morning walk?”

“You idiot, they totally fucked,” Karlach cackled, a slap on the wizard’s shoulder.

Crodehlia grinned slyly, the secret between them dancing on her swollen and thickened lips.

“Not a late night sparring session?” Wyll grinned, his scarred face twisting in taunting amusement.

Astarion gave that giggle of his, fueled by the way her hand seemed to clasp even tighter on his. “Either way, after three, four rounds, it’s amazing either of us is able to meander back to grace you with our presence.”

Gale’s jaw dropped, and Karlach burst in a fit of cackling.

“We have much to do,” Cordehlia grinned, her voice lilting, stiffened with command and expectation. “First and foremost, we need to get the Underdark and find our way forward…”

“Always the commander,” Wyll nodded with approval before turning to begin packing for the journey.

“Won’t you give me a hand, my dear, with our tent?” Astarion grinned, turning his head to look down at where she still stood at his side. Emboldened, he pulled her hand to wrap around his waist.

Gods, she let him.

Then, she turned that ethereal face up to his. A little smile on her lips, she raised on her toes to place a quick peck on his smirking lips.

“I shall get my things, first,” she replied, calmly and steadily. Pressing her tone, as if she was swallowing down so many more emotions than what managed to sneak through in her expression.

“Don’t linger too long, my darling,” the words fumbled out hastily, before his body launched of its own will. His hands wound to the back of her head, his mouth working furiously to taste her. To caress her.

To claim her before them all.

With a gentle tug in her hair, he pulled her back. Kiss snapping loudly apart. That little edge of pain making her shiver against his body. Her lips smiled softly, her eyes half-lidded and begging silently for more.

But he slowed himself; they would never find an answer to these tadpoles, an answer to the scars on his back or an agonizing vengeance against Cazador if he couldn’t keep himself from dragging her to his bed day and night. He smirked to himself as he let go and turned back to his tent.

Cordehlia watched him leave, drinking in the graceful, silent way he stalked. He looked happy, sated, meandering his way back to his abode, pleased and pleasured in every way. But her rapt attention was suddenly drawn by someone at her elbow, clearing his throat with obvious disapproval.

Gale looked at her, his mouth flat, his shoulders bunched and tensed. “So,” he mumbled, “the Underdark, as Master Halsin suggested…”

“That is not the question that burns your tongue, is it, Gale?” she raised a brow, arms folding before her. Resolute.

“No, but I fear giving you offense, my friend.”

“None more than I most likely gave you,” she replied, collected and calm.

But Gale just shrugged. “I can’t say I’m flabbergasted that the Lady Corvus would take the Vampire Spawn as her lover,” he snipped. And instantly, as if he was shocked by his own caustic tone, he raised his hands, “My apologies. I… I speak out of turn. That is not fair to you, Cordehlia, or all you have gone through.” He tugged the collar of his tunic down, showing the full design of that strange sigil in his chest. “We all do foolish things for power and… love…”

Her mind recalled the long-winded story of his love for Mystra, of the risks he took to win her affection and a shred of her power. And all that it cost him now. And all the loot it cost Cordehlia too, just to keep him from suffering terribly.

“You may be relieved to know that over the course of last night, Astarion…”

Gale shoved his hand in her direction. “If it’s anything along the lines of what he will undoubtedly be gloating about later today, I don’t know if I can stomach it before breakfast has settled.” He gulped.

“No, no,” Cordehlia laughed. “He’s, he’s remembering. He’s returning to himself, well,” she shrugged her shoulders, “returning to more of what made him… him.”

“That is good for you, I’m sure,” Gale gave a feeble smile, “but it won’t undo two centuries of what he did… of what he was made to do as a slave, a spawn to Cazador.”

Cordehlia looked him square in the face, her silver eyes narrowed, trying to read his meaning. No magic. No tadpole. Just the shape gaze of an ancient being. “I am not trying to undo anyone’s darkness. Gods know, if I could, I would undo my own first. But perhaps, you were right that day we first found him on the beach.”

She turned, looking across the camp at the flurry of activity to make ready for a long road. A sigh heavy from her little chest as she undoubtedly watched her rogue scuttle about, stashing his luxuries to be transported on the road. Then she turned to level that intensity right at her wizard.

“It is not just that blood runs thicker than water, Gale. His and mine are one and the same now. Bonded. Tethered. Purified in the darkness we each walked until we found one another once more. It is our blood that is thicker.”

Gale nodded and furrowed, “Thickened by bloodlust, by abuse from being the weapon of others, and the need for more and more…”

“Revenge?” that honey-dripping voice sounded almost out of nowhere. “I think that’s the word you were going for, Gale,” Astarion mused, leering at the wizard from over the top of her fiery red hair. “Don’t you know it’s rude to discuss other people’s private… bedroom matters?”

“Bedroom?” Gale scoffed in disbelief. “You bedded her in the dirt by the looks of it,” he was scowling.

“Lady likes to get dirty with her rogue,” Astarion shrugged, cool and collected and flashing his fangs. “And the lady is always right…”

“Hush, you both, there is too much to do to have such dissension,” Cordehlia, first thrusting a finger in Gale’s face before turning around to plant a good, hard slap on Astarion’s shoulder. She pulled him by the collar, thrusting her face into his, a slight baring of her teeth as she gave a feral smile. “Play nice, or next time, it won’t be your shoulder I slap,” she hissed. Then her eyes flashed to those full, smirking lips, catching them in a ravenous kiss. “And I won’t be so gentle,” she added as she broke away. So pressed and quiet.

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep, darling,” he rasped right back.

Her brow quirked, her jaw clenched as she eyed him. “Won’t you be surprised, then.”

“Thrilled,” he purred in response, and already, even after all they done… last night… this morning… he couldn’t ignore that thickening below his belt she conjured now. Every time.

But she just smiled and sauntered right past him. Observing that determination down her every inch, he rolled his shoulders. They wouldn’t stop today until they reached the Underdark. So whatever it was that thickened and needed release would have to wait. It would be bloodlust over lust for now.

It only took a few moments to pack it all up and start the journey. Cordehlia walked in the front of the pack, a spring in her step everyone knew was caused by the vampire who sprang right behind her. He seemed even closer, if that was possible.

He kept those crimson eyes on her at all times, even if it was a single corner, the edge of his periphery. Which is why, as a smoke cloud burst in their path, he leaped right in front of her, daggers drawn and fangs bared. But it wasn’t enough, not as some swarthy, handsome figure swayed his way forward. His voice dripped with temptation, in a deep and rich baritone. “My, my,” he smiled, “the Lady Corvus in the flesh. May I just say…” his trick brows canted in dark amusement, “…I’m your biggest fan.”

Cordehlia’s frame went taut, her body brushing past her lover to stare this intruder down with that iron gaze of her. “Can’t say I recognize you, fan or not,” she sneered.

“Well, why wouldn’t I be? You’ve sent me so many thousands of souls in your conquests and victories, but I do suppose I remain a nameless, faceless admirer of your handiwork.” The stranger extended an arm, fingers unfurling in her direction. “But introductions are better suited for less… humble places… And I shan’t keep you from your feeble search for a cure. Besides,” his leer deepened in that deep-set face, “you’ll want to hear what I have to say, for you, your tadpole-infested companions, and your Vampire Spawn lover.”

Astarion seemed ready to spring, muscles bunched, fangs bared and wide as he hissed at the threat. But before he could unleash any undead fury, the world turned to smoke and ash, the stink of sulfur and brimstone filled their noses.

And darkness swallowed them all at once.

#astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x female oc #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate smut #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate spoilers #astarion baldurs gate #baldur‘s gate #baldur gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate oc #astarion x f!tav #vampire spawn #baldur's gate spoilers

[harryforvogue]

Perhaps…spare…some…Annalise & Harry crumbs miss 🙈👀

these are CRUMBS fr so sorry <3

***

"Harry?" Annaliese calls from their room.

“Yes?” Harry answers back from his place at the dining table. 

She skips down the steps to see him. He’s got one hand in his hair, elbow against the table, and the other holding a pen poised over paper with scrawls on it. “It’s ridiculous,” he mutters. “We’ve spent an entire 5 weeks on the French Revolution and not one student has mentioned Robespierre thus far.”

Annaliese sits beside him, leaning in. “That was the terror guy right?”

He looks up. “Oui, ma femme française. The terror guy.”

She grins, reaching out and plucking the pen out of his hands. “How long do you think you’ll take on this? Will you be done by 7?” 

“Did you need me for something?”

“Yes. You know how we’ve got the women’s town hall meeting? So we kind of need some security while we’re actually having the meeting so ensure people don’t come barging in and all that.”

Harry’s eyebrows pull together. “Barge in?”

“Yeah, and all my friends are trying to convince their husbands to form a little troop and hang by the entrance to make all the weird people go away, and I thought I’d ask you.”

He leans back in his chair. “Whoa, whoa. Has it happened before? Like, the weird people hanging out by the front.”

“Yeah, I mean, women talking about having rights isn’t exactly what most men want to hear. They kind of just show up and linger. But that’s not thepoint. The point is–”

“Has that happened at the meetings you’ve gone to in the past? Like the one last week?”

Annaliese laughs fleetingly. “Yes, but it’s nothing severe. A few hurls here and there, some taunts. Really. We have thicker skin. But I think it would help us women feel a lot better if you and some of the other husbands and brothers stood by the entrance of the hall.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. Her hair is in neat finger waves, a pin holding her bangs back. She’s in trousers (which has been a lot to take in already), and a shirt that’s tucked into her waistband. Her boots make a loud noise against the hard floor. 

“Annaliese,” Harry says quietly after much thought, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable letting you go to this meeting now.”

Annaliese crosses her arms. “Nothing ever happens. You know the nice husbands would never let the weird men actually harm the women, no matter what they’re meeting about.”

“That doesn't mean I’m okay with some asshole yelling and mocking my wife,” Harry says incredulously. “No. I won’t allow it.”

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t stop me from going.”

This he knows. He can’t stop her from doing anything. He doesn't want to stop her. 

The meetings at town hall happen every week, sometimes every two weeks. It’s not in the main chamber of course, but a small adjacent room. Housewives and working women meet there to discuss their prospects of gaining more rights. The overarching organization is country wide, and this is a smaller division in New York. Recently, they’ve been organizing a protest. Two weeks ago, they completed their campaign of sending 2000 letters to the mayor, hand written by women about the urgency of the matter of letting women vote in community level elections.

Harry doesn't mind her attending these meetings. In fact, he thinks Annaliese’s understanding and eagerness of her fundamental rights exceed the expectations of her neighbors. Though he’s never been at any meeting, he’s positive that his outspoken and fierce wife has instilled some morale in the other women.

But despite her ability to take care of herself, he feel reluctant.

Harry sighs. “I’ll go with you then.”

She immediately smiles. “Great! So be done by 6:30 so we can catch a bus, okay?” She leans and kisses his cheek. “Wear a warm jacket!”

***

As they approach the building, Harry’s fidgeting. “What if I’m the only man standing guard? What could I even do anyways? I'm good with a rifle, not my fists."

Annaliese fixes her burgundy gloves. “Other women told me their husbands will be there too!”

When they get to the entrance, Annaliese is shivering with excitement. “Oh, I wish you could sit in with us. The things we discuss and plan – it’s all so fun!” She holds his arm all the way until they get to the right room. 

Thankfully other men are there. They nod politely at Harry. Annaliese is already fluttering into the room when Harry grabs her waist and tugs her back. “One hour, right?”

“Yes,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. 

(One of the men by the doors whistles. Harry ignores it.)

“Okay,” Harry murmurs.

“Bye!” She closes the door behind her.

He walks to the other side of the door and stands by the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. One man holds out a cigarette for him, but Harry shakes his head. “I’m good.”

It’s quiet after that. Harry makes conversation with the men, telling about his service in France (to which one of the younger men, who must be someone’s brother, salutes him, and Harry turns red with embarrassment), and speculates what they could be talking about in there.

“My wife said they’re planning to storm our workplaces as a protest next week,” one man chuckles, turning his head to blow out smoke. “I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No? Why?” Harry asks curiously.

Just then, there’s a loud roar in the room. Someone starts banging on the desk, yelling, “Order! Order!” and the man who offered Harry the cigarette chuckles and says, “That’ll be my wife.”

The chaos happens for a very long time, and when the hour is up, women begin to quietly leave as if none of that ruckus ever happened. Annaliese is bright eyed with flushed cheeks when she shows up, looping her arm through Harry’s. 

He’s very interested in the organization now. They will definitely be talking about this later at home. He’ll want to know more about the plans they have, including the protests. He’ll want to make sure she’s staying safe. Maybe he’ll buy her those cool brass knuckle things they saw once at a medieval convention downtown. That’ll work.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close when they walk out into the cold air.

“It’s going to be great,” Annaliese whispers excitedly. “Revolutionary, even.”

Harry kisses the top of her head. “I believe it, baby.”

#harry and annaliese #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff

[vilevenom]

Do you think you could do (pre first movie setting) grey branch x poppy bonding with a jealous creek third wheeling and forced proximity ?

Thank you in advance if you decide to!!!!!

Hello, Anon! Thank you for your prompt! Despite my love for Groppy, this one ended up pretty short, sorry! I like to think most of their bonding was in short little bursts, since Branch was still pretty pissy at her by the beginning of the first movie. Enjoy!

Branch sighed for what felt like the twelfth time as he trudged along his usual stick collecting path, ear twitching in irritation as he could hear Poppy a few feet back being "quiet" as she excitedly prattled on at Creek about how "fun it was" to accompany Branch.

"Once again, Poppy," Branch half snarled as he turned on his heel to face the two behind him, a stout scowl on his face, "I did not invite you to come with me. Second, I asked you to be quiet. You are not being quiet."

"I'm whispering! That's quiet," Poppy protested, her hands on her hips as she returned Branch's scowl with a frown of her own.

"Not quiet /enough/. You're going to attract all sorts of critters to us with your yammering," Branch groused, gesturing towards the forest at large.

"Poppy," Creek cut in, stepping between Branch and the princess, his back to the grey troll, "Perhaps we ought to go back to the village, hmm? We're obviously not wanted here." He shot Branch a look over his shoulder, before turning back to Poppy. "I mean, Branch is obviously very busy with his, ah, stick collecting. We're probably hindering him more than anything."

Poppy scoffed, waving her hand at Creek as she stepped around him. "Nonsense! We're providing company and moral support," she stated brightly, trotting over to Branch with a smile. "Would it be more helpful if we also looked for sticks?"

Branch eyed her for a moment, before shrugging and turning back around to continue tromping down the trail. "Fine. But make sure they're dry, and straight! A wet stick isn't going to do me any good, and a warped shape will be hard to store."

"Aye aye, captain," Poppy chirped with a mock salute, skipping along after Branch down the trail. Creek looked less than enthused as he reluctantly followed along behind the two.

~

"What about this one?"

An hour or so had passed, and Branch had gathered a dozen sticks so far, while rejecting nearly every one that Poppy offered up. He glanced at the one she was currently holding out, scrunching his nose at it.

"No. It's too thin and brittle. It'll break too easily," Branch stated, shaking his head and turning away to root through some under brush,

"Well, what kind of stick would even make Branch happy?" Creek scoffed, having only picked up one single twig as they had trudged through the woods, which he was now using to draw in the dirt as he sat on a rock.

Poppy perked up and bounced over to Branch, bouncing on her toes. "Actually, yeah! You haven't actually said what you're specifically looking for, besides straight and dry. More details would be helpful," she hummed, grinning as Branch stood back up, leaves sticking haphazardly out of his hair.

"What?"

"More details!" Poppy reiterated, waving her rejected stick in Branch's face.

Branch screwed up his face and took a step back so he wouldn't get hit, glancing briefly between a scowling Creek and an overenthusiastic Poppy. "Uh, well," he started, watching Creek throw his arms in the air and fall backwards off the rock behind Poppy, "I'm looking for weaponizable sticks. Slightly thicker, easy to carve into a point."

"Weapons?! Branch, no," Poppy shook her head, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"Branch, yes," Branch hissed back, scowl instantly back on his face. "As much as you want to stick your head in the sand about it, the village needs protection. Even if I'm the only one who sees it, I'm going to at least make sure we have defense against critters."

Poppy's shoulders dropped sadly as Branch glared her down, only to jump as a hand landed on her shoulder. She turned a panicked look over her shoulder, sighing in relief as she realized it was only Creek. She had momentarily forgotten he's tagged along. He smiled warmly at her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Come on, Princess," Creek hummed, smiling benignly at Branch, "Let's leave him to it, yeah? We can head back to mine and bake some cupcakes? Bring some positivity into the world, instead of violence." His smile grew thin as Branch visibly bristled in front of them.

Poppy chewed on her lip for a moment, before shaking her head, and subsequently Creeks hand from her shoulder. "No, no. Branch is right. There are some nasty critters out here. Maybe a few defenses wouldn't be so bad."

Branch blinked in surprise at Poppy's acquiescence, his entire posture immediately relaxing. "Wait…really?"

Poppy perked up at Branch, a bright smile growing on her face. "Yeah! I mean, I would prefer more of a deterrent kind of defense or trap…could we do that, instead of something that hurts them?"

"I mean, that only works so well," Branch waved a hand in the air, noticing as Poppy's smile slowly dimmed, a nearly unnoticeable dark flush creeping across his cheeks as he waved a hand through the air, "Not that it couldn't work at all! Maybe we could do a mix of both. Deterrents at the forefront, and something more, uh, harsh for the more determined critters?"

Poppy clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes as she nodded enthusiastically, thrilled to have Branch actually engaging with her. "Okay, yeah! Maybe we could do some nets? What do you need to make nets?"

The tiniest of smiles curled Branch's mouth as he nodded along while Poppy began to ramble about her ideas in regards to non-lethal traps. Meanwhile, Creek was left with a fierce scowl on his face, arms crossed over his chest as the other two began walking away down the trail, completely forgetting about his existence as they went. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and take a couple of calming breaths before storming after the two. He was not about to leave the village recluse alone with the princess.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #groppy #trolls branch #trolls poppy #trolls creek #broppy #things that i wrote

[feral-and-or-horny]

I need more of your breeding trials content xD

It just makes me so wet reading it. Thanks for sharing it ^^

Hope this wasn't too out of the blue or rude !

Oh I'm happy to!!! Tbh I've been looking for an excuse to continue them.

Not every trial takes place in that tank. At one point, Im escorted down a hall and given a bath. Im still too exhausted to wash myself, so attendants gently wipe away various creatures cum and help me relax and eat. Im not given anything to cover myself, because what would be the point? And instead I'm left completely naked and led into what appears to be a large lush terrarium with some sort of thick trunked tree in the middle. I think perhaps this is to help me rest, surrounded my such beautiful plants and so comfortably warm under the heat lamps. Something to help ground me after the toll taken on my body perhaps. I'm given no instruction, except to explore this new area and promised that nothing inside is dangerous to touch. So I walk, tracing my fingers over the thick rubbery leaves, studying the massive flower buds that are bigger than me and must make for the most incredible flowers. The ground is soft, sinking under my steps and cradling my legs anytime I kneel to look at something closer. It feels like the whole place is begging me to lie down and rest.

I search the entire tank, which isn't small but ot still only takes a few minutes to see everything, and feel somewhat disappointed that none of those large buds have bloomed for me to see. I study one of them a little closer, touching the sturdy petals and trying to sniff for any sort of fragrance. There is one, something heavy and sweet, with a touch of something like sweat, and when i lean close to the buds, I see the scientists outside the glass begin writing in their notes.

Something creaks behind me, and I turn to see a new bud emerging from one of the thick vines that hangs off the tree. I walk to it as it opens, and I'm greeted with that overwhelmingly sweet smell, and I have to lean closer to inspect this strange new plant. I dont even notice the other vines descending around me, the ones leaking anhoney colored sap and pulsing softly. The flower shudders, and I recoil as pollen floods my senses. My clit begins throbbing immediately and I feel overwhelmingly dizzy, I find myself tanging in the vines, which are already smearing hot sap across my body as they writhe and try to find where they can force their way into my body. I manage to start to get away, or at least I think I do, before one of the vines suddenly forces itself into my pussy. I keep trying to drag myself away, but the bulb on its tip pushes into my womb, and I feel it open inside of me, rendering me unable to pull away as hot sap gushes into my womb.

The pollen is taking a real toll now, making me lose any interest in fighting. The more sap I feel pumping into me, the less I care about getting away. The vines caress my body, and i let out a moan as one pushes deep into my ass and pours out more sap. I let them drag me back, my cheek sliding on the soft ground, lifting my back half and pulling me into something I can't see. One more vine presses past my lips, squirming its way into my throat, pulsing gently and making me swallow that sweet intoxicating sap that makes my whole body burn and ache to cum.

I realize I'm being pulled into that massive flower I watched bloom, and that thin vines wriggle all along its petals, carressing and fucking me any way they can. I watch the scientists as the flower closes around me, plunging me now into a fragrant darkness, and the thin vines grope me, binding my wrists above my head, curling around my throat, pulling my hair, rubbing my clit, squirming inside me alongside the thicker sap filled vines. I cum easily enough, moaning weakly and nearly choking on sap. I think that will be it, but instead, more vines push their way into my pussy, one of them latches around my clit and begins pinching and massaging it. The more i struggle, the harder they fuck me, milking orgasm after orgasm, apparently emboldened everytime they make me cum. The sap changes, turning almost salty, tasting more and more like human cum, and its effect grows stronger until I cum from its influence alone. When I no longer need the vines to make me cum, the ones iny pussy withdraw, replaced by a star shaped smaller flower like appendage. It latches itself between my legs, sucking out my cum, a thin tendril burrying deep in my pussy to coax my cum onto what I can only describe as a mouth. The vines in my ass and mout continue filling me, pumping me with that cum like sap that makes it impossible for me to stop orgasming, even as my consciousness fades.

Hours later, I wake up to the vines finally slipping out of me. My belly bulges with sap, and a few vines curl around my midsection and squeeze me to send it pouring out of my holes. The flower opens, and i tumble forward into a thick puddle of the sap, along with a few other test subject who look just as exhausted as I am. I still cant move, and the residual sap still makes my pussy clench as I cum a few more times before I finally go limp on the ground, and a couple scientists carry me put of the tank to study my body im the aftermath of the plant's merciless use of my holes

#i might make this a series #i have many ideas #and a mild exploration of my smidgen of a medical kink #my answer #breeding trials

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Thicker Than Blood (Aemond x OC) Chapter 5

word count: 1,131

Last part —> next part

A green dress? Is he serious? I pace around my chambers, looking at the garment. I can’t wear it, of course not but a part of me wants to.

There’s no harm in trying it on. I don’t call on Myra to help me dress, I can already imagine the smirk that she would have on her face. I take my nightgown off and lay it over the back of the rich mauve settee that sits in the room. I step into the dress. It even feels good to put on; it’s silken and softer than fluffs of cotton. I walk over to the mirror and admire how the gown sits on my body, how perfectly it fits. The silk is draped over my curves in a way that feels just… right and appears effortless.

How did he know my measurements? I catch myself wondering but he was obviously watching me closely enough in the throne room to commit my figure to memory. 

Or perhaps that was what he was doing as his fingertips traced up my spine after he cut open my dress. I shudder at the memory of his cold fingers brushing over my bare skin. I want him to do it again. What a silly thought.

“Stupid Hightower-green dress.” I pull it back off and stare at it as it lies on the floor. I pick it up and fold it. Something like that is too good for the floor.

I ravage through my closet, searching for something prettier than what he gave me, something richer. I have to settle for a deep, crimson gown that has a neckline that is lower-cut than anything his mother would ever approve of. Usually I wouldn’t consider such a dress to be ‘settling’ but as I look at the green gown that lies on the settee, I can’t think of it in any other way.

I call Myra in to do up my hair and help me dress. She eyes the green dress that I didn’t think about hiding.

“That is new.” She comments as she walks behind me and begins to brush out my hair.

“Yes.” I say shortly.

“Was it a gift?” She inquires.

“Yes.”

“From who?” She tries to keep her voice casual as she pins up my hair but I know that she desperately wants to know.

“You ask a lot of questions.” 

“My apologies, princess.” She has been more reserved since I snapped at her the other day. I think for a moment before sighing.

“Aemond sent it.” I cringe at the fact that i’m even saying it out loud.

“Prince Aemond sent it?” I can see the look of shock on her face in the mirror that is propped up in front of us both.

“You mustn’t tell anybody. I am giving it back anyhow.” I say in a dismissive tone.

“Why? The dress is gorgeous!” She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to give such a dress back.

“It is green.” I know she understands my meaning.

“Yes, but-” She tries to speak.

“There can be no buts about it. It simply isn’t the time for such a… gesture.” I know that I can speak plainly with her but it feels like a bad time to do it, as if we are tiptoeing around sleeping lions… or dragons.

“Of course, princess.” She nods in understanding.

Myra finishes up my hair and helps me dress in the crimson gown with my corset tied a little looser than usual.

“I shall find him now and return the dress.” I say as I pick it up.

“Oh, I could find one of his manservants and get him to return it for you.” Myra offers, her suggestion being the more intelligent one.

Perhaps I shouldn’t take it back myself.

But I want to.

“You need not fetch his servant. I wish to have words with my uncle. Sadly, he will likely enjoy the attention.” I may like the banter too but I don’t say that out loud. “Do figure out where he is at the moment, though.”

Myra nods and leaves me. When she returns with a note with Aemond’s whereabouts, I pick up the dress, making sure it is folded, and head off to the library.

Of course he’s in the bloody library.

I walk swiftly down the halls with the irritatingly soft dress in my hands, ready to confront my uncle. When I enter the library, I notice that he is the only person there. Weird. He doesn’t even look up as I make my way towards him.

“Uncle.” I greet him harshly and he finally looks up at me from his book.

“Niece. Have you come to thank me for your gift?” He smirks.

“Your gift is green.” I hold it up like he wouldn’t already know its colour.

“I know it's green, darling.” I will myself not to blush at the petname.

“It’s a slight.” 

“Would you have preferred a different colour? Perhaps… black?” He looks ever so pleased with himself at that question.

“You amuse only yourself. You can take the ‘gift’ back. It is an insult.” 

“An insult? I hardly think that a dress made from the finest silk Essos has to offer is an insult. The fabric alone cost a small fortune.” He clearly wishes to rile me up and it's working.

“You are not brainless, Aemond. Stop acting like it.”

“Not very grateful, are you? I had multiple dressmakers up all night making a lovely gown for you and you throw my generosity back in my face. How cruel you are to your poor uncle.” He still has that stupid smirk on his face.

“Do not be so patronizing.” I glare and then proceed to actually throw the dress in his face. He catches it easily.

“What a spoiled brat you are. Why not be a good girl and go try this expensive dress on for me?” He stands, holding the gown and I blush a little at how close he is. He towers over me. “Or have you already tried it on?” He looks at me knowingly.

“I haven’t put it on.” I lie.

“Really? Then why are you blushing, hm?” He tilts my chin up so I have to look him in the eye.

“I am not.” I say defiantly.

“Oh yes you are, sweet niece. And why did you come all the way down here to return the dress? I’m starting to think that you’re just finding excuses to see me.” My cheeks get redder. I flick his hand off of my face.

“You are entirely too full of yourself. Take the dress back. Burn it. I don’t care.” I storm out of the library feeling incredibly flustered and wanting nothing more than to wring my smirking uncle’s neck.

taglist (comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @s-we-e-t-t-ea @avidreader73

#aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd x reader

[royalsunshinehotel]

Running Out (Deon x f!reader)

Word count: 1,017

A/N: Deon is tied up with his own necktie, reader takes a domme approach to him, smut, the usual.

"What do we do now?" asked Deon, smiling up at you. 

If it had been that morning, you would have been annoyed at how soft he looked, staring, but the tie you had around his wrists did put a damper on your attitude. 

Months of staring, gazing, looking disrespectfully, and all you had to do was ask him directly, for what you both wanted. 

You should have known. His reputation around the office was “nice guy”, and “problem solver,” so he’d solve your problem by loaning you his dick. 

“I think I’ll have my way with you, do you mind?” You sighed, and he squirms lightly under you, no response. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” You followed up. 

“Bondage or Women?” He asked, voice dramatic, 

“Both I guess,” a blush crept up your chest, you were holding your breath, and he definitely noticed. 

“I’ll admit I’ve had neither.” Fair, you thought. 

“Oh,” Maybe don’t break him on the first go, “Do you want to have both?” You asked again.

Deon looked up at his wrists, firmly, but not harshly tied together above his head. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Well that’s good innit?” You teased, suddenly feeling like you’d had the air squeezed from you. 

Deon felt heat rise to his ears. There's a small, sad part of him that thinks you'll laugh at him and leave him here. He's just a geek, he could never expect to be with someone like you.

But the way you'd just breezed past his inexperience... he was running out of things to be anxious about! 

Perhaps you'd see his scar and be disgusted?

But as you straddled him and mouthed at his neck, he seemed less and less convinced that you would be phased. This just left the (obvious) conclusion that he wouldn't let himself look at directly. 

You liked him.

He all but whined when you gently, but firmly, tugged his shirt free of his pants. Pausing only for a moment at the ghastly marks left from summer in Johannesburg.

He heard a soft, gentle, "poor baby", before you moved on, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down.

You wouldn't tell him that you're throbbing. 

You wouldn't mention how you want to run your tongue over all those pale little scars. 

Maybe he would let you blow him later, you’d have to remember to ask. 

“Whatever happened must have been gnarly,” you thought, but you kept it to yourself. 

The thing was, you meant to keep Deon for a long time. You didn’t know if he was aware, or maybe you should have said as much before you ended up in this position. 

As you tugged his pants down, you paused, quickly and quietly crawling back up. 

He looked bewildered when you kissed him on the nose. 

“What was that for?” He questioned, baffled, and even more handsome. 

“Just for fun, I’m going to suck your cock now. May I?” 

He nodded, “Y-yes.” 

What a stammering fool, you were going to suck out his soul.

"You need to remember to breathe though. Okay?" You warned, getting a soft "Okay,” in response. 

Your heart had seen fit to start humming in your ears, and you shuffled back down. Maybe you took it slower, maybe you pressed yourself against him, just to hear his breath catch.

He was just as thin as he looked, but warm and comfortable. He seemed to be growing before your eyes, making you salivate. 

You ran your hands down the little trail of hair on his belly, before pulling him out of his boxers. 

Plenty long, thicker than you could have hoped for. Quietly, you smiled, “God bless us every one.” 

With Deon propped up, you made a show of making a long, wet lick to your palm, he moaned before you even touched him, and it’s just like music. 

Your hands shook lightly as you pumped him once, twice, just to get him used to the feeling of your hands. 

He was too polite, if he was able, he’d want to hold one of your hands while you deflowered, you wouldn’t put it past him. 

You shook off the unbearable tenderness as you put your mouth over his tip. The sound he made was just pitiful. 

He felt hot, heavy in your mouth, as you traced a prominent vein with the tip of your tongue. You swirl your tongue, letting him make shallow thrusts, whatever came naturally for him. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that, so he could stop acting like it if he wanted!

But really, he still felt too stiff. 

You squeezed, carefully, gently, to get the reaction you wanted, and he bucks his hips into your hand, shaky and pathetic. 

“What did I say about breathing,” you pulled back for a moment, voice soft, unlike your intentions. 

“You said to do it?” 

“I did.” Just to be mean, your teeth grazed the skin of his hip. 

“Was I not doing it?” 

"If I was you, I'd start now,” and Deon got a chill. He was all yours, and in that moment, he knew it. 

As you sucked, and licked, and teased, you told him exactly that. The tie around his wrists began to digg, just a little, but he didn't mind, slowly rolling his hips into your mouth, leisurely pace.

That was exactly how you wanted him. The two of you have all the time in the world. 

"I'm-" Deon tries, but cuts himself off, "I think I'm-" His face scrunched in on itself as you kept him hostage in the ridges of the roof of your mouth.

"Good boy, you're being so brave for me,” you thought, tightening your grip on his legs. 

The fist around Deon’s heart tightens, and in an instant, you felt his release inside your mouth. 

As the haze slowly lifted, it still didn’t seem real. As you cleaned up his mess, you could tell he was still stunned. 

Spreading your hand out on his stomach, nails lightly grazing, "Hang in there Deedee." You cooed, soothing him. 

"Okay," he replied, strangled.

This would be enough, for now at least.

#deon wilson #chappie 2015 #dev patel #deon wilson x reader #dev patel imagine #fic #my work

[yourlocalabstraction]

Guys wake up the yourlocalabstraction-ified Heart and Mind designs just dropped

Text translations below!

added annotations that aren’t on the canvas will be italicized

Notes for Mind:

I have a LOT of ideas

Hair has floof but still is angular

Ball jointed

Cane to help w/ inefficient/rusty leg joints. I think it doubles as a cool looking septer too. This isnt fully scrapped, i plan to use this occasionally!! The cane will probably resemble an umbrella and have more sun motifs because yes

A metal petticoat thing would be really neat however idk if i can make it work .__. [spoiler alert, it didnt work]

GENDER ENVY. GENDER. ENVY.

Paint chipped from Juno incident [Juno aimed for his heart. Like that would do anything]

Sun on da back,,,

Mind-coded brush dump [reference the 753356 brush swatches]

This canvas has like 80 layers please send help

Voice modulator is normally covered when he’s around the others. Poor bby

Adding random notes to fill the canvas

Crown goes away towards the end of cacophony, somewhere btw. Light + TWWAY since bro no longer needs to assert dominance. [comes back every reset though ofc]

Can visualize ideas via hologram [inspired by NaraArts in the CJFS]

Him jumpscare

Notes for Heart:

Maybe has a life support thing? (Idk what they’re called). Perhaps bc he’s blind, the lil heart can give him info about his environment. Or it could help him express his emotions (i have no idea what i meant by this. Maybe its like an emotional support creature). Idfk man. Plus its a more unique take ig. Annnnd spoiler alert this whole idea was scrapped. Will it ever come back? We may never know.

Drastic height difference??? (Between him and the life support thing)

Longer, majestic blindfold tails

Thicker hips to contrast Mind’s proportions

No wings, around-back wings, lil but impractical wings, arm wings (i ended up going for arm wings)

W.o. Blindfold: Injury from middle prong (i have realized the correct word is tine. My b) (also when drawing his face in the future I’ll probably draw his injuries more prominent because its more realistic)

Going for more rounded lips

Probably is very self conscious of his face, especially after the trident incident. Poor bby <3

Idea: wing cloak?!? Heart-shaped knot over da heart (this was also scrapped)

Will be continued on another canvas! He needs a fit…

Ngl im struggling a bit. I want something wing-like but im not exactly sure how to portray it .__. All i know is we gotta have rounded shapes + moon symbols ig

I kinda want him to have a more traditional? Classy? Vibe (nvm i went for smth more cozy) to contrast Mind’s industrial aesthetic.

[arrow pointing to my sona] paranoid that seeing 2 billion HMS fan designs has ruined my ability to create a unique interpretation

Side of the leg view: feathery floof

Ourple veins!! (Maybe not this dark tho)

Socks !!

Idea: he stiches (I MISSPELLED THAT FUCK) on patches that represent Whole’s favorite and/or current and/or most prominent memories. Or maybe Mind sews on new ones every Concord once they become besties,,, THE PLATONIC BONDING POTENTIAL AAAA *STIM STIM STIMMMM*

If you read this far, here. (gives you a grilled cheese sandwich)

#its official guys i have THE SILLIEST fan designs in the CCCC fandom #please enjoy your meal #dont worry guys soul is coming up next #chonny jash #cccc #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cj heart #cj mind #my art #fan design #character design #taps art

[childotkw]

I love your ruination au! I have so many questions like when will it be posted? How many chapters? Will Otto and Chrispin get turn into dragon feed? What are everyone's reaction like? And most importantly, does Lucemond get married?

Everyone talks about wanting to see Daemon and Rhaenyra’s reactions to Lucemond but what about Jace or Aegon's reactions? It'll be hilarious. Them two older brothers bonding over their younger idiot clueless brothers.

I kinda want Luke to have a lock of white hair maybe caused by the storm's lighting or something cooler. Makes him look like he was touched not just by The Stranger but by the gods of Old Valyria themselves.

And since Luke likes to bite, Daemon will definitely teach him to include that into his combat fighting as well. Like just imagine doe-eye smol Luke just ripping a man's throat out with his teeth? His bottom face painted with blood? Cannibal will probably roar with proud victory. And Aemond doesn't know if he should be scared or turn on by that.

Don't mind me but just picturing:

When Rhaenyra’s soldiers found out Lucerys will be leading them into battle as commander, a lot of them are irritated and some even scoffed openly at how obvious the nepotism was. A young boy barely 15 years old has no place being in that position of power.

Until he silently lands with Cannibal to meet his skeptical fleet of soldiers. Cannibal doesn't roar, breathe flames or even land heavily to immediately command their attention. The silence in the courtyard was deafening. How could a creature so big be so utterly quiet?

But he draws himself up to his full height so every man can see the multitude of scars that adorned his body and be reminded exactly why he is called Cannibal. This was a dragon even before House Targaryen and lived through archaic times. And who feeds on other dragons.

Lucerys then emerge out of nowhere and the men are confused. There are no signs of a harness on Cannibal, surely the young prince did not rode his dragon without any equipment?

But they see his thicker leathers, the silver lock standing out in his brown hair, the dark unsettling look in his stone cold eyes, and realise he did. Lucerys quietly took in the faces of the men he will lead, nodded once and strode off to his tent without a word. When they looked back to where his dragon was, Cannibal had disappeared. What?

The uneasiness prevented even the most loud-mouthers from voicing their doubts though. The stupid ones who did went missing but emerged days later, shaking and a shell of their former selves.

Then, in their first battle against Green troops, Lucerys led them to victory and went and ripped an enemy's throat out with his bare teeth.

No one questioned his leadership since then.

Thank you! To answer the first few: not sure when I'll post but hopefully soon, not sure on chapter count but I'll tentatively aim for twenty as a max, I shan't reveal what will happen to Otto and Cole but I am critical of their characters so that might bleed through in my writing, there are too many people to list what all their reactions will be but I hope to do them all justice when the time comes, and as for marriage...perhaps.

I think Jace's reaction to Aemond would be an immediate and stern 'no'. He does not want his baby brother with their psycho uncle that almost killed him - but he also knows that Lucerys has become a bit unhinged and so he's pitting his need to protect him against the knowledge that Lucerys is now fully capable of tearing Aemond apart if he hurts him.

With Aegon, I'm currently writing him as a bit of an asshole. He definitely had an inkling that Aemond was more than interested in Lucerys since basically forever. So he's less surprised and more cynically amused by the hole his brother has dug himself into.

And lmao Aemond's wires are crossed because he gets uncomfortably hot whenever Lucerys bares his teeth at him. Everyone side-eyes him because he's really not subtle.

Also, I love the little scene! The unease and disbelief from people, seeing Lucerys rock up without harnesses or saddle or even bloody rope to keep himself in place; and them all knowing the rumours around Cannibal - it just builds a magnificent picture. His reputation would be so goddamn scary once he takes to the battlefield.

#anonymous #HOTD #ruination au #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucemond #cannibal the dragon

[l-tothe-og]

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the idea that Lucerys' hair will become lighter by the combination of the sun + the saltpeter from Driftmark. Lucerys will surely think that Aemond is pleased that although his hair is not yet blond, it is not as dark as before. He still doesn't look like a Targaryen but at least he doesn't look so Strong anymore. Instead, Aemond feels the opposite. His husband is still the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on, but sometimes he misses the deep brown of his curls.

Oooooh lighter haired luke

The fanfare for the return of the Lord of the Tides to King's Landing is large. None are more excited for him to be back than his husband, Aemond Targaryen, who sits on the small council and speaks for the Master of Ships in his stead.

He is the first down to the dragon pit when the first of Arrax's roars are heard from beyond the walls of the Red Keep. His husband, seen so infrequently in the last few years, is back, and Aemond intends to be the first to see him.

War in the Stepstones, and solidifying his seat took a long time, and Aemond could not be convinced to come with Luke the last time he left for Driftmark.

He notices, as Arrax and Luke descend the sky and touch down on the mainland, a few things. Arrax is fully grown now, and has been for a few years, but he has grown even further. He has a few scars along him that Aemond feels guilty he was not there to keep them from. His husband surely has scars he hasn't seen too.

Luke climbs down from his saddle and Aemond balls his hands into fists at his sides to keep from running to him. He keeps his distance, even as his heart jumps in his chest, rocking him toward his long missed lover.

Luke waves at him, and then runs a finger through his hair. He looks different in a few places: more muscular, thicker beard, and that hair.

His hair is light. When he'd gone out to Driftmark less than a year before, Aemond noticed the color change. He'd attributed it to the saltwater, and dismissed it as temporary. Looking upon it now, and the freckles that increase in number every step takes toward Aemond, he sees it for what it really is.

A change.

"Your hair." He says, his first verbal words to Luke in so long. His husband smiles, reaching up to pull a curl around his finger before letting it bounce back into place.

"Lightened, by the sun."

"The sun?" The color, once nearly black, is closer to mousey. Aemond grabs a fist full of it as soon as he's near and pulls Luke to him to touch their foreheads together. Luke smells like dragon, sea salt, and ash. It fills Aemond's nose and invites him to take a delirious lick at Luke's neck. He refrains, but barely.

Luke's nose nudges against his as he speaks, "I suppose you like it better like this? Lighter, less... Strong."

Aemond lets go of the hair in his hand. He pulls back a bit. Luke is different, a changed man in more ways than just his hair. Aemond has never liked him better than he does right now.

Damn the hair, and the deep brown that used to match his eyes. Aemond looks into them. At least his eyes are the same.

"You'll always be my Lord Strong, Prince Lucerys. Your hair matters not."

Luke laughs lightly.

"Are we going back to childish name calling, One Eye? Because I much prefer your current title."

"And what is that?" He reaches out to touch Luke's hair again. His tanned skin makes his hair appear even lighter.

"Mm, perhaps I was wrong before. Perhaps you prefer my old coloring... Husband."

Aemond cannot deny it. But he does say another truth.

"Tis a change. Driftmark and war have changed you. I'll need to get used to it." In his truth, he also makes a silent promise to himself.

Any changes to Luke, for the rest of his days, hair, eyes, skin, face, or heart, Aemond will be there.

#lucemond #since you've been gone luke actually bought a bottle of honey mist hair dye and hoped for the best

[thereader-radhika]

2- Friends and Foes from the Beyond

Part 1

Nandini shivered as the rain came pounding down. Thirumalai says that she feels colder these days because she lost too much weight. She tied a piece of cloth over her thin grey hair fashioned into a small bun. When she was younger and the hair was thicker, it used to stay tight for a long time.

"Aazhi mazhai kanna . . . ", she hummed as she covered herself with the thick blanket given by Annan and lied down on the mat. Since the day his gurunathan handed her over to him, she hasn't let him know peace or rest. Even in this old age, he dutifully visited her at least thrice every year.

"Do you need heat, kanmani?"

She woke up with a start and looked around frantically searching for the source of that sound. Which devil has come to torture her today? It seems like father-in-law and son-in-law have come together today. Weren't Pandyas the sworn enemies of Pazhuvettaraiyar? How could they become such thick friends in death?

"Our darling is confused."

"My little girl isn't confused. This smart girl killed him and avenged poor old me." Veera Pandyan's severed head laughed from Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar's lap. "No, I didn't kill . . . ", Nandini groaned. The events of that cursed night replayed in her mind.

"Hoy! Hoy! Veera Pandyan thalai konda Koparakesari stabbed himself. You are such a misfortune".

"But he too didn't get her maama", Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar tickled Veera Pandyan's cheeks and he laughed even louder.

"I will only blame you. You clothed her in the finest silk and gold, endured all mockery while this yakshi was observing fasts and austerities for that upstart".

"That isn't true. She touched my arms a few times".

"Chi! Are you a man? I was with her mother only for a few days but I shot two birds with one stone", Veera Pandyan's head winked. Nandini felt like vomiting but her body was unable to move. Someone caressed her hair and wiped her tears. Amma! She buried her head into her lap and cried bitterly.

"How many men have these women claimed to be their lovers? Pathetic maamiyar, her hopes were shattered when Sundara Cholan's veera-patni entered the pyre with her husband. That's our Chola women for you". Pazhuvettaraiyar's boasting turned to screams as Veera Pandyan's furious head bit his hands.

"Don't you hear this, you whore? I am so embarassed to admit that you are my daughter too".

"Sorry maama. I have spoken in anger."

"Don't worry. I will teach you to tame unruly women".

"Thanks. I will try it on her in our next birth".

Nandini's blood boiled as she listened to this exchange. She only hoped to console the old man after using him for years but he haunts her with her own words. "Get lost, you old perverts. I will never be yours".

"Old? Have you seen yourself, moothevi? Do you think your komagan will look twice at you? Even your mother looks younger than you. How lovely of them to send my mohini to me!"

Veera Pandyan's headless body approached Mandakini as the head jeered at Nandini from Pazhuvettaraiyar's lap. She dropped Nandini's head on the hard floor and dashed into the rain as the mutilated body followed her with outstretched arms. Nandini massaged her temples. Isn't there an end to this? Earlier, it was Veera Pandyan alone. After that fateful night, more apparitions started to torture her.

Where is he?

Why hasn't he come today? Is it because she looks old and ugly now? Perhaps he doesn't want her anymore.

"You know that isn't true", Aditha Karikalan chuckled from the other side of her mat. She tried to hug him but her arms passed through his form. She got as close as she could get and stared into those lovely brown eyes.

"Do they bother you . . . there?"

"No. Don't you know that we have our own place?  For us."

"Ummmm"

"There are a lot of flowers. You can make as many garlands as you want and I will adorn your neck with all of them".

"Can we take my Amma too? She doesn't have anyone else."

"Yes, but she won't come alone".

"I am coming. I just want to meet Ponniyin Selvan once, just once, and tell him everything. After that I won't linger. I can't wait."

His form dissolved into thin air before her eyes but she heard his whisper, "Neither can I".

Parts 3, 4

@favcolourrvibgior @willkatfanfromasia @sowlspace @sampigehoovu @sakhiiii @ambidextrousarcher @harinishivaa @celestesinsight

#ponniyin selvan #ponniyin selvan 2 #nandini #nandhini #aditha karikalan #aditya karikalan #nanditha #nandini x karikalan #nandini x aditha #arulmozhi #kundavai #vanthiyathevan #vanthiyadevan #vallavaraiyan vandiyadevan