#especially the lamp scene!

[linusbenjamin]

'Cause karma is my boyfriend Karma is a god Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend Karma's a relaxing thought Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

[nocturnalazure]

Author's note: Liang's philosophical views can be found here. He also brought it up with Nathaniel here.

[threetrenchcoatsinatrenchcoat]

Let’s Make a Music’s “I Told You I Was Not a Slug (But I Lied)” is a pretty good Skip song huh

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts. 

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles. 

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head. 

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest. 

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts. 

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!” 

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly. 

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you. 

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back. 

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod. 

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes. 

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even. 

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet. 

He stands like a statue. 

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.” 

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.” 

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John. 

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.” 

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals. 

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.” 

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material. 

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk. 

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively. 

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind. 

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down. 

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again. 

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window. 

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.” 

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs. 

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away. 

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker. 

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech. 

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows. 

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head. 

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air. 

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.” 

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk. 

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows. 

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder. 

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!” 

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip. 

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?” 

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed. 

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat. 

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing. 

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed. 

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently. 

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips. 

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.” 

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should. 

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear. 

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece. 

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.” 

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another. 

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want. 

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything. 

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed. 

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava. 

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.” 

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.” 

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight. 

What in the hell was going on? 

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible. 

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was. 

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too. 

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively. 

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed. 

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.” 

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt. 

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment. 

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.” 

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment. 

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften. 

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?” 

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.” 

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.” 

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out. 

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”  

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt. 

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back. 

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire. 

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm. 

A secluded home. Nothing around. 

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death. 

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you. 

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

TAGS:

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[alavestineneas]

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion. 

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way. 

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her. 

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better. 

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle. 

-

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago. 

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life. 

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less. 

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns. 

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet. 

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation. 

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine. 

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us." 

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin. 

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep. 

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus." 

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

-

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?" 

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on." 

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?" 

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?" 

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners. 

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist. 

-

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position." 

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

 "Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student." 

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration. 

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own." 

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

-

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else. 

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception. 

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man. 

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out? 

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table. 

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake. 

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving. 

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense." 

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her. 

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

-

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success? 

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful. 

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish. 

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.'' 

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air." 

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit. 

-

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her. 

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time. 

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring. 

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath. 

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

[targaryen-dynasty]

GUILELESS.

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

The streets of Flea Bottom most definitely were not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out at night, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; CNC, DUB-CON, p in v, roleplay, profanity, tiddy fucking, degrading, punishing, humiliating, public sex, slight oral (m receiving) and overstimulation, blink and you‘ll miss the breeding and size kink, vague description of fem!Martell!Reader (dark hair, dark eyes, small body)

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: Killing two birds with one stone with this thing. Written for this and this request.

The streets of Flea Bottom were in an uproar with hundreds of gold cloaks roaming around to restore law and order in the foulest and most lawless district of the Westerosi capital. It most definitely was not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

Your reddish gown had been replaced by the clothes of a boy. A wide, black tunic and gray breeches hid your body, and your long, brown curls were covered by a black cloak. The boots you wore were surprisingly more comfortable than the sandals you wore around court, yet they were not at all appropriate to be paired to the finest, dornish silk you usually donned.

On your way through the dimly lit alleyways, you bumped shoulders with more than one commoner that fled the scene you were too eager to see. Coming closer to the source of the agonizing screams, you stopped just short of the crowd, barely out of the alleyway.

To your left was a pillow house, the ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass swung over the door casting you in a red light. You tried to move further and squeeze past the wall of curious bystanders, before your wrist was seized by something firm that caused you to gasp.

“A lady like you should be careful wandering the streets alone at such hour,” a deep voice drawled out. As you turned around, you immediately noticed who had you in a tight hold, the long, silver strands of hair peeking from beneath the helmet a dead giveaway–just like the surcoat depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen that none of the other gold cloaks around you wore. Daemon Targaryen, Lord Commander of the City Watch.

You straightened your back, and decided not to show any of your emotions. Especially not the nervousness that soared through your veins. “I shall have you know that I am no lady,” you replied sternly, though there was a slight tremble in your smooth voice, “I am to be a princess soon.”

That seemed to amuse the man, your intimidation tactic clearly not working. “Oh, you most certainly are,” he replied with a mocking tone, “that is why I have found you in Flea Bottom, hm, dressed like what… a little boy?” Now there was a slight hint of uneasiness accompanying his words and presence, which had a shiver running up your spine. “As your princess, I command you to let go of me,” you pressed, trying to tug your arm back – but to no avail.

“You are a feisty little thing,” the gold cloak murmured with a sly smile. “It is a shame you are nothing more than a pretender. You would have made an excellent wife.” He didn’t even allow you to give him a reply, before his hand found the back of your neck to shove you into the pillow house to your left you had examined not long before.

Upon stumbling inside, you noticed that it was no pillow house but a simple brothel instead. Older wenches with more flesh to their hips and a used appearance did not hone the low quality the common room presented itself in. Considering the size of the crowd in front of the etablissement, it was surprising to spot not so many patrons inside.

“I–What–”

“I shall have you punished for those treacherous antics,” he barked, effectively cutting you off. The light tap he gave your rear caught you off guard, however, it was solely a ruse meant to distract you from both his hands grabbing the waistband of your breeches and undergarments to rather forcefully tug them down your body. It was nothing else than luck that the tunic you wore was long enough to cover your cunt for anyone that dared to catch a glimpse.

You gasped, and seized his hand on your hip that threatened to dive forwards between your legs. “My lord,” you protested, pretending that you did not know whose chest was pressed flush to your back, “you should not– I–”

Before you could protest even more, he had hauled you up against the breastplate of his armor, and you could merely look at him from over your shoulder, your dark eyes filled with lust. You started to struggle against his hold, yet his muscular arms snaked around your frame made it obvious you didn't stand a chance.

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“Silence,” he bellowed, carrying you through the common room of the brothel to an alcove that granted you just some more privacy. While you were dropped unceremoniously on a chaise standing nearby, he brought a large hand up to the back of your neck, applying a good bit of pressure so you were kneeling on the chaise with your arse up and face down.

From behind you, you could hear a satisfied groan, no doubt spotting the glistening shimmer on your cunt from how aroused you were. When his calloused finger dragged through your soaked mound, you could not stifle a moan to leave your lips.

“Please, stop, my lord, I am still a maiden,” you whimpered, trying to get back up only to be pushed down again forceful enough to have you grunting just once. “Stay,” he warned, and you were foolish to not obey his command. You could faintly hear his hands fumbling with the buckles along the breastplate of his armor, your heartbeat pounding in your ears loud enough to almost drown out every other sound, removing them and allowing the steel to fall to the ground – piece after piece following in its wake. “I am betrothed,” you tried to reason.

You gasped as his hand served a firmer slap to your arse this time, the gentle rubbing of his palm not at all mending the stinging pain. “And you still will be once I am done with you,” came his stern reply. He dragged two fingers through your mound, from your entrance to the little bud, retorting to rubbing mindless patterns over it that had you pushing your hips against his fingers for a moment to chase the friction. Despite the moans that left your lips, you tried to snake your hand between your thighs to cover your cunt and arse, but he was quick enough to capture both your hands, bringing them together behind you to pin them to your back with one hand.

The gold cloak was skilled enough to unlace his breeches one-handed, freeing his cock out of its confines. “I shall refrain from spending my seed inside of your cunt for I do not desire to dishonor your betrothed,” he mumbled, his voice taking on a rougher edge.

“Do not do this, please,” you released a shaky breath, and every protest that threatened to follow caught in your throat the moment he dragged the tip of his cock through your swollen folds, resuming the movements he had previously made with his fingers.

The attempt to resist him was cut short when his cock breached your core, pushing into you at a teasingly slow pace that had you drawing in a sharp breath. “Your betrothed might get to breed you, but I took your maidenhead. You do best to remember that when he lays his filthy hands on you,” he groaned. The moment you stretched around him, all you could choke out was ‘yes, yes, yes,’ being in a stupor because of his cock.

With his hand still around your wrists, he pulled you onto his cock until his hips pressed against your rear, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘Gods’ he muttered under his breath didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it appeared that he didn’t know where to place his free hand as it squeezed your arse, tugged on your hair and eventually settled in the curve of your waist.

He pounded into you with reckless abandon, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that had your vision grow blurry over and over again. With your face pressed into a pillow resting on the chaise, you were not able to spot the feigned anger and jealousy blazing in his eyes. The only thing that made you aware of the amusement he found in that situation was the tone of his husky voice, making it more than clear that he had a smirk on his lips. “When I am done with you,” he rasped, bowing forward to put more of his weight on your small frame beneath his. “You shall desire no one else’s cock but mine.”

“Yes–” he interrupted your answer with a hard, percussive thrust, and then another, and another, until you couldn't focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. You pushed your hips back against him, and he reared up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which resulted in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls. The position you were in, with your face pressed into the pillow, granted you some sense of feigned privacy, because otherwise you would have noticed some curious eyes lingering on you two whenever one of the customers or whores decided to prowl the scene unfolding.

“Let’s see how much you desire your betrothed’s cock after this.”

When his hips stilled, and the pleasure in the pit of your belly eased, you propped yourself up on your hands with his vice-like grip suddenly gone. You looked at him from over your shoulder, and if you were not so lost in the sight of him behind you, you would have pouted when he gripped the neckline of your tunic to rip the linen to shreds as if it was nothing, exposing the last bit of your body to the sticky air of the brothel.

His skin was glistening in the dim light the candles granted, small beads of sweat highlighting his muscles. His upper body was defined by numerous cuts and scars, a testament to the dangers he had survived in his short life already. As he glanced down to where his clock disappeared inside of you, strands of his silver hair fell into his face, framing his chiseled features. You were so focused on enjoying the view that you did not immediately catch on to what he had said to you, the words not registering in your mind.

It seemed that his patience was not infinite as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing, settling you down on the cold floor so you sat on your haunches. He sat down on the chaise with his legs spread, his thick cock flush against his lower stomach, and straining as he leaned back, hands resting on his muscular thighs. You tilted your head, affecting a look of defiance. His eyes flickered over your frame, taking in every exposed inch of skin, and he couldn't help but smirk. “I said I shall not dishonor your betrothed, did I not?” he said, and almost dismissively waved his hand in order for you to continue.

You took that as your cue to use your hands and mouth to coax him towards his peak, however, when you reached to grasp the base of his member, the dragon in front of you merely tsked. Without saying a word, he bowed forwards and brought his paw-like hands to the sides of your breasts, squeezing them together. At the realization of what he had in mind, your eyes widened in surprise, and when he raised an eyebrow with a slight tilt of his head, you knew what was expected of you.

While his hands merely released your breasts to allow you to lean forwards, it was your hand that fisted the base of his cock, still thoroughly lubricated with your arousal. You positioned yourself so his cock rested in the Vale between your breasts, only for him to squeeze them together around it again. “Good girl,“ he praised, and you craned your neck to give a teasing lick along the slit at the tip of his cock, which prompted the prince to take in a sharp breath.

He replied by bucking his hips up, his cock bumping against your slightly parted lips. While he smirked at you in a smug manner, you released a surprised gasp, your eyes flickering between his violet ones and his cock. With his hands on your breasts, he kept them pressed tightly around his member, using the crevice between them to race for completion. You raised and lowered your body in rhythm with his hips, licking and kissing the tip of his cock whenever it came close enough to your lips.

His fingers pinched and brushed the perky buds of your breasts, causing you to release one whimper after the other. It was a titillating sight, watching how your expression shifted to a more focused one as you moved your body for his pleasure, ignoring the throbbing at the apex of your legs as best as you could.

“What an obedient, little wench I have found on the streets of Flea Bottom,” he groaned, his voice raspier, indicating that he was close to reaching his peak. “So willing to please the Lord Commander of the City Watch. Do you like watching me fuck those perfect teats of yours?” You couldn't help but whine, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words like they were the most embarrassing thing you had ever heard. Dornish people were known for their sexual licentiousness, but that man in front of you seemed to top just that.

“Will you claim me, my lord?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. But with his peak approaching him rather quickly, the last threads of his patience seemed to snap as he growled a ‘Tis husband for you’ in return, the thoughts of your well-schemed ploy long forgotten at the aspect of spending himself all over you, claiming you. With a strangled groan, Daemon reached his completion, his cock spurting between your breasts and onto your chest, throat, lips and even your tongue. The pinch on your perky buds turned painfully tight with the pleasure soaring through his veins, causing you to squirm a bit, and it took a moment for the tension to slowly subside.

He watched with hooded eyes as you licked his seed off the skin your tongue could reach, and when your hands came up to peel him off of you, there didn’t come any objection from him. You wrapped your lips around his cock, and took as much of him down your throat as possible. He breathed heavily as he bowed forwards, looming over you as he took in the debauched sight in front of him.

Daemon shivered and grunted as you cleaned him up, the overstimulation making him sensitive to your touch, and he fisted your hair to pull you off of him. With the remnants of his seed still on your chin, you smiled up at him, and you could see his flaccid cock slowly growing hard again. You rested your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him as you lazily tugged him to full hardness again

“Gods,” he groaned, the bump in his throat bobbing in anticipation. “I love you, t–,” you replied, the last word catching in your throat as he hoisted you up to straddle his hips. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, fingers entangling in the strands of his silver hair.

“I am going to make you peak, and then I am fucking you until you can no longer walk and you are carrying my child,” he mumbled into the curve of your neck, sucking in your skin to leave some faint marks. “Just to show you how much I love you, wife.”

General Taglist: @aemondx @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

[crosshairlovebot]

welcome home / hunter x f!reader

pairing: hunter x f!reader

description: you return home to find hunter in the shower, and he shows you just how much he missed you while he was gone.

word count: 4,036

warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit sexual content. heavy scent kink. plot only if you squint. p in v s*x. oral s*x (f receiving). slight overstimulation. lots of kissing. slight body worship. cr*ampie.

the need to write a part two to that hunter smut a couple of weeks ago was so strong there was no avoiding it. the hunter feels gripped me so hard they're shaking me around like a rag doll. i have never written a full smut sequence like this before, so please bear with me if it's not as perfect as i would like! i'm doing my best!

although the previous part (which is not essential to read to understand this) was written with gender-neutral pronouns, this part is with a female reader. i wanted to make sure i could actually write a scene like this since i've never done it before. gender-neutral smut is something i'd like to try in the future once i feel more comfortable writing in this style :)

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You rode the slightly odorous lift up to your apartment floor, the doors sliding open slowly once it arrived. The hallway light flickered every minute or two as you approached the door to your humble abode, your body aching after working more overtime than you should’ve stayed for. Yawning, you pressed in the code before promptly walking into the still-closed door with a thud.

You frowned, suddenly more alert. You checked the panel and saw that you had just locked your apartment, not unlocked it. Living on Coruscant – especially in an area not known for being the safest corner of the planetary city – had informally trained you to watch for your safety almost constantly. And the possibility that your door may have been unlocked by someone who may or may not be waiting inside to hurt you was a red flag.

Heart beating faster, you pressed your ear up against the door, to see if you could hear anyone and your eyes widened when you heard a faint groan coming from inside.

Panic began to course through your veins, and you debated whether or not you should call the authorities before deciding against it. They wouldn’t get here in time to be of any use, and so many crimes happened on Coruscant that you doubted anyone would even come at all.

Instead, you steeled yourself and then typed in the code again.

Save for the single lamp you always left on; the apartment was dark. The yellow light bathed the small space in a soft glow that made everything look a little less like a standard-issue Coruscanti apartment and a little more like a home. You quietly dropped your bag by the door, picked up a vase from the entryway and crept into your apartment. It was then you heard the shower running and the soft hum of a smokey tenor echo through the apartment. Your shoulders instantly relaxed.

There was only one person who would break into your apartment and take a shower.

You placed the vase down on the kitchen bench, a smile biting the corners of your mouth as you walked to your small ensuite bathroom, the humming getting louder. Your smile only got wider when you saw his armour stacked neatly next to the dresser. You could hear the hum louder from here, and your heart squeezed itself against your ribs. He was happy.

You opened the door slowly, knocking softly even though he would sense you were there as soon as the door opened. “Hunter?”

The humming stopped and Hunter’s wet head poked around the shower curtain. If he was a sight when he was dry, he was completely ethereal when wet. His hair stuck around his shoulders and neck, water dripping down his tattooed face onto his neck. He smiled out the side of his mouth, eyes bright at the sight of you. “Hey, you.”

You grinned, just as pleased to see him. “Hey. You’re back.”

“I am.”

You nodded to the steaming shower. “Can I join you?”

He wordlessly pulled back the shower curtain as his answer, revealing half of his bare muscular body. You undressed quickly, piling your clothes on top of his blacks that had been kicked near the privy before stepping in with him. Almost instantly, you were engulfed in Hunter’s arms, his wet body pressed against yours as he pushed his nose into your neck, breathing deeply.

“Someone missed me,” you smiled, hands holding his upper arms and squeezing them gently.

You felt his breath on your neck as he nuzzled his nose against your skin. It was always the first thing he did when he saw you. “You have no idea how much,” the words buzzing against your skin.

At the feel of his half-hard length pressed into your stomach, and you chuckled. “I think I can guess.”

Hunter trailed his hands down your body, nose still buried in your neck. He loved the way you smelled. Something about it drove him crazy, though you weren’t sure what it was specifically. But you’d never complain.

You felt him pull you closer, and his wet hair fell onto your shoulder as he dragged his hands up and down your thighs and hips. The water cascaded over you both, and when his hand dipped between your bodies down to the place between your legs, you tipped your head forward to rest on his shoulder as you moaned. “Hunter,” you choked out as his hand moved in slow circles there, and you felt yourself slicken at the touch.

Hunter pressed light kisses to your neck and shoulder, marking a trail up to your ear with his lips. “Been waiting for you to get back.” His voice was ragged like he’d been running, rasping out of him all breathy.

His fingers still moved slowly between you, and you whimpered before telling him quietly. “I thought someone had broken in.”

Hunter pulled back to look at you, his hand stilling as he searched your face with a crease between his brow. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Sorry, cyari’ka, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and looked in his brown-grey eyes as steam continued to rise from the running water. “I heard a loud groan…what were you doing?”

The corner of Hunter’s mouth lifted before those eyes of his darkened. “What do you think?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

You hummed. The idea of him getting off in your shower as he waited for you to come home conjured up so many salacious images in your mind you had to squeeze his arms to steady yourself. The thought of him in here, cock in his hand as he stroked himself to just your scent…it only made the arousal building inside you burn hotter.

“Couldn’t wait for me?” You croaked out.

“Kriff, no. As soon as I stepped inside you were everywhere,” he continued his kisses, sucking at your jaw. “And it only got stronger. Every breath I took you were there, inside my lungs, seeping into my skin. You know how insane you make me, and it’s been months…” He drew back and brushed his nose against yours. “Are you mad?”

“God, no,” you breathed against his lips.

“Good.”

Hunter finally kisses your mouth then. His mouth slants over yours and it’s impossible not to moan into it. His tongue moves over your lips and slides against yours. To think when you met him, he had no idea how to kiss and now he knew the inside of your mouth better than you did.

He groaned into the kiss, and you knew his senses were in overdrive right now, the hot wet of your mouth only driving him crazier. He pushed you back against the tile, his solid body trapping you between the cool of the tile and the heat of his skin. His hands gripped your hips as you snaked one leg around his. With his now hard length pressing between you, it was so close to where you needed it. You arched into him, the need to have him as close as humanly possible so intense you could comprehend nothing but Hunter’s kisses and hands as he did everything he could to consume every part of you. Your only thought was how badly you wanted him to.

You had missed him too, after all.

Your hands went into his hair, tugging at the wet strands as he continued to explore your mouth. He broke away but only to resume his kisses down your neck, his tongue lolling out to lick the skin and the droplets of water in between the kisses. Steam from the water clouded your vision, or was that because of the sensation of Hunter’s hands against you? You didn’t know. You moaned as his kisses travelled down your torso.

“Hunter,” you choked out as you watched him lower to his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much,” he said again, the words vibrating against your skin.

You caressed his temple with your thumb. “I missed you.”

He groaned loudly against the skin of your stomach. “You smell incredible.”

You whimpered, so incredibly turned on as he moved his mouth down, his lips dragging across your skin, and you watched him descend lower, his eyes half closed and rolling back. You could see just how hard he was, up against his stomach. The water continued to flow down his shoulders and half-tattooed torso, down into the hair that covered most of his front.

You raked your fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp and you felt his moan on your stomach, and the sound ignited your insides with desire. It felt like your whole body was electrified, pulsing with need and he’d barely even done anything.

“Hunter, more, please,” you breathed out.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He groaned, standing up and shutting the water off as he kissed you once more. He pulled back, sliding the shower curtain roughly across its pole before picking you up effortlessly. Your arms and legs went around him as he buried his nose in your neck again as he walked to your bed, both of you still dripping wet but neither of you caring enough to do anything about it.

Hunter lay you down gently, moving you up to the pillows as he climbed on top of you. His hair fell forward, dripping onto your chest and he leaned down to suck the droplets off your skin.

You moaned as his mouth travelled to your neck again, kissing you there, his lips sucking gently, and you knew there would be a nice mark there tomorrow that you would grumble about trying to cover for work. But right now, the idea of him laying a claim to you made every nerve ending in your body tingle, especially the ones between your legs.

His lips then made their way to your chest, and he moved to one breast, taking the nipple between his teeth, making you whine before he circled his tongue around it, sucking gently. Your back arched off the bed and you felt his hand slide underneath you, between your shoulder blades, drawing you into his mouth more. He sucked gently, then moved on to the other one, repeating the same ministrations with his tongue.

You panted, mewling with every pinch of his teeth grazing your nipple. He was taking his time with you, as usual, savouring every single part of you. You knew he’d be tired after spending months completing gruelling missions, but he was still eager to pleasure you slowly, work you up until you were begging for a release only he could give.

Exhausted, but never for you.

He released your breast, wetness from his mouth glistening the peak in the dim light. He continued down once again, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he lowered himself between your legs.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with want before he sat back on his heels to spread your legs a little wider, holding the inside of your thighs down with his hands. His thumbs circled the soft skin there as he gazed at you all spread out for him.

He looked beautiful like his. His brown skin illuminated only by the light that managed to creep through the blinds, his tattoo etched down one side of his body which still shined with the water from the shower. His cock was so hard with need, precum already pooling at the tip – you’ve barely even touched him. He was just worked up over touching you, breathing you in. He was average in length, but his thickness set him apart from any other sexual partner you’ve had. You ached to feel it inside you, but if he was taking his sweet time with you, it would be a while before you felt him stretch you.

Hunter was nothing if not thorough.

“Hunter…” you whined, sitting up on your elbows.

“Look so pretty like this,” he told you, not an ounce of insincerity in his tone as he crept down to his elbows, arms wrapping under and around your thighs as he pushed his nose against your centre. He breathed in deeply, and the groan that erupted from the back of his throat buzzed against your core.

“So good…” he murmured as he pushed his nose against your clit, making you jerk. He placed a kiss there before gently bringing it into his mouth to suck. You cry out, hips bucking up into his nose and he moans again before his mouth finally moves over you completely.

You arch your back off the bed as his tongue moves artfully against you. The sensation continued to stoke the fire that had been building the minute he wrapped his arms around you in the shower. You moved your hands to his hair, clutching the roots with your fingers and pushing him closer as he licked and sucked like a man starved. And in a way he was. Your hand was no substitute for this. He licked a line up, before bringing his lips around the bud again and sucking gently. You couldn’t think about anything but his hot mouth and tongue against you. You ground into his mouth, needing more friction as the pleasure began to build in your belly, coiling in hot spirals as Hunter continued. He groaned into you through his ministrations, and when he felt you clench on his tongue, he pulled you impossibly closer to his mouth as he moved his tongue faster. Your breaths filled the room, pants loud and moans echoing in the space. You could feel the mattress move underneath you and you looked down at him with hooded eyes to see him rutting against the mattress, getting off to the pleasure he was giving you.

“Hunter, please, I’m so—” Your words were barely audible, but Hunter knew what you meant as he pressed his tongue harder against you, bringing your clit into his mouth and sucking one more time, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. You cried out, the band inside you snapping as pleasure erupted.

Your back arched and you cried out his name like it was an incantation, over and over as he continued to move his tongue through your undoing, groaning against you as you came all over his tongue. Your hands tight in his hair, you tugged as you shuddered underneath him until the tremors slowed, and you lay breathless, limbs heavy. You looked down at him as he emerged from between your legs, mouth glistening with your come, coating his lips and chin. He licked his lips and groaned. The sight of it was so obscene you felt your body flush.

“Good girl,” he told you before he climbed over you, capturing your mouth in a kiss. You could taste yourself in his mouth and you moaned at the way his fingers briefly dipped inside you. “So good for me,” he told you against your lips. “Always so good.”

“Need you inside me,” you mumbled back.

Hunter groaned and you watched as he drew back to lean on his heels again, using the fingers he’d just brushed through your folds to lubricate his length. He hissed as he circled the tip and down the shaft before he coated his fingers again and slid them in his mouth, sucking them gently with his eyes closed, savouring the taste. You watched him, mesmerised.

Was this man really yours?

He positioned himself at your entrance, holding himself above you with strong arms, face over yours. His eyes were so intense, their brown-grey colour boring into you. He gave you a look, one that differed from the wanting gaze he’d been giving you. This look was one of tenderness, one that asked if you were still good – still okay with this. You nodded and he pressed his lips against yours once more before he eased himself inside you.

You gasped as you stretched around him, clawing at his shoulders as you locked your legs around his. He groaned as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He caught his breath and when you clenched around him, he made a choking sound, swearing.

“Been too long,” he whispered.

“Too long,” you repeated before he drew himself back out slowly. He pushed his nose into your shoulder again as he groaned loudly. Then he slowly began thrusting, the sounds of your moans and groans filling the room, along with the indecent sound of his skin hitting yours as his movements increased in speed.

“Hunter,” you moaned his name, and he groaned in response. His hands found your hips and he adjusted his position so he could reach deeper, and he continued to roll his hips against you, your hands clutching at his forearms as the headboard hit the wall repeatedly.

Sex with Hunter always felt amazing. Full of the kind of passion that almost didn’t feel real. It was full of moans and groans and tantalising touches that built you up and up so when you finally let go, the fall felt so good it was almost immeasurable. It was filled with kisses and though he wasn’t much of a talker, he would whisper how good you felt against him. No matter how rough he was being, you felt safe in his hands and cared for – he made sure of that. Being in the throes of pleasure with Hunter was an all-consuming feeling for you both, one that you relished whenever you got the chance. His time home was so fleeting, that anything you could both do to tell each other how much you missed the other, how much you loved the other, you would do. Later, you would use your words. But right now, your bodies spoke instead; each press, clench, shudder, whimper, and groan said the words for you both.

You could feel those familiar hot coils building again each time he buried himself in you, and you could feel his movements falter slightly as he came closer to his own release. He’d come up from your neck again and you looked up at him, mouth agape as his hair, now half dry, fell over his handsome face and the curled ends tickled your cheeks. You reached up and placed some behind his ear, hand cupping his jaw.

“Hunter—”

Hunter nodded quickly, eyes dark and pupils blown. “I know.”

Of course, he did. His senses were so in tune with your body he could feel the subtle changes of your arousal and smell the way your body was on the precipice of falling.

Hunter’s hands held your hips and the headboard, and he rocked himself into you, faster this time. He panted, a husky noise from the back of his throat sounding with each thrust as he brought you closer. You rasped out a string of yeses as the sensation that had been building rose to its peak. You locked your legs around his thighs, clawing at his back as you clenched hard around him, crying out.

Your back arched into him, fingernails forming crescent moon carvings in the skin of his arms as you shuddered against him. His name fell from your lips as you writhed underneath him, riding out your orgasm as he continued to sink into you on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, cyare,” you whispered to him as you were still trembling. "Still got my implant."

It wasn’t a second later until he gave a ragged cry as he stilled, spilling inside you. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth gritted as he groaned loudly – the way you had heard him through the apartment door before. Half collapsing on top of you, he pushed his face into your shoulder again, this time biting the skin there as his thrusts became languid, drawing out as much of his release as possible. You hissed as his teeth claimed your skin, but no matter how worked up Hunter was, he always made sure his bites weren’t too hard.

When Hunter’s shudders stopped, both of you caught your breath. You could feel his breath tickle your shoulder, and this was the first time since you’d been home that you registered the familiar musky smell of his skin. You smiled and kissed his shoulder while he was still on top of you, the tangy taste of his sweat on your lips.

Hunter slowly emerged from your shoulder and looked down at you, eyelids heavy and hair all tangled. You smiled, still dazed, and reached up to push it out of his face, tucking it behind his ear again. He smiled warmly at you before kissing the inside of your wrist.

He hissed as he pulled out of you, and the loss of him down there was so prominent you felt an ache. Hunter rolled off you and lay beside you on his stomach for a minute, his eyes drooping shut for a moment before he forced them open again.

“Hang on,” he said and kissed your shoulder lightly before pushing himself up and heading into the bathroom. You giggled as you heard the cupboard door open and shut before the tap turned on. You turned on your side, still half-limp, watching him wet a towel and then re-enter the room.

He sat next to you as he wiped between your legs sleepily, the warm towel a gentle caress on your skin before he placed it on the bedside table and lay down next to you.

You smiled and pulled the covers back so you could get under them together. They were damp from your hasty decision to not dry off beforehand, but they would dry as you slept. You watched as Hunter nestled himself in the mattress, eyes closing, but when you didn’t move closer to him immediately, he peeked an eye open. He reached out to you under the covers, with a frown.

“Come,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I did. Twice,” you smirked as you let his hands circle your arms and pull you in closer.

“Shuddup,” he slurred, but he still smiled, kissing your temple as he tucked you against his chest. You breathed in the scent of him as you rested your head on him.

You chuckled. “You smell like me.”

“Good. Need to smell like you forever,” he pushed his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath in. “What is the name of this soap, anyway? Gonna place an order.”

You laughed. You loved he was like this – all soft and sleepy after you’d come together. It was a side only you saw, the shedding of that broody exterior he reserved for his service to reveal the tenderness that was a secret for your eyes only. “I think it’s generic brand vanilla and starflower.”

“Smells fucking incredible,” Hunter mumbled, making you laugh again. You kissed his chest and after a moment of silence where all you did was breathe together, he said, “You okay? I didn’t plan to do all that the second I saw you.”

You smiled. No matter how exhausted he was, he always had to check in with you.

“I’m really, really okay, Hunter,” you told him. “There are worse ways to be greeted upon returning home.”

“I at least wanted one conversation with you before I had my way with you,” Hunter murmured in your skin, kissing your shoulder again, this time where he had bitten you, his lips soothing the slight ache there.

“Talking is overrated,” you joked with a shrug, snuggling into his chest. You felt it thrum with a deep chuckle. He knew you loved to hear him talk.

“Tomorrow, we can talk. I have so much to tell you,” he breathed, lips brushing your temple.

You smiled. “Me too. Tomorrow.” You patted his chest gently. “Sleep now, cyare. I know you’re exhausted.”

Hunter hummed, on the cusp of slumber. “Tomorrow.” You felt his body relax. “Love you, cyare,” he mumbled into your hair.

You heard his breathing become deep and even, his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat steady against your palms. You smiled, closing your eyes. “Love you more.”

banner art by @vimse thank you for reading! <3 again, this is my first time writing a full smut scene like this so feedback (delivered kindly) is really appreciated!!

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @wenalena @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook

TAGLIST FORM

if you're a regular on my tag list but haven't been tagged, it's bc your age isn't in your bio/have said you prefer sfw fics.

[earthtooz]

x : POISON :*+ﾟ

in which: kaiser is undeniably in love with you. tonight, he makes it known. you accept.

warnings: 1.4k words, making out, reader is injured, gn!reader, SPY!AU, 16+ content!! sexual tension lol

context: this was originally a snippet of my 5k celebration where i planned a spy!au for kaiser. however, that idea ended up being scrapped so now i just have this makeout scene that i wrote one night and i don't want it to go to waste. there's more to this scene than just the making out, but, reader gets hurt on a mission gone awry and kaiser kinda lost his shit and went feral on the enemy and that's where we are now ! enjoy whatever this is !

“don’t overdo yourself. no intense training for a week. remember to do your breathwork and stretches everyday, five times a day,” the monotone voice of the nurse fills your ears as you try your best to stumble through the hallways to remain in pace with her. “come back in three days for a checkup. recover quickly, agent.”

“thank you,” you grit, dawdling out of the hospital wing with your bed at the forefront of your mind. goodness, you just needed to lie down and think about how you’re going to train back into top shape again.

because despite only being out of commission for five days, your senses are already failing you, unable to detect the looming figure behind you. hands abruptly grab you by your arms, pressing tightly into you as you both stumble into the darkness of your now unlocked room. 

you would fight back, but the assailant’s scent is nothing but familiar, and instead of fear, your heart begins to race in anticipation.

especially as kaiser smoothly spins you around in his grasp, forcing you to continue walking until you hit the edge of your bed, causing you to sit down. the door closes behind the two of you and the only light source were the lamps coming from outside your window, allowing you to see the outline of kaiser’s face.

“what’s your problem?” you ask, irritation brewing from how abrupt his entrance was. “seriously? do you know how reckless that was to just grab me and force me into a dark room? i’m recovering too, what if you pulled one of my stitches? jackass.”

he doesn’t reply. in fact, kaiser is uncharacteristically silent and you wonder if the man in front of you was kaiser at all.

it has to be, no other agent in this facility has blue hair like his, or such a recognisable tattoo, or an addictive aura like his. 

“kaiser?” you say, this time breathy, quiet, and cautious. “is everything okay?”

the sigh that escapes him causes his whole body to shudder and you’re caught off guard when two hands come to hold your face, followed by the press of lips against your forehead. your breath lodges itself in your throat, unused to this kind of intimacy and closeness from kaiser. 

he doesn’t speak but neither do you because you’ve never heard a more sadder, disappointed sigh from anyone… ever, not from noel when you failed an assessment, not when you were unable to shoot the dummy in the heart, not even from yourself when you failed to clear a skill stage for the umpteenth time. so you’re willing to wait for kaiser to come around, for the silence to naturally melt itself away, for his closeness to stop overwhelming you, for your heart to stop racing as fast as it is. 

his hands then move to begin playing with your hair.

“i hate that i can’t protect you,” he finally confesses; a breath of rushed words rather than an actual sentence that is easily decipherable. 

“i don’t need it-”

“-i know; you don’t need help, especially from me, but fuck, i can’t help it.” you bite back the urge to say ‘i know’, suddenly remembering the crazed look in his eyes from that night. the memory sends shivers down your spine. “i can’t help but want to hide you from the world, to be beside you all the time where you’ll be safe- where i’d kill to keep you safe.” 

his words are no louder than a breath. the weight of his words fall upon your shoulders with undeniable force, causing you to sink against him, surrendering to the pressure of his admission.

“kaiser-”

“-i know. i know you don’t need anyone’s protection, i fucking know. because you’re stupid and reckless but so brave and admirable in everything you do that i need to be selfish when it comes to you. if i’m not then you’ll go flying off to somewhere i can’t reach and my love-” 

he pauses, faltering a little as he leans away from you, tilting your head carefully to make you look up at him. “-i can’t let that happen.”

something within you crumbles. with your own ears, you hear your ruination come alive with his words. “kaiser, we can’t be doing this. you know that. we’re bad for each other.”

“why can’t you be selfish with me too?” 

stunned into silence, you can’t look him in the eye, fearful of what would become of you if you did. you’re already overflowing, the walls that you once made unbreakable finally beginning to reveal their first crack. kaiser is maddening; truly maddening.

“why can’t you be careful with me?” you ask, voice cracking against your will. “you say these things but you spin me around like a headless horse. one second you’re at my throat, ready to push me off a cliff then-”

“-my love.” 

“don’t call me that!” you plead. “don’t call me that when you don’t mean it. i’d rather bleed from a stab wound than from love, don’t you know? i can’t keep fighting against you and your cruel games.”

you quiver at the feeling of him kissing the side of your face. the crack widens. 

“you win. you’re the emperor, you’re the mastermind, whatever, i surrender.”

he breathes in, exhaling roughly too as he speaks against your skin: “you’re not understanding me. i’ll be anything you want me to be. tell me to leave and i will. i’ll never speak of this moment again and i’ll never speak of my love for you again, but accept my heart and it’ll be at your mercy.”

as if matching his promise, kaiser sinks to his knees between your legs so that you were now eye-level. his eyes gleam with heart wrenching genuinity, his expression serious like you’ve never seen him before. you’ve witnessed kaiser gone manic, gone crazed, gone rogue even, but you’ve never seen him like this. 

he’s terrifying but deliciously tempting. 

the first step is terrifying, your hands trembling when they go to cradle his jaw. he falters.

the second step is even more horrifying, as you lean closer to him, you try to unlearn the security protocols you’ve needed to put up to protect yourself. 

the third is nothing but liberating because you’re now falling, so utterly helpless as you meet your demise, landing in kaiser’s embrace.

“you’re insane,” you mutter, stopping just briefly before his lips. 

he keens, desire dripping off of him like honey as he wills himself to not close the gap. “so you’ve told me. countless times before, actually.”

“your insanity must be rubbing off on me,” you joke, “be my lover, kaiser. for the night or for eternity, i’ve picked my poison.”

“then i’ll so happily drink it for you.”

with that, you seal your lips against his and his touch shatters you from the inside, walls fully collapsing at his will when his hands go to hold your waist, grabbing your shirt as if anchoring himself into this reality. 

“shit,” he breathes against your lips. “i can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

“what if i was?”

“then never wake me up, my love,” he grumbles before standing up, never going too far from you as he slowly pushes you down. using your elbow to support you before you could fully give in and kaiser uses his arm to hold his weight as the other goes to your hip. “i’m yours, i’m all yours.”

he sighs heavily. “i can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.”

this time, his kiss consumes you, intent on committing all of you to memory as his hands roam, too antsy to be able to remain in one place. your hands tangle in his hair, a subtle way of telling him to not go too far; not that he wants to. how could he when he has everything he’s wanted for the past decade in his hands? 

rendered so helpless in your grasp, the only thing kaiser can think about is pleasing you.

pain shoots up your body, causing you to fall back onto your mattress, breaking away from kaiser who gazes at you with shining eyes. 

“you-” you cough. “you have to be nice. i can’t breathe very easily. everything hurts.”

kaiser laughs, the sound reverberating through the darkness. “i can make an exception for you,” he promises, hands caressing against you like glass as he connects your lips with his again, intent on fully becoming yours.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[steveyockey]

While some of both Davis and Crawford’s work could arguably be described as camp (for the former, King Vidor’s Beyond the Forest; for the latter, later-era films such as Strait-Jacket and aspects of the wondrous Nicholas Ray film Johnny Guitar), that their entire careers and places within film history are defined as such does a disservice to their artistry. But they aren’t alone in representing what has become a troubling trend when it comes to women’s work. As camp entered the mainstream lexicon, especially after Susan Sontag’s landmark 1964 essay, “Notes on ‘Camp,’” the term has been increasingly tied to work featuring women who disregard societal norms. Camp is often improperly and broadly applied to pop culture that features highly emotional, bold, complex, cold, and so-called “unlikable” female characters. I’ve seen films and TV shows such as the witty masterwork All About Eve; the beguiling Mulholland Drive; the stylized yet heartwarming Jane the Virgin; Todd Haynes’s Patricia Highsmith adaptation Carol; the blistering biopic Jackie; the deliciously malevolent horror film Black Swan; Joss Whedon’s exploration of girlhood and horror, Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the landmark documentary Grey Gardens (which inspired the 2009 HBO film starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore); and even icons such as Beyoncé and Rihanna be described as camp. Look at any list of the best camp films and you’ll see an overwhelming number of works that feature women and don’t actually fit the label. Usually, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, the film whose behind-the-scenes story provides Murphy’s launching pad for Feud, will be at the top of the list.

While camp need not be a pejorative, that hasn’t stopped it from being widely used as such. In effect, being labeled as camp can turn the boldest works about the interior lives of complex women into a curiosity, a joke, a punch line. The ease with which camp is applied to female-led films and shows of this ilk demonstrates that for all the (still-paltry) gains Hollywood has made for women in the decades since Davis and Crawford worked, our culture is still uncomfortable respecting women’s stories.

That major Hollywood icons such as Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford (and, more recently, Natalie Portman, thanks to Jackie) have been roped into this lineage isn’t surprising. Society doesn’t know what to do with women of this ilk without discrediting their very womanhood. Take artist and filmmaker Bruce LaBruce’s offensive description of Mae West in an essay on camp: “[She] played with androgyny to the degree that her final performance — her autopsy — was necessary to prove her biological femaleness.” In his 2013 essay “Why Is Camp So Obsessed with Women?”, J. Bryan Lowder expands on Sontag’s most well-known line: “It’s not a lamp, but a ‘lamp’; not a woman, but a ‘woman.’ To perceive Camp in objects and persons is to understand Being-as-Playing-a-Role.” Lowder writes, “‘Woman,’ the concept within the quotation marks, is not the same thing, at all, as a real woman; the former is a mythology, a style, a set of conventions, taboos, and references, while the latter is a shifting, changeable, and ultimately indefinable living being. Of course, there may be some overlap.” But if all gender is a performance, where does the “real” woman begin? And why does the presence of camp hold more importance than the actual work and voices of actresses such as Crawford, who have come to be defined by it?

At times, camp can feel like a suffocating label. Its proponents often misconstrue the fact that recreating oneself as a character is not merely an aesthetic for women, but rather, for many, a matter of survival. Living in a culture that profoundly scorns ambition, autonomy, and independence in women, girls learn quickly the narrow parameters of femininity available to them. When they transcend these parameters, life can get even more difficult. Women often pick up and drop various forms of presentation in order to move through the world more easily. Performance as a woman — in terms of how one speaks, walks, talks, acts — can be a means of controlling one’s own narrative. Camp often limits this part of the discussion, focusing instead on the sheer thrill of watching larger-than-life female characters cut and snark their way across the screen. How these works speak to women, past and present, becomes a tertiary concern at best, and the work loses a bit of its importance in the process; it either comes to be regarded as niche or, if it still has mainstream prominence, as abject spectacle. In turn, the conversations around these works become less about the women at their centers and more about how those women are presented.

Much of Baby Jane’s camp legacy comes down to how more recent audiences have interpreted Davis’s performance. She’s ferocious, frightening, and grotesque. But framing Davis’s performance as camp, as Murphy does, doesn’t take into account how dramatically acting has shifted over the course of film history. In some ways, camp has become a label used when modern audiences don’t quite understand older styles of acting. Modern actors privilege the remote, the cold, the detached. The more scenery-chewing performances that make the labor of acting visible — such as the transformative work that Jake Gyllenhaal did in Nightcrawler, or most of Christian Bale’s career — is typically the domain of men. (Or, at least, it’s only men who can get away with it without being called campy.) As Shonni Enelow writes in a marvelous piece for Film Comment, “[Jennifer] Lawrence’s characters in Winter’s Bone and The Hunger Games don’t arrive at emotional release or revelation; rather than fight to express themselves, her characters fight not to. We can see the same kind of emotional retrenchment and wariness in a number of performances by the most popular young actors of the last several years.” Davis’s work as an actor was the antithesis of that; she painted in bold colors. Even her quietest moments brim with an intensity that cannot be denied.

[moonshineplaydate]

Still a bit busy but I wanted to keep making some Agere content since I haven’t had much of a chance! And what better show to give Headcanons for the freshly released Hazbin Hotel?

Hazbin Hotel Age Regression Headcanons

Charlie Morningstar

•A flip, with a slight lean towards being a regressor!

•She prefers taking care of others then being taken care of herself, even if she knows it’s probably good for her.

•Her age range when she’s little is around 3-6, she doesn’t like feeling really small.

•She absolutely LOVES toys! Any toys, stuffies, action figures, plastic toys, she could play with them for hours and never get bored.

•While that’s some of her main little gear, she also has a pair of PJ’s, a sippy cup and a white paci for when she’s small.

•Talkative while little, but not to the point of babbling. She still has a lisp though (Vaggie thinks it’s adorable).

•Charlie hates being alone when she’s little, she’s always trying to be near someone. She also appreciated physical touch but it isn’t a must for her.

•Can be a bit of a stubborn little, mainly around toys and nap time.

•Can be really emotional when she’s little, like how she was when Angel forgave her (that scene was so agere coded)

•Loves nicknames, her favourites are Princess, Little Ducky (from Lucifer), Char-Char!

•Had play-dates with Razzle and Dazzle (they gotta look after her!)

•Her main caregiver is Vaggie, with some of the other hotel members acting as a babysitter.

•And oh my stars, when she’s a caregiver-

•Her littles are getting absolutely spoiled rotten, it doesn’t matter what they want, Charlie is getting it for them (as long as it’s kid friendly)

•A bit of a hands on caregiver, ready to give her littles anything they need!

•They want snacks? She’s got it. Need a nap? She’s already got a bedtime story. Wanna stay up late and keep playing? Well, she’s sure no one will find out…

•She has a very hard time saying no to littles, but will do if she knows it will help them in the long run.

•Tries to mix in some rehabilitation with the hotel members when they’re little, but it doesn’t work too well.

•Always makes sure to respond to the little talking, even if it’s just babbling.

‘Awabah-ababa!’

‘Mhmm, oh that’s really interesting little one!’

•Treats her littles so softly, she never ever raises her voice

•To sum it, if you want to be absolutely spoiled and taken care of, Charlie’s your girl.

Vaggie

•Vaggie is a flip, with a caregiver lean! Though she can regress pretty heavily.

•She normally regresses when she’s stressed, with her age range being anywhere from 1-7 depending on her mood!

•Is surprisingly shy and quiet when little, she doesn’t like talking that much because of her own lisp. Mainly communicates through pointing and various gestures.

•Wants to be around Charlie so bad when she’s regressed, Pentious tried to hold her once when Charlie when to get her something and she started crying.

•Scared of the dark when she’s little.

•She’s not big on playing when regressed, she just wants a couple hours when she can relax and be taken care of.

��Speaking of, she loves having her hair brushes when she’s little (and big honestly), she finds it super relaxing!

•An odd piece of little gear she has a lava lamp, since she’s somewhat moth related, she loves looking at lights and could stare at a lava lamp for hours.

•Other then that, she has some comfy clothes, a purple pacifier and a bottle for when she’s feeling extra tiny.

•Not as much of a fan of nicknames but still likes them. Her favourites are, ‘Baby, Precious and Little one.’

•She also has small plushie of a moth to help her go to sleep!

•Her caregiver is Charlie and she’ll occasionally let Husk babysit, but that’s very rare.

•Now, onto the Caregiver. She’s canonically bad with kids, but I imagine she learned to try and deal with littles, especially after learning Charlie regresses.

•And oh my God, she thinks Charlie is absolutely precious. She cannot get enough of being with the girl when she’s tiny.

•Had to physically hold back aww’ing and squeezing the life out of her.

•Likes holding and coddling Charlie, who also loves the attention!

•Can be a stern caregiver with things like safety and bedtime, but is usually more lenient.

•She only acts stern if it’ll help the little out more.

•Not good at talking to littles, but makes an effort, and usually fails. She’s able to understand what they want though and normally had no problem helping them out.

•Vaggie keeps a lot of her little’s gear on her at all times, she doesn’t want to leave them alone and end up having them get hurt.

•She’s mainly Charlie’s caregiver, but doesn’t mind babysitting Niffty, Angel or even Pentious at times!

•Not good with giving nicknames to littles and normally sticks to, ‘Little one, Big Girl/Boy/Kid or Baby’ depending on their age range!

Angel Dust

•Once again, a flip with a regressor lean!

•He’s an involuntary regressor and a sleep regressor! He normally regressed due to stress from his job, general bad mood swings or just from being super tired.

•He has an age range of 2-5.

•Whenever he does regress from being in a bad mood, he gets really frustrated for not being able to ‘keep his regression in check’ which normally ends in a crying fit in his room.

•It took him a long time for him to ever regress in front of someone at the hotel, and even then it wasn’t voluntary. Charlie just followed him up to his room after he ran up there after work.

•And oh, was it mortifying for him. Charlie made sure to reassure the boy, being able to get through to him a little easier when he was small, but Angel was still a little scared of her making a big deal out of this.

•And for the most part, she didn’t! She had a quick talk with him the day after to make sure he had a caregiver if he really needed one, and he does!

•Cherri Bomb is Angel’s babysitter for once he’s regressed, and she doesn’t fully understand it, but knows to tone herself down whenever he’s small.

•Calls him ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey as a nickname, and holds his hand if he gets scared.

•Whenever he’s depressed while little, she’ll just lay with them until he feels better or falls asleep.

•Can be a brat when he doesn’t get his way, but only throws tantrums if he’s really small. It usually doesn’t get to that point though, he feels too immature with Cherri and Charlie is very understanding.

•After he’s calmed down, he normally whispers a little ‘sorry’

•Didn’t have much little gear before the hotel, but Charlie left a cat plushie and a pink paci in a gift box in his room. He never mentioned it but he loved them!

•When he’s a ‘big kid’ (still small), he can talk pretty well but gets hung up on his big words. He also finds it hard to walk due to his spider-like body, and begrudgingly holds someone’s hand to keep him stable (he secretly likes it)

•Can be touch averse sometimes after work, but other times he doesn’t mind it. Though he’s not good at making it clear (no fault to him, he’s just a baby)

•Eventually, Husker became his babysitter and that developed into being his caregiver (we stan Huskerdust in this household).

•Husk doesn’t like kids too much, but puts up with the littles and always makes them feel welcome. Angel really needs that, when he’s small, he doesn’t feel very useful for the hotel (he doesn’t when he’s big either)

•Loves to play with Husk’s wings and ears!

•When he’s regressing because he’s sleepy, he becomes the sweetest little thing! He has a baby blanket specifically for when he’s tiny and needs sleep, and can be fussy without at.

•Very quiet, normally just tugs on someone’s sleeve until they turn around and notice him, before helping him get ready for bed.

•He loves nicknames too, his favourites are Sparkles, Bambino, or Lil guy.

•He isn’t as much of a caregiver as he is a babysitter.

•He doesn’t know that many people that regress, and honestly felt a little alone before the hotel. Seeing Niffty be small for the first time was like a weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

•Calls littles things like ‘Squirt, Spiderling, or Prince/Princess/Little royal.’

•Six arms act as six scoopers to cradle littles with! He’s shockingly good at it, being held by him is dream because of how fluffy he is!

•Has no problem playing along with littles, he’s an ‘actor’ after all! He actually enjoys it a bit, especially tea parties with Niffty!

•If someone else is taking care of a little, he’ll claim that he won’t help out, but somehow the little’s bed is made already before nap time, or their bottle will be filled up, wonder who did that~!

•Can calm a little down from crying, like he did with Niffty when she was drunk, a whole lot of shushing and cradling!

•Is pretty lenient with the littles but of course, doesn’t let them do anything unsafe.

•He gave Niffty a gun once though, it was unloaded.

•Throws dance parties with littles to get them to let out some energy before bedtime.

•Speaking of, he’s pretty good at that too! As stated, being held by him is like resting on a cloud, you’d already be sleepy by the time he’s carrying you up to bed!

•Gives his littles nicknames in Italian and totally lies about what they mean if he’s asked.

•He mainly takes care of Niffty, Charlie and Sir Pentious!

——

Well that’s all I’ve got in me for now folks! I’ll probably do a part two to cover Alastor, Husker, Niffty and Sir Pentious, along with some other favourites of mine when I have time! Sorry if these are a little rambly, I wrote this all in one sitting and just wanted to get my thoughts on this show out! Hope you enjoyed, bye!

[imraespace]

20: ..THE PROBLEM..

YUUTA X READER

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The weekend went by quick. Too quick for his liking.

Sadly it was Monday again, meaning school.

Normally Yuuta won't really overthink about it, he gets to see his best friend all the time. But something is different about this school week.

.

.

──────────────

The alarm on his phone went off once, becoming silent as his hands hit the phone before it can ring again.

It was 5am in the morning, the normal time Yuuta gets up for school.

He rose from his bed, turning on the lamp that's on his bedside table so he can look for a certain item.

The ring he always wore.

The sight of the ring made him sigh as he left it there until he was ready to leave for school.

.

.

Time passed by and now he was now packed and ready to leave for school, he picked up his phone and ring then left his dorm and walked straight to school.

Normally he would stay by the female dorms for Rika but this time he didn't.

As he entered he noticed a certain black haired girl passing by, making her way towards her own classroom.

In doing so, he too made his way towards his own classroom and did exactly what he said.

The day before, after his chat with Rika, he messaged his homeroom teacher, asking to be switched and fortunately his teacher told him yes he can.

He decided to sit besides Inumaki, his seat was in the back of the class while Yuuta's original seat was in the front.

He sighed, before making his way towards his seat, he placed the ring on her her desk, then began walking towards his new seat.

He sat there for a while until his mind made its way towards the girl he saw this morning.

It was you.

Of course his mind ran back to what Rika said, that you liked him but also he thought of what Rika might do now since he's forcefully separating both himself and her. He especially thought of what she might do to you.

That's when he decided to make his way towards your homeroom class, jogging until he made it.

Opening the classroom door, a few others were already there so their eyes were on him, including yours.

You, obviously was shocked, that Yuuta was here.

This isn't his homeroom, you thought yet his eyes landed on you as he made his way towards your direction.

The closer he came, the more you began to blush. Everyone was glancing at your direction from time to time, causing you to look down at your desk.

But as he came even more close, you heard that he was panting a bit so you asked.

"Are you okay? Is there something you need..?" You mumbled.

His face held a relief look as he slightly smiled at your words.

"Yes, I am I just came to check on you." He replied.

You was obviously confused.

"..Check up on me..?"

"Yes. I don't want Rika doing anything to you. You did nothing wrong.." He said, giving you a more comforting smile.

His words made you l stare at the floor infront of you, hiding the smile that's creeping up on your face.

"That's nice of you but it's okay-"

But! Your words was cut off by a sudden slam of a door and a panting, angry girl staring into your eyes.

It scared everyone in the classroom.

Yuuta was right, Rika did plan on coming to meet you.

She made her way towards your desk, ignoring everyone's confused mumbles but, was stopped by a hand grabbing hers.

She looked up softly the boy yet he didn't have the same look in his eyes.

He was upset that she would've actually tried to hurt you and annoyed that she didn't listen to his words.

"Why did you give me back the ring? I told you to keep it."

"I told you I was giving it back didn't I?"

She looked upset now, snatching back her arm, taking a long hard look at you both and then finally walking away from the scene.

But before she could fully leave the classroom, the last words she heard from him was:

"Leave her alone."

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MASTERLIST | <-PREVIOUS // NEXT->

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note: funny joke this and the chapter before was suppose to come out earlier but I got distracted on royale high.

but yay yuuta is protecting you!

next chapter is gonna be written as well(sadly for me🙄🙄)

[jellipuff]

Angels wrapped in bows.

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: Smut (18+, Minors dni!).

WC: 2.5k

Summary: Being apart from Mingyu is always a challenge. No matter if for one minute or one week, you always find it challenging for many reasons and you know he feels the same. Yet who knew your pretty prince could get too greedy? Could crave you so deeply?

Warnings: Sub!mingyu, Bottom!mingyu, Dom!reader, Gender-neutral reader (let me know if it's not!), The term cock/strap is used in regards to reader, Gyu calls reader Daddy, Mingyu wants to get pregnant & reader gives mingyu anything he wants, (There is no real pregnancy just the situation being arousing for them both), Breeding kink, Dirty talking, Mingyu gets cockdumb easily, Lots of cum talk, There’s a little cream🥧 scene at the end (Sorry, kinda not & it’s short dw!), Pet names: Mingyu (Angel, Prince, Baby.), Reader (daddy.), Mingyu in a pretty pink nightgown during this. <3 (I think that's it!)

Inspired by this ask!

A/n: Hi guys! I haven’t written in so long so I hope this isn’t too bad! ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) Since I haven't written in forever I'm trying to get back into the groove of it all so please be gentle with me LOL. Btw this might be a lil freaky for some hehe but I hope you like it! Also, don't like, don't read‼️ No need to burn me at the stake friend. Feedback is appreciated :)

Being away from mingyu is something you'll always consider a challenge. Whether it be he's simply in the kitchen while you are in bed or it is you on a week-long business trip with your phone being your saving grace. No matter the situation the feeling is always the same; you crave mingyu in every sense of the word. 

This week's business trip has finally ended and you couldn't be more relieved. You hate being surrounded by so many people especially those who can't even return a nod your way. You can't say you blame them, with the constant meetings, elders feeling the need to raise either voice and business being the only thing talked about. It would take a toll on anyone, especially when it reoccurs for a week. 

Although boring and uneventful you can't help but feel grateful at being kept busy. The whole time you were gone Mingyu mostly stayed at home by himself. He explained that he can't go out with his friends every day. (you told him you'd want to hang out with him every day, cutie got shy at that.) 

─﹒☆﹒─

The sight of your front door makes you want to jump for joy. Behind there is a soft bed, a warm shower, and a pretty prince. With it being so late you enter the house quietly, sticking your suitcase to the side, and putting your shoes together neatly. The last time you kicked your shoes off without care you got an earful. Who knew for mingyu to use his size against you all you had to do was be a brat about tidiness?

You open your bedroom door quietly, careful not to wake mingyu if he's already asleep but to your surprise the lamps are on. Though that’s the last thing on your mind when you see him. 

Your prince who you haven't seen in a week stands by one of the walls hanging up new fairy lights while wearing one of his dainty nightgowns. Not just any one though, your favorite one. Pretty pink gown with lace detailing, tiny bows at the hem, and one in the middle of his chest. The lighting from the fairy lights overhead cast him in a glow, making you feel like you had truly walked into heaven.

Walking up to him, you wrap your arms around his waist squeezing him tightly. You kiss his forehead with a hum, satisfied at having him in your arms again. He flinches at the contact, his surprised expression making you snicker. “You scared me!” he says, turning around to face you. His expression is cute though you know he's trying to appear angry.

“You need to be more aware baby, what if I was someone dangerous?” you state amused at his reaction; moving down to nip at where his neck meets his shoulder. You feel him relax at the feeling, already giving into you at such a small action. “You are someone dangerous.” he counters, turning back to the wall. You admire the view because how couldn't you? 

His broad shoulders, and toned back accompanied by his thick thighs is such an art that you'd be crazy to do anything less than admire. His cute ass that peeks from beneath the hem of his gown makes you drop to your knees to seek more. Slipping your hands underneath his gown to squeeze the plump cheeks.

It's so cute how Mingyu’s ass fits him, so biteable and soft. The chocked sound he makes at your teeth sinking into his skin tenderly makes you apply more pressure. You want your mark there, a sign to him and yourself that he is yours.

Mingyu winces at the feeling, the pain is one he doesn't mind. He knows you’ve missed him, in too many ways to count. He doesn't move even at the sting because if there is one thing Mingyu loves, it's being useful for you. A selfish reason lies within that as well, your angel loves being used by you. 

Mingyu loves pleasing, a part of him relishes at not needing to think when you're around. Mingyu loves letting you do whatever you wish because it makes him happy. There's also the other side of the coin that makes him dizzy and that's letting Daddy fuck him wherever and whenever they want.

“Need it, Daddy, s’much” Mingyu whines after what feels like hours of your torment. You’ve been touching him all over, your mouth traveling every inch of him, getting him so close with so little just to stop soon after. He missed you a lot and needs to feel you inside right now!

Throughout the days you were gone all he could think about was: What would you do to him today if you were here? How would you kiss him Thursday morning while he made you both breakfast in the pink sweater you bought too big for him?

He even thought silly thoughts like: What if you cum in him so deep that he got pregnant? 

Mingyu didn't think it was silly afterward with the way the thought made his mind hazy and hole feel too empty. He knows it won't happen, He is not even sure he’d want it to but the thought makes his face hot, and knowing you? You could convince him it would happen. 

Could convince him that if rocked his hips harder it'd work faster, that if he clenched hard enough around you, you'd be milked dry and he'd be so full. He’d listen, he’d listen and be the best prince cause only Daddy uses his hole, so only you know what's best.

He melts into your hold as you finally enter him. The stretch adds a pleasurable pain sedating his burning lust yet he still feels too hot. You bite the shell of his ear before leaving a soft kiss behind it. Taking his hips in your hands as you guide him over your cock. Filthy words leave your mouth, the slight degradation in them said so lovingly that Mingyu considers it praise. 

He's such a slut for cock? Yes, yours makes him pathetic. 

He’s so sensitive he could probably cum with just kisses? Yes, because your lips tease and suck all over, making him yearn.

He's your pretty fucktoy? Of course he is, he's Daddy's pretty toy wrapped up in lace and bows. Daddy’s prettiest present to kiss, bend over and make cry whenever they want.

Your pace quickens, the sound of skin hitting skin egging you both on. The fairy lights above continue to make him glow, casting a halo on his head. Proving that he is Daddy's little angel. 

“Daddy so good..” he groans out; ending his sentence with a small squeak as you seem to reach places he’s only tried to this past week. “Yeah? My poor prince must have been so lonely.” you sympathize. Pulling your hips back slowly you lean to kiss his shoulder blade. “So empty.” you insinuate with a strong thrust. 

Mingyu cries out at the feeling, the power in your movements making him try to grab at something only to fall short at the flat wall in front of him. “Need it s’bad.” he mewls out. The thought that occurred to him while you were away the only thing currently in his mind. “Need what baby?” you ask fondly. He doesn't respond instead he moves one of his hands from the wall to intertwine with where yours lays on his stomach. 

He moves his hips in a circular motion, turning to look back at you. He’s pouting as if you're supposed to know what he needs. You usually do but mingyu thinks you might not know what it is he really wants right now. 

“Been thinkin' about it while you were gone.” he says but doesn't answer you. He rotates his hips in the opposite direction, whining at the feeling. The pretty pink gown swaying with the motion causes you to groan. You lower your free hand to Mingyu’s ass before giving a spank to the left cheek. “Spit it out angel.” you snap, feeling impatient.

You lean back to stand straight and he follows; laying his head on your shoulder. His body is bent erotically the arch of his back causes his chest to push out. You catch sight of his nipples under the slightly sheer fabric, you wish you could touch him everywhere at once.

He wraps his arm around the side of your neck to secure himself. He looks at your lips before licking them lightly. His gaze travels up to lock on your eyes, there's a seductive flutter to them, one that makes Mingyu's eyelashes feel like a trap and his irises capture you.

“You cum in me so deep and it's always really good.” he whispers to you. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, drawing you in more than he already has you. “Feels so good you'd let me fuck you anywhere, anytime?” you press, voice low as you rut your hips up lightly making Mingyu’s eyebrows furrow in bliss.

“Feels so good I'd let you get me pregnant  Daddy.” he corrects quietly. His words fill you with fervor, images of mingyu walking around the house in more pretty nightgowns while being bred by you. His hole leaking and messy with your cum as he makes breakfast, feeling content as his body glows. No matter how unrealistic it is, your hunger for him is real.

He grins before giving you a feather of a kiss when he sees the light in your eyes dim, now sharing the need with him. You fuck into him faster, his moans suffocating as it hits the wall in front of you. It's suffocating in the way they sound so pretty, in the way it motivates you to keep going, to pull more out of him until his throat is sore. 

Mingyu’s cock bounces between his legs, pretty cock shiny with arousal and frustration. You pull back to grip his hips harder, fuck into him just a little bit harsher until he’s crying. “Daddy, w–wait, t’much!” he sobs out. You slow, beginning to kiss up his jaw, his cheek, and a gentle one on his forehead.

You move a hand to splay on his stomach as you fuck up into him with slow but deep thrust. Making sure he feels every inch of you glide in and out of his walls. You’re making sure to hit his prostate with intention causing your poor prince to grip your wrist. “Pretty body is so big and strong, it already has all of me but it wants more?” you taunt and he only whimpers, pushing his hips back for more. 

Each time you drag your cock out he can't help but whine, even though he knows you'll always give him more, as every time you reenter he gasps. “It wants more of me so much that your hole won't stop pulling me back in.” He can’t reply, your thrust knocking all words and air from him and it's so good. He doesn't have to think right now, doesn't even think he could with all that's clouding his mind is the feeling of you inside.

“Gonna make you even prettier in this gown angel, gonna make you take so well.” you growl. Turning his head to face you, you capture his lips. The kiss is a contrast to your bodies. It's hungry yet soft. So full of care that Mingyu almost misses the way you bite his lip with a grunt, seeming to be caught up in the idea of his body being not only full of your love but also full of you.

And all Mingyu can do is let out pleas. His body finally got what it wanted yet he still begs. “Daddy’s gonna get me pregnant?” he questions, so far gone in his pleasure and you're no better. “You want it baby?” you moan into his ear. “Yes! Yes…” he cries, head nodding along to his words. “Then daddy will give you it angel.” 

─﹒☆﹒─

You don't know how much time passes by as you both stay in this lustful haze. You came more than once and immediately stopped counting. His hole exposes that fact erotically. Cream around your strap and his pretty hole. The sight alone makes you want to cum again.

“Daddy it's getting messy, t’much cummin out.” He whines. You'd almost think he's complaining if you didn't know how much he loves it like this; with his head empty and his hole dripping.  Angel doesn't even notice his lisp being more apparent. He's so cute, so perfect, so big that you’d be crazy not to stuff his hole until it takes. (Though the thought of pulling out just to see him tear up and babble about putting it back in appeases you.)

“Thought you wanted my cum, pretty prince?” you remind as you guide you both to the bed. Laying him on his back. You lift his legs over your shoulders; moving down to kiss both his nipples lightly. “I do s’much. imagine all of it in here, Daddy, please.” he snivels as he looks down at his stomach before meeting your gaze. His eyes are shiny and his hair is tousled as it sprawls over the pillow. Your pretty prince is the real danger here, despite his claims of it being you. 

You bite back a moan at his words. Holding his hip tight letting your fingers push into the little bit of plush there. Everything feels too much, too little, so good. You almost don't want to cum again, wanting to stay here like this with him forever. Yet you feel the familiar tingle in your skin and your brain fuzzes as pleasure overtakes you once more. Your orgasm is strong even after the previous ones. 

Mingyu reaches down to his cock, finally giving it attention. It only takes three strokes and a weak thrust of your hips for him to shake with a yelp. His orgasm making his breath quicken and his legs tighten around you. 

You both catch your breath before you pull out and Mingyu decides to be a brat as he immediately pulls his legs back to show you all of him. His puffy hole clenches causing cum to squeeze out. God, why is he such a blessing and a curse in the best way possible?

“S’much inside Daddy, look how much is coming out” he slurs softly. He stares at you as he pushes more out and you moan quietly at the sight. He giggles at his effect on you, the power he has to make you feral is something he takes pride in. You avert your eyes from where you both connected to look back at him.

“What do you say baby?” you inquire. Kissing his ankle softly before letting go. He closes his legs making the pink gown fall to lay at his thick thighs.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

P.s: guys this might be the last pure smut for a little minute as i have a few full fic ideas I'm finally starting to plan and work on! horny writer user @/jellipuff is not out of commission guys, she's just finally going to try, write & finish her fics instead of 1.0k+ smuts. 😞

[markliving]

A KISS HEALS EVERYTHING

pairing: jason tood x reader

warnings: just fluff, mention of injuries but it's all fine. english is not my first language, so sorry if this have some errors

word count: 1076

masterlist

Jason was a strong man, not only because he was a tall person, but also because of everything he went through in his 23 years. However, it was strong, but not unbeatable. He had discovered this a long time ago, but he still preferred to pretend that nothing had happened, especially this time.

Alfred, however, upon receiving him last night with an open wound, considered serious, and several bruises on his body, made the young man spend the night at the mansion and called you, letting you know that your boyfriend, this time, was not returning to home and asked if you could stop by the mansion in the morning.

The morning after the incident, you entered the doors of the huge mansion, greeted by the butler and a small smile coming from the man. He knew that sooner or later you would arrive, after all, it was like that every time, and it was the only way he found to leave Jason, in some way, quiet.

Damian, who was sitting on the huge sofa in the living room, caressing Titus, after doing a trick that the boy was teaching him, smiled mischievously when he saw you. You were one of the few people that, apparently, he liked, leaving the other brothers a little jealous with the relationship that the two of you created in such a short time, which at first, according to Damian, was just to make fun of his older brother’s, but it became a brother and sister relationship between the two of you.

“Jason again, huh?” you stopped walking as soon as you heard the boy's voice and turned towards him, smiling. “I still wonder every day what it was you saw in him.”

“Love is something misunderstood” you replied, earning a laugh from the other.

You climbed the huge stairs, which led to the top floor, turned to the left side as soon as you reached the top, where there were the rooms of those who lived in the house and also those who had already left, but who were left exactly the way they came out. You went through the first door, which you knew was Tim's, and entered the second one, right next door.

The room was completely dark, the curtains closed, no lamps on, or cell phone lights. It was after ten in the morning, from what you remembered, and if you knew well, at that time Jason would be disturbing someone, you in this case, normally. Apparently Alfred had given him something strong.

“Jason” you called, approaching the bed and sitting on the edge. Now, accustomed to the darkness, you noticed that the man slept without his top on, showing the bandage around his stomach.

You had seen him like this several times, hurt, and every time it was heartbreaking. When you met the man, when he was still Robin, at school, you knew that despite his rogue appearance, Jason had a good heart. And as time passed, and he hadn't been kind to the boy at all, it only helped to confirm what you already thought.

“Jason” you called a little louder, receiving a groan of dissatisfaction from him.

You touched Jason's foot, about to shake it, but you were startled, as was Jason, who jumped when he felt a cold hand touch his foot.

“I thought you died” you commented, mocking the boy and mentally cursing him for the scare he had given you.

“Look who's talking, your hand looks just like one of them” he replied, shifting, sitting, in a position that didn't hurt his abdomen so much.

The night had been long. After spending more than an hour in the cave with Alfred patching him up and receiving a big lecture about how irresponsible he had been on patrol not only by the butler, but also by Bruce, who was looking at the scene in a bit of despair — he needed a very strong painkiller to get it close your eyes and sleep for a few hours, but you didn't count on Alfred calling you for some reason.

“Very funny you.” He showed his tongue. “How are you?” you asked him, worried.

Jason looked down at the bandages on his torso. He wishes he could say that he was used to bruises and the pain he felt, but it was a lie. It seemed that after the Lazarus pit, even though he had gained some resistance, each cut hurt more, not just physical pain, but mental pain, which as time went by was getting better.

"It doesn't hurt that much, I think the medicine is still working." He shrugged.

You climbed completely onto the bed and sat next to him, analyzing his features face to face. You knew it hurt like hell and that he just wanted to maintain his tough-guy pose, but you didn't care, after all, he was right there in front of you.

You were scared to death that one day, just like a few years ago, he would leave, and that feeling, which resided in your heart at times, only left when you heard Jason's voice in front of you, saying that he was fine and that Soon he would be home. But every time you get a call from a family member in the middle of the night, you're pretty sure your heart misses a few beats, and not in a good way.

“I'm sorry” Jason whispered, noticing the melancholy that surrounded you. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you.” He placed one of his hands on his cheek, stroking the area in the form of comfort, receiving a smile in return.

“It's good to know you're okay, I almost had a meltdown when Alfred called me” you said, taking his free hand and placing a kiss on the back of it.

The two of you spent a few minutes looking at each other, trapped in your own thoughts, until Jason spoke again.

“You know... there's a place that's still hurting a lot.” He pouted, putting his plan into action, he knew that a real smile was about to leave your's lips.

“Where?” you frowned, starting to worry a little more.

“Here.” Without letting go of your hand, he brought your hand to his lips.

As soon as you realized what his deal was, you laughed out loud.

“Do you want a kiss to get better faster?” you asked and received a quick yes from Jason.

[cerisefait]

Food Critic

sanji x reader

[2.4k words] [I'm working on the second part!! stay tuned]

a/n: hii! this is my first sanji fiction, hope you enjoy it. I would love to hear your thoughts about it and my reqs are open. there aren't any trigger or spoiler warnings on this fic.

summary: food critic reader goes to Baratie to enjoy a nice evening and analyze the restaurant without knowing what awaits her; a couple of romantic moments with the sous chef of the restaurant. 'apologies madam' scene included with slight changes and much more...

‘I’m going to be the greatest food critic of all time!’

The phrase echoed in your head as you stood outside the restaurant on water, otherwise known as ‘Baratie’. Ever since you were a little kid, you had one particular dream: To become one of the most respected food critics alive.

In a world full of pirates and bounty hunters, some may say your goal was boring, ordinary. Rather than fighting sea creatures and thieves, you were going from one restaurant to another, tasting all of their signature dishes; taking notes about the flavors in your mouth and the emotions each dish has brought you.

Don’t they say to follow your passion? Food has always been yours. You never saw it as a ‘boring’ task, you were enthusiastic about it.

It all started when you were a little kid; you sat there in the kitchen, watching your grandmother cook delicious smelling meals. To you, those were the best times of your childhood. Watching her skilfully chop up the vegetables, hearing the simmering pots, seeing the baked goods rise in the oven…

All of it brought you a sense of comfort. As you grew older, she allowed you to help her in the kitchen, teaching you each spice and many knife tricks.

When she sadly passed away, you were only 12. Needless to say she was your favorite relative, you made her a promise at her funeral, to learn the dishes all across the four seas.

It was her dream but when she started a family, she had to quit pursuing her goal. So you took it upon you and made her a vow in which you don't intend on breaking.

***

Once you stepped into the restaurant, you found yourself admiring the interior. Baratie’s ambiance was astonishing. You’ve been in many restaurants overseas but this place was nothing like you’ve ever seen before.

The open floor plan made the place look elegant. The choices of colors maroon, beige and wooden brown added more to the elegant look as well as the wrought iron handrails on the balconies of the second floor. The lightning was dim and there wasn’t much sunlight due to the lack of windows; it made the restaurant more alluring and mysterious.

While you were busy observing the interior, one of the hosts of the restaurant greeted you, saying

‘Welcome to Baratie, how can I help you?’

‘I would like to have a seat.’ you said, looking kindly at the man.

‘Do you have a reservation ma’am?’ He said, looking at you then directing his attention to the line behind you that had just been formed.

‘No, I don’t have one. Would it be a problem?’ You asked, batting your eyelashes. You weren’t the most experienced critic considering your age but you knew how to use your charm to get what you wanted.

He quickly looked down at the tables, searching for an available spot. There were some empty tables but looking at his attitude, you can tell that the restaurant didn’t want just any customer: Especially the ones who who looked like they could easily stir some trouble up. Lucky for you, you knew how to clean up nicely.

‘Normally, we’re very full today but we’ll be making an exception for you ma’am. If you’ll follow me...’

You followed him down the stairs just like he asked you to and he led you to your table. When you sat down, you sank into the velvety cushion of the dark red booth.

‘Here is the menu. Your waiter will be with you shortly.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

You began to wait for your waiter, as you were told. The antique table lamp’s soft yellow light reflected on your face while you listened to the background noise: Classy jazz, waiters rushing in and out of the kitchen, customers’ enjoying their dishes while chatting and clinking their glasses of wine…

Everything seemed peaceful until you heard the yelling noise coming from the kitchen. You directed your gaze towards the kitchen door, curious about what’s happening inside. Seconds after that, you saw a tall blonde man get out of the kitchen, looking annoyed as he quickly wore his jacket.

He stopped by a table full of appetizers and got a plate in his hand, holding it up to carry it around the tables.

Just as he was making his way to a nearby table, a fight seemed to occur right in front of him. Two guys were fighting over the table, the one already sitting at the table claiming it is his right to sit on the table, the other telling the opposite.

They began to talk more aggressively and one of them threw a plate of food that was sitting on the table as the blonde man stopped in front of them flashing a smile, saying

‘Now now, gentleman. You know the rules here, we don’t waste food. And there’s no fighting at Baratie.’

They didn’t seem to care about the blonde as they continued their bickering. He offered to pour them each a glass of Ithürzburger Stein, free of charge in hopes of stopping the chaos which was disturbing the other customers.

They seemed to like the idea at first, but that didn’t stop one of them from pulling his gun out only a few seconds later. The blonde was quick, just as he saw the gun he kicked the guy’s hand and sent it flying straight to the floor. He blew a few more kicks and in a blink of an eye, the two customers were laying on the ground.

After the fast paced sequence, he didn’t change his calm and -more so- annoyed attitude one bit. He took his appetizer plate back in his hand, let out a sigh and proceeded to walk away exclaiming

‘No cause for alarm, folks. Please enjoy your meals.’

Then, he walked straight to your table while being busy eyeing other tables. Without paying attention to your face or your figure, the words fell quickly from his lips.

‘Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. My name is Sanji, what can I get for you?’

‘Shitty ambiance? I couldn't take my eyes off of it ever since I came here.’

Hearing the sound of your voice, he swiftly turned his gaze on you. His expression of annoyance left its place to a more loving, soft look. He ever so slightly tilted his head to the left and put on a little smirk on his face.

‘Apologies madam, didn’t see you there.’

The tone of irritation in his voice was completely gone and now it was much more... suave.

‘You’re liking the ambiance eh? Can’t say the same about the second part ‘cuz you’ll be the only thing I can’t take my eyes off of tonight.’

You did not expect the bold flirtatious act nor the quick word play from him. Given that he caught you off guard, you were thankful for the dim lights as you felt your cheeks getting warmer. As you remained silent, he continued

‘Will you care for an aperitif to start? Or maybe a beverage. We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock…’

‘Actually, I would love to have a glass of Umeshu.’

‘I should’ve figured. Y’know, something sweet for.. someone sweet.’ He winked as he said the last part. He was shamelessly flirting with you. You turned your head sideways to avoid staring at his eyes for a second.

Normally, it would give you the ick but when he did it, you surprisingly enjoyed it. Say whatever you want; whether it’s his amazing kicking abilities, how he looks in his suit or his flirtatious personality, you can’t stop yourself from having butterflies in your stomach.

‘Anything else, madam?’

‘I also would like to order every one of your special dishes, could you do that for me?’

‘...Anything for you. Coming right away.’ He flashed you a smile before returning to the kitchen.

***

When he came back with the plates, you were starving. All of them looked amazing as he put them in front of you in a professional manner.

The waiter who greeted you didn’t lie when it came to the restaurant being busy. There were new customers coming in and out every other minute and it looked like they were short on staff tonight.

Just as he was going to strike up a conversation with you, one of the customers from a nearby table called him up. Sanji told you to enjoy your meal, excused himself and cursed to himself under his breath, hating that the precious time you could’ve spent together was going to be wasted.

When Sanji left, you started with one of the most appealing dishes: It was a buttery seafood sauté with complimentary herbs, garlic and spices. The way the flavors danced on your tongue left you speechless.

In order to note it all down in your notebook, your eyes searched for the restroom. While you were looking around, you locked eyes with Sanji.

He immediately flashed you a genuine, warm smile. You returned his smile by squinting your eyes slightly and smiling back at him, before mouthing the words ‘Where’s the restroom?’

He couldn’t (or maybe wanted to make it seem like he couldn’t) understand what you just said as he put the plates on one of the tables he was attending and made his way up to you.

When you saw him coming, you stood up and went up to him with your small bag in hand. You met in the middle and as he saw you standing, he couldn’t help but check you out from head to toe, taking his sweet time. His warm smile turned into an arrogant grin which meant he enjoyed the sight.

‘Yes madam?’ he asked, leaning slightly towards you.

‘Where can I find the restroom?’

‘Oh it’s right this way… Can I?’ He swiftly gestured to your arm. You nodded, eyes wider than usual, as he took your arm with one of his hands, lightly touched your shoulder with his other hand and turned you around.

Your breath hitched in your throat, his intoxicating smell filling up your nose as he stood right behind you. He was being careful, not to step on any boundaries.

‘So, you go straight ahead. Then turn to your left, first door to the right.’ He pointed out.

You turned your head towards him, only to realize there are a few inches between your faces. Looking up at him, you stared at his gorgeous features. At that moment, everything around you seemed to slow down. When his gaze finally met yours, you were mesmerized.

His blue eyes were shining, the way his lips curled upwards to form his pretty smile was stunning. Feeling the heat his body radiated was enough to drive you over the edge… But you were here to pursue your goal.

In order to continue the task at hand, you whispered him a thank you and went flying to the restroom. Luckily there was a table with decorations in between the sinks, giving you a place to write your notes down on.

***

Time seemed to pass by quickly as you were going back and forth between your table and the restroom. You were trying to be smooth with it but you weren't exactly acting like a professional.

Not that you were being clumsy or carefree, you were a bit amateur. Considering your age, it was understandable.

Plus, the blonde who was gazing at you all night didn't help at all. It was fun though, catching his glances every now and then, seeing his little smirk form up every time you made eye contact (occasionally with a wink), made you feel things.

You couldn't help but to think that you didn't want the night to end here. You wanted more than secret glances and formal discussions…

Just as you finished taking notes about the last dish and made your way back to your table, Sanji stopped you in your tracks, pulling you flush against his chest and moving you both to a near dark corner, trapping your body against his and the wall behind you.

Taking a step back, he looked you in the eyes, searching for a sign of distress or unwillingness.

Upon seeing the pure shock on your face turn into a more relieved look, he leaned towards you, a hand pressed against the wall over your shoulder, right next to your head.

'You a food critic?' He questioned, leaning over.

'Why do you care, waiter boy?' He put his hand on his heart, grimacing his face upon hearing your words.

'I am the sous chef of this restaurant.'‘

‘It didn't seem like it.’

‘Don't try to change the subject now, love.’ He looked deeply in your eyes, it was evident that he was growing impatient.

‘Fine, I am… but you can't tell anyone about it.’

‘Why not? You don't seem to care as you made it pretty obvious.’

‘I want to remain anonymous to be respected. Also, I don't think anyone other than you’ve noticed.’

‘Told you that I wasn't going to be able to take my eyes off of you tonight… I am a man of my word.’

And with that, both of you were laughing. It was a moment of pure sweetness. After a few seconds of the sound of your laughter filling up the empty corner, you continued with a serious tone:

‘Just… promise not to tell anyone.’

‘How about we make a deal, eh? I’ll keep your secret and we’ll have dinner tomorrow.’

‘...It’s not like I have another choice. Right?’

‘C’mon, we both know you want it as bad as I do.’

‘Keep dreaming.’ You said, making your way back to your table.

He didn’t expect you to react this way, when he saw you leaving his side he turned around, looking at you like a lost puppy. You wanted to shock him for a little bit, make him chase after you.

As you sat down, you drank your last sip of wine and took your sweet time before calling Sanji to pay the bill. He immediately went to get the bill and put it in front of you, still shaken. You checked it out, put the money in and thanked him for his service.

He was standing still in front of you as you gathered your things and got up off of the booth. Then, he hesitantly offered you his hand to give your hand a quick goodbye kiss.

You put your hand in his and said:

‘Meet me up at 7?’

He changed his posture, he was more confident now than heartbroken and gave your hand a swift kiss before telling:

‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

[geekgirl750]

Random details I noticed in Scream after watching it for the umpteenth time.

First:

Stu has a dog?!

In the final confrontation scene in the kitchen before Stu brings out Sidney's dad I noticed that there was a note written on the white board behind him

Here it is in more detail, although the quality isn't the best as I had to screenshot the scene from YouTube:

When I paused to read it in the actual film I was able to make out most of the note except for the small writing in the upper right (Which I think is either a phone number or date) but I'm pretty sure the note reads:

"Hi Stu, Sorry we missed you today. We'll be back Sunday. Be good! Love mom & dad. P.S. feed the dog."

The last line I wasn't sure about because it was blurry but I matched the note from this shot to the shot where Stu is sitting at the desk on the telephone and sure enough the last line is "P.S. Feed the dog"

So basically, Stu canonically has a dog which I think is super funny because it makes me wonder where the dog was during the party and what type of dog it is.

It also makes more sense for the dog door in the garage that Tatum tries to crawl through to be put there for the Macher's family dog rather than the cat.

Side tangent head cannons:

The orange cat we see run out before Tatum is killed in the garage belongs to Stu's sister Leslie and has a basic name like Marmalade or Garfield

Stu is 100% a dog person and hates his sister's cat because its tried to scratch him on a number of occasions and now he's lowkey afraid of it

That's why when he's left home alone he doesn't really watch the cat and lets it do as it pleases. (His sister is adamant that the cat is indoor only but Stu is kinda careless lets the cat roam free outside through the dog door)

The Macher's family dog is either a basic crusty ass white dog that belongs to his mom and has a ridiculously fancy name like Princess or Dutchess

Or the dog is something small and hyperactive like a Jack Russell that Stu used to play fetch with and run around with in the backyard as a kid

Like I said before I feel like the Machers aren't super creative with naming their pets. If the dog is a boy his name is probably Max or something like that.

Okay second thing:

I never noticed this but you can see Randy dancing with/ flirting with a girl at the party when Sid and Tatum first walk in

And then later that girl is being led away by a different guy so I guess Randy struck out twice that night lol

(Also peep Stu and Tatum flirting/ kissing in the lower left)

Thirdly:

In the garage scene after Ghostface first cuts Tatum's arm she stumbles backwards and bangs into a bike

This is more of a head canon than anything but I noticed that the bike is more feminine in coloring (shades of red and purple) so it makes me wonder if it belongs to Stu's mom or maybe his sister.

Lastly,

The layout of Stu's house makes no sense!

So I'm going to make another longer post about this because I spent like an hour last night comparing shots from Scream 1996 to shots from Scream 5 to get an understanding of the Macher house because it's almost labyrinthian in it's layout, especially the upstairs, but I'm pretty sure there's no way that house has 3 bedrooms if Stu's sister is supposed to be canon.

Anyways, here are a couple details I noticed that I thought were interesting:

I think the house has an intercom system! You can seen what looks like speaker/receiver on the wall behind the lamp in Stu's room as Sidney runs by it.

Lastly,

The Macher house has a back stairwell!!!

So I've watched this movie a bunch of times and I always thought that there was a door in the kitchen that led directly to the garage but that's NOT TRUE!

When Tatum goes to get the beer for Stu you can see that the kitchen is connected to the dining room and off the dining room is a door that leads into a laundry room/ mud room.

To Tatum's right you can see what looks like an ironing board and then a set of railings/steps which I'm assuming is a back set of stairs that leads to the upper floor.

You can see again in the reverse shot that the door that gets locked behind Tatum isn't actually the kitchen door but the door to the laundry room in between the garage and the kitchen .

Seeing this changed my whole perception of Tatum's death scene because I was always like how did no one see Ghostface sneaking around the party, whether it was Billy or Stu, and not realize when he goes back inside after killing Tatum rather than leaving through the garage. Now I think it's because whoever was Ghostface never actually cut through the party at all.

HE WENT UP THE BACK STAIRS!

And the layout of the laundry room would have hidden him from view of the kitchen as he would have behind the wall and out of sight.

I want to go more into detail about the logistics about how I think Billy and Stu got around the house as Ghostface as well as the entire layout of the house in a second post because I think the set design is so interesting but for now these are just some cool things I noticed that I wanted to share.

[writingwithfolklore]

Level Up Your Settings

                When I was a younger writer I always considered my settings last in scene writing. It went action -> Characters -> Maaaaaybe setting if I felt like it. This can work—a lot of stories get by without having very memorable or strong settings—after all we’re there for the story within them. But once I got older and started moving and leaving places behind, I began to recognize how much a setting or place can hold—in memory, symbolism, feeling.

                These aspects of a place are just as important to imbue in fiction—they can convey an emotional impact, reinforce the tone, provide details on background. More than anything else, I find setting is where you can imbue your story with magic.

                (Specifically, I’m talking more about individual settings rather than worldbuilding. Check out my worldbuilding posts here!)

Most important to start with is consider what this place means to the character. For example, “home” is a concept as varied as the people who use it. It can mean safety, love, belonging, alienation, escape, confinement, freedom, etc. etc.

                What memories reinforce that meaning of home? How does the character’s background relate to and lead up to their concept of home?

                Then, once you know this, what decoration or ‘look’ would convey this?  A character who views home as a temporary place to be abandoned at the drop of a hat would have very few personal items in their home. Maybe hardly any furniture—maybe they live out of a suitcase and keep only a carton of milk and a box of crackers in their kitchen.

                A character who has lived in the same childhood home for their entire life may have just as much of their parents’ things as their own—their surroundings reflecting generations of loved ones.

                These objects hold memory as much as their surroundings do. This is where we can really explore background and the emotional ties to a place. How loved is it? What does loving a place look like for that character? Maybe love looks like keeping it perfectly clean and tidy—maybe it looks like filling it to the brim with pretty things.

                What makes two characters’ homes different? We want to avoid stating the obvious. You don’t really need to mention that your character has a bed, a nightstand, and a lamp in their bedroom—unless you’re making a point of how little or how much they have. You may want to mention which items are new and which are old—especially if it’s a room that they’ve been in since childhood, or throughout several periods of their life.

                Just like levelling up description—what makes a place unique? What message are you trying to convey?

Good luck!