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inoreuct · 4 months

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oh oh oh oh sanji with red lipstick and her long ponytail curling over her collarbones, slightly messy after a long shift as she drops her purse on the floor. her keys clink into the dish on top of the foyer table and she kicks her heels off to collapse on the couch and light a cig because the world is so cruel to pretty girls. her bangs catch on her mascara she exhales and she rolls her head, pulling at her neck, tsking half-heartedly at a run in her stockings and yanking at her tie with one hand. cue zoro; sleepy, bleary, shuffling out of their bedroom in boxers and a crumpled, unbuttoned dress shirt that's too tight around the shoulders.

sanji sighs the smoke away as her girlfriend folds down next to her in an ungainly pile of muscle and limbs. "evening, chou."

"think you mean morning," zoro grumbles, putting whatever she’d been holding down on the table. "s'fuckin' three a.m., blondie."

"i know." she feels callused hands gently pulling the tie out of her hair, and she sinks back into the cushions as relief prickles across her scalp. "thought you'd be asleep."

her girlfriend scoffs. "oh, i was."

sanji doesn't even have time to ask then why're you awake? before something wet is being pressed to her eye, and she sputters. "mari—

"it's your micellar shit." zoro shifts closer as she wraps the soaked cotton pad around the edge of her thumb and works it into sanji's lashline. "you're dead on your damn feet. don't wanna hear you bitching about not taking your makeup off tomorrow."

sanji opens her mouth and closes it again because yeah, zoro's right; she wouldn't have bothered. she's too fucking tired. but the clogged pores and missing lashes and crusty lips the next morning would have put her in a horrid mood for the rest of the day— so she shuts up and blows out a mouthful of smoke as zoro wipes at her face.

"tough day?"

she sighs again, shoulders drooping with it. "nowhere near the toughest. but we had a guy who was an absolute bitch in charge of that event. what's the point of outsourcing a caterer if you're gonna tell their chefs how to cook?"

zoro huffs a laugh. "did you kick his ass?"

"duh. asshole made himself scarce after i nearly took his eye out with my heel."

"that's my girl."

the shudder that ripples down her spine when zoro's free hand comes up to steady her head feels like warm water, and she smiles a little at the look of concentration she knows is on her girlfriend's face. she also knows what her makeup looks like after long days, and it's hard work to get off; her eyeliner's probably gone or nearly there, lipstick smudged around the edges until it looks more like a rash (ew), eyebags showing through her concealer and mascara smeared. she doesn't bother opening her eyes when zoro grabs a fresh cotton pad to work on her other eye, strong fingertips digging into the side of her skull, and the pressure makes something tense along her nape release.

zoro's hands are rough, as always, nails filed down rudimentarily and calluses built up thick at the bases of her fingers. but when she presses the heel of her palm into sanji's jaw, it's careful— the cotton pad that drags over the corner of her mouth is precise, rubbing across her lower lip to scrub away the patchy remnants of colour. zoro's breath ghosts warm across her cheek, turning cool in the wake of gentle swathes of makeup remover, and sanji knows she's done when zoro massages the last dregs of tension from her scalp.

she brings her knees to her chest and listens to zoro's slippers shuffling away as her girlfriend throws the trash, and back again. her's cig's burned down to a stub; she smokes it until embers glow against her polished nails and then pulls herself up to grind it out in the coffee table ashtray. the couch's headrest is scratchy against her cheek as she blows the last lungful of smoke away and curls up on her side, watching zoro turn off the lights and shut the window in their kitchen before going over to pick her heels up and set them neatly by the door, hanging her purse up with their jackets on the rack.

sanji's ragdoll-limp as she's lifted, arms beneath her back and knees, head lolling onto zoro's shoulder— it's that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, and she's slipping quickly over to one side. she doesn't fight it. why would she? even as she's set down over the cool covers, even as her slacks are peeled off and chucked over the vanity chair, she's far too comfortable. zoro undoes a few buttons, pops the clasps on her bra and pulls it off without much difficulty; sanji giggles weakly as a fleeting joke about experience flashes across her mind before it flits away.

it's dark. the blanket's pulled up over her shoulders, and she inches closer when zoro wraps an arm over her back. "i'm running out of shirts, y'know," she mumbles, thumbing at the sharp point of the pinstriped collar against her girlfriend's warm skin.

zoro fights a yawn. "sunday tomorrow. s'laundry day."

she takes a breath to reply and forgets what she had been about to say. a kiss is pressed to her forehead, and she falls asleep between one blink and the next.

(sanji wakes just past two in the afternoon, sleep crusted in her eyes and throat, hair all over the place, and hearing the dryer going. her shirt is falling off one shoulder when zoro comes in and tackles her back onto the mattress, and she settles under the covers as strong legs tangle with hers and zoro squeezes her waist with a yawn.

maybe she'll just sleep till dinner, she decides, burying her nose into soft green hair that smells of her own shampoo. instant ramen every once in a while can't hurt, anyway.)

#fem zosan #ohhhh they've taken over my brain #this was supposed to be a tired scraggly fem sanji appreciation but i got sappy as usual it's a DISEASE #zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece

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apocalypse-shuffle · 7 months

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BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN (generalized canon)

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“Staked Claim” (Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader)

| Bruce and the Reader take stock of each other’s scars. That’s it, that’s the story.

| SFW, scar examination, poor expressions of emotion, fluff -vigilante!reader

| Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (Picture source: Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice 2016 & Zack Snyder's Justice League 2021)

| 800+ words

The barely noticeable weight of the blanket shifts when you move under it. Soft cost-more-than-most-people’s-rent sheets gliding against your skin.

The muscles in your arm ache in tandem with you reaching up to rest your palm flat against the warmth of the owner of the bed you’re in.

“What about this one?”

You watch, genuinely taken for a second, the hairs on his arm stand at the feeling of your breath ghosting across his bicep.

He doesn’t waste a beat before he answers.

“Firefly,” rumbles right after you ask. Of course. Why would he need to think that hard about the marks on his person? They might not actively be on his mind but it’d be hard to forget a memory that’s physically staked its claim on your body.

Firefly made sense though. The scar tissue was as erratically placed as the pyromaniac’s own personality. It also, like many of his scars, has the added bonus of looking twice healed over. Considering Bruce’s clear allergen to sitting idle that doesn’t surprise you.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Laying on your side you shrug with the shoulder not attached to the arm you have braced on the bed. Bruce’s eyes have sparked with a level of interest that you’ve figured out means he’s reading you. Or trying to at least.

“I mean, there’s a lot. Why? You don’t want me to be curious?”

“Most people refrain from asking questions.”

The wry lilt he takes on has you scoffing while you drag your free hand down to his abdomen. The area’s so tense that when you push down the muscles stubbornly refuse to give.

“Most people are scared of hurting your feelings.”

“My feelings?” he grunts.

You sigh out an agreeing “Uh huh,” and press down more incessantly with your fingers. Still no give but you know he gets the message when he forces himself to relax with a heavy exhale. You grin. “Not that I don’t care about your feelings, of course. I just know that if you didn’t want to talk you wouldn’t.”

If you were a different person now would probably be the moment you’d lean in to brush a kiss to the pink tissue left behind from the burn, show Bruce the little bit of kindness he doesn’t often get. As it stands you only hum, hand already moving to the next mark. Already searching for another answer, brown skin stark against Bruce’s deathly pale.

As usual Bruce indulged you.

“You’re looking for yours.”

It’s not a question. You answer him like he’d posed one anyway.

“No,” you say, but when he grabs your hand - hard earned calluses rubbing against your own similarly worn skin - you don’t stop him.

The scarred patch of skin he directs you to is on the other side of his torso, out of sight from your angle, and when your fingers brush up against it you don’t hesitate to laugh. An amused puff of air hits cool skin and Bruce shivers minutely at your warmth.

You croon lowly at him and press a kiss over the spot on his chest your breath hit. Only when he lets out a grumble of a sigh, relaxing just that much more into the bed, do you press more firmly against the knot beneath your fingers.

“This was the poison arrowhead too, wasn’t it?”

Bruce doesn’t even react in any major way, just gives you an exasperated, even slightly amused look.

“If I’m remembering constantly having to reopen the wound to flush it out correctly, then yes.”

Another grin pulls at your lips, you move your head to press another lingering kiss to the side of his neck. It’s not an apology.

“Glad I could make a lasting impression,” you say and Bruce chuckles like that was at all a sane response in the way only someone else who went around the world doing what you both did would understand.

From where his left arm is wrapped around your waist Bruce slides his fingers low and then slides them backwards until the pads of his fingers make contact with a thick line of matted skin. He caresses his physical claim on you with his own brand of tenderness.

It’s your turn to shiver then. You can feel how Bruce smiles against your head; fingers pressing down more firmly on the scar.

“Batarang,” he whispers in your ear. He noses at your hairline and presses a kiss on your temple next and it’s all you can do to keep quiet.

That peace can only last for so long once your gazes meet.

Simultaneously the two of you burst into quiet breathless laughter, curling into each other’s spaces and bodies slotting into one another like you were cut from the same cloth then mercilessly separated but had finally, miraculously, found each other again.

Palm curling almost protectively over that mess of destroyed tissue on his pelvis - your mark - you smile the realist smile you have in months, lungs aching with laughter and a comfortable warmth settling just under your skin.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#bruce wayne #batman #black!reader #black y/n #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #vigilante!reader #batman x black!reader #batman x gn!reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #black gn reader #x black!reader #gn!reader #bruce wayne fluff

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doormousedreams · 1 year

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BACK ON MY BS AGAIN HELLOOOO

Jamil taking care of a Poisoned MC??

Tw for obvious reasons

I'm loosing my mind over this

So let's say you regularly hang out in sacrabia after the overblot incident, and just about everyone there gets along with you well and really enjoys your presence, especially Kalim.

On the other hand, Jamil pretty much despises you. You were already basically flaunting the whole "prefect hero" thing, and now you're spending extended time at his dorm? Acting as another mouth to feed and clean up after? He's so annoyed.

You, on the other hand, have a crush in Jamil. And are constantly trying to do subtle things for him. Like cleaning up, Cooking when you can, helping out around sacrabia in general

Jamil notices, and he hates it. He thinks he's being treated like some bomb waiting to set off any minute, by you and the rest of scarabia. He knows he did something wrong, he knows he could've hurt a lot of people, including himself, when he overblotted. But that doesn't mean he's going to just up and do it again. He doesn't need your pity.

Buuttt, little by little he starts to tolerate you.

One day, some way or another, you eat some food before Kalim just because you know how cautious he has to be and want to make sure he's comfortable, and also to make sure Jamil won't have to.

And surprise surprise!! It's Poisoned.

As soon as you start showing symptoms, Jamil is already on it. He's got an anitode ready, your head is in Kalim's lap and Jamil has to hold your nose so that it goes down smoothly.

Jamil starts to realize how panicked he is on the inside, despite not showing it.

Your stomach feels like it's being stabbed violently, and you're curled up and basically immobile. Kalim is panicking and crying, and Jamil is trying to calmly explain to him that you're going to be fine.

Jamil and Kalim end up helping you to a guest room and get you settled in the bed while the poison antidote takes effect.

Kalim stays by your side basically the whole time, and even though Jamil is trying to continue his afternoon where it left off, your condition is nagging him.

Eventually he goes back to your room as it gets dark, and reassures Kalim that he can go to bed, and that you'd be alright.

He stays for a moment after Kalim leaves.

"How are you feeling?" Jamil asks, walking to your bedside and pressing a cold, callused palm to your head to check your temperature. You whine in pain, and Jamil feels a small twinge of dread in his stomach. His face is passive as ever as he gently moves your face, opening your eyelids to look at the blood vessles, opening your mouth to make sure it wasn't miscolored, various other tasks to make sure the antidote was working. You hardly register anything he's doing, and it almost scares him to see you so weak. So pained.

He should be annoyed, right? You carelessly did something for the ever oblivious Kalim, and poisoned yourself in the process. You just ended up being another responsibility to shoulder.

But he's also so scared. Your pained breaths increase as you roll to your side, curled into a fetal position.

"It hurts..." You whisper. The words are pitiful, and they sharply pull at his heart. He sits on the bed, brushing your hair out of your face and pressing his cool palm to your head again, and this time, you lean into the touch.

"Do you want me to hynotise you?" Jamil asks, gently. He doesn't know why he asked that, let alone why he said it so tenderly, but you crack an eye open for a minute before shutting it tightly as another intense wave of pain washes over you. Jamil rubs your back soothingly as you curl into yourself more.

"It's just to put you to sleep, and help you sleep well. You won't hurt as much as you are now, I promise. It's just till morning." He clarifies. You're silent for a moment, besides your deep, controlled breaths as you try to work through the pain. And then you nodd.

"-please. please."-is all you manage to get out. Jamil is relived. He cradles your face with both hands, facing you towards him, but your eyes are shut tight.

"I need you to open your eyes, prefect." He says, softly, tenderly. When you do, he's quick to use his unique magic. He's never felt more relived when you start to settle, and calm down under his gaze.

"You will sleep well and undisturbed until the poison passes." He says, and just like that, you're asleep in his arms. He suddenly realizes how close his face is to your own, but he doesn't reel away like he would have before. For a split second, he thinks about kissing you. The thought is like a splash of cold water, and he sits back up again. He doesn't want to leave, so he sits in the chair that Kalim had left behind.

He stayes by your bedside the whole night.

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #jamil viper #jamil x reader #jamil x you #kalim al asim #hehhee #i know ive been gone a while sorry #:)

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

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oh yeah also!!! snippet of the timkon vday fic i will hopefully finish like over the weekend or something!!! (this snippet is sfw but the fic itself will not be...)

Tim’s fingers linger, brushing the back of his neck as he fastens the choker. “There,” he murmurs, and seals the clasp with a kiss to Kon’s nape.

The moment the projector comes into contact with his skin, Kon goes still.

It’s—

It’s weird.

It’s not a wholly pleasant feeling, if he’s entirely honest. The world shrinks down dizzyingly fast, from the wide, expansive spread of everything down to just this room. He can’t hear the cars outside or the dancers in the club he and Tim were at earlier, or Ma snoring back in Kansas, or the sea lapping at the shore halfway around the world.

The strength drains out of his body. It leaves him feeling… heavy. He’s grounded where he sits, and he can feel that he can’t simply fly away now. Of course, he still has his TTK, his aura sprawling through the apartment, but it’s not the same.

Kon lets out a slow breath. Okay. Okay. He’s been depowered a few times before. It’s just… been a while, that’s all.

“You okay?” Tim’s arms slip around his waist, his hands sliding up Kon’s ribs to his chest. He presses Kon backwards, encouraging him to lean into him.

Kon takes that suggestion, slumping back into Tim’s embrace. Tim’s arms are steadfast around him as he drops his head back against Tim’s shoulder. He can feel Tim’s heart beating against his back.

“Yeah.” Kon swallows hard. He can feel the cool metal of the projector against his throat, rapidly warming from his body. It feels…

He feels… vulnerable.

“You sure?” Tim brushes a gentle kiss to his jaw, lingering. “We don’t have to do this if it’s too much, or feels bad, or anything. I want you to enjoy yourself, so if you’re not—”

“I’m sure, Rob,” Kon interrupts.

He takes another breath and lets it out slowly. It’s kinda weird to have to breathe so often. He usually does, don’t get him wrong—he had to breathe at regular human rates before all his powers came in, so the muscle memory is there—but actually feeling the burn in his chest if he doesn’t breathe in fast enough is weird.

“I’m sure.” He shifts in Tim’s arms, rolling over a little so he can look up at Tim properly. “Just, like, gimme a minute to get used to it.”

Tim studies his face for a moment. Whatever he finds there satisfies him, because he just nods, then kisses Kon’s nose, brow, and forehead. “Take all the time you need.”

“Mm.”

Kon lays his cheek against Tim’s shoulder and tucks his face into his neck. He likes feeling the warmth of Tim’s skin against his own, the quiet ba-dum, ba-dum of his heart beating in his chest. Tim used some of his rarely-touched fancy cologne for tonight’s date; Kon can still smell it on his collar.

Tim’s arms curve about his shoulders, one of his callused hands stroking slowly up and down Kon’s upper arm. He caresses the curve of Kon’s bicep and strokes his thumb against the inside of Kon’s elbow before he rubs his palm back up his arm to the shoulder, slow and hypnotic, over and over.

Kon shivers.

He feels vulnerable and soft, cut off from hearing everything he’s used to. He’s not used to it. But it’s not a bad feeling, not when he’s lying on Tim’s chest, completely secure in Tim’s arms. It’s… different, yes, but not bad.

In fact, it’s a little exciting. He already knows Tim would never ever dream of hurting him—duh, Tim would cry and have, like, seven existential crises on the spot if he had to—and being vulnerable with Tim around means he’s, like…

Protected.

Kon takes another breath. Lets it out slowly. He’s not used to feeling protected. To looking to someone else for safety. It’s kind of… awe-inspiring? Incredible? Breathtaking?

Tim’s thumb swipes gently over his shoulder again. He’s languid and relaxed, his voice low and warm in a way that ignites sparks in Kon’s blood. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Kon breathes in again. Tim’s cologne smells of citrus and spice.

He tips his head up, glances up at Tim through his eyelashes. Tim looks down at him, his expression tender but intense.

“Rob,” Kon says, keeping his gaze fixed on Tim’s face. He smiles, a little shy, but excited. This is such a new feeling. “You’re gonna… you’ll take real good care of me, right?”

Color blossoms across Tim’s cheeks. His lips part slightly, his eyes wide; his flush runs all the way down his neck. Even his ears turn red. “I—”

Kon giggles, looping his arms around Tim’s neck. It’s nice to know he’s not the only one a little bit out of his depth here, reveling in the novelty of… of all of this. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim manages after a second, a little breathless. “Yeah, of course.”

#rimi writes #its supposed to be hot but so far its just mushy sdkfhjkds #<- guy who cant write a sex scene without making it sappy apparently #theyre in love . what can i say.#timkon #tim #kon

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writethebodyelectric · 3 months

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Prima Nocta

A John F. Kennedy Fanfiction

Summary: When the daughter of a Rat Pack singer wants some romantic experience, she turns to President John F. Kennedy, a friend of her father’s, for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut (occasional dubious consent), angst, infidelity, antiquated ideas of sex/marriage, swearing, 22-year age gap

Word Count: 3k

AO3 Link

You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for exactly 12 minutes and 47 seconds, your eyes twitching ceaselessly between the little white clock on the nightstand and the round-top bedroom door, when finally, the doorknob started to turn. The brass glinted in the silver-blue moonlight beaming through the sliding glass wall behind you. You felt your tongue dry out and stiffen in your mouth like a towel in the sun.

John Kennedy—or “Jack,” as he’d once told you to call him—stepped into the room, materializing out of the pitch-blackness of the hallway. “Hello there,” he said. With that charming New England accent, he pronounced “there” like “they-ah,” and beneath your heart’s frantic sparking and sputtering, a little spot deep in your gut groaned with affection.

“Hello,” you said in return. You were locked practically motionless in the dark searchlights of his sleepy gaze as he guided the door shut behind him.

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he began striding slowly towards you. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself to speak again: “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure,” he said as his shadowy shoulders blocked out more and more of the floral wallpaper around you. The sharp, forest-y scent of his cologne made your nostrils feel cool and crisp. Your hands tightened their grip on each other where they lay folded in your lap.

Jack’s mouth twisted into a gentle smirk as he swayed to a stop right in front of you and brought one of his big hands to cup the underside of your chin, his long callused fingers curling up around your head. Instantly, your spine twinged with the urge to pull backward and away, but you clenched your stomach and held yourself still. You wanted this, you reminded yourself as you gazed up at Jack through mascara-caked eyelashes. You can’t be chicken now.

“I have to admit,” Jack said then, with a huffing chuckle, “that I’m frankly a little surprised at your timing.” He sounded staticky and distant over the dizzying clang of your heart against your ribs. “I can’t help but feel guilty, uh—” (his eyes flicked briefly to the side, seemingly searching for the right word) “—spoiling you for your husband,” he continued. “Poor kid’s had the patience of a saint.”

You felt your throat press against his warm palm as you swallowed. He surely thought you were some sort of lunatic for waiting until the week before your wedding to finally dial that number his secret service agent had slipped through your fingers at Frank Sinatra’s birthday party, which was almost half a year ago now. But there was, actually, a perfectly reasonable explanation. At least, you thought so.

You could’ve explained to Jack how your future husband Jimmy, the world-famous heartthrob singer you’d been practically betrothed to since we were children and who you were marrying in just 7 days (the tabloids had been very generous in making sure every single person in America was aware of this fact—including the president, apparently), was secretly homosexual and had no intention of ever being romantic with you. The feeling was perfectly mutual, of course; you both saw each other as more of siblings than anything else. But, naturally, that still did nothing whatsoever to satisfy your ever-burning desire to find someone who could help you simulate the fairytale wedding night you’d always hopelessly dreamt about—one where, in a pink haze of passion, you’d finally hand over your virginity and roll around in the sheets till the sun came up with someone who was masculine and dashing and strong.

But, obviously, you could never betray Jimmy by telling anyone any of that. However, you also weren’t content to just waste away at home while Jimmy got to enjoy his revolving door of classified lovers, so you would just have to settle for Jack assuming you were some kind of newly-emerging sex-crazed adulteress—which he of all people would have no right to judge you for, anyway.

You felt the skin of your throat stretching as Jack tilted your head up and rotated your face slowly to the left, then to the right. You followed him with your eyes, watching him study your neck and collarbones like they were an expensive piece of machinery he was looking to purchase. You did your best to set your trembling shoulders back, wondering if this was typical behavior of a man before he made love.

“Speaking of Jimmy, I’ve been wondering. Is he the reason you called?” Jack asked while he conducted his examination, as if he was simply discussing the weather. “You think he’s liable to disappoint you on your first time? Or you just can’t possibly wait another seven days for him?” He phrased them more like teasing accusations than actual questions.

“Oh, n-no,” you said. The firmness of his grip on your jaw caused your words to come out clipped. “I just. . . .” You could feel your eyes bulging as you tried to scrap together some semblance of a reasonable explanation as to why you were here. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother with this line of questioning. “Well, Jimmy’s just so young, you know,” you sputtered, “and maybe—maybe I want to know what it’s like being with . . . an older man.”

Jack blew air out of his nose in a half-formed laugh. “An older man, huh?” He brought your head back to center and gave your cheeks an affectionate squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re cute, you know that, sweetheart? I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the night we first met.”

Your heart spasmed at that, and you could feel your mouth twisting as you tried not to break out in a giddy grin. Gosh, he could be so sweet.

The night you both met was two whole years ago now. Jack had been just a senator then, and you’d been just 19 when he, his wife, and several of their friends came backstage after one of your father’s glitzy Rat Pack shows in Las Vegas. You still remembered how, while your father was introducing you, Jack's placid blue eyes had slithered up and down your dress. Inexplicably, blood had gushed pleasurably between your legs while you watched him eye you like this, smoke from his cigar furling around his lip.

Jack's hand dropped from your chin then and moved to start unbuckling his pants. Your head suddenly felt too light, like your brain wasn’t there anymore, and the skin around your jaw prickled with the absence of his fingers. This was it. You were moments away from having the full experience of being a married woman and—if the rumors you’d heard about Jack Kennedy’s sexual aptitude were true—all of the mind-melting pleasures that came with it. The anxiety you’d been feeling ever since you decided to call that secret number a little over a week ago was about to be entirely worth it.

Jack let his belt slap to the floor, and his hands slipped under your armpits to pop you up onto your feet. You sucked in your lips to stifle what would’ve probably been a pathetic, whimpering gasp. His face was mere inches from yours now, and as he looked down at you, you were almost overcome by a strange, aching pull to stand up on the very tips of your toes so you could squish your nose against his. The leader of the free world was just a big dreamboat softie, really, and he could be anywhere on Earth with anyone he wanted, but he chose you.

You didn’t really have time to consider these unusual whims of yours, however, because then Jack bent his head and fastened his mouth to your neck. You could do nothing but stand there dumbly as he covered your skin with sloppy kisses, his buttery brown hair tickling your shoulder. The gentle clicking of saliva between his lips buzzed in your ears.

All of a sudden, as if you’d blacked out a few seconds ago and were now coming to again, you noticed your dress had been unzipped and was in a puddle around your kitten heels. Goosebumps sizzled up your bare arms and legs, and your shoulders folded in on themselves as Jack's hands appeared on both sides of your vision, one tossing your bra to the floor and the other moving to clasp both your wrists tightly behind your back.

He yanked your wrists downward with surprising gruffness, forcing you to arch your back and thrust your bare chest out toward him. A stuttery inhale hissed through your teeth, and you squeezed your legs together, blushing furiously as your nipples prickled and hardened under his gaze. You knew this would be part of it. You knew he would have to see you naked.

“God damn,” he said, his voice dark and rumbling, before bowing his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth like a hungry dog. A low, needy whimper trembled in your throat and as he moved from one nipple to the other, viciously biting and sucking. The stiff tent that had sprung up in the groin area of his slacks collided with your clit, wracking you with a full-body shiver. For a quick moment, you were awash with a lush, golden feeling of pride. You were making the president hard.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your cotton panties and leaned back from devouring your chest as he pulled them down, the tip of his nose brushing on your forehead as you both watched—to your piercing horror—an elastic string of wetness stretch between your vagina and the spot on the crotch of your panties where it had attached itself.

You noticed, too, how slick and glossy the insides of your thighs had become. “Oh, no.”

“Now, now.” Jack spoke in your ear with a brisk tone like he was impatiently reprimanding a child. “There’s no shame in getting a little excited.” He brushed a finger over the smooth slit of your labia, and you practically squealed, “Jack!”

Your little cry seemed to ignite something in him. Suddenly, you were whirled around to face the twinkling Chesapeake Bay shoreline and its tumbling black water and navy blue sand. And then there was a wide hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend over for me, doll,” Jack instructed you pointlessly as he went ahead and shoved your upper body into the mattress.

With the heel of his palm, he slid you forward so you had to clamber up onto the bedspread on your knees. The electric crackle of your nipples against the rough old fabric caused a loud “ah!” to spill from your mouth. You craned your neck as far over your shoulder as it would go to watch Jack’s eyes pick their way down your body just like they had the night you met. But now, all splayed out for him like this, you suddenly felt sick and dirty enough to throw up. This sort of position seemed more suited to a common whore than a bride. Your face burned like someone was shining a heat lamp on you. And yet, your clitoris pulsed with an almost painful voracity, causing your hips to twitch slightly with each pounding beat.

Outside in the living room, you heard the muffled laughter of the two secret service men who, when you’d first arrived at this rented beach house about 20 minutes ago, had told you President Kennedy would arrive shortly, and then casually led you to the bedroom like you were going to a meeting in the White House. You clenched your teeth against the toe-curling humiliation of it and forced yourself to shuck those guys from your mind. You were going to pretend that you were completely alone with Jack, your handsome powerful husband, and that this creaky Cape-Cod-style house was your lovely newlywed home.

The quick screak of Jack's zipper snatched you out of your thoughts. In the open fly of his pants, you caught a brief, heart-softening glimpse of his blue-striped underwear—And then, suddenly, there was a real-life penis whacking against the small of your back.

“Oh my!” you shrieked, and Jack's Adam’s apple bounced with a small laugh. The anatomical diagrams you’d studied with your childhood tutor had utterly failed to capture how big and messy-looking penises really were. The veiny skin on Jack’s was wrinkly and loose like an elephant, and the whole thing looked almost thicker than your forearm.

He began pumping his hand up and down the length of his long erection in a lazy, thoughtless motion, swiping his thumb across the shiny little hole every time he reached the top.

“Do you—do you think it’ll fit in me?” you asked. It was hard enough sometimes just trying to get a little tampon to settle in right. Glancing up at the ceiling, you prayed that, by some magical trick of biology, you would be able to accommodate Jack's size.

“Oh, sure,” Jack assured you as he palmed your buttcheeks and spread them apart, allowing himself to drag the tip of his penis down across your puckering butthole and line it up with your vagina as he spoke. “A young cunt like yours might require a little, uh, tough love, but it’ll fit me by the time I’m done.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by “tough love,” but it didn’t matter because suddenly he was easing his big round tip inside you with a low, sonorous groan. You grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Already, your “cunt” felt stretched beyond what was healthy.

“Fucking shit.” His voice sounded from far back in his throat. “You’re tiny.” And then, without further ado, he forced himself inside you, crashing his hips against yours with an echoing smack.

Your vagina ripped open. You screamed at the blistering sensation. Your stomach felt like someone had removed your intestines and replaced them with a big metal pole. The area around your belly button was bloated out and pulled taut.

A single tear was knocked out of your eye and down the side of your nose as he pulled all the way out and ruthlessly slammed back in again. He began moving you back and forth at a rapid rhythm, jerking you around like a rag doll. Your head was ringing as you buried your face in the bed, bracing yourself to take this for as long as Jack wanted you to. You wondered if it was typical for a man to be so harsh with his partner.

“Fuck.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck. You feel damn good, you know that?” His hand came down with a hard slap on your buttcheek and, instinctively, you bucked your hips away from him.

With his hands on your waist, Jack jolted you back into place in front of him. He smacked your butt again, like he was punishing you for fleeing, and you let out a panting whine as the sting shuddered through you.

“I know it . . . hurts, sweetheart,” he said between guttural grunts as he continued to pound into you, “but this is . . . what it takes . . . to break a little body like yours in. This’ll be . . . much easier next time.” He flashed a quick, cheeky grin.

Then he scooped one of his hands around your throat and whipped you upwards so your back thunked against his chest. He mumbled into your ear, “Now let me take another look at these pretty tits, huh?” He cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing them together then pulling them apart, and your head fell back onto his shoulder with a tortured moan.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pinching your nipples. “Maybe I should just take you home with me, huh? How does that sound?” He was a mumbling mess; you wondered if he even knew what he was saying. “I could ruin your little cunt so Jimmy won’t even want it anymore, and I’ll hide you away in my house up in New York. Keep you all to myself.”

As he spoke, one of his hands slid down your stomach and began to rub slow circles on your clit. This was met by another watery yell from you, and you felt Jack's teeth on your cheek as he chuckled. “Ooh, now that feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed. “Fuck, I love it when my girls scream. Let me hear you again.” He swatted your clit with his hand and, like clockwork, you cried out for him.

He sped up the pad of his finger on your clit, rewarding you for your obedience. “Just like that,” he said. “Let those fuckers out there in the parlor here you.” He slapped you between the legs again, and that’s when, seemingly without warning, the brutal throbbing you’d been feeling tumbled over into an explosion, like a hot water balloon bursting in your pelvis. You wailed and rolled forward, your bones gelatinous.

Jack caught you by the shoulders before you could flop onto the bed and lowered you the rest of the way down. “There we go,” he praised as your orgasm rocked through you. “That-a-girl.”

You offered him a weak smile and then realized he couldn’t even see it because your face was in the blanket.

As soon as your climax fizzled away, Jack grabbed ahold of your knees and turned you over onto your back. Then he pulled out of you for the very last time with a lewd squelching noise. Your entire lower body felt shriveled and deflated as you watched him give his erection a few self-indulgent strokes.

He rolled his head back with a loud “mmm,” and several long strings of white, mucus-y liquid began shooting out of the tip.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped to the ceiling. Air was getting caught in the emotional stickiness of your throat as you tried to catch your breath. Jack’s semen was splattering across your stomach. “Oh my gosh.”

#jfk #john f kennedy #jfk x reader #jfk x you #john f kennedy x reader #smut #the kennedys #john f kennedy fanfiction

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kitkatabasis · 7 months

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All Grace backstory lore I’ve been able to dig up:

Grace associates gyms with childhood trauma

Athena reminds Grace of her mom, although she also said she wasn’t sure if Athena was a “scary mom” or a “cool mom” so I’m not sure what this actually says about her mom, other than that I think their relationship is mostly positive, because of the “Mostly she just seemed like my mom. Or anyone’s mom. Maybe that’s what she is to the Idols—the mom who looks after them and keeps them going,” so it seems she thinks of moms as generally positive figures

She and Freddie met and (presumably?) became friends when Grace sat down next to her at lunch in elementary school

Grace learned to pick locks at some point

After Grace dropped out of college, she started drifting away from Freddie, until Freddie started the band

Grace is the source of all the band’s drama (perhaps hyperbole by Freddie for humor), and seems to generally have a lot going on, which she feels like she drags Freddie down with; I mention this here because the vibe I get is that she’s been feeling this way for years

Grace is familiar with the type of guy who wants to “take home” “lost girls,” and has “been hurt before by mysterious men,” suggesting she’s had some pretty bad relationships or at least experiences with guys

She has a drunk uncle

She has 3 brothers

Grace knows how to play the guitar, and has done it so much she got calluses from it (this is from a backer thing, so it may not be canon anymore)

Freddie is the “only person in the world who always has [her] back” (again, from a backer thing)

Freddie somehow betrayed Grace in sixth grade

Grace is somewhere around 25

Grace left college because “nothing ever works out like you think it should. Times ten,” and because “[she] didn’t feel like she belonged there. But [she] still hasn’t found [her] place”

She had a guidance counselor who was concerned about her

Her parents are, presumably together, from the way she talks about them; also, she acts like she’s 14 around them

She’s had a crush on Freddie for years but didn’t realize it

#Stray gods #grace stray gods #stray gods grace #tell me if you find anything else so I can add it!#D’s notes

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audhd-nightwing · 5 months

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fic idea i will probably write at some point:

when toph goes after zuko after his terrible introduction (hello, zuko here) he still startles and burns her feet but instead of running away he immediately rushes over and starts fussing over her, picking her up and treating her burns

he lays her down on his bedroll and gets his first aid supplies. he’s kind of an expert at dealing with burns. aside from the obvious, he was often burned during his childhood while training to fight with bending. it was why he was so fond of the dao swords, something he was much better at

he doesn’t realize he’s been talking aloud until the girl (does he know her name yet??) pointedly coughs after he trails off. he shakes the thoughts away and warns her the balm he is about to apply will sting at first.

he surprised when she fists a hand in his shirt, hissing in pain as the medicine does its job. he wraps it and moves onto her other foot, repeating the process. once he’s done, she looks in his direction quizzically

“it’s… numb,” she says, surprised. zuko smiles and explains

“it numbs the pain and heals the burn simultaneously. you should feel better in the morning after a good nights sleep, but you should still reapply it so it stays that way, okay?” he asks. she nods and then seems to debate asking something, before speaking

DISCLAIMER i know nothing about medicinal herbs/balms so this is 100% made up

“the others tried to describe you to me when i asked… pretty much all i got was ‘ponytail jerk with a shaved head and a burn on his face’ and obviously that’s not really a great description…” she trails off. zuko laughs softly

“if it makes you feel better, the ponytail is long gone. my hair is long enough to mostly cover the burn, too…” he replies

she nods thoughtfully before hesitantly lifting her hand towards his face, stopping a few inches away.

“um… you can say no, of course. but if it’s okay, can i touch your face? it’s how i see people,” she explains quietly. zuko flinches back slightly before thinking about it. her hands are so… small. and she hasn’t hurt him (yet).

the last person who touched his face was Uncle, helping zuko apply the burn salve after a bad day (the scar tended to hurt more if he was upset or angry… which was often). he had been so careful, it made zuko feel cherished.

he lets out a breath and agrees

the grin he receives is probably worth his discomfort

he closes his eyes and feels her small hands trace his face. she hums to herself as she maps it out in her head. zuko can feel calluses, likely from her earthbending, and laughs when she runs a hand through his hair, whispering “just checking”

they both quiet once she’s explored his entire face aside from the scar. she seems hesitant, so zuko nods slightly, reassuring her.

he cant really feel the hand tracing his burn. that area has been numb since his father…

he’s used to it. her hand on the other side of his face, keeping his head steady, is grounding and he releases some of the tension that had built in his shoulders when she traced the edge of the scar

she lets out a tiny gasp, and zuko can feel hair being pulled back from his ear- or what’s left of it. the burn had reached the appendage and a bit of his scalp. luckily his long hair was able to easily cover it. thinking back on his days wearing the symbol of the banished, having the entire thing exposed, makes him feel sick.

she finally drops her hands and when zuko opens his eyes (when had he gotten teary?) she’s sitting back across from him.

they sit in thoughtful silence for a while before toph snaps her fingers in recognition

“oh yeah, are your eyes really gold?” she asks

zuko finds it odd that the group had even noticed his eye color, but confirms her question

“cool,” she grins and zuko can’t help but smile back. she eventually scoots over on the bed roll and demands zuko sit next to her (and who is he to say no?)

they spend the next couple of hours talking. zuko finds out toph also comes from high society, and they bond over the stupid rules they were forced to learn and such.

toph doesn’t ask how he got the scar, but she does ask about it.

“can you hear at all in this ear? and are you able to see with this eye?”

he allows her these questions because she’s one of the only people who can understand what it’s like

“not very well, but enough to get by. as for my eye… it’s mostly blurry and i can’t open it past a squint. honestly, everyone was surprised it hadn’t lost all function,” he explains

she studies him thoughtfully before replying

“is that why you have two swords?”

zuko blinks. he hadn’t ever actually thought of it like that, since he was already using them before getting banished. but it makes sense. he shrugs

“maybe subconsciously?” he says, and she laughs at his uncertainty. he can’t help but smile at the sound

#excerpt from a fic i’ll probably write #eventually #they are siblings #this is NOT a ship post #atla #a:tla #zuko #toph beifong #atla zuko #toph atla #prince zuko #zuko and toph #<< the fact that there’s no tag for them makes me so sad #toph deserved a life changing adventure with zuko #he has those Older Brother instincts #toph is his little sister #aang is also his little brother

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2braincellslz · 1 year

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My Queen

Ship: Fem!reader x Robb Stark

Desc: the new Targaryen Queen replaces the evil queen Cersei Lannister. Her White Wolf gushes over her.

Notes: so this was a request but I fucked up and lost it lol. Also not my favorite, it's very short, but I'm really excited to write for Robb. Also idk shit about the Targaryen house, I'm better suited for the Ironborn and the Starks but I still tried. Also dont know about about the iron throne and I have yet to read asoiaf. Sorry.

Warnings: implied violence, not prof read.

(Y/n) didnt think she would make it this far. Hell, she didnt even think she would make it half way. It didnt seem real, standing infront of the long sout after goal. How could something so many people died for just be sitting right in front of her.

She steped forward, reaching out and feeling the throne. It was cool, cold, stone cold. She ran her finger across the dull edge of one of the swords, only stopping for a moment at the broken chips.

(Y/n) remembered when she was young, growing up with her siblings Danni and Viserys. She learned more about the throne then her siblings. She lerned about the importance of each and every one of them. She even knew some of them by name.

"The guards are taken care of." A voice, one of comfort, snapped (y/n) out of her thoughts.

"Thank you." The words were simple but they got the point across.

"It's so... so..." (y/n) smiled, looking over her shoulder. "It dosnt feel real."

"I was just thinking that." Her finger traced one of the carvings in a sword. "Come here, my wolf." (Y/n) held out her hand.

A callused hand intertwined (y/n)'s.

"Do you remember all the storys I've told you about the iron throne?" (Y/n) asked, she felt Robb's thumb rubbing over the back of her hand.

"How could I forget? You tell me a new one every night." She could feel Robbs apprehensiveness.

"Here." (Y/n) led Robb closer to the throne, moving his hand closer to the throne. "This one, the one with the engravings, this one has always been my favorite."

She led Robb's hand across the engraving. "Its special."

Robb slowly but surely let (Y/n) lead him. He glanced over at (y/n), the delicate yet dangerous look in her eye only made his heart throb more.

"Theres no real meaning to it. No important warrior. Its just... pretty."

"Pretty." Robb repeated, not even looking at the sword anymore.

(Y/n) looked up from the sword, letting out a soft giggle. "You arnt even looking at the sword."

Robb's smile was soft, he was growing in a beard. It suited his face well but (y/n) was ready for her cleaned up prince back.

"My darling and Queen." Robb hummed, taking her other hand. "You are stunning tonight."

"You are so..." (y/n) huffed. Her head was all messed up, sweaty and worn out. Fighting a war, especially in the capital, was impossibly hard. She wasnt one to just stand back and let her men fight for her.

"Please, you deserve a rest." Robb led (y/n) to the throne.

(Y/n) sat back, leaning in to the throne. It wasnt exactly comfortable but it was powerful. It felt right. It felt like home. The hall was home and this throne was home. Her life and goal.

But nothing was as important as her husband.

"You look perfect." Robb kneeled in front of (y/n). He took his sword out of his sheath, placing it infront of her feet.

"My Queen. My lovey Queen. I am but your humble servant." Robb poured his heart out, words coming out before he could think them over. "Please let me and my men serve you."

"Oh my white wolf." (Y/n) hummed, pulling Robb closer to her. "You are more then a servant." (Y/n) stood up, holding Robbs face. "You are my prince and my knight."

Robbs hands found there way to (y/n)'s waist.

"My queen."

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folklorefairyy · 2 years

Text

of rings and romance - e.m

summary - in which eddie gifts you a ring like his and you never want to take it off

word count - 1.505k

author’s note - this is a request by my lovely friend @milkiane and it was just too sweet, i hope i did it justice <3

it’s slightly proofread but i’ve probably over looked a few mistakes..

warnings - general romantic touching and kissing but nothing sexual!! i’ve tried to keep it gn but i do write everything with a slightly feminine undertone however there is nothing specific to gender within the fic!!

Eddie had noticed your fascination with his hands shortly after you had begun dating.

Delicate fingertips tracing guitar-string calluses, fingers forever fiddling with rings - warm skin against cool metal - and an ever constant need to have your hands knitted together.

He knew you were attracted to them, your bashful nature at being caught staring when he did just about anything with them being evidence enough, but he also noticed the great comfort you found within them. You always found a way to hold his hand with your own, toying with his fingers and fiddling whenever you could, grabbing it when nervous and seeking it on quiet evenings alone.

It was one of these quiet evenings, the pair of you sprawled on his small bed in the trailer, limbs tangled and bodies smushed together in a closeness that was far from uncomfortable, that he showed you just how perceptive he really was.

Here you were, fingers in his, twisting the rings and tapping your nails against the cool metal. Eddie’s free hand rubbing languid circles into the soft skin of your hip suddenly pauses as he awkwardly stretches his body, half hanging from the bed to his bag on the floor behind you. Your face is awkwardly smushed against his chest, giggles falling from your lips at the sudden prison of warmth you found yourself trapped under.

‘Baby, I’m suffocating here’ you sputter out between giggles and squished cheeks. Your hands grab at his shirt, partly to hold him back from face planting off the bed in typical Eddie fashion, but partly to keep him against you because - despite the squishy cheeks - you like being as close to him as you could

‘Oh really, huh, sweet thing?’ is Eddie’s strained reply, his body wriggling back on the bed as he retrieved what he was searching for. ‘Well maybe,’ he draws out, ‘I’ll just squish you some more,’ and with that he swiftly scoops you into his arms, pressing you as tightly to his chest as comfortable, bodies pressed into the mattress as he let out a dramatic sigh of contempt.

Giggles fall from your lips, the melodic sound only spurring him on as he rubs his nose into your neck. Your protests only half- hearted as you whine, ‘I’ll stop breathing soon, Eds’.

With that he pauses, the cheekiest grin painting his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners with amusement as he teases you, ‘Is that because I take your breath away?’

The corny line makes you half-groan, half-giggle once again as you lightly swat at his chest as best you can when in a human cage. ‘Stop it, you're so cheesy’, you mumble into his skin, trying to fight your growing smile on your face, but the dorky boy above you is far too cute for his own good, only making it harder for you to feign displeasure.

‘You know you love it’, he breathes out giddily, kissing the words into your neck as the remnants of his smile ghosts across your skin.

You ‘hmm’ in response, eyes drifting closed in content as Eddie’s hands ghost your sides in gentle caresses, his head still in your neck. The closeness of having his body against yours and the ever present heat your boyfriend seems to possess could send you to sleep, being in his arms is one of the few places you feel entirely safe.

It’s the feeling of a sharp corner digging into your thing that brings you out of your reverie. Eddie continues his movement, eyes shut and blissfully unaware that the box in his hand is touching your skin.

You nuzzle into his hair, the soft curls tickling your skin as you call his attention sweetly, ‘Eddie.’ All you receive is a grumble of what you assume to be ‘yeah’. This time you kiss his head, soft lips speaking against his skin, ‘Eddie, baby, why is there a box in your hand?’

The statement causes him to spring up from your neck, face dangerously close to yours as he grins at you with a glint in his eyes. ‘Oh this little thing,’ he gleams, presenting a small black box between you. You wriggle up from beneath him, Eddie moving with you so that you sit across from each other, legs crossed and hands held together between you as your fingers ghost the lid of the box.

There is curiosity in your expression that has Eddie’s heart melting, eyes wide and staring up at him as you whisper, ‘What is it honey?’

‘Go on, sweet thing,’ he places the box in your hand, thumb rubbing against the skin there, ‘Why don't you open it?’ he continues sweetly, a dimple kissing his cheek as the corner of his mouth quirks up in adoration.

With tentative hands you lift the lid from the small box, hands ghosting over cool metal as you pull out a silver ring, its face a large bat. Your eyes flick between the ring in your hand and those that litter Eddie’s fingers, and he swears he can see tears kissing your lash line.

He takes your silence as a sign of dislike and hurriedly tires to explain himself, ‘I- I know how much you like my rings,’ here he begins fiddling with them himself, ‘and I know how much comfort you get in playing with them,’ a hand stretches to the back of his neck in embarrassment, ‘ so I thought I’d get you one of your own, so you always have a piece of me with you.’

At that, tears really do fall down your face, your heart melting at how sweet and perceptive the boy in front of you is. Of course, it’s at this moment that Eddie flickers his gaze towards his lap, not witnessing the love in your eyes and instead thinking the worst at hearing your swiffles. ‘ I know it’s not really your style, I can take it back if you’d like’. He speaks softly, almost dejected, fearing he read into your fascination with his rings too much.

At that you throw yourself at him, hands winding around his neck, your face falling into the hollow of his throat, tears wetting the skin there. Eddie almost topples back from the sudden force, eyes growing wide in shock at your reaction. You pull back for a moment, ring perched between the fingers of one hand as you bring both to his face, the cool metal of the ring flush against his skin.

One of his own rests on your waist, the other gently rubbing the tears on your cheeks away with the pad of his thumb. ‘Eddie, honey,’ you almost choke on the words, too full of emotion to speak, ‘It matches your tattoo.’

It takes him a moment to register what you’re saying and then his face morphs to paint his widest grin yet, eyes crinkling and dimples cutting into his cheeks. In a rush of affection, he grabs your chin and pulls you in for a kiss, lips meeting in adoration and matching smiles. ‘God you’re too sweet’’ he breathes out, pecking your lips once more and pulling back to rub the last of your tears away.

Your lip pulls into a pout for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as you recall his prior reaction. ‘I can’t believe you thought I wouldn't like it!’ You push his hair back from his face and place your forehead against his, your voice flooding with the deepest of sincerity, ‘I love it so much, thank you,’ lips brushing over his for another sweet kiss ‘now, I have my own piece of Eddie to comfort me wherever I go.’

At that his heart melts just a little bit more, his smile printing against the soft skin of your lips. He reaches between you, prying the ring from between your fingers and slides it delicately over the knuckles of your right hands ring-finger. He brings it up to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss there and mumbling, ‘Have to save the other hand for an even more special ring.’

The words have you grinning like a fool, butterflies running rampant in your tummy as you grab his face for yet another kiss, too giddy and in love to stop. ‘Despite how much I love my little piece of Eddie,’ his thumb runs over the ring as you speak, mimicking your typical habit of playing with his own rings, ‘I do think that ring may just top it.’

You giggle as you lightly tease him, the thought of what you're both insinuating making you far too happy, and he chuckles in return, pulling you into his arms once more and returning his face to its home in the crook of your neck.

He presses feather-light kisses there, the sensation only eliciting more giggles from your lips, the sound one he could listen to forever. His finger brushes over your ring once more and he smirks against your neck, whispering endearingly, ‘It may not be your style, but I think you’ll look pretty metal.’

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fruitsoxs · 10 months

Note

Hi, socks! i've read your Vash and Wolfwood as roommate. But, hear me out! They as reader's bodyguard😳 Feel free if it is prince/ss or Idol reader!

Thank you, and i love your fanfic!

Went noble reader because i’m a sucker for knight/guard x noble lol

pairings; vash x (GN)reader, Woflwood x (GN) reader warnings; suggestive themes in wolfwood's but no nsfw, hint at attempted sa/abuse in wolfwoods(nothing graphic), mention of starvation as a punishment in wolfwood's, notes; hope this is okay! if you cant tell vash's is very cute and wolfwoods..is too i promise

Vash

When he gets assigned as your guard you’re pretty sure you’re going to melt

He’s very sweet, and super cute

He seems a little nervous around you at first though. He keeps stuttering and messing up proper etiquette (which is adorable)

You warm up to him pretty fast

He’s nonviolent, but also somehow one of the best fighters anyone has ever seen???

He’s vowed not to kill anyone, but he’ll beat someone’s ass to keep you safe.

The first time he has to beat someone up is during an assassination attempt on your life. Some crazed man runs through your gardens wielding a knife- and You’ve never seen Vash move so fast before. The man is down in seconds, out cold. Vash just smiles at you. You basically fall for him there and then

You like to sneak sweets to him that are meant for you. You get yelled at for it, but the look on his face is worth it

Sometimes the two of you will sneak into the kitchens late at night and ransack the place to make each other little treats

He also likes to take you out for horse rides, and walks. He like show happy you seem when you get away from your home, and get a chance to just run around and be yourself

He hates watching you force yourself into the stuffy standards of being a noble. He knows it makes you unhappy

So he does everything in his power to make you smile

After the two of you get really close, he’ll start sneaking up to your room to hang out at night. Sometimes you’ll sneak out to find him, and the two of you will go stargazing and talk

One of those nights you learn how he lost his arm, and the two of you fall asleep with your head on his chest

The next morning you have to rush home. Luckily your maids are cool and hide that you were ever gone

Falling in love with him is scary, because the two of you could be separated if anyone ever finds out

Somehow the both of you just know you are in love though

You don’t have to say anything. You just start holding hands when nobody is looking…and those late nights together get a bit more intimate

The first time you kiss it’s in the kitchens. He’s trying to make some silly little recipe one of the cooks gave him, and he ends up getting flour all over his face. You start wiping it off and he just kisses you.

That’s when you know that this is the man you will love forever.

Sadly, your family has other plans

Plans that Vash refuses to let happen.

One night after finding out you are to be wed, he climbs up onto your balcony and starts asking you to pack whatever stuff you want

It turns out he has a few friends that are willing to help the two of you run away together

You garb the few things you want, and leave with your arms wrapped around him as the two of you ride off into the darkness

You get a cute little house in a random village

You finally are free

He gives you a ring on top of that little tart recipe that he was trying to make the first time you kissed

Wolfwood

Wolfwood is a menace from the start

Your family decides to hire a personal guard to watch over you after there’s a few death threats sent their way

The decide to hire the most expensive, and experienced merc they can find

They have no idea that this merc HATES rich people

The moment you meet Wolfwood calls you things like “brat” or “prince/ss” in the most demeaning ways

He’s rude, and you’re pretty sure you hate him

But also he’s so hot-

I imagine he’s all rough, with callused hands and scars all over his hands and arms.

He also flirts with you because he’s shameless

The first time he saves you is also the first time you see the kind side he likes to hide away

You’re out on the town, doing a bit of shopping in the market when the two of you get separated somehow.

While looking for him, you get cornered by two guys who do not have the best intentions with you

Right as they grab you to hall you off, Wolfwood appears.

He doesn’t even need a weapon. He takes both of the men out with his fists without breaking a sweat

After the men are knocked out, Wolfwood pulls you away and starts asking if you’re alright. When he sees the bruise on your wrist from how hard the man grabbed you he tries to run back to the men muttering “i’ll kill em”

You stop him and tell him it’s okay, you just want to go home. He takes you home right away

That night you clean and dress the wounds on his knuckles and he falls in love with you

After that he still calls you names, but you can sense something other than hate behind his words. They become terms of endearment instead

He still hates all your friends, and family

Your first kiss is heated. You’re practicing piano, and he’s sitting next to you

You teach him how to play a few notes of a song, directing his fingers

After he plays it successfully you kiss his cheek and he responds by slamming his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth

That piano is then used for…other things…

After that you two constantly sneak in kisses and ahem quickies whenever you can

He also notices that your family doesn’t really treat you well pretty fast

He sees the way they take away your meals when you’ve done something they think is bad

He gets progressively more angry until he finally snaps and just takes you away from that life

You leave in the middle of the day, and Wolfwood threatens to kill anyone that tries to come after you

You move into a cute little cottage where you can finally live your dream

Away from that horrible life, and happy with Wolfwood

#wolfwood x reader #vash x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #vash the stampede x reader #wolfwood headcanons #vash headcanons

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screaming-cicada · 9 months

Note

I just found your blog and it made me do flappy hands/pos

I was wondering if I could get headcannons with the 2012 and rise turtles if the reader had to start using mobility aids (like wheelchairs, and canes) if you're doing requests!

Again, I love your blog, I'm a trans man so masc readers make me super happy! Okay bye, make sure to drink water and rest!! :)

OMG YES!! thank you so much!!! i would love to write that!

I actually use canes occasionally because my hip joints developed weird so this is mainly cane and crutch focused 😅 this also made me realize that i’m still very new to writing

this took so long i’m so sorry 😭

i also decided to come back to 2012 another time so there might be a sorta pt 2 of this

RotTMNT x GN!Reader who uses mobility aids

Headcanons \ Platonic (but you can interpret) \ GN reader \ RotTMNT \ Second Person

————————————————————

Rise!Raphael

- Big brother instincts kick in when he saw you use a cane for the first time. He was asking if you were injured even if you reassured him you were fine (bc we know his brothers say they’re fine when they’re not)

- Will be happy to help you around the lair if you need it because it’s not exactly that mobility accessible

- He acts a bit overprotective for a while but will pull back on the worrying if you tell him to.

Rise!Leonardo

- Leo doesn’t see you differently at all; in fact he sometimes forgets that you use them. Not in the dumb forgetting way but in the sense that it just becomes normal to him

- Might or might not have asked if you can do a wheelie in your wheelchair.

- Strange headcanon but Leo sews. He makes you gloves so you don’t get calluses on your palms.

Rise!Donatello

- He built a titanium cane for you saying that “durability is important” it looks cool tho

- Donnie installs some stuff to the lair to make it easier for you to get in and out of it, but nothing too drastic of a change

- You two become very close actually! He completely understands how it feels when people constantly worry about your physical condition when it’s something you can’t control.

Rise!Michelangelo

- He offers to decorate your cane and your other aids! bunch of stickers and painted on things

- Mikey’s your hype man! Having to start using mobility aids can affect your confidence so he’ll tell you all the supporting words you need to hear

- Soup? Soup.

————————————————

#rottmnt #tmnt #platonic #rottmnt x reader #gn reader #x male reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x male reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt x male reader

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fieldofdaisiies · 2 months

Text

azriel x eris | 2,6k words | warnings: mentions of abuse | masterlist

“Can you do that for me? Eris, please.” Her long, cold fingers curl around her son’s warm hand. A few faint scars adorn the back of her own hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she is holding onto him. Her calluses from all the work in the garden she used to do and all the knitting for her sons brush his skin.

Imala’s chest rises with a breath that feels too heavy, her shoulders drooping with each one that follows. “Just a few of them for either of them.”

Eris slowly bows his head, his auburn gaze focused on his mother’s eyes, his face, though, unreadable, emotionless. He lets his eyes run over her face, her sunken cheeks.

The Autumn Court heir got most of his looks from his mother – the red hair, the shape of his eyes, though, the colour differs from hers. While his mother’s orbs are russet, just like he remembers Lucien‘s eyes to be, his own are amber. The same colour as Zen‘s eyes. As Kallax’s eyes.

But most of his facial features, the sharp edges, the clean cuts, the slimness, are from his mother. He inherited them from her. Thank the Cauldron, he did – Eris couldn’t live with seeing a similar version of his father whenever he looks into the mirror.

“Promise me, you will—”

Eris kisses her forehead. “Yes, mother, I promise. I will put the flowers on their graves, a few for either of them.” His hand rests on her shoulder, and he can feel her bones against his palm. The hollowness of her face is something that has unnerved him for a while, her sunken cheeks, the dark circles beneath her empty eyes. She needs to eat – she needs to eat more. And she needs to rest. She is getting weak and he can’t let this happen. He needs his mother to be strong. She needs to fight. Only until he can rescue her. Get her out of this place. Change things for good. Make her feel alive again. But she needs to fight now. Be strong now. He knows she is strong, has always been, but she can’t give up now.

The Autumn Court prince carefully takes the flowers from his mother’s hand, gently, carefully, to not break off the heads, and tucks them into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Beron’s mustn’t find out about it. The High Lord doesn’t forbid it, but he also doesn’t like it when they put flowers on Eris‘ late brothers‘ graves. He finds it a waste of time. Useless. They are dead, why still put flowers on their graves?

Eris doesn’t know if Beron also misses them. He thinks so. Or rather, he hopes so. They were his sons after all.

“Will you say a few words to them as well? Just—”

“Isn’t dinner ready yet, or what are you two doing here? Scheming and planning?“

Beron’s demeanour seems tense, his broad shoulders squared, thick brows bunched, lips slightly pursed. His eyes pierce holes into their bodies when he scans his family members.

Beron is truly warped by fear. Since the day Lucien was born he hasn’t given Imala his full trust, but he is also starting to mistrust Eris, the closeness between his eldest and mother always having been a thorn in his side. He doesn’t like it. Has never liked it.

The High Lord lets his eyes run over both of them again, something – suspicion or fear – glinting in his eyes.

“We were just talking.” Imala steps away from her son, her hand not leaving his, though. “Dinner is already on the table.” Her tone is cautious, but steadfast. Over the years – the centuries – spent in this cruel place, with a lethal male at her side, she has learned how to talk to him. There is no use for showing fear, for trepidation. He would ignore it anyway. Or make use of it to his benefit.

The High Lord only grunts in response, strutting past them with long steps and then into the dining hall of the Forest House, leaving a cool chill behind in the corridor. Even the sconces on the walls flicker.

Beron claims his seat at the end of the table and stretches out his long legs, palms placed flat on the table, and then he waits. To be served.

The big chandelier casts a light upon him that almost makes him seem like a god – the stress is on almost, but not even the light of the chandelier can hide the fact that a male with a wretched soul sits beneath it.

Eris has always found it silly, even as a child. He always liked the sparkly chandelier, loved how the light broke and reflected in the crystals, but he never saw what Beron saw in it. Why he needed the light to fall upon exactly from this angle. Why Beron wanted to be illuminated beneath it. Why he wanted to have the light on his side. A power display and nothing else, Eris had concluded back then. Ridiculous.

Sentries immediately load food onto Beron’s plate, while Eris and Imala claim their seats on either side of him, sentries also tending to their plates, keeping their heads low, gazes never meeting those of the Autumn Court nobility. According to Autumn's standards, this wouldn’t be proper.

Cabbage, beans, eggs, potatoes, meat (deer, fresh from the Autumn Court‘s forest, caught only a few hours ago). A gravy tops off the dishes already on the plate, everything neatly decorated. No sentry would dare to spill something, scared of the aftermath.

Eris mashes his potatoes and shoves them into the gravy – his favourite way to eat them and lastly mixes in the beans. When he was younger, he always looked for a way to distract himself while eating, to not have to listen to the deafening silence - so mixing his dishes, although you should never play with food, became his favourite thing to do during family dinners.

Beron’s gaze momentarily lingers on one of the females, he is leering and Eris is disgusted. Beron has never had a mistress as much as Eris knows, he saw no use in it, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at females like that. From leering. From looking at them like they are objects, only there for breeding.

Eris takes his first bite, eyes narrowed at his father who slowly turns his head to him.

“Zen will be stationed at the border to Summer.”

Eris swallows thickly. “Do you think that is really necessary?”

Slowly, Beron’s eyes narrow, fork and the piece of meat on it long forgotten. The room chills, a shudder coursing through it that makes even the mice in their little nooks tremble.

“Are you questioning my decisions, son? Are you questioning my ability to make decisions?” Beron’s voice drips with venom as he speaks with lethal calm, his sharp graze burning holes into Eris’ skin. His power manifests and slowly stretches out like a dark cloud. It is tangible in the air, and makes Eris’ chest feel very tight all of a sudden.

“I‘m not questioning your—”

“It sounded a lot like it.” The High Lord’s voice is loud. So loud it makes Imala cringe. She closes her eyes, grinds her teeth, and grabs her own fork tighter. Her eyes are lowered to the plate in front of her, not able to watch the scene that unfolds in front of her.

“Do you want Summer to march all over us? Led by no other than the brute from the Night Court. The brute who you allowed to fuck your future wife?”

Why does he always have to bring up Morrigan? Even after centuries. Eris is tired of it – so incredibly tired of it. Back then he felt ashamed, incredibly ashamed. She brought shame upon him by choosing Cassian to take her maidenhead. But now, now he feels indifferent about her. Nonchalant. About the whole situation with her.

Though…he doesn’t feel indifferent about how Azriel thinks about her. Feels about her. The High Lord’s meeting—

“You allowed shame to fall upon our family, Eris.”

“I allowed nothing. Morrigan was spoiled before she even got here!” Now the heir raises his voice as well, fury simmering beneath his pale skin. He is so tired of it all. For the blame to always be on him.

Publicly, Eris had claimed that Morrigan was sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie to keep his image of the polished, cruel Autumn Court prince clean while in reality he had always known that Cassian had done both of them a favour.

Eris could have never bound Morrigan to him, could have never envisioned a life for her here. Cassian had saved her. Eris knew that he himself could have never allowed her to live here. Not this life. Not under Beron’s rule. It would have killed him.

“And yet you had nothing better to do than save her. Alert the pretty shadowsinger to come rescue her. And you waited. Hidden in the thicket to know she really gets picked up and won’t be left there to die.” Disdain graces the High Lord’s face and he shakes his head. “Pathetic.”

Eris says nothing. He only lowers his chin. And then draws in a deep breath.

“So,” Beron seethes. “Is that what you want? Them ruining us? Seizing our court?”

Eris shakes his head but it is not enough of an answer for his father.

“Answer me, son!” Spit flies from Beron’s mouth. “Is that what you want?”

“No, father, of course not,” Eris answers. Slowly, his eyes lift, meeting Beron’s gaze.

“I thought so.” He finally brings the piece of meat to his mouth. “Always asking the same stupid questions as your mother.”

The High Lord chews loudly, the sound filling the room. Eris looks at his mother, but her gaze is cast downwards, bony shoulders slouched. Were Beron to use violence, his mother would step in, take the pain upon her. But Eris always makes sure it never comes to that, that he is always the one to take it. His mother should never ever again become subject to his father's anger. He will never allow that to happen again.

They eat in silence for the rest of the dinner, and have never talked much during these family gatherings. There is nothing to talk about - no happy chit-chat other families have. He often lets himself think about the Night Court, if Lucien has found a family there. A proper one. One he never had here. The thought once again sends a pang of hurt right to the heir‘s heart - he misses Lucien and yearns for what they could have had.

He is longing for a family. For love. Not only from a wife – or in his case, a husband. Something the Autumn Court standards would never allow. But also love from his family. He knows his mother loves him, but it is hard for her to let it show. To let it show openly. She never shows many emotions, her heart frozen by the endless years spent in the Autumn Court, under the control of Beron.

Her soul is empty, probably nothing but an endless void, due to being separated from the male she truly loves.

His mother told her eldest everything. Eris knows the story. He had found his mother the day Lucien left. He found her in pieces, broken, shattered, crying, and she had told him everything.

Eris was in shock. Had been for a long time. But he held her in his arms. For hours. Until their tears mingled, the pain about Lucien being gone never easing. Not until this day.

Little Lucien - his little Lucien and until this day Eris can still hear his voice when he asked him a question that broke his heart for the very first time. Lucien was barely four years old then, tugging on the leg of Eris‘ breeches, looking up at him with his big russet eyes. “Big brother Eris, why does father hate me?”

He had no answer for him. He only scooped him up in his arms, and held him tightly.

Eris clears his throat, knowing he has zoned out once again. He reaches for his glass and takes a sip of the sweet wine. Then another.

“It wasn’t my intention. I never meant to fall for him. To create feelings for him. But he was there. And he was good. And warm. He made my heart feel warm, Eris,” - that’s what his mother told him back then, tears wetting her face.

He didn’t understand it back then. How it was possible. She had barely known Helion and had no intention of falling for him and yet she did.

Now, Eris has a better understanding of her situation. Falling for someone you don’t plan on having feelings for. Every thought is going to this person. Your heart beats faster when someone only mentions their name.

There is a person – a male – in his life now that…

He is abruptly fetched back to reality. Movement outside the Forest House, in the thicket, covered by bushes and trees in all colours autumn has to offer, makes him turn his head toward the window.

His eyes immediately catch on the shadowy figure. Azriel. The best spymaster? – Eris doubts that, having caught said Night Court male already twice in the past year.

The heir rests his fork against his lips, slowly chewing, eyes narrowing. He observes and for a moment it feels like his eyes lock with Azriel’s, his heart slamming to a halt.

“What are you looking at?” Beron snarls, his fork clattering on the plate.

“Nothing,” Eris answers quickly and whips his head into his father’s direction.

He can’t let Beton catch Azriel, knowing he would do unspeakable things to him. And he can’t allow that.

“Why are you looking at the window then? What are you looking for?” Beron’s gaze is as sharp as knife, piercing into his flesh.

“I think one of the hounds broke loose.” An easy lie.

“Then catch it.” Beron gives him a dismissive look.

Eris takes his last bite, tabs his mouth clean with a serviette, smoothes out his trousers and then rises to his feet. Sentries immediately usher to his place, gathering his plate and glass, and cleaning up his spot on the table.

But the moment Eris turns, it happens. One of red Gerberas slips out of its place inside his jacket, slowly sailing down to the stone ground before Eris can reach for it.

His breath catches and so does his mother’s.

Beron raises a brow, a gleeful expression adorning his face. The light of the chandelier perfectly casts light upon his sharp cheekbones.

“For a secret lover?” the High Lord asks, resting his fork against his plate. Slowly.

“Or is it what I think it is?” His tone makes Eris uncomfortable, the way in which his father speaks is so low, so slow, so unnerving with a small hint of gleeful amusement.

Eris stays calm. But he reaches for the flower, picks it up and tucks it back into his jacket.

“It is what you think it is,” he eventually replies, expression cold, indifferent.

A disappointed laugh parts Beron’s lips, and he shakes his head. In a disdainful tone he says, “You know why they are dead.”

Eris says nothing, only grinds his teeth harder. Of course, he knows it. The memories have been haunting him day and night since their death. Have caused him sleepless nights for centuries. How Tamlin killed his brothers. How Jesminda was killed right in front of their eyes. Lucien’s wail. All of it.

“And yet you still care about the little fox.”

He does. Because that day he did not only lose two brothers at the hands of the High Lord of the Spring Court. No. He also lost his youngest brother. His favourite one. The one he swore to protect until he failed him. Something he will never forgive himself for.

When he doesn’t answer again, Beron smacks the flat of his palm onto the table, rattling not only the cuttlery but also all the glasses and plates.

Imale sucks in shuddering breath.

“You‘re dismissed, son.” He waves him off, like Eris is no more than a servant to him. Someone unimportant. Not his first-born son. “Get out of my sight!”

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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miasmaghoul · 1 year

Note

putting thoughts of rain/dew trans dew fingering into your brain

like i dont think about this ENOUGH ALREADY

(also i put Dew in a skirt i hope thats cool)

"Keep your mouth shut," Dew snaps, arms crossed and face flushed.

Rain's trying to hold it together, he really is, but -

"How the fuck -" he breaks into tight giggles while Dew stares daggers at him from across the common room. "Dew, what -"

"I lost a fuckin' bet," he grumbles, staring at the floor. "That's what." Rain bites his lips shut to keep from grinning, but it's a losing battle.

Dew stands before him in the usual black t-shirt and heavy boots, but his standard black jeans have been replaced by a short, flouncy, baby pink skirt. It doesn't even reach mid-thigh, soft fabric resting against softer skin.

"That's a good look for you," Rain teases, dabbing moisture from the corners of his eyes. Dew scowls at him, stalking over to hide behind the kitchen island. Rain tilts his head, watching the rather distracting way the fabric swirls around Dew's skinny thighs.

"Fuck off," he gripes, stretching his arms out and resting his forehead on the stone countertop. "This is humiliating."

"What bet did you lose, anyway?" Rain sets his book aside and unfolds himself from his chair, striding over to the kitchenette. He leans on it with both elbows, chin resting on his fists. Dew huffs out a defeated sigh.

"Does it matter?"

"No," Rain chirps, "tell me anyway."

"Asshole," Dew mutters. After a minute he heaves a very dramatic sigh, raising his head just enough to glare across the island. "I bet Swiss -"

"Ah, say no more," Rain cuts in with a smirk. Dew raises an eyebrow at him. "Dew, you have never won a single bet against Swiss the whole time he's been topside." Dewdrop drops his head back onto the counter with a thud.

"I know," he complains, "I swear that fucker cheats, there's no way he's good at everything I give him."

"Or maybe you just enjoy losing," Rain says with a shrug, "why else would you keep trying?" He stands and rounds the end of the island while Dew gives a discontented grunt. "If it helps, it really does suit you."

"Fuck off," Dew spits again, still face first against the counter while Rain moves to stand behind him.

"No, I mean it," he insists, taking in the way the skirt hangs over Dew's slim hips. The way it hugs the slight curve of his ass and sits high on the creamy thighs he so loves to live between. Rain reaches out to finger the fabric, imagining how easy it would be to flip up and get Dewdrop all exposed for his viewing pleasure. "Actually, I think this is an improvement. I think you were made to be in cute little skirts like this."

It's meant to be a joke, at least mostly, but the very distinct way Dew's shoulders tighten is a dead giveaway as to how he's feeling. Rain feels a cruel little smile curl at the corners of his lips.

"You agree, don't you?" He drops the fabric, callused fingertips drifting featherlight just under the hem of the garment instead. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his touch, and despite the way Dew shakes his head Rain can feel the truth. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I can tell you're loving this."

"I promise you I'm not," Dew mutters, tensing further at Rain's words. But he makes no effort to move, to get away, and that's all Rain needs to prod further.

"Sure you are," he murmurs, pressing himself against the little ghoul and resting both hands on his hips. "You like looking all sweet and pretty, don't you?" Rain leans over his back as Dew lets out a small sound of protest. "I can smell it on you." Dew whimpers, soft but obvious, as Rain licks the shell of his ear.

"Shut up, would you?" There's no venom in the words, despite their tight delivery. Rain grinds against him and Dew lets out a quiet groan at the feeling.

"Why? I like it too, can't you tell?" He's only half-hard, but the thin fabric of the skirt offers little in the way of a barrier. "Don't you want me to get underneath it?" Rain skates him fingers beneath the hem again, higher this time. "Get my head between those thighs and make them shake?" Rain's fingers drift higher still. "Flip it up while you're bent over and -"

Rain pauses, listening to the way Dewdrop's breathing has picked up as his fingers trail over the milky skin of his inner thighs. It's damp already, and Rain comes to a realization that has him leaking into his boxers.

"Dew, are you not wearing underwear?" He breathes it into the little ghoul's ear, and Dew makes the most beautifully pained sound as he shakes his head.

"Part of the bet," he sighs, pressing back against Rain's hips. His hands are balled into tight fists, hair hiding his face. Rain growls low in his throat.

"How long do you have to be like this?" Rain drags a finger through slick folds and Dew lets out a low groan, shivering at the teasing touch.

"A fuckin' week," he whispers, gasping when a wet finger circles his rapidly stiffening clit. Rain huffs out a pleased chuckle.

"Good," he nips at the smaller ghoul's ear, relishing the broken moan Dew lets out when he sinks two fingers into his tight heat, "then I can take my time with you."

Rain stands, pushing away just enough to see the way his hand disappears beneath the skirt. The ruffles at the hem sway as he pumps in and out, fabric clinging to Rain's long sleeve. It's entrancing, and when he crooks those fingers the sound Dew makes is positively feminine.

"It you can be a good girl and cum on my fingers, maybe I'll let you ride me later." Dew clenches tighter around him, moaning as he shoves himself back against Rain's hand. "You can even keep the skirt on while you do."

Dew shouts into the countertop as his legs start to shake.

"Maybe I'll invite Swiss too," Rain croons, "let him see what a pretty little princess you can be."

Dew sounds like he could cry.

Rain plans to make him.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #transmasc dewdrop #in a skirt

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seshatsdomain · 2 years

Text

Praise The Body

Pairing: Pagan Fertility God Thor x Black Fem Reader

Wordcount: 1,644

Warnings: SOFTDARK!THOR. DUBCON. Sexual Manipulation. Pagan God Thor. Mentions of Pregnancy. Mentions of Fertility and Infertility. Mentions of Marital Abuse. Smut. 18+.

A/N: This is my first foray into writing darker themes, so be easy with me. I wrote this for @syntheticavenger’s writers camp. @syntheticavenger was incredible and helped me work out the kinks of the fic. She was also just so nice and supportive. I’m so grateful that I was able to work with her, and if you aren’t following her yet, go and give her a follow!

Banner by @maysdigitalarts

Divider by @firefly-graphics

She should have listened when the old woman told her not to marry Arne; maybe then she would have been happy.

The stories told by the old folk — the ones with hands too gnarled to weave, who sat upon chairs and watched the world through filmy eyes — are ignored by most. Their wise warnings went unheeded. She crawled back to the old woman on her knees. She had held the woman's crooked fingers in her own callused hands and begged for advice. She hadn’t listened once, she would not make that mistake again.

The old woman had urged her to go to the temple. To make her offerings regularly, to pray earnestly, and when the time was right to find her rest among the gods.

“A night spent in the presence of the divine will bless you ten times over.”

She looked up at the elder from her place on the floor. She was grateful to have a plan, some action to take, even as outlandish as it seemed.

“How will I know when the time is right?” She questioned.

The crone cackled, the noise loud within the small house.

“You’ll know.” The old woman patted her hand. “You’ll know.”

Her sandaled feet slipped in the mud as she ran. She landed hard on her knee, pain radiating from the spot. Her arms quivered as her hands sank into the soft earth. The wind howled as it shook the trees that towered over her. Rain drenched her face, a single drop falling from the tip of her nose as she brought her head to the sky.

Her destination was not far. She could see the stone spires of the temple, Looming shadowy in the distance. It beckoned to her, and she knew she must answer. Her feet found purchase in the wet dirt, driving her body upright. The steps she took were wobbly — unsure— but she kept a steady pace. The trees rustled around her. She could see the temple now, the warm yellow glow of the interior candles. A lighthouse even in the cold dark of the forest.

Come. It seemed to whisper to her. Come home.

Her sandals slapped wetly on the stone stairs, She winced as pain sliced up her back. The familiar chamber of the temple eased her bruised feelings. Her cloak, heavy with rainwater, landed on the floor with a splat. Her skin prickled as the cool night air brushed her bare shoulders. She limped forward, her box of offerings clutched in her palms. The giant throne sat before her, the large statue there always lording over the room. She knelt at the feet of the altar, esoteric mumblings falling from her lips. The box was placed in between the colossal feet of the figure.

“Accept my offering, O’ God of thunder. May my devotion honor you ‘thus.”

She repeated her prayers twice more. It wasn’t necessary, but she continued. For she did not want to leave the temple. Leave this God’s presence. It may have been silly — the others in the village certainly thought it was — but the temple, this temple, was more of a home to her than her house with Arne had ever been. Which was yet another thing for Arne to quarrel with her about. She had always been diligent with her worship of all the Gods. She dutifully gave her offerings to each of them. But Thor? The powerful and benevolent God of Thunder held a special place in her heart.

She paused as her eyes fell upon her strewn cloak. Her limbs were unwilling to move, her feet frozen upon the cold ground.

Do not leave us. The temple whispered. Stay here. Stay home.

The croaking voice of the old woman came to her then. The advice that the elder had given her.

A lightness flooded her veins as she made her decision. She fell asleep with joy singing in her heart, even as her clothes grew damp from the cloak she laid upon.

She dreamed of him. Stone turned into golden flesh. Blonde hair artfully tousled on his shoulders. It brushed her thigh as he moved between her spread thighs. She jumped as he lapped at her center. His deep chuckle reverberated through her flesh. She wiggled her hips towards him, wanting more, craving more. She only ever felt like this in her dreams, her mind creating the kind of pleasure her husband could only wish to give her. Maybe it was wrong to dream of a God this way, she would never speak of it to anyone. But in her dreams? She let herself go.

“Yes! There!”

He mouthed at her clit before sucking it between two full lips. Thick fingers prodded at her entrance; he slipped two in and thrust. She cried out as he scissored them within her, not giving her time to adjust. The feeling built in her, a tingling at her lower back that moved upwards. Just when she was on the precipice, right on the edge, his lips detached from her heated flesh with a wet smack.

“Wake, sweet girl.”

No. She didn’t want to wake. She wanted to reach completion, she wanted to stay here with the beautiful god between her legs. She didn’t want to wake in a broken bed with Arne-

“Wake.”

Her eyes fluttered open, the gauzy dream fading around her.

The early morning light streamed into the temple, bathing the room in softness.

“There you are, sweet girl.”

Her head snapped up. There kneeling between her spread thighs, was Thor, God of Thunder.

She scrambled back, her elbows hitting hard stone, her back scraping against the ground.

He grabbed for her. Two huge palms locked around her thighs. The fingers of his right hand left streaks of wetness on her skin as he pulled her back toward him.

“What’s this?”

He moved his hand between her legs once more. Spreading her folds before gently petting her clit.

“Come now, sweet girl, you can’t be afraid. Have you not been praying to me for months?”

Her back arched as his gentle petting became insistent. He circled her clit, and the feeling made her breath catch. He stared at her with vibrant blue eyes that cataloged her every expression.

“I’ve heard them. Accepted every offering you gave me. And now-“

Heat surged through her body as she came. Her center clenched around empty air. His eyes snapped down to observe it.

“- Now your faithfulness shall be rewarded.”

He sat back on his heels, spreading his legs slightly. She gasped as she caught sight of it. His cock was larger than any she’d ever seen. It jutted towards his muscled stomach, bobbing as he circled it with his hand. The tip was red and angry, dripping with pre-cum.

He leaned forward, notching the head just inside her entrance. She took in a sharp breath.

Power rolled off him as he looked at her.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I-“ the words lodged in her throat.

“Tell me that you’ll bear my seed.”

Time seemed to suspend itself as their eyes locked. Brown meeting blue.

“I want it.” She whispered

Then he thrust into her. He gave no time for her walls to stretch and accommodate him. He hammered into her. The sounds of their skin slapping together filled the quiet temple.

Her legs rested on the outside of his. Thor spreads his knees, widening her legs in turn.

His massive hands encircle her entire waist, his grip firm as he moves her into him again and again.

Her high-pitched moans joined the chorus of their slapping skin. Her own hands reached up to play with her thick nipples. Thor groaned at the sight.

He angled himself, and suddenly he was hitting something within her that made her see stars.

“Thor!” She cried. “My lord, please!”

He hushed her, his tongue darting out to lick at his pink lips.

“I know, sweet girl. I know.” He thrust into her harder, and she thought she would shatter.

He placed his hand back on her clit, rubbing in small circles before he sent a zap of blue lightning into her. She jolted, her entire body tightening.

“Come for me.”

It felt as if her soul had left her body. Like she had ascended to the heavens and would never come down. Thor was still thrusting into her, rhythmless now as he chased his own completion. The Earth shook when he came, his roar echoing off the stone walls of the temple. With his head thrown back, he shot rope after rope of his seed into her. His chest heaved as his hips began to move again.

“No more.” She pushed lightly at his arm. Her body twitched with overstimulation.

He smiled indulgently at her even as his hips continued to move.

Thor caught her shaking legs as he finally moved away from her center. Little jolts of electricity tailed after each brush of his hands on her skin. He stroked at her legs, coaxing them closed. She flinched as his hands moved to rest her legs over his bare lap. Her body elevated, just enough to lift her hips.

“You should know, sweet one,” his deep voice rumbled as he settled her against his side. “That it was not you. It was never you.”

“What-“ her mind was slow to work, “what’s not me?”

Thor pushed his nose into the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, and she could feel his cock stirring at her hip.

“You are quite fertile, I can smell it on you.”

She gasped.

“Then, Arne-“

“Do not speak of him.” His voice went dark. Blue streaks of lightning lit the early morning sky as he tipped her face towards him.

“You shall come again tonight. Yes? We must make sure it takes.”

Her eyes widened as his lips descended on hers.

#thor x reader #soft dark thor x reader #thor x black!reader #thor x black reader #pagan god au

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inncubus-honey · 10 months

Text

tell me what's underneath

a/n: this is along the same lines as his section the treating wounds fix I did for him. but yk, he's the royal and the reader is the protector. but also it will take place after the attack. also imagine him in the outfit that he wore on the masked singer recently

Word Count: 1.8k

royal!seungmin x knight!gn!reader

royal roundabouts masterlist

smoke and heat surrounded them on all sides of the meadow opening. the knight dragged their prince by his hand into the forest to which they exited; both covering their mouths with cloth from the knights shirt to keep smoke from getting in. yells and clashing of metal were heard behind the prince as you dragged him further into the thick of the forest.

one moment he is on his way to a neighboring kingdom to talk politics, the next flaming arrows and people charging from the trees, swords drawn with people screaming with pains and war cries. the carriage tripped over as horses traveled past it, their riders rocking it back and forth.

once it wa tipped onto its side, they ran to fight the other knights who saw them rock it. you and seungmin carefully got of the carriage and you took him towards the woods to escape the attackers eyes.

“my liege, we must move further into the forest so we can lose them!” your words rang in his ears as he went further into the woods by you.

his head pounded against the thudding of horse hooves racing towards one another. cries of knights as they were swept off their horse only to be backstabbed by the enemy who caused it. he looked back and forth from you back towards the violence behind him.

the only thing keeping seungmin tethered to his head in the moment was your hand in his. the calluses of your hand against his softer ones; puppy eyes staring at your side profile and taking in every inch of it. with you as his protector, seungmin would follow you to the ends of the earth.

you handed a tin cup to seungmin who sat on an infirmary bed. the doctor finished checking him out and left y'all for a quiet moment. he took it in his hands, hunched over with a thick wool blanket upon his shoulders.

“how are you feeling, seungmin?” you asked with soft worry hidden in your broad voice.

seungmin always knew why he liked you for a reason; you called him by his name.

never ‘my liege’, ‘your highness’, ‘your majesty’ or any of the other titles that other knights and staff used. you calling him by his god given name was such a meaningful gesture that he fell for you the moment he met you.

seungmin doesnt like when the staff just treat him as the prince; not the booknerd who loves to sneak into the castle library late at night, not the boy who loved to ride his horse in the changing leaves in autumn, nor the boy who would sneak about the village, looking at anything and everything the farmers market. he cupped the cool cup, bringing it closer to his chest and took it in one big gulp. the fire in the meadow caused smoke or how he ran for a while with no breaks caused a parched throat. he had been coughing since they got back to the castle, but he didnt want to stop the doctor from looking at him as he sat in the room.

you never left the room, if you did. it was only for a moment to talk with a maid to get fresh clothes for him or to bring in the water you just handed him.

a hand resting upon his shoulder brought his reiling mind out of the events; it brought him back. he was back in the castle, back in the doctors room with a tin cup in his hands, back with you as you stared with worry infesting your eyes that he didnt like to see in your face. you shouldnt have just a loathsome emotion etched in your features.

“ye…yeah i’m fine. just still thinking about w-what happened in the meadow is all..” he spat out his thoughts before his mind could tell him to calm down.

“are you sure, seungmin? you seemed rattled, which is understandable for what you saw…” he sometimes wishes you were never his guard. maybe a staff member, a doctor or chief. something where this level of violence and gore wasnt something either of you witnessed; but he also knew that wouldnt be fair on you.

you both have had in depth talks about what would be different in your lives if you could choose something else. he would like to experience the other paths of life, not as a prince, maybe a farmer. but you said you would always want to be a knight. whether protecting royalty or not didnt matter, being a knight did. you always had this air of wanting to protect others at any cost.

“yes. just tired and smelling of smoke…” he tacked on a light chuckle, hoping it would ease the worry in your face. you dont deserve to have more on your plate to worry about, not if he could help it.

“i asked for a change of clothes, they should be here soon. is there anything else you need, seungmin?” wordlessy, he pulled upon their arm which brought them next to him on the bed. he rested his head against their exposed collarbones as the front of their shirt was loosened from escaping the carriage.

your scent of smoke and roses mixed too well for seungmins liking; he wanted that to be your signature scent for the rest of time. the roses brought him comfort as they were from the royal gardens while the smoke seemed to match the air you carry yourself with.

“c-can you stay here with me? i dont…want to be alone.” you sat there a little shocked at his actions; hes the prince and you’re just his knight. this level of intimacy would send anyone into shock if they saw it; but your heart ignored the screaming signals that your brain was sending.

“um…yeah seungmin, i’ll s-stay.” your voice couldnt go any louder than the whimper that left in its sted. a gloved hand slowly placed itself on seungmins broad back, the other resting upon his maple brown locks. gently you brushed back the bangs the cover his forehead to truly show his face.

whenever his hair covered the top half of his face, it made him too boyish in your opinion. but the moment they were pushed back, it opened up his face to truly show his features making him look like a mature prince that he was. regal was what bled from him, you never felt more inadequate next to someone as they simply just existed.

seungmin did have a cute, boyish prince charm that made young girls in the village gush about him whenever he was seen. you found him cute whenever he argued with his butler, changbin about waking up early or what his father wanted him to wear that day; he was still too young to be running a kingdom which is why he was still learning from his father.

in the council room, seungmins boyish charm turned into a wise, aged king as he talked about what was good for his kingdom with the people of the council. when his father wasnt speaking or in the room, the room demanded his attention. his voice may not be deep and bassy or anything; it was clear and present in the room.

those charms of his never left your mind as you watched him in every one of those moments.

the pair were cocooned in the wool blanket; it muffled every noise outside leaving them with soft breathing. seungmin looked up at you through his hooded lids; if he could he would do this all day. he never wanted to be part from you like this again.

“you have infected me…mind, body and soul. but..but it is something i wish not to be rid of, for if i am, i would simply die without knowing you are every thought and emotion i have. you may think you are just my guard, just my knight, but you mean a lot more to me than you realize.” seungmin’s words could only be heard between the two, just secrets slipped between two different worlds.

you sat there with seungmins head on your chest, speechless at his confession. you looked at him with befuddlement; a prince couldnt be in love with his knight. you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs; something you never thought would be spoken between you two. you thought it would just remain unsaid and unmoved upon, you could never act upon it without the risk of being killed by the king.

“you…you have also made me suffer with the feelings of loving you, seungmin. i couldn’t act upon with the fear of consequences; i would have been fine with the idea of loving you from afar. but with your true emotions out on the table, seungmin, if you are ready to go forward with this…then so am i, your highness.” your words that were whispered back filled seungmin with a warmth in his chest.

seungmin slightly pouted at the use of your highness, but he knew the manner you were using it in. you let a soft chuckle at his boyish charms again, leaning down to capture his lips in yours. dry, cracked lips moved against softer ones like cogs in a well-oiled machine to which lead to soft groans leaving the princes lips as you pushed down against the bed, the cover still over you.

only a few minutes passed with the lovers lip locked, hands moved over each other with soft caresses. but for them felt like an eternity of finally releasing the feelings that they fenced up for years. unwilling pulling away from each other, soft breaths fanned over their lips, blown pupils of different hues looked on with gratification and relief. no more far away glances, longing touches or plaguing midnight thoughts.

“can i hear you say it one more time?” his voice was slightly horse from holding his breath in the kiss. you chuckle again, also sounding slightly horse from the same experience. your hand came to his cheek, brushing softly against his cheekbone as your soaked in his features looking back at you.

“always, my love…i love you, seungmin…” low enough so no one else could hear it if they were nearby, but only so seungmin could hear it with the gentleness in your voice and features.

a toothy grin appeared on the princes face as his cheeks turned a little rosy from the heart-spoken words from you. he took his turn to reach up and caress your jaw himself, tracing a scar that traveled down your jaw and neck.

“i love you more, darling…”

the prince and his guard stayed under the blanket until the doctor came back in and shooed them off to the princes room for the rest of the night with a smirk and shake of their head at the actions of the two and to work on writing up their reports for the night.

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #ROYAL AU #royal aroundabouts #skz fluff #skz imagines #seungmin x reader fluff #honey writings #inncubus honey

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