#aaand implied:

[demons-incorrect-alw]

[wall-eye]

something something the dichotomy of light and dark something something atelut stepping out into the sun in full confidence to lie at the end of arc 11 something something 11.5 ending with atelut stepping into a bedroom at night with rian something something truth of self, reversal of light good dark bad imagery, being who you are in the safety of the dark and putting on a mask when you are in the spotlight, something- something like that

[ink-the-axolotl-rabbit]

cowgirl peach is so fucking hot

[beanthebugboi]

Canon/Headcanon likelihood chart

So I've been thinking about @macdenlover 's "levels of headcanon" chart (about how heavily a HC is influenced by canon), so I decided to make my own scale about how likely a HC is to be true (including different levels of canon) using queer cartoon characters as examples :)

I just spent an hour making this because I was bored. Enjoy. Image description under the cut.

Inspiration:

ID courtesy of @hatreds-og-imagedescriptions (thank you!!)

[ID: a chart going from 10 to 1, with explanations of the ratings on the left and images of characters with queer flags and descriptions of said characters on the right.

10: "Explicit canon. Clearly stated in the original media." Trans Barney from Dead end Paranormal Park. "Barney says "I'm transgender"".

9: "Implicit canon. Never explicitly stated, but 100% canon in the original media". Nonbinary Raine from The Owl House. "Raine never says "I'm nonbinary," but uses they/them and is never referred to as a man/woman (also, confirmed by Dana)".

8: "Creator confirmation. Never stated in the original media, but confirmed canon by the media's creator". Aroace Lilith from The Owl House. "While never mentioned/implied in TOH, Dana has confirmed that Lilith is aroace".

7: "Heavily implied. Never confirmed, but likely true (either by canon evidence or creator implication)". Genderfluid Nimona from Nimona. ""Aaand now you're a boy" "I am today" (anyway, the whole movie has trans/GNC themes)".

6: "Possibly implied. Hinted at in the original media, but could be explained as something else". Trans Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb. "Doof COULD be transmasc, or the whole "raised as a girl" thing could just be for the bit".

5: "Fanon. Never confirmed, but generally accepted by the fandom". Aromantic Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. "While only confirmed to be ace, most of the fandom also sees Alastor as aromantic".

4: "HC with evidence. Headcanons supported by a dedicated fan's detective work". Bisexual Mabel from Gravity Falls. "People have noticed bi flag stickers hidden on Mabel's scrapbooks".

3: "Canon neutrality. Could be true, could be false, but overall makes sense and doesn't contradict the original media". Genderqueer Pleakley from Lilo and Stitch. "Maybe Pleakley is genderqueer, maybe he just wanted to crossdress for the mission, who knows? That's why it's a headcanon."

2: "I made it the fuck up. Based on vibes, has absolutely nothing to do with canon". Bisexual Megamind from Megamind. "No evidence, no explanation, he just has Disaster Bi™ vibes".

1: "Um? No? But go off. Directly contradicts canon (but who cares, that's why it's fun)". Trans Stanley Pines from Gravity Falls. "Even though flashback scenes prove Stan is AMAB, some people HC him as transmasc." End of ID.]

[all-hail-trash-prince]

Sooo did anyone else see the blank pages in their copy of Journal 3 and immediately want to add their own entries

[pittrabbit]

crush.

warning: mostly pwp, some angst but happy ending for pope, f2l, age gap implied, afab reader, p in v sex, comfort sex (??), havent watched the show but fucking hate baz, unprotected sex, reader is kind of depraved about pope but who isnt, breeding kink kind of, etc etc etc.

summary: the aftermath of overhearing that conversation between pope and baz

word count: 4.1k

note: i have never actually watched animal kingdom other than edits and clips on twitter here and there. aaand i also messed up the timeline of the show (cath's death, etc), but fortunately this is fanfiction and i can do whatever i want yay!!

➽──────────────────❥

you hadn't meant to be there at that moment. it was a chance thing, mostly a mistake. you hadn't even caught most of the conversation, just the brunt of it. but that had been enough to make you see red.

you had been aware of baz and pope's unspoken rivalry ever since you'd known them. it was a badly kept secret, knowing about baz's treatment of andrew, and of andrew's obvious infatuation with cath. the latter used to make you jealous. you had watched andrew from afar, watched him watch someone else. but that wasnt enough to make your interest in him fade away.

it was understandable at first. you were a little younger, just a little nuisance cath brought around sometimes. it made sense to you why he'd focus on someone else.

even when andrew's eyes were on someone else, you remained in his orbit somehow. this, unfortunately, meant remaining in all of the cody's orbits, but it proved worth it if it allowed you to be in his vicinity. you'd seen him be treated as the black sheep, be alienated and rejected in all walks of life. you'd had a front row seat to his infatuation with cath and julia, to his own mother's infatuation with him, to his hardships with his mental health, being seemingly the only person to realize that he'd always been a victim of his environment.

he never really took note of you. being a friend of cath's only really took you so far when it came to the cody's. your presence wasn't appreciated by smurf, nor was it ever really acknowledged by anyone other than baz and the occasional sleazy comment thrown your way after you'd grown past that awkward adolescent age — all comments made while cath wasn't around. the few times your favorite cody paid you any mind, you could never tell what was going through his head. maybe you were just the closest thing he could get to cath. maybe that's why you'd sometimes catch him looking your way, those intense eyes penetrating you without any hint of emotion towards you.

when andrew went to prison, you had been the only one who seemed to be affected by it. cath seemed relieved to have a breather from him — something which made you irrationally frustrated. the rest of his brothers, and even his mom, appeared indifferent to his absence. you stopped showing up as much while he was gone, though you still remained a present figure, wanting a chance to be there for andrew whenever he came back. you'd even resorted to writing letters to him in prison, wanting to provide him with the comfort and care he'd been unfamiliar with back home. despite his lack of responses, you'd made it a point to write him twice a month, a little more disheartened every passing month in which you didn't get a response.

but it all proved worth it when he came back.

it had been unexpected, his return. there was no warning, no announcement, he'd just shown up at your place.

he'd been awkward, that intense eye contact finding a place on your arm, your shoe, anywhere but your eyes as you opened the door for him.

you'd welcomed him with a sigh of relief and a hug, one which was not responded at first. but when you pulled away, a pair of muscular arms had wrapped around your waist, a gruff mumble of 'thank you' breathed against your shoulder. he didn't need to clarify what he meant. you knew.

the two of you stuck by each other a lot more after that. he was still closed off, still unable to stop his eyes from wandering to cath every once in a while. he was still breaking you little by little, but you'd take anything he gave you, even if this was as much as you'd get. at least his eyes were on you more often now.

he'd sleep over at your place any time coming back to smurf's felt like too much. would let you patch up his injuries after any job that left him too rambled up. he'd even leave you flowers by your door every so often, never saying they were from him, — a fact confirmed by cath, another recipient of said flowers — only ever looking away when he'd spot them in a vase inside your living room. he'd be insistent in driving you home, always opening and closing doors for you in a manner that'd have you blushing if you felt he meant it as anything other than platonic civility.

things were the same between the two of you. the same, but you could swear there was a little something more hidden in there.

you hadn't meant to be there when the tensions between andrew and baz came to a crescendo. you were only stopping by to check on andrew, a habit you'd never been able to kill.

what you caught had only been the end of the conversation. it was the usual screaming match that happened more and more every time those two were around each other. baz had always hated andrew's behavior towards his wife and daughter. andrew had always hated baz's treatment of catherine and lena. it was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. it was just too bad you'd caught its peak.

"pope, no one will ever have a kid with you. ever"

those had been baz's words.

you could see how they stung. from the corner behind which you'd hidden behind upon hearing the screaming match, you could see any remaining hope or felicity leaving andrew's eyes.

andrew had put up with a lot throughout his life, death, pain, betrayal, but you could see that that realization had been the worst of it all — the realization that no one would ever love him in that way, that no one would ever be his, that no one would choose him first.

it was wrong. you knew better than anyone that baz's words had been wrong, and that andrew's belief of those words had been just as incorrect.

you left after that.

it wasn't your place to interrupt. you were too angry to. you knew that any rendition of coming for andrew's rescue at that moment would've just made things worse for him.

so you went home.

you paced around your living room for an hour, angry, chanting every insult you could imagine under your breath. baz had made you angry through the years, but never to this extent.

and predictably enough, your lonesome anger was interrupted by a knock on your door from the one person who had any more right than you to that anger.

you ushered him in, grabbing his hand and taking him to the living room without a word. obediently, he followed.

"why'd you leave?" was the first thing he asked when once you sat him down, interrupting your breathless offer for a drink or some food. hospitality first.

you'd been trying to stall, wanting to talk about it, offer him some comfort, but unknowing of how to breech the subject without cornering him. it seemed like he didn't hold the same reservations. you hadnt even realized he had seen you at his mother's house.

"you, uhm, you saw me?"

"yeah."

"sorry, i- i didn't want to interrupt. i didn't-"

andrew reached over to an open bottle of beer you'd been nursing before his arrival, sipping it without a second thought.

"you heard all of that?"

you took a place next to him on the couch. knelt on top of it as you faced him. he continued to face forward, paying way more attention to your beer than to yourself. he was embarrassed, probably even hurt and mortified. this wasnt a conversation he wanted to have, yet he was having it with you. he wanted to dig the knife deeper, to hear someone else confirm his suspicions — that no one would ever want him, much less a shared lifetime with him.

"andrew..."

"he's right, you know?" another sip. "cath isn't my wife. lena isn't my kid. no one would ever put themselves through that misery." now a full gulp of beer.

"andrew, that isn't true."

"the hell it's not."

he was making you angry, you couldn't pretend otherwise.

it was obvious to you why andrew would have such a low self-esteem. it wasn't a secret that he hated himself, that he was self-destructive due to a variety of reasons, but that the leading one was a complete absence of self-love.

and you? you took that shit personally. specially when other people fed into it, giving him even more reasons to hate himself.

"listen to me, andrew" you took the beer from him, setting it on the coffee table, your knees now pressed against his thigh, "no — look at me, andrew."

that got his attention.

"you're going to listen to baz? deadbeat, cheater, man-whore, baz?" you scoffed. "the guy whose kid you've been taking care of? god, andrew, you've been more of a father to lena these past few months than baz has been her whole life!" you rasped out.

andrew sat still beside you, semi-wide eyes looking up at you with a shocked expression you'd never quite seen on him before. but you kept going.

"he's wrong. you know that he is. he's projecting his stupid insecurities onto you. baz could never be half the man that you are, andrew." you continued. "lena is so lucky to have you in her life, someone who actually cares about her well-being, and looks out for her, and treats her with care and compassion. and even cath! baz has never once cared for her in the way you do. he doesn't deserve either of them."

your eyes were frantic by now, but you couldn't stop yourself from continuing.

"any woman would be lucky to have your kid, andrew. anyone would be lucky to have you in their life, to be your person, to be the one to give you a kid. i- i wish that i could make you understand that."

your big rant ended there. the momentum wore off when you realized you were giving yourself away way too much.

your feelings for andrew had been one of the many badly kept secrets among the cody's. except that andrew was the only one unaware of it, never once picking up on why you always showed extra interest in him.

he sat there, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you, hands fisted on his lap and eyebrows furrowed in either confusion or frustration, you couldn't really tell.

you swallowed, not knowing what to say anymore. it was unlikely that he believed any word you'd said. his self-esteem was broken down enough that any words of compassion would be useless to him. that, and the fact that he probably didn't want to hear those words from anyone other than cath. what worth did they have if they came from you?

"andrew, i-"

"would you?"

"would i what?" your heart was going a mile a minute. his voice was broken, harsh. he was sitting up straight now, body turned towards you and eyes penetrating you with what looked like anger to you.

you weren't scared of him. you had never been. but in this moment, you were terrified you'd given yourself away. that you'd ruined what he believed to be a friendship, something that could provide him with stringless comfort unlike every other relationship in his life.

"would you-" he cleared his throat, "would you feel lucky? to- to have my kid?"

it was blunt, almost cutting, just like everything else with andrew. and it knocked the wind out of you.

instead of stammering a response, of looking away as you always did when you were teens and you happened to catch his attention, you decided to double down. you stared directly at him, resting your full weight on your knees as you lowered yourself to his eye-line before responding.

"yes."

andrew continued to look at you, swallowing before attempting to speak again.

but you didn't let him.

once again, you took initiative, grabbing onto both of his cheeks and pulling his face towards your own, your lips wrapping around his.

there was no hesitation nor shyness in the kiss. any previous hesitation between the two of you was completely forgotten as you lost yourselves in one another.

he returned your kiss, pulling you to straddle him, closing any remaining amount of distance between you. he inhaled deep between kisses, almost as if he were recalibrating, making sure he was real, that this was real.

you sighed his name against his lips, making him groan in return. his hands were shy, parked on your waist and not wandering any further. it had only been a few minutes, but it was already driving you insane.

between you, your hands made their way to his trousers, toying with their hem and sneaking under his shirt, causing a shudder and another groan to leave him.

"kid, are you- are you sure?"

"are you?" you pulled back a bit. "what about-" you couldn't help but hesitate. "what about cath?"

he shook his head, hands tightening on your hips in a possessive manner. "i don't care about her right now. just want you."

"but-"

but his head dipped, lips now on your jaw, on your neck, all the way down to the bare skin exposed by your tank top.

"please." he pleaded at you. "want you. want everything with you. no one cares about me like you do."

and that was enough to break any remaining resolve in you.

you kissed him again, groaning into his mouth when his hands dipped under your shirt, now flat on your back and pulling you as close as humanly possible. the kiss was wet and nasty with zero finesse to be found. there was a chorus of wet sounds and muffled moans in your living room, only interrupted by the ruffling of clothes and the slight squeak of your couch when you couldn't help yourself but grind your hips against his.

"fuck." he breathed out, forehead against yours.

your lips still chased his, tongue finding his open mouth and sneaking its way inside.

"take me to bed, andrew." you mumbled against his lips.

the groan he let out at that was primal, very unlike the usually quiet andrew you knew. next thing you knew, large hands were splayed under your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist as he got up and headed towards your bedroom. your hands were needy, feeling him up as you continued to kiss at his neck and jaw all the way to your bed.

softly, he laid you down on the bed, waiting for you to scoot to the middle before crawling his way to you. his eyes were an odd mixture of soft and predatory while yours looked up at him with need.

again, he kissed you, one hand behind your head to bring your lips to his as he adjusted himself atop you.

"say it again." he rasped, hands finding your waist again, needy fingers bunching at your tank top in attempts to feel your skin, eyes shyly finding the bare skin there before looking back up to your eyes.

cupping his cheeks, you pulled him close, kissing his lips softly, slowly before looking into his eyes and going an extra mile with your response.

"i want your baby, andrew."

he looked pained at your words. but you were unable to really say anything else before he lunged at you with another kiss, making you fall back against the bed as he licked into your mouth. his hands went crazy, grabbing and pulling at every inch of your skin. the needy desperation in his movements proved obvious by his lack of ability in actually taking off your clothes, pulling at the hem of your shorts to feel up your legs rather than pulling them down altogether, dragging off the straps of your tank top and bra instead of throwing your shirt off, all done just to feel a little bit of extra skin.

meanwhile your hands functioned a bit better than his own. within moments you were able to throw off his shirt and pull down his pants low enough to cup his dick, suddenly stopping his abrasive movements.

"fuck-"

"god, andrew, i want you so bad." you panted into his lips. "get this off, please. i need-"

"anything. i'll do anything for you." he groaned before pulling your top off, lips instantly attaching to the newly freed skin until his lips found the barrier your bra created.

your hands gripped at his hair, pulling when he began sucking at the fat of your breast, close enough to the areola to have your eyes rolling back, "fuck, andrew..."

his own eyes rolled back at the feeling, seemingly in love with the feel of your fingers digging into his scalp.

unwilling to stop there, his hands snuck behind you, undoing your bra with surprising ease and groaning yet again at the sight.

"you're perfect." andrew sighed, not allowing you to react before his lips wrapped around your nipple, moaning against it as if he were the receiver of the pleasure.

"i need more. please, andrew, i need-"

"i know. i'll give you everything, i promise," he mumbled against your other breast, still refusing to stop putting his lips on you.

your hands dragged down his back, legs wrapping around his waist and attempting to pull him down on you, hips raising from the bed to try and roll against his. taking pity on you, andrew ground his hips against yours, earning himself a whine from you at the feel of his hardness digging against your cunt.

desperate, you made work of your shorts on your own accord, awkwardly removing them from underneath him as he continued kissing at you, sucking hickeys into your skin like some horny teenager, hands now reaching down to your hips and digging at the skin there like puddy.

"andrew, god, fuck me. please." you whined once more, slightly embarrassed by the desperation in your voice.

this finally got andrew to respond to you, hands undoing his own pants the rest of the way, freeing himself of his boxers in the process.

you eyed him with absolute depravity in your eyes, biting your lip at the sight in front of you, the thick muscle throughout the entirety of his body, the girth of his dick, the beads of cum squirting at his tip, the flushed hue of his skin and the sweat making him glisten as he hovered over you.

"you're perfect, andrew, fuck."

his hand went to your chin, tilting it and removing your eyes from his body, turning them to face his gaze instead, "look at me."

you hummed, wide eyes staring at his own (fighting an impossible battle to not let them stray down to his lips for the hundreth time).

"i'm going to give you a baby. do you understand that?" his voice was raspy, pained, eyes facing the same battle as yours as they ventured to your lips, to your breasts, to the space between your legs.

nodding numbly, you bit your lip, tilting your head towards his lips, "please."

"tell me you want it."

"i do. i want it. please- want- want your baby, andrew. want everything with you."

with one last groan, he closed the distance again, one hand coming to his cock while the other laid you back down. dragging his dick up and down your slit, he sighed at the feeling.

finally, he pushed in, making your eyes roll back for the millionth time, and sigh out his name.

"fuck." he groaned at the feeling, stilling inside you. "i love you." were his next words, almost missed due to his lips' proximity to your skin.

your hands dug into his hair again, pulling him even closer with a moan, "i love you so much, andrew. a-always have."

"i know." he mumbled, hips beginning to move, "i love you." he repeated. "you're everything to me."

those were his last words before picking up his speed, hammering into you as your legs wrapped around him, pulling him flush against your skin.

"you're mine now. do you understand?" he huffed, lips glued to the skin of your shoulder.

"i'm yours, andrew, i'm- fuck! — i'm yours, baby."

your hands dragged red lines down his toned back, marking him equally yours. his shoulder was your next victim, getting marked by your teeth as you bit into the skin there when he thrust particularly hard.

and he loved it, groaning out a pained moan of your name when you bit at him, hips stuttering and hands gripping your hips in a bruising manner.

"you feel so fucking good." he growled directly into your ear. "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

that had you reeling. had you tightening up around him, your body completely in tune with him and his words. he was all you'd ever wanted, all you'd watched and waited to have.

the idea of having a baby with andrew crossed your mind many times in the past. they were mostly teenage daydreams of a ring, a house, a honeymoon somewhere far away from home and a lifetime for the two of you completely separate of the mess that always surrounded andrew. you had dreams of saving him from the misery that his family brought along, to finally have him look your way and give him everything you had to offer.

you never thought things would go so out of order, that you'd so easily open your legs for him, not a single thought of using protection on your mind and allowing him to do with you as he pleased — as you'd repeatedly begged.

and in this moment you wanted that more than anything. you wanted that baby in you. to have andrew cum deep inside you time and time again, to try endlessly until it finally took. you wanted to lock him up in your home, hide him from everyone who'd ever hurt him, who'd ever betrayed him and keep him safe between your legs.

you'd give him a baby, tie yourself to him for the rest of your lives. the thought of swelling up for him had you tightening around his cock, thinking of every night you'd lay in bed buried in his arms, being the one constant in his life and the reason for his peace.

you knew he'd be perfect for you. that he'd protect you and your baby with his life. you knew that he'd be loyal, would become infatuated and obsessive and addicted, and it just made you so dizzy in all the best ways.

andrew seemed equally desperate for that future, for that ownership over the rest of your life. he rammed into you with an animalistic desperation as his peak approached, grunting unintelligible praises hidden among curses at the unimaginable pleasure.

"cum for me. i'll give you everything, just cum for me." it was the closest thing to begging you'd ever heard from him. the sincerity dripped in his words.

and how could you not lose your mind at that? how could you not when he was staring down at you, mouth agape and eyes locked on your lips, perpetually thirsty for more of you.

you pulsed under him, eyes rolled back and back arched with your breasts pressed up against his chest, the hardness of his muscle further stimulating you throughout your high.

by the time you came back to earth, andrew was a man possessed, drilling into you with a desperation you'd never seen. he made sounds you'd dreamed of, gasping and groaning incoherencies. his grip on you would've been painful had you not been addicted to the feeling of him, to the sight above you.

"cum for me, baby." you sighed, one hand coming up to pull softly at his hair while the other turned his face to look straight into your eyes. "look at me when you cum. get me pregnant, baby. wanna see you when it finally takes."

with one final grunt of your name, you finally felt that warmth inside you. he stilled, shoving himself as deep as possible with a broken gasp, hips spasming weakly against yours.

he made sure not to let himself fall on top of you once he'd filled you to the brim, dropping himself next to you instead. but he didnt allow any distance between you, bringing you to his side with one strong arm, humming when you yelped at the sudden movement.

as if by nature, you nuzzled into his chest, kissing the skin there softly while your hands scratched at the skin of his abdomen with affection.

"you're mine, andrew."

his hand went down to your stomach, rubbing at the skin as if his seed was already implanted in there, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"yeah? well, you're mine too."

➽──────────────────❥

and she did get pregnant with twins and one was a girl and one a boy and they got custody of lena and they got the fuck out of there and andrew finally got his happy ending and everyone cheered yay!!!!!

[jjkbambi]

is it new years yet? luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! you run into ex-boyfriend!luigi mangione at a nye party! smut!

warnings: fratboy!luigi, darkfic (very much implied he slips something in ur drink), cnc?, long fic, mentions of calvin harris music, inspired by the fact that he had to nominate himself to win this category

masterlist

the new year was meant to feel different.

yet, the doors at phi kappa psi open for you and a chances of anything more seems to slim. a record number of beer cans trashed in the hallway, the kitchen buried in chaos, and the overwhelming stench of beer clings to the air, impossible to ignore. you were surprised at how easily they’d let you enter—the bouncer was known for being a bit mean, strict on names and IDS and ages and sorority associations, yet one short smile was enough to get you and your best friend, lacy, into their annual new years eve party.

there wasn’t a second break from avicii or calvin harris, the crowd bouncing with red solo cups in hand. about a dozen of drinks were spilled on you already, and you were sure this was an indicator of a good night.

“is that him?” your friend’s nudge proves your prophecy wrong. your stomach drops immediately as you turn to the direction she was staring in—and yes, there he was, shirtless and six-packed on new year’s eve, surrounded by his pack of fraternity brothers.

the world suddenly feels so much smaller. you turn quickly. “lacy, he cannot see me.”

“have you spoken since the breakup?”

“if i had, id be in classier heels,” you retort, shaking your head.

you show her the reason you’ve been off your phone so much recently. about 34 days since you’ve seen each other in person, and a stunning 78 texts and 29 missed calls left in lieu of a breakup conversation. it honestly felt like too little an amount considering how long you’d been dating, but perhaps that was the least of your relationship problems, seeing as though you’d caught him making out with another girl at a football game.

she groans. “why’d we have to come to this house?”

“free entry? fireworks?” you come up with a lie that’ll make the both of you feel better. “i honestly don’t think we’ll run into each other. it’s such a big place.”

“he’s walking over here.”

“aaand we’re moving,” you sing, dragging her into the crowd of calvin harris enjoyers. for two hours, slipping in and out of the chaos seemed to be a surefire solution in avoiding your ex-boyfriend. that is, until you turn and suddenly your best friend isn’t there. you stiffen immediately, backing into the kitchen. in that step back, you bump shoulders.

“y/n,” an all too familiar voice says.

oh for fucks sake.

you smile tightly at the sight of luigi, trying not to make this already awkward situation more awkward. he looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. his usually short hair had grown out longer, his beard more prominent. he looks… grown.

“hey!” you say, attempting to make a swift getaway. “happy new year, man!”

“get back here.” he grabs your wrist, pulling you right back to him. “what’re you doing?”

“it’s new years!”

“what are you doing here? wearing that?”

you smile, feigning innocence. “getting a re-fill!”

luigi’s eyes were dark and his grip firm. your air of innocence is almost completely defeated at his warmth, his body leaning into you, intent. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

no, you can’t do it. this was gonna be a new year for you. no setbacks, no cheating ex-boyfriends.

“i’m surprised you even noticed, with all your other distractions.”

luigi’s head tilts. “what does that mean?”

“you know what it means.” you pull away from him with as much force as possible. “seriously, lu, it’s over.”

“no, it’s not.” he argues. you shake your head as you walk away. “y/n, we’ve got to talk about this—“

“just leave me alone!” you leap out of the kitchen as soon as opportunity arrives, and pour the entirety of what’s left of your cup into your mouth. the wicked sting of alcohol had never been so relieving.

minutes pass but the sound of avicii is constant. phi kappa psi has promised fireworks and began to gather in the backyard and you want nothing more than to join in on the party—but lacy. your best friend. you need to find her. the recovery mission begins with a stumble down the hallway and a headache. it’s more than a headache, it all of a sudden feels like you reallyreallyreally need to take a nap.

“hey, hey, i’ve got you,” it’s luigi again. you can tell by his warmth and his scent and the way he grabs your hand. “where are you going?”

“lacy.”

he takes the drink out of your hand, then lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck. and suddenly, the warmth of his body isn’t so intimidating anymore. “that’s not my name.”

“i know.”

he leans in closer. “come on then, what’s my name?”

“lu,” you murmur. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going anywhere.” luigi promises you.

within a second, his lips are on yours, and suddenly his warmth is everywhere. you whimper into the kiss, trying to spell out protest but you’re too weak. “relax for me,” he tells you.

you were entirely too relaxed. any reasonable part of you wouldn’t allow for him to be this close. but before you can stop him, his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate him, and you gasped at the feel of his length pressing against you. he’s so hard.

“i love this dress on you,” he murmurs.

desperate, you try to push, “no, no, we need to find—”

“we’re taking care of her, too, baby, don’t worry.”

you squirmed underneath his touch, which only made the friction hotter. “what?”

he doesn’t care to tell you anything more grinding into your resistance mercilessly as his hands clamp around your hips, rocking your body back and forth on his thigh.

“you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, you know,” he grumbles into the kiss, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle in your core. every kiss he gave you was hungry and heated, and you gasp when he goes to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “walking around my house dressed like a fuckin’ slut. got me all worked up in front of everyone.”

you despise the helplessness that washes over you as he holds you down. tears sting at your eyes as you beg, “lu, stop.”

“pull your dress up,” he orders, drinking in your scent. his scruff scratches your skin.

“no.” you shake your head again, though his kisses are persistent. “luigi, we can’t.“

“you’re right,” luigi agrees, chuckling into another kiss. “i’m not fuckin’ sharing you.”

his lips don’t leave yours—theyre all over your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your tits—as he carries you into the nearest room, and you’re too lost in the moment to notice whether it’s his own. your dress hits the floor and his hands are all over your nude. the mix of confusion and pleasure leaves you breathless. before you can process it, you’re on the bed with your ex-boyfriend on top of you.

“you know how many other guys were looking at you tonight?” he growls as he flips you over. “swear ill fucking kill them”

he was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made luigi laugh. a choked gasp left you, and your mouth was soundlessly parted as he started to thrust into you, hips snapping against yours every time.

“fuckin’ knew it,” lu groans. your teeth sink into your lips as you tremble underneath him, his hard length relentless in its assault. “knew you’d take it f’me like this, yeah? like a good fuckin’ girl.”

the bed shook beneath you as he pounded into you. he goes to bite your neck, his curls tickling your skin. he feels so good, but the weight of how wrong it is lingers in every touch. “lu,” you moan.

“what?” he says, smug. “what d’ya wanna say?”

“it hurts,” you whine.

”i don’t care,” luigi says in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “you know how fuckin’ long it’s been since ive had you? no, you’ve got no clue. drove myself crazy thinking i’d never have this pretty pussy again.”

“it’s your fault—“

“shut the fuck up.” his hand comes down hard on your ass and a whimper slips from your lips. he growls low, feeling how tight you’re holding him. “you’re mine,” he grunts. “don’t you ever forget that.”

“luigi, wait,” you moan, your mind going blank. it’s too much—wrong in every way, yet too good to resist.

you feel him smirk against your neck. despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length as a flood gushes from your trembling core. he chuckles darkly, mocking your resistance. “can’t take it? too much?”

“lu, please.” your voice was embarrassingly breathless. he goes faster, which felt entirely impossible.

he must’ve heard the plea this time, because he doubled his efforts. he picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand went to massage your clit. you could hardly breathe.

“so good,” he groans. “be a good girl and cum for me, princess. all over me, come on.”

“please,” you whimper again. you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but it hardly mattered. the most devastating orgasm of your life was building deep within you, an unstoppable force growing stronger with every moment—and you were desperate to chase it.

“you’re all fucking mine,” he laments. “i wanna hear you say it.”

you couldn’t possibly. your mind goes blank as he ruts into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the room and almost drowning out the sound of the new year celebration.

“tell me what i wanna hear.” he demands.

“yours,” you mewl.

“good girl.” he bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. he fucks you harder, faster, slamming into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave a mark inside you.

you couldn’t take it anymore. your pride snaps inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating his massive cock in your cunt. pleasure consumes you until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. he groans at the sight of your orgasm, his cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

luigi grumbled a soft, “fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock deep into your still pulsing cunt as he came. he let out a long moan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

“i’m so glad you came around, so glad,” he murmurs, turning you over to kiss you over and over and over again. “i love you, baby, you know that, right?”

the day after

[strang3lov3]

Kiss it Better

You get hurt, and Roman puts you back together. Then makes you come all apart again.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, one shot, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), implied piss kink, fingering/handjob, getting hurt, first aid, it’s not terribly graphic since I was able to stomach it lol, sweet and domestic - shut the fuck up about it it’s nothing im nothing it’s fine shut up.

A/N - all of you shut up. not one word .

“Jesus– fuck, you scared the shit outta me.” 

You smirk, amused by how easily Roman spooks sometimes. “Oh, hey, Rome.” 

Roman’s laying on the couch in near-dark, legs draped over the arm, mindlessly scrolling through his phone as the TV plays something forgettable in the background. It’s late at night, and it’s been an average day for you both. You ate dinner together like usual, but besides that, you didn’t talk much. He props himself up, squinting at you in the dark “Yeah, hi. Whatcha haunting my living room for at the lovely hour of–” Roman looks at the clock, “1 AM?”

You shrug. “I just wanted some tea,” you answer, and Roman makes an exaggerated face. 

“Well, aren’t you fancy. Crumpets, too, I’m guessing?” 

Dickhead. You flick Roman on the side of his head, and he whines when you do that. “Asshole.” He kicks your ass on your way to the kitchen a little harsher than what could be considered gentle, and then you turn on just one light. You open one of Roman’s mahogany cabinets and browse your tea collection, humming as you look through the boxes.

“Roman,” you call out. 

“What-an.” 

You snort. “What do I want?”

“What do you have?”

“I have…” Trailing off, you pull out boxes one at a time. You want nothing green or black, only herbal and caffeine-free. “I’ve got peach, Sleepytime, honey vanilla chamomile, then strawberry chamomile, aaand Throat Coat.” Throat Coat. You smile at the memory of Roman tending to you when you were sick. He had grabbed this tea for you in a moment of downtime and kept your mug full of it that whole weekend.

“Peach,” Roman answers, so peach it is. You take one of the bags out and bring it to your nose, inhaling the sweet, fragrant smell, then reach for the honey bear. It’s starting to crystallize, you notice. 

You’re filling up the Keurig with some water next, then turning on the machine to let it warm up. Behind you in the other room, you can hear Roman giggling at the stupid noises it makes. He can perfectly imitate it, actually. You love that useless skill of his. 

You open another cabinet for a mug, choosing your favorite one out of the bunch - it’s just a silly, old, cheap-ass mug, but you like the colorful owls it’s painted with. And it’s nicely shaped too, and feels good in your hand like it was made for you or something. You take the mug, startled to see a fucking huge black spider has made itself at home at the bottom. “Oh my god!” you shriek, dropping the mug instinctively, where it shatters into a million pieces. The spider skitters under the fridge. “Fuuuuck.” 

Roman pauses his scrolling and cranes his neck to look at you in the kitchen. He says your name cautiously, then, “...You good?” he asks worriedly, “What the fuck just happened?”

“It’s nothing, just - there was a spider in my mug and I dropped it. God fucking - whatever. Fuck.” 

“Okay, well, is there glass everywhere?” 

You look down at the floor, assessing the mess. It’s not everywhere, per se, but you can’t take any step in any direction without stepping in the glass. “Uh, yeah. More or less.”

Roman sighs and shuts off his phone, groaning as he gets up from the couch. He does a little stretch and a yawn, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his tummy, and the faintest bit of a happy trail there. “Alright, just hang on a second, okay. I’m gonna find a broom,” he says, then adds, “Do not fucking touch anything. Don’t even breathe/”

You roll your eyes at that. He’s such a worrier at times, overprotective. You might’ve been embarrassed by him as a teenager, but now, you’re just amused by it all. It’s kind of nice to have someone care so deeply for you, too. 

You know when you were a child, and you’d break a glass accidentally, and your parent would come rushing in? And they’d be deadly serious as they told you to get out of the way so they can clean up the glass. They didn’t want you getting hurt, they’d say. But when you grow up, that doesn’t really happen. Nobody gives a shit if you break a glass. But Roman does, though. He complains, but he likes being the person to clean up your broken glass, so long as it means you’re not getting hurt. Roman walks to the entryway and slides on some shoes, then opens the nearby closet door to find a broom. 

There’s really not much room for you where you’re standing. Looking down, you can see that you can’t adjust your footing at all, so you crouch down and carefully brush some of the glass away, making more room for yourself. 

And it comes back. The spider bolts quickly toward you, but there’s nowhere to run like you’d usually do. You squeal anxiously and smack it with your palm before you even have a chance to think. You’ve never been much of a fighter in a fight-or-flight situation, though. Guess there’s a first time for everything, right?

God, why did you fucking do that? 

“Ohhh, fuck no. Fuck. Ow, ow, ow,” you whimper, flipping your hand over to quickly see the damage, but even a brief glimpse is too much for you. You see glass and the color red, so much fucking blood.  “Oh my god, fuck.”

Roman returns to the kitchen with a broom in hand, and his face drops when he sees you on the floor, hand dripping blood onto the tile below. “Oh my god, what did you fucking do?” 

You’re already looking gaunt and glassy-eyed, too. “Hey. Hey - Jesus fucking Christ.” Roman rushes to you and drops to your level, taking your hand into both of his own. He looks so concerned, with his worried eyes and brows pinched together, a frown on his lips as he does his best to inspect the damage, but it’s not light enough to see much. He murmurs your name, voice low, and pushes hair out of his face as he exhales. 

“The spider came…b-back and I smashed it and I–” you cut yourself off before you finish describing the rest of it.

“Smashed your hand into a fucking pile of broken glass, yeah, I see that. Smooth one, dumbass.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Roman exhales hard. “C’mon, kid. Up. You’re coming with me.” Roman steadies you as you rise and quickly sweeps some of the glass out of the way with his foot, making room for you to step forward.

“Are we going to the ER?” 

“Uh, possibly. I need to see how bad it actually is first.” Roman glances down at your dripping fingers. “Which…isn’t great so far. Okay. Don’t step on anything, alright? Just be fuckin’ careful, John McClane.”

“What?”

“Die Hard? Dude, we literally fucking watched it last Christmas -  he walks on the glass? Right? Barefoot, is any of this - Jesus Christ, never mind. Just - ppstairs.”

As Roman steers you up the stairs, he wraps his arm around you, squeezing your waist tightly to brace your potential fall. He walks slowly, keeping a watchful eye on you. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know,” he says. “You’ve never killed a spider in your life - like, never - until now, where you smashed both it and your hand into a fuck ton of broken glass. Is that like - is that a logical progression, do you think?”

You whine in pain as your hand really begins to throb. Each heart beat has your hand pulsing in the same time, aching as all that blood rushes to the wound. “Are you pissed at me?”

Roman just sighs and kisses your temple. “No,” he tells you, exasperated.

“Promise?”

“Uh huh, whatever.” 

You stop walking and look at him, eyes all wide and nervous. You’re scared and vulnerable, and he knows at that moment that you need a little more tenderness than what he’s giving you. Even if he is annoyed. Not annoyed-annoyed, but…whatever. It’s Roman’s anxiety more than anything. He just doesn’t like to see you hurt, is all, he’s not trying to be a dick. “Yes, I promise. Not pissed.”

Roman holds your clammy forearm firmly in his hand as he guides you to the bathroom. You’re looking at the blood dripping down your wrist, feeling warm and fuzzy, but not in a good way. “There’s so much glass a-and–”

“Spider guts in your hand, yep. I know it’s gross. Don’t l - hey. Don’t look at it. Just look at me.” 

“I’m trying, I’m just feeling a little dizzy is all, Roman.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be your - you know, you-ness. Hey - I’m serious, don’t fucking look at that shit. Look at me, sweetheart. Look at my sexy fuckin’...I don’t know. Just look at something else.” 

He walks you to the bathroom, and he places you on the sink. “You sit, and you stay. And you do not look at your hand, okay?” he says, then turns to open a closet and pulls out the first aid kit. It’s years old at this point, and probably, definitely missing some essentials, but it doesn’t hurt to have, especially considering the present moment. 

Roman turns around to check on you, and you’re looking at your hand with that glazed look on your face. He says your name once, then twice, and it takes you a second to register that he’s even speaking to you. Roman sounds so far away, underwater, even. “What’d I fuckin’ tell you? Nope, don’t - leave it. Leave it. Eyes on me.” 

“But Rome–”

Roman ignores you. “Look away,” he tells you instead. “And if I have to tell you one more time, I’m going to strangle you, okay? And then your hand’s gonna be the least of your problems.” 

Roman knows who you are, and so do you. You’ve got this tendency to get all fucking squeamish and freaked out by blood, through no fault of your own. He  knows you can’t help this, but you absolutely can help looking at the thing that’s gonna trigger you to faint.   

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Once, when you were a teenager, you snuck downstairs late at night, looking for a snack. Not unlike you did tonight, too. Roman was watching some TV show and you walked right past him, waving shyly. “Hey, you. It’s–” Roman looked at the clock. “Way past bedtime, holy fuck.” 

“I don’t have a bedtime,” you replied, heading for the kitchen pantry.

“Mm, too cool for a bedtime, I see. I get it. Me too, actually. But whatcha grabbing there?”

“Cookies,” you answered, grabbing a plastic box of some fancy holiday season Harry & David whatever-the-fuck gourmet cookies. 

“Ooh, sharing is caring. Thanks.” 

You mumbled something in response, messing with the plastic. It was deceptively difficult to open, and when you finally did open the box, it wasn’t without a slice to your fingertip. 

It wasn’t even particularly bloody or deep, really, but you stood there in the pantry, just staring at it. Your vision started to go spotty, the lights were getting darker as you felt so, so heavy and dizzy and just…awful, swaying back and forth. “Uhh…Roman?” Your voice sounded far away, even coming out of your own mouth. 

“What’s up, night owl?”

“I think I need a Band-aid.” 

Roman sighed and stood up, rummaging through a nearby drawer for a box of bandages when then came a loud tumble. He spun around quickly to see you face down on the fucking floor. 

“Oh, shit.” 

He rushed to your side and turned you over, his hand at your side. “Wake up, wake up.” Roman was relieved to see your eyelids fluttering, though your pupils were unusually wide. Your chin was bleeding, also, and your face was a little sweaty. 

“It’s the - my finger,” you said breathlessly, showing Roman your finger. He looked at it closely, then looked at you. 

“Uh-huh, I see. Not so big on blood, huh?”

You shook your head to confirm, out of breath. This wasn’t news to you - you’d fainted before in health class at school, but it was new to Roman. Guess it never came up before now. 

Roman left you on the floor to quickly grab a few bandaids and a clean washrag that he dampened with a bit of soap and some water. He put a bandaid on your finger first, then held the rag to your chin, which was bleeding heavily. Facial injuries always do. “That’s okay. I don’t mind it myself,” he told you. “Guess I don’t really like needles, though.” 

You shrugged, and a beat passed before you whispered, “I’m really sorry.” 

“What? No, don’t - don’t be sorry, honey,” Roman said, pulling the rag away to inspect the bleeding. He folded it in half, then pressed it to your chin again, keeping his hand there as he maneuvered his way around your body. He lifted your head a little, and put it on his lap. 

“Do you want me to get up?” 

“Nope, I want you to stay right there,” he said, pressing the rag firmly against your skin. Roman felt relieved to see some life come back to your cheeks - not much, just a little, as you became more lucid. “Right here. You’re good.”

The bleeding stopped after a few minutes. Roman put a bandaid on your chin next, and kept you right where you were on his lap. You still have that scar today. He kisses it sometimes; his last stop after kissing his way up the column of your throat. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently. 

“Oogey and swirly,” you answered, “And embarrassed.” 

Roman laughed silently. “Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause you’re a huge fuckin’ wimp…”

“But?”

Roman smiled kindly at you. “I like ya anyway,” he murmured. “Kinda. Tolerate you is more like it. We’re gonna stay like this until you’re doing a little better, okay?” 

You just nodded quietly, eyes closed as you settled against him. Roman traced your face and stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs, then spent some time playing with your hair. You stayed like that even after you came back to life and felt like yourself again. 

“You scared the fuck out of me, you little shit.” 

 “I know. Sorry, Rome.”

“It’s okay, honey. Not mad at you.”   

-

Roman spins around with a plastic basket in his hand, and in it is some supplies - tweezers, alcohol, gauze, medical tape, and some other stuff. Your head is resting against the wall, eyes closed, hand held tightly in a fist as you breathe deeply through the pain and some tears roll down your cheeks. Poor kid, Roman thinks, washing his hands in the sink. He pats them dry, then holds your forearm. “I’m gonna open up your hand, alright?” You’re shaking your head no, trying to focus on the way Roman rubs your skin instead of the way your hand throbs in pain. “Yeah, I am, honey. Open your hand.”

“No,” you argue. “You’re gonna hurt me.” 

“No, I am going to help you. But if you’re already hurt, what does it matter if I hurt you, too? You know, in the process of…all of this.” He gestures to the medical supplies. “Hm?”

You open your watery eyes and glare at Roman, who holds his hands up in surrender. “Roman.”

Roman says your name sternly, but with a gentleness to it, too. “Hey. I’ve got you, alright? The quicker you let me look, the quicker all of this fuckin’ shit is over. Okay? Can you do step one with me? Just step one, sweetheart. It’s so fuckin’ easy.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, rolling around his offer in your head. Logically, you know it’s not just going to be step one. After step one will be step two, then step three, and so on. But you like the way Roman makes it all seem smaller right now, how he makes it all seem less scary. You nod and relax your fist. 

Roman takes the cue to pry open your fingers, slowly revealing the injury. There’s blood, there’s cuts, and there are quite a few obvious shards of glass sticking out of your palm, but beyond that, it’s really not so bad. Certainly doesn’t warrant a trip to the ER. 

You can feel his breath on your skin as he raises your palm and turns it from side to side, and as he pulls out his phone and uses his flashlight to inspect a little closer. “How’re we doing over there, huh? Not looking, right? ‘Cause if you faint again and crack your fucking skull open, I swear to god…” Roman clicks his tongue. 

“N-no. Not looking,” you answer, cringing at the warmth of the blood pooled in your palm. “Is it bad, Rome?”

“Mhm, oh yeah. Gonna have to amputate, actually. Wanna jerk me off one last time before it’s gone for good? Hm? A little farewell handy for the road?” 

You laugh breathlessly, pressing your other hand against your sweaty forehead. “Oh, fuck you, Roman,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, you wish. No, you’re not getting amputated, sweetheart, but I am gonna perform some minor surgery, so.” Roman puts your hand on your thigh and opens the cap of the isopropyl alcohol, then dumps the bottle onto a cotton ball. 

You open your eyes and see him wiping off the tweezers, thoroughly cleaning them before he uses them on you. Your heart beats harder and you feel dizzy even thinking about what he’s going to do to you. Fuck, you remember those tweezers. Roman would use them when you were a kid, coming home from the park with splinters in your hands and fingers from the mulch. He’d dig them out with said tweezer and you’d scream the entire time, and it was all of ten seconds but it felt like minutes that he was in there. He’d wrap your finger up in a rainbow Bandaid and would try not to feel hurt that you wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. He figured he deserved it/

“Roman, no. No, no, no. Don’t, please, don’t–”

“Yep,” Roman says, taking your wrist again. You pull it away from him, wincing at the glass shards moving in your hand. “C’mon, give it back.” Roman gives you a look and tilts his head, only to be met by you shaking yours. 

Something changes in the way he looks at you then. There’s still care and concern in his eyes, something so warm. Something loving. But his eyes darken, pupils swallowing his hazel irises as he reaches for your cheek. “Can you give me back your hand, honey? Please? Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

Roman’s not oblivious to the way your heartbeat changes, or how your breath hitches in your throat. He wears his gorgeous, lopsided smirk as he runs his thumb along your cheekbone. “Yeah, you can do that, can’t you? Hm? You’re gonna be a brave girl for Daddy?”

You nod silently, earning a chuckle from Roman. “Oh, you are so fucking easy. Yeah, you can do it,” Roman says, moving his hand from your cheek to your wrist. “You’re gonna let me take care of this,” he murmurs, reaching for the tweezers, “And if you’re good…” Your breathing changes as Roman whispers something in your ear, finishing his offer with a couple of kisses pressed against your neck. “What do you think, hm?”

You give your hand over to Roman, willingly. 

He smiles silently and lays your palm out wide in his warm hand, then grabs the tweezers and thinks about how he’s gonna do this. 

The tougher shards are gonna come out first, Roman decides. Sorry, kid. He doesn’t tell you this, and instead gets right to work, pinching the shards of glass with the metal tweezers and pulling them out, holding your hand tightly when you try to pull it away. “Ow,” you whine, shaking and trembling a little. “Ow, ow, ow–”

“I know, I know. Almost done,” Roman lies, moving onto the next one. You wince harder when he pulls it out, a sob escaping your chest. He moves quickly and does the next one, and the one after that. 

“Rome–”

“You’re doing so good,” he promises, pulling out the easier shards now. You shouldn’t be feeling much at this point, but that doesn’t mean your mind’s not playing tricks on you. “One…two…three - shit, sorry - last one,” he says, and finally, “Four. Worst is over. Take a breath.”

You breathe deeply as Roman disposes of the glass into the wastebasket, then cleans off the tweezers once again. You’re relieved to see him do so. 

“So no ER?”

“No ER,” Roman affirms, turning on the water next. “Nothing’s deep enough to need stitches or shit like that, so you’re good. I’m gonna wash your cuts and wrap you up and send you on your merry way, hm?”

“Okay,” you nod, looking away as Roman your palm under the lukewarm water. All that blood temporarily stains the porcelain a reddish-orange, then washes down the drain. 

Roman finds a clean rag and some soap, then gently drags it along all of your scrapes and lacerations. You hiss in pain, that awful, sharp sting of the soapy water in your wounds making you twitch and shiver. 

“You’re lucky, honestly. I could piss on your hand instead, you know. To sterilize it.”

You laugh at that, cheeks heating up at the implication. You pause and wonder for a second about that. If Roman’s ever…if he would ever…if you’d…

“Oh my god, you sick fuck. You actually want that?” Roman laughs, squeezing some antibiotic ointment onto his fingertip to spread over your cuts. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Sure, but you didn’t not say that, did you?” Roman taunts. He lays some gauze over your palm and gives you a knowing look that you shy away from. He wraps more gauze around your palm and anchors it to your wrist, loving the way you squirm at this dirty little secret he’s uncovered. 

“Shut up,” you mumble. Roman raises his eyebrows as he tears off some tape with his teeth, then secures the gauze in place. He finishes the entire thing by kissing your palm gently, then lays your hand on your lap. 

He inhales and exhales slowly, and it seems that you’re more relaxed now, too. “You survived,” he says dramatically, “High five,” and raises hand. You raise your hand to meet his, quickly switching to your other, uninjured hand with a giggle. “Yeah, no, not that hand, dumbass. Oh my god, you’re fucking exhausting.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper, high-fiving Roman gently. He grabs both of your hips and pulls you to the edge of the sink, slotting himself between your thighs. 

“You okay?” he asks, “Are you dizzy at all?”

You shake your head, feeling more yourself now. Your hand does still hurt, though. “I’m okay.”

Roman nods, then pauses before he speaks. “I’m like - like I am very proud of you, actually,” he says quietly. “You did good.”

Roman’s drumming his fingers along your waist, looking so handsome as he smiles kindly at you. You hate this, the vulnerability you feel. The whole ‘I’m worried about you’ song and dance. It’s just hard, in a way, to be so seen and cared for. You think if you explained it to Roman, he’d understand. But you’re not going to.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” Roman says softly, and you scoff. “What? I can’t be proud of you? Hm?” He kisses your cheek over and over again, making you giggle until he quiets you by crushing his lips against yours. 

It’s been some time since you’ve kissed him last, so it’s nice to do. You think a lot about the first time Roman kissed you, all those butterflies you felt. You don’t get them as much anymore, but there’s still something so nice about kissing Roman, about tasting and smelling him, and feeling like he’s yours, whatever he is. Whatever this is. It’s perverse, but it’s home at this point.

The way his tongue slides past your lips and into your mouth, and how he squeezes you and groans. You love getting to feel him, too. Sliding your palm along his veiny forearm, squeezing his bicep, wrapping your legs around his slim waist. While kissing him, you reach for his pants and press your palm against his half-hard erection, wincing at the pressure against your wounded hand. “Yeah, nice try, honey. Gimme this–” Roman takes your hand and moves it away from his body, then undoes his pants himself. He drops them and his briefs just low enough to free his cock and his balls, then takes your other hand and wraps it around his length. “Yeah, fuck. There we go.”

You stroke his cock, feeling him pulse and twitch under your palm as you kiss him messily, moaning against his lips. Roman’s arm brushes against yours as he pushes your shorts to the side, humming because you’re wearing no panties. His fingers slide through your folds easily, already so wet and ready for him. 

He ignores your clit entirely and pushes two fingers inside you, curling them against that special spot that makes you stop breathing for a second. You cry out as he finger fucks you, quieted as he swallows each of your moans. 

You love Roman’s dirty fucking mouth, but you love this, too. All these lewd noises - the wet, sticky sounds your pussy makes, the quiet groans and hums from Roman as you swipe your thumb over his slit. The sounds of heavy breathing and that warmth created between your bodies. 

Roman kisses across your jaw and down your neck, pushing your shirt up to kiss down your torso, too. He hooks his fingers around your shorts and pulls them down, then sinks to his knees and pushes yours apart. 

It starts with kisses on your inner thighs, all lazy and sloppy. Roman’s looking up at you with those gorgeous, deep set sleepy eyes, letting them flutter shut as he kisses your seam. He just does that for a moment, simply kissing your cunt over and over and over until he sucks your clit between his lips, making you gasp.

Roman swirls his tongue around the sensitive part of you, then licks up and down your folds, savoring all of you. You wonder if he’s touching himself at all, or if his cock is just there, leaking and throbbing. You want to wrap your hand around it, want it in your mouth. You want him inside you. 

Roman pushes his middle two fingers into you and moves them as he moves his tongue in circles around your clit, finding that perfect rhythm. You slide your fingers through the slightly greasy strands of his hair, tugging on them as he eats you, working you closer and closer to release. 

It comes quicker than it used to. Roman knows your cunt so well at this point, and he’s lovingly memorized the exact way to kiss you and tongue you to make you cum so hard for him. When your clit swells in his mouth, like it’s doing now, he knows you’re close. Shaking, twitching, rocking your hips. 

You look so beautiful when you cum, and you’re such a good girl, watching him as you do it. Your eyes stay locked on his as you ride out your release, and it’s so profoundly fucking intimate. There’s nobody you’d rather share this with. Likewise for Roman. 

He should fuck you next. He should stand up and push his cock into you, but he doesn’t. Roman’s hard as ever as he tucks himself away and wipes his shiny lips on the back of his hand, then kisses your temple. He does a quick check on your hand, making sure the wound dressing hasn’t gotten all fucked up or anything like that. Roman’s out of breath when he pulls you off the countertop and sends you toward his bedroom, not yours. “Go to sleep,” he says, walking you forward with a hand on your lower back. “I’m gonna - gonna go clean up your fuckin’ mess downstairs.” 

“But you - your–” You spin around, and Roman gently pushes you into bed. 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I have hands.” 

“I have hands, too.” 

“You have a hand,” Roman corrects, tucking you into bed. 

“And a pussy,” you add.

“Mhm, congrats on that. Now go to bed,” he tells you. “Maybe I’ll fuck you in your sleep or something, alright?”

You laugh. “Creep.”

“Could piss on you too,” Roman teases, then kisses your lips. “I’ll be back. Go to sleep. Watch your hand.” 

you know the drill :) say something nice if you enjoyed. love you all.

romey tags :)

@gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl @baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars @perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo @prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman @drunkdriverkillerwhale @fawnjaw @fadedviolets @flowercrowns-goodvibes @foursgurlx @hotdadlvr95 @keepinnitundercover @spiidergwenn @pearlessance

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Could I ask what headcanons you have for some of the characters, if you haven't already answered? Like just some small, fun ideas or interpretations you have on their backstories, etc.

I've talked about some of my personal headcanons before. Here's a compilation of them:

Aromantic!Idia

RSA

Censoring Silver

Idol!AU

Worldbuilding

Leona if he falls in love

Crack/silly stuff

Malleus, Lilia, Riddle, Idia (falling from the dream corridor)

Zigvolt family

Aaand here are some headcanons I have regarding the OB boys’ family members or backgrounds:

Mrs. Rosehearts perpetuates generational trauma; she is hard on Riddle, her mother was hard on her, and so was her mother’s mother, and so was her mother’s mother’s mother…

Mrs. Rosehearts is 100% aware that her marriage is in the toilet, but she does not even consider a divorce, as it would be the same to her as admitting that she is wrong (/chose the wrong man).

Mr. Rosehearts is a very timid man who cannot speak up for himself or for Riddle. He purposefully takes long shifts at the hospital/clinic or overseas work conferences in order to avoid confrontation.

Leona considers Kifaji (annoying as he is) to be the closest thing he has to a real parent or guardian, as his own father was often busy with royal duties or bedridden to spend time with him. He would never EVER say this to Kifaji’s face though, he has too much pride on the line for that.

Kifaji would scold the other servants for speaking ill of “just a child”, but he’s only one man and cannot control an entire palace (or country’s) worth of rumors. He’d also try to comfort Leona in his own ways, like taking the time to play chess with him when no one else would or trying to offer advice and praise.

Leona and Falena used to be close (Falena was first in line to hold his newborn baby brother), but as they grew up, they gradually became estranged. Falena desperately wishes to reconnect, but Leona has zero interest in it.

Mrs. Ashengrotto fake cries and pouts when Azul turns down the smorgasbord of dishes she prepares for him whenever he comes home.

A lot of people believe that Mrs. Ashengrotto got together with her divorce lawyer, but it’s never actually explicitly stated or implied that this is the case. She just MET her now husband while she was going through the divorce—but hey, nothing is stopping me from headcanoning that her new husband was her divorce attorney because that’s too silly for me not to.

Najma used to have a crush on Kalim when they were kids and this absolutely mortified Jamil. (“This isn’t a fairy tale! You can’t just marry the first rich guy you see and live happily ever after!”) Thankfully, she’s out of that phase now but occasionally Najma WILL intentionally say something sus (like mentioning that his visiting classmates are cute) while Jamil is around just to annoy him.

As a kid, Jamil used to try warming eggs with his hands in hopes it would hatch into a baby parrot. Then he actually SAW an image of a baby parrot and called it pathetic (and wanted one more than ever).

Vil has actually bumped into his biological mother once, but since he does not know her identity, he did not recognize her as his mother and continued walking by. Missed connections 💀

When Vil still lived in Jack’s neighborhood, they’d play together, since Jack was one of the few kids who didn’t see him as the villains he played on TV.

Mrs. Shroud was the one that romantically pursued Mr. Shroud. He was apprehensive about dating (due to worrying that his curse would only burden her and any future children they have), but Mrs. Shroud took it surprisingly well and remained loyal to him. To this very day, he wonders what did he do to deserve a woman like her.

Idia used to want a dog, until one of the S.T.Y.X. employees brought in three of theirs to work and they all rushed at Idia, tackled him, and slobbered all over his face. Since then, he’s been more of a cat person.

Malleus often finds himself wondering or daydreaming about what kinds of people his parents were. This happens a lot when he’s wandering ruins; he imagines the buildings in their glory days and the types of people that lived and did business there.

He sometimes tells the gargoyles about his parents as if he actually knew them at all. It’s strangely therapeutic for him, though Malleus couldn’t articulate why that is if you asked him to.

[andiv3r-drawing]

ID in alt text.

So..

Uhm.yeah. hiii. Much more personal piece than usual, 'cause that's. Well. Me! Hahah.. yeah. I've wanted to make something for a while about. The feeling I have of people implying something about my body is wrong, whether it be because I'm intersex or because I'm fat, aaand I finally made it.

I'm really happy with how this turned out... I've really grown to love my body a lot lately, but my side profile has always been. Something else. But I can honestly say that I really truly love the way I look in this, and that it's me. I also am glad I chose to go with the yellow/purple intersex flag colours... I wanted to make it look like I was a part of the intersex flag... plus also portray some general rage against our society for trying to force me into boxes that I was born outside of 👍

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Part One

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When your family is caught up in treasonous scandal, the Prince Regent makes an offer that is impossible to refuse. To avoid what certainly would have been death by his sword, your family promises you to a man who is followed by whispers of violence and sin.

Warnings: mdni 18+! Strictly. Dark-ish ??? Aemond! Bad language, reader is implied to be from a certain family but not really, rushed & unedited. Sexual tension, allusions to sex, mentions of death and killing, Aemond gets angry handsy, hair pulling, mention of the noose bc Aemond would never tell just anyone how he feels. This is mainly a word vomit - I am once again incapable of limiting my writing to one part.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: aaand I’m back with a rewrite of an old fic I started last year! hopefully this is somewhat decent to follow along with - I wrote this while severely sleep deprived, stressed about procrastinating my uni work and knackered from work. Let me know if we are even interested in a part 2 or if I’ve missed any warnings!

It is a debt to be paid and an alliance to be made, that is all it is. 

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the dangers of King’s Landing with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks. 

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intend to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence. 

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It was not meant to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to barter me to–”

“We are not bartering you. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “All you will have to do is take the title as his wife and give him children. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you as his wife - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of selling you so easily to a cruel man like Aemond Targaryen caused a dull ache in your chest. 

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, your chest heavy with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have run away and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family lands. 

“What Prince Aemond has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “I do not expect you to understand the complex relationships between our Houses but consider this, dear sister. Would you rather him have the Vale burned to ashes? Have us hung from the walls of the Red Keep? I made a mistake. I know this, and I am sorry but this is the only choice we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with little chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew how the Crown punished Rhaenyra’s sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening is wrong - war is never worth the price it takes. You wholeheartedly agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a raven with a conditional offer of a bent knee. 

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I do not understand.”

“Aemond Targaryen is Prince Regent but I was once his only friend,” Jericho said. You knew he used the word friend strategically. “He extended an olive branch. Repent our House’s treachery through our last daughter and a pin for the Vale on King Aegon’s map. You could not understand how generous that is. Refusing would have been a sentence of death.”

Friend? Generous?  You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered how Jericho had managed to barter with the Prince Regent before they had taken his head. Alas, it would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to. The men of these walls underestimated the capabilities of a woman’s mind and a woman’s strength. 

“All he gains is something to hold over your head, brother. Paying off your mistakes with my life? You have heard the stories - he has become a cruel man. Warming his bed when he sees fit and making his heirs will not fix what you did. Many have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It is our only option. We have nothing more to offer in place and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without what little power we have left, your brother and I would lose the Vale. It is a miracle we have not already.”

“The Prince wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that is what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time you had seen him as anything other than gentle to you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed. 

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and your titles, and despite the situation that they’ve forced you into, at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have run away instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride and fear of life as a princess?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree.

Aemond wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he would have had them hung without a second thought. But you and your brother were different. 

It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to have spared Jericho’s treason because he remembered you and to have further justified his actions by claiming the Vale through your betrothal. While it was his first and foremost motivation and Aemond was bound by duty to take advantage of the opportunity, it was not the only reason he had suggested the idea at the Small Council.

There was hardly a person in Aemond’s life whom he could call a friend. There was not a soul in this world that Aemond could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the first parts of his childhood. 

Nor you, who had at once shown him kindness in his youth despite the mockery that was often made of him. You had only accompanied your brother and father to King’s Landing on three occasions, and what started as your soft conversation and willing smiles for him had left his memory entirely until he heard word of Jericho’s treacherous message. 

Aemond, despite your attempts at friendship, had never returned your kindness. In truth, he didn’t know how to. And quickly, your smiles had turned to frowns and your attempts at friendly talk had become sarcastic remarks and quiet scoffs.

It was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who had peaked his curious desire more than you and the two of you had spent the brief occasions together bickering and pestering one another. Regardless of your initial efforts, Aemond was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving nonchalance and forced manners. 

The indifference that you had for each other had no cause to fade. Even less so with the recent murderous, vile stories of Aemond the Kinslayer who killed his nephew and (while most wouldn’t dare utter the words beyond certain walls) who may have crippled his own brother with Vaghar’s fire. You had almost fallen to your knees upon hearing of your betrothal to such a man.

Aemond was now twenty and three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. You were the perfect leverage - perhaps a pawn yourself. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over your House to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted politics while he has the power to do so, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand, in his control and eventually beneath his body was exciting. 

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

It was a formality. Being presented at King’s Landing for the first time to your future husband, his family and to those whom he currently ruled over as the woman to be his wife. 

You had changed since the last time Aemond had seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering young girl he remembered you to be when you were just ten and four. 

He had rushed through the formalities of greeting you and your family, welcoming you into what would come to be your home. The lunch was painfully awkward as little was said between anyone. The Dowager Queen spoke formally yet kindly with your mother and shared a few words with you but you could barely engage with her conversation under the burning gaze of the Prince Regent who sat across from you.

It was over quickly, before anyone could start bickering about the traitorous reasons behind your presence. Aemond shortly convinced his mother that no escort would be needed, so long as Ser Criston Cole was there when you both were left to acquaint yourselves in private. You gulped as you were lead shamelessly into the Prince’s chambers. 

Aemond only set a glance upon Ser Criston and the raven haired man took his place outside the closed doors.

You were sure that the Prince’s chambers were as large as an entire wing of your own home yet you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eye was hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

In your eyes, Aemond had always been torturously beautiful. But here, as his gaze fell upon you and you shared the silence of his personal space, he was ethereal. It caused your breath to catch as you waited for him to address you first.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, my Prince?”

“You are to be my wife,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the desk that he lazily dragged his hand along. What a stupid question. “That is why you are here.”

“I believe you know that is not what I ask, my Prince.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is Prince Regent, after all. A memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind. 

His expression deceivingly calm, Aemond considered putting you in your place. He may be behaving in a way he does not recognise of himself but he would not tolerate your disrespect. 

Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “We will be married so that your brother’s treason shall be forgiven and your House will be sworn to the King. You will stay here, in my chambers. Do whatever the seven hells you please, it does not matter.”

In any other instance, Aemond would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words stupidly as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him like he ruled the realms, so submissive yet so full of fire. So tempting. 

He’d condemn himself to the noose before ever admitting to his thoughts. 

“What?” you almost gasped. There was no chance that you could stay in his chambers like this. You were sure the whispers of the Keep were already running amok with Aemond’s insistence on isolating the two of you behind the doors to his private chambers.

Aemond took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I will not make it so easy for you to return to scheming with your treasonous family.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t a Prince, you would have. “You are keeping me prisoner? For something I have had no such hand in?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell the woody oils he bathed in mixing with the smell of his musk and the leather of his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe I am. Call it what you like. You can do as you please, eat as you please, wear whatever you please, you can explore these halls as you wish. I do not care. But you will listen to me and it will all be as per my will.”

Before you could respond, Aemond continued. “For all they know, I’ve made it clear to everyone that you will stay in the chambers that I have chosen for you, on the other side of that wall.”

Aemond’s eye was a violet-blue inferno as it held yours. He was closer now and you let your eyes drag across every part of his devastating face, swallowing at his beauty and wondering what lay under the leather of his eye patch. 

Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean in to touch him and feel him, you held your head high and turned your back to him. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Aemond’s hand found the back of your head in an instant, slender fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back slowly so that you were forced to look up at the roof, the back of your head resting against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you back firmly against him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, an unfamiliar longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour had you holding back a pathetic whine. 

Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath grazing your hair when he spoke. He was scorching you through the leather of his tunic, your dress doing little to shield you from the heat of his body.

More than his anger, Aemond’s amusement made the air heavy. The way he unashamedly let his stare fall upon your lips, tucked between your teeth as you struggled to hold your glare, had your breath snatched from your lungs. 

Aemond dropped his head enough so that his lips lingered just under your ear, close enough that you could hear him draw in a breath, dragging his nose across the dip where your jaw met your neck. Your face burned at how shamelessly he had inhaled your soft scent.

“Is that how you talk to your Prince?” Aemond’s voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. Placing his free hand on your left shoulder, he slowly turned you to face him, making sure to keep you tightly pressed against him.

Aemond was disastrously beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the way his scar painted the top of his cheek, the soft fall of his pin straight hair and the soft shine of his lips which you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing as his low voice broke you out of your distraction. “This is my home. Right now, all of Westeros is mine. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You would do well to remember your place while you are here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. You had never felt such desire that had your body craving another. It was anger driving you mad, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Aemond was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. It made him all the more desirable. 

Aemond was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly. 

By the gods, you couldn’t even think. What was happening? 

“My Pr-”

“Quiet,” Aemond commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “What a mouth on you, my Lady. Fuck me, is that so?”

You muttered incoherently under your breath, the desire and the fear making your eyes flutter shut as you trembled against the Prince who held you so roughly.

“Hm,” Aemond chuckled when you let out a short whimper. He squeezed you tightly, his voice low and dark. “I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. You best careful, ñuha dāria, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Aemond took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. He hummed, you were so reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His gaze never left you, his resolve solid as iron. 

Your mouth watered at the thought of the things that Aemond could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined yourself capable of harbouring, especially not for a man like Aemond Targaryen. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you. 

But all you had to do was glance at the map that was splayed over his table and the weaponry he had discarded at the foot of it before you were trying to shove him away from you. Aemond stepped away from you upon noticing the panic in your movements. You barely noticed the flash of worry that passed through his features before he so skilfully replaced his mask. 

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Aemond’s face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to him, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then despite all the consequences that would rain down upon you. 

“I will not stay in here,” You closed your eyes to avoid his stare, chest heaving as you caught your breath and reminded yourself of the formalities of Aemond’s title. And of the possible repercussions for denying him so stubbornly. “My Prince, it is not appropriate.”

You hadn’t heard him make his way across the room until you heard the door open. Aemond hesitated, his resolve was not as strong as he had thought given the way his heart was beating as if he had run a mile. The strain at his pelvis was almost painful and his hands urged to be tangled in your hair again, squeezing your hips, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath your clothing. Perhaps you weren’t wrong and Aemond returned to his hardened self at the thought of being unable to control his desires. 

“Hm,” he drawled, stoic as ever and standing tall at the doorway and gazing down at you over his shoulder with a red hot spark in his eye. Aemond’s mind raced with a million words, many in the alluring language he knew you could not understand and they all tasted dangerous on his tongue. “You are not wrong. It is not appropriate until we are wed, ñuha dāria.”

[windcarvedlyre]

Sorry if this is half incoherent, it's almost 4am.

To be fair, assuming we're talking about non-despair Komaeda, I don't think he necessarily actually likes people being sacrificed for hope? Or at minimum actions that don't directly bring about hope like those taken by Despairs, even if hope could arise from the victim(s) overcoming them*. In the NWP he was really negative about Tsumiki and didn't consider siding with her like he did other murderers. We also saw him have a limit on what he would let an Ultimate do to others in the prologue; he threatened to stop Teruteru with force if he continued to be predatory to Sonia even though that could deprive her of opportunities to assert herself and grow from it.

It's hard for me to pin down his exact views on this, though, since he's trapped in a zero-sum situation where- until late chapter 4- outside of himself only Ultimates' lives are being wasted. I need to go over his lines again for a post but it's implied more than once that he didn't like Togami dying at all even if he justified the death as a sacrifice for hope at the time. I just don't know how he'd handle the same happening to a non-Ultimate.

*Notably I think that he did fully believe this as Servant, becoming willing to become despair itself if it would bring about more hope in the end. But when he isn't a despair I kind of get the impression he claims he believes that to cope- to himself and others- but may not fully, truly adhere to it? He shows hypocrisy/cognitive dissonance around his other beliefs anyway: still caring about Hinata once he knows he's Reserve Course, casting himself in a passive support role but actually being really proactive and clearly wanting to be important, desiring love and trying to socialise with the group even though he's probably not supposed to 'deserve' that, etc. That's just a tentative personal view that could evolve with more scrutiny of his lines, though.

reblog for more votes...perhcance

[kitkat13001]

₊˚⊹⋆ i knew you in another life you had that same look in your eyes… (i love you, don’t act so surprised)

⤷ satoru gojo x reader

⤷ MAJOR JJK SPOILERS!!! brief mentions of violence, implied character and reader death (kind of?), kitty rejects canon at every opportunity, starts sad ends cute (ish?), lyrics from billie eilish’s “birds of a feather”

the vision haunts you, burned into the back of your eyelids. you feel paralyzed, standing and watching in horror. you could be falling right now and be none the wiser. 

there’s no way. it’s simply not possible. satoru, your satoru, is the strongest. this is an indisputable fact. 

so if he’s the strongest…why is it that you’re staring at his broken, desecrated body?

you’re running before it even registers that you’re moving. you have no hope of winning this fight, you know that. if he couldn’t, you don’t stand a fraction of a chance. but you keep going anyways, for satoru. 

you close your eyes as the end comes, determined to see those big, blue eyes again. 

you wake up with a jolt, startling in your seat. your knuckles are turning pale from clutching the armrest, and breath struggles to get to your lungs. 

“you okay?” hums an incredibly familiar voice next to you. 

it takes long moment for everything to process. your body is stiff where you’re sat, crammed into a row of identical seats. it looks like…a train maybe?

“turbulence is pretty bad, but the pilot said it’ll pass soon.”

turbulence…pilot. an airplane. 

you fumble to lift the shade on the window, and gasp at the sight of a bright blue sky and white clouds. 

you turn around and there it is again, that blinding blue and white.

satoru flashes you a cheeky smile, nudging your hand with his. “what? you look like you saw a ghost or somethin’.”

you shake your head, trying to get comfortable back in your seat. “no, i just…had a weird dream is all.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah. it’s not important, though,” you say, waving it off. “where is everyone?”

he starts ticking them off on his fingers. “well, suguru’s in the bathroom, i think mr. delicate is plane-sick.” he snickers. “shoko snuck into first class with utahime and she promised to bring snacks, but the little liar hasn’t come back. kuroi moved amanai to the front so she could have window seat, aaand nanami and haibara are asleep behind us.”

he laughs a little. “guess you missed a lot while you were out.”

you have no idea, you think, blurred images fading from your mind of that horrid dream. just a dream now, but it’s got you thinking. 

“hey, satoru?”

“yeah?”

“do you think…” you pause for a moment, eyes wandering the cloudy expanse outside. you can see glimmers of the ocean far below. “do you think we like each other in every universe?”

he acts like he’s thinking about it for a long moment, before answering with a casual, “no.”

you gape at him, moving to swat at his arm, but he’s faster than you and he’s interlocked your hands together before you can land a hit. 

he flashes you a teasing grin, but there’s sincerity in his voice when he continues. “i think we love each other in every universe. but i think this one’s my favorite, though.”

you stifle a laugh, leaning against him until your cheek is squished against his shoulder. “you know what? me too.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, icons from pinterest (not mine) — i 🩷 writing obscure shit. this was loosely inspired by this fanart i saw on pinterest + my own delusions. also full disclosure ive never actually read the manga much less the infamous death scene so apologies if this isn’t entirely accurate (it is not meant to be)

[speed-world]

One of your precious asks gave me an idea....self aware crk....y/n gets sent to the cookie world as either a baby or a really little kid....aaand I got multiple paths with this and I'll leave the choice of which up to you:

1. Gingerbrave finds the little cookie while exploring world 1 and takes them in as a little sibling....guiding y/n around and showing them the world....aaaand protective gingerbrave would be funny to see! Like when Licorice coos over y/n, gingerbrave could be like 'you touch them and you'll be picking up your broken teeth and staff with broken fingers.' Aaaand oh....if the ancients try to do to y/n what they do with gingerbrave (send a young cookie on a super dangerous adventure) well....very angry big brother gingerbrave! (Tldr: adventures with big brother gingerbrave!)

2. The ancients and dark enchantress meet....the final battle...they are about to begin when they suddenly hear crying...and the 6 see little y/n...aaaand they all become parents for y/n.

3. This one is based off mycookie, where y/n is like the kingdom's child...running around and living a happy life in the kingdom and just chilling...not much of a story but could be a wholesome slice of life.

Assuming the story you’re talking about is “Terrifying New Dawn,” then it’s kinda hard to see the first path done since Y/N is a human child, but it would be still be very heartwarming seeing a big brother Gingerbrave for Y/N even if he’s smaller.

The second path is pretty much exactly implied as what directly happens afterwards: in the story, Y/N does show up during that battle and the Ancients plus Dark Enchantress somewhat mutually agree to cease their fight to watch over the young one.

The third path is probably my favorite as I’m admittedly a sucker for wholesome slices of life stories. Cream Ferret once again proving to be a top tier parent for cookies and humans, and I also see the sugar gnomes having their work cut out for them to accommodate the kingdom for Y/N specifically.

[lookingforhappy]

Five should never have been with the CIA, he should have been with the Keepers

the CIA is incredibly reminiscent of the Commission, the thing that Five has been trying to escape since s1, and that has repeatedly dehumanised, manipulated and hurt him.

not only is it a secret organisation that aids in the manpiluatation of the lives of others by a higher power but he is also constantly monitored, with and without his knowledge -

he has to report to his boss, he is constantly followed/attended to by Derek (who is lightly implied to also be a keeper), and the keepers are undoubtedly reporting back to his boss to keep him in line without his knowledge.

(just look at how many are keepers.. thats insane for Five not to have noticed anything after spending so long in the commission on high alert - what happened to him always checking the surroundings first??)

sounds similar to him having to report the handler, constantly being followed by her (into the bathroom, the tube room, etc) and always being watched by the infinite switchboard and his tracker.

there's also the "Five is one of the top agents at this secret and shady org. and Diego is the butt of the joke because he wants what Five has and Five won't give it to him & when he does get it it's a comedy scene" thing.

which is honestly just another nail in the "cia is too similar to the commission to be comfortable for five" coffin for me..

he is also constantly referred to as "Mr. Five" a name that is only ever seen used by the Commission,

and which is supposed to show the Commission's false respect for Five by tacking a "Mr." onto his name while also refusing to add on a surname (Hargreeves) - or in the circumstance that Five doesn't accept a last name, then addressing him by his full name "Number Five" or "00.05" or just "5" - which dehumanises and detaches him from his family aka his reason for leaving.

Five also calling his boss "sir" is incredibly out of character as at no point in the series has he called anyone by a honorific, not the Handler, not his father, and especially not someone younger than him.

and also that he calls the cia director (lance ribbons) "boss"

like not even "my boss" or "the boss"... just "boss". it just feels like such a young mans word, which Five decidedly is not. if i had to pick how he would address ribbons id have him say "ribbons", "director" or maybe "director ribbons" if he was in a formal situation. never "sir" or "boss"

There's Five adapting to the timeline/circumstance and then theres Five's entire personality changing.

and honestly, if this is a survival technique for Five in this timeline, to play into his apparent youth, then why not show that?? or even explore it in a more interesting way like how the comics had him disguise as a kid with a backpack, bike and binoculars???

instead they kept giving him stupid little props that only served to further hammer in the obvious "hey! five works for the cia now!"

all it does is make him look ridiculous, and i know that five is holding the gun and torch in the correct way but god it makes him look like such a cop. and after hes been fighting authority for his entire life it feels so fucking weird.

what's interesting though, is that he would have fit in fine with the Keepers! and we see this demonstrated perfectly in their first scene

just.. the way that perfectly sums up Five.. plus our concerns that he wouldn't have anything to do after the apocalypses are solved and aidan's comments that Five was feeling like he had nothing left/suicidal.. for there to be a group of other people that not only believe him but support him unconditionally?

(aaand im out of pictures... great)

for Five to be able to say this to other people? and to not be thought of as insane?? thats big.

and then for Five to be hinted at not keeping up with his siblings aside from Diego - the deleted scene with Klaus at the party shows that Five doesn't know how long Klaus' been sober for, he also asks Luther where Viktor is, clearly hasn't seen Allison or Ben in a while.. it's all such a perfect set up for Five to join the keepers.

and not only does this set him up with other people, in a support group setting. but it also perfectly sets up his arc to have conflict with his siblings without losing their trust (sorry fivela stans but i cant get on board bc it destroys his relationships with the family).

while Viktor was negotiating with Ben, the others could have been negotiating with Five. which would have brought us full circle, of five disappearing and fighting like hell to get back home, to returning but not feeling like he belongs, to being brought back into the fold. this is also the perfect opportunity to bring Lila in, as she would have the best understanding of where he stands after being manipulated by the commission.

it's also the perfect opportunity to have Five cause the apocalypse, instead of save it. people have talked about Five being set up to cause the next one since forever, and Klaus has a perfect set up for it too.

I personally think that each season should have rotated who causes the apocalypse instead of randomly making it Viktor's fault. this way we could explore the siblings individually and their trauma and recovery. give them all a seasons worth of focus.

season 1 gave us Viktor's apocalypse.

season 2 should have given us Diego's via JFK's survival causing the apocalypse (exploring his hero complex and how his ignoring his family in favour of pursuing his own ego/comfort isn't good for anyone etc)

season 3 should have been Allison's via her desperation to get Claire back - the kugelblitz shouldn't exist (because it doesnt work with the established laws of space time) but instead her deal with Reginald should have caused the apocalypse maybe as a way to motivate the others like Five into finding a solution.

season 4 can still be Ben's but ultimately for the final season it should have been a joint effort or at least come full circle and actually been impactful with more connections to Ben's death instead of the 2 second reveal of him getting shot in the most anticlimatic and confusing reveal i have ever seen. Ben has literally haunted the narrative for 4 seasons, between his death being the reason they disband, to his ghost being the reason they survive at the end of s1 and s2, and his alternate reality self in s3 and s4. he didn't get the send off he deserved for someone who has influenced near everything in the show.

there should have been 8 seasons - 7 to deal with the issues of the individuals, and 1 to deal with their recovery as a group, almost acting as an epilogue.

instead we got 4 poorly planned and incomplete seasons..

anyway, thats what i think Five should have been doing this season, not joining the CIA

[bbkoolkatz]

pairing: barbarian prince! katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

content warning: violence, injuries, blood, death, implied torture, captivity, drugging, coercion, non-consensual restraint, threats of death, xenophobia, cultural discrimination, grief, fear, power dynamics, emotional distress, attempted intimidation, aaand use of weapons. lemme know if I missed somethin.

this one's extremely short 'cause I couldn't leave y'all with nothin. there's barely any katsuki I KNOW! but trust🙏 this is just a fraction of the next chapter! hope ya enjoy and look forward to Saturday! 🌸

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 3 𝖕𝖙1 𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 1.3k+words

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2!

"you must pull the rope harder, my lady," ragna instructed, glancing at you with a faint smirk, "or you'll be chasing after your tent when the wind picks up."

"ha ha, ragna," you rolled your eyes, blowing away stray strands of hair from your face, "i've got this," giving her a small pat her on the shoulder. putting up tents isn't so difficult after all. you stood proud in front of your hard work, admiring it with your hands on your hips.

a huge shadow that glided overhead caught your attention. soaring the night sky on his beautiful crimson beast, was your husband—who should be having dinner with you around the little bon fire you also worked so hard on, to get going.

"does he ever rest?" you yawned, squinting up to see when he'd fly by again.

"on a night like this? i'm afraid he will not." ragna shrugged, poking a stick in the fire absentmindedly. you glanced upward again, catching sight of your husband's silhouette against the moonlit sky. and you sighed —a soft sigh— to yourself.

to the far end of the gathering, the tetsugami rested peacefully in some tall bushes as mitsuki's guards marched around camp at the bark of her order. after ensuring your belongings were secured, you threw yourself onto the thin slab of cushion, snuggling in to make yourself comfortable and you began to drift off.

your eyes shot open to a scuffle outside your tent and you flew up, reaching for the dagger mitsuki gifted you on your wedding night, under your makeshift pillow, preparing to launch at whoever was about to enter your tent.

your heart pounded against your ribs as the tent flap flew open and you moved instinctively, springing toward the intruding figure.

"frú mín! it is me!" ragna dodged, holding her hands up by the sides of her head. "we must go, now!" she hissed, clutching the side of her waist.

there was no time to ask questions, you nodded taking her word as you rushed out of your tent. the guards were scattered all over the forest grounds, laying in pools of their own blood before you. "where's mother!?" you instantly panic, eyes darting about, hoping not to find her laying among the defeated guards.

"she's... waiting for us -gasp- near the... tetsu-gami," ragna heaved, coughing as she spoke. "we must hurry -ahgk!-"

"ragna!"

"run!" she gasped, decapitating the the man who sneaked up behind and stab her. you hesitated—"we- we have to stop the bleeding!"—looking at her sluggish form—she's heavy—you try to hold her up. "please, my lady... i'll be okay," she wheezed, "your life... matters m-most..." weakly smiling as she caressed your face with a bloody hand.

"i can't just leave you," tears threatened to fall, as she whimper out yet another plea. with a heavy sigh and a hesitant squeeze on her hands, you stood up, turning on your heels, making a sprint toward the tetsugami. you frantically bat webs and low branches out of way as you ran through the dark forest, wiping at the hot tears that flowed down your face, blurring your vision.

"mær mín!" a worried voice called out to you, you stumbled forward, and they caught you, holding you up by the shoulders, "hvar er ragna!?" ragna... tears well up in your eyes at ragna's name... mitsuki took the hint, and grabbed your hand.

"þú ert framtíð okkar. finndu katsuki. farðu!"

"ekki svona fljótt," a low, sinister voice, snaked into your ear... and before you even react, your limbs seized up, the air feeling much colder as an anonymous figure loomed behind you.

mitsuki wasted no time in drawing her sword and swinging it at his head with a grunt. the shriek of katsuki's dragon made your heart race, relieved to hear the beast's rumble, descending from the skies above. he leaped off the overgrown lizard, charging forward with no hesitation, incoherently yelling at the man who held you captive—before a dark cloud of smoke swallowed you both in almost an instant, leaving katsuki standing there dumbfounded as he took in the scene in front of him.

-

no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't move a muscle, you couldn't talk and it felt like you were burning up—trapped inside your own skin.

"haltu henni niðri!" he commanded his people, and as soon as his hands left your body, you felt a rush of blood coursing through your veins as the feeling returned to your limbs. you fought back, kicking and twisting out of their holds as much as you can, as hands tried to grab you.

unfortunately, it wasn't enough. their sizes and strength, greatly overwhelmed yours. one of them managed to loop a cloth around your face, and you struggled against the drowsiness invading your system at the bitter scent of it.

"you're... going... to die... for this..." you mummur your last words, before your eyes we're completely shut.

-

your hands were bound, and your head throbbed from the drug they'd used to knocked you out. you roll your shoulders back, feeling a sore muscle right under your shoulder blade as your eyes flutter open.

"gods... i hoped this was one of those really realistic dreams..." you groan, scanning your surroundings. you we're in a tent, similar to those of the barbarian clan... and there was a tall wiry figure in the corner, both palms pressing against a wooden slab of a table in front of him.

"your blood has no place in our clan." he spat, looking over his shoulder in disgust, and you had to shake your head a bit, to come to your senses properly, rubbing your ear against your shoulder... did he just... "your blood will sully our future warriors." he continued. oh he's definitely speaking your language...

"your learned my language just to say that to me?" you mocked, "how sweet," teasing his supposed efforts.

he stared at you, a sneer tugging at the corner of his lips. "you are most lucky our ritual requires your death at dawn..."

"at dawn!?" you dramatically gasped, and if you could, you'd dramatically put a hand on your chest to emphasize, "couldn't you have waited longer?" sarcasm laced in your voice as you glared back at him.

"i'm beginning to wish i didn't use that spell on you," he grumbled, turning back to whatever he had splayed out in front of him.

"you gave me something as useful as your language?" you mused at his stupidity, "why on earth would you do that?" giggling to yourself.

he turned around completely, looking confused as ever as he watched down at you tied to the bottom of the tent's center post. "i did it for myself. do not misunderstand." he sneered, scrunching his nose at your significantly smaller frame below him.

"why?" was all you said, keeping eye contact.

"why?" he chuckled, "i want to hear your cries of agony as every ounce of your blood drains from your small, feeble body." he stooped in front of you, bracing a hand near your head against the thick pole.

you raise a brow, the corner of your mouth twisting into a sardonic smile, "was that supposed to scare me?" you leaned forward, countering his intimidation.

his expression faltered for a fraction of a second, but he shook it off, motioning for his men to fix your restraints and they left you alone. your mind worked furiously, calculating your next move.

then a sudden heat surged through every fiber of your muscles, you felt like you were beginning to break into a cold sweat as your vision blurred. your head spun toward the entrance of the tent, hearing rustling sounds outside.

a familiar face peeked through the flap and a wave of relief washed over you and tears began to flow uncontrollably from you reddened eyes, "ragna," you cried, sniffling like a little brat.

»»————> 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! <————««

Frú mín! - "My lady!"

Hvar er Ragna!? - "Where is Ragna!?"

Þú ert framtíð okkar. Finndu Katsuki. Farðu! - "You are our future. Find Katsuki. Go!"

Ekki svona fljótt. - "Not so fast."

Haltu henni niðri! - "Hold her down!"

Mær mín! - "My girl!"

»»————> 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙!

@twoplayergaymers @ch3rryjampi3 @lxdystxrdustt @selfishgucci @sleepyfxce @depressed-waffle-time @abinformyobsessions @kodzubaby @cottagedumpling @msjaeger @condy-wants-a-cookie @who-xo @naiomiwinchester @your-mum3000 @weebperson2003 @koigeidi @lanadelgarf @misaki-kira8 @lightsinmycity @kit-katsukii @the2ndl @kalulakunundrum @eyesforbkg @httpfandxms @luvbuuny @goodiesinthecloset21 @qyuin

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