#his hair is silver with blue undertones

[lloydfrontera]

okay, i understand. they need to have simpler drawings for the webcomic, because they're putting out more in a short amount of time. but.

THE COLORING IN THE WEBNOVEL ILLUSTRATIONS SKENDIEBDHbdhdbejsnnsbsjsn

god i know trust me i know i try not to say anything directly about the art and focus more on the choices actively being made but. sometimes it is. very rough asdjkahdkjs

like just to put a few examples that i think were the most noticeable

so like. yeah.

i tried to choose moments that were the closest to the novel illustrations but it was actually kinda difficult cause,,,, the webtoon skips and changes quite a bit lol

to be clear this is not me saying the webcomic art is bad, not at all, get that thought out of your head right now. from a purely skill based point of view, the webcomic is quite amazing, they put a lot of effort into every chapter and there are some panels that are just fantastic,,, that being said the style they choose isn't quite what i would've gone with to make an adaptation of tged ajskhdkja

and i personally would sacrifice a few of the high effort lloyd ugly faces in exchange for better coloring in a couple panels lol

but yeah tldr i got spoiled by the webnovel illustrations and now i suffer through a completely different style in the webcomic 😔

[nomadwrites]

bubblegum pink ⋆˚✿

gojo satoru

summary ⋆୨୧⋆ in which you've managed to convince the greatest jujutsu sorcerer of your time into getting pink highlights. what could go wrong? a lot, you learn.

contents ⋆୨୧⋆ spoilers!, pure fluff & rusty writing

notes ⋆୨୧⋆ let's start off easy, shall we? feedback is most certainly welcome & would be much appreciated! enjoy ₊˚ෆ

"come on, it's only temporary!"

"not a chance! do you know how much time and effort i put into caring for these lustrous locks?"

"it'll grow out anyways," you huff, setting down the contents of the hair dye kit on the bathroom counter. "and here i thought you were the adventurous type."

"adventure is one thing, but this? this would be an act of vandalism," satoru feigns a look of betrayal, silver lashes framing his wide blue orbs, "like defacing the mona lisa."

you gasp in exaggeration, clasping a hand over your mouth. if there was one thing on the boy’s long list of things he loved about you, it'd be your ability to keep up with his personality.

"sure. but don't you get tired of always having the same old hairstyle? maybe it'd be nice to switch it up every now and then, yknow?"

"i hardly doubt anyone could ever get tired of this." he gestures to himself, standing tall, a smirk gracing his features.

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you love that about me.”

you do your best to hide the smile that threatens to break free, chewing on your bottom lip. “oh but you’d look absolutely gorgeous,” you plead, voice dripping with honey as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the countertop. you bat your lashes at him, round doe eyes peering into sparkling azure pools.

the look you give him makes his heart do flips and his gaze softens ever so slightly. he can't say no to you, not when you're gazing up at him with those puppy-dog eyes of yours. you’re perfectly aware of the effect you have on him, but that’s not to say you’d ever take advantage of him. if anything, you’re just as smitten.

satoru adores gratifying you, answering to your every beck and call, no matter the request, even if they can be a little odd at times. who was he to deny you anything when you looked so entrancing?

he pretends to ponder, drumming his fingers along the cool ceramic of the sink counter. if you're quiet enough, you might hear the way the gears in his head shift as he puts on a show of overtly dramatised deliberation. it almost makes you snort, but after a minute or two of silence, he caves in, shoulders slumping.

"if it makes you happy," he breathes, flicking his gaze back to you as you perk up with excitement, light practically radiating off of you. he might come to regret this in a few hours, but when he sees the way your eyes sparkle with a radiance that seems so pure, he thinks it won’t be so bad. after all, it is only temporary.

"just so i get to hear it again," he pauses, slender fingers intertwining with yours as he guides you over to him and plops down onto the closed seat of the toilet, long legs splayed on either side of you. "you think i'm gorgeous?"

“not quite yet,” you say, running your fingers through his silver locks, admiring the soft lavender undertones. his glasses are sitting just above the tip of his nose, brilliant sapphire depths on full display. no matter how many times you’ve looked him in the eye,, it always manages to knock the air out of your lungs. “i’ll see what i can do.”

“aren’t you a sweetheart?”

“i am.”

he exhales, humming in agreement as he relaxes under your touch and relishes in the scent of your skin, not the fragrance of perfume or shampoo, but you.

this is nice, you think. free time has always been hard to come by, even more so for gojo than you. things had changed after the star plasma vessel incident. he had changed, and although he did his best to hide it, you knew better. you were there to ground him, to remind him of his humanity and his purpose for becoming a sorcerer. you were there to keep him afloat.

"so!" you clap, startling him enough to knock his glasses askew, "let's get started!"

"booo," he pouts, like some child. he likes to think you're like this because of him, that you've spent so much time with him you've essentially become a miniature satoru gojo. the thought of it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, something he really only feels with you, despite how popular he is with people.

you get to work, skimming through the pamphlet of instructions. satoru attempts to help you, mostly by staring whilst seated on the toilet, questioning if you really knew what you were doing. you stick out your tongue at him as did he, tugging on his lower eyelid.

you manage to end up with a bowl of bright pink sludge, the scent of chemicals wafting through the enclosed space of your bathroom. satoru grimaces, both at the smell and how awfully pigmented the dye seemed, cautiously eyeing the mixture held between your gloved hands.

“no turning back now.”

“you’re sure this is temporary?”

“mhmm!” you say, throwing a towel over his shoulders to shield his black linen shirt from any stray drops of hair dye. contrary to popular belief, the all-powerful jujutsu sorcerer doesn’t make use of his infinity when there was no real need to, his reasoning something akin to him wanting to experience moments of normalcy with those close to him.

“i’m great aren’t i? strong, handsome with a heart of gold,” he’d said, standing in akimbo.

“in an alternate universe, sure.”

you smile at the memory, recalling the way he tutted when you responded, earning chuckles from both shoko and geto.

“y’know on second thought–” satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “maybe blue would be a better option? make my eyes pop and all that,” he stalls, turning to look at you.

“it’s not gonna be this bright toru, it’ll be a lot lighter once we rinse you off. besides, i’ve only got pink right now–“

“great! so we should–“

“but you already said we could–“

and you’re both tugging, trying to grab ahold of the bowl. “toru stop it! you’re gonna–“

splat.

"ah," he blinks.

silence falls between the both of you, letting the sound of droplets hitting the floor echo loud in your ears. you’re wide eyed in disbelief, and it takes you a moment before you press your lips together in a futile attempt to conceal the snort that bubbles from your throat.

———————-

“don’t you look pretty?” geto teases, snapping a photo of satoru’s lifeless body as he sits limp at his desk, looking as if his soul had left his body. you’re sure it did last night after rinsing him off in the shower, fully clothed, the sight of him drenched in fuchsia finding a permanent home in your brain. shoko echoes after the raven-haired boy, resting her head on a closed fist.

satoru’s once moonlit hair now a splotchy mess of soft pink, the hair dye staining his eyebrows an even brighter shade of bubblegum. you had to practically drag him out the bathroom by the feet afterward.

“what have you done?” he whined, voice breaking.

“me?!” you gasped, “you had a part to play in this too!”

it was a miracle he’d even changed out of his wet clothes, albeit it taking around an hour or so. you’re sure he laid on the floor for the rest of the night after you’d left, geto being the first to find him in the exact same position this morning. thankfully, you hadn’t had to drag him to class.

at the very least, this would be another fond memory you’d share together.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (2)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She had always felt that she lacked something – mostly when she looked in the mirror and saw instead of beautiful white hair her dark curls falling over her shoulders, which she hated with all her heart. Her eyes also had no shade of the gods, no shade of the Targaryens − her brothers laughed that her facial expressions made her look like a hamster.

She once tried, in an act of desperation, to cut her hair completely, hoping that what would grow back would be in a different shade; fortunately one of her mother's servants who brought her afternoon meal snatched the scissors out of her hand, horrified, and told her mother all about it.

That evening the future queen explained to her that there was also a Baratheon line running in Targaryen blood through her grandparents, that her cousin, Princess Rhaenys, also had dark hair.

This explanation reassured her a little, but she still felt that the gods had deprived them of something, robbing them of the looks that would prove who they were.

Fortunately, they had dragons.

Her dragoness, Larax, had beautiful silver-blue scales and shimmered wonderfully in the sunlight. She was still small and was just learning to breathe fire on command, but she was doing well and was her pride.

She visited her when she sought comfort.

She watched from the sidelines the only person among them who did not have a dragon of his own, namely her uncle, Aemond, only two years older than her. She could see that although he kept up appearances under a stony face, his suffering and disappointment was far greater than hers caused by the colour of her hair.

A Targaryen with a dragon was still a Targaryen.

But what was a Targaryen without it?

When Jace bragged to her about what they had done together with Aegon and Luke, that they had given him a pig with a wings as a joke, she said they were cruel.

She couldn't believe they thought it was funny.

At first she just wanted to see how he was doing, so knowing that he spent his days alone among the books she decided to visit him.

However, it turned out that his aloof nature was due to his caution and insecurity, his readiness to defend himself, although she had never intended to attack him. When he realised that her presence had no undertone he relaxed, even allowing her to exchange opinions with himself.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly, thinking dreamily that she was described as a woman of beauty, wisdom and dignity, able to solve many things with her shrewdness, wits, care and compassion.

She heard him snort under his breath, looking at her in disbelief, as if she had said something silly.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said lowly, as usual pretending to be older than he was. There was pathos in his posture and in his voice – he sat upright, comfortably sprawled in his chair, creating a semblance of confidence.

She raised an eyebrow at his words, unable to hide a smile of amusement. She saw the expression of displeasure on his face, as he clearly thought she was mocking him.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said with a wince and saw that he pressed his lips together, rolling his eyes, impatient with her remark, and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

She was really fond of him.

As a very young girl, she had given a lot of her thoughts to her future husband, knowing that as the daughter of a princess she would have her tasks, one of which would be to strengthen their lineage through marriage.

The thought that she would have to marry some boring old man by whose side she would die of despair, and with whom she would have to have many children, kept her awake at night; she wished her husband was someone closer to her in age, someone who shared her values and passions.

She wondered if it wouldn't have been better if her parents had married her to Jace − she knew him and, as his sister, loved him, so it would certainly have been easier − but on the other hand, something rejected her at the thought, she felt some kind of discomfort when she imagined their future children.

This was what she was contemplating when her mother walked into her chamber, wanting to ask her her opinion on the King's decision.

She and Aemond were betrothed.

"You may refuse, my love." Said Rhaenyra, kneeling beside her on the stone floor, taking her hands in her own, fearing apparently that this information would frighten her.

For some reason, however, she was pleased.

Although she did not have beautiful white hair, her future husband did.

She ran out of her chamber, rushing into the library like a storm, the pale face of her uncle expressing shock and fear as she approached him.

"Is it true?" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he swallowed hard as he nodded, looking at her with wide open eyes.

She covered her face with her hand, a happy giggle escaping from her lips, her heart pounding like mad.

"I'm so happy."

To her relief, it looked as if her uncle himself had no great objections to the king's decision. He began to speak to her more, introducing her to his world, even explaining what he did during his trainings, apparently recognising that as his wife she should know what his life consisted of.

She absorbed everything he said, feeling her heart flutter with joy when he was by her side.

Though she knew it was unacceptable, she dared to ask him to let her kiss him, and after he experienced the taste of her lips, he wanted her to do it more often, though he never said it out loud.

Their kisses were innocent, short, warm and wet, on the forehead, cheek or lips. Every time she pulled away from him he smiled lazily, embarrassed – she knew he liked the feeling.

They both felt so mature then.

At his request she snuck into his chamber at night − they would lie then for hours holding hands, discussing about their future, about their children.

"When I become a rider of one of the dragons living in the caves beyond the sea, we will fly to Essos, to see the temples of Old Valyria." He said with confidence and calmness, stroking her hair in a soft, slow motion that her eyelids closed from; she loved it when he did that.

He had never tried to touch her naked body, put his hand under her nightgown or do anything else that Aegon had proudly told her about, but which she did not comprehend.

She furrowed her brow at his words, worried.

"Dragons in caves?" She asked quietly, and he nodded, swallowing loudly; she knew this topic was incredibly important to him, and he hoped to gain her support on the matter.

"Yes. Once I have a dragon, everything will be as it was meant to be. We will marry in the tradition of Old Valyria, beget our heirs, and then explore the world." He said with assurance, as if he had already planned and thought it all out carefully.

She felt warm in her heart at the thought that he had included her in everything about his life, that he saw her at his side as his companion and wife.

And then it happened.

Laena's death, her funeral and the great tragedy that followed.

That night she was roused from her sleep by the shouting of guards running down the corridor – she heard their words that the prince was injured, that he needed to be taken to the maester immediately, that there had been a fight.

With a pounding heart she put on her robe over her nightgown and ran after them semi-conscious, relieved to see her brothers, all bruised but without any wounds.

She then looked at the chair and screamed, covering her mouth, wanting to somehow silence how loud the sound was − she felt someone embrace her, her mother pulled her close, stroking her head.

"He called us bastards, mother, and he stole Vhagar!" Luke whined.

Alicent shouted to Viserys that she demanded justice for her son, but the King shook his head, looking at her uncle.

His wound was all swollen and red, a scar running across his entire left cheek, his gaze directed straight at her, dulled surely by the poppy milk to ease his pain after his eye had been taken out.

She was unable to say anything, her whole body was shaking.

"Who told you such a disgusting lie?" The King asked him, and only then did he look away from her, staring at him; she could see that he hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting.

"Aegon."

Her mother wouldn't let her approach him despite her despair − she lied that she would be able to speak to him later, but it never happened.

They never spoke a word to each other again.

She wrote to him a letter in desperation, crying over it, having to pause several times, not knowing how she would convey to him what she was feeling, her childish mind unable to properly put into words what she was experiencing.

My dearest Prince,

know that my heart is torn by despair and disbelief. I pray for you and your health every day. I hope that as soon as you feel better we can meet. I am sending you books that I thought might interest you.

Your Rhaenys

She wrote this, not comprehending that the last thing on his mind now that he had lost his eye was to read, that he had torn up her letter as soon as he had read it, a lack of response from him made her feel even worse.

She felt he was blaming her and didn't know what to do, how to apologise to him so he would forgive her.

It turned out that there was no way she could do this, and the letters she sent to him in the months that followed were not met with a response.

The guards, on his mother's orders, would not allow anyone from their family to enter his chamber, guarded by Criston Cole himself, who, looking at her indifferently, informed her each time that the prince was unwell, needed to rest and would not receive visitors.

In addition to what had happened, she was heartbroken by what Luke had found out, what Jace had known for months, and what had been shouted in their faces that night.

They were bastards.

She felt even more defiant than ever before.

She had felt little when they moved to Dragonstone, when her mother had married her uncle, whom she had clearly loved forever, when Baela and Rhaena had joined their family.

They were sweet, kind and wise, taking her on long walks among the seaside cliffs, however, she was unable to bond with them.

Although officially their betrothal was never called off, it was clear that the King's resolve was no longer in force, the Queen suggested that any of Lord Baratheon's daughters would be a better candidate for her son, and this marriage would strengthen the royal army.

Instead, her mother thought that she, on the other hand, should marry one of her cousins of House Arryn, to secure their influence in the North and seal Eyrie's support for her cause once she was to become queen.

She was unable to find herself in this new reality, experiencing fulfilment and joy only during her solitary flights on her Larax, over the sea and high between the clouds.

To her surprise, her greatest support in her suffering turned out to be Daemon.

He saw her silent agony, he saw her emptiness, he saw her grief and he was able to reason with her, unlike her mother.

His mischievous, mocking nature reminded her in some ways of her uncle – as they walked for hours along the shore without any purpose and conversed, she felt she had regained at least part of her old life.

She liked him because he didn't treat her like a child, because he spoke to her about serious matters and didn't hide anything from her.

"Viserys is weak. He always has been. Your mother is making his mistakes, trying to hide Jace and Luke under her dress. She's trying to protect them from the inevitable." He said more to himself than to her, walking at her side with his hands entwined behind his back, looking off into the distance, his eyebrows arched in disapproval as they always did when he was frustrated.

She sighed heavily, agreeing with him in spirit, knowing what he meant.

Her mother was trying to protect them at all costs, her beloved boys, though the tension between Dragonstone and the Red Keep was greater than ever.

Something hung in the air and everyone felt it.

"And that bastard, that fucking traitor Hightower sits on the Iron Throne in his name and rules the kingdom, just as he always dreamed of doing." He hissed through clenched teeth, rage and disappointment beating from him, from which she felt her heart squeeze.

It shocked her how direct he was.

He was like a living, burning fire.

"When there's no cat, the mice scamper. Or maybe a better term would be rats." She said dryly, and he laughed out loud, glancing at her, his lips curving into a grin, a kind of contentment and pride in his eyes.

"You're like quiet water on the outside, but there's a great storm brewing inside you. I have heard that your would-be husband has become a fearsome warrior despite the lack of one eye. I fear that once you meet, heaven and earth will shake." He said with amusement and she swallowed loudly at his words, knowing he was mocking her.

"I have no grudge against him. Only he can have one towards me." She said lowly, pressing her lips together, feeling a tightness in her throat, thinking about how she had cried enough nights because of this event.

She felt him looking at her intently, a light summer breeze and the sound of the sea all around them, grey, gloomy clouds above them.

"You still haven't come to terms with it." He stated more than asked, and she swallowed loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, shaking her head, unable to get anything else out.

"Sometimes it's better to rip your heart out than to let yourself be humiliated, to lose your dignity. Do you understand?" He asked, stopping, looking at her expectantly, with a kind of determination from which she felt discomfort in her stomach.

She stared at him with wide eyes, trying to behave as she should, trying not to break, but she burst into sobs as he pulled her close and embraced her, letting her pour out the grief that had been flowing inside her for years, which she didn't want to share with her mother or anyone else.

"– gods – I still love him –" She whined out breathing hard, clasping her hands on his thick tunic, his hand stroking her back comfortingly.

"The boy you loved no longer exists." He said lowly and she felt her heart stop.

A cold shiver went through her body, a wave of disappointment and the realisation that he was right.

When Vaemond Velaryon challenged Luke's right to inherit Driftmark it turned out, to her horror, that they had to appear in the Red Keep to discuss the matter before the King himself. Her mother wanted them all to travel there, as a whole family meant to support her younger brother.

She didn't have the strength for this reunion – she hadn't slept or eaten, thinking about flying on Larax at night and just running away.

But where to?

She thought in moments like this about how her uncle had said he would take her to Essos one day, to the kingdom of their ancestors, and she burst out sobbing again, hiding her face in her hands, listening to the sound of the rain falling outside her window.

The journey to King's Landing had been long and tiring for her − she landed on Larax alongside her foster sisters and brothers, her hair tied up in a long braid, a leather travelling attire on her body, more comfortable and giving her more freedom of movement.

They arrived in the Red Keep using the royal carriages; when she stepped outside she was struck by how smaller and tighter everything seemed to her.

She felt tense and looked uncertainly around, fearing she would see him somewhere, but that did not happen.

They were greeted by one of her grandfather's lords, the Queen not honouring them with her presence; they were informed where they would be sleeping and she shuddered when she heard she would be spending the night in her old chamber, feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck.

Walking through the corridors of the fortress she was hit by memories from everywhere and even though this was her home, she had never felt so foreign before.

She changed with the help of servants into a more appropriate attire – her two-tone gown had bare shoulders, her long to the ground, wide sleeves were red, and the material wrapping tightly around her breasts and hips was navy blue – the colours of the Targaryens and Arryns, her expression that she supported her mother.

She wondered if she should go outside or if it would be better to stay in the chamber, but in the end she decided that she would not be a coward, that she would not allow herself to be intimidated in her own home.

Therefore, she moved alone through the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, skirting the entrance to the library, feeling her heart beating wildly.

She heard the sound of blades crossing, saw, standing in the cloisters, crowds of people surrounding a pair of warriors apparently practising hand-to-hand combat, heard applause and sounds of admiration, recognised the faces of her brothers among them.

And then she saw him, first his white hair and then his eye patch − she felt her whole body freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she felt like she was going to suffocate.

He was so tall that she could see his silhouette perfectly, she couldn't believe how much the man could have changed over the years.

She saw that he had said something to Luke and Jace, the sight of their horror made him grin broadly, but it was a frightening smile, a sneer that didn't reach his healthy eye, his gaze cold, amused.

It seemed to her that she saw more animal than human traits in him, his way of moving, his gait was defiant, agile.

He looked like a predator prowling around his prey.

She thought with pain that he was terrifying.

Their attention was distracted by the sound of trumpets; the gates leading into the courtyard opened and Vaemond Velaryon appeared in it, walking at the head of his retinue. She swallowed loudly as she saw his chin raised high, as if he was sure of victory in his cause even though his brother was still alive.

She saw her uncle turn towards her and walk up to one of the servants, reaching out to him impatiently, wanting him to hand him another shield and then their gazes met.

She saw the surprise and disbelief in his healthy eye; he froze and although he took what he wanted he did not turn to face Criston.

Even from a distance she could see his nostrils moving restlessly with each of his deep breaths, as if he was trying to calm himself, his jaw clenched tightly.

She didn't know why, despite the fact that he frightened her so much, despite the fact that he never answered any of her letters, she felt like throwing herself into his arms and crying, simply to say that she missed him, that she prayed every day that she would see him again.

However, before she had time to do anything under the influence of emotion he turned and nodded at Criston, immediately attacking him with his sword which swished loudly in the air, as if he wanted to take it out on him for what he had just seen.

She decided to return to her chamber, and it was only behind the door that she burst into sobs, realising what had terrified and torn her heart the most.

Daemon was right.

The boy she loved no longer exists.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[sailorgoon13]

Theodore Nott

Basics:

Full Name: Theodore Nott

Nickname: Theo

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 4 November, 1979

Heritage: English/ Italian

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Blackthorn, Unicorn hair, 11 3/4", Slightly Flexible

Appearance:

Hair Color: Dark brown, a bit fluffy

Eye Color: Striking baby blue

Skin Tone: Olive

Height: 6'

Body Type: Lean and athletic. Tall, well proportioned

Style: Well-fitted jeans or chinos paired with a crisp button-down shirt or a cashmere sweater. Accessories are key to his look, with luxurious touches like leather loafers, silk scarves, and perhaps even a designer watch or cufflinks. His color palette leans towards darker tones like charcoal, navy, and deep burgundy

Features: Confidence, Mysterious aura, Sharp wit, Distinctive voice, Leadership

Personality:

Traits: Reserved, Loyal, Manipulative, Intelligent, Emotionally Complex

Likes: Privacy, Fine literature, Refines tastes, Debates, Chess

Dislikes: Arrogance, Lack of ambition, Betrayal

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading, Playing Piano

Fears: Vulnerability, Rejection, Turning to the Darker side

Family and Friends:

Father: Mr. Nott

Valued Pure-Blood status

Supporter of Voldemort's cause/ Death Eater

Mother: Mrs. Nott

Died when Theo was young

Instilled his love for literature and fine art

Taught him Italian

Friends: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle

Magic:

Special Abilities: His father taught him darker magic when he was young, though he doesn't like to use any of it. Particularly good at charms and hexes

Boggart: A memory of when he witnessed his mother dying

Patronus: Fox

Polyjuice: Would look velvety black with sparkling flecks of gold and silver. Smell like earthy Italian herbs and leather books with a hint of roses. It might taste like dark chocolate infused with hints of espresso and blackberry, with a subtle undertone of smoky oak and vanilla

Amortentia: Bergamont, Sandalwood, Freshly Brewed Coffee, Dark Chocolate

Backstory:

Theodore Nott was born into a prestigious pure-blood wizarding family, his childhood filled with the enchanting landscapes and rich cultural heritage of Italy. His mother, a talented witch with a passion for art, literature, and music, imparted upon him a love for the finer things in life. She taught him how to speak Italian, play the piano, and appreciate the beauty of the magical world around them.

However, Theodore's childhood took a tragic turn when his mother passed away, leaving him with a profound sense of loss. Compounding his grief was the revelation that his father, though also deeply devoted to his family, had been a follower of Voldemort. With Voldemort's downfall, Theo's father met his demise, leaving Theo with conflicting emotions and a sense of isolation.

Despite his father's past affiliations, he distanced himself from his family's dark legacy, choosing instead to honor his mother's memory by embracing the values she had instilled in him. He found comfort in the company of his friends, particularly during Christmas vacations and over the summer, when he would often stay with classmates Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle, and Enzo Berkshire.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Theodore excelled academically and athletically, distinguishing himself as a talented and ambitious student. His keen intellect, strategic mind, and refined tastes set him apart from his peers, earning him both admiration and envy. Despite facing teasing and discrimination for his softer side and Italian accent, Theo remained resilient, drawing strength from the bonds of friendship that sustained him.

He discovered a passion for Quidditch, becoming the star keeper for the Slytherin team. With each dive and save, he felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration, leaving behind the weight of his worries and losses, if only for a moment.

Academics:

Best Subject: Charms

Favorite Subject: DADA (But he won't tell you its really Astronomy)

Favorite Professor: Flitwick

Worst Subject: Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Student Life:

Academically excels in his studies, particularly in subjects like Potions and Charms

A regular fixture in the Hogwarts library, spending hours poring over ancient texts and refining his magical skills, teaching himself a new language, (Or really just hiding behind a romance novel)

Respected by his classmates for his intellect and admired for his cool demeanor, though some may find him enigmatic or intimidating.

He enjoys spending time in the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, honing his skills as Keeper

He also indulges in his love for art, literature, and music

Girls at Hogwarts are drawn to Nott's confidence, intelligence, and refined tastes, finding themselves mesmerized by his cool demeanor and mysterious aura

While he remains discreet about his romantic interests, there is no shortage of girls vying for his attention and affection.

Template: @hazyange1s

[dabisbratz]

fiendin’ for that sweet spot — choso x male reader

w.c: 3.2k

WARNING: dirty talk, bondage/restraints, edging, slight feminization, creampie, panty-stuffing, d/s undertones, bottom!male reader, amab aligned, praise, degradation, mocking, established relationship, short aftercare, cmnm (clothed male, naked male), use of the word ‘pussy’

a/n: why did this render me speechless… once again waiting on tumblr to fix the read more command ):

There’s a lot of things preventing you from focusing. For one, the quirk of Choso’s pink lips makes your thoughts linger to his soft kisses and gentle embrace. His lips are always so warm and comforting against your skin, he’s always so tender and gentle when it comes to you. But it’s not just his lips that leave a dizzy daze in your head, that clouds your vision from the walking dream in front of you. There’s his hair, that you love to tug on and braid, rubbing miscellaneous shapes and patterns into his scalp. There’s his eyes, deep and dark, but kind and beautiful. His eye contact lights you on fire, burns you from the inside out.

Then… There’s his hands. Large and well taken care of, fingers wrapped around a silver spoon as he digs into an appetizingly saturated tiramisu. His clipped nails shine in the dimly lit restaurant, leading up to his knuckles that look much better when they’re not swollen and blood soaked, but rather kissed or buried inside you. The tendons in his hand flex and flutter when he twirls the spoon, dipping it into the white, creamy topping that sticks to his lips.

He’s too perfect. Everything you weren’t, with a blood mark decorating his cheeks and a smile brighter than the moonlight outlining the city buildings. If you saw muted hues of gray and blue, he’d make up the specks of magenta in between. You saw the love in his eyes, extraordinarily bright and homely, unconditional and unrelenting. You return it and so, so much more.

You sigh, dreamy and enamored with your boyfriend as you push your cheek into your palm. Choso catches the sound almost immediately, straightening up and nearly smacking his back against the polished wooden booth. His lips curl into a frown, pulling at his decorated cheeks until you’re snapping back to reality.

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows twitch, but he doesn’t look angry. It’s not like him to remain very expressive facially anyway, but you find a smile threatening to spread across your face. As if he’s discovered the answer himself, he scoops up a generous bite of the sweet and pushes the spoon into your face.

“What? No, it’s nothing, I just— thank you — I’m just thinking,” The dopey smile on your face is telling, even as your eyes focus on the spoon in front of you. It’s way too big a bite for you to chew, and you’re not even interested in the sweet, but the gesture is kind and thoughtful. One hand hovers below the spoon, careful to catch any fallen cream. You almost feel bad for stiffening up at the view of his hands in your face. “There’s something else I’m hungry for.”

Oh. There it is again, that breathy tilt to your voice that you’ve been pulling all night, paired with the lingering touches to his body or the brushing of knees under the table. Your boyfriend clears his throat, letting his hand drop to the table with a fairly loud thud. It’s hard for Choso to remain stoic under your gaze, under your warm hands that rub his skin juuust right, under you as you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it.

“Choso.” Your voice sounds whiny now, as if you’ve given up trying to keep your composure.

He imagines the sound of his name on your tongue. Light and heavy, sweet and savory. He imagines you moaning his name right against the table, his warm hands cupping your cheek as he pushes it into the wood. He imagines spoiling you. Right here, right now.

You’ve always been spoiled. You’re his spoiled boy, constantly showered with gifts and doted on. When he’s not chasing the high of vengeful fights or treating contusions, he’s by your side. Tonight is a great example of that, a lavish dinner at a lavish restaurant where only the most lavish of people attend.

Be patient.” Can’t have everyone in this restaurant knowing you cry like a whore the second you see cock, can we? Electricity shoots through his pants as you whine again, squirming in your leather seat until your shoe is pressing against his crotch and your arms are straight in front of your own, almost as if you’re rutting against them in your chair.

At least the bill had already been left.

You were quite a simple riddle. You’ve always had a few twists and turns, but once Choso’s lips were on yours you were so easy to figure out; so welcoming as if you wanted to be figured out. Choso had you mapped out the best, with every nook and cranny and divot of your body. With every spot that made your eyes roll so prettily into your head, with every spot that made you jolt forward and needy.

You might as well tackle him onto the bed, watching him bounce on the springy mattress with wide eyes. You’re stripping before he can process, pulling your tie over your head and hastily undoing his own, unbuttoning your dress-shirt until it’s discarded somewhere on the floor, and unzipping your increasingly tightening slacks. Choso watches you, his hands now resting on your hips so he can lift you up when it’s time to shimmy out them.

His eyes catch lavender under your fly, then speckles of your warm skin, like it’s not completely covered. He holds you by the back of your thighs once they’re under your buldge, but he can’t help but flip you down into the bed when he realizes what he’s looking at. The air is punched out of your lungs the moment you hit the mattress, arms splayed out angelically while Choso tugs down your pants, and leaves one sleeve stuck at your ankle out of impatience. It makes you feel like a slut. Like you’re easy.

“Holy shit,” He marvels, thumbs tracing the lavender lace pattern that covers your cock and makes you look even prettier. He thought that was impossible. There’s a wet patch that darkens the rest of the underwear, a deeper purple that makes him lick his his lips. And finally, there’s a matching, twinkling plug nestled deep inside you, with a pretty heart-shaped handle that’s perfect for pulling on. His sweet, perfect boy had gone out and got himself panties, decorated his pretty body and even prettier cock, just for him. Plugged himself up, just for him. Because he loves cock— his cock —that much. He wants to fuck you in these. He wants to digest you. “Holy shit.”

“Do you—”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, but you can see his ponytails vigorously bounce as he massages the head of your cock through the underwear. Before your legs can close around his hand, he places the other on your thigh, holds you down into the soft mattress so you can’t escape. Your body feels warm already, igniting under his touch as the excruciatingly soft lace dips into your slit and strokes your cock. You can’t help but start to spread your legs wider, a slutty reaction to a slutty sight, and you feel your face heat up when Choso smiles up at you. “I love them. I love you.”

Maybe you’re in way over your head. Maybe you should’ve never got the damned things, they feel way better on your dick than you’d anticipated, clings too tight, folds just right, rubs against it like heaven. With every squirm the plug shifts inside you, your insides twitch and clench around it but there’s nowhere for it to go, just stuck inside your warm, used hole. You won’t be able to survive the next ten minutes at this rate.

“I love— fuuuck, Iloveyoutoo.” Your eyes flutter closed, just to open back up when Choso’s thick fingers toy with the plug, pushing it deeper inside you through the panties. Your moans are slutty and satisfied, like you’ve been waiting for this all day.

It occurs to him that you’ve been fucking yourself in front of him the whole night, playing with the pretty hole that belongs to him. You’d probably fingered yourself before leaving, got your fingers nice and wet to cum until you get that stupid, fucked-out face you always get after cumming, by yourself. You played with what was his to touch, his to fuck, his to use and leave puffy and sticky and stretched out and swollen. Choso growls.

“My pretty puppy’s been keeping secrets?” He can’t help but feel overprotective and jealous. Jealous of your fingers, which were deep inside you not too long ago. But never as deep as he can get, never as good as his. You just can’t reach the same spots Choso can, you can’t milk the cum out of your cock like he can. You need him to cum just how you like, hard and mind blowing until you can’t form coherent sentences. Overprotective for that very reason, what if you’d gone and hurt yourself trying to make yourself cum like he can? The plug gives you away, twitching violently along with your hole. He frowns, small and tiny as he pulls his hand away from your cock, instead resting it on your corresponding thigh.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” There’s an increasingly rapid shake to your head, though you both know that’s a lie. You want to whine, it’s a gift for our anniversary, you want to grab his hair and bury his face between your cheeks so he can focus on something other than your flustered face. “C’mon, you can do it. Don’t go dumb on me now.”

Your whole body shutters, your hand reaching down to squeeze at your balls to satisfy the ache, but Choso’s swatting your hand away, shaking his head disapprovingly. You almost wilt under his gaze, but the aching is just too much, so you try again. Before you know it he’s tying your hands above your head with— when did he take that off? — his tie and your own to hold together both your wrists and the area where your legs bend.

You’re exposed on your back. legs spread and high against your shoulders. The stretch is delicious, if you weren’t wearing those damned panties you’d be completely exposed, your hole stretched out and plugged, your cock peeking out from the band if the lace. You moan in protest, but it comes out more wonton and slutty as he starts to pump your cock.

“Just couldn’t wait, always so needy. So slutty, so impatient,” He’s focused now, pumping you with the lace separating your skin. The material stretches with every stroke, a wet sound bouncing off the walls as your thighs tremble and your body writhes against the restraints. “A brat, too.”

His disregard for your response makes your cock jump, his grip tightening as the panties shift with the tightening of your balls. You’re close. He watches your face, watches your eyebrows knit together until you’re looking at him like a puppy, whining high and loud in your throat until you’re trembling, a thin layer of sweat making your skin— and especially your nipples— glow. He groans, watching precum pool on the panties until your moans suddenly stop, a silent scream about to leave your mouth as he strokes you closer, and closer, and closer—

Nothing. The pleasure leaves just as fast as it arrives, your hips bucking uncomfortably under your boyfriend's weight. Tears prickle your eyes, and you find yourself shaking your head in protest before he can even speak, “I know, baby, I know. It hurts, you just wanna cum so bad.”

His mocking could make you cum alone, but the feeling of his lower half pressing the plug into your prostate is driving you crazy, rubbing that bundle of nerves and over and over, your eyes roll back and you drool as you pant.

“Nuh-uh, no, honey,” His grip around the base of your cock is impossibly tight, basically strangling it, as he watches your balls contract in an attempt to cum. You’re such a slut, it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. A few nice words here, a few tugs and licks there, and you’re crying for more. “Take what I give you, be my good boy. I know you can, know you will.”

You’re a good boy. A very good one at that, and you find yourself echoing his words with less coherency than most, nodding with a gasp as he takes your cock in hand again and presses the plug further into you. But it’s too good, Choso knows what he’s doing, he always does. He knows all your buttons, how to play with you just right. It’s excruciating, trying to hold onto your orgasm just for him. His fingertips tap the heart shaped handle when you moan particularly pornographic, like he’s coaxing a load out of you.

“Look how ready you are for me. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

Evil bastard.

So you suck it up, squealing when he shoves the panties to the side and tucks it underneath your cock, prods at the plug with his tongue and buries his face between your thighs until his only truly distinct feature is his blood mark. It’s a true, honest shame you can’t grab his hair now, but you don’t think you would’ve been able to hold on even without the restraints. Your begging is jumbled, more breathy ‘mhmmm’s than pleas, but it’s good enough for you.

“Choso— Choso, fuck, fuck me, please. Mhmmm, wan’ you inside. G’v’it t’me, fuck your cum ‘nto me!” Tears stream down your pretty face when he touches your sensitive dick without the confines of the lace, precum now pooling on your lower abdomen and squelching with each speedy stroke. Your toes curl, thighs trashing against the fabric until you’re cumming, clenching around Choso’s tongue and the pretty plug keeping you full. You can’t stop spurting, not when he starts alternating between the plug and his tongue, both setting punishing pressure against your prostate.

“Pretty baby,” The plug is out, and your hole looks lonely. It’s puffy and swollen, shining with spit and lube as it clenches around nothing. Stretched out like it’s been used, it takes fingers like it’s natural, sucks in Choso’s digits and flutters around them in thanks. Despite preaching patience and the joy of delayed gratification, he’s not sure he can wait anymore. So inviting, so needy. For his cock and his cock only, who is he to deny that? “Gonna let me breed you? Gotta watch this pussy cum on my cock while I fill you up, let me have it, honey. Please?”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” You don’t hesitate, not once, tilting your hips up as he slaps his cock against your rim a few times. You’re not sure when he took the time to free himself from his slacks, but you don’t care. A string of his precum keeps you together, falling onto your hole as he sighs in content. You can barely contain a long whine as he pushes inside, inch by inch disappearing inside you and pressing straight into your prostate as the curve of his cock punches air out your lungs. Your hands fight against his tie, curling up the fabric as you ball them into fists and moan when he bottoms out, his balls slapping against you. “Please?”

He fucks you like he’s desperate, large hands digging into hit thighs as he ruts his hips with a rushed, sloppy pace. There’s still so much lube nestled inside your warm walls, pulling him in as he slides in and out, loud and sticky as he pounds himself into you. He chases the warmth, the feeling of your gummy hole struggling to keep him where he belongs— deep inside you. You can feel his cock twitch inside you, hard and throbbing and leaking, getting you ready for the loads he plans to fuck into you. Choso’s handsome face is all the more expressive, his lips parted as he pants and groans with each thrust, hurriedly untying your hands and setting you free to lace his fingers with your own.

His eyes close briefly, as if he’s trying to focus on not cumming, trying not to think of what it’d look like to see his cream oozing out your insides.

But it’s hard not to, especially when his pretty thing is crying on his cock, punching out loud but tiny ‘uh-huh!’s with each thrust as drool slides down his chin, bouncing happily without a single thought in his head. When his pretty boy clenches around his cock, pretty decorated thighs open like a whore and stained in his own cum. He feels himself getting closer, roughening up his pace until you can’t breathe, squeezing his hand impossibly tight while he fucks you like his life depends on it.

“Oh, fuck, Jesus Christ. There you go, baby. Ask me for it, ask me to cum in this pretty boy pussy,” His deep voice makes you soar, jumbled moans and sentences leaving your lips as Choso frees his hand for only a moment, to rip away the lacey panties that somewhat obstruct his vision from your used hole. Your gasp is soft, but powerful enough to egg him on. “S’hole’s so needy, all mine. My job to take care of, t’fuck, t’finger and— oh, God, use like a toy.”

“Don’t— I don’t, Choso, don’t think I—” Can hold on much longer, you want to say, but warmth blooming in your stomach renders you speechless, the now ruined panties sliding under your ass and bunching up beneath your backside.

“I know, baby. You don’t think,” He groans, cock aching as he delivers a few more hard and deep strokes, eyes clenching closed at the sound of your hole sucking him back in with vigor. He can’t help himself, pumping your cock to match his thrusts until he’s shouting inside you, warm and sticky and thick. You can’t handle the sight of him crumbling inside you, hips rocking desperately as he fucks the cum deeper. “Don’t need to. Not with a hole like this.”

That’s it for you, the final blow, game over. You’re cumming before you can correct him, spraying hard onto your stomach and making your hole achy. Choso helps you ride the wave, pumping your sensitive cock until you weakly push his hands away, rocking back against his dick until you feel it soften inside you. “Good boy, my good boy. Need one more thing from you.”

His smile is small and genuine, and despite the sleepiness washing over you from such an intense orgasm, you lull your head to the side, watching him pull the lavender lingerie (more like a piece of fabric, now) out from under you. He glances at your face, gauging a reaction from you as he slowly stuffs your hole with it, watching it convulse with sensitivity. He hushes your whines with a kiss, melting against you.

He holds you for a minute, gives your cheek a soft kiss, and wipes away the cum on your tummy with your discarded shirt before it can cool and harden uncomfortably on your skin.

[marthawrites]

The Post-Flying Gift

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Can be read as a one shot but reads best to pt 3 to "Whore, Pet, Lover"

Word count: 2.2k+

About: A rare fully sunny day beckons Daemon and Rhaenyra to fly their dragons above Dragonstone for hours. You are more than happy to watch them in flight. When they return, their dragonblood runs hot.

Includes: Continued slice of life plot, canon incest (this is canon Daemon and Rhaenyra), f/f, pet play undertones, dumbification understones, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, Daemon is stealthy, m/f, implied dick sucking, implied facefucking, aftercare

Note: Hello lovely reader! Apparently it's been nearly a year since I wrote "the gift that keeps giving". WILD. I definitely wanted to revisit this little mini series because my Daemyra brainrot is always real. As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy! ♥

-

A warm sun glinted off Caraxes’ crimson body as he flew above the ocean of Blackwater Bay with Daemon at his reins. So red, and so swift was he against the blue sky, that he appeared to rend the sky with each passing by. Chasing and playing with the Blood-Wyrm was Rhaenyra upon the yellow-scaled Syrax who shone like burnished gold in the sunshine. They’d been flying at least two hours now–perhaps longer.

You had a perfect view of the Black Queen and her Prince Consort from where you stood upon their private balcony overlooking all of Dragonmount. Castle Dragonstone was as much your home now as your previous home had been. You were a birthday gift for the Queen. Deemed “the prettiest whore in all of Westeros” by Daemon Targareyn. A whore you were, then, and now, their little pet. They’ve never treated you badly. You’d never given them a reason to. Oftentimes in the sweet afterglow of your shared pleasures you daresay you are their lover: more than a whore and more than a pet.

Turning inside, you tidied their martial chambers and made sure to have clothes laid out for them for when they return from dragon riding. They both had special garb to fly in. Dragon smell was a very distinct thing, and in your experience even the most skilled servants had a hard time fully ridding the stink. A platter of herb roasted fish, tart berries, and salted root vegetables also sat awaiting their return. 

With a goblet of wine in hand, you returned to the balcony to watch them in flight. Scanning all over where your eyes could see–and double checking–you didn’t see, or hear, them anywhere. They might finally be done, you thought, and a smile twinkled up to your eyes.

A windswept Rhaenyra was the first to return. Silver strands of hair fell from her once neat braid giving her a wonderfully disheveled appearance. “Your Grace!” You said excitedly.

Rhaenyra grinned, beginning to take her leather riding gloves off. Her eyes were bright and wild. “Hello sweet love.” Flight had a way of elating her like none else could. Her riding garb was a mixture of wool and leather, both ash in color, and embellished with black dragonscales. Silver accents paled only in comparison to red gems highlighting the whole set up: coat, tunic, gloves, pants, boots. Aside from her rich Targaryen gowns, this was her favorite attire. “Did you enjoy watching my husband and I fly together?”

“Always! I could watch you both all day from the balcony.”

Matching Rhaenyra’s eyes, a wild smile took over the rest of her features; something dark and mischievous alike. A challenge and a dare. Proud and amused. “Out of all the gifts my husband has ever gotten me… you are my favorite. By far. My darling little pet,” she cooed as she opened the front of her coat and began unbuckling her belt. She sat in a chair and bent to work the lacings of her boots loose. Kicking them off, she sighed contentedly. “Mayhaps one day I will take you asaddle with me on Syrax. Would you like that?”

If watching your Queen begin to undress didn’t get your blood pumping, then her suggestion of flight surely did. “You mean it?” You asked, half dumbfounded by her proposal. “I would love nothing more!”

Her legs were bare, now, and she tossed her coat over to a nearby chair. The only thing she wore was her linen undershirt and smallclothes. She leaned back comfortably against the chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, and  she beckoned you over with one hand. “Come,” she said with a tilt of her head.

The sly little smirk upon her mouth had your belly doing flips as you walked to her. She was so lovely, and radiant, and tension sparked in the air between you two as you stepped between her legs. “Shall I redo your braid?” You asked softly, doing your best to keep your eagerness at a reasonable level. You really didn’t want to seem completely pathetic. Though, Rhaenerya knew how pathetic you could get for both her and Daemon; the glint of her expression told you she noted your anxious yearning.

Leaning up and forward, she gently cupped your face between her warm palms. With fluttering lids she pressed her lips to yours. Soft. Devious. “Not yet,” she whispered between sensuous kisses. “I don’t think that’s what you’re really interested in right now, is it?” 

Between Rhaenyra and Daemon, you didn’t know which one enjoyed making you blush more. She could see right through you. And, assumedly due to the thrill of flying, she wasn’t shy of putting you right on the spot. You shook your head and sighed blissfully against all of her kisses. You could kiss her until your lips were chapped and still kiss her more. “Not really…”

Her laugh was warm honey dripping down your spine. “I didn’t think so. Good girl for being honest about it.” Once again she leaned back against the chair as she looked at you with pride. But, the darkness of lust shadowed her features. “Flying is truly magnificent. It makes me feel… powerful. Invincible. And free.” As she spoke, one hand curled into your hair and began to gently urge you down. “It makes me feel good,” she added, raspy. “Be my good pet and keep making me feel good.”

Any thoughts you might have had going on in your brain were quickly shut down upon Rhaenyra’s request. You kept your eyes on her and shuddered with delight. You followed her downward push until you happily knelt right there in front of her–right between her parted legs. You pressed both hands up her thighs while planting kisses all along the smooth insides. “I love making you feel good,” you said to her, and she answered with a curl of her fingers inside your hair. You smiled; thoughts already dissipating from your brain.

“Such a pretty, sweet thing looking up at me like that,” Rhaenyra cooed approvingly. She shifted her hips slightly, just enough to make your ministrations easier.

The Black Queen smelled like a dragon. On anyone else you’d hate the sharpness of it. The stink. But on her? Somehow, it was perfect. Between the salty sea air on her skin, unclouded sun rays in her hair, and saddle leather where you knelt, she was the Dragon Queen. Tension rolled through your body until it left the buzz of excitement behind in each place it lingered. You were humming from the inside out. Purring. Rhaenyra’s pretty pet. Leaning down, you sat on all fours in front of her, now. You kissed her covered cunt where you knew her clit was.

The softest of a sigh left Rhaenyra’s mouth. “Tease me any longer and I’ll forbid you from watching us for the next fortnight,” she threatened.

“Yes, your Grace,” you simpered. Curling your fingers beneath the waist of her smallclothes, you pulled them fully down and off. Now there was nothing stopping you from what you both wanted. You repeated those same kisses over her pearl; each longer, softer, your lips parting more and more with each until you tasted her on your tongue. 

“There you are,” she rasped. Looking down at you she smirked triumphantly. She ran her fingers through your hair and said, “keep going. Keep making me feel good.” 

A whine broke from you and your tongue slid up through the fullness of Rhaenyra’s slit. When you saw how her head tipped back in bliss, your own head went brainless–focused now only on her pleasure. You lapped, and circled, and gently sucked, over and over again, your whole attention solely on her and her pleasure. Each of her whines, moans, and inhales of breath sent goosebumps pebbling atop your skin.

Make her feel good. Make her feel good. Make her feel good.

You loved the way she tasted. You loved the way she reacted to you. You loved the way she idly stroked through your hair, or pulled it, or held onto your ears. She was never shy in her passions, and neither were you. 

You lavished her clit until your jaw ached, but you never let it stop you. Rhaenyra’s sounds of pleasure were coming quicker now, sharper, and you knew she was getting close. It was then you delicately slipped a finger into her and began to work her from the inside, too.

“More,” she half stammered.

You added a second and moaned against her. It was only then that you realized how wet you were. How utterly soaked and needy your own cunt was. It clenched around nothing, your bud practically throbbing, your thighs pressing together to give you some minor relief from the pent up tension knotting in your belly. Yet never once did your own hand wander to that incredibly yearning space between your thighs. Your eyes were rolled closed. Only Rhaenyra’s building climax mattered. 

More. More. More.

She shuddered when she came undone around your fingers and upon your mouth. Her orgasm was sweet against your tongue; you dripped with self-satisfaction. It continued to roll through her in waves until the aftershocks had her panting softly. But, even still, you gently licked over all of her. Not enough to overstimulate her, but enough to keep her peak going as long as it could. You moaned softly all throughout; purring.

So lost in bliss, and so focused on your Queen, you hadn’t noticed anything else. You didn’t hear the door open or close. Never did you hear the soft scruff of leather on stone. Nor did you take note of a presence behind you. It was only when you felt fingers pressing into you that you paused to think. Those weren’t your fingers. No. They were too big and felt entirely different than your own. You gasped; desperate. Looking over your shoulder you nearly crumbled.

“Valzȳrys” husband, Rhaenyra whispered with half-lidded eyes.

“Ābrazȳrys” wife, he answered. “You two are having all the fun. Have you any idea how fucking wet your little pet is right now?” As if to make a point, Daemon worked his fingers just right to make you squelch. It was borderline obscene.

Your face was hot and for a moment you thought you’d come right then and there. Your spine dipped lower, presenting yourself to him as he knelt behind you.

“Oh… and how pretty she moans.” Daemon crooned, easily sliding two fingers in and out of you at the most devastatingly wonderful pace. “Did she make you feel good?” He asked Rhaenyra, continuing to finger fuck you from behind.

Rhaenyra grinned wide and smiled breathlessly. “Very.”

“That's our girl.”

You shamelessly pushed back against his hand. You were so slick he could have easily slipped a third in. Despite how well you did, however, you didn’t want to seem greedy, and so you took all that you could from those two fingers. 

“Shall I let her come, or do you wish to see her tears first, my Queen?” 

Dread dropped in your stomach because you knew exactly what he meant by that. Rhaenyra fucking loved to watch Daemon edge you until you were crying and begging for release. It was one of the darker games they liked to play with you. If at any time you wanted the game to stop–everyone knew–all you had to do was ask. Yet, never once had you brought the edging to an early end. As much as you hated it, you also fucking loved it. And so did Daemon. 

Rhaenyra shook her head, still basking in the afterglow of climax. “She did extremely well today. Let her come as she pleases.”

That’s all Daemon needed to hear. He indeed pressed a third into you and gave you exactly what he knew you liked. The tension in your belly sunk deeper, and wound tighter, and had you blabbering near gibberish until it snapped. Liquid warmth filled all of your limbs. Storm static clung to each of your nerves. Your pulse pounded in your fingertips. The force of your peak had you collapse forward until your cheek lay flat on the rug-covered stone floor. You panted, dizzy. 

Daemon gave your backside an approving smack. “A very good girl.”

You smiled softly at both of them relishing in the adoration they had for you, and you had for them. Leaning back up, you gently laid in Rhaenyra’s lap and allowed your eyes to close for a few moments. It wasn’t until Daemon called you that you woke. How long had you dozed off?

“Hm?” You asked.

“Crawl to me,” he said from where he sat in a chair, nude from the waist down with his doublet open. He was already hard.

You didn’t have to be asked twice.

You crawled to him and knelt between his thighs, looking up at him sweetly, obediently.

“Now it’s your Queen’s turn to watch. You know how much she likes watching. I don’t have to edge you to make tears fall from those pretty lashes, hm?”

Shaking your head with a tiny smirk, you knew exactly what he meant. With the sweetness of Rhaenyra’s climax still on your tongue, you took the Rogue Prince deep into your throat. You let him fuck your mouth how he wanted to until tears and saliva smeared your face, and and his seed overwhelmed the taste of your Queen.

It was in the sweet afterglow of these pleasures, where you all laughed, drank wine, and shared meals, that you truly felt like their lover.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

I am redoing my taglist! If you wish to be tagged in any of the fics I write and share (main, aemond, daemon, rhaenyra, harwin, daemyra) PLEASE let me know! Thank you! ♥

Masterlist

[overtaken-stream]

Sweets Full Of Lies

Sanji x F!Reader

``I think you stole something from me.``

``I stole something?``

This doesn't need a warning, this happens after the drum island and It's just tooth-rotting fluff for me and me only, be grateful I'm sharing my Pookie with all of you😤

The sky is captivating, gleaming, and full of wonder as it overlooks the reflective sea below, each star lit with passion is moving along the calm waves that are dragging behind The Going Marry, gently slanting the ship to its tastes.

The watch tonight is beautiful as the cure for the country's heart dims on the horizon, scattering pink cherry blossoms across the dark and endless ocean, each piece lightens the midnight, giving hue to a brand-new kingdom.

The scenery is getting further yet, the cherry blossoms follow after the ship, leaving no space for a threat too small.

The chilly atmosphere grows distant as the island strays and the crow's nest feels ever desolate in this bitter aftermath. If it wasn't for the subtle footsteps making their way up to your location in this stillness, you would have slacked off.

A nice scent of roasted baby potatoes entices your nose as a pleased sigh leaves you, slacking off indeed.

Crows nest is not made for two people, yet, with intense and swift maneuvers he lets the plates holding the delicious food dangle on his palms, your pupils follow them, until he brings the right one near your face. You spare him and grab the food, digging in with vigor, among the bites you let out a satisfied hum.

``This is delicious Sanji!`` Delicious as always, one can taste the love and passion through the spices and the warmth of the meal.

His voice volume dismisses the late hour of the night.

``Really?! Thank you (Y/N)-chwan~♡`` Sanji sure appreciates compliments from a lady, maybe a little too much. Though you don't mind his swooning, it's certainly fun to see him become overly affectionate and energetic, a considerable change compared to his interactions with the male members of the crew.

``Thank you too, Sanji.``

After you, Sanji turns to his plate, staring into the view that brought the night chill. He doesn't waste any time as he bites into the hot meal. The silence is welcome among the stars, shining bright from the dark horizon. The obscurity brings peace, the comfort of knowing little and needing no more.

The time is but an illusion as the meal on both plates shrinks until it's consumed with no remains left. Calm is not addressed between you two, finding peace in each other's presence in enough, no words are needed.

Binoculars rest on the floor, unused, but no amount of enlargement of distant images could find the reasonable explanation for the bravery brewing as you stare at the side profile of a blond. The soft features and the clean skin mix well with the pink undertones. You know he is handsome.

You're sure most would agree to that statement. Perhaps that's the thought that picks the simple, sweet, and corny line out of your teeth. It pierces the silent atmosphere.

``Sanji.`` You watch as he turns. The dim blue eye answering your curiosity. At first glance, the cook appears yellow or black, depending on the individual. However, you'd say his soul is the color of roses, with shades of light and hot pink mixing with his pale outer layer. Yet, you can hear a green-haired man argue that his inner soul is but a burning red and orange at the back of your mind. The color of blood on the tip of a silver knife he handles with ease.

You find yourself seeing all three views. Sanji is all of them. You don't seem to mind.

You watch that eye blink twice before opening your mouth.

``... I think you stole something from me.`` You find yourself craving that shade of blush that only appears on his face whenever a compliment is given to him by a woman. You want to see the pink blush appear on that ear once more tonight, it would be such a beautiful sight next to the falling cherry blossom petals.

You watch as Sanji takes in what you said. His baby blue lights up with curiosity and focus. He thinks about what he could have stolen as he goes through the memories of today, only to come up blank.

``I stole something...?`` The confusion settles as a smile appears on your face. The man appears oblivious to your deep emotion. The wicked hidden-entertainment. He can not distinguish the extra twist added to your lips.

``I think you stole my heart, Mr. Cook.`` There's a moment of silence that's quite loud, it stretches for a while as you stare at Sanji's widened eyes, you would have compared them to dinner plates if it weren't for the fallen cigarette, that you stomped and made sure to put out. (Can't forget to pick it up later!)

His reaction is not something you've expected. The frozen state as he gazes at you is new. The blank eyes speak of such a shock that you are not sure it could be considered as an emotion, rather a process of doubting oneself, the reality, and the life itself. You're thankful it doesn't last because soon the man you are familiar with, returns.

Sanii who closes his mouth and lets the pink petals land on his head, shining and adorning him with pink light. The blush that arises on his cheeks is shy, the pupil holding a small heart as love colors the iris. Eye round and sunken, Sanji seems small, his body unmoving as he gazes at you. Tongue dripping with romance.

``...I did...?`` You didn't know that a voice could be described as small. It's almost enough to shock you into silence.

Lightly, you bite your lip. You should know better by now.

Your mouth moved. It spoke in a tone you are unfamiliar with, almost like in a trance, addicted to a man much like candy, so sweet and sugar-coated. Your face must be red too, but it can't compare to the flustered Sanji standing in front of you, lighting up in shades more intense.

Cute.

Hopeful, he felt hopeful. The smell of fright coming off of him, is thin.

Shit. You might just devour him tonight.

[regulus-cannot-swim]

Shades of Ambition -Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Warning: This piece contains brief mentions of violence and manipulation.

AN: Hope you enjoy! Someone asked me to put warnings before the one shot, so I'll try doing that in the future. Thank you for 269 followers!

--

A sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits flooded the Grand Ballroom, echoes of laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses filling the air. Amidst the opulence, you stood, an ambitious young socialite with dreams of making a name for yourself.

Just like Coriolanus Snow.

His name commanded attention, his mere presence capable of turning heads. Tonight, beneath the cascading chandeliers, he was a vision of aristocratic charm. His slicked-back silver hair framed his handsome face, and his piercing blue eyes surveyed the room with a calculating gaze that left you breathless.

It had been weeks since you first laid eyes on him. The conversation that shattered the silence of a gallery exhibition, where his wit and intellectual prowess outshone the artwork itself. From that moment on, you were mesmerized. Enthralled.

Desire fueling ambition, you maneuvered through the crowd, determined to captivate him. You spotted him engrossed in conversation with Capitol power players, politicians, and influential figures. Their words dripped with honeyed charm, masks of courtesy disguising their ruthless politics.

Your heart raced as you made your way closer, inching through the crowd like a predator stalking its prey. When you finally stood before Coriolanus Snow, his gaze fixated on you, and an inscrutable smile played on his lips.

"Mr. Snow," you greeted, your voice laced with confidence.

"Ah, if it isn't the enchanting (Y/N)," he responded, his voice smooth as silk. "What brings you to the lion's den tonight?"

You suppressed a nervous giggle, determined to maintain your composure. "A taste for adventure, or perhaps a desire to test my mettle against the fiercest predators," you replied, a hint of playful challenge in your words.

He regarded you for a moment before offering his arm. "In that case, why don't we explore the jungle together?"

You accepted his arm, feeling the thrill of danger mingling with the fluttering excitement in your chest. As you strolled through the ballroom, his conversation encompassed a vast range of topics, showcasing his breadth of knowledge. He possessed an insatiable thirst for power and influence, manipulating words with skillful precision.

Intrigued, you let yourself become entangled in his web of intellectual charms. The hours passed like fleeting moments, your laughter blending with his, each passing minute deepening the connection shared between you.

But the night was not simply a dance of intellect and flirtation. Hidden beneath the veneer of grandeur and decadence lay political undertones, each subtle movement a carefully calculated step towards a world dominated by power.

As the evening waned, the music slowing to a melancholic tune, Coriolanus Snow leaned in, his breath whispering against your ear. "I believe even the most delicate flowers could wield formidable power in the right hands," he murmured, his voice dripping with intent.

His words held an edge, awakening something within you, nurturing the prickling tendrils of ambition that had taken root in your soul. The collision of your aspirations and his persona was intoxicating, burning like the unquenchable fire of revolution.

But beneath the allure, a warning spark danced in his eyes, an undercurrent of darkness overshadowing his charm. It was a glimpse, a fissure through which your fascination was tinged with trepidation.

As the night drew to a close, you found yourself longing for more, for another chance to dance with the embodiment of ambition himself. But the path to power was not paved with roses, and the web of manipulation twisted ever tighter.

Time would reveal the true nature of this dance, where hearts would be broken, alliances shattered, and lines crossed. But for now, in the glow of the Grand Ballroom, you reveled in the tantalizing seduction of ambition and the dangerous allure of Coriolanus Snow.

Little did you know that the young man who held your thoughts captive would rise to become the most notorious leader Panem had ever known — President Coriolanus Snow.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Once again, thank y'all so, so, so much for the continued love & support! Just an update for everybody: I'll be going back to school in about 3 weeks so updates might slow down, BUT I will continue to upload when I'm free & have some time. Thank you again! And happy 4/20!! -xoxo, Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

FIVE: NO TELL MOTEL.

“My, your such a good little cocksucker, aren’t you, sugar?” 

Gojo’s silky voice forming those dirty, nasty words only makes you suck on his thick, hard, beautiful cock a little more eagerly than before. He kneels in front of you, his hips and toned stomach in your face, letting you freely drag your hands over his six pack much to his enjoyment. 

He watches you with those alluring blue eyes as you gag all over his shaft and bounce on Geto’s dick at the same time. “And a good little cowgirl too,” the long-haired outlaw chuckles, soft moans and gasps leaving his lips as your warm, soft, velvety walls squeeze around him whenever you slam your pussy and soft, cushiony ass down onto him. “I should’ve known you’d be good at ridin’ dick too, little lady.” 

SMACK!

His hand comes down to slap your ass, emitting a muffled moan from around Gojo’s cock. The white-haired outlaw groans, gripping the back of your hair and pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he moans. “You seem to be missin’ somethin’ though…I’ve got it!” 

He takes off his cowboy hat and puts it on your head, making Geto laugh as he begins to pump his hips up into you from below, fucking you back. “She looks so adorable,” he groans. “Just seein’ her like this makes me wanna cum.” 

Gojo hums in agreement, thrusting into your mouth in time with his partner’s dick pumping in and out, in and out, of your pussy, sinking you deeper and deeper into immense pleasure. “Me too,” he says and lifts your chin up to look at him and the way the moonlight illuminates his hair, turning it silver. “And you’ll cum with us, won’t you, cutie?” 

“Be as loud as you want, darlin,’” Geto moans, gripping your hips for dear life. “There ain’t nobody to hear you for miles. Just us and the stars.”

Hearing that and knowing the fact that it’s just you three alone among the moon, the stars, and the quiet forest makes me you want to cum. You can feel your orgasm quickly approaching the louder Geto and Gojo’s moans become and the more Geto’s dick glides against your G-spot. 

“Fuck!” Geto gasps. “I think our little cowgirl is close, Satoru. That sweet little pussy is squeezin’ around me so tight!” 

Gojo stares down at you adoringly and hungrily, slamming his hips into you​​r mouth. “Cum with us, darlin,” he demands. “Don’t let us do it alone. Give us what we want like a good little slut, hm?” 

Suddenly, the two begin to moan louder and warn you that they’re about to cum, using your holes to chase their highs. You can feel yourself being pushed closer, closer to the edge of bliss, about to fall off with them– 

With a gasp, you sit up in your bed adjacent to Shoko who has her back to you and is snoring so loud that it overshadows the buzzing of cicadas outside your window. You are coated in sweat, a normal occurrence for summers in the West, but you know that it has everything you do with your dream. 

“What the fuck?” you think, confused and flushed…and extremely bothered. Your pussy throbs annoyingly beneath your silk nightgown, even more so without your panties. It’s too hot for undies. 

You’ve never had a dream like that before about anyone, especially two outlaws that you were supposed to merk earlier!

The only dreams you have are about your childhood, your mother, and the night both were taken from you. They don’t happen every night, but they are the only dreams you have. You don’t have happy dreams and can barely have a good night’s sleep without your mind going a hundred miles an hour. 

But something about this dream, something about this duo, brings something out of you. A need to throw all caution to the wind. You don’t want to think that it’s because of your attraction to them. You tell yourself that it’s nothing; just a biological need as humans have. The dream meant nothing but to show you what you could be missing…right? 

You look at Shoko, thinking about her words of wisdom to you earlier. Could she be right? Could these men be the ones to help you reach that happy ending? ‘Only one way to find out,’ you think. 

You roll out of bed and, keeping your footfalls quiet, you begin to pack up. You pack some dried snacks, a canteen of water, and a clean pair of clothes in your bag before changing out of your sweat-soaked nightgown and into some clean, black riding gear. You then bend down in your closet to retrieve a dusty box hidden behind Shoko’s shoes and a key hidden beneath them. 

You unlock the box and smile at the contents inside of it: a silky, pink bandana and a black cowgirl hat. You take out each and put them on, already feeling more like yourself. Like the Fatale Femme. After you finally finish, you take a piece of paper with an ink pen and quickly scrawl out a note to a sleeping Shoko before leaving: 

Dear, Shoko, 

I’m so sorry I’m leaving you like this and that it took this happening to tell you the truth. I’ve been wandering the wild West for years, hunting down outlaws and running from the law as a living.

I came to Blackwater to not only kill Valentine but to find Gojo & Geto the Gunslingers and get some answers for my plan to kill Benji the Bandi. I have been hiding my true identity from you in fear of bringing trouble to your door. 

I care for you and those at the Blackwater saloon so much which is why I must leave. Please don’t try to look for me. If I’m alive, I will write and even visit (eventually).

Thank you for the friendship you’ve given me. Take care of yourself and don’t stay in Blackwater forever. The ain’t nothing here for you either. 

Sincerely, Y/N aka the Fatale Femme.

You leave the note by her beside. Then, in a flash, you take your bag and head out the door. The complex is dark and quiet when you leave, making it easy o slip ou ino he nigh. Behind the complex, tied up to one of the lamp posts, is your precious black horse who has been loyally and patiently waiting here at her post for five months since you came to Blackwater on her back. 

You’ve been leaving her here, only releasing her o ake he on lae nigh walks and feeding her apples and oas. Bu now, you’re ready to leave and so is she. Her ears twitch at the sound of you boots thudding in the dit and he tail begins to wag excitedly, knowing it’s you. You press a hand to her side and stroke her soft fur. 

“Hey, Reneigh,” you coo to her. “You ready to go, darlin’?” You take her reigns out of your bag and clip them on her before getting her saddle from behind a tree. As you place it on her back, she huffs, steam coming out of her nostrils. “You’re right,” you giggle. “I should’ve left this dumbass town a long time ago.” 

You kiss her snout, thanking her for waiting, before hopping ono her back after lacing one leg over her side. Once you’re on, you cluck your tongue against the roof of your mouh and snap the reigns once. Reneigh understands immediately and takes off down the road, he hooves clicking against the road. You guide her in the direction of the Maplewood Motel, knowing where it is due to the brothel you used to occupy at being two blocks up from it. 

‘1211 at the Corner of Maplewood, Rm 201,’ you think, keeping the numbers in you head even when you finally make it to the small, quiet motel. Not a peson no animal stis when you leave Reneigh outside in an empty cubby where other horses have their own. “I’ll be back,” you tell her, earning a headbutt from her in response. 

“You’d better,” she wordlessly says. 

You keep your gun a your hip as you walk ino he moel, past the sleeping desk clerk, and then up the steps to the second floor. You ignore your pounding heart as you walk to room 201 and give three knocks. “Comin’!” a silky voice calls out. Gojo Satoru. 

When he opens the door, he is only in his trousers and riding gloves, exposing his toned body and abs to you. That damn dream comes back to haunt you and you attempt give him a poker face despite your mind’s eye being filled with images of his naked body and cock. 

You’re so entranced by his body that you almost miss his eyes. You’ve never seen them before since he’s always wearing that blindfold. They are a gorgeous, hypnotizing blue, as blue as the crystal waters in the Bahamian islands. They widen an inch at sigh of you at his door. “Well,” he begins, “this is definitely a pleasant surprise.” 

“Who’s at the door, Satoru?” Geto calls from inside, sounding suspicious. He comes to the door too, luckily not shirtless but still looking hot in his cotton shirt and riding gloves, his long hair pulled back into a silky, glossy ponytail. “Oh, hey,” he greets, sounding shocked to see you. “So you kept the note.” 

“I did,” you reply rather sharply, you pulse jumping anxiously. “‘Cause I need some answers. Before I agree to this, I’ll need some information first.” The duo looks at each other as if asking one another if they should agree. 

“Anybody follow you?” Gojo asks, looking up and down the hallway. You shake you head and he opens the door ajar for you. “Come on in, then.” 

You do so, not thanking him, but he doesn’t mind. When the door shuts, you take a look around the motel: it is rather spacious and clean with a small kitchen, a wooden table sitting near the window overlooking the horses outside, brown, shaggy floors, and a big king-sized bed matching the beige walls. The duo has made their home in this room, two backpacks, clean clothes, and shoes lying about the bed and floor. 

Gojo follows you into the motel, clapping his hands together once. “First thing’s first: ya want some dinner?”

You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. Wordlessly, you shake your head and he rolls his eyes at you. “What, you don’t want some good food before you start interrogatin’ us?” he chuckles. “We’ve got somethin’ cookin’ up over here.” 

He nods at Geto in the kitchen, cooking something savory-smelling on the small stove. His hulking frame blocks it from view, but it makes your stomach growl. Gojo nods at the wooden table and the chairs there. “Go on, take a seat and get comfy. I’ll take your bag and get you some water.” 

He goes to take your bag from you, but you grip it to your chest. “My bag is good here,” you argue. “And I don’t need anything, thanks.” Your stomach exposes you by gurgling loudly, making you flush. 

“Uh-uh,” he sniggers before he walks off to get you that water and a plate. The duo leaves you to sit alone to sit as they fix you something to eat and drink, much to your surprise. You didn’t think outlaws could be such gentlemen…unless something’s up. 

Minutes later, after listening to Geto hum a tune and Gojo crack jokes while he tosses on a shirt, your dinner is finally presented to you: a plate of Salisbury steak oozing with gravy, roasted potatoes, and green beans. “Here ya are, little miss. Made by yours truly.” Gojo gives a charming smile as he places a glass of water in font of you. 

“He’s lying!” Geto calls from the kitchen. Gojo puts a finger to his lips, winking.

You stare suspiciously down at the delicious-smelling food and gingerly take your fork to stab into the smallest tater. Gojo watches you weirdly as you sniff the potato and then place it in your mouth, slowly chewing it. “Had to check if it was poisonous,” you explain with a shrug. 

The white-haired outlaw looks hilariously offended by that. “Why would we do somethin’ so fucked?” he scoffs. “Jesus, girl, you are so paranoid!” You glare up at him, swallowing the potato. “With the work I do, you have to be.” 

Geto walks over with two more plates and glasses of water, placing them on the table. “I agree, especially in the state this world is in.” He sits down across from you along with Gojo, folding his hands under his chin. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’d like the say grace first.” 

Gojo dramatically groans, but bows his head anyway. Geto does the same while you keep your eyes open, watching them. “Dear Lord, thank you for allowing us another day to consume such a delicious meal with good company,” Geto prays. “Please give us more of these fine days with your blessing. Amen.” He lifts his head with a content, satisfied smile. It makes your stomach flip for some odd reason. 

“Ugh, finally,” Gojo sighs. “I’m fuckin’ starved!” He goes to finally dig into his food, but then stops and instead raises his glass of water. “Cheers to new friends,” he chirps and then frowns when he sees your face. “Acquaintances then. C’mon, you’ve gotta toast to that one!” 

Though you’d rather not, you did agree to be here. So begrudgingly, you raise your glass and so does Geto. “Cheers,” he chuckles and you clink glasses. “Enjoy, little miss.”

And you do though you don't tell him and your poker face is A1. However, the steak is savory and juicy, the potatoes are crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and the beans are salted to perfection. If Geto wasn’t an outlaw, he’d be a great cook. 

Though the food is good, your impatience gets the best of you the longer dinner goes on and you can’t enjoy it without your stomach roiling for answers. “Sooo do y’all wanna start talkin’ or should I?” you ask, rather impatient. The men look up at you, still eating. Insead of looking shocked, they look amused. “Well, if you insist on givin’ us the floor,” Gojo chuckles. “Whatcha wanna know?” 

You swallow some wae to give you some courage, wishing it was liquor. “Just out of curiosity, as well-known as y’all are, why’d you decide to work with Benji and Valentine?” you ask, getting straight to the point. 

Geto is happy to enlighten you as he sips on his water while Gojo finishes chomping on his steak like a wild pig. “When we met Benji, we were young and dirt poor, robbin’ anybody just to eat. One day, we robbed a banquet of rich folks not knowin’ that they were Benji’s people. He beat us to a pulp and had his crew tie us to railroad racks.” 

You nearly choke on your piece of steak. Geto shrugs like it’s nothing. “However, he gave us a proposition: he could either kill us or we work for him and pay off our ‘debt’ to him. As two teens with nothin’ to lose, how could we say no?” 

“We worked for him for two years, helpin’ him rob banks, beat people up who owed him money, etc, etc,” Gojo adds, “but we never killed no one. That was somethin’ we fused to do…until we had to.” His ocean-blue eyes look down at his water, fiaxating on it. You have a feeling that this is a hurt piece for them, especially when Geto gets up to clean his and Gojo’s empty plates. 

You watch him walk to the kitchen in silence, his big boots thudding across the floor. He turns on the sink and begins to soak the dishes in hot water.

“We were in Bull’s Creek chasin’ down a guy that owed Benji money for savin’ his farm,” he explains as the water runs. “He had moved himself and his family into hidin’, but we found ‘em and dragged them all outside, hogtied…includin’ the kids.” 

You bite back a gasp, a vision of your small town popping into your head the night your life changed: burning homes and businesses; kids crying for their parents in the street; families beaten in front of their children; your mother’s arms stretched out to you as her neck bursts with blood. 

You swallow hard, not sure if you want him to continue, but you listen anyway. “We thought Benji just wanted the husband, but imagine our shock to find out he wanted everyone,” Geto continues as he scrubs one of the plates with a sponge. “Told Gojo and me to put a bullet in all of ‘em, make sure that thee we no survivors that could place his face. In reality, I think he just wanted to test us.” 

“And ‘cause he’s a sick motherfucker that gets off on the death of innocents,” Gojo adds. He sounds nonchalant, but you can tell he’s angered by how hard he grips his glass. “We didn’t do it, so he forced us to watch his minions do it. They left their bodies to bake in the sun, not even givin’ the kids a grave.” 

You’re silent, processing the awful yet confusing information. Could they really be different from the outlaws like Benji, Valentine, and the ones that destroyed your home? Could these two really have morals? 

Geto finally stops cleaning and comes back over to the table. “After we realized how crazy Benji was, we left and haven’t seen him since,” he explains as he sits. “That’s when we made our business targetin’ the baddies across the West and made a name for ourselves. People started comin’ to us for help.”

That explains why so many corrupt people were showing up in the papers, dead. Maybe…just maybe…they could be different. 

“So what about Valentine?” you ask, pushing your plate aside. “How’d you meet him?” 

Geto leans back in his chair, crossing his leg over the other. “A year ago, he came to us askin’ us for help to get some trafficked money off of a Cherrywood train that was stolen from his land.” 

“Such a big, fat fuckin’ lie,” Gojo sighs disappointedly, shaking his head. “But because we were stupid, we said yeah and he agreed to cut us half of the money if we helped him. We teamed up with his crew with no problem, not realizin’ that we had been set up from the jump.” 

He then pulls a cigarette and a matchbox out of his pocket. Before he lights it, his blue eyes tick to yours expectantly. "You don't mind?" he asks and you shake your head, so he strikes a match, lights his cig up, and takes a puff. Geto walks over and Gojo passes him the cigarette which he gladly takes a drag of.

When Geto speaks again, you see the entire scene flash in your head down to the last gruesome detail: “As soon as we got on that train, he took everyone hostage, includin’ the conductor. We tried to stop him, but he and his guys massacred every person on that train and then escaped before the train went off the rails. It crashed, but we survived and woke up in a cell.” 

He pauses, taking a sip of his water. With Valentine MIA, we were forced to do some time before the sheriff cut us a deal: if we help bag Valentine and keep up good behavior aka no killing, we stay out of prison.”

He shrugs passively. “Seemed easy enough, so we took it and now, here we are with you.” He gives you a smile as does Gojo, warm and friendly despite the horrible, complicated story they told you about Benji’s sadistic ways and being framed by Valentine. 

You look between the two of them, even more confused than before. Their smiles fade as they read your expression, probably thinking the worst. You put your hands on the table and interlace them as you lean in toward them. “You barely know me and you’re tellin’ me this,” you point out. “Why?” 

The two share a glance, probably not expecting this question. But Geto answers you regardless: “Because we want you to make this decision. We want your help, Y/N, but we won’t force you. If you want to walk out that door, you can.” He juts his chin at the motel door, your exit from this conversation AND possible agreement. 

But something, whether it be their honesty or the way they look at you with such genuine warmth, keeps you there. You look down at your hands. They are shaking. 

“You wanna know why I want Benji?” you ask, not waiting for a yes. “While it may be a stretch, I believe takin’ him out would let every other fucker on this God-forsaken planet know that their sins and crimes will not go unpunished. It would scare them to know that such a powerful man like Benji the Bandit was taken out by someone, let alone a woman.” 

You raise your head to look at Geto and Gojo again, still seeing those genuine, soft gazes. 

“I’ll help y’all,” you firmly say, “but on one condition: y’all help me get out of the county and to Willow Springs.” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, confused and curious. “What’s in Willow Springs exactly?” he asks. 

You nearly smile at his question, picturing the beautiful town located in the North already. “Freedom,” you answer. “A life without constant runnin’ and dodgin’ the law. A quiet life out of the West…but the only way there is through the Devil’s Trail.”

Aka the hardest, roughest trail in the West. It is known for its treacherous heat, barren, dry lands, and predators lurking around every rock and cactus. There is no way you could ever survive on your own. 

You look at Geto, crossing your arms over your bosom. “I thought about what you said: if Valentine does talk, I’ll need the protection, especially on Devil’s Trail. When we catch Benji, you’ll take me to Willow Springs. Then we’ll part ways, forget this ever happened, and live happily ever after.” 

You stick your hand out to them, wordlessly asking for a deal. The two share a glance before they each smile. “You’ve got a deal then, little lady,” Geto says before he shakes your hand.

Gojo does the same and you ignore the tiny spark of electricity you feel zip up your arm when you hold each of their leather-covered palms. 

“Now let’s get some sleep,” Gojo announces, looking pleased. We’ll need all the rest we can get ‘cause tomorrow will be a long day.” He nods at you, smiling. “But first, you need a room.”

[gatheredfates]

ALAICE DEVERAUX

Nicknames: Not applicable. Age: Twenty-one. Nameday: Twenty-Seventh Sun of the First Astral Moon (apparently I gave her my birthday, so that might change!) Race: Duskwight Elezen. Gender: Cis female. Orientation: Straight? Profession: Lady of the House of Deveraux and Dubois, last remaining survivor after the Dragonsong War; apprentice baker and occasional confidant to Firelight Trading Company.

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: A light blue, leaning more into teal. She tends to style it in loose curls around her shoulders. Eyes: She is heterochromatic! One eye is teal, the other is a steel grey. Skin: Pale with a silvery undertone; it tends to reflect whatever light hits it, rather than possessing it's own distinct colour. Tattoos/Scars: None of any note.

FAMILY

Parents: Lord and Lady Deveraux, dead by Alaice's sixteenth year. It is said that Lord Deveraux attempted to defend his wife from the dragons before he was engulfed in flames. No remains of her mother have been found. Siblings: Not applicable. Grandparents: Not applicable, more unfortunate souls lost to the war. In-Laws and Others: Alaice has a child from her first marriage, a daughter called Alyna. Her husband, Draeir Dubois, died under mysterious circumstances in the months preceding the Ishgardian/Dragon peace treaty, bringing no end of speculation from gentry and smallfolk alike. Some suspect his desire to expand his house beyond Foundation's spires drew ire from the High Houses and he was made an example of. Others suspect a more... intimate cause. Without a murder weapon or obvious intent, none can deduce a proper suspect.

She is particularly close to @riftdancing's Siyoh Mari who, whilst not understanding a lick of Ishgardian gossip, will happily entertain the confusion over a cup of tea as Alaice dramatizes. This leagues better than Elandervier who told her she'd 'rather chew on a voidsent's ass' and leaves at the very mention of anything to do with the city. She has an extremely complicated relationship with the other Elezen due to their mutual upbringings, trauma and reconciliation.

When Firelight is conducting business in Ishgard, she can be seen at its patriarch's side helping him navigate the intricacies of the city. Pets: Unless you count the many birds that have taken residence in her gardens, not applicable.

SKILLS

Abilities: Alaice is ice-aspected to a dangerous degree, and it's an element she has always tried to keep under wraps for fear of heresy and expulsion from the Holy See. As a result, the magic is unpredictable and emerges as a by-product of extreme situations/emotions. Only a select few people know she possesses such an ability. Hobbies: Like all ladies of her standing, Alaice was given a proper education including tutelage in deportment; music, song and dance; needlework and painting — among other gentle pursuits. She has a particular affinity for bird watching and, in the advent of her husband's death, has sunk herself readily into her little business as a baker.

TRAITS

Most positive trait: Alaice possesses a remarkable capacity for trust despite her confinement and husband's abuse. Worst negative trait: Her naïvety. As a woman constricted by the societal expectations of Ishgardian women, Alaice knows scarce little about the world around her — or even Ishgard proper. It is something she is working constantly to undo.

LIKES

Colours: Blue, white, silver, gold and shades of brown. However, given Ishgard's proclivity to the cold, any colour that can break through the sheen of snow is a welcomed addition in her eyes. Smells: Anything floral and/or citrus. These are not necessarily smells she will wear, but remind her of a time before the Calamity when the climate of Ishgard was better suited. She's also partial to vanilla, almond and loves the smell of rain. Textures: Knitted wool and smooth glass (or ice, though she tries not to think too much about it), the gentle prick of pine and the grooves in wood and stone. Drinks: Champagne, white wine and mead. She's also discovering some enjoyment of red wine, stay tuned if she gets more extreme!

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: Rarely. She smoked recreationally after her parents died, a sort of 'dare' from the other ladies in her company, and took it up in secret as a way to release anxiety in the early days of her marriage — away from the prying eyes of her husband. Alaice quit after becoming pregnant with Alyna and hasn't taken it back up due to associating it with those negative experiences. Drinks: Semi-regularly. Much like smoking, she quit entirely when she got pregnant and tends to only partake as a social nicety. She can acknowledge where she was falling into unhealthy patterns when she was married and tries not to go back to those places. Drugs: Not applicable. Mount Issuance: Not applicable. Alaice was fed on the indoctrination by her husband that is not a lady's place to traverse, but that men should come to her. If she is needed for Firelight Business she will be escorted by their couriers, but she has no vehicle of her own. Been Arrested: No. Being a suspect was traumatic enough. Why would she kill her lord husband?

Tagged by: @eriyu — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag. Tagging: @thefreelanceangel, @hythlodaes, @piyopikamika, @sealrock, @thevikingwoman & @yloiseconeillants! If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!

[charlizekkelly]

dr. feelgood

NSFW prompt: “What a pretty sight.”

Pairing: Reader x Paul (The Lost Boys 1987)

Word Count: 1467

TW’s: kidnapping, murder, blood, biting and slight mention of choking.

Authors note: Am I a whore for @blondrockerpaul ? yes. did I write this because @willowbrookesblog and I were thirsting over his hands? also yes. here's some dark, rockstar-like Paul with a downright depraved and yandere edge (my speciality).

!NSFW - 18+ CONTENT. MINORS DNI!

An ebony guitar flecked with a metallic-like silver sat perched in a black-metal stand beside a lavish seating arrangement, black leather chairs bordering an abstract coffee table as the dark, sensual lighting of the room seemed to compliment the blond whose personal touch decorated it. Lavish and framed platinum awards lined a wall to the right of the room, a Scream poster catching her eye from the centre of an artfully arranged display of band posters–all signed by their respective members–and the chords to Motley Crue’s album ‘Dr. Feelgood’ played in the background.

She’d been in Paul’s dressing room plenty of times over the months since Marko had introduced them at one of his gigs, back when his band ‘Death’s Carnage’ first opened for Guns ‘N Roses. She still wondered why Marko had given her a backstage pass that day as she wandered the dark-toned room, but she scolded herself for the thought because she knew why.

Marko had been the sheepdog herding the stray toward the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and she’d been the foolish lamb. Unaware of the dangers lurking beneath his skin…or the fangs.

Her knee collided with Paul’s in the same moment his ring-covered hands grasped her waist and pulled her onto his leather-clad lap, her thighs straddling his waist as her heart jolted in her chest. Not that she could run from him, and she’d made the mistake of trying several times before.

And that worked out for you the last time you tried. Didn’t it? She thought, eyeing him with a masked sense of uncertainty.

He wouldn’t let her go, not after Marko had hand-picked her from the crowd. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

“Paul,” she uttered playfully, a soft chuckle echoing across the room as she tried to ignore the attraction she felt for him.

The broad yet chiselled plains of his face were dappled by the sensual lighting, black mesh shirt baring the toned and carved expanse of his chest as she rested one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in the locks of his hair at the nape of his neck. The dirty blond with wild tresses and Atlantic-blue irises surveyed her as she peered up at him, his height piping hers, something oceanic undertoned by his cologne engulfing her senses.

“So, what did you think of the show?” Paul asked, brimming with his usual after-show adrenaline.

Her eyes darted to his hands, lingering on the veins that shifted with his movement as lust trickled into her bloodstream at the memory of his skilled hands wrapped around the neck of his guitar, fingers shredding the notes of his riff. And as hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the thought of what else his hands could do whilst she’d watched him play. 

She knew what they could do, had seen the blood that’d stained them and heard the definitive crunch of bone as he snapped the neck of her friend who’d been foolish enough to try and help her escape him. His grin had been callous and tinged with baneful delight but not at her–never at her–as she tried to back away, terrified that he’d rip her throat out.

And like he’d sensed her train of thoughts, Paul had assured her that he didn’t want her dead. That he would never waste his time draining another human when he had her. That he wouldn’t let her go because she was his like he was hers.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what that meant but if it meant she wouldn’t die. Then she’d take whatever she could get, as stupid as that made her.

She managed to tear her gaze from his hands and the tide of her thoughts to meet his oceanic irises.“It was…something else.”

Paul’s calloused fingers trailed from the swell of her waist to her inner thigh, tracing salacious patterns into her skin as he pulled her closer to himself and his nose pressed into the crook of her throat, drawing a lungful of her scent into his chest, her heart rate spiking and pounding against the pulse-point his lips brushed against.

A dark chuckle reverberated from the depths of his chest, head lifting from her throat. His husky voice seemed to caress her skin like his fingertips against her inner thigh, lips brushing against hers. “Do I have that much of an effect on you?”

“Paul.”

“Words, angel,” he coaxed, sending lust careening through her bloodstream as his voice dropped several octaves. “C’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. What thoughts are running through that pretty, little mind of yours?”

“Your hands.” She admitted; her lips mere inches from his.

His blond brow arched, prompting her to continue as his lips tugged into a smug smirk. “What about them?”

Her gaze locked with his. “I was wondering if the guitar was the only thing they play.”

A mirthful chuckle rumbled from his chest before his lips pressed against hers, the hand at her thigh tightening as he dragged her closer to himself, the fabric of her skirt riding up her legs. The hand on her thigh kneaded the soft flesh whilst the other trailed up her body and tangled in her hair, tipping her head back until a soft gasp spilled from her lips and he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away a moment later, nipping at the underside of her jaw before the hand in her hair skittered to her throat. “Have I been neglecting you that much, angel?” He murmured.

His fingers wrapped around the soft expanse of her throat, his calloused thumb smoothing over the flesh above her jugular before her eyes widened and he shifted their position in a movement quicker than she could fathom so she was under him with her back pressed into the black leather, the rip of her panties ghosting the shell of her ear.

His lips pressed against hers in the same moment he sunk a guitar string-calloused finger into her cunt, a shocked gasp emitting from her mouth before his lips muffled the sound and he set a tantalising pace with his measured thrusts. Dragging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the pad of his thumb grazed her clit and he pulled away, pressing another finger into her cunt.

Her hips raised in reaction to the added digit, a needy moan filling the room as a satisfied smirk etched across his face and he curled his fingers, brushing a spot inside of her that drew a garbled plea from her mouth. “Please, Paul.” 

Paul’s head cocked to the side as he watched his fingers plunge in and out of her, thumb tracing another circle into her clit. “You know I love it when you beg, and what a pretty sight you are. Squirming, moaning and begging on my fingers.”

His words shouldn’t have sent a bolt of pleasure through her, but as his thumb drew that same star-inducing circle into her clit, she couldn’t bite back the moan it dredged from her chest. Her fingertips sunk into the plush leather couch as her head tipped into the backrest, baring her throat to Paul’s gaze.

“Fuck. Just like that… just like that.” She murmured, releasing a content hum as his head dipped, lips alternating between sucking marks into her throat and pressing possessive kisses against her skin.

She should’ve been terrified of him. Should have fought tooth and nail at every waking moment to be free of him. Should have driven a stake through his chest when she had the chance all those months ago. But she hadn’t, and she knew she wouldn’t, not even if her sanity begged her to. Not when some part of the rockstar had brought her to life in ways she couldn’t understand or as his canines and incisors elongated. Her heart skipped a beat before his fangs pierced her flesh, flooding her bloodstream with a million aphrodisiacs that muddled her mind and sent her over the edge, a breathy moan tearing from the caverns of her chest.

The chorus of the blond’s favourite band left to cloy in her eardrums from the speakers of his beloved stereo, her hands releasing the couch to grip at the fabric of his shirt whilst he swallowed several mouthfuls of her blood before his tongue lathed over the wound and he pressed a lust-filled kiss to her lips. Her heavy-lidded eyes blinked up at him as he grinned down at her and removed his fingers, pulling her into his arms when he sank down into the couch.

“He’s the one they call Dr. Feelgood…”

And as she fought to stay awake, She couldn’t shake the irony of those lyrics because she knew he was the only one who would make her feel good. And if anyone tried to squander him…

He’d kill anyone foolish enough to try.

[delulustateofmind]

A City of Dreams [Part Two]

Series Summary: ModernAU of ACOTAR, Azriel breaks away from the small town of Windhaven to escape his toxic family and chase his dreams with his newfound family. Leaving behind his small-town life for new ventures in Velaris. 

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three-Coming soon!]

Word Count: 2.1k

Trigger warnings: Pet names (lil fawn), drinking, clubbing, let me knew if I'm missing any!

A sigh of relief escaped you as you finally beat the morning coffee rush, rolling your shoulders back as you leaned against the counter. Your managers handled the coffee order today, so it should be an easy day. The summertime menu was soon ready with your next shipment of strawberries. That meant strawberry pastries and strawberry lattes, your favorite time of the year.

The bell connected to the door chimed as it swung open to reveal Feyre approaching you with heavy steps. She released a deep sigh as she ran her hands through her shimmering brown hair—how does someone have that much volume? You will never understand.

"I just got the rejection email," Feyre sighed heavily as she took a spot next to the coffee bar, laying her head on the table. Deciding to whip her up a matcha latte with vanilla cold foam, you could always tell what type of drinks suited people. Feyre was a not-too-sweet individual, and Matcha complimented her. Something about Feyre was calming enough but had bitter undertones like Matcha; it can be sweet or bitter. A soft hum escaped your lips as you made her drink. "Did it say why you got rejected?" you murmured as you whisked the green powder with warm water.

"I don’t meet the five fluent language criteria. I mean, who knows five languages, y/n?" Feyre exclaimed through a frustrated sigh as she pressed her forehead on the counter. "What kind of personal assistant does that guy need?"

Handing Feyre the drink, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion etched in your friend’s features. Watching Feyre take a sip, her silver-blue eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation. 

"Let’s go out tonight, close early, I want to get trashed," Feyre sighed. "I’m now a single, jobless, freelance artist. Who can’t even manage to meet the requirements for a stupid personal assistant position."

You reassured her, “The guy was probably a jerk anyways," as you cleaned up the counters. "You probably would have hated it. Anyways, yeah, I could always close early tonight. Let’s go to Rita’s?" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed Feyre on her phone staring at a photo of her and Tamlin. "You could always go back to him, you know? He seemed kind of obsessed over you."

Feyre deleted the photo after finishing her latte but didn’t say a word. You couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. You took the glass from her, and she stayed for a while making small talk with you before mentioning that she would see you at home later tonight. Leaving with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

******* 

Azriel finished his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. A few more hours of code, and he should be done for the day. His phone chimed, a text from Rhysand in their group chat:

"Rita’s tonight 🍻🍾 to celebrate the new update."

An annoyed sigh escaped Azriel’s lips as he put the phone back down and got dressed. After getting ready, he took a seat at his computer and began working on code for what felt like hours. The eye bags under his eyes seemed to only get heavier.  

*******

The club pulsed with energy, the bass thumping in time with the pounding of your heart. Neon lights danced across the walls, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shout. Yep, a typical Friday night at Rita’s. 

Feyre was wearing one of the skimpiest dresses you’ve ever seen her wear, and she was rocking it, of course. You opted for a black tight dress that hugged your body. Feyre held your hand, guiding you to a spot at the bar, where she ordered you both drinks. Both of which were fruity cocktails that you both downed the second they touched your hands. Setting them on the bar, you both left to go dancing.

"Tonight! We put past all of our worries; tomorrow will be a new, better day," Feyre laughed as she danced before you.

You both danced, feeling the rhythm of the bumping club music. The lights strobing, intoxicating both of you. Clubbing in Velaris was a whole other level compared to both of your small-town lives. People here were here to be seen; everything was about who or what you knew in Velaris. While dancing, neither of you realized the violet eyes piercing Feyre as she swayed her hips. It wasn’t until a waitress tapped on Feyre’s shoulder and pointed to a table on the second floor, claiming a man up there was requesting you both to meet him.

You weren’t sure if it was the environment, the drinks, or the way Feyre was blushing when she caught the gaze of the man. He was breathtakingly handsome, the typical rich guy with tailored clothes that seemed to hug his silhouette. As he manspread at the table drinking a glass of whiskey, his friends chatted amongst themselves. When Feyre began walking over to the table, he set down his glass in one swift motion and came up to her, grabbing her hand and planting a soft kiss on top of it.

"You are absolutely divine," He said in a sultry voice as his violet eyes met her silvery blue ones. A blush crept onto Feyre’s face as she met his eyes.

"Thank you," she muttered sheepishly as he guided her to sit down next to him. The man’s name was Rhysand; by the looks of it, the man was loaded. For someone so young, he seemed accomplished and fascinated by Feyre. Before you knew it, he bought a bottle for the table.

You sat next to her, of course, being cautious of your friend. You hear stories all the time of attractive men leading women to their doom. You sip on your drink, keeping a watchful gaze at Rhysand’s hands, who seemed to be kept on his lap.

At least he was respectful.

You felt a piercing gaze at you from across the table, meeting a pair of hazel eyes that had dark undereye bags underneath them. You recognized the look. It was the man from earlier. Instead, now you could see his whole face.

Rhysand was a different type of handsome, like what you would expect a CEO to look like or some actor that would star as the male lead. The man before you looked like a tired prince or even an idol. Soft black curls covered his face just below the brow, and he had these full dark lips…that you couldn’t stop staring at. Why couldn’t you stop staring at them? Was it the drinking? A smile tugged his lips as he moved closer to you.

A low voice, almost a whisper in your ear, "You live down the hall? What a small world we are meeting here." His breath was hot, sending shivers down your body. Instead of responding, you took a sip of the champagne that Rhysand bought for the table—champagne you would normally never be able to afford. You finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes held warmth.

"Yeah…about two doors down from you, I’m assuming," you mutter sheepishly. He was so intimidating, yet you felt comfortable enough that if he asked you a question, you would be able to answer it without hesitation. You couldn’t help but notice his hands. Burn markings scattered all over them.

"Azriel, that’s my name. What’s yours?" He followed your gaze before setting his drink on the table and folding his hands over his lap. A stutter spurred from your lips, "Y/n, a pleasure to meet you Azriel," you look at him, yet your eyes are once again drawn to his lips.

An amused smile tugged his lips as he looked over at you up and down. "Y/n, pretty name for a little fawn like you. You don’t seem like the clubbing type," Azriel’s gaze met your eyes again as he tilted his head. "What brought you here tonight?"

"Celebrating losses, to say the least." You gave a slight nod to Feyre, who seemed to be laughing at Rhysand’s joke as she leaned against him. You looked around the room and back at him. "How about you? You looked exhausted."

Azriel leaned a bit closer; you both were touching at this point. "Celebrating losses? Well, I suppose we are opposites because we're celebrating wins." A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned to grab his drink from the table and took a sip. Not breaking eye contact with you. "What’d you lose, little fawn?"

"Personally, I didn’t lose anything, just supporting my friend- who is getting very comfortable with your friend over there," You glance at him as he notices them with a smile on his face. "She needed a little pick me up, rough day for her."

"Hopefully tonight will be better for her then," He smiled. "Also, don’t worry about Rhysand; taking home drunk girls was in his early twenties. He was captivated by her dancing. Wait til he finds out, she lives down the hall from him." a teasing tone in his voice. "Clubs are nice and all, but do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab some food?"

Was he asking you out, was he expecting more, is it okay to have a playful fling with your extremely attractive neighbor?

As Azriel’s gaze bore into yours, your mind raced with questions and doubts. Was he asking you out? Did you want him to? The alcohol buzzed in your veins, clouding your thoughts and judgments. Loosening your inhibitions. “Yes” escaped your lips without a second guess, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. 

The two of you left; Rhysand had given you his number and said that he would take Feyre home and he would text you when he did. Nice guy, especially for paying for your drinks the whole night.

Azriel took your hand, his large hands grabbing your soft ones. The callouses from working out rubbing against your soft palm. A part of you wondered what they would feel like around your… no, no naughty thoughts, you barely just met the guy. He had guided you outside the club.

"Do you like ramen?" He asked as he looked down at you; he was nearly a foot taller than you. You gave a small nod, and he guided you to a place he knew down the street from your apartment. You were starting to limp, your heels scraping the back of your ankles causing a blister. Azriel looked down and noticed before stopping at a bench.

"Sit here, I’ll be right back," He said with a smile before doing a slight jog to the nearby convenience store. The cold breeze made you slightly shiver. A curious glance at the back of Azriel as he entered the store a block away. Perhaps, he was getting beer?

Moments later, Azriel came back with a bag. He pulled out a package of bandaids and bent down on one knee. Looking up at you he murmured in a soft voice, "Can I touch you?" a blush met your cheeks as you nodded. His warm hands took off your high heels and placed a bandaid on the blisters. His touch was gentle. "There," he said softly "I can carry you if you want?" He looked up at you, his eyes that once seemed intimidating, almost seemed like a puppy full of concern.

"It’s fine," you responded bashfully, "You didn’t have to do that, you know," looking away from his gaze.

"I wanted to, I can imagine that high heels alone don’t feel good, much less with the addition of blisters. How about we postpone ramen and instead get you home," He smiled before reaching for your phone. “I’ll add my number, so make sure you save the date.”

Azriel even took a selfie for the contact photo, a gift honestly to see this man’s angelic face.

After placing his contact information in your phone, he put your high heels back on and stood up, reaching for your hand. “Let’s get going, shall we?” You nodded and took his hand, feeling the scars. Perhaps one day, you’ll learn about them.

Tag list: @lilah-asteria, @brieflyclassymortal

[megamindsecretlair]

Once Upon a December

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Smut. Making out, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), PIV, PWP. Cursing. Dark, gothic undertones.

Summary: AU Bucky is a prince you visit in your dreams. He calls to you while awake and you can't wait to join him and dance in the ballroom. But no matter how much you try to enjoy the night, there is something wrong.

Word Count: 4,197k

A/N: I got this idea last night while watching a show and it had a music box in it. It got me thinking about Anastasia and arguably, one of the best songs in that movie. So enjoy a random AU with Bucky as Anastasia as the inspiration. I had soooo much fun writing this! I hope you enjoy. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

He called to you more and more in the waking hours. You spent the whole day yawning and rubbing your eyes. Your eyes were watery all the time. Sleep. You needed sleep. You barely finished dinner by the time you were giddily slipping under the covers and putting your head on the pillow. 

You slipped away, pulled to that far away and distant place…

He was there to greet you. He was so handsome. Dressed in a dark officer’s uniform with silver buttons and silver tassels, he also wore a cap slightly askew on his head. He stood by the large windows, facing you coming down the stairs. 

You don’t remember getting dressed or getting to the stairs, but you were already halfway down. Your A-line ball gown was a deep navy blue, with silver swirls sewn into it making you shimmer in the candle light. 

“You look like starlight,” he said. As you neared the foot of the stairs, he held out his hand to you. You placed your hand in his and he tugged you closer. His lips descended on yours. His kisses were hungry and desperate. He grabbed you around the waist and half carried you to the pillar in between windows.

He pushed you against it and the rough rock was cold against your bare back. You gasped from the shock of it but he was there to warm you back up. He pushed into you, kissing you and licking your lips. He tasted like something wicked. Like chocolate and secrets. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said. 

“I’ve missed you. I hear you when I’m awake. Why is that? Am I actually here?” You asked. 

For weeks, you had been waking up in this strange land. It was like something out of a fairytale. The prince lived in a sweeping castle, with arched doorways and dome-like windows. The hallways were lit by candelabras  and chandeliers. Paintings hung on the walls of ancestors. And they all looked like your prince. Dark hair, strong jaws.

“You are actually here, my little doll,” he said. He kissed you again. He couldn’t stand to be away from your lips for so long. And neither could you. All day, you’d dreamt of being right back here. In his arms. You had never felt such need before but it was a breathing, living thing inside of you. It was only satisfied when his hands were around yours.

His left hand was encased in metal and it held yours. A freak accident took his left arm from him but it only made him more rugged, daring, and handsome. His beard was full and soft. His hair was brushed back and styled on top of his head. He was your dark prince and a thrill went through you. 

His deep blue eyes softened as he looked at you. He leaned down for another toe-curling kiss. He moved your hands over his military coat and down the front of his pants. His hardening bulge twitched while you palmed him. He pressed your hand against him, using the strength of his metal hand to keep it there. 

“I must have you, my little doll. I can’t stand being away from you,” he said. He brought his other hand up to your face. A knuckle grazed your cheek as he gazed at you. 

“James,” you said and smiled at him. 

Someone cleared their throat next to you. James smiled and winked at you. He turned and stood in front of you, protecting you from the person who interrupted. You couldn’t see around the broad expanse of his back so you waited and breathed deeply to control your breathing.

“Your presence is required in the ballroom, your highness.” It was a masculine voice, a little old and reedy. 

“We’ll be right there, thank you,” James said. He bowed his head and the man walked away. You think. It was hard to tell since there was a carpet running the length of the hallway. You assumed that James’ valet was trained to walk quietly. Seen but never heard unless called for. 

This place was still so strange to you. There was an air in the palace. Like a great empty chamber and sometimes, it seemed like it was only you and James in the entire place. That was silly of course, James just talked to someone. But there were never any guards or people wandering the halls when you arrived. If James knew when you came every time, perhaps he cleared the space so that he could get you to himself. You sighed thinking of the notion. Of James being so possessive that he didn’t want anyone to even look at you. 

James turned back to you and smirked. You’d never admit to him, but sometimes he took your breath away by simply smiling. He was so criminally handsome, it wasn’t fair. You would have followed him off the side of a bridge or inside a cave. Only if he kept looking at you just like that. Like he wanted to eat you whole. 

He grabbed both of your hands and brought it to his lips. “I hate that I have to share you, even for a second,” he said. 

“If we hurry, we can sneak out earlier,” you said. You wanted him just as desperately. You weren’t sure who dressed you or how you got dressed. You didn’t know who picked out this outfit or the corset. But you knew that you weren’t wearing any panties and you grew wetter by the minute, just thinking of having him inside of you again. 

Almost as if he could smell you, he grinned and placed another kiss on your hands. He placed your hand in the crook of his arm and escorted you down the hallway. You held up the side of your dress so that you didn’t accidentally fall on your face. Everything had an enchanting quality to it. You knew you were dreaming, so you expected the edges to look fuzzy.

You thought that the ceiling was a tad too dark or the flickering flames dimmed as you walked past. But it was a trick of the light. Or perhaps your brain was filling in information as you moved through the space.

Whatever the reason, James was solid under your hand. His face was clear and his dark head was ringed by the passing light. Shadows played across his features. His eyes kept flicking towards you. He seemed so real. Perhaps he was. Perhaps you found yourself in another dimension or a palace that could only be accessed in dreams. 

You weren’t sure. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d spent the majority of your days wanting to get back here. You contemplated naps all day long. You didn’t care if you were sleeping too much. 

James escorted you to the main ballroom. Music rose and fell from the open doorway and there was light chatter reaching your ears. He stopped just before entering and looked at you. 

His lust and desire was raw and naked in his eyes. “One dance, my little doll,” he said. 

You nodded. You didn’t want to wait even that long. But the Prince had to make some kind of appearance. He couldn’t disappear the whole night without making the rounds and pleasing all of the old aristocrats. 

He escorted you into the ballroom with the announcement of his name and titles. You were introduced as well, your name carrying even over the music. James nodded at everyone and raised his hands. The people in the room clapped politely and smiled and waved at him. 

James helped you down the stairs. You made it down without making a fool of yourself. People rushed you to gush over your dress and hair and makeup. The people were all dressed so finely in their coattails and ball gowns. Some of the ballgowns were bigger than others and others were more subtle. 

Jewelry reflected in the light of the grand chandelier above your heads. The windows were open to show a starry night. More stars than you could have ever hoped to see in person, considering you were a city girl. You were lucky to see a spattering of stars where you were from. 

There was a long table filled with refreshments off to the side of the room. People milled in front of it, picking up finger foods like sandwiches and crackers. They held tiny cups in their hands filled with champagne. There was an ice sculpture at the end of the table in the shape of a swan. 

At the head of the room, the King and Queen sat on thrones. There were two kids playing in front of it, sitting on a blanket surrounded by toys. Older kids ran around the thrones, chasing each other. The King looked at his family and laughed at their playing. 

You looked at the King as some sort of glimpse into what the Prince would look like when he was older. Would you see James when he got older? If all you had were dreams with him, would he age as you did? 

James squeezed your hand and you looked at him. “Almost done,” he whispered into your ear. He kissed you on the head and let his lips linger there. He breathed in the dainty, floral perfume on you. 

He escorted you around the room, saying hi to foreign dignitaries and the mainstays at court. They all smiled and greeted you. As soon as you turned your head too fast, people’s faces seemed to melt away revealing dusty bones and skulls. But when you turned back, people were normal. 

Maybe it was the dinner you had. Perhaps you had gone to bed too fast on a full stomach. You had thought about skipping it again, but you didn’t want to wake up starving. You tended to eat everything in sight in the morning and that wasn’t healthy. 

James made it across the room and you joined him in bowing to his parents. “How wonderful to see you, my dear,” the King said. His voice was loud and commanding. A voice suited to calling orders across a battlefield. Not eating from fruit trays and drinking wine. 

“It’s wonderful to see you too,” you said and bowed your head. The King clapped and for a moment…well, his hands looked skeletal and decaying. The sleeves of his military coat were eaten through and had cobwebs hanging from it. You gasped but when you looked at his face, he was unchanged. You glanced back at his hands and they were still fleshy and pink and human. 

“A dance!” The King decreed. James kissed your hand and led you to the middle of the dancefloor. The orchestra paused briefly as they shuffled sheet music. Then, the haunting notes of a song began.

James moved in closer, his right hand wrapping possessively around your waist.  You wrapped your left hand around his shoulder and placed your right hand in his left one. The cool, heavy weight of it was like an anchor. He began to move and you let him lead you across the dancefloor. 

The song was full of longing, passion, and stolen glances. It was full of tear-filled goodbyes and soft touches. Of long handwritten letters. Of obsession and possession and eternal belonging.

James spun you around faster and faster. He caught the shadows in between the light. One moment he was fine, the next moment his face was half decayed and crumbling. He smiled. You saw his gorgeous face one minute and a skull the next. Which was real? Why did your brain conjure up such a horrible image?

Other patrons in the room were dancing as well. They were a blur as James moved you through the throng of people. The more you looked, the more you picked out dusty ballgowns and cobwebs hanging from hands clutching tiny cups. Hair hung off of pale skulls and lips were peeled back to reveal bare teeth. 

You clutched James’ hand and he pulled you closer. The smell of sweet rot fanned over you and you choked on the cloying scent. 

“James! James!” You screamed. The shadows grew closer and closer until James stopped spinning you. The room returned to normal. The light was still shining, there were members of the court watching on the sidelines. On the floor, people were still dancing and twirling around you. Sweeps of the ball gowns created a moving dance around you. You felt like you were in the middle of a whirlpool. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He pulled you close and you looked into his hypnotizing eyes. 

“I thought…something’s wrong,” you said. He nodded and pulled you off of the dancefloor. He grabbed you a drink and you took a sip, letting it calm you down. 

“I knew this was too much. Next time, we won’t have to dance.” 

You placed your hand on his forearm. “It’s not that…it’s like there’s a nightmare trying to push. Trying to get me to see horrible things,” you said. 

“I know of a way to fix that,” he said. His devilish smirk made you grin and bite your lip. You knew what he was suggesting and you wanted it. You nodded. He took your hand and tugged you out of the ballroom.

On the way out, he explained that you weren’t feeling well and he would see you to your room. Yes, you were fine. Please, it was only a precaution. Too much excitement and trying to keep up with everyone. That made them laugh. 

Truth was, you didn’t really have a room here. Your alarm would wake you and you had to return to the dull, gray world of your waking life. You had a good life, but it was nothing compared to James’ world. At least they didn’t have to pay rent here and live in a world that thrives on tearing people down. 

Excitement built up in your belly as you left the ballroom with James. You ran down the hallway, getting far away from the rest of the crowd. He took many twists and turns and you didn’t know where you were. But you couldn’t wait any longer. James tried the first room on the right and pushed you into the dark room. 

Moonlight spilled into the room from the open window and it was enough light to see that it was a library. There were bookshelves stretching as far as the ceiling was high. There were armchairs and sofas for people to sit and read. There were a few desks for people that required deep research and enough space to do so. 

James closed the door and crossed the short distance to you. He grabbed your face and pulled you close, kissing you. Your hands slid into his soft and fluffy hair. Your breaths mingled as you kissed all over each other. You kissed his lips, the corner of his mouth, sucked on his bottom lip. 

He walked forwards, pushing you backwards. Your legs hit something and James kissed your neck as he turned you around. He unzipped you and you brought your arm up and around his head. It strained your arm a bit, but you needed to touch him. 

He nibbled on your neck as he unwrapped you like a present. Your dress fell from your shoulders, over your wide hips and thick thighs, and pooled on the floor. He helped you step out of it and then he started on the corset. 

You couldn’t breathe from all the anticipation of his hands on your skin. For every lace he undid, he kissed your spine and you cried out. His lips were so soft and warm, a stark contrast from the hint of cold on your skin from his hand. 

“My little doll,” he whispered over your skin. Your flesh pebbled. His deep voice and the intimacy of the dark room drove you wild. Made this more wicked and forbidden than if you were in his bed. 

“My Prince,” you said. Oh, you needed him now. Forget the corset. You didn’t need to breathe while he was inside of you. You tried to turn around, but he stopped you. He was near the bottom of the corset, right up against the top of your ass. He released you and you sucked in air.

He massaged your hips, your ass, and wrapped his right arm around your stomach and pulled you against him. You felt the outline of his cock into the crook of your ass and you wiggled. He groaned in your ear. 

“Naughty little doll,” he whispered and kissed the shell of your ear. He gathered up your slip dress and bunched it around your hips. He dragged his right hand down your stomach and in between your legs.

You both groaned for different reasons. His hands were warm as he dragged them through your slick folds. “Already wet for me, my little doll? You know how to please me,” he said. 

Your pussy clenched and you wailed. “Shh, shh,” he said. He kissed the side of your neck. He used his fingers to circle your clit and you bent forward. He kept his body pressed to yours so he bent with you. 

He was the only thing keeping you upright as his fingers continued to please you. He fingered you until you were an incoherent mess. Your arousal dripped down your leg. He nibbled and suckled on your ear. 

Your head dropped back, onto his shoulders. It allowed him better access to kiss and bite your shoulder. Your orgasm built and built until you were screaming his name as you fell apart. He chuckled at you, at how easily he made you cum. 

He turned you around and kissed you, kissed your desperate huffing. You just came but you wanted him still. You wanted all of him. 

He was still completely dressed. His cap was still on his head. You pushed it off and he lifted an eyebrow. You smiled as you used the limited light to unbutton his military jacket. You were shaking so badly that you fumbled in some areas but he didn’t help. He made you work for it.

He distracted you with occasional kisses and nibbling on your lips. “James! I’m trying to concentrate!” You finally said. You were halfway done. The buttons seemed to multiply and you were growing frustrated.

He chuckled and leaned back. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said. You gave him a look. You knew he was full of shit, but you doubled your efforts. You finally got the damn thing off and you salivated over the black dress shirt he wore underneath. 

You attacked those buttons, far easier this time. Each button that you unhooked, it revealed more of his luscious skin. He helped you pull it off of him. You grinned as you reached for his pants. His cock was straining against his pants.

“Ah, my little doll. Enough exploring,” he said. He pushed you onto the love seat. You pouted until he knelt slowly to his knees. 

He was the prince of his kingdom and he was bowing in front of you. Your slip had fallen down as you were undressing him. He raised it now until you were bare and open to him. He pried your legs open more and he groaned as the moonlight highlighted your wet, glistening pussy. 

He kissed your calves and then your thighs. His thick beard tickled as he alternated in between your legs. “James, please,” you begged. You couldn’t stand any teasing right now. It had been far too long. You didn’t know how time worked between your worlds. You were here yesterday but was it yesterday for him? 

He chuckled, distracting you from your train of thought. “So impatient,” he said. He took his time reaching your pussy. He blew his breath across your clit and you bucked off of the loveseat. He used his left hand to push you back down. 

He rubbed his nose against your clit and breathed deeply. He moaned and his tongue darted out to taste you. There was no more talking. He licked up everything you had, sucking on your clit. 

Your fingers pulled at his hair and he groaned the tighter you pulled. He brought his right hand up to finger you while he suckled on your clit. His tongue swirled in tiny, close circles until your lungs burned from panting so hard. His left hand was still on your tummy, pushing you down. Forcing you to take what he was giving you. 

You were sobbing and moaning. His fingers pumped into you. The only sounds in the room were your combined moans and the wet suction of his fingers inside of you. The sound alone was enough to drive your pleasure higher until you were near the peak. 

James wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. The pressure made you arch your back until you were screaming and moaning and climaxing all over his face. He continued to finger fuck you through it. Your hands ripped at his hair but it didn’t faze him. 

Your hands relaxed first. You didn’t want to hurt him. He placed sloppy wet kisses on your thighs. He crawled up your body until he kissed you. His beard was wet from your slick and you moaned around your own taste on his lips. 

His fingers worked on his belt and pants until he drew them down far enough to free himself. He kissed his way along your jaw and neck and dragged his thick cock through your drenched folds. He rubbed himself, getting himself wet with your slick. Then he entered you and you both moaned.

“Fuck. My little doll. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this cunt,” he whispered against your neck. He slammed into you, over and over. The time for teasing was over. He filled you completely, every solid inch stretching you out. 

He glided in and out of you so quickly and smoothly. His moans kept getting louder and louder. His left hand crushed your hip as he slammed you onto him again and again. The wet slap of your thighs filled the room. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head. He was home, in between your legs. He filled that deep pit inside of you. The pit that only he could reach. Only he could satisfy. 

“Look at you taking all of me, little doll,” he said. He leaned back far enough to look at your face. 

He was half in shadow but this time, there was no decaying flesh. No scary skull with a permanent grin. He was just James. Just your dark prince. He was made for moonlight. His skin glowed and the shadows only highlighted the planes of his face, even through his thick beard and deep blue eyes. 

He pumped into you, getting deeper with each stroke. He pushed down on your stomach, making sure you felt him. Felt him owning you. Pleasing you. 

“You take me so well, my little doll. Let me hear you scream for me,” he said. 

You cried for him, moaning and shaking around his cock. “James…” you whispered. 

He nodded his head. He caressed your cheek with his free hand and ran his thumb down your lips. 

“I know, little doll. It’s okay. Come for me,” he quietly demanded. 

You nodded and stared into his eyes. He smiled at you, patiently, even though his strokes were anything but patient. They were bruising and punishing. He slammed into you hard and you held onto the edges of the couch as you came again. Your shuddering breaths made him finally cum.

He slammed into you one more time before stilling and emptying inside of you. You felt his hot cum fill you up and leak out of you around his cock. He sighed as he twitched. He pulled out and dropped down into a squat to watch his cum leak out of you. 

You felt its slow glide down your cunt and over your asscheeks. He hummed in satisfaction before standing over you and staring down at you. 

“I wish I could keep you, little doll,” he said. 

You shook as the waves of pleasure washed over you. “I wish I could stay, my Prince,” you said. He climbed onto the loveseat with you and pulled you into his arms.

The moonlight made a soft halo around his head. “If I could find a way, would you stay? Would you stay here with me? I cannot sleep without you. My days are spent looking for you everywhere,” he said. He caressed your thick hair, playing with the edge of your temple. 

“I would if I could,” you said. And you meant it. You wanted to stay here with him. You wanted his hands around you, forever. 

James nodded. “I will find a way, my little doll. Stay until it’s time,” he said. He sounded so sad. He sighed quietly but you still heard him. You placed your head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat.

But there was none.

There's more Bucky to love! The Secret Bucky Files

[frogxxam]

Ninja Sex OC!!!

[ID: A digital half body drawing of a white boy. He is turned in a three-quarter view, looking at the viewer while smiling slightly and one hand at his hip while holding a black cane with the other. His eyes are brown with green undertones, his hair is medium length and light brown with a pink streak framing his face. He has two nostril piercings and two earrings, all in silver. His clothes are light and baggy, a white shirt tucked in light blue high waisted jeans and on top a cropped bomber jacket with pale dark blue accents and light blue sleeves. He has a silver ring and yellow nails. On the top left, in pale pink the name Billy is written, by his left shoulder there are two hearts in the same pale pink. /END ID]

THE BLORBO FROM MY BRAIN FOR YOU ALL. FINALLY!!!!! ill add a rb with some info on him :3

[sailorgoon13]

Regulus Black

Basics:

Full Name: Regulus Arcturus Black

Nickname: Reg, Reggie

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 28 June, 1961

Heritage: English

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Walnut, Phoenix feather, 11", Rigid

Appearance:

Hair Color: Black hair, natural curl

Eye Color: Grey eyes

Skin Tone: Light

Height: 5'9"

Body Type: Slender, lean.

Style: Tailored robes of rich, deep colors—charcoal black, midnight blue, and emerald green. Beneath his robes, he favored crisp, white shirts paired with fitted trousers. His hair, dark and tousled, fell effortlessly across his forehead. Around his neck, he wore a simple pendant

Features: His hair dark and possibly slightly unkempt. His stormy grey eyes. Stoic exterior

Personality:

Traits: Determination, Integrity, Compassion, Selflessness

Likes: Music, Art, Nature walks

Dislikes: Arrogance, Close mindedness, Prejudice, Injustice

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading

Fears: Voldemort, What Voldemort planned on doing

Family and Friends:

Father: Orion Black

Staunch believers in the supremacy of pure-blood wizards and witches

Likely authoritarian parents who expected strict obedience and adherence to family traditions from their sons. Their rigid upbringing likely contributed to the conflicts and tensions within the Black family.

Mother: Walburga Black

Was infamous for her enchantment of the Black family tapestry, which displayed the family's tree.

She blasted off the names of any family members who were disowned or deemed unworthy, including Sirius when he left home.

Friends: Regulus upbringing within the pure-blood supremacist Black family, suggests that he may not have had many genuine friendships, especially outside of those who shared his family's beliefs. His relationship with his brother Sirius suggests that he may have harbored feelings of loyalty and affection towards him, despite their differences. Though strained by their ideological divide, their familial bond could have provided a foundation for understanding and mutual support.

Magic:

Special Abilities: Was taught Dark Magic at a young age

Boggart: Voldemort

Patronus: He could not produce one

Polyjuice: Would appear to be black with silver specks. Smells like old parchment and ink, mixed with earthy tones. The taste would be subtle and similar to dark chocolate with a hint of bitterness.

Amortentia: Subtle undertone of smoky incense or burning parchment, a faint scent of lilies and fresh air after a storm

Backstory:

From a young age, Regulus Black was groomed to uphold the traditions and beliefs of his prestigious pure-blood family. His parents, Orion and Walburga, had high expectations for both him and his older brother Sirius, expecting them to excel in their studies at Hogwarts and uphold the family's legacy of loyalty to the Dark Lord Voldemort.

As children, Regulus and Sirius were inseparable, bound by their shared experiences and the weight of their family's expectations. They dreamed of making their mark on the wizarding world together, fueled by their ambition and thirst for recognition.

But as they grew older, Sirius began to question their family's beliefs and rebel against their parents' authority. His defiance strained their relationship, leaving Regulus torn between his loyalty to his family and his affection for his brother.

Desperate to prove himself to his parents and earn their approval, Regulus stepped up to fill the role that Sirius had abandoned. He embraced the teachings of Voldemort and joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, believing that he was serving a noble cause and fulfilling his family's expectations.

However, as Regulus became more deeply involved in Voldemort's dark agenda, he began to witness the true extent of the Dark Lord's cruelty and ruthlessness. Horrified by the atrocities committed in his name, Regulus started to question his allegiance and the values instilled in him by his family.

It was during this tumultuous time that Regulus learned of Voldemort's Horcruxes—objects containing fragments of his soul that ensured his immortality. Fueled by a sense of duty and redemption, Regulus resolved to atone for his past mistakes by destroying one of the Horcruxes—the locket hidden in the cave.

In a daring and selfless act, Regulus defied Voldemort and ventured into the treacherous cave, facing countless dangers to reach the locket. Though he ultimately succeeded in retrieving it, he paid the ultimate price for his bravery, sacrificing his life to ensure that Voldemort's reign of terror would be brought to an end.

Regulus Black may have started his journey as a pawn of his family's ambitions and Voldemort's manipulation, but in the end, he found redemption in an act of courage and self-sacrifice, leaving behind a legacy of bravery and defiance that would inspire others to stand up against darkness and tyranny.

Academics:

Best Subject: DADA

Favorite Subject: Potions

Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Worst Subject: Muggle Studies

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: McGonagall

Student Life:

Regulus was quite active and had a love for being on the Quidditch team

Was in a few extracurricular activities such as Dueling Club and also Slugclub

He was one of Horace Slughorn's favorite students and excelled at potions

As Sirius began to rebel against their family's beliefs and traditions, tensions between the two brothers would have escalated

Template: @hazyange1s

[lotsofsq]

HEIGHT CHART!!! i love charts!!

this includes my headcanons for height, age, and appearance at the time of book 3 TPD. plus’s an eyeball close up :)

[IDs copied on alt text: four images, three are colored close ups of; the four kids, mr benedict and his older daughters, and mccracken mr curtain and sq. the fourth is a long image with sketches of all of them in a row.

first a colored drawing of the four kids, standing against lines of one foot intervals.

kate is 5’4 and 15, she is standing with her hands on her hips, coping constance who is doing the same, and is wearing a white and red striped shirt, jeans, and red sneakers. her red bucket is attached at the hip. she has long blonde hair in a high ponytail, and light skin. the closeup on her eye shows it is mirthful and a murky blue color. her eyebrows are thick but blonde.

constance is 3’6 and 5, she is also standing hands on hips but with a grumpy expression. she is wearing a yellow and red dress over blue leggings and has on red rain boots, she has a red hair clip and her globe necklace. her hair is very light and whispy and her skin is pale but rosy, the eye closeup shows her eyes are small and very light blue.

sticky is 5’1 and 14, he is standing straight and is wearing a blue sweater with a white color and white pants. his head is bald and he has circular glasses and a nervous expression, his skin is a medium brown. the close up on his eye shows that they are round and open.

reynie his 5’0 and 14, he is standing straight and is wearing a green sweater vest over a white short sleeve collared shirt, his pants are brown slacks. his hair is dark brown and his skin is tan and very freckled. the closeup of his eyes shows it is more asian looking with a monolid, his eyebrows becoming thicker at the ends.

the second drawing is of mr benedict and his eldest daughters standing against lines of one foot intervals.

Mr Benedict is 5’6 and 52, he is wearing a green plaid suit with dark lines over a lighter base, under he has on a green vest, a white collar shirt and a black tie. he has an amused expression and white wavy hair, he has on glasses and has stubble. he has light skin but it’s slightly darker than kate’s. his eye closeup shows green eyes with smile lines and deep set eyes, plus white eyebrows.

rhonda is 5’1 and 28, she is wearing a blue cardigan over a pink shirt and purple jeans. her socks are yellow in maryjane shoes. she has a cheeky expression and her hair is in long black braids, her skin is very dark brown. in her eye closeup she has thick eyebrows and prominent lower lashes.

Number Two is 6’1 and 32, she is wearing a 1920’s esc outfit, all in pencil yellow. her outfit is very boxy and the pleats on her skirt resemble the edges of a pencil. she is wearing yellow boot covers and silver necklaces, reminiscent of the metal part of the eraser. her blouse is framed like the tip of a pencil from the deep v of her blazer and the white color with a hint of black at the point. she has rusty red hair styled in finger waves and pronounced eyebags. her skin is light but with yellow undertones. her eye close up shows simply stylized eyes and thin eyebrows.

the third drawing has McCracken Mr curtain and SQ against lines of one foot intervals.

McCracken is 7’0 and 35, he is wearing an all black suit and and two watches. he is drawn with the symmetry tool which adds creepiness and has brown pushed back hair, pale blue eyes and light skin. he has no eye closeup.

Mr Curtain is 5’6 and 52, he is wearing a green plaid suit with light lines over a darker base, under he has on a green vest, a white collar shirt and a black tie. he has a grumpy expression and white slicked back hair, he is clean shaven. he has light skin but it’s slightly darker than kate’s. his eye closeup shows green eyes with furrowed eyebrows and deep set eyes, plus he is squinting.

SQ is 6’5 and 27, he is wearing a tan and orange t shirt, blue jeans and big boots. he is standing with his hands in front of himself and a pleasant expression. his hair is curly and dark brown and his skin is pale and freckled and his cheeks are rosy, he has arm hair visible, since he has short sleeves. his eye closeup shows thick eyebrows and downturned eyes with a heavy lid, they look half closed.

the long drawing has the same lines, but no coloring in. all characters are against the foot interval lines and have colored line art. both twins and reynie are in green, sticky and sq are in blue, kate and number two are in yellow, constance is in red, rhonda is in pink and mccracken is in black.]