#and i skim through it for a line that sparks an idea and then

[wrencatte]

mini-fic 6(ish!) post-Fallen Order. Mantis Crew. Cal & Merrin. Omniscient POV (Mostly Merrin). 1.1k words Cal...has a beard??? ao3 mini fic link - chapter 6 (ponchos)

Cal plops down on the couch with a loud, drawn-out satisfied sound, relishing in the first comfortable seat in literal days. Merrin looks up from her holonovel, blinks once, twice, and bluntly asks, “What is wrong with your face?”

He slaps a hand to his chin. “There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“No, there is,” she insists, abandoning her novel to grab hold of his wrist and wrench his hand away – or at least she tries to wrench it away, but Cal resists valiantly, muscles straining with the effort. He leans as far back from the Nightsister as possible until he yelps, and they both go tumbling off the couch to land in a groaning heap on the floor.

Cere watches them, eyebrows raised, and lifting not a single finger to assist either one of them. BD chirrups from his spot over the Master’s shoulder, something distinctly mocking in his tone even without knowing binary, and Cal groans again, louder and more obnoxiously.

“Thanks, buddy, knew I could count on you,” he snarks. The droid whistles something else that just makes him laugh.

“What did he say?” Merrin asks even as she resorts to prying Cal’s hand off his face, fingers digging under his palm. He tries to smack her hand away with his free one, but she just grabs it and pins it awkwardly to the side out of the way. She pauses, head tilted in contemplation, then drops her entire body weight on the Jedi. He lets out a wheezing oof! at the suddenness, eyes wide. BD laughs at him. “This would be easier if you just gave in.”

“Doubt it,” he grunts.

They grapple – no, actually, tussle is really a better word to describe it. Neither of them are actually trying at all. Cal’s stuck arching his face away from Merrin since he can use his hand, and Merrin could easily hurt him in this position, so her efforts are half-hearted at best. Both of them are laughing like children, little hushed, breathless giggles. Cere doesn’t hide her smile, thoroughly enjoying the sight of them acting so care-free, and secretly recording the whole thing. Even though they have BD for that, there’s something about having a version all to herself that she can’t resist.

Cal finally gives up and removes his hand. Merrin makes a noise of triumphant – that gets cut off when he (gently) smacks his hand against Merrin’s face instead, effectively blinding her. He uses the surprise attack as leverage to shove her back against the base of the couch and he scrambles to his feet, putting distance between the two of them quickly, and…goes back to covering his chin.

“It is not that embarrassing,” Merrin tells him.

Cal scowls. “You said there was something wrong with my face!”

She makes a conceding expression. “Fair, but I did not mean it in that way. It merely…caught me by surprise.”

Cal had been gone for the last few days, exploring a nearby mountain pass in hopes it was what they were looking for (it wasn’t), so forgive her shock when he came back looking like that. He changed out of his regular poncho and new vest combo in favor of a pair of loose pants with far too many belts and his ratty training top that Greez has tried to throw out several times – though not as many times he’s tried to throw out some of his older, more…pungent ponchos. His hair longer than when she first met him, long enough to tuck behind his ears, and when you add that to what’s going on with his face…

He eyes her warily then semi-reluctantly drops his hand, putting it on his hip instead in a sort of are you happy now? pose. Merrin stares at him. He stares back, weight shifting as if he’s about to bolt.

“It looks good,” she declares finally.

Cal rolls his eyes. “You literally said – .”

“I did not get a proper look! You surprised me!” Merrin snaps. Cal throws his hands up in a huff.

He has a beard.

Or…almost a beard. Barely a beard, it’s still growing in and all. But it’s there and it, and it adds a maturity to his face she wasn’t expecting. Before, his old, world-weary soul could only be felt in the Force when he dropped his shields and let them help him. Now, though, Merrin looks at him and she can see the weight he carries far too easily. The beard looks good, yes, but it makes her heart ache just a little.

Cal scrubs a hand over the short, scratchy-looking beard. It makes his freckles stand out, somehow, or maybe that’s because they’ve been hopping from sunny planet to sunny planet these last few months and he’s no longer stuck under the perpetually gloomy clouds of Bracca. He burns instead of tans, but he seems to get new freckles every day.

“I didn’t mean to grow one in,” he admits. “But I’m kinda attached now.”

“Literally,” Cere adds.

He sticks his tongue out at her then jumps with a strangled yelp when she thrums their bond in admonishment like he’s a twelve-year-old apprentice all over again. “Hey! That’s a cheap shot!”

“What’s a cheap shot?” Greez asks, walking onto the Mantis. He looks up from the holopad he was consulting. “Oh. Hey, Cal, welcome back…What’s wrong with your face?”

Cal swears at him in Huttese as Merrin laughs. “All of you! All of you are against me! It’s not that bad!”

“It truly isn’t,” Merrin assures him, sounding only half-sincere to his ears.

Cere shrugs. “It’s not too bad,” she agrees. “I think it needs another day or two before it really works for you, though. Right now it’s…” She wiggles her hand with a wince.

“Ehhh,” is Greez’s contribution.

Cal hides his face with both hands this time, sighing very, very loudly. “You are all so mean to me. Fine, I’ll kriffin’ shave it off. Greez, got anything I can use? My kit got lost somewhere.” He glares BD-1 from between his fingers and the droid chitters in response, sounding offended. “I am not! You’re the one who went over the ledge! I told you not to scan it!” BD-1 beeps something decidedly rude.

“Nothin’ for your human sensitivity. You’re gonna have to wait until our next supply stop, kid.”

He groans. “Unbelievable. That’s a week from now.”

Merrin pats his shoulder consolingly. “You will survive,” she says seriously. “And if you do not, I know several rituals that will bring you back with minimal…side-effects.”

“Thanks, Merrin, you really know how to make a guy feel better.”

She smiles. “You are welcome!”

[driverlando]

sending lando ✨️spicy✨️ pictures while he's at the gym training

“Really? Right now?” Lando murmured to himself, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket as he finished a set of bench presses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and reached for his phone, anticipating a quick glance before diving back into his workout.

The screen lit up with a notification from you, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He opened the message and his breath hitched. The image of you in nothing but lace, sprawled across the bed, greeted him. Your sultry gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, sending a shiver down his spine.

His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as he took in the sight. He could almost feel the softness of the lace, the heat radiating from your skin. He swallowed hard, feeling a rush of desire pooling low in his abdomen.

“You’re killing me, love,” he muttered, glancing around the gym. The clatter of weights and hum of conversation seemed distant, his focus solely on you. He quickly typed a response, fingers almost fumbling over the keys.

Lando: What are you trying to do to me? 😮‍💨

He hit send and pocketed his phone, trying to shake off the images that danced in his mind. Each movement felt heavier, more labored as if you had stolen every ounce of his concentration. He managed a few more reps before another buzz pulled him back to his phone.

You: Just a little motivation. Are you motivated, baby? 😘

Lando’s jaw clenched, a low growl escaping his lips. Motivation was an understatement. His mind raced with thoughts of you, your body, the promise in your eyes. He could almost hear your teasing laughter, feel the ghost of your touch.

His fingers moved quickly over the screen.

Lando: You have no idea. Can’t wait to get back to you.

He glanced up, catching his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself, but the heat wouldn’t dissipate. Another buzz. He didn’t hesitate this time, opening your message immediately.

You: Why wait? Come home now 🤭

Lando’s resolve shattered. The weights, the gym, the routine—all of it faded into the background. He grabbed his bag, muttering quick goodbyes to his teammates as he made his way to the exit and back home. His heart pounded, each step closer to you a pulse of anticipation and longing.

He fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door. The house was quiet, but the air was charged with expectation.

Lando’s hands trembled as he pushed open the bedroom door. The sight of you draped in that tantalizing lace, a wicked smile playing on your lips, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Lando,” you purred, stretching languidly on the bed, your body a siren’s call. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“Couldn’t stay away,” he murmured, voice rough with need. His gym bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and in two long strides, he was by your side.

His lips crashed against yours with an urgency that stole your breath. He tasted of salt and heat, a heady mix that made you moan against his mouth. Your hands roamed over his sweat-dampened shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath, each touch igniting a spark.

“Lace, huh?” he murmured against your lips, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric. “You know what this does to me.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slipped under the lace, skimming over your heated skin. “I wanted to motivate you,” you whispered, arching into his touch. “Did it work?”

Lando’s chuckle was dark, almost a growl. “You have no idea.”

With a swift movement, he pulled your body flush against his, the hard lines of his form pressing into your softness. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer.

“Lando, please,” you breathed, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “I need you.”

His eyes darkened, the raw desire in them making your heart race. “I need you too,” he replied, voice thick with longing. He pulled back just enough to strip off his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and arms, slick with sweat. You reached out, tracing the lines of his abs, reveling in the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

“Patience,” he murmured, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. He made quick work of his gym shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He stood before you, eyes raking over your body, the lace barely concealing the curves he craved.

He moved to the bed, crawling over you with a predatory grace. His hands slid down your sides, hooking under the lace and pulling it off with a slow, deliberate motion that left you trembling with anticipation. The cool air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

Lando’s mouth followed the path of his hands, kissing and sucking at the newly exposed skin. When his lips closed around a hardened nipple, you cried out, the sensation shooting straight to your core. His hands continued their exploration, fingers dancing over your hips, your thighs, before finally slipping between your legs.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. “So ready for me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, hips bucking against his hand. “Please, Lando.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your folds. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when your eyes met his, he thrust into you, filling you completely. You both moaned, the sensation overwhelming.

He started to move, slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. His pace quickened, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room.

“God, you feel so good,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. You could feel the tension building, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“Lando, I’m gonna—” The words were cut off by a cry as your orgasm crashed over you, your body tightening around him.

Lando followed soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. With a final, deep thrust, he came, spilling into you with a groan.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, hearts racing. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. “Guess I’ll be coming home early more often,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your slightly sweaty forehead.

You smiled, snuggling closer. “I’ll make sure to have more surprises waiting,” you whispered, already planning the next time.

[heejake-hoon]

Enhypen Hyung line when you wear their shirt (suggestive)

Heeseung: Heeseung stops dead in his tracks when he walks into the bedroom and sees you lounging on the bed in nothing but his button-down shirt. His eyes darken as they rake over your form, taking in the way the fabric swamps your smaller frame, the hem riding high on your thighs. "Well well well," he drawls, voice pitched low. "What do we have here?" he teased voice playful You smile up at him coyly, stretching languidly in a way that makes the shirt ride up even further. "I missed you," you say simply. "Wanted to feel close to you while you were gone." Heeseung's expression softens for a moment before heat sparks in his gaze once more. He stalks towards the bed, already loosening his tie. "And you thought wearing my clothes was the best way to do that, hmm?" You bite your lip, peering up at him through your lashes. "Don't you like it?" He groans, knee hitting the mattress as he crawls over you predatorily. "Oh I like it alright," he rasps, palming your bare thigh possessively. "Like seeing you in my shirt, smelling like me, marked as mine. Fuck baby, you have no idea what you do to me." You grin, winding your arms around his neck and arching up into him. "Why don't you show me then?" you purr, nipping at his jaw.  Heeseung growls, low in his throat, before claiming your mouth in a filthy kiss. "Gladly," he mutters against your lips. "Hope you weren't planning on getting much sleep tonight. Cause you're not leaving this bed until I've thoroughly ruined you in this shirt." 

Jay:

Jay chokes on his coffee when you saunter into the kitchen wearing his flannel, the garment barely skimming the tops of your thighs. His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he takes in your bare legs, gaze zeroing in on the tantalizing glimpse of collarbone peeking out from where you've left the top few buttons undone. "Morning," you chirp brightly, reaching past him for a mug and giving him an eyeful of cleavage in the process.  Jay makes a strangled noise, hands flexing on the countertop. "Is that my shirt?" he asks, voice strained. You glance down at yourself as if just noticing, all faux innocence. "Oh this? Yeah, I hope you don't mind. I couldn't find mine this morning and yours was the closest." He clears his throat roughly, shifting in his seat as his pants suddenly feel a bit too tight. "Right. And uh, did your pants go missing too or...?" You shrug nonchalantly, leaning back against the counter and crossing your legs. The movement makes the hem of the shirt ride up dangerously high and Jay has to physically bite his tongue to keep from whimpering.  "They're in the wash," you say casually. "Why, is this bothering you? I can go change..." You make it as if to leave but Jay's hand shoots out, fingers circling your wrist. "Don't you fucking dare," he growls, already tugging you towards him.  You stumble forward with a gasp, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you fall into his lap. Jay's grip immediately goes to your hips, large hands palming your ass greedily.  "You little tease," he breathes, nosing along the column of your throat. "Parading around in my clothes, barely covered, fucking begging for it. You're in so much trouble." You moan as he bites down on your pulse point, marking you. "Promise?" Jay's answering grin is positively wicked. "Oh you have no idea, baby. I'm going to wreck you in this shirt. And then I'm going to wreck you out of it. Repeatedly."

Jake: Jake nearly swallows his tongue when he sees you curled up on the couch in his hoodie, the oversized garment making you look soft and adorably rumpled. There's just something about seeing you in his clothes, all wrapped up in his scent, that makes his chest feel too tight. "Comfy?" he asks, aiming for casual and missing by a mile if the way his voice cracks is any indication. You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, a small, secretive smile playing on your lips. "Very. You don't mind, do you?" Mind? Jake's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. He clears his throat, trying to get ahold of himself. "No, no of course not. What's mine is yours and all that." Your smile widens, turning distinctly mischievous. "Oh? Does that mean I can raid your closet more often then?" Jake's jaw goes slack, arousal slamming into him like a freight train at the thought of you wearing his clothes on the regular, staking your claim on him in the most primal way. "I- uh, I mean- yes?" he stammers, brain short-circuiting.  You giggle, rising languidly from the couch and sauntering over to him. Jake's eyes nearly fall out of his head when he realizes you're not wearing anything under his hoodie, miles of bare leg on display.  "Good to know," you murmur, draping your arms over his shoulders and pressing your body flush against his. "Cause I really like wearing your clothes. Makes me feel close to you. Owned by you. Like I'm yours." you whispered the last part. Jake inhales shakily, hands flexing on your hips as he struggles for control. "Fuck. You can't just say things like that unless you want me to-" "To what?" you interrupt, eyes sparkling with challenge. "Take me? Claim me? Make me scream your name until the whole block knows who I belong to?" He growls, walking you backwards until your legs hit the couch and you tumble down onto the cushions. "All of the above," Jake rasps, already working at the zipper of his hoodie and shoving the fabric aside impatiently. "Gonna mark you up, ruin you for anyone else, make sure the whole fucking world knows you're mine." You moan, arching up into his touch wantonly. "Yes, Jake, please. Want that, want you, only you." "Fuck," he grits out, before descending on you in a flurry of desperate hands and filthy kisses, intent on turning you inside out and remaking you as his, thoroughly debauched and utterly owned. Just the way you both like it.

Sunghoon: Sunghoon freezes when he enters the bedroom to find you sprawled across the bed in his favorite silk shirt, the expensive fabric straining obscenely across your chest and riding high on your hips. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the expanse of skin on display, the way the dark cloth contrasts against your skin tone. "What's all this?" he asks, voice husky with desire. You stretch lazily, the movement causing the shirt to bunch and shift, revealing even more tantalizing glimpses of flesh. "Just thought I'd slip into something a bit more comfortable," you purr, eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes. Sunghoon swallows hard, arousal simmering slow and hot in his veins. He takes a measured step forward, then another, until he's standing at the foot of the bed, looming over you with a heated gaze. "And you thought my shirt was the best option?" His tone is low, dangerous, the kind of calm that comes before a storm. You bite your lip coyly, reaching up to fiddle with the buttons, popping one open and then another. Sunghoon tracks the movement hungrily, hands clenching into fists at his sides.  "Don't you like it?" you ask, all feigned innocence. "I thought you might appreciate seeing me in your clothes. Wrapped up in your scent, branded as yours..." He snarls, something possessive and primal unfurling in his chest at your words. In one swift movement, he's on the bed, caging you beneath him, hands pinning your wrists above your head. "You're playing a dangerous game, baby," Sunghoon warns, nipping sharply at your pulse point. "Teasing me like this, flaunting what's mine, practically begging to be taken..." You moan, arching up into him as best you can. "Maybe that was the point," you gasp. "Maybe I want you to take me, claim me, remind me who I belong to." Sunghoon groans, rocking his hips forward to grind his hardness against you pointedly. "Careful what you wish for, love," he grits out. "Keep this up and I won't be held responsible for my actions." You grin, a filthy, wicked thing, as you wrap your legs around his waist and use the leverage to flip your positions, straddling him and pinning his hands above his head in turn.  "Oh, I'm counting on it," you purr, rolling your hips sinuously. "I want you to lose control, Hoonie. I want you to fuck me like you own me. Because you do. I'm yours, utterly and completely. So prove it." Sunghoon's eyes flash, dark and hungry, and then he's surging up to claim your mouth in a brutal kiss, hands ripping at the fabric of the shirt urgently.  "Mine," he snarls against your lips, the word a vow and a prayer all at once. "My pretty baby, so fucking perfect for me, such a good little tease. Gonna ruin you, wreck you, make it so you never forget who you belong to."

[valkyrieromanoff]

Bad ideia right?: master!anakin x padawan!reader

synopsis: Sharing a room with your master didn’t seem like a bad idea, right? But when Anakin steps out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel hanging on his hips, things quickly spiral into uncharted territory. As the tension between you thickens and lines between duty and desire blur, you’re left questioning whether this might have been a very bad idea after all.

warning: master x padawan trope (sorry, power imbalance), inexperienced reader, dominant Anakin, handjob, practically only smut, almost no plot.

words: 1.8k

a/n: So... this idea came to my mind randomly with an edit of some character by Hayden Christensen, and, since I'm obsessed with Anakin, obviously, he was the chosen one. Anyway, I hope you like it, and thanks for the comments on James Kelly's oneshot, I'm working on a sequel. Kisses💖

𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏' 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂, 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕?

𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏' 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒕, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆

Sharing a room with your master hadn't seemed like a bad idea earlier in the night. After all, just hours ago, the two of you were shivering outside the small hotel, waiting for the Council to deliberate on whether it was even possible to send a rescue. The cold had bit through your robes, and with the Council's decision delayed, the promise of warmth had seemed worth the minor inconvenience.

Anakin, somehow, had managed to scrounge up a few credits, not enough for separate quarters but just enough to rent a single room. The thought of sharing didn’t raise any concerns, even though there was only one bed. It wasn’t all that different from the countless nights spent camping during missions, except that Master Kenobi or Rex usually are close by.

But now, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped only in a loose shirt that barely skimmed your thighs, you were beginning to rethink that assumption. Your Jedi robes were draped neatly over a chair in the corner. You hadn’t packed any extra clothes, not imagining you'd need them, and as you sat there, nerves started to flutter in your chest.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Anakin stepped out, a wave of warm, humid air spilling into the room with him. His sandy, wavy hair was damp, droplets of water trailing lazily down his bare chest, across the defined muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes followed one particular droplet as it slid down his abs before disappearing into the white towel wrapped low around his waist.

Suddenly, sharing a room didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away. Anakin, always so sure of himself, caught your stare and flashed you a confident grin —one that was all too knowing. There was a flicker of something playful in his eyes, a dangerous spark that sent your pulse racing. He shook his head lightly, sending more water droplets flying, and the gesture felt so casual, so effortless, yet it left you completely unraveled.

"You like what you see?" Anakin’s voice was low, teasing, as he raised a brow in amusement. His tone, laced with flirtation, made your skin heat despite the chill that lingered in the air.

Your mind screamed at you to look away, to remember the boundaries between master and padawan, but your body betrayed you, rooted in place by the tension that now filled the small room.

For a split second, you saw hesitation in his eyes —just a flicker, like maybe even he knew he was crossing a line. But then, as if driven by some reckless need to push further, to test the limits, the towel slipped. It fell silently to the floor, landing in a small patch of undried paint that clung to the fabric.

Your breath hitched. The tension in the air thickened, the room suddenly feeling far too small, too intimate. Anakin stood there, unabashed, watching your reaction with that same infuriatingly smug look. Yet beneath that confidence, you could sense something else simmering —an unspoken desire, a question hanging in the air between you.

This definitely wasn’t a good idea anymore.

Your eyes widened, a sharp jolt of surprise and confusion surging through you. Never—not in your wildest dreams—had you imagined being in a situation like this. Anakin, your master, standing before you so naked in his glory. It felt surreal, as if reality had warped around you in that instant.

Instinctively, your gaze dropped lower before you could stop yourself, a glimpse of his half-hard cock. The realization hit you like a lightning bolt, and the heat flooding your face was immediate. A fiery blush crept up your cheeks, burning hot with a mix of shock and embarrassment.

Your hands flew to your face, palms pressing over your eyes as if you could erase the image, your heart hammering in your chest. "Force, what is happening?" you thought, breath catching in your throat. Your mind was a mess, struggling to reconcile the absurdity of the moment with the unwavering discipline you'd spent years mastering.

Behind your hands, you heard Anakin chuckle softly, his amusement only making the situation feel even more unreal. And still, beneath the embarrassment, there was something else stirring —something dangerous, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“It’s okay, padawan. You can look.” he whispered, his voice soft. He wanted you to know that you could trust him, that you didn't need to feel ashamed or shy, he was your master after all.

You didn’t move. This isn’t right. It’s not the Jedi way, you reminded yourself, mentally reciting the Jedi Code you’d been trained to memorize, the one you’d sworn never to break. The words echoed in your mind like a lifeline, an anchor to the discipline you’d spent years being taught. But as the silence stretched between you, another part of you —one far more rebellious, one undeniably influenced by your master— began to stir. It grew louder, more insistent, gnawing at the edges of your resolve.

Anakin was waiting. You didn’t need to see him to know it. He was smiling—delighting in your hesitation, in the battle waging inside you. You could feel it, the way he reveled in your inner conflict, the tension thickening the air like an invisible thread pulling you toward him.

Your breath caught in your throat as you slowly lowered your hands from your face, fingers trembling just slightly. Your cheeks were still flushed, the heat of embarrassment lingering, but something else was there now too. Something that made your heart race, not out of shame but out of curiosity —of temptation.

Your eyelids fluttered shyly, hesitant, before you finally dared to meet his gaze. The moment your eyes locked with his, the smirk on his face widened ever so slightly, his confidence unshaken, even amused. He knew. He could see the crack in your defenses, the sliver of doubt that had taken root in your mind.

And the worst part? A part of you didn’t want to stop it.

“This is for you,” Anakin said, holding his hardened cock with his flesh hand, his voice low and husky, each word dripping with unspoken desire. There was a tension in his tone, thick and electric, the kind that made the air between you feel charged. His gaze was locked on yours, darkened with the intensity of his emotions, and you could feel the weight of it —how deeply you affected him, how you turned him on.

He wanted you to know. To feel the way the mere sight of your flushed face stirred something primal within him, something dangerous and raw. It was as if a storm had begun to brew in his chest, the pull of his desire rising like a tide, ready to drown both of you. The restraint he usually held was crumbling, like a volcano on the verge of eruption, and the way his breath hitched, just slightly, told you that it was taking everything he had to hold it back.

And yet, he didn’t. His words, his gaze—they were a confession in themselves. This was all for you.

The intensity of Anakin's gaze left you breathless, your body trembling in anticipation. You could feel your own arousal building, the heat between your legs growing more insistent with each passing second.

He waited for your response, his eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to take what he offered. Your hand trembled slightly as it reached out to meet him, your fingers brushing against his hardened length.

He let out a soft groan, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. The sound felt a shiver down your spine, the power you held over him a heady intoxication. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat radiating from his cock, the veins that pulsed beneath your touch.

He watched you, your hands tentatively exploring him, your eyes wide and curious. He loved the way you looked, the way you felt. He wanted to teach you everything, to show you how to please him, how to make him feel good.

Anakin's fingers intertwined with yours, his hand covering yours as he showed you the rhythm he preferred. "Like this, Padawan," he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur against your ear. "Gentle, but firm."

You followed his lead, your hands moving in unison, your strokes slow and deliberate. Anakin's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as you began to find your rhythm.

"It's different," you admitted shyly, your fingers still slightly clumsy around his hardened cock. You bit your lower lip, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Am I doin’ right?" you asked nervously, your gaze meeting his.

Anakin's lips curved into a smile, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. "Yes, padawan, you're doing just fine," he reassured you, his voice thick with desire. "Just like that.

You continued to stroke him, your movements more confident now. Anakin's body began to tense, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “faster” he whispered, his voice urgent.

He could feel his orgasm building, could feel his body tensing. Anakin watched you, your eyes wide and trusting, your hands moving faster, your fingers slick with his pre-cum. He loved the way you looked, the way you felt. He loved the way you made him feel.

"Oh, Padawan," he moaned, his voice a low, guttural sound. "I'm going to come."

With a shuddering breath, he did,  his orgasm hitting him like a freight train.  He came in your hand, his seed spilling hot and thick over your fingers, his body shuddering as the waves of pleasure washed over him.

Anakin leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as his release ebbed away. “Good girl, padawan” he whispered, his breathing gradually returning to normal. “You did so good.” he said, his voice soft.

You stood there, bathed in the lingering warmth of the moment, your eyes flickering to your hands. Your fingers were coated in the thick, milky substance of his release. "It's sticky," you murmured, your voice tinged with innocent curiosity as you stared at your fingers. You shyly pulled them away, a thin line of cum stretching between two delicate fingers.

Anakin watched you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of mischief. "Let me help you with that," he said, his voice low and husky. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "It's only fair that you clean it up, Padawan."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise. "Clean it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Anakin nodded, his thumb brushing against your fingers, smearing the cum slightly. "With your mouth," he suggested, his gauze locked onto yours. "It's only fitting, don't you think?"

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. But the thought of tasting him, of pleasing him in this intimate way, feels a shiver of anticipation down your spine. 

Slowly, you brought your fingers to your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick the sticky substance from your skin. Anakin's breath hitched as he watched you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You did so good, padawan. I'm so proud of you.” he whispered, his voice soft. 

[regulus-blacks-lover]

Hi it's me again

72 with regulus💚

I have a story idea, if you don't like it, you don't have to answer

Sooo you are kinda innocent, like you had sex before but unspecial without feelings. And regulus founds out you are reading smut books and want to give you the special spice experience you deserve. Maybe you are reading and he starts eating you out

Lot of love to you💓

Sorry it's taken me literal ages to write this! I hope u like it!

1,329 words

#72: “there is no way anyone is that innocent”

"What's up, little dove?" Regulus asked, plopping down onto the common room couch next to you.

You glanced up from your History of Magic textbook just long enough to shoot him an annoyed look. "I've got so much to do Reg. Gotta read this whole section of the book and write two essays by tomorrow."

He leaned his head on your shoulder to look at the chapter you'd already turned back to. "Oh the magical transparency uprisings of 1754," he said. You bit back your annoyance. Regulus was so good at history, thanks to the years of private tutoring his parents had supplied him for his entire childhood.

"I've been reading this page for twenty minutes," you groaned. "It's not sinking in. I'm doomed!"

Your best friend pulled your legs into his lap. "I'll help you." he said, positioning the textbook in your lap so you could both see it. You watched Regulus skim the page before he began summarizing the entire chapter like he'd been preparing a presentation on it. As he spoke, he traced lazy lines up your calves.

You relaxed into his touch and slowly began to understand what the dry words in your textbook had been trying to say.

It was always like this, Regulus coming to your rescue. Your best friend. Never anything more than kind words and casual, platonic contact. Sometimes you thought you caught him looking at you with something beyond just friendship in his gaze, but you always told yourself you were making it up.

You made it through another finals week, thanks to Regulus. The weather outside began warming as spring approached. You'd planned to stay at the school for the short spring break with a group of friends, but several of them had gotten into relationships during the term and had abandoned those plans in favor of spending the spring outside in their lovers arms. You couldn't fault them, but you also couldn't help the bitter jealousy that burned in your chest when you thought of how lonely you were.

You'd had a few relationships, of course, each as unfulfilling and short lived as the last. You'd never felt a spark with any of your partners, never cared for them the way you wanted to. And in return, you hadn't been properly cared for.

With the castle nearly empty, you ventured into the library, ending up in the small romance section. You rifled through a few books before finding one that was properly steamy. You tucked it under your arm and made your way back to the common room.

You find a decently private corner and begin reading, crossing your legs in search of friction as you reach the first sex scene in the book.

"He was consuming her like fire, his tongue stroking in long, slow licks, curling–"

"Hello little dove," a voice says, sitting down next to you. You start, instinctively angling your book away from view. You'd been so focused on the book that you hadn't even heard Regulus come in. Glancing around, you noticed that it was just the two of you in the room. "Please tell me you aren't studying during the break? That's so sad," he said, offering you a mock-pout.

"I'm not studying." You replied, trying to move the book further out of view.

Regulus cocked an eyebrow. He knew you too well, damn him. Before you could react, he snatched the book from your grasp, flipping it back open. You could only watch as his eyes scanned the pages, taking in the smut you'd been reading.

"I knew it. I knew there was absolutely no way anyone could be that innocent." He said, turning to smirk at you.

"What?" You asked, too embarrassed to think of anything else.

Regulus placed a hand on your knee, eyes momentarily lingering on your still crossed legs before he raised his gaze to yours again. "I thought maybe you were just so innocent, the way I touched you never felt like anything beyond just friendly touches." He said quietly. "I never let it go beyond that. I always wanted... I always wanted to make you feel good, I just thought you weren't... into that kind of thing."

Your gaze darted to his hand on your knee. As you watched, he slid his hand upward, just high enough that his thumb vanished below the hem of your skirt. Out of sight, he traced a gentle line against your thigh.

He leaned into you. "Do you want me to touch you?" He purred into your ear. His warm breath fanned across your neck.

Your voice was breathy when you replied, "Yes."

He pressed a kiss against your shoulder and asked, "Do you want me to touch you in all of those filthy ways you read about?"

You felt like you couldn't breathe. "Please." You said, all bust gasping the word out.

"Good." He said, but then he pulled his warm hand out from where it had been making its way underneath your skirt.

"Regulus, what-" you began, but he cut you off by grabbing your hips to pull you to the edge of the small couch you'd been perched on.

He knelt before you, leaning forward to kiss you. His hands were back on you, one on each thigh, trailing impossibly upward until your skirt was pushed all the way up around your waist and one of his thumbs began drawing torturously slow circles over your underwear.

You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. For all the times you'd wondered what it would be like to kiss him, the real thing was so much better than you'd even imagined.

You began rocking your hips ever so slightly upwards, trying to create more pressure as he touched you so gently. You felt Regulus smile into the kiss before he pulled away.

"Lean back for me, my dove." He said, gently pushing your shoulders back so you were half lying against the back of the couch.

You watched him sink down in front of you, his hands pulling your legs apart. He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and you lifted your hips to allow him room to shimmy the fabric down your legs. Your face flushed slightly, suddenly feeling bare and vulnerable. Regulus began to kiss his way up your legs, starting at your knees and making his way upward to your core, where his thumb was already rubbing slow circles against your clit, spreading your wetness around.

You inhaled sharply as he sucked the tender flesh of your inner thigh into his mouth, sure to leave a mark behind. His gaze flicked up to you, full of desire. "Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, waiting for you to pant out a 'yes' before continuing. He replaced his thumb with his mouth and you swore you'd never felt anything so good.

A small whimper left your mouth as he pushed a finger into your entrance, keeping his mouth locked on your clit, sucking it harshly before releasing it to lick it gently over and over.

He began to increase his pace, flicking his tongue over your core faster and faster until you were shaking under his touch. Meanwhile, he added a second finger to your pussy, curling them up into your center, hitting that sweet spot and making you cry out again.

Your hands were tangled in his hair and you bucked your hips up into his mouth, meeting his every thrust with one of your own.

"Regulus," you gasped, "Regulus, 'm gonna come."

He was unrelenting, continuing to lick and kiss and suck at you until your orgasm washed over you, more powerful than any pleasure you'd ever felt before.

When at last Regulus pulled away, you were a mess before him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to taste you." He whispered, looking up at you from his position between your thighs.

[youngpettyqueen]

I could use a distraction too tbh so if you're in the mood for it: something with Charles and Hawkeye and hurt/comfort with either of them experiencing some non-dangerous pain (hangover, migraine, muscle cramp etc etc whatever sparks joy)

yesssssssss

Hawkeye woke up with a migraine. This isn't a common occurrence, but it's also not unheard of. His usual solution is to get a shot of morphine into himself as quickly as possible and hope for the best, but today it seems to have hit with all the speed and force of a truck on a highway, rendering him very nearly immobilized with pain.

Charles ended up getting him the shot. He's not a monster, of course he was going to help. He's also not unsympathetic to Hawkeye's plight, having suffered a few migraines himself when he first transferred here.

(He also just hates seeing Hawkeye in pain, not that he'd ever admit to that.)

So, he gave him the shot. Promised to check on him later, and thought that was the end of it. This was foolish, apparently, because before he could move away, Hawkeye had him by the sleeve. And, well, he couldn't exactly yank him down, but he did tug on his sleeve. Very pathetically and very insistently.

"Stay." Was all he managed to say.

So if anybody asks, Charles will be telling them Hawkeye strong-armed him into the cot.

He's lying on his side, and Hawkeye's tucked up against him with his face buried deep in his chest. Charles has managed to get the blanket over both of them, and he's maneuvered his robe to cover Hawkeye's face, offering him some more shelter from the daylight. Hawkeye's arms are wrapped loosely around his neck and he's got one arm around him in return, though with the other he's holding a book. One of Hawkeye's, the first non-pornographic book he found within reach. Some sort of detective noir.

It's not particularly entertaining. But it's better than nothing.

They've been here for about 20 minutes. Fortune has been kind in that it's a quiet day, no wounded expected. BJ had stopped by after breakfast to see what was keeping his tentmates, and had a grand old time very quietly teasing Charles while Hawkeye apparently slept right through it. BJ did, however, promise to keep Potter out of their hair, so he didn't hold a grudge.

Charles is skimming a passage that's going into far too much detail about legs, of all things, when Hawkeye stirs for the first time. He pauses in his reading, glancing down at his sleeping companion.

"How's your head?" He asks quietly.

"Splitting." Hawkeye replies, miserable and muffled.

Charles frowns. "I can't give you more morphine," He tells him, "Not yet, anyways. Do you want water?"

Hawkeye's arms tighten around him. "Don't go," He groans, "Don't... don't go."

Charles sighs quietly. "Alright," He agrees, easier than he's ever agreed to anything, "Go back to sleep. It'll help." He advises.

"Can't," Hawkeye mumbles, "Hurts too much."

Charles lowers the book. "You haven't slept at all?" He questions. Hawkeye makes a weak affirming sound, and he lowers his book, "You've never had one this bad before. Maybe I ought to take you to post-OP." He muses.

Hawkeye's arms tighten even more. "No," He protests, "Post-OP's... bad. Too bright."

Charles can't really argue with that. Still, he doesn't like the idea of just lying here doing nothing while Hawkeye's sleepless in agony. "I'm going to try something," He tells him, "If it doesn't work, I'm taking you to post-OP. You can wear sunglasses."

"I'll throw up on you." Hawkeye warns, though he sounds like he may be threatening him.

"You can certainly try." Charles replies, unbothered. He puts the book down and brings his hand over, slides his fingers into Hawkeye's hair and cradles the back of his head. He knows where Hawkeye holds his tension, can feel the stressed line of his neck, the rigid, hunched shape of his shoulder riding up to bump into his wrist. He presses in firmly, moving his fingers in slow, steady circles.

The reaction is immediate. Hawkeye groans again, louder, though this time the relief is obvious. He sinks into Charles, tension melting off of him as he practically liquefies. His shoulders sink a tick, his hold loosening slightly as he just... lets go.

Charles scratches into his hair, keeping the pressure steady. "Better?" He asks.

Hawkeye just groans again in response. Like an old cat purring away. He squeezes tighter again, but this time his shoulders don't hitch up so much.

Charles can feel the harsh line of his neck giving way bit by bit under his hand. So, he keeps going. Hawkeye stills completely after a few minutes, and still he doesn't stop.

(If he ends up dozing off with his hand still in Hawkeye's hair, well... that's his business.)

[resolvebound]

@quiiscnt im taking the opportunity to do 3 😅 so here's #3/3

Send ⭐ for a sample of a new muse I am thinking of writing // accepting

Distracted in thought, Max tapped the end of his pen to his notebook in a mindless beat, eyes not really registering his surroundings (which was perhaps a dangerous thing to do, considering he was at the bar within Fairy Tail’s guildhall). The hall was a bit emptier than usual however, so his chances of being accidentally struck or pulled into a brawl were rather low. Somehow, that thought wasn’t particularly comforting. Brawls or general rowdiness, it didn’t matter, he just preferred the lively noise and energy of having everyone around. Because there had been long years of quiet.

Even before the Tenrou team had disappeared, he’d never been one to enjoy silence or solitude, he’d always fared best when there was someone to talk to after all. Those years without them, with the remaining members slowly dwindling away or worse, losing their own spark, it hadn’t been easy. And it reminded him too much of his own childhood. Lonely days with no one to talk to, or to even exist around him, no company at all.

Frowning at his line of thought, he rubbed a hand over his face as if to scrub some clarity into his mind. He sighed and turned his attention back to his notebook, eyes skimming over what was written. He had a few ideas down so far, social events that would bring in both some money and extra cheer, yet he hoped to come up with something truly exciting, something that would bring everyone together. Maybe even involving the other guilds?

His mind churned with possibilities, creating and discarding, sifting through them like sand through his fingertips. It was just as he was thinking that perhaps he’d best throw ideas around with someone else, that he became aware of a presence drawing near. As his eyes found them, a smile jumped to his lips.

“Mira, perfect timing,” he said, “Do you have a minute?”

He’d worked closely with her in past years to arrange events, always finding her input and help most useful. During her long years of absence, he’d found himself somewhat stepping into her shoes in terms of running the organizational side of things for the guild. Responsible for recording what jobs had come in (not that there’d been many...) and who had taken them up, along with taking care of most of the paperwork that came with managing a guild. Sometimes Laki, and the others that had remained, still told him whenever they’d taken a job, a habit that hadn’t yet been broken. And he didn’t mind it one bit.

As Mirajane smiled and took a seat beside him, he pushed his notebook towards her.

“I’m trying to come up with a new event,” he explained, excitement beginning to build, “It’s been a while and I think we could all do with a bit of fun, don’t you? I think a little game or competition could be fun, but we all know how those can get…destructive if certain people are involved. But maybe a scavenger hunt of some kind?”

He paused a moment, intending on waiting for her input, yet it occurred to him that they hadn’t caught up in a little while. With a sheepish tinge to his expression, he added, “Sorry, I’m jumping right into things. I haven’t even asked you how you are…So…how are you? How’s your project coming along? Wait, and last time we talked, you were having trouble with your neighbour, how’s that going? I had issues with mine just yesterday, he has this really annoying little dog-”

[bitterkarmaa]

I don't know what dialog prompt this would be, but I'd love to see one showing how your Eclipse would react/interact with Lord Eclipse, knowing what this other Eclipse had done- and that Lunar is gone. Maybe the "You look like you've seen a ghost" prompt?

Oooooo interesting idea!! I’ll give it a shot for sure! This also won’t be canon as of yet, just a “what if” scenario :)

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

-God Eclipse & KB Eclipse-

Eclipse hadn’t exactly meant to mess with inter dimensional travel today. It was just…Moon was out, and Eclipse was curious as to what that odd file was that he discovered while backing up Moon’s computer, and then he clicked on it and…ended up here.

He’s had a dull ache in his chest ever since he arrived, and, as time went on, it began to worsen. A tug inside him, trying to drag him back to his own world while also unable to force him out of this one.

He wanders aimlessly. The halls of whatever large-ass building he’s in seem endless. The walls are decorated with vague pictures, artwork depicting events completely foreign to him. The windows are fancy, tinted and such, but the view they display is a stark contrast- broken mounds of rock hover amidst the sky, surrounded by pillars, making it seem like a cage. The buildings below sit in shadow, a feeling of defeat hanging over each roof.

Each new corridor makes him want to scream. Distant whispers crowd his head, a voice that is not his own telling him to run, that it isn’t safe here. It warns him of seeing things that he doesn’t want to see. He stifles the slight discomfort in favor of a spark of indignation.

How could this voice inside him know what he wants? It is, quite obviously, not him.

But, the moment he emerges into the expansive and overbearing library, he begins to understand.

The books aren’t organized alphabetically, and very few of them have actual titles. Instead, there are dates. Each book is labeled with a day, a year, and a month. Nothing more, nothing less. They all have orange covers. They are all hardback.

They are all covered in dust.

“There is someone here. An intruder.”

A distant voice, taunt with disdain and annoyance, sounds from across the room. Eclipse looks up from his skimming of the shelves, rays retracting as he realizes just how…alike that voice sounds to his own.

His hand comes up, gliding over his vest, hovering over the place that the scar is. His claw tips grace the fractured metal, then he presses his back against the shelf nearest him, claws curling into the fabric of his clothing.

Panic rushes over him in waves.

Didn’t he already do this? Didn’t he already face his worst self?

Didn’t he already lose?

“I-I didn’t see anyone, sir. The buzzer didn’t go off, either.”

Another voice. More timid, more submissive. Sun.

“I don’t care. Search in every crack and crevasse. I don’t like uninvited guests.”

Eclipse shudders.

“Y-Yes sir.”

Oh God. Oh God. He shouldn’t be here. That voice was right, he doesn’t wanna see shit here aside from any possible exit.

He clenches his hands into fists. Closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head, like Moon taught him to help him calm down when he’s angry. He’s not angry. But he’s scared. Isn’t scared just as bad?

Soft, uncertain footsteps approach from the other side of the shelf, nearest the banister that seems to separate one section of the library from the other. Eclipse takes a step back, then another, and another, but he isn’t able to make any sort of escape before the figure turns the corner, eyes flying wide at the sight of him.

Yep. That’s Sun.

But damn, does he look like shit.

His rays are dented, some of them cracked, while others are bent in ways that would prohibit them from both rotating and shrinking in. Scratches line his plating like rivers running through a forest, endlessly reaching out in every direction. His clothing lacks the normal theme of a jester- he looks more like a homeless man going in for a job interview with the best clothes he has. Which looks to be a t-shirt, button-up, and some sad looking pants that he can’t quite make out into any style off the top of his head.

“Don’t say. A word.” Eclipse warns under his breath, watching in mild alarm as Sun’s expression shifts from disbelief to complete and utter horror. He opens his mouth, but Eclipse lunges forwards and clamps a hand over his faceplate before he can.

“Shhh!” He hisses, his own rays retracting further as he hears movement from across the room. Sun’s eyes dart from Eclipse to the direction of the noises, then back to Eclipse. He seems conflicted.

“Sun? What did you find?” The voice calls, his voice calls, sounding less patient this time around. Eclipse releases Sun, and he turns to run in another direction before coming in contact with-

What the hell?

Is that supposed to be him?

Sun falls onto the floor, scrambling away as the power-ranger-esk version of Eclipse towers over him, a clear look of disdain coating his face.

“I-I was surprised sir! You h-have to understand, I-“ Sun begins to explain, but is cut off by a simple glare from his superior.

The other Eclipse looks up, over to his more scarred counterpart with mild intrigue on his face.

Eclipse himself, on the other hand, looks petrified. This is just like before, but worse. If he was a human, he would be considerably paler by now.

But instead, his hands shake at his sides, and he clenches them into fists again to hide their tremor. He can feel his broken eye heat up behind the cracked, blank glass that covers it. Sheer terror freezes him in place.

“Ah…” The slightly larger, more intimidating Eclipse hums, stepping forwards to grab hold of Eclipse’s face as he tries to step away. He claws at his captor’s wrists, desperately trying to free himself, like a frantic cat.

“Interesting…” The other continues, making Eclipse slow his efforts in favor of looking up with big, fearful eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. But, I assure you…” His grip tightens, a crazed look dancing in his eyes. “I am very real.”

For some reason, his tone makes the terror dissipate. In it’s place, anger rises. Who does he think he is?

“Where did you come from, vermin? You must’ve lost something, because your face looks like a sad replica of mine.”

Who the fuck does he think he is?

A warmth fills his chest, burning him from the inside out in a way that only fuels his fury. His grip on his opposer’s wrist tightens, claws digging into the metal plating of what he can only assume to be some sort of battle armor. How bored is this guy?

“And you look like a bitch. Does that make you my bitch?”

The other’s eyes darken with a sick sense of pleasure, as if he was waiting for Eclipse to slip up, to lash out just enough for a viable excuse to attack.

White cracks arch up Eclipse’s chest, neck, and then come to rest on his face. His bad eye flickers, the hint of an orange pupil coming to life in it’s depths. The cracks emit a light that religious people would call holy.

The warlord’s gaze becomes tainted by confusion, just long enough for Eclipse to bite down on his hand like a rabid animal. His teeth sink in, metal breaking with harsh CRACKS and SNAPS.

Eclipse is promptly chucked into the nearest wall. He sees Sun wince in the background, as if having been rooting for him for some reason or another.

But he’s not down yet. He’s not out.

He propels himself off the wall, latching onto the power ranger with such force that it manages to bring him off his feet. The two collide with the floor, splintering the wooden boards.

Eclipse perches atop the other’s chest in a pose best suited for Blood Moon. Leaning back on his haunches, clawed hands splayed out over his opponent’s face crudely, having no target aside from whatever can be reached.

With a grunt of frustration, the overlord throws him off once more, tossing him aside like an annoying puppy.

Eclipse doesn’t collide with a wall this time around. He flies through the air like a firework, then finally begins to fall. The world is a rush of color. He can barely make out his surroundings. In one last ditch effort to save himself, he reaches his claws out towards the banister, scrambling mid-air for a hold.

He jerks. His claws find purchase, jolting him out of his free-fall.

He dangles over the edge, looking towards the odd floating bridge only a few feet away that leads off towards the other half of the library.

Footsteps approach. He looks up, into the eyes of the ruler, the God that smiles sweetly as Eclipse begins to slip.

“Such a shame,” He muses, “That I had Sun clean those this morning.”

Eclipse glowers up at him, but his expression shifts to alarm as he struggles to maintain his hold. He scrabbles vainly at the slick wood for a moment, watching the amusement gleam in his audience’s eyes, before his grip slips. Air rushes up around him, but…only for a moment.

His hand is firmly clamped in someone else’s grip.

He looks up again, gazing at Sun as Lord Eclipse stares his servant down incredulously.

“You have one.” Sun explains in a rush, almost breathlessly.

“What?” Both Eclipse’s speak at once.

“You have one!” Sun repeats, intense gaze boring into Eclipse as the beat up, abused animatronic maneuvers around, pulling Eclipse back up onto the bridge with as much effort as he can muster. Lord Eclipse has already begun to stalk towards them.

He thought this was finished. How dare his underling make him look like such a fool!

Sun presses his finger to Eclipse’s chest frantically, eyes darting down to the shimmering cracks before turning back up towards Eclipse’s eyes.

“Use it.” Sun hisses.

What?

Use it?

Use what?

Eclipse stands quickly, putting himself between Sun and the cocky bitch as said cocky bitch saunters over like he’s completing the most mundane task known to man.

Sun grabs Eclipse’s sleeve, cowering behind him.

“USE IT!” He shouts, and Eclipse’s expression hardens.

“ᴀ𝒕 𝞬𝝾𝚞𝖗 ᴡ𝘪𝜤𝙡,” The odd voice returns, sounding stern in his head, “…Ꮷ𐓪 𝗒ჿ𝝊𝒓 𝕨ᴏ𝖗ｓ𝐭.”

Eclipse raises his hand, cursing it’s tremble as the overlord looks on in pity.

Pity?

Anger submerges his fear. His hand stops shaking.

The cracks reach out further, slithering down his arm until it has reached his fingertips. Outlined against his palm, in eerie white light, sits a star emblem. A star emblem that wipes that cocky look right off the bitches’ face.

For a moment, he almost looks afraid.

“I don’t see ghosts.” Eclipse smiles. “I am one.”

And then, the world around them crumbles with a bright flash of light, and a snap of the universe righting itself once more.

Eclipse has a hard time explaining why he appears in the daycare with another Sun the next day.

Moon looks on, a knowing smile on his face. He doesn’t mention how protective Eclipse seems over this new Sun, but he knows…

He knows why.

He would never tell the tale, but he knows exactly where that Sun came from. And from the look that the dimmer, less excitable version of his brother gives him…Moon knows that Sun remembers that day, too.

But Eclipse still has a lot of questions, one of which, being:

Where was Lunar there?

Did I leave him behind?

The thought plagues him endlessly, and that voice in his head doesn’t return to tell him whether leaving then was right or wrong.

In fact…it’s been rather quiet lately…

[sicknessbysalem]

Day Two: Too Much of a Good Thing | Sicktember 2024

i'm not comfortable writing overindulgence in a traditional sense (food, alcohol, etc.) so i interpreted it my own way (magic is a good thing, overusing it is not)

also i’ve been dying to write this concept (how Calypso’s magic actually harms her post-deal)

if you have any requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, magic, magic overuse

The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the worn pages of an ancient tome, casting long shadows across the small study where Calypso sat, her brow furrowed in concentration. The room was filled with the scent of old parchment and the faint, metallic tang of magic that lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the power that pulsed through the veins of the twins.

The walls were lined with shelves crammed full of books, scrolls, and artifacts—relics of a time when magic was more widely understood, more freely practiced. Now, those days were gone, and the knowledge they held was a precious commodity, guarded fiercely by those who still possessed it.

Calypso flipped a page, the sound almost deafening in the quiet room. Her eyes skimmed over the ancient text, searching for anything that might help her understand the implications of the deal she had made.

The words seemed to blur together, the language archaic and difficult to decipher, but she persisted, her determination a steady flame that refused to be extinguished.

Cassius watched her from across the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. His expression was a mixture of concern and frustration, the two emotions warring within him as he tried to make sense of what his sister had done.

He knew Calypso well—knew her strength, her stubbornness, and her unwavering resolve—but this… this was different. This was dangerous, and it terrified him.

Finally, unable to remain silent any longer, Cassius pushed away from the doorway and approached her, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor.

“Calypso,” he began, his voice low and careful, “you’ve been at this for hours. Have you found anything useful?”

Calypso didn’t look up from the book, her fingers tracing the lines of text as she continued to read.

“Not yet,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact, almost dismissive. “But I will. There has to be something in here that explains what I need to know.”

Cassius sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside her. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward to try to catch her eye.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said gently. “You’ve already made the deal. You don’t have to keep searching for answers. We need to focus on figuring out how to handle this, how to keep you safe.”

That finally got Calypso’s attention. She looked up from the book, her gaze meeting his with a calm that belied the seriousness of the situation. “I’m fine, Cassius,” she said, her voice steady. “This deal… it’s not a big deal. I knew what I was doing when I made it. I can handle it.”

Cassius’s eyes narrowed, a flash of anger and fear sparking in their depths. “Not a big deal? Calypso, you made a pact with something—someone—we don’t fully understand. You don’t even know what it’s going to do to you. You can’t just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Calypso’s expression remained unchanged, her calm demeanor unshaken by his concern. “I’m not brushing it off,” she replied evenly. “I’m being practical. What’s done is done. I made the deal, and now I have to live with it. There’s no point in worrying about what might happen. I’ll figure it out as I go.”

Cassius shook his head, his frustration growing. “But that’s exactly what I’m worried about. You don’t know how this is going to affect you. You don’t know how much magic you can safely use now, or what the consequences will be if you push yourself too far. Every deal comes with a price, we've found that out over and over again from each and every tome and script we have. You.. we... don't have any idea what this could or will do to you. And that scares me, Calypso. It scares me because I don’t want to lose you.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice that Calypso rarely heard, a raw, unguarded emotion that made her heart ache. She reached out, placing a hand over his, her touch light but reassuring.

“Cassius,” she said softly, her tone gentler now, “you’re not going to lose me. I won’t let that happen. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Cassius tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt, any hint that she was as scared as he was. But all he saw was determination, a resolve that was as unyielding as the stone walls around them.

“You’ve made it this far,” he echoed, his voice tinged with resignation, “but at what cost? You’ve been pushing yourself harder and harder, using more magic than ever before. And now… now I can see it taking its toll. You’re not the same, Calypso. You’re weaker, more fragile. This deal… it’s changing you.”

Calypso pulled her hand away, the movement sharp and deliberate. Cassius saw a glare in her eyes he never saw before directed at him. The same glare she gave when their aunt and uncle got up to starting trouble with the twins or giving Cassius a hard time if he was unwell. A glare of warning and pure agitation.

"I’m not fragile,” she snapped, her calm facade cracking for the first time. “And I’m not weak. I made this deal to protect us, to keep us safe. I did what I had to do. And I’ll keep doing whatever it takes, even if it means using more magic, even if it means pushing myself to the limit.”

Cassius flinched at the harshness in her voice, but he didn’t back down. “But what if you push too far?” he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his fear. “What if one day you use too much magic, and it’s too late to turn back? What then, Calypso? What happens to us then?”

Calypso stared at him, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had flared. She sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing as she leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice softer now, almost weary. “I don’t know what will happen. But I can’t let fear stop me from doing what needs to be done. I made this deal because I believed it was the right thing to do. And I still believe that. I have to believe that.”

Cassius reached out again, this time taking both of her hands in his. “I understand why you did it,” he said, his voice steady. “But I also know that you don’t have to face this alone. We can figure it out together. We’ll find a way to manage this, to make sure you stay safe. But please, don’t shut me out. Don’t pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Calypso looked down at their joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding her, pulling her back from the edge of her own stubbornness.

“I’m not shutting you out,” she said quietly. “I just… I need to know my limits. I need to know what I can and can’t do. And the only way to find that out is by pushing myself, by testing the boundaries.”

Cassius nodded slowly, his grip tightening. “Then let me help you,” he said. “We’ll figure out your limits together. But promise me that if it gets to be too much, you’ll stop. You won’t push yourself past the point of no return.”

Calypso met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes softening her resolve. She knew he was right, that she couldn’t afford to be reckless, not with so much at stake. “I promise,” she said finally, her voice firm. “I’ll be careful. We’ll do this together.”

Cassius breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back in his seat.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude. “We’ll get through this, Calypso. I promise.”

Calypso nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know what the full consequences of her deal would be, but with Cassius by her side, she felt a little less afraid. Even if she had no idea what this would do or mean, they'd figure it out. They had to.

But even if they didn't, Calypso resolved, it would be worth it if Cassius survived.

-

The night was alive with the electric hum of anticipation, the air thick with the scent of incense. There was an enchanting, alluring air to the theater.

The theater, an old, dimly lit venue with velvet-lined walls and ornate chandeliers, was packed with an eager crowd, their eyes trained on the stage where Cassius and Calypso were about to perform one of their most intense shows to date.

The twins stood in the wings, hidden from view by a thick, velvet curtain. Cassius was the picture of calm, his expression serene as he adjusted the cuffs of his black, tailored coat. His dark hair was slicked back, the edges curling slightly where they refused to be tamed, and his eyes—a mirror image of Calypso’s—glinted with a quiet intensity. He could feel the energy of the crowd, the charged excitement that seemed to pulse through the air, feeding into his own reserves of power. This was where he thrived, where he could let loose and give the audience a glimpse of the incredible magic that ran through his veins.

Calypso, on the other hand, was fighting to maintain her composure. She'd been using her magic all day for the past few days leading up to this. Off and on, cure, but far more than she had been before. Usually, her magic was the best thing she figured she had been blessed with. It was a good thing, to her. Usually.

But now, she'd been using it. Too much of it, probably. Anything to figure out what limits she could put forth.

She stood across from Cassius, adjusting the collar of her black tailcoat. Beneath it, the dark blue dress she wore, matching Cassius's button up, Her hair, normally an immaculate cascade of dark waves, was pinned back with some of the most beautiful clips she had, with stones the same deep blue as their outfits.

Calypso could feel the beginnings of a headache, a dull throb at the base of her skull that she knew would only get worse as the night went on. But it wasn’t the headache that worried her.

The magic was already taking its toll. Even before the show had begun, she could feel the strain, the way it gnawed at the edges of her strength, demanding more and more from her. Every performance took something from her, a small piece of herself that she would never get back, but tonight felt different. Tonight, the magic was hungrier, more insistent, and she wasn’t sure how long she could hold out before it consumed her entirely.

Cassius noticed the tension in his sister’s posture, the way her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the necklace at her throat. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, a silent gesture of support. “You ready, Calypso?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a note of concern that only she could hear.

Calypso forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Always,” she replied, though her voice was tight, strained.

Cassius didn’t push her. He knew better than anyone the pressure she was under, the weight of the expectations she placed on herself. Instead, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

The crowd erupted into applause as the curtains slowly parted, revealing the twins standing side by side. The stage was dark, save for a single spotlight that bathed them in a soft, golden glow. The audience fell silent, their breath held in anticipation as they waited for the magic to begin.

Cassius stepped forward first, his movements fluid and graceful as he extended his hand toward the audience. A single white rose appeared in his palm, seemingly out of thin air, its petals pure and perfect. The crowd gasped in delight, their eyes wide with wonder as the rose began to levitate, spinning slowly in the air before bursting into a shower of silver sparks that rained down onto the stage.

Calypso followed suit, her hands moving in delicate, intricate patterns as she summoned a shimmering veil of light that wrapped around her like a second skin. The light twisted and danced, forming into shapes—birds, flowers, stars—that flitted across the stage before dissolving into nothingness. The audience was entranced, their eyes glued to the twins as they worked in perfect harmony, their magic intertwining like the threads of a tapestry.

But as the show went on, the strain on Calypso became more and more apparent. The nausea that had been a faint, nagging presence at the back of her mind was now a constant, gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach. Each spell she cast seemed to take more out of her, leaving her breathless and dizzy. Her vision blurred at the edges, the stage lights too bright, too harsh, and she had to blink rapidly to keep the darkness at bay.

Cassius noticed immediately, his gaze flicking to her with growing concern. He could see the way her hands trembled, the way her breaths came in short, shallow gasps.

He stepped closer, his voice low as he spoke under his breath, “Calypso, you need to slow down. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

But Calypso shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible motion that sent a fresh wave of dizziness crashing over her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered back, though the words were hollow, devoid of conviction. “We have to keep going.”

The final act was upon them, the most dangerous and demanding part of the show. It was a levitation trick, one that required perfect synchronization and absolute control. Cassius would lift Calypso into the air, her body suspended by nothing but the force of their combined magic, and she would spin in a slow, graceful arc above the stage before descending gently back to the ground.

But as soon as they began, Calypso knew something was wrong. The moment her feet left the ground, the dizziness intensified, the world tilting violently as her stomach heaved. She gasped, the sound barely audible over the hum of magic in the air, and her vision blurred, the edges darkening as if she were on the verge of passing out.

Cassius felt the shift, felt the way her magic wavered, and he pushed harder, his energy flowing into her in a desperate attempt to keep her aloft. But it was too much. The strain was too great, and he could feel her slipping, feel the delicate balance of power tipping dangerously out of control.

Calypso’s breath hitched, a sharp, strangled sound, and her hands flew to her stomach as the nausea surged up with brutal force. She tried to hold it back, tried to keep it together, but the magic was tearing her apart, demanding more than she could give.

Calypso stepped forward, her posture perfect, her expression serene as she raised her arms, preparing to lift herself into the air. The audience watched in hushed anticipation, their breaths held as the magic began to build, the air around them crackling with energy.

Cassius moved to his position, ready to support her, his eyes never leaving her face. He saw the moment it happened—the instant when Calypso’s control slipped, just a fraction, but enough to send a ripple of instability through the spell. Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing her features, and Cassius knew she was in trouble.

Without thinking, he acted. He reached out with his own magic, bolstering hers, trying to steady the faltering spell. But it was too late. The strain was too much, and he could feel her magic slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

Calypso’s body wavered in the air, her legs trembling as the spell began to collapse around her. She gasped, a sound too faint for the audience to hear, but Cassius heard it, and it sent a surge of fear through him. She was falling, the levitation failing, and he had only seconds to react.

With a burst of energy, Cassius lunged forward, catching her in mid-air as she dropped. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and used the last of his strength to slow their descent, making it look as though it were part of the performance. The audience erupted into applause, completely unaware that anything had gone wrong, but Cassius wasn’t listening. His focus was entirely on Calypso, on the way her body slumped against his, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Calypso,” he whispered urgently, his voice barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. “Calypso, look at me.”

She lifted her head, her eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and he could see the fine tremors that shook her frame. “I’m… I’m fine,” she murmured, but the words were hollow, devoid of any real conviction.

Cassius tightened his grip on her, his heart pounding in his chest. “No, you’re not,” he said softly, his voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. “You’re not fine. You need to get off the stage.”

Calypso shook her head weakly, trying to pull away from him, but she lacked the strength. “I can’t… I have to finish…”

But before she could say more, her body convulsed, a violent shudder that wracked her entire frame. Cassius felt the tension in her stomach, the way it clenched painfully, and he knew what was coming. There was no time to get her off the stage, no time to hide what was about to happen.

Calypso’s eyes widened in panic, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried to suppress the nausea that surged up with brutal force. But it was too much, too fast, and she couldn’t hold it back. With a choked gasp, she doubled over, the contents of her stomach forcing their way up in a sudden, uncontrollable rush. Just feet from the stairs to get off stage, but enough that she could be seen just enough.

Cassius reacted instinctively, pulling her close and shielding her from the audience’s view as much as he could with his cape, summoning the curtains to fall. They would both probably be in so much trouble, but right now he didn't care. He just needed to make sure Calypso would be okay.

He held her tightly around her waist as she vomited, the sickening sound drowned out by the applause that still echoed through the theater. The acrid smell filled the air, and Cassius felt his heart break as he watched his sister, normally so composed and in control, fall apart in his arms.

The applause began to die down, they people would be leaving. Cassius didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Calypso out of there, away from the prying eyes and the harsh lights that were only making her suffering worse.

“Hang on, Calypso,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of here.”

He scooped her up in his arms, her body limp and unresponsive as he carried her toward the side of the stage. The audience was still murmuring, confused and uncertain by the sudden difference in show ending, but Cassius blocked it all out. His entire focus was on Calypso, on the way her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her face pale and clammy.

As soon as they were off stage, Cassius hurried to the dressing room, kicking the door open with his foot as he carried Calypso inside. He set her down gently on the small couch, his hands shaking as he brushed the hair back from her face.

“Calypso, can you hear me?” he asked urgently, his voice trembling with fear. “Please, say something.”

Calypso blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on his face. “Cassius… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his heart breaking at the sight of her so weak and vulnerable. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

She nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion finally overtook her. Cassius sat beside her, his hand gently stroking her hair as he tried to keep his own emotions in check. The show was over, the audience gone, but the fear that had taken root in his heart remained, a constant, gnawing worry that he couldn’t shake.

They had survived another performance, but it had come at a cost. Calypso was pushing herself too hard, risking everything for the sake of the magic that was slowly consuming her. Cassius didn’t know how much longer they could keep this up, how much more she could endure before it became too much.

But as he sat there, watching over her while he waited for her to level out enough they could go home, he knew one thing for certain: he would do whatever it took to protect her, to keep her safe. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences, he would find a way to save his sister from the magic that threatened to destroy her.

[starcrossed02]

Friend of a friend

"Lorna! right on time. I need you to do me a favor. you know that friend you were talking about who was interested in handwriting something? What is it called? whatever it is, I think it should come in handy for this one." Mickey says, handing Lorna the paper.

"yeah! graphology, right?" the blonde says, getting her fork out to start eating from Chipotle. "I'll call her after my lunch, I haven't talked to her for a while now that I think about it though."

"That's it! alright, I'll need it sometime by tomorrow, the trial is Wednesday, so I want to be able to look over it beforehand," Mickey says, grabbing his suitcase. Izzy gets up and starts following him, probably to a hearing of some sort.

"Couldn't he just look over it in the car before the trial on the way there?" cisco asks, looking toward Lorna, halfway through her bite.

"I would think so, but if it's important enough then it may be more beneficial to be able to know parts of the analyzation without referring to it." The blonde says, finishing her bite of salad.

"that makes sense." cisco says, moving his beaning to cover his eyes to get some sleep.

"Hey, Y/n! it's been a while, it's me, Lorna! from high school?"

"Oh! hey, Lorna! haven't heard from you in a while, what been going on?"

"oh," Lorna says, looking over at Cisco, "well, I'm getting married!" she says happily, flashing her ring to her fiancé like he wasn't the one to buy it for her.

"Wow, lucky you! Who is the lucky guy?" you say, sitting down from getting your coffee. you didn't care it was 4 in the afternoon, and you were gonna have a long night catching up on the studying you missed.

"Well, his name is Cisco, we got engaged about 10 months ago, so our wedding is going to be about 3 or 4 months from now."

"Well, I better be invited! especially after all that drama talk we had during senior year, it was crazy how much tea we had on people back then!" you said, sitting down from pacing your office, stuck on this one page with such conflicting evidence.

"Oh my god! I remember that! it was so much fun back then, how about you, how's life been treating you lately?" Lorna says, continuing to eat her Chipotle.

"pretty well. I've been stuck analyzing this one page someone sent in for me. everything is conflicting like everything is in this paper! left-leaning, right-leaning, curvy, and boxy Y's. it goes up and down. both versions of the 2 on the date at the top, I don't understand! I've looked through every book I own on this, and normally I don't need to, so I don't know what going on." you say, giving out a very audible huff at the end to show your frustration.

"Oh, I thought that wasn't possible. I know it's weird, but I thought I remembered you saying something that everyone is different so nobody has conflicting handwriting. at least on the scale you describing."

that sparked something in you. you skimmed over the paper, making quick estimations on each characteristic. they all looked like they were the same amount. like for every boxy Y, there was the same number of curvy ones. "Lorna, you have no idea how much you just helped me right now. it's fake! every characteristic has the same number of conflicting ones! I've figured it out!"

"oh, that's good, You welcome I guess?"

"thank you so much, Lorna. I've got to go now, thank you so much!"

"wait! hold on! I called for a reason. not just to see how you're doing. I need to send a paper your way and get you to analyze it. My boss said he needs it done by tomorrow."

"Oh," you say, slightly disappointed. "All alright then! send it on my way, I'll try to get it done tonight, and I'll drop it off at your office tomorrow, does that work?" you finish, trying to sound more positive towards the end.

"yeah, that's awesome, bye Y/n!"

"Bye Lorna, see you tomorrow!"

"wait, how do you know when-" she starts, getting cut off by the sound of the line ending. You look down at your phone, confused about what she was gonna say.

"she must have been asking how I know where her office is."you wonder aloud, standing back up.

A/N: I think I said this in the last chapter, but please link if you have any constructive criticism!!

wc- 741💜

[writingsforwinter]

Writing advice to a young poet? What's your process like?

I always love messages like this because I started writing when I was 17 and in high school! :)

This is basically what my process usually looks like. Obviously this is just my personal process and all/some of it may not work for everyone! It's not "the right way" to write, just my way. In my opinion, whatever way you write is "right." Tripped myself up writing that!

Open up a link to one of my favorite literary journals or favorite poets and skim through some of the pieces to "warm up" and get my ideas flowing. Some of my favorite journals and sites to skim are Muzzle Magazine and the Academy of American Poets. Some of my favorite authors whose works I read to "warm up" are Brynn Saito, Alex Dimitrov, Robert Wood Lynn, and Marie Howe.

Think of a specific subject I want to write about, usually sparked by a specific interesting fact, historical or current event, figure from mythology, or, because I like writing about dark things, trauma.

Write the title. I hardly ever name my poems after writing them; I almost always title them first.

Begin crafting the poem.

As I write the lines of the poem, other fragments of lines, or simply single words or objects, will pop into my head simultaneously. For example, I might be in the middle of writing a poem, and the objects "pear," "moon," "vase," and "amulet" will pop into my head, as well as partial phrases. I immediately write/type these out at the bottom of the partially-finished poem and continue writing, gradually incorporating all or almost all of the half-finished lines and words. I do this because I always know there's a reason why those lines or words came into my head - I know they must hold special significance to me somehow, and I want to include them and jot them down before I forget them.

When I complete the poem, I reread and edit as needed, though I don't like editing so I usually just stick to fixing any typos.

As far as general writing advice, I think it's really important to remember that the number of social media followers/readers you might have does not speak to your value as a poet. You are a poet if you say you are. You don't have to have thousands of followers or be retweeted/screenshotted/shared by famous authors or celebrities to be a poet. You already are one.

Also, I submit to literary journals regularly. If I have a batch of 3-5 poems, I'll submit them to a journal. I also occasionally submit to contests. NewPages is a fantastic website with continually-updated calls for submissions and contests. Also, NewPages has a guide to publications for young writers! I've used NewPages as a resource so many times I've lost count.

You might also seek out local or online writing workshops too. I don't participate in too many of those, but I have participated in writing workshops for survivors of violence, which I've enjoyed. I also go to local poetry/author readings at bookstores and coffee shops every once in awhile - would recommend that too for inspiration! And if in-person events aren't accessible to you, I'm sure you can find some online.

If there's a literary journal at your school, if you attend school, you might check it out. Sometimes you can join the staff of these journals as an editor or at least submit your work there. I think it's a great opportunity. I was a staff member on my high school's literary journal and most recently in the last year on my graduate school's mental health literary journal.

Finally....read poetry! Reading others' work is one of my best mechanisms for improvement as a writer.

Over the years I've also tagged/gathered writing advice questions I've received on my blog, so if you like, you can scroll through any of my 23 pages of writing advice answers too.

I hope this helps! :) Good luck! I'm rooting for you!

[lorebite]

𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 | 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: 18+ minors dni. cursing. fem/afab reader. suggestive content (teasing, dirty talk, exhibitionism, mild degradation, use of piercings in sexual context, nipple play, grinding, cunnilingus, handjob, begging, tiny bit of cum eating, cocky dom to sweet sub back to cocky dom Jason). strangers to more. punk/badboy!Jason. mentions of Jason having tattoos and piercings.

The party became much more interesting when you saw him walking in.

He was a stranger. At least, not a man you had yet met in this lifetime. And by the simple way he carried himself – the ostentatious sway of his shoulders and his overtly confident gait – every eye in the room turned to him and so did yours.

Your gaze roved his strong build; the biker jacket draped over his white shirt and the unmistakable imprint of piercings through it. Silver chains wound his waist, the numerous loops cascading down his thighs over his dark stonewashed jeans. When his inked hand raked through his already combed back fringe, your eyes caught the small plugs in his ears. God, he looked delicious. Like a tasty bite of sin for you to swallow in one gulp.

Quite frankly put, you were already picturing yourself sinking your teeth into those thick fleshy thighs as soon as he was close to invade your periphery. And by then, his eyes were on you as well. You arched a brow and held his gaze, neither refusing to be the first to break away; even as the other partygoers crossed past your line of sight, your eyes remained locked tight on his.

The air began to crackle as he pushed off of the wall he was leaning on to come shouldering past the crowd and across the room to you. It throbbed with his heat, his showy arrogance, as he strutted languidly towards you with a hand in his pocket; taking his time to drink you in before he was close enough to have to start talking.

And the closer he got, it seemed the rest of the room fell behind a thick curtain, swallowing the obnoxious pulse of the music and the endless hum of chatter and everything else. It all parted for him like the Red Sea; only here, he was bringing the deadly waves to bring you to your knees. You could very well feel it coming.   

Anybody else and his shameless self-importance would put them right off. But not you. You fed off of it. As you turned with the drink in your hand and your coy smirk to face him, your eyes wandered up and down his form once again as though searching for weak spots in an opponent. And you already had a few ideas.

Soon you were having a conversation, necks close and voices hushed. Your eyes then could only follow the glint of metal rolling inside his mouth.

Jason, you came to learn his name, loved to play with his tongue. Especially, since knowing he had more than half of your attention on his mouth. He danced it behind his teeth, the silver barbell glistening with it as he spoke and, more often than not, grinned cockily at you. And when your eyes eventually ventured down his body, your mouth watered at the sight of his piercings poking through the thin fabric of his shirt.

That alone managed to spark something within you – a yearning heat smearing with slick between your thighs; and it only made you close the distance between you more until your chest was brushing lightly against his. Jason caught onto your intention immediately, eyes glimmering mischievously as he cocked his head, his smirk broadening.

“You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you, sweetheart? Don’t tell me you like the attention.” He motioned vaguely with his head at the bustling crowd inside the room.

You lowered your chin, eyes peering up at him from beneath your lashes as your fingers glided coyly up his chest, barely skimming past the piercing under his shirt. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched in his throat and your smile only widened in response.

“Trust me, I can fuck you right here and make you beg for me in front of everyone.”

He scoffed, though his teasing smirk lingered on his lips. “You’re gonna make me beg?”

“Loudly,” your own lips reflected the upturn of his. “Very, very loudly.”

He cocked a brow as your hand slid between your bodies and palmed him gently over his jeans. His lip rolled back between his teeth, though his eyes burned with intensity and his hips bucked ever so gently into your touch.

His strangled moan caressed over your face with a sharp high-pitched gasp, fingers finding purchase on your waist and digging in your skin almost painfully. Your lips were so close to his, yet you refused to kiss him and so, he sought futilely after you on his own; his slack lips fluttering slowly as he tried to capture them against yours but to no avail.

He writhed slightly against you, face contorting with plea and mouth parting further as your hand squeezed him gently. His fingers gripped you more tightly and you gritted your teeth, raising another hand to wrap around his throat.

“Just – fuck – kiss me. Please just one kiss – jusmhm—”

Your lips were on his before he could finish, swallowing his whimper into your mouth. Your back thudded the wall behind you as his hand shoved your shoulder, his feverish body pressing back to yours only an instance later, locking his legs between yours.

You lifted your thigh and Jason wasted no time to begin grinding himself on it, grunting heatedly against your lips as his palms braced on the wall by your head to steady his already trembling legs.

Your hand slid underneath his shirt, soft fingertips tracing the hard lines of his muscles up to his chest. He gasped, body jolting with a shock of pleasure as your thumb barely brushed over his hard nipple. A groan scratched his throat when your nail tugged lightly on his piercing. You cooed mockingly at him.

“Aw, are you sensitive, baby?”

He whined breathlessly and you giggled, your nails pulling more at his nipple until he moaned louder and his head lolled back for the air to swallow the pathetic noise. Your tongue lapped lightly at the corner of his mouth, lips then pressing a kiss before they trailed down along his neck where your hot breaths woke goosebumps on his skin.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He nodded fervently, biting his lip as your teeth scraped across the length of his neck and a moan bubbled up his throat. “Say it—”

Jason’s eyes darted around, occasionally finding another pair that were pinned to him, pinned to you. You two were putting quite the show for them – and who knew what ignited this? That if this were only the veil of intoxication weighing heavy on the collective inhibition of the room that it moved as you both moved; hungry eyes devouring every little act, every little word or noise or anything you had to offer. And Jason found himself growing harder just as he felt the eyes bore into his body. And with it, swelled his desperation for your body.

But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

He pawed at you, fingers frantic on your skin as he pushed them under the hem of your tight skirt, their pads toying just a few touches shy of the heat between your thighs.

You gasped at the sudden burst of confidence in his touch, your hips bucking unwittingly against his as your head pushed back to the wall. He buried his face in your neck, his lips leaving a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses up to your ear before they sucked your earlobe between them.

“You were saying?”

You growled in frustration, lifting a hand to push it in between you until Jason caught your wrist and pinned it by your head to the wall, reading into your intention before you could act on it. He tutted under your ear, his low giggle making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Bad, bad girl. Wrong answer.”

He kicked your feet apart and shoved his knee between yours, lifting it until the curve of it grazed against your wet heat. A quivery sigh fled past your lips, roiling then with a soft whimper before you could hold from it. Jason chuckled again and began grinding you against his knee.

“That’s more like it, baby,” he traced a wet stripe of his tongue along the side of your face, his uneven breaths leaving a cold trail in their wake on your skin. “Now moan louder for me. Let everyone hear how weak and pathetic I’m making you right now.”

You sank your fingers in his hair and tugged, rousing a low growl from the man that almost made your knees give out. You squirmed, fighting for any ounce of control to take back. Jason’s lips pressed to the ridge of your jaw, his fingers weaving with yours on the wall.

“Don’t resist it, pretty girl. Let me take care of you. I bet you want that, too, don’t you?” Your lips quivered with a whimper and your face prickled with the cold wash of embarrassment as your body betrayed your intention to take back your control over him. He snickered teasingly. “I know you do. You want a big bad guy like me to give you the best fuck of your life. So fucking adorable, baby. You’re so desperate you let a stranger touch you like this? But guess today’s your lucky day. Cos I looove naughty girls like you.”

The way he moaned longingly in your ear made you shudder. You gasped and he only breathed out another dark chuckle to tease you with. He hummed playfully against your skin.

“It’s okay, baby. I ain’t gonna tell anyone how I beat you at your own game so damn easily. You can be all cute and pathetic just for me.” His lips began moving back down your neck, heated bites and kisses left in a wet trail along your sensitive skin. “Is that what you want? Hmm? You wanna be my good girl? My good pathetic little girl.”

“Oh, fuck it, I do. So fucking bad.”

He huffed a laugh. “And you wanted to make me beg for it.”

You shoved his shoulder and he giggled, lifting his head to kiss you softly on the lips. His twinkling eyes peered into yours as he leaned back to grin at you, his lip hooked between his teeth.

“Let’s get the hell outta here.”

No sooner the words were out of his mouth, his hand clasped around yours and yanked you away with him in search for an empty room. You eventually ended up upstairs in someone’s bedroom and on your back on the bed, watching him as he frantically shrugged off his jacket to the floor.

Jason caged your body with his, his hands quickly returning upon your skin to undo you slowly from the confines of your dress. Once the article was thrown across the floor, he stopped to marvel at you; at the way your skin glowed in the low light and your chest heaved unevenly, and at the visible goosebumps creeping across your body.

His eyes, now fallen on your lace panties, gleamed with burning greed. He wet his lips and crawled down on the bed until his face was hovering over your still clothed pussy.

“Fuck, I gotta taste you,” he glanced back up at you, face distorted with a needy look. “Please, baby? Will you let me eat your pretty fucking pussy? I promise I’ll make you feel so damn good.”

“Jesus, just – just fucking do it!”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

His thumbs slipped under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down over your legs before they too went to join your dress on the floor. He curled his hands around your thighs and pulled them apart, face slowly lowering into your sex.

His tongue was first to claim you, sitting warm and flat against your clit before he made a long upward stroke. You drew a shaky breath, fingers wringing the bedsheets beneath you, your head pushing back on the mattress.

Jason moaned deliriously, lips cupping around your sensitive bud to suck it noisily into his mouth before his tongue fluttered rapidly over it; the pattern of his mouth continuing in a loop over and over until your loud whines filled the room.

Once you felt the foreign yet much welcomed pressure of his piercing on your clit, you writhed and cried out, your fingers seeking the soft mess of his hair between your legs.

“That’s it. Moan for me, baby. Mmm, fuck, you taste so fucking good.” He goaded, voice breathless, tone deep and urgent. “Come on. Let yourself go for me. You can do it. Attagirl.”

You were already tittering on the edge; his words and skilled mouth propelling you in the face of your climax within short few minutes. Air left you in a string of shallow rapid gasps, riding on the wave of your soft whimpers as pleasure built quickly to a scorching peak within your core. He had barely raised a finger to sink into your folds before you fell apart right there with a shuddering moan.

Jason peppered your pussy and your thighs with gentle kisses as you came down, the ceiling slowly spinning overhead, your vision specked with winking whites. You took large calming gulps of air, your hand finally loosening on his roots before it fell limp at your side on the bed.

When you looked down at the man, he grinned at you, face flushed and coated with your arousal. He let a hand down to the front of his jeans to palm himself, the smug look on his face then giving into one of need as he groaned heatedly. You sat halfway up on your elbow, sliding another hand between you to toy with the hem of his shirt.

“My turn now.”

He stretched his arms over his head as you tugged his shirt off. You took a moment to take him all in; his inked smooth skin, glowing and tempting to take on your tongue, the glint of his piercings and his permanently hardened nipples. Then you bit your lip and met his eyes again, a mischievous smile playing across your face.

Jason’s blush deepened as your eyes practically gobbled him up, his own eyes avoiding yours, suddenly growing bashful. You held the side of his face, your thumb swiping over his lip and the smear of slick glistening on the kiss-swollen bit of flesh. You pulled him in for another kiss before you pushed him down on the bed where you had lain only instances ago and straddled his waist.

Your mouth traversed the span of his face, his neck and down to his chest. He trembled with anticipation, fingers twitching at his sides on the bed, knowing fully well where you were next headed to as your lips drew closer to one of his nipples. He flinched with a shrill moan as your mouth closed around it, back arching and his hand flying to bury itself in your hair.

You smiled, tugging on his piercing with your teeth and he whined again, his body writhing uncontrollably underneath you, his fingers flexing in your hair and tightening their grip on your roots. You took his nipple between your teeth and pulled, raising your head to look at him before you let go of it and made him yelp.

“God, you’re so easy. Is that all it takes to make such a mess out of you?”

He didn’t respond. Or rather, his attempt to bark back at you died right in his throat as you immediately turned your attention to his unattended nipple. Then he began squirming again, his voice breaking into a helpless sob of moan.

You sucked and pulled and drew more defeated sharp noises from his lips. He was shaking by the time you leaned away to admire your work – the hot mess of a man laying beneath you.

He stared up at you with round eyes, mouth open and panting. You could feel how hard he was even through the thick fabric of his jeans, your hips rocking slowly back and forth against his to coax more whines from him and you did. He was shamelessly loud and it made that familiar grab of heat tickle its way down to your core again.

“Oh, my fu–touch me. Just—fuck—I need you. I—mhm, shit—I’m so fucking hard for you it hurts. It fucking hurts, baby—”

You shushed him gently and he sobbed again, chest hitching with the broken sound. You slowly unclasped his belt and slid his jeans down. His legs were already spread open and ready for you, his hard bulge straining against the wet spot in his boxers. They were next to be removed and you smiled as Jason groaned with satisfaction when his cock freed and hit his stomach softly.

His fingers dug into his own thighs as you patiently watched him unravel before you. His eyes pleaded you to do something – anything as his cock sat heavy and neglected between you. He whimpered in protest, his waist writhing and hips bucking futilely into the air.

“Fuck, (Y/N). Please, baby. Please.”

You grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Jason’s frustrated groan cut into a sharp wavering gasp as your hand wound around his cock, shivering at the cold touch of your fingers on his fevered skin. He pushed his head back against the bed, eyes shut tight and jaw clenched as he growled.

“Mmm, fuck, yes.” He panted. “Yesyesyes!”

His moans were already breathless and high when you finally began gliding your fist along his length. He clung tightly to the bedsheets, neck arched and mouth parted to release erratic gasps and whimpers into the air. He jerked his hips, practically fucking himself into your fist.

You were soon speeding up on his cock and with it, the string of moans and curses from his tongue. He shook his head fervently, eyes blown wide open as he lifted his head to look at you.

“No, no, slow down. Fuck. Please slow down. I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that.”

But you didn’t heed. Smirking, your hand continued its pace and firm grip around him until he was whining in defeat. He dropped his head back down on the mattress, squirming even more as he stalked closer and closer to his orgasm, his moans now turned into short needy cries.

“Oh, god! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—”

But the vicious downpour of pleasure didn’t let him finish before he came under you, voice all noise and no word. He mewled, weak and worn as his warm cum oozed down through your fingers.

You removed your hand, lifting two fingers to your lips to taste the salty slick with a showy flick of your tongue. Jason nearly came again at the sight, closing his eyes to moan breathlessly before they opened to lock upon yours with a new found glimmering hunger.

He sat up, lips drawing close to your grinning ones as he glared at you with heated need, jaw becoming visibly clenched. You cocked your head, eyes turning round with feigned innocence, though the wolfish smile on your face made it difficult to sell the look.

“What?” You crooned, pumping a soaked finger into your mouth before releasing it with an exaggerated pop. “What’s wrong?”

Jason shoved you back down on the bed and you gasped, though you bit your lip as felt his still hard cock against your thigh.  

“I’m gonna fuck you into this mattress right now and you’re gonna be a good fucking girl for me and take it. Am I understood?”

Your smile widened. “Yes, sir.”

⛓🖤 Taglist!

@kassiekolchek22 @yellowroses-world @house-of-kolchek @yeslieutenant @katsufairies @ptichkayago @gaypanic1 @wadiyatalkinabeetmate @crazymissy22 @multi-fandom-imagine @erzsebetrosztoczy @pr3ttycunt @theduskie.

[thebreadvansstuff]

Christmas meet cute please!!!

It's five minutes to closing time when the last customer rushes in, frantically looking around the store.

Normally, Harry would kindly inform them that they're about to close, but this woman is practically tearing her hair out in panic, and it's Christmas Eve, so Harry decides she could go for a good deed.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

The woman, clearly out of breath, doesn't even turn to look in Harry's direction, and only walks further inside the shop.

"No, it's alright. Sorry, I'm only gonna take a minute and I'll be out of here!"

Harry taps her nails on the counter and says "Let me know if you need anything."

The woman comes to a halt in front of the Science Fiction section, and Harry watches the back of her head move as she skims through the shelves.

A minute later, she audibly sighs in relief, probably having found the book she was looking for.

The only problem is that she can't reach it.

She steps on her tip toes, stretches her arm to the top shelf, but can barely touch its spine.

Deciding to put the woman out of her misery, Harry rounds the counter, and comes up behind her.

She can understand the woman's struggle when she stands next to her, now that she can see how much shorter than Harry she is.

"This one?" she asks, easily reaching the book and pulling it out of its place.

The woman jumps backwards, puts a hand over her heart, and Harry giggles.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you!"

The woman shakes her head dismissively, and at the sight of the book in Harry's hands, she smiles in relief.

Harry's stomach flutters strangely, and that is something that only happens when she sees the prettiest of smiles, the bluest of eyes.

"Thank you," the woman says, "I couldn't possibly go home tomorrow without this book for my sister."

Harry holds out the book, and the woman's fingers brush against hers as she grabs it. The mere touch feels like a spark, and Harry's heart beats a tad faster than it did two minutes ago, when she was sweeping the floor.

"Y-yeah. It's good you made it before we closed."

Harry stands and stares dumbly for a moment too long, probably contributing to the awkward silence. "Let's ring you up," she says suddenly, shaking herself from her trance.

As they go up to the counter together, Harry thinks about all the people she sees coming in and out of the store, few of them ever coming back.

For some reason, of all the customers, this is the one she might miss the most if she never sees her again. She doesn't even know her name, or her age, or anything apart from the fact that she has a sister who likes science fiction, but Harry feels something like a tug in her gut, something telling her to not let her go.

She wraps up the book with shaking fingers, occasionally glancing up at the beautiful woman.

And then she gets an idea.

As soon as the woman has paid, Harry prints the receipt, and instead of passing it to her, she keeps it at the counter. She grabs a pen, and with a racing heart, she scribbles her number and 'Merry Christmas :)' under it.

From the corner of her eye, she can see the woman curiously looking over the counter, and her cheeks heat up.

"Here's your change, and your receipt," Harry says, handing them over.

"Thank you," the woman says, and her lips tug up at one corner, "and Merry Christmas to you, too."

Harry might look as red as a tomato, a proper fool as she watches the woman walk out of the shop, but at least she gets a date for Christmas, and a kiss for New Year.

Send me a line, and I'll write a snippet! - X-MAS edition!

[cappurrccino]

fic asks: 3, 7, 9!

3. What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

I want to put Nosk into malevolent... 👀 I want to make Arthur run into himself in some deep, dark cavern and torment John juuuuust a little bit by making him watch (the double of) his good good friend crack open as a nightmare monster comes out to try to eat them

7. What’s a troupe you love to write?

I only forgot what counted as tropes a little bit but... found family! I just... love it so much. Reading it, writing it, having it pop up in audio/visual things, love it, love it, love it, just the power and love involved in a group of people deciding "this is my family now and I'd do anything for them"... it's great!

9. What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

Oooo.... [quickly opens half a dozen fics to skim through] Ok, ok, ok, two faves, both kind of related in that I really love when I feel like I've nailed the description of a Weird landscape and found the words for the concept-art-esque image in my head!

a bit of fundament from Siren's Eye:

Something bright and pastel bloomed in the dark water in front of them and Aurash feared it was something new that wished to devour them. The ship swung to the side, sliding around the swirling, iridescent pink and green ribbons. Nothing lashed out or leapt for the ship and curiosity got the better of her. She crept to the railing and looked down into the water. It wasn’t immediately obvious if the ribbons were alive or if they were alive if they were intelligent. They were small, though, and seemingly docile. Something smaller even than the krill. She wondered how long the ribbons lived, if they knew or cared about anything outside their wave. A long, low rumbling note echoed through the sky above and she looked up to see the lightning race through the clouds. The sails caught traces of the static and swelled with the energy, propelling the ship across the tops of the deep, black waves and away from the ribbon blooms.

and a bit of the dark world from day 2: faroe:

The eternal night was… pretty, she realized. It wasn’t often that she got a moment to pause—especially not anywhere with open air overhead—but now that she had one? It was pretty in a haunted sort of way. Everything was cast in the same deep black and cold grey and inky blue, shadows on shadows on eternal void, suggesting and hinting at what the landscape might be if you were lucky enough to be seeing true. Glitter and sparks and ribbons of light of every color shot through the deep murk. Things being chased, things doing the chasing, decoys, distractions, lures. Teeth and claws and knives flashing through the dark reflecting non-existent light. She sighed heavily and her breath fogged in front of her. A kaleidoscopic cloud of every hue that shifted and twisted and drifted away on invisible currents.

[ send me a fic writer ask! ]

[nyuqvrse]

K.YH ⌇ accompanied alchoholism ━ ✩・*

maybe it's the drink or the atmosphere, but you can't stop staring at the man across the counter.

purple-white translucent colours mix in a mesmerising, abstract display as you swirl the alcoholic drink in your hand absentmindedly, electropop playing in the background, a heel softly tapping along against the tiled floor. many-hued spotlights creep across the expanse of the night bar, skimming the couples slow dancing in the low light, grazing the shiny material of your dark-tinted outfit.

you heave a quiet sigh and let it leave your lips. maybe you shouldn’t have followed the widely conceived idea of “letting loose” - you enjoyed staying at home manifold compared to a night out by yourself, but somehow you've been returning to the same bar every week for a drink or two. your grip on the glass tightens. you swirl it again, before realising you've finished it already, whatever it was.

well, one more wouldn’t hurt.

eyes downcast, you slide the empty glassware across the marble counter to the bartender. “another one, please,” you mutter just loud enough above the music for the man to hear. a cuffed sleeve reaches for the glass, black with silver stripes, and you realise it isn’t the same bartender you ordered your drink from prior to this.

you look up and meet the gaze of a gorgeous pair of eyes. silver, his hair is silver, and it's platinum, blinding, styled and slicked back in a way that makes his charming features shine even more than before.

and he smiles.

it’s like a midsummer air, blowing you over and knocking you off your feet; warm and fierce and so abrupt. you feel your heart stutter and you can’t take your eyes off him, him and his pretty eyes that won’t stop glimmering in the blue-black light.

“coming right up,” he replies, and his mellifluous voice fills your eardrums in a sweet serenade that hits you straight in the gut, and all of a sudden you can’t find yourself the space to breathe.

there are sparks flying in the gaze you share with him, white electricity coursing through your veins from how much instantaneous tension there is from the eye contact, and when he finally breaks it you softly let out a shuddering sigh you didn’t even know you were holding.

the clinking of glass against marble fills the empty space between the two of you, and you just watch the bartender pour different sorts of liquid into the cup with practiced precision, the colours blending with each other like a concoction of a sacred potion. and you think, i must be under his magic.

"so," he begins, and you unconsciously sit a little straighter, "what brings you here tonight all by yourself?" he looks to you once more, irises catching the light beneath his fluttering eyelashes, and they steal your breath away again.

unable to keep the eye contact you hum thoughtfully, fingertips tapping against the marble lightly, your eyes trained on the drink spilling out of the bottle into your glass. "just wanted to unwind. didn't have anyone to come with though."

you sees the bartender nod his head understandingly out of the corner of your eye, and you will yourself to speak again, "i haven't seen you around here before."

the chuckle that tumbles from his lips takes your poor heart captive, and at that instant, you decide that this man is truly dangerous, "this isn't my routine shift, i usually take saturdays." he explains, "though i wouldn't mind taking fridays if it means meeting you," the bartender adds on with a wink.

hook, line and sinker, on the cargo that is your palpitating heart. you're surely gone now.

desperately grasping onto your last meager strand of confidence, you teasingly reply, "are you really supposed to flirt with your customers like this?" in response, the man's lips curve into a small smile, raising a brow. he gives you a small shrug as he says, "only if they're really pretty."

oh.

there goes your conviction.

you feel the tips of your ears grow embarrassingly hot at the comment, and you inwardly thank the dimmed lights for hiding the red tint. your eyes flicker to the now full glass he slides over, translucently purple and topped off with one of those cute paper umbrellas you would find in a summer cocktail. you thank him, taking a sip; somehow the drink tastes even better than the first one you had.

"i'm y/n," you decide to introduce yourself, a pleasant aftertaste lingering on your tongue after you down more of the beverage.

"i'm younghoon, beautiful," he replies.

you merely hum again, your line of sight falling on his every feature - from his ivory hair to the tip of his cute nose to the curve of his pale pink lips, to his silver bowtie neatly fastened around his neck and to the buttons of his tuxedo, all the way to his folded cuffs and his hands perched on the countertop.

he opens his mouth to speak, and your eyes snap back to his, "you seem to be very... riveted by me, y/n," younghoon remarks with an amused expression. he rolls his sleeves up a little, and you can't help but quietly stare at his exposed forearms.

"is it obvious?" you murmur under your breath, but younghoon manages to pick out her words clear enough. "for sure," he laughs softly, "but at least it's mutual."

your eyes can't help but widen, and for a second you're in disbelief that he would even have a shred of interest in you, "is that so?" you ask in response. you don't miss the small flash of his teeth when he grins.

younghoon leans into the marble, the proximity between him and you closer than before, the smile playing on his lips sending your heart into a frenzy. “wouldn't you like to know? i’d love for you to find out.”

you smile back, once again sipping from the glass, drinking in whorls of purple-white. and for once, you didn’t regret coming tonight.

[violettduchess]

Hello, may I ask for an hc for ikepri? This might be a little nsfw so pls feel free to disregard if you're uncomfortable with it

Reactions for the boys with chubby MC with big boobies 😆 the way her boobs jiggling when walking or laughing, or just even breathing their eyes be like 👀 on her chest and starts imagining doing something naughty 😏 All prince pls but if it's too much just the new princes, ty

Hello Anon,

I went with just the new princes. I hope you enjoy it!

Slightly NSFW so the writing is after "keep reading" 💜

Silvio Ricci: 

You have always been different. Your curves developed long before others. You were rounder, softer than the girls with sharp angles and straight lines. Clothing doesn’t sit on you quite the same. Necklines are pushed to their limits, skirts skim over curves, sometimes sleeves are just a little too tight. You may feel self-conscious at times, but that is only because you have never noticed the way the Prince of Benitoite follows your movement out of the corner of his eyes. He may seem disinterested, sipping casually from his wine glass, expression stony with boredom. But this is an illusion.

He looks like he is scanning the room for something of interest, a hawk lazily gliding on currents of air. But that azure gaze sees you, passing over you again and again. He watches as you kneel down to adjust your shoe, the way your dress valiantly struggles to contain your breasts. The candlelight paints you in warm light, gilding you in soft orange, sending sparks off the pink sequins of your gown, the deep blue jewels at your throat and ears. These little pinpricks of colored light dance across your skin, over the curve of your breasts and trap him. 

He is hypnotized by the play of those little candy-colored lights. He imagines what it would be like to try and catch them with his tongue. To pull you to him, his hands full of your softness, to hold you still as he tries to devour all of them. And then devour you.

Keith Howell:

The day is warm, even for Rhodolite. You are standing calf-deep in the cool waters of the pond on the palace grounds. You have no idea that not far away, hidden from your view by the shade of a giant oak tree, the Jade Prince is lounging, trying to stave off the heat as well.

He has always noticed you, but shyness plagues him. Approaching you for more than a polite greeting or an inquiry about the weather sends his heart reeling. Even now with his eyes closed, he is dreaming of you. Of your smile, the one that breaks through any clouds in his mind, bringing sunshine. Of your voice. Of your laughter. Your laugh is one of his favorite sounds. You laugh fully, openly, with your whole heart. Even in his daydreaming his cheeks warm when he thinks of the way others part of you move when you laugh, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, like waves in an ocean. What would it be like to lay his head there? How soft would it be? Or to turn his head and taste you? His hand reaching up, cupping you—

He is shaken from his daydream by the sound of water. His golden eyes open and he blinks, unsure as to whether he is still dreaming. You stand there, your skirt gathered and tucked between your thighs as you wade deeper into the water. You reach down, cupping a refreshing handful of it and then lift your arms, letting it splash your warm face, neck and cheeks. His mouth goes dry as the water dances its way down your body, droplets clinging to you possessively. He is jealous of their contact with you. You splash yourself again and the water trickles down over the slope of your breasts, between them, leaving tantalizing wet patches on the front of your gown, teasing him. He finds himself transfixed, unable to look away. Cruel, cruel water. 

Gilbert von Obsidian:

The night breeze lures you outside, coaxes you to leave your room, book in hand as you slip away from a palace on the edge of slumber. You make your way outside to the ground floor terrace, a wicker chaise lounge with soft cushions calling your name. You’ve brought your chamberstick along to help you see but the silver light of the full moon is bright enough, flooding the area with its soft luminescence. 

He looks down at you from the window of his guest room, a dark shadow behind glass. You believe you are alone so you think nothing of the way your nightgown shifts as you make yourself comfortable, leaning back into the velveteen padding. The thin material, unlaced at the front, slides off one shoulder and you welcome the cool air on your skin. 

The way the moon highlights the exposed parts of your body is arresting, stopping his breath. His teeth sink into his lower lip hard enough to hurt, a groan gathers in the back of his throat. You are resplendent, a rival to Selene herself. His eye wanders over the lines of your calves, the slope of your bare shoulder, the curves of your breasts. His palms burn to touch that skin, all of it. He wants to run his hands from ankle to thigh, to feel the softness there as he tightens his grip, digs his bare fingers into them, pushes them apart. The pale skin of your shoulder and the tops of your breasts are begging for his mouth to mark them, to suck hard enough it leaves a trail of red roses in its wake. He wants to bury himself in you, to lose all the hardened, painful parts of himself in your softness. To satiate his hunger for you right there on that terrace in the light of the silvery moon.

*

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @rhodolitesrose @atelier-maroron @queengiuliettafirstlady @somekidnamedkai @alexxavicry@redheadkittys @queen-dahlia