#He’d fight it tooth and nail.

[saturnsorbits]

Thinking about being childhood sweethearts with Bakugo.

About first crushes and awkward hand-holding, of stolen kisses and sweaty palms; of realising just how thin the line between ‘like’ and ‘love’ can feel at sixteen.

In the blink of an eye, you’re almost twenty-five with the whole world in the palm of your hand and a partner that you know almost better than yourself. You’ve seen Bakugo grow, helped him, eased his ego and pushed him to be everything you knew he could be and he’s done the same for you. You’re a powerhouse of a couple - almost ten years strong and the envy of all of your friends. There’s no question that there’s so much more ahead of you: a ring, a house and white picket fence, children?

He’s your person and you’re his.

…Maybe that’s why neither of you see it coming.

Falling out of love can be like that.

[slavonicrhapsody]

just remembered that like a year ago someone got mad at me for saying that rykard would have resented radagon. do people seriously think that mr. “leal hound of the golden order” and mr. “lord of blasphemy” are having weekly father-son brunch

[hellonoblesky]

Hm. Trainwreck Trio Albatross fighting feral tooth and nail for Chuuya.

I mean that Chuuya may never know or notice but Albatross Is his protective older sibling. Albatross takes Chuuya under his wing weather Chuuya knows it or not, he will fly any storm he will brave lightning and rain and wind and hail and hell.

And originally he has no idea what to make of Dazai. He’s clocked Dazai as caring about Chuuya, and he’s clocked Chuuya as caring back, but he’s Uneasy. Dazai’s known as the demon prodigy for a reason, Albatross has heard plenty about how he works.

And then he sees Dazai being just Dazai. Just a teen, a kid who likes teasing his dearest friend, who mixes awful awful mixes of soda and sour candy and takes joy in drinking them

He sees Dazai as just Dazai. And he decides that yeah. Yeah, Dazai’s under his wing too. Dazai’s his. Just like Chuuya is

[all54321]

A Cure?

I got side tracked and wrote another thing. Although this time I don’t know if I could fit it into a chapter, so it might just be a FSSAU setting drabble. This scene won’t happen for some time so it’s possible either way.

It is still canon that a cure cannot be made, or at least not in the way the HEP is thinking. If the “infected” part of them dies, it will kill them as well, the same result of killing the source.

—————

Grian cuddles up to Scar as they relax outside, he’s so glad to be back, but his mind is extremely active. It doesn’t help that Scar doesn’t seem concerned about the HEP meeting that just happened, one that Grian knows he was fully present for.

He feels Scar nuzzle into his head, murmuring, “are you okay?”

Grian isn’t sure if his expression gave him away or if he let his feelings seep into the hivemind. He sighs, “I’ve just been thinking about the meeting earlier.”

“Yeah?”

He takes a moment to pick his words before replying, “you know how they’re talking about a cure?” Grian doesn’t try to hide the palpable distaste in his voice at the word. “It’s just been making me think.”

There’s a moment of silence before Scar replies, “what about it?” There’s a quiet kind of fury in his voice that catches Grian off guard.

“…how possible is it?”

There’s a long enough pause for Grian to know that Scar is being cautious in his wording as well. Scar tightens his grip on him, “it’s not possible. We’re one with the mycelium now, we can’t separate from it… and why would we ever want to?”

“I would never want to, I was just curious,” Grian replies easily. It takes him longer to realize what Scar’s words truly mean. What a cure would mean. They’re one with the mycelium, it literally runs through their veins, there is no separation between them and it now. Separation from it means losing a big part of themselves, a big enough part that Grian isn’t sure he’ll live. Physically, that is. He knows he won’t be able to handle it mentally.

A so called cure ending with death… ironic, isn’t it?

[doublearmbars]

buzzing with mcmg thoughts. Plagued by them.

[rememberwren]

Thinking about Ghost who hasn’t had a woman in…a while. (Longer than he’d like to admit)

He doesn’t fuck when he’s on duty, and he’s on duty more than he’s off, these days.

When he finally slips between your thighs, he’s forgotten how soft another person can be, forgotten how wet a pussy can get, tight enough to nearly snap his cock off. And then it’s him vs his own body as he fights not to cum straight away and embarrass himself.

I want him fists clenched, head ducked and eyes squeezed shut (because if he sees that look in your eyes—that almost-afraid, mostly-awed look as your body manages to swallow his monster cock whole with nothing more than a burning stretch—he knows he’ll spill inside you before he’s even managed a single thrust). I want his teeth gritted, mind on anything except the wet heat that surrounds him, muscles tensed as he fights tooth and nail for his control.

And I want to see him lose it straight away when you whisper in his ear that it’s okay, you can let go

[losersiren]

𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option. 

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

 He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-” 

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

[watermelonsloth]

I think the reason why Naruto fans get so passionate and upset about the series is because of how real it can be. Naruto isn’t about paragon heroes outdoing dastardly villains. It’s about human beings fighting tooth and nail to survive in a world surrounded by death. It’s about broken systems made and perpetuated by broken people.

The Hyuga clan isn’t just antagonistic or pretentious, they practice slavery.

The Uchiha clan weren’t just killed by some raging psychopath, they were systematically massacred.

Itachi isn’t just cruel to Sasuke because he’s a bad brother, he’s cruel because he’d been told time and time again that you can only survive by being cruel and he wants nothing more than for Sasuke to survive.

Nagato isn’t trying to take over the world just for the sake of power, he’s trying to take over the world because it beat him down to the point of believing that the only chance at peace there is is the world being forced into compliance through fear.

Iruka isn’t hard on Naruto just because he’s a strict teacher, he’s hard on Naruto because he knows from experience how unforgiving the world is towards orphans.

Kakashi isn’t just some silly and slightly lazy teacher, he’s a contract killer still grieving his loved ones and struggling to do better without knowing how he’s supposed to.

Sakura isn’t just a fangirl, she’s a normal girl in a very dangerous and abnormal world constantly being made to choose between what she’s supposed to do and what she feels.

Sasuke isn’t just some edgelord, he’s a survivor who lost everything then gets repeatedly told that he has to choose between keeping what he’s gained and doing better than his brother.

Naruto isn’t just trying to be the best Hokage there ever was, he’s trying to prove his worth to a society that abandoned him just for existing and, in a way, confirm his worth to himself.

The Naruto story is about humans trying to force themselves into the role of weapons because that’s what they were told they had to be. It’s a story where everyone is a perpetrator but no one is trying to do wrong. It’s a story where everyone is a victim but no one is a perfect victim.

The world and the characters aren’t simple and trying to simplify them only takes away from them. So of course we get passionate about showing off all the reasons why they shouldn’t be simplified and all of the ways they’re complicated. Of course we get upset when we see others simplifying them or selling certain aspects of their characters short. Of course we get upset when the series itself simplifies them. Of course we get upset when the series chooses to abandon them. Because it not only feels like the characters are giving up, it feels like the series is betraying anyone who chose to get invested in its complexities.

[idkfitememate]

Still tired but just wanted to remind you that the Obey Me Brothers (- Satan + Lilith) were probably the “Seven Heavenly Virtues” before they fell/died and that was probably so hard for them like-

Lucifer going from Humility to Pride

Mammon going from Charity to Greed

Leviathan going from Kindness to Envy

Asmodeus going from Chastity to Lust

Beelzebub going from Temperance to Gluttony

And Belphegor going from Diligence to Sloth

Imagine as Lucifer going through it because now you can’t talk with your brothers, now you hold them to an expectation you would’ve never before - and yourself to an even higher one - and watching them loose themselves to their sins.

Watching Mammon lose himself to monetary values to the point where he’d be willing to sell his own brothers out if it came to it, and knowing that at some point he would’ve sold his everything because he believed it was right. Shit thing is that he still loves his brothers, and under the greed is guilt for hurting them like this.

Watching Levi, once a kind and loving man who would never leave anyone out become a self deprecating and destructive mess who shuts the world out. Who spends his time obsessing over what others have that he can’t and fighting tooth and nail to fix that, even if it hurts him. He, like Lucifer, has to be the best at his chosen craft or else it’s all for naught, but unlike Lucifer he’s very vocal about his losses and how much he hates others who have better than him.

Asmo, who at one point was basically repulsed at the idea of carnal love and wanted to wait, to hold out until he found the one he was searching for. Believe if that saving himself for his future partner was the ultimate act of love. And now watching him fall to depravity, unable to feel love unless it’s carnal in some sense. Everything must be passionate, with little room for true love. Feelings pushed aside for the heat of the moment, giving his body away to feel something. Finding no worth in himself unless it’s his body, and that translating over to how he treats his brothers. They have to suck up his shockingly flirty remarks to them because he can’t help it, that’s how he’s forced to show love now; fast, rushed, and carnal.

Watching Beel, a man who took everything in moderation, never allowing himself more than what he needed in food and drink in favor of helping others, loose himself to the mind numbing pleasure of sitting there and eating and drinking and eating and drinking and eating and drinking with no end in sight. As he can’t help himself but do anything for a meal, much like Mammon. Willing to do damn near anything to fill the hole in his stomach. No matter the cost.

And Belphy. A man once so awake and alert and ready for anything that even Lucifer would have to tell him to take a break. Always raring and ready to go and help any and everyone in need sleep his days away. Too lazy to do basic tasks at some points like eat. Lazing about too tired to do anything, including care for those around him. Too tired to do anything.

And the haunting truth that you, as Lucifer, created Wrath. Satan, your youngest brother in age and fourth in power. Knowing on the daily that he puts on a mask, a front so that his rage doesn’t consume him in an all burning inferno. Knowing that any little thing could set him off, and that’d be it. He shares next to nothing with you and your brothers because, while unspoken, it’s known that he’ll never be as close as the six of you. He didn’t experience the war, he didn’t experience the fall, he didn’t experience her death. Unlike your brothers who have all changed in some distressing way he’s always been rage. Always been Wrath. A true sin through and through. Never will you experience the same things and that keeps you separated.

And about her, to know deep in your heart that she, the Virtue of Patients, would’ve become the Sin of Wrath keeps you up at night, her face of smiles turning to a wrathful frown scares you. Nightmares flash behind your eyes of her being mad, furious even, so you starve the nights off with a never ending pile of paperwork and coffee.

… Did I just accidentally character study?-

[gay-dorito-dust]

can you do the hcs for calling them your husband except with blade??

Blade is a possessive man. So the moment you casually call him your husband in the company of friends and family, his possessiveness somehow becomes worse tenfold.

He’s latching onto the whole idea of you belonging to him and him alone with an iron grip. On the outside he’s not showing much change in emotion, but if you were to pay close attention to his eyes and you’ll see a fire burning within them.

He’s internally going feral over you calling him your husband whilst on the outside he looks like this during the whole thing: 😐 okay.

Marriage wasn’t something that he thought about a lot or gave a lot of thought towards in general as he’s got a lot of stuff going on that he didn’t want to subject you to. He cares for you deeply, you’re his soft spot, his Achilles heel and he’d do just about anything you ask for he’s waiting on you hand and foot.

He doesn’t think he’d make a good husband but for you, he’d at least make an attempt.

He may not look like the type to be but he 100% is. He’s just really good at hiding everything behind an intimidating demeanour.

Seeing as how he won’t outwardly show his reaction towards you calling him your husband, Blade does however show you his feelings towards this through other means ie: standing close behind you, subtle gripping your waist that borderlines possessive, using his height to his advantage when shielding you from unwanted attention from creeps who can’t take hints, also for you to look at him and only him.

He can protect you from any and everyone that sought after your heart, for it belonged to him and he’d rather fight tooth and nail to keep it in his possession. (He may or may not have developed a fear of loosing you because you’re the one who brought him calm, peace and love)

Afterwards where you’re both far away from everyone, he’d tug you close to him by the arm and whisper huskily; ‘don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to pull back there, I may not make the greatest of husbands but for you, I’d try. So I’d tread carefully if you don’t want for it to be reality one day.’ Then let’s go of your arm and walks ahead and leaves you to realise what just happened before running after him.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your royal husband decided to have some fun under the layers of your skirts. Essentially, your duty is to cockwarm him during the court meetings. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, cockwarming, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator Word count: 2851 AO3

The emperor has no shame.

He is getting himself a wife – a pretty one, a perfect one. You’re a princess from a kingdom lowly enough to never fight him, but also from a big enough that the marriage would be somewhat fine in the eyes of his advisors. Not like he cared, of course – not like he didn’t destroy your kingdom anyway, killing your alleged parents and the real princess in hiding. You knew that if he wanted to, he’d pick up a peasant rat from the street and proclaim her his prettiest courtesan.

You just happen to be more unlucky than a peasant rat. 

But, oh, he has no shame indeed. 

König hates his court – there is no surprise here. The only people he appreciates are the ones he hired himself – peasants just like him, brought from rags to riches, earning their worth in gold through undying loyalty. Fierce soldiers and cold generals – no place for aristocrats whose only prospects are the names of their families. König doesn’t care for the rich women in his harem – the same women who took turns adoring you as their newest addition, pretty little princess who will finally pay them some well-deserved attention. König doesn’t care for the opinion of his court, the old men who only here because the emperor knows there is some dignity in the old age, and their family’s money can go to fuel the empire’s prospects. 

You’re spread open – but concealed with skirts, a small mercy of your husband who couldn’t say less about saving your dignity. You whisper into his ear, a hiss mixed with a concealed moan – the advisors are too busy with chatter and idle quarrels about the next taxation over your land to see what their royal family is doing. If anyone noticed your ragged breath or König’s small movements, they knew better than to say anything. 

Maybe, this is why he didn’t care to stop the court ruling over some minuscule issue – taxes over your fallen kingdom, the way to make him richer while his opponents would fail, possible coup, and a few magic uprisings on the borders. These were all minimal threats to his throne – the same throne you were spreading your legs on. Your dignity as a fair maiden only saved by the heavy skirts that cover your lower areas. Your dignity as royalty is only saved by your pursed lips and complete silence in which König, the glorious ruler of the greatest empire on this continent, is using your warm cunt as a way to pass the boring court time.

You can feel everything – every throbbing vein of his manhood pulsating and twitching inside of you. Grazing your walls with its royal length, you only have as many opportunities to grunt and switch positions before his advisors start to become suspicious. You knew he wouldn’t care about them thinking of his as some impure creature made of lust – but you also hoped to have at least some social lubricant as a newly appointed queen. With your title being as pointless as the church’s charity work, you’d have to fight tooth and nail to get loved by your people.

With König keeping you confined in the castle walls and his harem maidens making sure you’re coming enough times per day to never walk without support, there aren’t a lot of ways for you to gain the love of your people.

A royal advisor – small, old man – is looking at you.

You smile.

König pushes his hips upwards, forcing a tight scowl on your face. The advisor turns away. 

— Y…you have to stop before they notice. 

He smirks, the emotion hidden by his mask. You’re adorable – pretty, naive, so unconcerned with the empire’s problems that he is surprised you weren’t the one to try to mount him in the first place. He thought that eager young princesses should be driven crazy by lust, wanting to get on whoever’s manhood is big enough, too secluded by their parents to care about dignity…yet there you were, behaving like a perfect empress. Lips pursed and tongue-tied. 

Too bad he wanted to make you scream. 

— You don’t sound begging enough, your Highness. In this room, I only accept pleads. 

His awkwardness washes away as your cunt squeezes him even more, the perverted power play is definitely doing something to your nether regions. He didn’t want to move at first – too satisfied with simply having your warm body here to satisfy his cock but now he can’t help but jolt his hips upwards once in a while, making you squeal and spread even more wetness. He is addicted to the feeling of your body around his – by god, you truly are irresistible. The man who never once touched a woman from his harem filled with aristocrats and richest daughters on the continent is now going mad for a girl whose only prospects are pretending to be a princess. 

Emperor feels like a rabid dog that was thrown a bone. A yearning boy who just saw a glimpse at the naked female form and resructured his whole life around it. A monster whose only goal in life is to snatch any pretty thing he sees. 

He rocks you on his hips, steady hands on your waist. No one suspects anything, but you still grip his hands, still hiss and plead. If you’re only willing to touch him to make him stop…well, then he simply wouldn’t stop. 

— Please, stop…doing this? 

— Doing what?

He stops, however – some of the old men in the court are looking at the two of you, interested to hear whatever you were speaking about. König is glad he switched to your language. König is glad he learned this language before he abducted you – having his recious princess attached to his hip and being the only one she can communicate with is…endearing. Enticing. Just a little bit precious.

— You’re distracting me. 

— Please, my lord…just wait till the end of the meeting. I beg of you. 

— You were doing something important?

You sigh, biting your lips. Trying so hard not to lash out at him, he finds you amusing. Adorable. So precious, he doesn’t know what to do with a pretty thing like you. Perhaps, there is a point in allowing you to rest…as long as you’re behaving, of course. As long as he can trust himself around you. 

He smiles, fighting the urge to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet aroma. It would mean he’d have to take off his mask and, while he adores you, he can’t quite do that in the presence of duying memorables in his court. Only his most trusted men are allowed to see behind his mask – and of course, the privilege of seeing the emperor being so nice to his wife is something that has to be earned too. As much as he would love to strip you naked and proclaim his love to every single inch of your beautiful form, it would mean sharing the view with the others – and oh, the emperor is too possessive for that. 

Maybe he could order a painting later…after you’re already with an heir, of course. The empire is waiting for him to keep up appearances. Everything for the sake of an heir. Not simply because he fell in love with a peasant girl who is far too perfect to be a maid to some spoiled brat. 

— Very well, Meine Liebe. Since you’re being so kind to your husband.

Husband, husband, husband.

König can’t help but grin. The proclamation of his status feel awkward against your skin, and the old fear and anxieties of his position are catching back to him – but he’d be cursed if he didn’t enjoy the way you’re looking at him while he is saying that. The way your breath would bitch and head spread across your body. There is something about making you embarrassed that he adores – maybe it’s your expressions. You’re a sheltered girl ,after all. Untouched and pure – or was like this before he met you, of course.

The old men are staring at you outright now, their expressions unreadable. König can assume they know what’s going on – an arrogant emperor is feeling too bored with the meeting and decided to use his pretty young wife to entertain himself…and there was this reason, of course. But more than anything else, König wanted to proclaim his undying love. Nothing in this kingdom would make him leave you – not even his duties as an emperor. A cursed being like him doesn’t deserve love but, luckily, you’re not the one to make that choice.

Your pussy is soaked, inviting any action – but he is stopped fully now, taking some documents into his hands as the meeting is dismissed, the advisors are scattering around like rats around his throne. He thinks about ordering a throne for you – something small and elegant, standing so much smaller than his own, no one would ever mix you up as being a politically important person – someone worth killing, that is.

König would order you your own throne, but that would mean you’d stop sitting on his lap so nicely every day he is having meetings with his servants and advisors. It would mean he couldn’t slip his manhood past your lower lips, spread you on his cock, and slowly rock you on his hips before finally filling you up with his semen. You can feel it dripping down your legs, soaking into the fabric of your undergarments and skirts – yet another dress ruined. 

You’re lucky König is civil enough not to simply rip it from your body, finally revealing your chest to his hungry hands and tongue. Oh, how much he would love to enjoy your body while the others can’t do anything but shiver in their pathetic disgust and jealousy. The prettiest woman in the country is his – and if someone would ever try to question if you’re beautiful enough, he will kill them himself.

Once the last advisor gets out of the room, you sigh with relief, your pussy clenching on his cock and painting it with slick. You are getting on your last shreds of patience here – your husband is not a small man, his manhood is enough to make you feel sore after just being in halfway, but the position you’re in made it possible for him to bottom in your precious, fragile body…you can already feel the bump growing in your belly – perhaps with heir, perhaps just with the emperor’s semen, the man who treats you like you’re simply a toy for his pleasure.

— You’re embarrassing me, Your Highness.

You sigh, biting your lips as you stop struggling with your moans. The pleasure ripping from inside of your body was replaced with soft contention – the soft motions of his hips going back and forth, rocking you on his cock as you’d murmur to him softly. He takes one hand to unwrap you from your corset – like presenting himself with a beautiful gift, a precious little pastry stuck in fabric and ribbons. 

— Still, I’m their empress. You shouldn’t…it’s inappropriate. 

You sigh with relief as you’re finally allowed to breathe fully – and you rest your head on his chest, almost ready to fall asleep. He works on documents for a bit more – his cock resting calmly in your folds, fixing his seed in place. You couldn’t care less about the staining, knowing full well that you’d just ask the maids to burn whatever dress was ruined this time. Understanding fully that he would simply buy you new ones – and with warm weather finally approaching, you hope for lighter sets.

— I doubt these relics noticed what we were doing. 

— You’re their empress, ja. And I was just showing them that we’re trying for an heir. The public could get anxious otherwise. 

You laugh dryly. He never failed to remind you of your true place. 

— I should probably visit the doctor then. To know for sure. 

— I don’t want others touching you without a reason. 

— Is an heir not a reason? 

— I don’t need one. 

You laugh again, looking at him with that hateful glint he already got used to. You almost stopped looking at him like that – only reserved for the especially heated moments. Your hatred for him had almost died out, replaced with soft, quiet acceptance. Never being able to run away or kill yourself, you can finally say that there is no way out - and that you can start accepting your role as the glorious empress. A glorified breeding mare. Toy made to be used by König – and the one that he cherishes most. 

— Why then…

— Peasants want a brat on your hip, to know that the nation would thrive. No one cares that I do not intend to die at all. 

He brings a couple of grapes to your mouth, plunging them into your soft lips as you’re trying to shake your head, not having energy to eat anything in your current state. You feel like a decadent pet, getting on his lap and enjoying the attention – but, of course, the attention wasn’t something you sought out. You’d do anything for him to simply stop – but sooner the earth got blown off than König letting you go while you’re looking oh so sweet and delicate, half-naked on his lap. Just like a perfect princess should – and even though your title didn’t mean anything to anyone, you still wanted for at least someone to treat you with respect. Well…looks like this someone would have to be you. 

You open your mouth as he proceeds to feed you – it’s easier to just give in to his whims. You might not like him as much as he wished to, but you know you can tolerate him. Maybe even like him – given the time, of course. And you didn’t have much of it, unfortunately.

— You think I might be with child? 

— I can just stay in the bedroom the whole time. I don’t want public visits. 

König grasps your hip, massaging the soft flesh. He has to break you out of heavy skirts for him to do that – the empire’s fashion changing rapidly as the new empress doesn’t really like killing whales for her skirts. It was an in-door dress, of course, something gentle and flowy – but still, without bone protection and ten skirt layers, you almost feel naked. Without tons of fabric between you and him, you feel trapped – suffocating, even. Gods, this is almost pathetic.

— I’d have to order you new dresses. 

— They don’t even know my name. 

You pout just like a spoiled little princess – and König laughs, feeding you another grape. It doesn’t look like he is so busy with work right now - if anything, he almost looks like stalling, buying his time with the documents while he can enjoy you in an almost not disturbed state. Even though you hate the feeling of dried cum on your thighs, you’re still not quite sure whether you want to call for maids so they could help you with bathing. Somehow, sitting on the emperor’s lap, you almost feel content. Completed. The feeling you only got when you were with the princess…but oh well, looks like you do enjoy serving the loyalty. On your hands and knees, on your back, on your tummy…

— Public needs to see their empress. 

— They might learn in the future. 

— You can’t make me into a princess. I’m not…royal enough. 

You scoff, nuzzling your head against his chest. You can stop resisting him, if only for a second. Trying your best not to sound like you really are angry at him – because you aren’t, not anymore.

You close your eyes, licking your lips. Sighing deeply. 

— You did fool me at first. 

— It wouldn’t work with your advisors. 

— They know better than to argue with me even if they were to suspect something. 

He plays with the meat of your breasts, squeezing and tugging. Smiling smugly as you whine, clearly not wanting him to use you so rudely – but it’s not like you even have a choice on the matter. You learned to enjoy it, some way, somehow. Making it feel like you actually want it – even though you do feel extremely drained. Too drained, to be quite honest. 

But, oh, it was a good day – the best day you could have, probably.

***

In the end, it was the best day you possibly had. 

Mainly because the drink the servant had given you after König finally settled you into the bedroom like you were a cat needing its owner to tuck her in, felt like iron and liquid fire on your tongue.

Mainly because instead of helping you get out of your dress, the servant coldly observed the way you would grasp your throat in a feeble attempt to get the liquid out. 

Mainly because…

Mainly because, as much as König wanted to believe his little captive princess is safe within the castle walls, she is in no way immune to assassinations from the inside. 

Your vision darkens before you can finish.

[blueicequeen19]

Reunited

Warnings: none? JJ released from jail, unprotected sexy time, oral

You wanted to be the one to pick him up when he was released but John B insisted. So you’d spent the last few hours cleaning things that didn’t need cleaned, rearranging the living room, and cooking up everything in the fridge. You even changed your outfit four times before you finally realized it wouldn’t be on you long enough for him to notice.

You’d stopped in your tracks the moment you heard the door open, the two of you frozen in place as you looked each other over. He still looked so fucking good. The red cut off that showed his sculpted arms. The jeans that hung low on his waist. The shark tooth necklace around his neck.

JJ was home.

You were across the room and jumped into his arms a moment later, barely letting him completely inside before you engulfed him.

“Baby.” You melt in his warm embrace from the raw emotion in his voice, his face buried in your neck as he holds you tight. So tightly that you can feel the racing of his heart.

“I missed you so fucking much.” You fight off the tears again as you take a second to just breathe him in. He smelled the same but different. He’d put on more muscle and his hair was a little longer. The tang of weed was gone from his clothes but he still smelled like mint and leather.

“I missed you too. More than you know. So fucking much.” You pulled back to look at him, cupping his face gently. He looked.. tired. Defeated. His eyes weren’t sparkling with mischief like they usually did and his mouth wasn’t tipped up in a knowing smirk.

“I love you, JJ Maybank.” You felt like reassurance was what he needed right now and he smiled in return, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. The moment your lips met it became anything but gentle. Fire coursed through your veins almost immediately. A throaty groan left his lips and your back was suddenly against the wall, his duffle dropped on the floor so his hands could trace your curves.

Every worry you’d had was replaced with white, hot desire that burned all the way down to your toes. Your sundress was ripped over your head between kisses before you found yourself somehow flat on the kitchen table.

“We have family dinner tonight to welcome you home.” You rasp as he kisses every square inch of your body as he slowly peels your panties off.

“This is what I want to eat.” JJ groans, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he settles in between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue has your body bowing off the table. It had been too long. There’s nothing sweet and savoring about his movements. Your hands quickly find his hair as he threatens to steal your soul through your pussy.

“JJ, please, baby, please. I need you.” You beg, his head squeezed between your thighs.

“I’m right here.” JJ mumbles around the flesh of your leg, leaving marks as he goes.

“JJ—.”

“I’m gonna fuck you in every position I can think of.” You gasp as he shoves your legs open and stands to his full height. It’s impossible not to watch as he peels his shirt off, revealing defined abs and a meatier chest. A total wet dream.

“You’re not leaving my bed until I’m done.” You hear the thud of his boots then his shorts are gone next. His cock is rock hard and weeping as it juts up towards his navel. Your insides pulsed, ready to him inside you.

“You’re going to beg and cry and scream for me, baby.” He leans over you, kissing you deeply as his cock nudges your inner thigh. You suck on his tongue, raking your nails down his back as you taste yourself. Only when you’re trembling and reaching for what you desperately want does he finally pull back. That spark is back in his eyes as he slides his cock up and down your slit, his smirk on full display.

“So cancel the dinner. Because we’re gonna be here awhile.” You open your mouth to protest but he’s inside you with the next breath, his cock touching so deep that your eyes nearly cross. The loud moan that escapes him is music to your ears as he wastes no time rutting into you.

“JJ!” You cry, continuing to chant his name as he fucks you like a man who just went six months without you. There’s no love making. No sweet words or gentle caressing. Just pure need. His hands are rough on your body, pinching and slapping at your breasts as they bounce with every harsh thrust.

“Do you know how many times I jerked off thinking about this pussy?” JJ growls, but you barely hear him over his heavy breathing and the sloppy wet sounds of him fucking you.

“How badly I missed the way you squeeze me right before you cum? Or that little sound you make when it’s too much for ya?” His mouth finds your nipples as the band inside your belly threatens to snap.

“The way you like to be fucked like a worthless little slut while I call you a good girl.” His blue eyes find yours, his teeth around your nipple as he rolls his hips, hitting you so deep and perfectly that you can hardly think.

“Baby, please.” You sob, gripping his biceps as he straightens again. His hands have a bruising grip on your thighs as he fucks you slow and lazily.

Suddenly he’s flipping you over, your toes barely touching the floor before he’s entering you from behind. His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you against his chest. His cock was so deep. So thick.

“Oh— God—.”

“Nope. Just me, darlin’.” JJ whispers in your ear, his hips not faltering in his rough movements. You reach back to fist his hair, his lips finding yours in a wet, tongue filled kiss. His hand slides down your front, pushing your hips back to meet every thrust.

“You feel so goddamn good. Better than I remember. I could live in this pussy.” JJ bites your lip before sucking it into his mouth, fingers thrumming over your slick clit. The need to cum was almost too great. Your clit was pulsing and you could barely catch your breath.

“Make me cum.” You breathed against his mouth, your hand covering his as he teased.

“But I’m not done yet. And if you scream my name then I’ll definitely cum before I’m ready.” You open your mouth to protest but he forces you down on the table, your breasts smashed against the wood as he presses down on the center of your back. He pounds into you ruthlessly, holding you in place as he pounds into you over and over. You open your mouth to scream but he’s suddenly shoving something in your mouth — your panties — as he keeps pace. You cum so hard you see stars, unable to suck in a deep breath as he slams into you harder than before.

“Fuckkkkkk.” JJ lifts one of your legs onto the table, his pace growing sloppy as he quickly finds his own release. Your body trembles, wetness dripping onto the floor as he cums with a loud groan, pumping you full of his seed until you’re weak and unable to hold yourself up anymore.

“You did so good.” You don’t open your eyes when he scoops you into his arms, no doubt heading for the bathroom to clean you up.

“My good fucking girl.” Your back meets the bed and your eyelids flutter as you try to find your bearings. You feel the sticky mess between your thighs as he starts to drip out of you but he doesn’t seem to care as he settles between your thighs.

“Wait, no, I’m so sore, babe.” You try to sit up but he’s there, pushing you back down as he trails kisses up your thighs.

“Better get used to that, pretty girl, because I’m not gonna be done for a while.” His mouth finds your clit, two thick fingers suddenly curling inside your pulsing walls until you’re crying out, trying to twist away from him.

It’s not until he rips multiple orgasms from you as tears stream down your face, tasting you from front to back that you finally realize you’re completely and utterly done for.

[kiyoomi-levin]

somethin' new (miya twinsxF!reader) <NSFW>

a/n i'm working on like 3 other fics rn but i found this in my drafts and thought it was good enough to publish (with a LOT of polishing ofc). I'm new to smut writing so I'm very insecure abt this but i hope u enjoy

summary::: your older brother atsumu likes watching porn. and the twins like trying shit out on you. aka porn w plot osamu focus bc he's best boy word count::: 2.9k warnings/triggers!!!::: non-con, step-cest, stockholm syndrome-ish, the miya twins are really fucking mean and possessive, double penetration (my fave! <33)

People think the Miyas are scariest when they lose, when they're arguing with each other, or when they're distracted during a serve. 

But you know them better–actually, you know them best.

They're scariest when they're fucking you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I was watchin' porn yesterday and I wanna try somethin' new," Atsumu announces as he walks through into the living room, tossing his volleyball bag onto the couch. 

Osamu rolls his eyes, continuing to flip through his textbook at the kitchen table. 

"Why the hell would you watch porn when you got ‘er right here?" Osamu snaps back, hardly glancing up. Atsumu’s eyes shift to you as you squirm on Osamu’s lap uncomfortably. 

Osamu continues casually stroking your pussy with one hand as the other holds you down. 

You’re shaking– he’s been at this for twenty minutes now, reading his lecture notes as he continuously edges you. You haven’t given in yet, though. 

You know he’s just waiting for you to beg him for it.  

It's still hard to believe that you’re dripping on his lap and he won’t stop memorizing vocabulary for his upcoming exam.

As a final year university student, Osamu’s been under a lot of pressure. What better way to alleviate it than to play with his favorite toy?

Atsumu takes in the scene in front of him, smirking when he makes eye contact with you. You quickly turn away.

Although the twins share you, it still feels wrong when one of them catches you in the act with the other.

“Ya sure you don’t even wanna hear? I know you’ll like it, ya freak,” Atsumu says, now glancing at his brother.

You shiver at Atsumu’s words and Osamu frowns as he moves his hand away from your lap.

"Fine. Out with it, asshole," he murmurs, finally distracted from his studies. He shoves his papers aside, full attention on you now. From the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu light up. 

It’s almost comical to see the twins this way.

Always fighting, always competing— but when it comes to you they're a single organism.

"I was watchin' my favorite porn star-- ah, don't be jealous, y/n! I only watch her for inspiration because she's freaky-- and I saw her take two in one hole." 

Your eyes widen.

You wouldn't be able to take it.

"No, please," you whisper, holding your breath. Osamu’s body flexes under you reflexively.

When have you become such a pussy?

You were always the outspoken, little step-sister who fought her brothers tooth and nail for the last slice of cake. 

Nobody could have excepted them to fuck the brat out of you within a month of moving in together.

Osamu surprisingly agrees with you.

"Nah. I'm not into rubbin' dicks with you," he says, both hands on your chest now. The thought of being that close to a naked Atsumu makes him grimace.

Atsumu rolls his eyes.

"I'm not into that shit either, but I wanna see her take it." You wince as Osamu pinches your nipples, hard. He's gone completely silent, which isn't a good sign. 

“It’ll be a little painful, but I know she’ll be able to pull through,” Atsumu continues, carefully watching Osamu’s expression.

The Miya fans would be shocked to discover that Osamu's a sadist, more so than Atsumu. 

While Atsumu wipes away your tears, Osamu enjoys watching them stream down your face.

When Osamu doesn't respond, Atsumu sighs and rubs his head, frustrated. He’d been looking forward to this since last evening, when he had to jerk off to the sounds of you and Osamu going at it.

"Fine then. I'll try it myself with a toy. I bought a new dildo for her, ya know. And it's bigger than you."

No further words are needed—Osamu pulls his hands out of your shirt, and you feel him physically fuming behind you.

He's possessive, stupidly so, and hates when Atsumu buys you disgusting silicon toys and shit. 

He really doesn't understand his twin sometimes. 

Why buy toys, why watch porn, when you, his adorable, precious little bitch, exists? 

Osamu would rather lose a game at nationals before you cum off a piece of vibrating plastic. 

And he won't admit it, but deep down he's scared. Scared that it'll satisfy you better than he can. 

The less competition, the better. He's already competing with Atsumu on a daily basis.

Atsumu, who can make you squirt faster than he can. Atsumu, who makes you laugh. Atsumu, who, Osamu knows, you favor.

Maybe it's because the little shit handles you just a little better in bed. 

Osamu picks you up from classes, purchases expensive jewelry and takes you out to get sweets every week, you still shy away from his touches.

So Osamu has given up-- if you're gonna hate him anyways, he'll do whatever he wants. 

And that’s why you’re always left a humiliatingly wet mess whenever he uses you. 

"Fine. Ya better take a shower first, you fuckin' freak," Osamu says, pushing you off his lap. 

Atsumu smirks, cracking his fingers and wrists.

"You be preppin' her, 'Samu."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It feels good, but you don't want to admit it.

You’re lying on your shared king-sized bed, trying to hold back tears and moans as Osamu eats you out, pumping three of his long fingers into you quickly. 

Between the two of them, Atsumu can get you to cum faster. But Osamu gets you to cum harder. His every move is calculated–from every lick to every moment of rest he gives you.

Osamu's on a mission to get you to beg.

"Samu, please," you breathe, gripping the bed sheets. You feel him smiling, and you grip at the bedsheets. All the teasing he’d been doing before Atsumu got home is quickly catching up to you. 

“What was that?” He asks, his dark eyes taking in the conflicting emotions washing over your face. When you don’t respond, he leans back and slaps your pussy, hard. Your eyes widen in pain, and you can’t help the squeak that you release, to his satisfaction.

You’re wet, and he knows it’s not a fluke. You want him. He hasn’t trained you over this past year for nothing.

“‘You aren’t bein’ too mean, are ya?” Atsumu asks, stepping out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. He’s shamelessly naked, hard from hearing your cries from the shower. 

Atsumu surveys your body, admiring the marks his twin has placed on you. 

A small part of him is thankful his brother is willing to play the role of mean cop. Atsumu gets to reap the rewards of consoling you—although he too enjoys seeing you covered in bruises and left in tears.

He’d never hurt you himself though. He likes cuddling with you and loves the way you laugh at his lame jokes too much. 

Osamu snaps him back to reality, standing up as he wipes his shiny lips with the back of his hand.

“She’s ready.”

Atsumu grins. His brother is strangely meek today---probably from you refusing to go to his practice game the other day. You had enjoyed a nice picnic date with Atsumu instead (although that ended with you shaking and moaning in Samu’s arms that night).

“I guess I’m first?”

“Ladies first.”

“You’re a bitch, ya know that?” Atsumu spits, rubbing his dick with his left hand and soaking his right in your wetness. Osamu laughs, pulling off his shirt in a smooth motion.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop shaking. The thought of having two of them in a single hole is almost too much to wrap your head around. With Osamu’s length and Atsumu’s girth, you’re sure you won’t be able to take it. 

What if you tear? Surely they’d stop if you beg hard enough.

For now, you can’t do anything but accept this. 

From what you’ve observed, when the twins are playful in bed, you shouldn’t resist.

Lost in your thoughts, you gasp as Atsumu yanks you towards him—he’s sitting at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. You gulp as you find yourself hovering above his dick, facing Osamu, who’s busy tossing Atsumu's towel onto the ground.

“Aw, baby. Calm down, won’t ya? You know it hurts more when you’re nervous.” 

Atsumu brings your face towards him, grip so tight you couldn’t turn away if you wanted to. 

His rough hands, thick from years of volleyball training, gently smoothes out your hair, and he begins to press kisses on your jawline. The motion is so welcoming that you momentarily forget he’s the one to propose this in the first place.

Osamu sighs, frustrated.  

“Get on with it, won’t ya?”

Atsumu frowns at him, pulling away from you. 

“And that, ‘Samu, is exactly why she likes me better than ya,” he says, slamming you onto him in a single motion.

It hurts!

You groan, fingers twitching. It hurts already, he’s especially hard today. What’re you going to do when it gets to the meaner twin?

Atsumu pets your clit, grinning as he feels you begin to melt into his chest. He knows exactly how you like it. That spongy spot, right… there. Your groan turns into a moan as he shifts his hips, aiming to reach deep inside of you. 

Osamu doesn’t break eye contact with you as he slowly gets onto the bed. He’s in no hurry, unfortunately. 

If he wasn't such an asshole, you'd find him hot.

You really do love his gorgeous eyes and gray hair. 

"Stop bein' a dick and get on with it," Atsumu says. He scowls at his brother, who continues to simply stare at you. 

Both of them know Osamu doesn't want to actually hurt you. He'd never break you.

You're too precious.

"W-what?" Your shaky voice intrudes into his thoughts. 

You've gone red and stopped clawing at Atsumu's unrelenting hand.

Did he say that out loud? He must have, because Atsumu is laughing now.

Fuck. 

This isn't the time to be embarrassed, though.

Osamu reaches forward, lining his dick next to his brother's. 

To be honest, he was never opposed to the idea.

Yeah, Atsumu's a disgusting pig, but he's his twin. 

There's an unbreakable bond between them and knowing they share so much DNA sometimes makes Osamu feel as though they're just one person in two bodies. He’s honestly willing to try anything that Atsumu proposes (except get him off, of course, he’ll leave that to you).

Taking a deep breath, he begins to push, using his precum as lube.

Fuckkkkkk.

Osamu's pretty sure everyone had the same thought at that exact moment.

It's so tight. It's so warm. It’s hurting you, for sure. But it feels too good to stop. 

For you, it’s suffocating, being stuck between two muscular twins. And, once again showcasing their unspoken connection, they begin to carefully move in and out of you at the same pace. 

It hurts now, and tears are burning behind your eyes, but there’s that little voice in your head telling you to just relax and enjoy it—it’ll feel good.

Why? Why does it have to feel so good when this is all wrong?

Fundamentally, twins shouldn't be sharing the same girl, at the same time.

That same girl should especially not be their little sister whom they've been older brothers to for a decade.

But what does it matter now?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atsumu's in heaven. This is better than he imagined, actually. He’s decided that he’ll take the easy route, playing with your soft breasts and sucking hickies into your neck. His dick has gone still as he simply enjoys the fast pace Osamu fucks you at. 

While there’s a slight burn against his cock every time Osamu moves, the pain only intensifies the pleasure. 

Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on watching his dick pump into you. He wants to curse out Atsumu for being so lazy, but at the same time— he’s always liked to be in charge. 

That voice was right, because it’s feeling good now. Your brain buzzes pleasantly and you’re losing control of your legs. 

Atsumu's moaning into your ear, Osamu's grunting with every push, and you feel hyper aware of every motion as you're slipping away. 

The dull lights of the room begin to blur.

You're crying now. Your toes are curling and drool slips out of the corner of your mouth. How stupid you must look right now.

How long has it been? 5 minutes? 5 hours?

It has to be at least that long or else the numbness that you’re beginning to experience down there doesn’t make any sense.

Atsumu has resumed his efforts in making you feel good, overstimulating every fiber of your being as he wipes away your tears and nuzzles your neck. It’d be an innocent gesture if he wasn’t rubbing circles onto your clit.

Osamu has been working like a well-oiled machine, admiring your broken face and how good his lower half feels, circulating adrenaline throughout his body. 

Just looking at you, choked up and crying, is enough. 

"I'm cumming..." he whispers. No, he’s not. He can’t. 

Not before his stupid twin does. And certainly not before you do. 

"Come on, baby, beg for it," Atsumu whispers into your ear, as if he can read his brother’s thoughts. 

Maybe they do have some sort of telepathy. Atsumu reaches forward and gently pushes down on your lower belly. You groan immediately. The slight pressure has your walls rubbing against their dicks even tighter now, and Osamu’s now grinding against that spot you love.

You’re gonna cum. Or pass out. Maybe both. 

"Please!" You shout. Fuck pride. "Please, please, please, ‘Samu, please cum."

Annnd he’s coming. Osamu reaches out, grasps your neck, and squeezes. 

Your cries are the only thing he can hear, loud enough to drown out Asumu’s words, and he’s losing sensation in his hips—

“Fuck, I love you, y/n…” Osamu says, admiring the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull. 

Even as your eyesight flickers, you make out this confession, lips automatically parting to moan. 

You tighten as Osamu releases in you, Atsumu following suit shortly after (something he’ll bully Osamu about later, no doubt).

There’s a certain stillness in the room as Osamu immediately slips out of you and turns away. Post-nut clarity’s setting in, and he realizes he’s not as fond of dick rubbing with Atsumu as he was a few minutes ago. 

Atsumu’s still panting in your ear, and, after a few moments of rest, gently eases himself out of you. Unlike his usual self (who insists on cuddling with you after the deed, no matter how much bodily fluid you’re covered in) he allows you to roll away from him, still recoiling from the strong orgasm.

Surprisingly, the lazy asshole leaps off the bed first today. 

“I’ll be taking a shower first. Alone.”

You muster enough energy to glance at him, then at Osamu. It’s so awkward you’d run out of the apartment if you could. 

Osamu knows his brother is being especially kind today, letting him speak to you in private.

As Atsumu strides towards the bathroom, he catches Osamu’s eye and winks, smirking at Osamu’s middle finger.

Osamu can basically hear his twin’s inner voice— this is just payment for the fuck.

You shut your eyes, registering the closing bathroom door. Now that the pleasure has subsided, you realize that you’re just in pain. Your chest and hips, especially, from Atsumu’s relentless teasing and Osamu’s rough handling. 

Damn it. You’re meeting with your friends tomorrow, how’re you going to hide these marks on your neck from them? 

From the way Osamu had choked you, you’re almost certain there’s going to be a bruise. You do have that leftover, crusty concealer that Atsumu got you a few months back—

“y/n, do you hate me?”

Osamu’s deep voice interrupts your thoughts. 

Your mouth instinctively opens, but you hesitate.

No. 

“No.”

Because you really don’t. Despite everything they put you through, you can’t bring yourself to hate them. 

Osamu lets out a silent sigh of relief, turning back to look at you. 

“Do you love me?”

You can’t answer him as quickly this time. 

Osamu and Atsumu were your brothers. They had been by your side for all of your childhood.

 They were the first ones to teach you how to ride a bike, how to multiply and divide, how to cook rice. 

They had been your first love. And even now… you’re relieved they’re with you, not in the bedrooms of other girls.

“I… do,” you admit. Fuck. You’re crazy. You know that. But you do. 

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you’re just as twisted as your brothers. You bury your head under the covers as the heat rushes to your face. 

“I wanna marry you.” Osamu suddenly announces, ripping back the blanket you’re holding to your face. He examines your blushing cheeks, and reaches down to grab your hand. 

Yeah, it’d look much fucking better with a shiny ring. He should look into a jewelry maker first thing tomorrow morning.

“Nope. I already called dibs, ‘Samu,” the blonde haired setter interjects, throwing open the door as if awaiting his cue. 

“Like months ago. Actually, years ago.”

Osamu frowns, prepared to retort back that actually, remember that you didn’t even like her when we first met her? You told dad you didn’t want him to marry mom because you didn’t want a sister, you little–

“We’re all Miyas here,” you say, predicting another fight. Despite your tiredness, you can't help but smile. 

Yeah, you do love them.

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a/n fun fact: i wrote this while meeting with my business class project group two semesters ago >.< depraved shit FR.. also no final read-through as usual bc i'm literally cringed out by my own writing LOL

[celtic-crossbow]

These will be updated here and there. It’s likely that there’s some I won’t stick to when it comes to requests and even story ideas where they won’t fit.

He hates pickles. Anything that is green and smells that bad does not belong in the food section.  But he loves pickled pigs feet.

He likes sex but can easily live without it. 

He hasn’t been a virgin since his early teens (thanks to Merle and a handful of drug money)

It would take some serious, repeated encouragement and assurance (and a lot of time) before he’s comfortable having sex.

He is the type of guy that goes one step at a time, testing the waters. Making out, touching you, letting you touch him (slowly because his brain has been conditioned to flinch away). Everything would be through the clothes and then progress. Slow and steady wins the race.

He’s a switch. Sometimes, he wants all the say (so to speak) in the bedroom, watching you whimper and beg. Sometimes he just physically needs to give up control to balance the chaos. 

Rarely, when he’s extremely needy, he wants you to tell him he’s a “good boy” and praise him for how incredible he makes you feel. He’d never ask for it but when you call him that on accident, his reaction was quite telling.

He can easily go from gentle to rough. He would never want to hurt you. Squeezing your throat, slapping your ass, teasing your breasts, or leaving love marks with his teeth absolutely do not count as hurting you.

Consent is a huge deal to him.

He’s always been quiet during anything sexual; On the rare occasions he talks, it’s reassurances and quiet, gentle praise. Otherwise, grunts and whimpers and low growls are what you get until he’s about to orgasm.

However, sometimes he’s just so wound up, so needy for you, that he can’t help but moan loudly or call your name.

He always tells you he’s close to or has already started cumming. No real rhyme or reason. Maybe just his way of letting you know that you took him there.

He has a genuine dislike of cats. He doesn’t hate them by any means but if he had to pick an animal that was secretly plotting world domination, it’d be cats. 

He prefers boxer briefs. 

The only name brand clothing he ever owned was underwear because his junk deserves only the best. 

He’s superstitious, even if he pretends not to be. 

He doesn’t like giving his significant other pet names beyond “sunshine,” “pipsqueak”, or “woman.” Things that you find endearing regardless. On rare occasions, he’ll use “doll” or “darlin’.”

He secretly adores when you call him “baby” or “sweetheart.” Pretty much any endearment that labels him as yours.

He rarely (but it does happen) says “I love you.” He’s more of an actions guy and if you say it first, he’ll usually only say “me too” or rub his knuckles over your jaw.

He can’t sleep if his feet are hot. 

Spiders freak him out. 

He wears cords/laces around the bottom of his jeans to keep ticks out of his boots.

He hates showers, not because he just doesn’t like them. Being in a space with scars on display makes him feel vulnerable. The water touching the scars forces him to relive when he received them.

Contrary to popular belief, he does keep specific areas of his body acceptably clean, using the bathroom sink or river/lake/creek when he’s in the forest.

The dirt and grime that coat his skin is a grounding reminder of who he is, so he doesn’t completely lose himself in that dystopian world.

He has never hunted for sport, only for survival. He respects nature and what it provides.

He loves to read. His favorite book is The Outsiders.

He doesn't/wouldn't understand why his girl can't talk to him instead of a stranger. He would need some mental health education as the urging of Carol or Michonne before even remotely understanding. He wants to be supportive, first and foremost.

He fights tooth and nail to avoid getting "his head shrunk" but in the end, if it meant not losing his girl, he'd give in.

He is a horrible patient for physical ailments and even worse for mental ones.

[lawsfuckasshat]

✙ ✙ ✙ olive branch. 🕊️🫀

gn!strawhat!reader, pre-dressrosa.

warnings: swearing, brief death mention, pre-relationship, law’s perspective, very short and hopefully sweet. not beta’d.

a/n: first time posting my writing ever… i hope it’s alright! i don’t think there’s an official reason for why law dislikes bread, but i like the headcanon that it’s because corazón doesn’t like it either :))

“so, is it like, a yeast thing?”

law rolls his eyes, face painted with his typical scowl. as cool, mysterious, and annoyed as ever. he crosses his arms, leaning back against the mast.

“no, __-ya.” he utters. you nod sagely, like you’re studying the guy under a microscope, and don’t seem deterred by his attitude in the slightest.

“then… is it a texture issue? ‘cause i totally understand that, i really don’t like-“

“i’m finding it difficult to understand why you want to know so badly.” law wishes that his intentionally curt answers would make you stop pestering him, would make his heart stop skipping beats every time you tried to pry open his hard outer shell. ‘mind over matter’ works well in every other aspect of how he presents himself, but the blood rushing to his face refuses to cooperate with him. great.

“i just wanna understand you,” you reply earnestly, “and what goes on in that pretty head of yours, is all. ya know?” for a split second, law is afraid that his heart has failed, if the free-falling drop in his chest is anything to go by. how could you say something like that so easily? right to his face, like you were talking about something as simple as the weather?

he tries to carefully pick his words, running through dozens of possibilities in his head, brain scrambling to say something, anything that’ll get you to leave him alone to wallow in his thoughts (…you think he’s pretty?) you wouldn’t really leave him alone if you left though, would you?

instead, he chooses to ignore you. head tilting down, one of his crossed arms coming up to tug the bill of his hat further down his face, shoulders slightly scrunching in. he feels like everything his body is doing is absolutely, incredibly, extremely obvious to you. his palms sweat uncomfortably and he’s so goddamn aware of your presence next to him, it’s driving him up the wall. he wishes he wasn’t so awkward, so scarred by all the loss in his life.

you don’t say anything, just turn your body and lean back against the mast with him. he briefly thinks his stonewalling worked.

“that’s okay.” you utter. there’s no rejection anxiety, no hurt in your voice. law’s shoulders and hidden scowl don’t relax, but he huffs out a hushed sigh. he stays quiet otherwise and waits a long minute before chancing a glance at you.

you’re leaned back against the mast, body language lax and open, although your arms are loosely crossed. your eyes are closed, skin sun-kissed. gentle sea breeze brushing across your clothes. you look warm, he thinks. he wishes you would reach out and touch him, but he also doesn’t 100% know if he’d like it. maybe he would.

law hates taking risks. he needs everything carefully planned out in his head before he makes a move, especially with the fruits of a thirteen year long effort coming to fruition in the next few days. he’s prepared to die kicking and screaming, fighting tooth and nail. he can’t fuck a single facet of his plan up.

then again, he’s dealing with the straw hat pirates here. a crew known for miracles. law steels his resolve and takes a calculated breath.

“someone i cared about a great deal didn’t like bread.”

the way you grin at him makes risking the olive branch worth it.

@ lawsfuckasshat 4.2.24

[lexsssu]

Beast (Dion Agriche)

TAGS: Dion/Dragoness!reader, pining, pervy thoughts, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

This place felt…sad.

The towering manse was objectively magnificent and yet an air of gloom seemed to envelop the very air that passed through the exquisite halls. Though perhaps it could be attributed to the unmistakable metallic scent that hung heavily within almost every corner of the estate. 

Whether it was the main courtyard, the gardens, or from deeper within, the darkness that settled over the entire structure was like a shroud of death that beckoned victims to fall into the sweet embrace of oblivion. It’s only through luck however, that they can either meet a swift end or a drawn out and miserable one. 

Judging from the melancholic or downright pained expressions upon the ghostly specters that roamed the area, it’s safe to say that this was a place of great suffering and tragedy. None of the actual living occupants could see them, most especially that man whose soul harbored an impressive amount of corruption for a human. No matter how many angry spirits clung to him in hopes of dragging his soul straight out of his body in order to enact their just revenge, each death done or ordered by his hand only seemed to further the taint. 

It’s almost as if he drew power from the lives he’d stolen.

He wasn’t the only one who attracted the attention of the restless souls. The man’s children who tried to follow in his footsteps also had a trail of bodies before them even before they could be called adults. Even one of his wives, a seemingly spritely woman with doll-like features, took lives as easily as getting rid of unpleasant pests.

In conclusion, this family is as cursed as the land they had stained with rivers of blood over the years.  

Much to your surprise however, not every Agriche shared a penchant for senseless murder. One of the eldest living daughters (Roxana) only had a single ghost following her and even then, the ghostly image of the teen boy didn’t seem to want to tear her limb from limb like all the others. Rather, he followed after her much like a puppy who only wanted to keep up with her pace. Sadly, the blonde never seemed to take notice of the boy who bore remarkably similar features with her even as he tried to reach his hand out to touch her. 

For she lives within the plane of the living, while he now resided in between life and death, unable to move on due to regrets or some other unfinished business you didn’t know of.  

The question is…are you content with staying as a mere observer?

The blonde youth perks up the moment he realizes you can see him, sheer relief brimming from every pore within his spectral body when you speak your first words to him. He is rich with the secrets Lante Agriche fights tooth and nail to prevent from ever seeing the light of day. 

A lonely boy becomes lonely no more and a displaced dragoness finds that becoming lost wasn’t too bad when you have good company around you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dion doesn’t dream.

Considering the amount of blood that stained his rough hands, it is better that he only descends into nothingness whenever he rests his eyes, for one could only imagine what horrors lay in wait to torment him for all the atrocities he’d committed. He’s not afraid of the ghosts of his victims, but rather finds it useless to think of flames that had already been snuffed out when they could no longer influence the living in any way.

But then something changes.

He feels a soft, warm touch that gently traces the length of his nose, cups the sharp angles of his face, and even delves into his dark locks. Though his eyes remain closed, his own subconscious supplies him with the image of hands much smaller than his own large ones that poked and prodded at him without fear. 

While he would have caught the appendages and mayhaps stuck a knife into anyone who decided to lay their hands upon him, Dion knows that this could only be a dream because who would even dare to caress him so gingerly in the middle of night within the Agriche’s own manor? If anything, he finds his dreamself to commit to memory the feeling of such a gentle touch being bestowed upon him, because rationally he knows that he has no need for softness. In the confines of his own subconscious however, he supposes that he can allow himself this at the very least.

When he wakes up at the crack of dawn, it is to open windows with its blinds fluttering as the morning breeze makes its way to his room, bringing with it not just the familiar scent of iron that seemed to permanently surround the place he’d grown up in. 

Though he cares not for flowers specifically, he does have knowledge on their practical uses such as poisons and the like. He also prefers knowing the native flora and fauna of the hunting grounds he’d be thrown into in order to get a better grasp of the terrain.

Blooming honeysuckles make his brows furrowed in confusion despite his stone-cold exterior, confused as to how and why such a scent overpowered the ever present iron tang in the air. 

Curiouser and curiouser.

Dion remains oblivious to the shared laughter between a woman with ivory in her hair and a boy whose eyes reflected the deep, bright expanse of the open sky as they watched him stick his head out of his windows to locate the origin of the oddity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“YOU...”

“...Me?”

Dion feels his body practically burning from the inside-out, his heart beating several miles per minute as he finally gets a good look of the poltergeist that haunts his nights. He remembers the tender touches you press against his skin, the warm caresses that leave him gasping for breath and his loins aching for sweet release by the time he’s released from your clutches once dawn has broken. 

He does not need your sweetness.

He has no use for your gentleness.

And yet he craves it.

He has never desired anything. 

He has never felt so strongly about anything other than the swish of his blade, the gurgling of his victims, and the blood splattered against the ground as another mark of his martial prowess.

And yet you drove him to become more of a feral beast than he ever was as he now wished for nothing else other than to possess your whole being just as you possessed him without even meaning to.

“...are MINE”

Your surprised squeak is music to his ears, the flush on your cheeks pleasing the beast that sought to have you pressed down on the ground and taken ruthlessly, flooding your fertile womb with his virile seed...

.

.

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To be continued(?)