#and then the third and first are tied for me

[lokisgoodgirl]

Almost Dawn [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki tries to sneak into bed. Short, sweet, smutty. Warnings: 18+ only. Established relationship. Minors DNI. w/c 630

“Are you awake, love?”

You nestle deeper into the pillow, and a smile creeps over your lips like the dawn.

“Kinda…” you say, muffled.

The mattress dips as he slips between the sheets and a large, cool hand travels over your waist to the centre of your stomach. He presses his chest to your back. “I missed you.”

You twist your head and find his lips in the dark. “Did everything go alright?”

“Mmm.” Loki presses a kiss to the curve of your neck and your whole body tingles. “I came straight from the bifrost. I may be a little cold, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll warm you up.” You push your ass against his crotch.

“Don’t tempt me, Mortal.”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh as Loki’s cock hardens beneath the press of your flesh.

“I heard that,” he whispers, and drags himself through the gap of your ass cheeks. “But fortunately for you, retribution for your mischief will be merciful, tonight.”

You frown, and crane back. “You’re too tired?”

Unthinkable.

Only the faintest outline of Loki is visible: hair tied up in a knot, the angular lines of his face cutting though the darkness.

“A little.” But he thrusts gently against your ass all the same. “I wouldn’t be providing the worship you’re accustomed to���and that simply isn’t acceptable. It's almost dawn. Go back to sleep.”

You draw your lips over his, relishing the heat of his breath despite the chill of his skin and the metallic scorch of magic which clings to it.

“I just want to be near you.” You reach between your bodies and grip his cock, pumping the crown gently. Loki groans. “Please?”

Loki’s mouth latches to the curve of your neck and you fall back to the pillow. His cock rubs over the slip of your sex, the long column of flesh skating through your folds and rubbing over your clit. The pretty moans Loki adores flutter from your lips as he draws his manhood back, lingers, and then slides it inside you. You gasp his name as he stills.

“Clench…” he murmurs into your neck, and you do. A groan catches in his throat. It makes you squirm against him, but Loki holds you still. “You wanted to be near me. Is this not close enough?”

His hand cups your breast, and a thread of desire flares directly to your cunt as he brushes a fingertip over the nipple. “Clench,” he orders softly. The purr is waves scraping shells. “Good. Circle.”

“Loki…” you whimper, circling your hips tightly against the flat of his stomach.

Ordinarily he would be plunging himself into you like a symphony: calculated highs and lows which flow to the rhythm of your need. But there’s something impossibly erotic about his woozy breaths —about the god’s lazy sigh as you bring the crown of his perfect cock to the lip of your channel and dip it, before pushing back once more. His contentment is a chorus of praise, beautiful in its filth, and as his thighs tense, you slow—an attempt to edge him.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

Loki curls to your back and slips his hand between your legs. The skilful fingers tug at your clit—once, twice, and on the third, you explode. The force of your tense spills Loki over the edge, and heavy breaths filling the bedroom as the two of you tumble through climax.

You turn your head as the panting subsides, kissing the soft skin beneath his eye.

“I missed you,” you whisper, but as you try to slid his cock free from your body, he pulls you closer.

“Don’t let me go,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Never.”

His smile grows against your skin as the first chink of dawn spills through the crack in the curtains. He catches your lips with a final, tender thrust inside you, his body radiating the same warmth as the beat of the heart thumping between your shoulder-blades.

Come say hi! Tell me what you're up to!❤️

[pxpecxdy]

Mel!

I’m still stuck thinking about what you wrote about having a free use poly relationship with Robby and abbot! Obsessed!

How do you think something like that would come about? Like backstory/ lore? Were two of them together and a third joined later? Whose idea was free use? Etc?

Really feel free to share anything you feel like talking about!

Okay, byeeee 💕✨

OOOOO I love giving lore

I don't think Robby and Jack were necessarily together before. Just two bros being dudes, hanging out, jerking off together, getting dinner, watching some sports, you know typically guy shit.

I don't know how she ended up in the middle of their "friendship" but she did. It's just a threesome at first. Maybe they pick her up at a bar, she can't choose who she'd rather go home with and turns out they pretty much live together already. It was supposed to be a one night stand and then Robby's calling and asking her for a cup of coffee and she says yes only if Jack will be there too.

Things develop and now it's the three of them pretty much living in Robby's apartment. You are the one to first bring it up. You're all sitting around the living room while having a drink, your legs thrown across Jack's lap as Robby sits in the arm chair across from the couch with his legs spread wide. The conversation quickly shifts into turn ons. "I love cumming on a girls glasses" Robby says and you and Jack nod and hum in agreement.

"Heels are sexy, love it when you wear those red ones, you know the strapy ones" Jack adds on, his hand running up your calf.

"Jack I think you just like seeing 'em tied up!" Robby lets out a big laugh. His large hands slap against his denim covered thighs. You take a sip of your drink, something about the two of them made words just spill from your lips.

"you know what I think is hot?" The boys turn to look at you. "Free use. Letting you use me any time you want." You draw out the word any as you shift your foot on Jack's lap.

[yaoipologist]

i think it's a bit ridiculous how often i see people just blatantly wrong about grian in third life so i wanted to make a post saying my opinion:

it's so incredibly obvious to me that grian wants to be with scar. the initial deal - my life for your life - was made By Grian. it was offered and freely given. scar was wary talking to grian while the deal was being made because he thought grian was going to fucking kill him again. swearing fealty to him was not scar's idea, it was entirely grian's, made of his own free will.

immediately afterwards, grian does a full 180 and is very open about how much he dislikes being with scar and being tied to him. he tells everyone that scar is crazy, tries to disrupt his small plans that he disapproves of, even yells at him about what he wears ("put your clothes back on!"). it seems like it's a fight, like he disapproves of scar's every action and is being dragged along as an unwilling participant.

but grian doesn't leave. he doesn't go to other people for help leaving the situation, despite them offering. he warns people about scar knowing full well that scar knows what he's doing and is in full earshot (and laughs at scar's comments about it when they're alone). despite the deal allowing for his release, his loyalty to scar does not shake until the very end, no matter how much he complains.

and scar is not some cruel jailer. scar is absurdly nice and almost gentle with grian. "can we still be friends?" while handing him flowers, carrying him around on pizza's back, doing everything he can to make him laugh, always going along with his setups. scar never treats him like a vassal and instead treats him like a dear friend. it's clear that scar has genuine affection for grian, even as a red life. even if grian got in that situation unwillingly, scar doesn't use him like that.

if anything, there's an argument to be made that grian uses scar to get away with his own schemes. very often he not-so-subtly nudges scar to give him the go-ahead to kill. grian is very particular about rules and this season is no exception; he toes the line very carefully between what he's allowed to do and what he isn't, and crosses that line frequently for his own gain. he is the deadliest player that season by a mile, not in the least because scar lets him be.

but like i said, scar plays right along with it. he gladly becomes the partner in grian's explosive schemes and always backs him up, even when grian fails to always back HIM up. scar is more than willing to play the part of facilitator. he's not trapped either.

watching with all this in mind and the understanding that the characters aren't speaking exactly what they mean (because why would they? that's never been the case with fiction!), we understand that there is something more going on here. grian is not telling the truth when he says he does not like his partnership with scar, and looking at the way they actually act, it's pretty obvious he genuinely cares for and treasures him.

this is part of what makes video game roleplay so difficult to talk about - the medium allows unreliable narrators to lie directly to the audience's faces, where we tend to most believe them. subtleties in the storytelling can get lost if you take it all at face value and the real diamonds end up being seen as just shiny rocks.

i think it's very clear the swearing fealty thing was an excuse for grian to get close to scar. i don't doubt he actually felt bad about scar's first death, but i do doubt that it was the only motivation for teaming with him. if he was only there because he felt bad, he would not act the way he did. he wanted to be there, at least a little bit, from the very beginning.

(as always, this is an analysis of a piece of fiction that happened to be made in minecraft. none of this has any relevance to real world relationships. this is like dungeons and dragons to me and i will treat it as such)

[havenshereagain]

Last chance to vote, the poll closes in a few hours

Poll for a trans Tim week prompt i'm thinking of doing

(No polyamory options because the prompt works best with one partner, and also i've never written polyamory despite being a multishipper - if two or more people tie maybe i'll try it)

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter IV

Lingering Shadows

𖤓 Tags: sweet sweet angst 𖤓 Rating: General 𖤓 Word Count: 2.2k 𖤓 Notes: the angst begins babey!! I'm so excited about the next couple chapters. They may take a little bit because I intend to work on a few requests. If that interests you at all, or if you want to request something yourself, feel free to send me an ask! As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter. 𖤓 Previous Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

In the previous chapter, the city was attacked by Nikador's Titankin. The reader tried to escape the city with their father, and the orphan Serena, but were stopped by a large monster. In hopes of saving their companions, the reader attempted to distract the Titankin and were injured as a result. Just as they thought they were done for, Phainon and the Outlander (Stelle and Dan Heng) arrived and swiftly dealt with the attacker.

What were you thinking had become your father’s most said words over the course of the past couple hours. When he asked you for the first time upon catching up with the other citizens, you answered honestly: “I don’t know, I just had to protect you and Serena.” After the third time he uttered the phrase, you assumed it was more of an exclamation than an actual question. 

“What if you had been seriously injured?” He asked as he pressed a poultice of poppy to your freshly-stitched wound. “Or worse,” his voice cracked in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. 

His unfamiliar vulnerability made your heart ache. Your endless justifications died somewhere between your brain and your mouth when he took your hand. “Don’t you ever do that again. It’s my job to protect you.”

You squeezed his hand, not knowing what to say. His concerns were justified; even you questioned your actions. If Phainon hadn’t shown up, you’d be dead. That harsh truth weighed heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry father. I won’t do something like that again.” 

He stared at your intertwined hand for a long while, obviously contemplating what to say next. Your father had never been a man of many words, instead allowing his actions to define his character. It was why he was so respected in Okhema; a dedicated physician and apothecary who never let his patients down. 

“I love you, Father,” you decided to close the gap for him.

“I love you too. More than you could ever know.” He patted your hand before reaching for the bandages. “You need to keep this clean and dry for the time being. If you notice inflammation, tell me immediately.”

“I know how to treat a wound. I learned from the best.” 

Your father cleared his throat awkwardly as he began dressing your injury. “So… that Chrysos Heir?”

“Phainon?” There was no hiding your relationship any longer. Part of you was relieved to finally have everything out in the open; you were used to being honest with your father. The other part braced for his disapproval. 

“He seems to care for you a great deal.”

“He’s very kind.” 

“What I saw was more than kindness,” your father wound the bandage tightly around your arm. “He cares for you. Deeply.” 

You smile absentmindedly, “you think so?” 

“I know so. And you care for him just as much.” He sighed as he tied off the dressing, “I do worry about you getting involved with the Chrysos Heirs.” 

Your heart cracked in your chest slightly, “why? Phainon’s never endangered me.” 

Your father shook his head, clearly considering his words carefully. “I worry that he’s influenced you to endanger yourself. What you did today was reckless. You don’t need to be a hero, you just need to survive.” 

Thinking back on the situation, your father had a point. As you stood there, facing down an impossible enemy, all you could think of was making those you loved proud: saving the day, even if it cost you your life. On the other hand, the situation had been so devoid of hope, that doing noting would have probably resulted in your death anyway. Nikador’s Titankin were not known for their mercy, and the one you encountered certainly seemed unwilling to let you pass. Of course, you only survived because Phainon and the Outlanders showed up just in the nick of time. Your actions ultimately served no purpose other than getting you hurt. That stung more than any blade. 

“The Chrysos Heirs,” he continued, “are not like us. They’re born with a greater purpose, which they have the skills to pursue. Your Phainon seems capable of fulfilling his destiny, and that is what worries me.” 

“You don’t want him to succeed?” 

“Do you know of Lady Aglaea?” Of course you did, everyone knew Lady Aglaea. She had helped protect the city during the Titankin attack! She was Phainon’s mentor, and he had nothing but good things to say about her. “I do,” you responded warily. 

“There are rumours that the demigod has lost her humanity as a result of inheriting the Titan’s powers. Some say her ability to love no longer exists. If Phainon ascends just as she did, there’s no telling if he would even be capable of holding affection for you.” 

You had always worried about the differences in your blood. It was an anxiety that had started somewhere deep in your heart, and slowly spread its thorns throughout your veins. Your father's words not only made briers creep further through your body, but caused them to rot and fester. What made matters worse was that your fears were mostly unfounded. Phainon had been nothing but good to you, yet your doubts lingered. In a way, you felt unworthy of him; like there were others that could truly appreciate him without reservation. You wanted to, so badly that it ached within you constantly, but the possibility of being cast aside terrified you. 

Noticing your silence, your father placed a hand on your back, “have you spoken to him about these things?” 

“No,” you admitted sheepishly. “But I’ve wanted to.” 

“Then you should. If things are truly meant to be between the two of you, then it will all work out.”

“That’s a very romantic sentiment coming from you.” 

“Matters of the heart don’t come naturally to me,” he darted his eyes to the floor, almost shamefully. “But I know well that when something is right, you can overcome the obstacles.” 

“Was it like that with mother?” The two of you never discussed her. You knew she came from a high-class family, and that your father’s seat on the citizen’s assembly was inherited from her, but nothing more about who she was as a person. 

“Your mother and I came from different worlds. She was a member of high society, and I was nothing more than a herb picker. It wasn’t until I met her that I realized I could be more than what my birth dictated.” He smiled wistfully into the distance, an expression you had never seen on your father’s face. Sure, he smiled from time to time, but that look of unequivocal devotion had never once crossed his features. “Her father didn’t approve of me, even after I became an apprentice apothecary. But your mother was stubborn. She refused to let her family keep us apart. In some ways, I see myself in you. I know how it feels to be cast out because of your station, and I don’t ever want you to have to endure that.”

His reservations about Phainon suddenly made a lot more sense. “What did she think?”

“She told me that I was a fool for listening to her father. The opinions of others never meant much to her, so she never understood why that rejection hurt me so.” He suddenly knelt before you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Don’t you ever let those Chrysos Heirs tell you that you’re lesser.” You gently squeezed his hand, “why would they say such a thing?”

“There are rumours spreading amongst the Council of Elders, that Lady Aglaea has turned into an unfeeling tyrant that prioritizes this Flame Chase Journey over the rest of us.” Acting as both an apothecary and physician meant your father heard almost everything going on in Okhema. People trusted him, and as such they tended to let things slip. Usually he paid no mind to idle gossip, especially when it came to politics.

“You’ve always said the Council are a bunch of stuck-up elitists themselves. Why would you believe that?” 

“I don’t know if I believe it, I just want you to be careful. He clearly makes you happy, but Phainon may one day have no choice but to move on. His path in life is both a privilege, and a burden.”

A knocking sound pulled your attentions away from the conversation. Standing in the open doorway was Phainon, his hand still raised from rapping on the wood. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, I tried knocking on the store’s door, but you didn’t hear me.”

Your father snapped back into his professional demeanour, “is there something we can do for you?” 

“I came to speak to your child.” 

“I’ll give the two of you some space. It’s about time I got started on dinner. Will you be staying?” 

The invitation seemed to catch Phainon off guard. He stuttered slightly before giving his answer, “I need to head home after I’m done here.”

The older man nodded before leaving the room. You fiddled with the edge of the bandage awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. After your conversation with your father, there were about a million things you wanted to say, none of which you knew how to properly verbalize. You wondered just how much of your discussion he overheard. 

“You scared me,” Phainon broke the silence as he slipped into the chair next to you. He took your hand in his, tracing the outline of your knuckles with his thumb. 

You stared at your intertwined hands. “Thank you for saving me.”

Shivers were sent coursing through your body when he gently grabbed your chin, and titled your face upward so that you met his eyes. “You never have to thank me for that.” 

Seeing his face made something within you crumble. Tears stung your eyes as you threw yourself into his arms. He pulled you close, holding you like you were the most precious treasure in the world. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” He whispered against the top of your head.

“You don’t need to apologize.” You buried your face in his chest. 

“You’re hurt,” a deep sadness lingered in the cadence of his voice, like an out of tune instrument. 

This discordant melody lured you from the comfort of his body. You looked up to find him already staring down at you, sorrow staining his brilliant eyes. 

“I’ll be alright, Phainon. I’m more worried about you.”

He traced his thumb over your bottom lip, “why would you be worried about me?” “Your fight with Nikador. How did it go?”

His sigh was heavy, an omen of the bad news to come. “I thought we killed them, but it seems Nikador has divided their divinity.” 

“There are multiple Nikadors?” The image of the weapons laying at the Titankin’s feet flashed in your mind. If another attack were to be launched on the city in its weakened state, there was no telling the destruction that would be left behind.

“Don’t worry,” he grasped you tighter, “I’m headed to Castrum Kremnos with the Outlanders and Mydei tomorrow. We’ll finally put an end to Nikador’s madness.” 

Ending Nikador’s madness… after all the chaos the mad titan had wrought, it was about time they be put to rest. But another concern took priority in your mind: their Coreflame. Phainon had spoken of it before, how he would end Nikador’s reign of terror and claim their power for himself. Your father’s words replayed in your mind, if Phainon ascends, there’s no telling if he would even be capable of holding affection for you.

The rot flared in your veins as you struggled to be happy at the opportunity. What if he were killed in the attempt? What if he did succeed, and you became a footnote in the divine book of his life. That ugly, gnarled fear made your heart race in your chest. 

Killing Nikador, and rising triumphantly as Okhema’s new divine hero, was all that Phainon had ever wanted. He had never told you much about his past, but whenever he spoke of his mission, it seemed like a shadowy figure spurred him forward. That drive ignited something in him, something tempestuous and forlorn. There was more to his heroic desires than virtue, and you feared that the Coreflame of strife would only amplify the darkness within. How could a demigod born of Nikador feel anything but a desire for bloodshed? 

Of course, there was also the possibility of Nikador killing him, which was an even worse outcome. You wanted to believe that even if he inherited the Coreflame, Phainon’s good would still somehow shine through. How could it not? But death was a finality. You closed your eyes and saw the procession as clear as day; his lifeless body being paraded through the streets as the people placed flower around him, until he lay in a bed of flora. Okhema’s hope would be snuffed out alongside him, and the sun’s rays would no longer bring warmth and comfort. Instead, they would serve as a mournful reminder of the world’s last true hero.

The rot spread until it reached your tongue, forcing out selfish words. “Don’t go… please Phainon. I can’t lose you.”

You expected him to pull back in disgust. Instead, he held you closer. “I’ll be alright. It’s just like I always say: I’ll come back to you.” 

If you do come back, will you still care for me? “Do you promise?” Now wasn’t the time. He didn’t need another weight added to his overburdened shoulders. You resigned yourself to the pulsating miasma within. If he returned and ascended, then you would tell him your fears, and accept your place, whatever it may be. If he died, you would harden your heart, and mourn bitterly for the rest of your days. Better to keep the ugly inside than infest him too. 

“I promise, nothing will keep me from returning to you.” 

You let him hold you close until circumstance ripped you apart, as it always did. 

[kira-okamoto]

𝕄𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤 | Jake Sim x fem! reader

➳ Warning!: public sexual tension, explicit sexual content, fem! reader, Jake x fem! reader, Jay (side character), mutual teasing, footplay under the table, public teasing, orgasm denial, bondage (wrists tied), dominance/submission dynamics, begging, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, pet names (princess, little slut), mild humiliation, group dynamics, mention of third party unaware of sexual activity, consensual power play. Words: 1.5 k

➳ Pairing!: Jake Sim x fem! reader

N/A: Here goes my fourth Enhypen one shot! I really hope you all are enjoying them ^^ Ayyy Jakey, my man <3 Honestly, it took me a bit longer to update because I’m swamped with exams… Anyway, I hope I can keep posting more soon ^^

》｡･♡ﾟ• ｡♡ﾟ･｡ More under the cut

You had gone out shopping with Jay and your boyfriend. Not because sweet Jay was playing third wheel or anything like that, but simply because the three of you shared a mutual friend and had decided to go out that day to buy him a birthday present—Sunoo’s birthday was just around the corner.

So here you are now. Standing in front of a shop window, arguing about what kind of things Sunoo might like.

“Definitely something cute. A big, adorable plushie, just like him,” argues Jake, your beloved boyfriend, glancing at your friend Jay, who just purses his lips.

You don’t say anything and let them argue.

Suddenly, you tune out of the conversation and out of any thoughts about Sunoo, who had been your friend for many years.

However, now you can only think about Jake. About Jake and how good he looks in that casual plaid lumberjack shirt that looks so good on him. About Jake and the way he’s rolled up his sleeves to show off his muscular, slightly veiny forearms—perfect for maybe biting a little. About Jake and the way his fingers are playing with the fold of his shirt that covers a bit of his thighs, since he’s nervous while trying to win the argument against Jay.

You try to snap out of it when both boys look at you now, seeking your opinion. But you just mumble and pull your mind away from the sinful thoughts you’ve been lost in.

But your panties are already soaked, and you do your best to avoid rubbing your thighs together in front of the boys, in public.

“I… I agree with Jay,” you mumble after a few moments, not really sure what he had picked. But you trust your friend’s good taste.

Jay smiles victoriously and your boyfriend gives you a sad look because he thought you’d support him. You just shrug and look away.

You all go into the store and buy all the gifts Jay suggested, and you just bite your lip every time Jake moves in a way that makes the muscles in his back stand out more. Or when he turns to look at you with those bright, loving eyes.

You shouldn’t be horny in public. You shouldn’t, but you are. And you’re so embarrassed about it.

Finally, with a few bags hanging from your arms because you offered to carry them—not fair that the guys always treat you like a princess, you want to show them you can spoil them too—you head to a cute café to grab something before heading home.

You have something planned.

Jake sits first in some comfy armchairs tucked away in a corner of the place. Then you sit across from him. Normally, with a friend, you’d sit next to your boyfriend, but… You use the bags as an excuse so Jay just raises his eyebrows and sits next to your boyfriend without saying anything.

You settle into your seats and order some drinks, which are served to you right away. You grab your cold milkshake and start sipping innocently through the straw. Well, “innocently.”

Under the table, you discreetly slip off one of your flats and slide your foot toward your boyfriend’s legs. At first, he takes it as a joke and smiles and laughs before shaking his head and going back to chatting about unimportant things while sipping his green grape soda.

But you move your leg higher up his calf until you reach his knee. Jake shoots you a warning look that Jay doesn’t see, since he’s busy checking the gifts for Sunoo.

He quickly looks away, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. But he’s a good actor, because when your friend focuses on him again, Jake hides the situation perfectly.

Silently, acting as if nothing strange is happening under the table, you move your leg a little higher. Jake gets the message and, pressing his thick lips together—the ones you’ll make sure to kiss later—spreads his legs a bit more and scoots closer to the table edge like nothing’s happening, so your friend doesn’t accidentally glance over and see something he shouldn’t.

Jay suspects nothing. He just drinks and talks and relaxes in the armchair. Completely unaware of your wicked actions. Poor thing, maybe you should treat him to that coffee he’s drinking right now.

You press your toes lightly against your boyfriend’s groin and Jake chokes on his drink.

“Hey Jake, you okay?” Jay raises his eyebrows, looking concerned.

Jake just clears his throat and gives you a harder look. Then he turns to Jay and makes up a convincing excuse. You don’t worry about him, you just flash a mischievous smile.

You move your foot a bit more, finding the growing bulge in his pants. You apply just a little pressure, but you see your poor boyfriend tense up and clear his throat.

That’s enough.

You pull your foot away, but Jake puts a hand under the table and tries to catch you before you do. But you’re faster, and with a few giggles, you slip your flat back on and settle into your cushioned seat.

Jay raises his eyebrows and looks at you both.

“Is there something going on I should know about?” he mutters, but quickly changes his mind. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

You’re definitely buying him that coffee.

Meanwhile, Jake gives you a look full of fire. You decide you don’t want to decipher it right now.

When you’ve finished your drinks and get up, you have a little dispute with Jay because you want to treat him. Although he refuses, you’re stubborn and end up winning, so you pay for his coffee.

When you go to pay, Jake follows you and you leave Jay alone with the gift bags for a moment.

Your boyfriend comes up to you and discreetly grabs your thigh. He presses a little closer to your body, his breath brushing your ear.

“I���m not letting you sleep tonight, huh, pretty?” he whispers, and his voice is two tones deeper. You shiver. “Someone hasn’t behaved very well in public…”

And, as promised, that night he has you tied to the bedpost.

Your wrists are bound together with his tie. Your thighs on either side of his shoulders, and Jake just alternates between the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your groin, your swollen, desperate clit, and your navel.

You’ve been teetering on the edge of orgasm for thirty minutes, but every time you feel like you’re about to fall and drown in the best pleasure of your life, Jake grabs you and keeps you from going over.

He smiles at you wickedly.

“Where’s the bad girl you were this afternoon?” he asks in a syrupy voice, stroking you with false sweetness.

You moan and squirm and whimper. Jake can be very versatile in bed, but when he gets this dominant, he just drives you crazy.

You bite your lips when you see your boyfriend’s tongue lick the soaked slit of your little pussy. He looks you right in the eyes, mischief dancing in his gaze. He bites your clit lightly, just enough to make you hold your breath, but not to hurt you.

And you whimper again when he moves his teeth away from your center and drags them languidly against your thigh, now red from the abuse he’s put it through.

“Where is she, huh?” he asks again, closing his eyes as he sucks on the inner skin of your thigh with his plump lips. “My little slut, so brave outside the bed… Tsk tsk, that behavior needs to be tamed.”

You get so turned on by his words that you arch your back again. His tongue has left your legs and is now trailing up your navel, licking the sweat from your body, burning from his touch.

“Please, Jakeee,” you’re forced to beg. You’re desperate. Desperate to feel something more than just the superficial touch of his tongue that’s driving you crazy.

The pleasure ride he’s putting you through is turning into a rollercoaster of ups and downs of pent-up pleasure. You moan his name.

“Please what? Hmm?”

“Please, fuck me, fuck me. I’m sorry, I won’t act like that in public again, but please…” you’re practically crying as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling like a beggar for pleasure.

You feel him laugh against your skin and he straightens up.

“Who said I don’t like you being that daring in public…? My little rebellious princess.”

He stands up and you look into his eyes, where you can see he’s finally given in to your pleas. He wraps you in his arms for a moment before kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck where he leaves some bites.

“All right, princess. Spread those pretty legs for me, hmm?"

[dog-bimbo]

explicit content, unprotected sex, power imbalance, casinos, gambling, transactional sex, drunk sex. eighteen and above only. minors do not interact. part one two

you didn’t think shiu was serious.

“are you free at 7?"

that was all the text said.

he usually tells you about the client, what he likes on a woman. sometimes, he sends over the clothes he wants you to wear.

as you were thinking, he sends a follow up.

"just us. is that okay?"

your heart skips a beat.

you cannot believe it. you send a quick "yes" and rush to get ready like it's prom.

you pick the dress he likes. not too flashy. it's a silky baby pink slip, the one that clings around your body, it also catches light when you walk.

you slip on your white pumps—elegant, narrow, something to make your legs look longer when you cross them.

tiny gold earrings, dainty necklace and bracelets. nothing clunky. you wear your hair down because he hates it tied. “ponytails are for little girls," he told you once, laughing at his own joke as you let it loose with a pout.

you’re still not sure you can call it a date or not. if it was a "motel" thing, he might as well carry you naked there.

his shirt is rolled at the sleeves, the green tie is loose around his collar and his brown suit jacket is discarded in the back seat. he doesn’t say much when you slide into the passenger seat, just glances once at your legs and smirks, “cute.”

you’re not going to a dinner meeting and that's confirmed.

you end up at a casino tucked downtown, not the flashy tourist kind. this one’s sleek and quiet. he flashes a member card at the door and they let you both in without a word.

your heels click against the floor as you follow him around the building. there were flashy neon games, men in suits huddling at poker tables, women draping themselves in designer dresses, smoking something rich.

you’re nervous.

you don’t belong here.

you don't belong anywhere he takes you.

he finds a quieter spot—the blackjack table.

he pulls a seat out for you and taps the one beside it. “watch first,” he mutters, loosening his cuffs. “then i’ll let you play.” you nod, legs crossed, trying not to fidget. the cards flick across the table fast, the dealer sharp-eyed and silent. he plays smooth. never overbets, never looks too eager. “count everything,” he says under his breath. “not just yours, know the table before you even touch it.”

after a few rounds, he hands you a chip. slides it over. “go on. show me what you got.” you smile bashfully, you're excited.

your gestures are clumsy. you hit when you shouldn’t have. he snorts when you lose. “you're lucky you're a pretty girl." you pout, but it only makes him grin.

next round, he joins in. leans close to whisper what you should do. you win, he doesn't. he doesn't mind it though. you play a few more rounds—he keeps the stakes low.

he doesn’t care about the money tonight. he just watches you light up when you get it right, watches you fumble and pout and fake confidence.

he watches your hands, your laugh, your lips. at one point, he plays against you.

he makes a big deal of it too—leans back and cracks his neck like it’s serious. you giggle and call him dramatic.

“don’t mock me,” he murmurs, tossing in a chip. “your rent depends on me.” but he's light-hearted with it. "can't win shit when i'm distracted. y'know?" his eyes trail down your body, landing on your tits. it makes you blush.

later, he gets a private booth. he orders a bourbon and you get something sweeter.

“you know, this one time…” it’s his third story tonight. you didn’t peg him for the chatty type—not unless there’s cash on the table. but here he is, sipping his drink and being loose lipped. ��i used to go out with this girl. i was in my twenties—” “what about her?” you cut in, side-eyeing him with a knowing little smile. he pauses, smirks. “she was in her twenties too, doll. i wasn’t always this creepy.” he scoffed. "i was stupid about her,” he says, swirling his glass. “i used to do some real romantic shit. carrying photos, matching clothes, all that.” you blink, a little stunned. “what happened then?” he grins into his drink. “i got smarter.”

you don't think you've ever heard him laugh this loud. maybe it's because he doesn't have a client breathing down his throat. he even holds you closer as more and more alcohol enters his system.

"fuck, i think i'm gonna have to get us a driver. speaking of which, i gotta teach you how to drive a car, doll. remind me." you're actually head over heels for this man.

“didn’t think you'd actually take me out..." you say, your voice meek. "i'm a bit under the weather. couldn't drink alone tonight." he confessed. "then i remembered, i have a sugar baby." he snorts. you like him like this, tipsy and practically all over you—like an actual sugar daddy should be.

he's still got it going though. he lets you sit on his lap at the slot machine. he lets your hand guide his when he pulls the lever. he reeks of alcohol more than cigarettes. he doesn’t let you pay for a thing, of course.

“your job is to look good and bring me luck,” he says with a wink, handing you a stack of chips. “you’re doing both.”

you rest your back against his chest while the lights flash. the guy who doesn't even kiss you during sex presses his lips against your temple.

and then, he murmurs something in your ear with that low, deep, raspy voice of his, "there's a hotel upstairs... you wanna crash?"

and this makes you short-circuit. the second he closes the door behind him, he's got your back pressed against his chest.

he's never too personal with how he fucks, just mean. he doesn't even kiss you all too much. but tonight, it's different, it's more intimate—it's warm.

his warm hands are running up and down your body, cupping your tits, rolling your nipples with his knuckles, it's not too harsh. you could feel his warm breath fanning your face, his warm lips brushing against yours, warm tongue swirling inside your mouth... you're going crazy.

you don't believe what you're seeing right in front of you. his face is flushed red—partly because of the alcohol but you know he's not the shiu you know. "wanna be a good little baby and get on your hands and knees for me?" he smiles at you, it's not even a smirk. doesn't really carry that edge.

"y-yes sir..." he chuckles again "god, i love it when you call me that." you sink into the mattress foam—your face pushed softly against the pillows, your back arched.

he leans down against your back, his chin rested on your shoulder and his mouth against your ear. “i had been thinking about bending you over that slot machine...”

you're practically pressed down by his body weight, it's surprisingly not as uncomfortable, just hot.

he grabs your little dress by the hem and helps you out of it along with your panties. you expected the sound of his belt unbuckling and the unzipping of his pants. but then, you hear some extra rustling, is he taking everything off???

he's never gotten fully naked while fucking, neither have you on most days. now, you feel his skin against yours, chest hair and that happy trail brushing against your bare ass...

you wanna turn around but—you feel it. his cock pressing at your entrance, "alrighty then..." he drawls.

he doesn’t ram into you like he usually does, doesn't make you do the work either. not tonight. he pushes in gradually, inch by inch, one hand holding your hip steady, the other fisting your hair. you let out a ragged moan as he fills you full. he groans, he's done controlling himself. you press your face into the pillow, overwhelmed—by the heat, by the way he’s treating you like you’re something precious.

tears roll down your eyes, you've never felt this full. he slides in again and doesn't pull back until his tip kisses your cervix. the pace is just right... it's like your pussy was made for him. you feel his hand trail back up to your hip, fingers running along your side in this soothing motion. “want me to go faster? or slower maybe?” he murmurs.

you moan, your words slurring as you're nearing your orgasm. “'s jus' right... mmph..." he pulls your head back by your hair and kisses you desperate and messy. "'m close daddy, so fuckin' close..." you moan into his mouth. "do it, soak my cock baby..." and it hits.

it's slow, it doesn't flash away. it's something you feel deep in you. you violently clench around his cock before you fall face first into the pillows again. you've gone fully numb now, but he's still thrusting till he reaches his own orgasm. and when he does, you can feel his hot, sticky load filling up your sweet cunt. he doesn’t say anything after.

he just lies there, chest against your back, breathing hard, sweat mingling between your bodies. after a while, he pulls out slowly and collapses beside you. you roll over, half dazed, and he pulls you against him. he lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag as you both recover from that high while laying down next to each other.

is this what "making love" is? just pure skin-to-skin action?

you wanna say so many things but your eyelids get heavier and you ultimately end up sleeping.

you're woken up by the sunlight seeping through the windows and hitting your face just a bit.

you feel empty now.

he's not next to you.

as expected.

you unlock your phone and find out that he has left you messages.

get breakfast and sleep in.

you looked tired.

driver's on the way at noon.

also, this is just a one time thing.

and just under that, a bank alert flashes across your screen. an obscene deposit. the kind of amount that makes your stomach turn—not because it’s too little. because it’s too much, just as much as your tuitions.

you dial for room service and fall back on the bed again, thinking about what a fun night you had.

[i-dare-say]

I have a theory about Airplane's original outline, the one he lost which was supposed to be mature and deal with more complicated themes than what PIDW actually became. Some posts on here made me curious about what other people would think of it.

What if Shen Yuan didn't transmigrate into a copy of PIDW, but the actual original outline?

We know Airplane lost the file when his computer randomly died and that he had plans for Tianlang-jun to be the final boss and for Shen Jiu to be a direct parallel to Luo Binghe.

We're not told when he lost the file.

What part of PIDW was he writing at that moment? Was it when Luo Binghe was 14? But he lost the file, discarded the original outline and went for the stallion novel.

While a new universe was born, as Airplane decided to satisfy his readers more than follow his own ideas, the original universe was left unfinished, lost without an ending.

The system has worked in other universes before, so it knows how to deal with this. It takes a soul from another world to finish the story and bring it to its original ending instead of the one in PIDW.

Who better than the author? Airplane, who had to discard his art to make money for a living. He'd be the perfect one for the job.

But, as we know, Airplane doesn't actually change much. The role of Shang Qinghua proves to be too removed from Luo Binghe, and he's not given enough incentive or instructions to do it.

The system learns from this first mistake: next it takes someone who hates the ending of the PIDW universe, and puts them right where the original outline stops, in a role deeply tied to Luo Binghe, giving them clear objectives and punishments if they don't follow the instructions.

It works.

Shen Yuan is dropped into the original outline and actually manages to deliver on all its promises. That's why Shen Jiu's past is revealed, why we get to know the truth of Tianlang-jun's relationship with Su Xiyan and all that the Palace Master did, all plot points that never existed in PIDW.

(Why the characters are much smarter, why the female characters have a personality other than being their archetypes)

You could argue that they do exist in PIDW, hidden under all the monster fighting and maiden fucking. But PIDW is a stallion novel, with tropes and a narrative that follow a certain structure. I can't imagine the events of svsss ever happening in a story like that.

The original outline though? Yeah, 100%. It already had the potential of being complicated, with all those secrets and mysteries, so it's not that hard for it to add the relationship that is born between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu to the mix.

And, this is the reason why we only got to meet Bingge but not his original outline counterpart.

Let's be honest: if a third universe existed other than svsss and PIDW, with a lonely Luo Binghe that never finds love, you bet your ass he would eventually find his way to svsss like Bingge did. But it never happened.

Because Bingmei is him.

[gojosprisonrealm]

a stsg playlist for you!

hi everyone! my brain is constantly full of stsg brainrot, and likewise, i hear lyrics and immediately have it stained in my mind as a stsg quote. so, here are some song recs/ songs that are just canonically stsg for you along with my highlighted lines from the song that made me align it with them! just bc i’m so brainrotted! -xo, lizzy

ps, i see them and i immediately need a cigarette and divorced dad rock.

thick skull- paramore

“hit over the head (epiphany)/

over my head (repeatedly)/

thick skull never did (nothing for me)/

same lesson again (come on, give it to me)”

the chorus of this song makes me envision satoru falling victim to the prison realm upon seeing kenjaku in suguru’s body. he’s been torn apart by suguru and let him go unscathed, and he never truly learned from that, seeing as though leaving suguru’s body after death is what caused his downfall.

weird fishes/arpeggi- radiohead

“i’d be crazy not to follow/

follow where you lead/

your eyes/

they turn me/

turn me into phantoms/

i follow to the edge/

of the earth/

and fall off”

if i could just use all the lyrics to this song, i would. satoru’s six eyes are a focal point of their arc throughout the manga, seeing as geto explains in the HI/PD arc that if he had gojo’s eyes, he could fulfill his goals. and of course, gojo’s six eyes come back to bite him later when they recognize suguru in the shibuya arc.

from me, the moon- lav

“tell me if the years are all gone/

is the moon still in love with the sun?/

do you still keep count of my sins?”

i fear this one is a slap in the face. they spend so much time together only for suguru to throw them to the side so quickly. i envision this one from satoru’s pov, asking if his other half still wants him. it could also be suguru, too, in that third line, asking if he’s done too much to ever regain satoru in his life.

i guess- mitski

“i guess, i guess, i guess this is the end/

i’ll have to learn to be somebody else/

it’s been you and me since before i was me/

without you, i don’t yet know quite how to live”

they had an identity together as the strongest. they reference that often in the HI/PD arc. i think that’s why suguru’s line in their KFC breakup (yk the one, are you sg bc you’re the strongest, vice versa) hits so hard. gojo had always thought of them as the strongest together while suguru had always seen satoru as an entity so far out of his reach. gojo had to relearn who he was without the man who made him so strong.

past life- tame impala

“well, somewhere between a lover and a friend/

it was different back then/

surreal, poetic but uncertain/

like a chick flick with a confusing end”

yall had to see this one coming. it’s SO THEM. satoru sees suguru in everything, and im sure he sees themselves in yuji and megumi. also, the reference to things being different back then ties together beautifully with the manga’s timeline of introducing their relationship in a flashback. i’d also like to touch on that last line. the confusing end can mean so many things, but i mainly pull from it a reference to their complicated timeline of betrayal, death, resurrection, imprisonment, etc. however, it could also be related to their relationship status when they parted ways at KFC and when suguru died. did that love still exist? we’ll never know, especially bc we can’t be 100% sure what suguru’s last words were.

i’m not a mountain- sarah kinsley

“i swear im unattached/

living in the past, but/

i can’t get off my feet/

you say we’ll all go mad/

but i don’t believe that/

so you’ll prove it to me”

first two lines remind me of the HI/PD arc in its entirety being satoru’s memory in a dream. the last three are reminiscent of suguru’s slipping mental health and his ability to commit what satoru had believed to be impossible (aka, mass murder and leaving him).

i’d hate me too- susannah joffe

“when we last spoke i was a dog with a broken leg/

i couldn’t run to you so i’d bite till you’d shoot me dead/

…

i wanted you to hate me so you’d know i was still there”

i have nothing to say here. just pain.

what are we gonna do now- indigo de souza

“i know you’re worn, you’re exhausted/

this is love/

this is lost on you/

i’m holding my night in your hands”

gojo NOTICED that geto was depressed and detached before the breakup even happened but he tried to see past it because he didn’t want things to CHANGE. i can’t they’re so tragic. he knew he was exhausted but he wanted their love to last and he entrusted his happiness to geto. fuck, man.

duvet- bôa

“and you don’t seem the lying kind/

a shame that i can read your mind”

satoru very clearly did not want to believe that suguru had committed the atrocities he did, but he could believe it because he had noticed how off he was. he read him like a book. this could also signify gojo’s disbelief in seeing suguru’s walking body after having killed him. he’d know his soulmate anywhere.

i saw you in a dream- the japanese house

“i saw you in a dream/

you had stayed the same/

you were beckoning me/

said that i had changed”

this one is definitely from suguru’s pov. we all know the breakup tore up satoru, but it had to destroy suguru, too. his drastic change has to haunt him at night right alongside the thought of gojo.

the comfort of a laugh track- roar

“will i live in shame of/

the things in the past that i should have done for you?/

and is it possible to/

forgive all the ignorant ones if they’re just too young?”

satoru wishes he could have done more to help suguru in his poor wellbeing. maybe then he wouldn’t have left. satoru also forgives his students for their ignorant optimism in spite of knowing what’s to come for them if they’re anything like himself. this entire song is stsg coded; i highly recommend.

—

ANYWAYS, sorry for the yap sesh. i love stsg with my whole heart, as tragic as they are. enjoy the last few days of pride month, folks.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Anniversary gift

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Suggestiveeeee, lots of fluff and simp men, 🧶 anon i used all your ideas :p let’s hope i did it justice, let’s not question who took the photos for reader lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You give them a book of very spicy photos for your anniversary

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He’s seated cross-legged in the sun-drenched studio of your estate, purple hair tousled, shirt entirely unbuttoned. Blue-pink eyes are completely locked on the glossy little album you gave him.

He was quiet for a while.

Too quiet.

Then he flipped the page and let out a sound that could only be described as an emotionally-compromised whimper.

“Pearlie… what are you trying to do to me…”

Another page flip.

“You’re actually unreal, baby. This isn’t fair. I’m gonna have to fight a god for this level of beauty. I’ll duel the moon. I’ll—”

He presses the album flat on his chest and throws himself backward on the floor, groaning, curling around it like it’s sacred.

The first photo, you, in a cherry-red bikini, towel wrapped low on your hips, the string of your top cheekily untied and draped over one shoulder, hair tousled from ocean spray. There’s glittering salt on your collarbone. The light hits your skin so perfectly it looks airbrushed.

“This is art. You are art.”

“You knew what you were doing… you minx.”

The second photo, you in your bridal veil, no clothes but a sheer white cloth draped carefully around your chest and thighs, pearls in your hair, eyes all soft and sleepy. There’s a vintage hand mirror in your hand. It was his.

He gets emotional.

“My wife. My muse. My everything. You expect me to function after seeing this?”

The third photo, the tasteful nude. Just your bare back, wrapped in white fabric from the waist down, lounging against the satin sheets he brought back from the North Territory. Your hair’s loose. There’s a fresh bouquet behind you.

“You have one hour to explain why I can’t paint this right now.”

“Actually, No, I’m starting now. I need my brushes. Baby, I’ll cry if you don’t let me immortalize this.”

Rafayel becomes insatiable. He needs a new photo every week. No, every four days.

He makes a whole cabinet drawer in his art room just for them, lovingly labeled “The Pearlie Archive.”

He carries his favourite polaroid in his coat pocket.

If he has to go to a meeting, and someone annoys him too much? He’ll look it mid-conversation just to soothe himself.

Eventually, he even makes a rotating sculpture series based on the photos, each titled something stupid like “Wife in Moonlight No.3 (She Looked At Me After This One and I Died).”

And of course, every time you hand him a new photo with that bashful little smile?

He groans, presses his face into your neck, and says—

“You’re evil. A beautiful, perfect little devil, pearlie.”

“I’m gonna spend the next 17 hours painting your elbow.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The two of you return to your estate after a private anniversary dinner at Linkon’s most exclusive restaurant. He’s been looking at you all evening like you’re the only woman on earth, because to Zayne, you are.

You’re dressed in something elegant and white, your hair done exactly how he loves it, diamond earrings glinting when you lean in to murmur sweet things during dessert. He kissed your hand at the table. He fed you the last bite of your souffle. He looked genuinely weak when you smiled.

Now, back home, you lead him by the hand into the cozy sitting room, your heels already kicked off, makeup still perfect, and you sit him down on the plush velvet armchair. You pull out a small, gift-wrapped item from behind the bar cart. It’s square, not too thick, tied in a delicate ribbon.

He eyes it suspiciously, lips quirking slightly.

“Another gift, sweetheart?” he murmurs, hazel-green eyes sparkling. “Wasn’t dinner and your company more than enough?”

You smile innocently, cheeks warm.

“This one’s just for you. A private gift. Promise you won’t open it until I say so?”

He raises a brow. He’s intrigued.

“You’re starting to worry me, snowflake.”

Still, he obliges, sitting obediently with the album in his lap while you go behind him, slipping your arms over his shoulders.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Now.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens the first page.

And stops breathing.

⸻

First photo, you in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly pastel apron over one of his old dress shirts… buttoned only halfway. The hem flutters just below your thighs, leaving your legs completely bare. Your hands are flour-dusted, cheeks pink, and there’s whipped cream on your nose.

You’re bending slightly over the counter, sliding a tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven with the most mischievous smile.

“Sweetheart… what… what is this…”

He flips the page.

Second photo, you licking icing off your finger, eyes wide and innocent, the bow of the apron tied low on your back, the skirt very short. Zayne’s name is scrawled in icing of the cake on the countertop beside you, surrounded by pink sugar hearts.

Third photo, you, from behind, balancing on your tiptoes to reach for a spice jar. The dress has ridden up. There’s no mistaking what’s not underneath. The caption under it reads in your handwriting:

“oops. no panties today, chef~”

He’s silent.

Dead silent.

His jaw’s locked. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, ears turning red.

You lean close to whisper innocently, “Do you like it?”

And Zayne, your brilliant, stoic, always composed husband, finally breathes out—

“I’m going to have a stroke.”

⸻

The album now lives in his locked desk drawer, where no one else will ever find it. Not even if the house were on fire.

But more importantly, you find yourself pinned between the kitchen counter and your blushing husband not even twenty minutes later, his tie long gone, your apron hanging off your shoulders,

“Was this all a plan, darling?”

“Did you intend to drive me mad tonight?”

He kisses you breathless, his hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding beneath the fabric with reverent slowness.

“Next year,” he murmurs, voice low and hot, “I want one in a nurse uniform. And the year after that? Surprise me.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The evening had been perfect in that quiet, Xavier-esque way.

A soft dinner at home, lights dim, stars glittering through the penthouse windows. The table set with care, he’d even lit candles, though he tried to pretend he hadn’t planned that far ahead.

You’d cooked, and he sat beside you the whole time, sipping wine, brushing his fingers against yours between each course, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the words.

He never needed them anyway.

Not with how he looked at you.

“You’re… beautiful, starlight,” he murmured as you curled into his lap on the sofa after dinner, blanket half-draped over your legs. “You always are. But tonight… I’m starting to believe you really were made to haunt me.”

You giggled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and handed him a small, ribboned album from behind the couch cushion.

“Happy anniversary, Xavier. I wanted to give you something personal.”

He blinked, confused.

Took it delicately, like it was a sacred relic.

“A… book?”

“…Wait.”

He unties the ribbon. Opens to the first page.

And that’s when the nosebleed hits.

⸻

First photo, you in a sheer, pale lilac negligee that hugs your body like mist. Your thighs peek through delicate lace. The neckline drips low enough to give a suggestion of cleavage, hidden by a loosely tied robe. You’re sitting in his reading chair. One hand rests lightly on your collarbone. Your expression is soft. Sleepy. Dangerous.

Blood hits the page.

“X-Xavier?!”

“You’re bleeding!”

He slaps a hand over his nose, face completely red, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“Starlight what did you do.”

“You can’t—you can’t just give me this!”

⸻

Second photo, the robe is slipping off your shoulder now, revealing more of your bare skin, your stocking-clad thighs folded neatly beneath you as you recline on your side like a classic painting. The caption is handwritten:

“I imagined you’d like this one. I was thinking of you when I posed.”

Xavier collapses backward. Still holding the album upright like it’s the last thing tethering him to earth. He’s trying not to breathe too hard. His nose is still bleeding, too frozen to take the tissues you’re offering him.

“I’ve made contact with divinity,” he murmurs dramatically. “It’s her. She’s real. She’s my wife.”

⸻

Third photo, you, standing in front of the penthouse bedroom mirror. The robe is untied. Your back is to the camera, head turned over your shoulder. The light catches on your shoulder blades, your soft hips, the top of your thigh-highs.

Underneath it is another note:

“You can come find me now, if you want. The robe’s still on the floor.”

He gets up. So fast you hear the whoosh of air.

Absolutely frantic.

“Where is it. Where is the robe.”

You laugh, backing toward the bedroom.

He follows like a man possessed.

⸻

Later, after he’s finally calmed down and your poor bedsheets are a casualty of the nosebleed and the aftermath, he insists on making a velvet-lined case for the album.

He keeps it in a drawer near the bed.

Takes it out every few days just to sigh over it.

“You didn’t have to go so far,” he murmurs, tracing the page edges. “You could’ve given me a photo of you in sweatpants and I’d still cry.”

Then his voice drops to a whisper.

“But I am going to need another shoot… same robe… maybe no robe… just a suggestion.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d just come home from a week-long seaside villa getaway where Sylus spared no expense, private chef, marble infinity pool, silk robes delivered every morning, a whole fleet of bodyguards paid to “look the other way” when his hands wandered too far under dinner tables.

He was glowing with pride the entire trip.

“I’m a dangerous man, kitty,” he’d murmur as you swam up to him in the ocean, sunglasses perched on his silver hair. “But I’d give it all up to keep you soft like this. Tucked away. Spoiled rotten. Never needing to lift a finger except to choose which bikini to wear.”

He returned home relaxed, sun-warm, glowing from power and pleasure.

That is, until you handed him the velvet envelope.

“A little souvenir,” you said coyly, settling into the penthouse lounge with a yawn. “From me to you.”

He opened the album.

He paused.

Then he tilted his head.

Slowly. Like a predator smelling blood.

“…Kitten.”

⸻

First photo, you reclined across red silk sheets, wearing a see-through black chiffon robe that slips completely off your shoulders, revealing glitter-dusted thighs, sultry makeup, and the barrel of one of his gold-plated pistols perched lazily on your hip. A diamond necklace is looped between your teeth like candy.

Your eyes are half-lidded. The wedding band sparkles under the camera flash.

“Is that my pistol?” he murmurs, voice strangled.

“Did you take that from the vault?”

Second photo, you’re in the passenger seat of one of his vintage sports cars, door open, one leg outside, the other tucked provocatively on the leather seat. Your silk stockings are barely rolled up. The seatbelt’s undone. The caption below reads:

“ready for a ride, baby?”

He flips the page and laughs.

A dangerous, breathless kind of laugh.

The kind that says you’re not getting out of bed for three days.

“This is evil.”

Third photo, you, laying sideways across the hood of the car, fully naked except for stilettos and a diamond anklet, one of his revolvers laid carefully across your bare stomach.

⸻

He flips back. Again.

And again.

Then he gets up. Walks directly to the foyer. Takes his wallet from the marble console.

Silently, carefully, slides his favorite photo, the red silk sheet one, into the inside flap.

“You are truly born to torture me.”

⸻

You spot him flipping through the album again later, standing shirtless by the balcony with a cigar in his mouth, laughing under his breath.

“I knew you were perfect, kitten,” he drawls. “But this, this is perversely delightful.”

He tosses the cigar into the ashtray. Stalks over to you, scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

“Give me another shoot. In my office next time. I want a shot of you splayed across the desk.”

He grins.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You had a second honeymoon at the tropical resort, It was perfect.

Private beach. Ocean-view suite. Room service for every meal because you “didn’t feel like leaving bed” and Caleb had no problem with that. He spent most of the week either kissing saltwater off your shoulders or carrying you around like his pretty little prize.

“You really gonna let me have you all to myself like this again, pips?”

“No comms. No Fleet. Just my pretty wife lookin’ like paradise.”

Now, back home, sun-kissed and still a little sand-dusted, you hand him a neatly wrapped album as you’re snuggled on the couch, legs over his lap, wearing his oversized academy flight jacket.

He’s already smiling like a golden retriever with a brand new bone.

But the moment he opens the album?

Full body combustion. (He didn’t blow up again, don’t worry)

⸻

First photo, you, provocatively leaning over his fighter jet, hips arched, wearing a custom, skimpy version of his old pilot jumpsuit. The front is unzipped nearly all the way down, teasing a scandalous glimpse of your favorite lacy bra underneath, his favorite color. His name tag is pinned to your chest.

You’re wearing his flight jacket over your shoulders.

Hair tousled. Lipstick smudged.

The note underneath says:

“Reporting for duty, Colonel.”

“BABY.”

He literally shouts. Slaps the photo against his chest. “How will i ever step foot into that jet again without thinking of you?!”

Second photo, you inside the cockpit, half-in, half-out, glancing over your shoulder, lips parted, legs bent, the jumpsuit riding way too high. Helmet beside you, glove between your teeth.

He clutches his chest. Falls back onto the couch. Groaning.

“That’s my cockpit,” he moans dramatically. “You’ve defiled military equipment, and I have never been prouder in my life.”

Third photo, domestic theme. You in a retro gingham dress, pearls and red lipstick, holding a woven basket full of apples. You’re on a ladder, picking fruit, skirt accidentally hitched way too high, revealing sweet white thigh-highs and the hem of lace panties. The sun flares behind you like a lens filter from heaven.

Underneath, in your own handwriting:

“Almost fell off the ladder. Hope it was worth it”

“Oh my GOD,” he whines, flipping back and forth between pages. “Every photo is my favorite. I need one a week. No, twice a week. Actually, start filming them too.”

He grabs your face, squishes your cheeks, eyes sparkling like he just won the universe.

“Next time you wear that jumpsuit, you’re not taking it off. I wanna peel it off myself.”

You tease, “So you liked it?”

He growls.

“Pips, If you weren’t already my wife, I’d marry you all over again for this. I’d drop to my knees right now. I’d burn the Fleet down to make sure i never have to leave your side.”

He tucks the album into his duffel bag. That bag goes everywhere.

He literally calls it his emotional support photo album.

If he’s gone on deployment, he’s flipping through it in the captain’s quarters, smiling like a lunatic.

“God, my wife’s such a bombshell.”

And yes, he starts commissioning a video next.

Wants voiceover. Wants to hear your giggles in the background. Wants you whispering “I miss you, Colonel” while lying on his jet wearing nothing but the flight jacket.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Survey results!

So first, it seems there was some confusion about what the question was asking. The question was asking when the general public fell out with Meghan. A lot of readers thought it meant when they personally stopped liking Meghan.

Second, it looks like the big turning point for Meghan was March 2021, when she and Harry did the Oprah interview, which overlapped with Philip’s illness and later death. But interestingly, the South Africa tour and her interview with Max Fields came in at #2, with Autumn 2018 (pregnancy announcement at Eugenie’s wedding, the Oz tour, and bridezilla behavior that made Kate cry and the Sussexes get kicked out of KP and the Royal Foundation) and Winter 2023 (the Netflix docuseries and Harry’s Spare) tied for third place.

Third, lot of comments and asks about when royal-watchers here started disliking Meghan. With one exception, it was in November 2017 with the engagement interview.

The one exception is British anons. I got quite a few asks that talked about the general British public starting to lose interest/turn off Meghan in Private Flight Summer 2019, when the Sussexes became preachy and began lecturing everyone on what to do while flying around Europe on private planes all summer long and refusing to spend a weekend with The Queen at Balmoral.

So what’s the takeaway here?

The Sussexes should really shut up and stop giving interviews and talking to the press.

Say it with me, y’all: no one shoots themselves in the foot better than the Sussexes do.

There’s a tarot reader I watch on YT and he was talking about the Blake Lively case and the gist of what he was saying is that people had made up their minds about Blake and nothing could change their minds, whether or not she wins her case because she’s already lost in the court of public opinion. I think the same applies to Meghan, no one will change their mind about her especially when 1) she can’t lay low 2) can’t stop with the PR

Let’s do a poll!

[avalonbards]

tumblr user avalonbards mabi, named after the mabinogion, tell us what your favorite branch is

gjxjgxkgx so very formal!

but aaahh my favorite branch of the mabinogion? man that’s like trying to make me pick a favorite arthurian legend! haha but ah no in all seriousness i do have one in particular i like the best.

branch 2: the children of llyr.

it’s got this mix of familial love, romantic love that turns to cruelty, loyalty, grief, and horror that i genuinely enjoy. manawyddan (as the version i read spells his name) is great and branwen…

oh branwen you poor sweet girl you deserved so much better.

there’s a reason the story i write with taliesin has him mourn the siblings so much, and branwen most of all.

[cookiedough77]

guys i have a job now. this is scary.

[ashpkat]

in my idealized version of the books (the Good timeline), jericho and constantine’s relationship is not the one aaron and calls relationship parallels — it’s constantine and joseph. in this essay i will *gets taken out by cassandra clare’s snipers*

[hero-dualies-pog]

been playing wheels in the sea of stars dlc and double warlocks has got to be the funniest wheels strategy in the game. fuck you fuck you and fuck me too

[valewritessss]

I cannot for the life of me read a Character x Reader fic with a straight face.

I see y/n and I just burst out laughing

Idk how people can imagine themselves as the person bc I just made y/n a character herself

Fym I’m supposed to insert myself into the story I embarrass myself in my own head too

I literally read what y/n does and even if it’s normal I get so embarrassed bc that’s apparently ME