#ily sharp objects

[mickyschumacher]

[APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATES! PT.2]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they say you should learn something new every day. in oscar's case, it's a double-edged sword. today, he learns he is also really thankful for not reading the fine prints. or in which oscar's secret santa gift hits the both of you for the second time. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex (protect yourselves!) shower sex, blowjob, asking to go raw, p in v, teasing, oral sex, mutual orgasms, cumming outside, still an (over)consumption of aphrodisiacs

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: as usual, proofread-ish. for the people who wanted a part 2 and for the person who said they wouldn't be disappointed bc i was nervous about making one (🥹 ily, you're a real one)... hope you like it! ♡︎

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

"I think we're going to have to thank Daniel," you joked, finally regaining your words.

"Later," Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. "Like three hours later."

You furrowed your brows, looking up at Oscar, only for him to be looking down. Following his gaze, your eyes honed in on the object capturing both of your attention.

"Oh..." you pursed your lips.

God, were these chocolates living up to their name.

Oscar tucked your hair behind your ears, fingers dancing across your skin. "What did you dream about?"

You blinked blankly before mending your brows as the sudden question. "I–what? What do you mean?" You asked, peering up at him with confusion.

"Your dream earlier on. I didn't get to ask. What was it about?"

All of a sudden your throat felt like a desert; so so dry. There was something almost unsettling about the cheeky glint in those brown eyes watching you. You let out a small sigh, suppressing your eye roll. "Well, first, we were in the shower–"

"In the shower?" Oscar repeated with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

Your hand stretched out to hit him lightly. "Yes, you idiot. The shower," you sighed yet again before continuing, "well, it was initially sweet. We were doing the usual, shampoo, soap, water fights, and what not. And then you, acting like some sort of horny monster, decided it would be fun to eat me out against the wall."

"And then?" Oscar queried quietly, hand gently gliding down the curve of your body.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep on track. "Um, then I returned the favour," you shrugged timidly, feeling goosebumps litter your skin, trailing after his touch.

Oscar grinned. "Returned the favour?" He repeated, losing himself to his own thoughts as he spoke. "You sucked my cock? How?"

You almost choked on your spit. "W-What? What do you mean 'how?'"

"How did you do it? Did you start from the tip like you usually do? Or did you start from the bottom, grazing your teeth all the way up?"

You sucked in a sharp breath. "I... I started from the tip. I know how you like it. Special attention to the slit and to the bottom. All down my throat. Till you could see the small little bulge in my throat. And then I swallowed every single drop."

Oscar swallowed his saliva. You met those puppy eyes, yet again surprised at the desperation swirling around, drowning him.

He watched you tilt your head almost innocently. "Why?" Swollen lips jutted out, face still flushed and riddled with sweat from the previous round. "Want it to come true?"

A groan fell from Oscar's lips, eyes shutting for a second. "God, yes."

Wordlessly, you observed him quickly remove himself from your grasp, moving his hands under your body, lifting you up into the air. You let out a squeal, waves of cold air hitting your warm body. "Osc!"

"I'm trying to hurry!" You heard him yell as you watched the carpet of your bedroom suddenly turn into the tiles of your bathroom. You felt Oscar place you gently down onto the shower floor, pulling the handle.

You let out a yelp at the intrusion of cold water across your skin. "Oscar, that's fucking freezing!" Ready to take a leap out of the bathroom.

You peeked an eye open at the boy who was simply smiling at you as the water pelted down on your bodies. "I guess I'll just have to warm you up in the first place."

Before you knew it, Oscar's lips were back on yours as though they had never disappeared. Your hands fell to his neck, while his wet hands encircled your waist, bringing you as close as he could. He kissed you with an indescribable sense of urgency, nipping away at your lips.

You gasped at the sheer force of the kiss, allowing him to take advantage of the open access, darting his tongue into your mouth. Your muffled moans filled his ears and long gone were the worries of the cold. Only warmth burned through the both of you.

The sloppy meeting of your lips, the occasional clang of your teeth, or the pure suction of need set you alight. Oscar groaned, a shiver running through his spine at the feel of your hand roaming his hair.

To be honest, it was difficult to see with the now slightly warm water coming down. But even then, Oscar could see it clear as day. The way your eyes sparkled looking up at him and the way your lips glided down his bare neck, trailing his chest before resting at his v-line, knees pressed on the floor... fuck, he was dreaming.

Out of your peripheral, you could see Oscar's muscles tense as you gathered the saliva in your mouth, spitting the lube down onto his cock. The low exhale from his lips made you smile momentarily.

"I'm gonna make you feel so so good, okay?"

Before he could even respond, your hot breath washed over his cock, making him twitch. Oscar's head fell back on the shower wall, feeling your hot tongue lick the tip of his dick, paying special attention to his slit. "Oh shit," he moaned, entirely lost.

His arms travelled to your wet hair, wrapping the strands tightly around the surface of his hands, guiding your head with the little control he could muster. Oscar's teeth sunk into his lip upon the twirl of your tongue and the light graze of your own teeth against his tip. "F-Fuck," he croaked, "you're so good, baby."

You hummed in response, savouring the salty taste of his precum before opening your throat a little more to take his cock fully. You feel him poorly guide his cock into the tighter tunnel, the action bombarded with a string of moans from his mouth.

Your thighs clenched at the sounds, all your arousal mixed with the falling warm droplets. You could tell he was close by the way his hips began to move as though he was in a chase. You could only help further by sucking him even harder.

Oscar blinked away the water, eyes falling down to your throat, knees almost buckling at the sight of the same little bulge in your throat. Furthermore, the sinking of your nails in his thighs.... fuck... it was another sort of cruelty waiting to be released. Closing his eyes, he cursed with a senseless yet ravenous moan, feeling the coil in his stomach began to unravel.

Suddenly Oscar's eyes shot open. His hips stopped moving. You peered up with raised brows, wondering why on earth he was edging himself as he pulled you up to meet you face-to-face.

"That is not how the dream went," you lightly chided, hitting his chest lightly.

Oscar braved a small smile, chest heaving with a crazed adrenaline as he caught your arm. His free hand brushed your wet face. "I love your dream, I really do," he said with an emphasised look down below. "But I need to be in you again."

You crumbled at the last word. The crack of his voice was laced with whatever plant or fruit you had both over consumed. He was so so needy. The pleading eyes, his aching cock begging for a release, his hands eagerly travelling across your body.

"What about the condom?" Your whisper was just heard over the water.

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden. "I... can we go raw?"

You pursed your lips. Raw... you had thought of the idea more times than you'd like to admit. Obviously, a baby with Oscar wasn't something you were considering at the moment. You had discussed this, hence the condoms. And sure there was birth control, but the list of side effects was never-ending. Plus, you were never good with remembering pills anyways.

You weren't quite sure whether it was the aphrodisiacs or you, probably a mix of both. But you couldn't quite seem to get the idea of really feeling his cock for the first time out of your head.

This whole thing was already reckless and crazy as it was. What was a little more?

"Obviously, if you don't want to–" Oscar started, fumbling over his words urgently.

"Yes."

"–it's up to you because I respect your choice–"

"Osc, yes."

"Hmm?" Oscar blinked, finally registering what you were saying. His brown eyes widened before a smile washed onto his face. "Yeah? I mean I didn't really imagine it happening in the shower but... I was thinking something a bit more romantic."

You chuckled softly. "Well, I never thought we'd be drugged up on chocolates from your friend and yet, here we are..."

Oscar grinned, swiftly bringing his lips to yours. Your hands flung to his face, bringing him closer to you as his hands travelled down the sides of your body, every curve and crevice committed to memory.

His grin deepened further at the sound of your breath hitching. His fingers inched closer to your hips, aligning your body to him. He let out a slow exhale, cock painfully waiting to feel you.

Briefly, Oscar's eyes flickered back to your face. Thumb nudging you to look at him. "If anything feels wrong and I mean anything–"

"I'll tell you. Promise," you smiled softly, giving him a long kiss.

Oscar smiled in return, holding your gaze with the intention to capture this moment entirely as he slowly rubbed the tip of his cock against your engorged pussy. He could hear your soft whimpers through the droplets of water. A rippling tremble rumbled through his body while he pushed his cock into you, letting your wet arousal soak him entirely.

Oscar had never been so happy to capture your reaction. The inevitable parting of your lips, the silent gasp, the crease between your brows, the tightening of your walls against his cock... fuck, it drove him crazy.

"You okay, baby?" He asked with a shallow breath. The nod of your head green-lit him to fully bury his cock into your pussy, allowing you to feel every full inch of him, raw.

A small burn travelled through you. Oscar was stretching you out like never before. You felt so full. Fuck.

"Osc, please move.'

The plead from your swollen lips was so desperate. Like you were about to fall apart.

"Oh my God," Oscar groaned against your wet skin, fingers tightening around your hips as your words replayed in his head. His hips began to snap into you, rutting his aching cock into your warm walls. Fuck, you were gripping his cock so tight... he could've sworn he'd cry if he wasn't so fixated on the way you felt.

His hooded brown eyes couldn't help but watch his cock come in and out of your throbbing pussy, shit, you were creaming all around him. He could feel the coldness of the shower wall touch his back as he brought you even closer, drilling his cock further into you. His lips moved towards your nipple, tongue twirling around in circles as your pants filled the moist air.

"Oh fuck!" you cried, hands reaching out to grab his shoulders–anything.

You could've sworn the sounds of your skin slapping against his was echoing throughout your house. Even over the water, it rebounded of the walls, melding in with your lewd moans and the obscene squelch of your pussy craving more and more of Oscar's cock. You had never felt anything quite it.

You could feel Oscar's hand move from your hips, inching down your v-line to meet your clit. A shudder ripped through your body as he thumbed the sensitive nerves in slow circles.

"Come on, baby," Oscar encouraged, lips sloppily meeting yours. His moans were getting beyond desperate, hips beginning to pick up their pace. "Show me how good you feel, hmm? Cum for me."

Your mouth fell open as a crash of white began to take over your eyes. The water began to blur with the waves of your orgasm hitting you one after another. Your body was shaking in his hands, your own hips bucking to ride out the high for as long as you could.

Your pussy was so fucking tight, gripping him like a vice. Oscar let out a throat groan as he fought to open his eyes. He rushed to take his cock out of your folds, as much as it pained him. "Fuck, f-fuck, open your mouth, baby," he urged, own hand sliding up and down his cock.

Oscar moaned at the sight of you on your knees, pretty lips and tongue all open for him. His hips stuttered against his hand as ropes of his hot cum spilled onto your tongue. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes, fuck, take it, baby. Take my cum!"

A sigh flew out of his mouth as he slowed down and the waves of his climax came to an end. Oscar softly groaned at the sight of you, bending down to kiss you. The salty taste of his cum mixed with your arousal... fuck, he loved it.

Gently, he brought you up to meet his eyes once again. Your chests both heaved in an attempt to regain your breath.

You were thankful Oscar was holding you against him: you're legs felt like jelly.

"Can you walk tomorrow?" Oscar teased, pushing your wet hair behind your ears.

You rolled your eyes, hitting his chest lightly. "You're an asshole."

Oscar chuckled softly, pressing a small kiss to the side of your head. He sighed once again, hands rubbing your back soothingly as the silence was filled with the running water. "I love you," he whispered against your skin, "Thank you for trusting me with this."

You smiled, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "I loved every second of it, baby. And for the record, it was very romantic."

"And hot?" Oscar raised a brow, a small grin playing on his face.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes again. "Are you going to thank Daniel?"

Oscar pursed his lips at your words. "Absolutely not."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[getmeoutofhell]

HEYY!! i have a req! could you do where like reader dresses up as art for halloween? but like not during the day but when he gets home? like reader is dressed in black and white lingerie? like the top is a white lacy corset and the underwear is black and lacy too?? and when he comes home he just sees the reader and shit goes DOWN! if not its totally okay! make it as long as you want make it as short it doesn’t matter! whatever your heart desires! im sorry if this is also to much to ask for! but ily and take your time or dont do it! whatever youd prefer! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Art the Clown x F! reader smut

summary: reader decides to dress up as art for a surprise, but he had other plans.

warnings: smut!, cussing.

it was 9pm, art should be home soon. you look at yourself in the mirror one last time before walking out yalls shared bedroom. you decided today you wanted to dress like him as a surprise. if we’re being technical, your outfit wasn’t exactly like his. it was a lingerie version. before he got home you had also cleaned up the house (basically cleaning up after him as usual). you and art have been together for some time now, meaning yalls anniversary is coming up soon, so you thought now would be the perfect time.

you hear the door downstairs creak open, indicating art’s finally home. you miss him every second he’s away from you. you bought him a phone, to text him while he’s away, and not even a week later he broke it. you told him not to put his phone in the bad of sharp objects, but of course he has to be stubborn and do everything his way all the time. you watch art as he shuts the door and places his bag on the side before stripping out of his clown shoes. he must be really tired to take off his shoes right as he enters the house, it’s rare for him to do that. he then grabs his air horn and starts to abuse it, it’s his way of letting you know he’s home. “hi baby! i have a surprise for you but you have to close your eyesss.” he immediately complies and covers his eyes with hands as you walk down the stairs. you tell him no peaking before guiding him to the living room couch, having him take a seat on the sofa. you can see him smiling due to how high his cheeks are raised, making you smile at him. he’s so cute when he’s not out killing, but his evil side also attracts you in a way.

“okay are you ready?” you ask, placing your hands over arts. he nods like a small school boy, eager to see what his surprise is. you start to count down from 3. “3…2…1…open!” he opens his eyes before looking you up and down with the biggest grin known to man. he starts to clap his hands and toot his horn and the sight of you. “i’m you, kinda.” he loves it!! that’s good, maybe it’ll make him not so sleepy. when all of sudden, he stops clapping and his face goes blank. you step back slowly, confused on his sudden change of emotions. you know art is a ticking time bomb, one minute he’s happy the next he’s pissed off and you don’t know why. as you were about to ask him what’s wrong, he gets up from the couch standing directly in front of your face. you feel his hot breath against your nose as he looks down at you. in moments like these, you feel your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. what if he decides to just bash your fucking brains in, not caring about you or anything anymore. not that he cares about anything right now anyway, but still. he places his left hand on your cheek. your eyes never left his face. you take notice in his facial features, noticing his wrinkles around his eyes and his blonde eyelashes, his little black hat that he always wears on his head. he was handsome when he was serious, but also he was deadly.

he out of nowhere suddenly grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, making you let out a scream. “art!! what the fuck!” you’re then taken upstairs to y’all’s shared room, as he throws you on the bed. he takes this chance to guide his hands down to your legs, before spreading them open for him. art has this problem where he randomly gets horny, but i guess you did wear the costume on purpose or whatever…but that’s not important right now. you take a look at arts pants, seeing a boner forming. i guess dressing up as him did work. you can’t help but crack a smirk at that. you’ve been waiting all damn day for this moment, so why not enjoy every bit of it. art then starts kissing you up your neck, you feel him leaving hickeys or at least trying too anyway. you slightly moan feeling his tongue slide over your delicate skin. art takes advantage of this, sliding his hand inside of your panties, immediately attaching his ring and minder finger to your swollen clit. “oh!”

you then put your hands on his back, grabbing the zipper to his costume and unzipping it. “baby, let me take this off of you.” he ignores your request by pressing his fingers against your clit harder. a couple minutes later and you’re on the edge of your first orgasm of the day. “baby, i’m gonna cum please don’t stop.” he looks at you and cracks that certain smile that lets you know he might stop at any given moment. you beg him not to, wanting to let your orgasm ride out. he finally rolls his eyes and let’s you cum all over his fingers. it feels so good, you can’t describe how much pleasure he makes you have. someone so cruel and sick like him has your toes curling and back arching. it’s a blessing and a curse. he slowly removes his hand from your underwear, bringing his fingers to his mouth. he shoves them in, tasting your wetness on his tongue. he acts like you’re some sort of drug, he’s addicted to your pussy, it’s his favorite dessert after a long hard day.

his head somehow was now deep between your legs, licking up your pussy lips. the way his tongue dances on your clit makes you think he needs it. he acts like he does. your head was thrown back into the bed, and it felt so fucking good you couldn’t even moan properly. black and white face paint spread all over your inner thighs, but you didn’t care. all you cared about was cumming all over his face. “fuck!” you started grinding over his wet mouth, feeling your second orgasm approaching by the second. it was getting to much to the point where your legs started to shake like no other. what type of spell does he have on you? how does he know how to make you cum so fucking fast? you know you have no answers to those questions. you moan his name like a chant, as you finally let yourself go for the second time. your body couldn’t take it, you were so sensitive and he knew that.

as you’re trying to calm down from your orgasm, art didn’t even give you the time to before he lined his cock up with your entrance. “baby, i can’t take all of this at once.” once again, he ignored you and slide right in. your eyes had a mind of their own as they rolled in the back of your skull. his dick was so good, he’s fucks you like his life depends on it. he knew exactly where your g spot was and always abused that spot each chance he gets. you loved when he marked you as his, the way his cum filled you to the brim and you watched it drip out of you. “yes baby, give it to me! harder!” you moan his name again as skin on skin could be heard from everywhere, his balls slapping your ass. not to long later you feel art slow down his pace, telling you he’s about to cum. you always want him to cum inside so you bring him closer to you than he was already. arts legs started shaking against you. you’re cumming. it’s uncontrollable at this point, feeling your body go limp under him.

you wonder, does he actually know how much you mean to him. does he feel the same way?

hope this was to your liking!! let me know if you enjoyed :)

[sleepynoons]

Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown. 

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.  

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face. 

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage. 

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of. 

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred. 

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep. 

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

[charlesxavierthirster3000]

Burdened — L. Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based on this request!!!!

CW/Tags: not proofread bc I literally finished this at 5am 😭, Logan is an ASS, a lot lot of feelings, lowk heavy angst I THINK, no use of Y/N, don't like don't read.

A/N: @rambosgirl Ily girlie I really enjoyed writing this :33 I AM SO INSANELY SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !!!!!!! Also while writing the ending of this my Spotify Smart Shuffle fucking played First Love/Late Spring by Mitski and I swear it knows how fitting it is bro wtaf ok LAST statement but like this is my first 1K+ word fic are you guys proud of me :33 I'm starting this at like 3am so don't bully me if the ending doesnt' make sense ok byeeeeeeeee

WC: 1.6K (get comfy guys) / Navigation

It was unnecessarily irritating. And frankly really, really fucked up.

Anytime you turned your back from a seemingly butterfly-inducing interaction with Logan, you found him all over Jean as if he wasn’t just chatting you up four minutes ago.

Jean Grey was—from what you’ve surveyed over your time at the mansion—not really phased, despite her somewhat established relationship with Scott. She was intelligent and good-natured, flashing you sickeningly sweet smiles in the corridors and occasionally complimenting your outfits as if hers weren’t twice as stunning.

But every time you spotted Logan gazing down at her with the look you thought he’d reserved for your eyes only, the image of perfection the redheaded telepath had materialised in front of you dissipated like a glass of ice left to liquefy under the scorching sun.

Because she never pushed him away, and she was so clearly inevitably attracted, whether she displayed it or not. It was virtually written all across her sharp features, and you knew the same was scripted all over your own when speaking to Logan.

That dip your heart made every time you saw the two’s chemistry from afar; it wasn't just blatant jealousy. 

It was deeper.

It was nastier.

It clung to your insides like a weight you couldn't possibly shake off. The constant sense that you were just a swift distraction, a momentary diversion from the real object of his desire. 

It ate you up from the inside out and exhausted you to no end.

When Storm or Rogue cautiously approached you and tried to console you, you shrugged it off as if it was some uncomplicated highschool sweetheart drama. They knew damn well it wasn’t. Your conflicting feelings for Logan were gradually making you lose yourself— your well-built dignity. You were slowly but surely morphing into someone you didn’t even recognise. Someone who accepted being second best without any contemplation.

All for a man who was immortal. All for someone who presumably considered you a fleeting paragraph in his primitive life while he was an entire novel in yours.

You wanted— needed to locate yourself in the vast body of water which was your feelings. You needed your sense of self-worth to reappear by a miracle, nevertheless, you knew it would take immense time and exertion to track it back down.

But in a wretched attempt to do so, you settled on a fairly elaborate plan and started disregarding each one of Logan’s advances. Suddenly, you conveniently had somewhere else to be every time he approached, you pulled back and overlooked his easy smiles along with the playful banter you practically used to feed off of.

At first, it felt as if you were reclaiming some of your power, spotting his perplexed looks in your peripheral vision as you wandered off to God knows where. But of course, everything you did came back to bite you in the ass. If anything, it only made the truth clearer. He barely even noticed, and if he did, he didn’t give a single shit.

And Jean? She remained unbothered, untouchable— flawless, even. You were the mastermind of this whole game, yet you were the only one losing.

After a particularly humiliating stretch of witnessing Logan and Jean’s shared giggles and stolen looks from across the table, you ultimately found your resolve. Alcohol really was liquid courage, because after a few drinks and several stabs of food, you closed in on them lounging on the couch post-meal. 

Logan’s bare arm was extended across the back of the grimy cushions behind Jean like some kind of cheesy rom-com, cowlicks a prominent silhouette against the weak flickering of the television. But no matter how much you resented them— her, you would never even come by the opportunity to be in the redhead’s position.

“Howlett,” you enunciated, voice sharp enough to slice through the ambient noise like a shard of glass.

Howlett. No other soul could call him that without repercussions. Aside from you. That was why you felt so unique, so distinct from the others, that was the crumb of specialty you were desperately clinging on to.

He shifts to glance over his shoulder, a spark of recognition igniting within him at the sound of your voice—not missing the shred of urgency concealed beneath it. “Hm? What's up?”

You hesitate with your next words, intently but subtly taking in his scruffy features in the dimmed lighting for what felt like it could be the final time. Because after this, you knew for a fact neither one of you could view each other in the same way. You were the one who let him under your skin, you were the one who had to tear him out, and it unfortunately was an agonisingly slow process.

“We need to talk.”

Four words. Yet, it still gave you the sensation of several weights placed upon your back; the unavoidable impending argument, manipulation spat right into your face, and the most dreaded of all, how circumstances would be after tonight.

His expression stiffened mildly as he reluctantly got up from the couch, aged leather groaning beneath his weight. The sensation of Jean abruptly invading the back of your mind was extremely unsettling and even though she appeared unphased, she, without a question, detected your abnormal uneasiness and was gingerly flicking through your thoughts.

Which was apprehensive, to say the least.

Logan fell into step with you as you departed from one of the many doddering living rooms, proceeding to a more secluded space nearing the obnoxious stairs in front of the grand entryway, mansion almost bizarrely silent with all the kids asleep. Jean wasn’t in your head anymore, but she undoubtedly already knew your objectives to the script.

You halted and so did Logan, weight finding its position set upon the auburn wood of the stairs. 

He eyed you with undivided attention. Your stomach threatened to do a fucking flip despite the conditions, the look nearly making you scrap all of this and go right back to being his side piece regardless of the anguish it put your mind through. But you dug your heels in, the clearing of your throat echoing sharply off the vacant walls.

You square your shoulders and tilt your chin up boldly, aiming to stand your ground. “What the hell am I to you? Because from what I see and a whole lot of other people do, I’m just an afterthought. Filler for the gaps Jean left open. Care to elaborate on that, Howlett?” 

He sighed, glancing at the wall behind you as if he was already fed up. “It’s not like that, bub. You’re makin’ it bigger than it is.”

Your blood scorched at the casual dismissal. Your voice inevitably rose but doesn’t go over a whisper, “Don’t patronise me, Logan,” you scoff. “I’m not some stupid kid with a stupid crush, so don’t let your ego get out of hand. I’ve watched you get all up on her, and then come to me when she’s got a class. Do you even fucking hear yourself?” 

His jaw stiffened, his own frustration growing. “You really think it’s that easy? I never asked you to get involved. You know how it is with me and her. You don’t get how fucked my life is, it’s your own fuckin’ fault things got messy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go sulk somewhere else, I don’t give a shit how crappy your life is. It doesn’t take much to be a decent fucking human!— mutant, whatever. I’m not gonna let you come crying to me when things don’t work out with Jean. I’m worth more than that. You can’t see that, it’s your damn problem, not mine.”

He was visibly trying to find his footing, and you took it as an opportunity to carry on, “It’s not my fault this got sloppy. You can’t just invite a woman for a nice drive and end up throwing her out the door a moment later. You knew damn well what you were doing to m—” 

“You don’t know what I gotta deal with every day. It’s difficult. I never wanted it to get like this. You were the one overthinkin’ it.”

You shook your head forcefully, exasperation boiling over. “I don’t give a fuck, Logan— stop hiding behind that, you don’t even remember half of your damn life! It’s not messy, it’s cruel. I’ve had my own trouble, but I don’t use it as an excuse to hurt people who care about me. Don’t put all of it on my back.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. I’ve dealt with you for half my time here. I’ve had enough of your bullshit.” A flash of remorse graced his eyes but it didn’t do a thing. 

“I’m not your backup plan. I’m not waiting for you to look at me the way you look at Jean. I deserve someone who doesn’t just act like they give a shit. I’ve made my choice and you’ve made yours. I’m done. Goodnight, Howlett.”

With a harsh turn of your heel, you walked away with a heavy heart. But your head was clear for the first time in months, your shoulders were lighter, and the clarity you felt nearly blew your veins out. It would be painstakingly tough to face him tomorrow morning, but you knew you would get over it eventually.

Also i just realised in the morning Washing Machine Heart works WAYYy better but it's whatever I guess 😮‍💨

[meowdei]

pretty please sweet riv, perhaps a drabble from you about meeting dr. ratio in a library (i will leave the details up to your imagination <3 and also to remind you that you like him as well hehe)

You’re oblivious.

The book is falling, just centimeters from your head, and yet, you’re oblivious. Whatever you’re standing and reading about (as you hog space in front of the bookshelf, too) must be quite interesting if it spaces you out as badly as it does. But you’re oblivious, and Veritas, as much as it’s not his problem, can’t help but react as the spine of a rather heavy looking book approaches the top of your head with devastating speed.

“Oh,” you glance up when you finally sense the presence of his hand, looking at the book in his hand with wide eyes. “Um…can I help you?”

“Yes,” he quirks an unimpressed brow. “You can start by perhaps reading elsewhere.”

You blink, gaping at him for a second before your lips curl into a small, stubborn frown as you retort, “well, politely asking someone to move is certainly not a costly thing to do, don’t you think?”

He scoffs. Oblivious. He just saved your life—because cranial injuries can pose dangerous risks to the quality of your health, of course—and you’re oblivious. Just as oblivious as you were to blocking the section he needs by standing around and reading the book in your hands instead of sitting at a table, and just as oblivious as you were when the book started falling in the first place.

“It’s not as though your reflexes are particularly sharp,” he says causally, “I doubt you’d have moved in time to avoid a falling book had I told you—especially when you can’t even sense a book falling towards you in the first place.”

You stare at him for a moment, scrutinizing him under your gaze. (And, for a moment, as you turn towards him better and your eyes catch the light, he wonders if you’re oblivious to how pretty they are—how easy it would be to get just about anything you’d want from that soft, faint sparkle as they blink.)

“Well,” you say after a moment, and the slight tone of defeat in your voice should make him feel smug, but Veritas is endeared, instead. (And doomed, he realizes faintly. He’s so, deeply, horribly doomed.) “I suppose a thank you is in order, then. So…thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as he desperately fights back the flush on his cheeks, “do try not to find yourself under falling objects if you can help it. It’s a preposterous way to die.”

“Who knows?” You send him a small, cheeky smile, closing the book in your hands and moving away from standing under the arm that still holds the book in the air, “I might just have your quick reflexes to take advantage of again if it happens.”

“I highly doubt—”

“See you,” you wave.

You walk off, and he woefully realizes he hates nothing more than watching you leave. (He’s doomed. Just as doomed as you are oblivious.)

MANU ur right i dont appreciate Veritas enough he had me in a chokehold for a brief time, but it was a deep chokehold. Ily king, underrated as u are in my favs list

[tansypawz]

may i ask for dandys world headcanons. like so many

hello anon.you dont know what youve asked me

-coal is naturally very warm. shes a hot coal in my design and has little heat patterns :-]

-the stringy tail i gave sprout in my design can bloom into a long bush overtime, stretching up to 15 feet long. from the bush can grow ichor strawberries, which he can pick and seemingly magically transform into cupcakes for his ability [i didnt know how to implement tapes into his ability usage so i just equated tapes to time passing]

-i said this before in the dandys world hcs blog before i became a mod there but rocks [as in pebble and coal] are their own species, rather than being the dandys world equivalent of dogs. regular animala do exist, sapient or not [as proved by rudie and toodles' dog plush trinket], pet rocks are just a separate species that mimicks traits and behaviours from other animals, almost exclusively domesticated animals. dogs and cats are the most common pet rocks, but there have been instances where a pet rock has had rabbit, tortoise, and bird traits, though these are extremely rare. pet rocks that minick animals with fur/feathers also have the chance to grow moss, snow or other materials on their body as a replacement or mimick. for example, my pebble design has moss as fur, based off the loyal bud skin, and my coal design has snow with specks of ash, since shes a lump of coal. these can overgrow and be trimemd safely, but completely shaving off material fur is highly discouraged as it can be painful for the pet rock, and they usually develop such traits to handle their environment better [for example, coal's snow fur helps her be used to cold temperatures and not overheat]

-bit of a joke hc based off the last one and also that one trend: Rock Lobsters Exist. the lore for them is that people wanted more exotic animals as pet rocks so they started selectively breeding and altering the genetics of some pet rocks and ended up getting lobsters. they are Very aggressive however and do not make good pets, now theyre an invasive species

-flutter is actually a moth but since butterflies are more universally liked the creators of the show just decided "nah shes a butterfly trust"

-tisha has the most impeccable gaydar out of everyone in gardenview. shes also the most confident in her trans identity [trans woman tisha ily]

-i know a lot of people hc rodgers eye to turn into a mouth when he eats but to me he just.has an invisible mouth. he brings food up to his face and !suddenly theres a bite !! what the fuck !!

-if ginger was allowed to be more than just a christmas toon with a one-dimensional personality she would love skating, this is actually why she has ice skates in my design !! [this is taken from the fact that her running animation kinda looks like shes skating, shoutout to my friend @trophtissuesftw for pointing it out]

-astros favorite treat are enigma candies.he will hoard those thangs and eat like 12 of them in a row.its a bit of a guilty pleasure

-shelly gets very uspet whenever shes on a floor with her twisted version. not because its.yknow. Herself. but because shes "inaccurate to how dinos actually look like"[lack of feathers n stuff] and she will ramble about it the entire floor

-if you try to take an unwanted photo of astro and somehow dont get interrupted by any of the other toons or the handlers the picture will come out Horrifying. like something straight out of analog horror

-shrimpo and finn can both breathe underwater, and astro straight up doesnt need to breathe

-thumbtacks and other sharp objects dont kill or severely harm looey or poppy. theyre just Extremely Uncomfortable. like yk when your foot is asleep. yeah imagine that Around Your Entire Body. it makes them faster yeah but thats the only upside. while poppy's unpleasant feeling is a lot quicker to pass than looey's, hes realized that wearing patches and stuff helps diminish the feeling so that its bearable at least [hence why hes willing to lose a heart or two for the sake of distracting, its not as painful/uncomfortable to him as long as hes wearing those patches]

-goob is actually an amazing chef. like he Locks In if you ask him for some food. his expertise rivals fucking Sprout its insane

-gigi will straight up just.give back something she stole if you just ask for it. shes not malicious about it. unless she has a good reason to Not give it back [like if she stole a camera from a parent that wanted to take a photo of astro]

-teagan is fat and muscular she has 4 star stamina she has some visible muscle trust [im gay about her]

is this good. i have More headcanons.

[t0rn4d0273]

team dark hcs bcuz studying makes me wanna end someone’s lineage

⁃ One just infodump about random things and the other two just listen quietly

⁃ Rouge does it with celebrity drama mostly, neither of the other two understand but they still entertain it lol

⁃ (Inspired by (omfg I cannot find the user)) team dark have hand signals for during combat, each meaning different things

⁃ rouge is best at cooking but doesn’t do it often. shadow is second best and cooks the most often, omega can make toast sometimes and really good scrambled eggs

⁃ One time omega almost set the kitchen on fire (he’s not allowed in without supervision anymore)

⁃ Rouge and shadow often do spa stuff together. One time omega wanted to join in. They all do spa stuff together now

⁃ Rouge enjoys painting nails, so occasionally shadow or omega will be her test rats for a new style or color

⁃ Omega, seeing the rest of his team with wings, really wants wings now (he’s gonna figure out a way)

⁃ Shadows really really picky about touch, rouge craves it and omega doesn’t really care (he likes them sitting on his shoulders tho, he finds it endearing)

⁃ They’ll have cuddle piles sometimes

⁃ Rouge has to educate the two on mobian culture

⁃ Both shadow and rouge know when/if the other will crack, and how to deal with it

⁃ Rouge doesnt crack often, and if she does it’s probably a short, angry outburst that lasts no more than five minutes. Shadow offers touch and comfort, allowing her to scream as much as she needs.

⁃ Most of the times shadow cracks, it’s because of the classic reasons. He’s finicky to deal with, because his wants range, but a few things that are constant are 1) ask before physical touch, if he initiates, initiate back, and 2) comfort objects for after are best thing to have.

⁃ Shadows outburst are LOUD.

⁃ Omega often stays out of the feelings sorta thing

⁃ Everyone on the team has a habit of punching walls

⁃ Everyone on the team knows how to patch up a wall

⁃ There are quite a lot of posters and curtains and rugs around the house

⁃ None of them straight, we have boykisser, everyonekisser, and noonekisser (aka I hc shadow as bi (gay technically, see my cringe outdated sonadow hcs for explanation), rouge as pan, and omega as aroace)

⁃ Rouge drags the boys everywhere

⁃ They’re all partners in crime. Like actual crime. How they’re still employed with the military I have no clue.

⁃ Rouge and shadow both have sharp teeth

⁃ Do they all have their own rooms? Yes. Do they all end up crashing in the living room? Also yes.

⁃ They won’t go on missions without the rest of the team (most of the time)

⁃ Shadow makes really. REALLY good brownies. He doesnt like taking the credit though, so he gives them to rouge and “rouge made them”. Honestly the whole team finds it funny.

⁃ Rouge regularly steals from the other two. Rarely a day passes without a scream of “ROUGE!” as someone noticed something’s gone

⁃ Rouge LOVES platonic kisses. Never on the lips, but she’ll kiss the two boys platonically as greetings often. She also platonically says ily quite a lot

⁃ Rouge and shadow would get married for tax purposes lmao (/j btw)

[httpkaulitz]

I LOVE YOUR WRITINGG!!!ANYWAYS IMAGINE THAT YOU ARE MARRIED WITH TOM AND YOU GRAB SMTH,THEN IT FALLS DOWN AND TOM GETS BEHIND YOU AND HOLDS YOUR HAND,THEN YK..IF YOU HAVE TIME PLS DO SMTH LIKE THAT!ILY BAEE!!!

Adore you

Yeees! tysm <3 hope you like it love.

PAIRINGS: Tom x Female reader

CONTENT: Smutt

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, unprotected sex, p in v.

From the corner of your eye you could see Tom standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his body. He has this habit of sometimes just standing there watching you for a while and whenever you question him he says he's just admiring you.

And even though you've been married for a few years, you still feel nervous when he starts looking at you for a long time, knowing that most of the time he's not content with just looking. It was a waiting game and the feeling of anticipation made your heart race.

You turned around with the intention of putting some plastic bowls back in the kitchen cabinet, but as soon as your eyes met Tom's you lost your balance and dropped everything on the floor. Luckily for you there were no glass objects or anything sharp.

You could hear Tom's laugh and the sound of footsteps as you bent down to pick up what you had dropped. You felt his hand in yours and his body purposely pressed against yours.

“Be more careful, love. You could have gotten hurt.” You closed your eyes for a few seconds when you heard him whisper in your ear with a husky voice.

It didn't take many signs for you to know when Tom wanted you, but he liked to be obvious. You felt his hand slide up your arm slowly and move up to your collarbone before stopping at your jaw. He turned your face so you were looking at him.

“Shit, baby. Why do you have to be so beautiful like this?” He asked before closing the space between you two and leaving a short kiss on your lips.

You just laughed as you stood up, already used to his random compliments. Tom followed you around the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind as you put some things in the kitchen cabinet.

“Tom, I'm busy.” You turned in his arms, facing him and soon he placed his lips on yours.

Soft lips forced against yours savagely. You could barely keep up with the fast pace. His kiss was urgent and full of desire.

“I promise it will be quick, please?” He whispered against your lips between kisses. You let out a muffled moan when you felt one of his large hands grab your left breast and squeeze.

"Tom." You moaned as he trailed kisses down your neck and slid his hand between your legs.

"Hmm, you always look so hot I can't resist." He confessed in your ear as his fingers slowly stroked your clit.

Your brain was foggy with the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands roaming at your sides and his fingers gathering in the fabric of your dress as he grabbed your ass. You whimpered, your head falling back as his mouth moved over your jaw, his beard scratching your skin as he sucked hickeys on your neck. You moaned as you grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer.

A growl sounded low in his throat as he pulled away, his hands moving to pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his hand trailing them down your arms as your fingers found his hair again. Your body was on fire, your pussy throbbing with need as he slid your clothes off your hips, letting them fall to your feet.

His eyes were wild and dark as he picked you close, running his tongue across your bottom lip. He met your eyes again, smiling as he unpacked his own clothes and tossed them to the side, and you watched as the fabric was forgotten on the floor. Your eyes slid back to him as his huge calloused hand cupped your breast, your nipple hardening at the the gentle touch. You moved quickly, your fingers eager to touch him, to wrap your hands around his cock. He chuckled, leaning forward to take your hardened tip into his mouth, his warm tongue licking you and making you shiver violently.

“I know what you’re thinking, and as much as I’d love to feel that beautiful, warm mouth on my dick, we don’t have much time.” He whispered as his hand slid down the apex of your thighs, his fingers sliding through your folds and spreading your arousal. “I promised it would be quick, did you forget love?” The provocation in his voice didn't go unnoticed.

You whimpered, shaking your hips to try and get some friction from his hand, but he pulled it away, sucking his fingers into his mouth with a filthy moan.

Before you could protest, he grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting you off the ground easily. He held you with one hand, the other stroking his cock and sliding it through your folds, rubbing against your aching clit.

"Tom, please." You whispered with a needy moan, leaning your head against the wall behind you.

That smug smile was on his face as he lined up and slammed forward. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders as he began to thrust, not even giving you time to adjust. He fucked you hard and fast, a steady stream of curses leaving his lips as you clawed at his skin, breasts bouncing as he filled you, his mouth on your neck.

He stepped back to watch you, the thumb of his free hand tracing the mark you knew he had left on your throat, his grip on your tense leg.

His eyes rolled back, his pace never wavering as he pounded into you, your legs wrapped around his waist. The mix of pleasure and pain making your entire body shudder. His hips moved at an impossible speed, the feeling in your belly increasing with each passing second. You moved your hands back to hold his shoulders, your vision blurred with tears of ecstasy, his cock poking your sweet spot with every movement.

“You're close, I can feel it. Let go, love.” He growled into your ear, his teeth tugging at the earlobe.

You clenched around him, your muscles tensing as you let out a choked sob, your toes curling as you came hard, shaking uncontrollably. You felt your body soften as his strong arms held you. A low moan left him as he came inside you. You still hugged each other for a few minutes before Tom finally spoke.

"Guess we'll have to order pizza... again." You both laughed as the smell of burning food could now be smelled throughout the house.

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Two

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: You knew that returning to The Beef wouldn't be easy, but you also didn't know it would be this hard either. 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of grief, death, mental health issues, strained relationships, sharp objects, mild violence, and injuries.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: My sweet snickerdoodles . . . I just wanna say that i adore you all . I completely forgot to mention (wow breadstick you forget a lot for being a fanfiction veteran I know I know) but this is a slow burn . All things will be revealed in due time . Patience will grant you mercy one day, but that day is not today so sit tight and read on ! ! Also, i may or may not have written this at 5 am while dealing with a bout of insomnia which is why the ultra specific time is mentioned at the end lolllll . Ily babes I hope u all enjoy ! 

*Note: "mija", directly translated from Spanish, means "my daughter" but in this, it is being used as a term of endearment (fem.) similar to "darling" or "sweetheart"

Taglist: @marysucks-blog

MASTERLIST / Prologue / Chapter One

The Beef was silent, an accomplishment that would be thrown into the history books. Chef chatter aside, no conversations about the latest happenings, no jokes, and nothing else aside from kitchen happenings was mentioned. 

To say it was tense is an understatement. 

But here you were, ignoring the way that the extremely sharp knife you were using to chop some vegetables would probably struggle to cut the thick tension in the air. 

From across the kitchen and standing by the door of the office was Sugar. 

Her eyes felt like they were seering holes on your back. 

She chewed her bottom lip with her arms crossed and eyebrows creasing, watching you carefully. She noted the way you carefully yielded the knife, avoiding your fingers and skillfully chopped the onions into a julienne cut. 

The memory of when Carmy taught you how to do that, years ago, on a night when Mikey was cooking dinner for all five of you, popped into her mind. She could practically smell the browning of garlic and even hear Mikey teasingly warning Carmy that his girl better come out of the lesson unscathed, Richie laughing loudly in the background. 

With a sigh, Sugar turned to walk back into the office, catching Richie's eyes before closing the door behind her. Richie winced, unsure what to do with Sugar's silent communication of 'do something!'.

Beside you, a stranger grabbed a bowl of chopped onions from you. Turning out of instinct, you and the stranger made eye contact before she smiled briefly and turned away. You couldn't help but feel elated that someone from here, anyone, looked at you without this watery, dejected look in their eye that they either hid or showed unabashedly.  

Carmy barks out a couple orders, as usual, before passing you, "Behind."

He placed his hand onto your shoulder, gripping it softly but right as he put it there, it disappeared. You barely had any time to react to it, feel the warmth for a split second before he moved away to continue his work. Your shoulder twitched as you paused for a second before resuming your task. 

Everyone around you kept moving, efficiently calling out to one another to keep this machine of a restaurant going. They moved quickly and without doubt, from one place to another but they all managed to migrate back to their original stations. 

And here you were, standing over a cutting table, holding a knife, with a never ending supply of onions to chop. 

"Hey…"

The onions just kept coming. 

"Hey uhm…"

Once you thought you finished cutting them all, more just appeared there. You didn't notice if someone put them there but, if you did, you just seemed to block it out. 

"Yo…" 

You could always put the knife down and step away from the onions, but you didn't. This was your station, you were needed here. If you stopped, what would happen? What would you do? What would everyone else do? 

Carmy yelled out your name. 

You whipped your head around, making yourself stumble. Everyone around you looked away in an instant, busying their hands and eyes. 

"Everyone's getting ready to go now," he said, trailing off into a softer tone at the end. 

You blinked and nodded, placing the knife down and wiping your hands on your apron before approaching the office where Sugar stood. There she held your stuff, still looking at you in a way that made that pit in your stomach come back. You forced out a smile, trying to show her that you were okay, but that look never went away. 

As Ebra was about to leave through the backdoor, he paused and turned to you. He nodded and tried to smile but it came out looking like a mix of a smile and wince that made you want to both laugh and cry. 

Ebrahim said your name, making you furrow your brows, before he said, "Your return is welcomed." 

With that, he left. 

Slowly, you began to nod your head, looking off to the side. His words felt oddly comforting. You had known him for a long time now as he was a long time chef here at The Beef and while your conversations used to be extensive, this one line he shared with you now said everything that needed to be said in the moment. 

Marcus and the stranger who smiled at you earlier, whom you came to know as Sydney, were chatting quietly by the lockers before they too passed you as you took off your apron and handed it to Sugar. 

"It's nice to have you around again," Marcus said, before reaching forward to embrace you. 

You embraced him back, squeezing your eyes shut as you were reminded of how every 'hello!' and 'goodbye!' the two of you shared while at The Beef was accompanied with a hug, like a slow simmered and flavorful sauce that perfectly complemented a dish. 

Sydney nodded and gave you a tight smile, "Nice to meet you…" 

You nodded back and cleared your throat, giving her your name as you awkwardly introduced yourself. Despite spending the whole day with each other, you never once formally introduced yourselves, just listened to others throw your names back and forth. 

"It's nice to meet you too." 

The two left quietly.

Tina, Manny, and Angel all walked toward the door. The two men nodded in your direction before leaving while Tina stopped and smiled warmly. 

"I'm glad you came, mija*," Tina whispered, reaching to place her hand on your arm. 

You could feel the worn skin of her hands press into your skin, making goosebumps appear over your arms. 

Hiking her bag over her shoulder, Tina left with a glance back to you. 

The door closed, leaving only you, Sugar, Carmy, and Richie to be the only ones inside The Beef. Fak had left earlier in the day, hugging you tightly much to the dismay of Richie who made it known that he thought Fak was smothering you. But you appreciated Fak's sweet nature for a brief second until it became a reminder of once was, making your mood sour as he left. 

The clank of the back door closing made you look over to the three others in the building with you. Carmy was wiping down some of the tables in the kitchen, Richie was glancing at you from the front counter as he messed with the register, and Sugar was chewing on her lip and staring at the floor beside you. 

All three looked like they wanted to tell you something but couldn't. Well Carmy looked like everything he did want to say was buried deep inside and he was just going to ignore it all, Richie looked like he wasn't sure how to start the conversation, and Sugar looked like she desperately wanted to start the conversation but didn't want to upset you in the process. 

With all your stuff in tow, you gave the three of them one more glance before shrugging and turning around, feeling relieved that the day didn't end in tears, a yelling match, or at the hospital. So you turned around, ready to go home and not deal with this stuffy air or pity and grief anymore. 

"Wait-!" 

You froze, face squeezing together. You were this close to getting out… this close! 

You let go of the breath you didn't know you were holding and slowly swiveled around on your feet, soles squeaking underneath you. 

You knew that all three of them spoke at the same time, voicing the exact same thought at once. But no one spoke when you turned, only looking away from you. 

The lights buzzed quietly and the clock in the office clicked softly, being the only sounds that echoed in the room. Your eyes shifted from each of the three as you felt yourself getting more and more desperate to just go home. 

Carmy was the first to break the silence, making you take a sharp inhale, "You did good today, Chef." 

You sighed, "Thank you, Chef." 

He rubbed the back of his neck, other hand on his waist. His back was still turned away from you so you had no idea if he was cringing from what he said out of the blue or meant it genuinely. Either way, you would've said thank you. 

Sugar said your name before continuing, "It's okay to feel-" 

Richie interjected rather quickly, "Do you have a place to stay, cousin?"

Both you and Carmy winced as Sugar and Richie shared a quick glare. They then turned their attention back to you, gazes softening. But you and Carmy both understood the implication, making you both squirm a bit. 

You opened your mouth to respond, before closing it again, feeling a bit like a fish. But nevertheless, you carefully chose your words and continued, "If there's anything you really want to tell me, get it over with now." 

You looked around again. You can feel yourself getting increasingly agitated at the way they all avoided your gaze as if looking at you would be enough to make you shatter into millions of glass pieces. 

Carmy simply nodded and looked away at your statement, making you roll your eyes. So he was just going to ignore everything, okay then.

Sugar hummed to herself, foot tapping on the floor quietly before she finally said, somewhat exasperated, "It's okay to feel… not okay, okay?"

This made you snort.

She looked at you, somewhat taken aback, as you coughed, trying to cover the unexpected snort you just let out. 

"Yea… I know." You said, brief humor disappearing. 

"Have you been to therapy or anything?" She continued, surprising you. 

You stood up straight, actually considering her words. Therapy was something that felt somewhat foreign to you. While you were no stranger to it, having been for other things before, you hadn't gone specifically for Mikey's death. If anything, you avoided it. 

"Uhm… no I haven't…" 

Sugar sighed, "You uhm, if you haven't already, which i'm sure you have, you should consider going…" 

You closed your eyes, the implication of going to see a professional about this making you nervous. But before you could get deeper into those thoughts, Richie spoke up. 

"Where are you staying at?" He asked. 

"I'm at my parent's, right now." 

His forehead creased before he continued, "Are you here for a while or…?"

Sighing you let your hands clap onto your thighs, "I guess so… as far as i know i have nothing out west." 

At this, he perked up, "You'll be okay there..?" 

The way he worded that sounded like a cross between a question and a statement, as if he was both reassuring you that you would be okay at home and asking you if you would be okay at the place where you got the news of your boyfriend’s death. 

"Yea." You stated in a matter of fact tone that even surprised yourself. 

You rolled your shoulders back, holding your head up high. You walked into The Beef earlier that day hoping to pretend that you were the same confident and fun person you were prior to Mikey's death yet all that just melted away the second you were inside. But it was never too late for you to bring that facade back, was it? 

You smiled and took a deep breath, "You all have my phone number, if you need me, call or text me. You also all know where I'm at right now, you are free to come over anytime. It was really nice seeing you all, goodnight." 

With that, you left, closing the door and leaving all the unanswered questions that the people you once considered family had behind. 

You didn't hear from any of them until a week later. You had avoided them and The Beef in the time being, choosing to stay at home whenever your parents tried to get you to do minor outings like joining them to shop at the grocery store or walk around the neighborhood. You knew that you would have to pull your weight around the house soon too, but would probably choose to do laundry, yard work, cooking meals, or cleaning before going out and risking running into someone you knew. 

Or even worse, a reminder of what you lost. 

So you stayed at home, leaving the few belongings you brought with you in boxes around your room. They, like you, were stuck in limbo, unsure whether or not you would be staying or going. 

The only tangible thing you really had anymore were your thoughts. Somedays they made you laugh and other days, they made you cry until you fell asleep with puffy eyes and a nauseous stomach.

When Richie called you three days later to meet him at some random address, you were confused. His rough voice was oddly soft, speaking carefully and clearly. He didn't answer any of your questions either, just reiterating the directions and that he was fine. You were even more confused when you realized that you were meeting him outside an urgent care in the city. The confusion only grew into panic when you saw that he was sitting in a wheelchair with a nurse behind him next to the front curb of the building. 

As your car slowed down in front of him, you quickly unbuckled yourself and hopped out of your car but before you could say anything, the nurse spoke up.

"Make sure he keeps the area dry for the next 24 to 48 hours. He needs to gently clean the area with water twice a day after that. Replace the bandage twice a day and then everytime you clean it. Richard should already know what to do but I thought this information should also be relayed to you." 

"Uh... okay." You said, smiling nervously at her. 

Your eyes shifted to Richie who looked at you guiltily. 

After both you and the nurse helped Richie into the passenger seat of your car, the two of you took off in silence. Soft jazz played on the radio, tuned to some random channel you didn't bother to change because you were too busy wondering how you even got here. 

Once you stopped at a red light a couple blocks away, you spoke up, "Why the fuck are you sitting in my car with stitches???"

Richie snorted and winced, "I'm fine, thanks for asking." 

You groaned, rolling your eyes and accelerating as the light turned green, "Okay well you're alive so that's all that matters. Now tell me why you're sitting in my car with stitches."

Richie leaned his head against the window, looking out, "...Do you even want me to tell you? It has to do with The Beef…" 

You were silent, debating. On one hand, you were worried and wanted to know what happened, but another part of you warned you that this piece of information would only begin dragging you back to the very place you didn't want to go back to. 

Meanwhile, the soft jazz continued, filling in the space of silence between you two. 

"Fine." You finally murmured.

"Shit got messy with this new to-go thing that Sydney added, which was her fault by the way, and fucked everything up right before the lunch rush. Marcus was too busy focusing on his donut to do his job and it all just… blew up in our faces!" Richie gestured wildly, very obviously still upset. 

You nodded slowly, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel as you imagined what he was saying.

"Carmy threw a fucking fit and was yelling at everyone and when I tried to step in, I only ended up arguing with Sydney and when I tried to be the bigger person and walk away, guess fucking what, i get stabbed."

"What?!" You jerk, alarmed. 

The car swerved a bit making Richie groan as he put pressure onto his wound. You quickly straighten the car and mumbled a curse followed by an apology.

"I'm okay! I'm okay! Sydney was holding a knife and didn't say anything so when I moved with my back to her, I moved into the knife she was holding. It wasn't like she tried to stab me or anything, she was just being stupid." He quickly adds, adjusting himself in his seat with a wince as he tried to quell your fear. 

You slumped back into your seat, chewing so hard on your bottom lip that you hissed in pain when you bit too hard, "Jesus…"

"Sydney quit and Marcus pretty much did too, fucking assholes. I got halfway through the lunch rush before Tina forced me to go get medical attention. Carmy was too pissed off to say anything about it but yea…" 

You parked your car in front of the place you knew as Richie's apartment. You got there purely by muscle memory, which made Richie's chest tighten when he noticed but didn't say a word about. 

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, "So you're telling me that all hell broke loose today, Carmy lost it, Syd and Marcus quit, and you got stabbed?"

Richie nodded, "In the ass."

You stared at him blankly. 

"Well fuck."

"Fuck indeed."

This made you both chuckle to yourselves. 

"So what now?" 

This made Richie shrug, "I don't know but, I'm going back again tomorrow and I'll just have to see…

one step at a time." 

Richie wasn't a sap, he knew that. He hated huge displays of affection, greeting cards with cheesy lines, and stickers that were meant to be encouraging but actually seemed condescending. 

So when he randomly blurted out that last part aloud to you, he thought he would grimace the same way he does to sappy things he hates. 

But he didn't. 

It felt right in the moment and judging by the way he noticed your tense frame soften in your seat, it felt right for you too. 

"One step at a time," you repeated, turning to smile softly at him.

Richie sagged in his seat, swallowing the knot in his throat. He hadn’t seen you smile this genuinely since before Mikey’s death. 

That night you laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, doing what you seemed to do best nowadays: thinking. 

So much has changed since you were last here, not only with the places but the people. Yet, you felt the exact same. Cutting your hair, living in a new place, and leaping into the arms of a new person never once changed you. 

But in that brief exchange with Richie before you dropped him off, something inside you changed. You couldn't pinpoint it, no matter how many hours you spent lying awake trying desperately to figure out what it was. 

As scary as it was, it also felt good. It felt warm and soothing and not at all artificial. Not at all like what some words said to you after the funeral services were like.

It was at 5:17 am, in the darkness of your bedroom, that you decided that you would go to The Beef the next day and take it one step at a time.

[simpingforclaudette]

vampire! shigeru kimura headcanons (part. i)

content warning: horror elements & imagery, brief mention of violence & gore

foreword: vampire au for spooky season hell yeah!!! this man is SO vampire/dracula-coded and he’s so sexy for that. i need him to bite me and drain me so bad like i am BEGGING ON MY KNEES. please mr kimura please please please 🥺

the second part will be about vampire! shigeru with a partner (so a romantic partner). just a heads up, he’s toxic. very loving and gentle, but toxic.

i will also write a headcanon sheet for dhampir! yuichi and write about their relationship as vampire father and dhampir son. very excited for this one!

tagging: @13th-floor-in-moonstone , @theres-a-bea (ily pookie ♡)

origins.

he’s old. very old, and most likely the first vampire to be born in japan, hence the nickname "the elder". he was already a vampire before the europeans came to japan.

he wasn’t bitten, but cursed in his early 60s.

he’s fairly well-known; as a folktale by mortals and as figure of power and authority for other vampires.

mind & habits.

he doesn’t fear or feel repulsed by religion, religious places, imagery, objects or chants. he still avoids entering churches, temples and cemeteries out of respect for religion and the dead.

while he does know how to turn someone into a vampire, he has never sired anyone and never will (except for his son, yuichi, but that’s another story, and maybe his significant other).

when hunting, he targets exceptionally scummy people, people he knows won’t be missed. he goes for the neck and will break a limb or two to prevent them from fighting back.

he never hunts animals.

he’s not fond of spilling blood and guts for nothing. he considers that a waste of food and ressources. he also dislikes staining himself and his clothes. however, he might forget about that if he’s enraged enough.

he doesn’t need his cane, but he still uses it because he’s fond of it. and to lure his enemies into a false sense of security.

he mainly keeps to himself. most of the vampires he knows are acquaintances at best. some are friendly and others not so much. yuichi is his only "close" relationship.

he often feels lonely, but is reluctant to acknowledge it and to go out of his way to meet a potential longtime partner because what he is.

appearance.

(og artwork: intrusive thoughts by zack dunn)

he’s never physically aged ever since he became a vampire.

he mainly presents himself under his most human-like appearance, so how he looks throughout the movie.

the scar at the bottom of his eye comes from an injury he received in his younger years as a vampire. he was cut with silver and it never properly healed for some reason.

he can chose to reveal his vampiric appearance(s) at will. the first one consists of:

light purple eyes

a set of sharp canines (two on the upper row of his mouth, two on the lower row)

while the second one consists of:

grey, cold rotten and wrinkled skin

white, thin strands of hair falling off his skull

empty white eyes

extremely thin body

he only presents himself like this if he’s severely injured and starving for blood of if he’s actively terrorizing a victim.

he has sharp nails that can easily cut through wood, weaker metals and small bones.

when he cries, the white of his eyes become filled with blood and he cries droplets of blood.

abilities.

he’s nearly impossible to kill due to his age. burning him won’t kill him, and staking him will only knock him out for a while (months or years) if he’s not fed with blood.

the sunlight and extremely warm days can greatly weaken him (but won’t kill him), which is why he prefers rainy or cloudy/foggy and cold days. he’s mostly active during fall and winter.

silver can hurt him, but he’s developed a certain endurance to it. while it’ll still burn his skin, he won’t immediately flinch in pain or be weakened by it—unless he’s being staked in the heart.

without any injury, he can go months without feeling the thirst for blood. he drinks for survival first and foremost, but he also longs to drink for pleasure and from a romantic partner.

he can influence the weather around him to an extent. he can turn mist into rain and rain into storms, but cannot undo his own manipulations.

he excels at compulsion & mind control, which he achieves mainly through eye contact. when trying to hypnotize someone, he stops blinking and must talk to them in order to get them to do what he wants them to do. he can erase memories and implant false memories into someone’s mind. he can have them commit actions against their will, force them to feel emotions or erase them. he can chose to make his victims aware of his control over them. it is possible to break out of his hold by blinking rapidly or shaking your head or speaking over him, but the longer you look at him, the harder it’ll be, especially if he told you to keep quiet beforehand.

[tarovrispy]

⌧ | TEXTS FROM THE DUMPSTER

12: ILY (i love you) ⌦

← previous | back to masterlist | next →

CW! | possible ooc, written in third perspective, mentions of serial killer, murder and sharp objects (its nothing too serious i promise lol), will be a lengthy read (hold on tight)

Lifting his hand to give the door a gentle knock, the soft sound contrasting with the pounding in his chest. Yet, before he could mentally prepare himself — perhaps by clearing his throat softly — the door swung open.

"Ah-"

It was Yachi who answered the door. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun which seemed to have a few loose strands dangling out. There was a recognisable crease between her eyebrows that seemed to have settled there for a while, even before Bokuto arrived.

"Yachi..right?"

Bokuto managed after a while, trying to bring his usual bright cheery smile to his lips, yet the soft crease in Yachi's eyes only served to be an obstacle. Trying to maintain a soothing and bright smile seemed like an impossibly hard attempt on his lips right now.

"Ah yes..and you're..Bokuto?"

She stumbles over her words for a moment, her hands frantically reaching up to tidy her loose bun. A few strands of hair still slips out of her fingertips though, causing little to no difference about her bun previously and now.

Before Bokuto could even give a haste reply or a simple nod, the sound of metal clanging against the ground could be heard, causing both him and Yachi's gaze to immediately follow the noise.

"You- You wanna come in..?"

Yachi voice interrupts, stopping Bokuto's gaze short as he brings his eyes back to look at her, his eyes lying back on the messy bun sitting on the top of her head before gazing down to her brown eyes.

If he wasn't mistaken, there seemed to be a subtle flash of panic within them.

"Ah...sure-!"

Bokuto replies shortly afterwards, following behind Yachi quietly as she quickly walks towards the origin of the noise before.

The dorm seemed to be a mess. From Bokuto's peripheral vision, he could see the kitchen cabinets were all strewn open but nothing was left on the shelves.

Snacks and random tools — screw drivers, a random pair of keys, a broomstick, and bobby pins — were scattered randomly across the floor, almost as if tossed aside without hesitation by someone in a hurry.

Among the flurry of mess stood two figures, one of which Bokuto quickly recognised and another whom he wasn't too sure about. Perhaps he had seen him before, yet no names seemed to surface in his mind that could perhaps match that figure accurately.

"What are you doing, Lev?"

Yachi's frazzled voice cuts in, interrupting Bokuto's thoughts as he tried to figure out who the tall, light grey haired figure was based on his side profile.

"Oh right, he's Lev..."

Bokuto murmured to himself as his eyes drifted back up to the figure whom seemed to have turned his gaze towards them as soon as he caught hold of Yachi's words.

As captivating Lev's seafoam green eyes were to Bokuto, perhaps enough to keep him wondering which foreign country he came from, a sharp glint caught his eye instead.

A sharp glint that belonged to nothing else but an large axe, which Lev held in his hands. The blade of the axe was glimmering under the ceiling light, clearly an indication that it has never been used before.

"I was just trying to break into Yn's room door!"

Lev spoke up finally, a triumph tone evident in his voice. It was clear that he failed to notice how suspicious he looked, holding a sharp axe, in a position that seemed ready to swing at anytime.

"With an axe?"

Yachi exclaims, stepping forward as she attempts to pull the axe out of Lev's hands.

"Well, none of the methods we tried in luring Yn out was working. Including telling her I haven't ate or went to school today at all."

Kenma responds, his figure leaning casually against the nearest wall from Yn and Yachi's room, clearly unbothered to even point out the possible flaws of Lev trying to knock down the room door with an axe.

"You haven't ate, Kenma?"

Bokuto asks, his tone surprised as he picks up the snack littered closest to him on the floor, tossing it to Kenma before he continues with a small smile on his face,

"Have some of these! I really like this snack!"

Despite having tossed it without much warning, Kenma catches the snack packet effortlessly before giving Bokuto a small nod of appreciation.

"So what do you think about this idea, Yachi?"

Lev asks, his chin slightly raised as he looks at Yachi, clearly proud that he came up with this idea on his own accord. His gaze seemed to be expecting a sort of praise or compliment from Yachi, lacking the awareness to notice how appalling as his actions were.

"Absolutely no-!"

However, before she could turn down Lev's idea, her words were soon cut off by the sound of a door creaking open. It was the slightest sound – comparable to the sound of a light drizzle at the brink of daylight – yet it was enough to capture everyone's attention immediately.

Standing by the now ajar door, was a dishevelled looking figure. A light shade of red lined underneath her swollen eyes. It was clear that she had been crying for more than an hour, though not a single tear remained.

A careful thread of silence seemed to be held between them as she continued to stand there, a slight hint of confusion held in her expression.

It wasn't long before the silence was quickly broken with Lev being the first to speak out,

"Is that you, Yn? You look terrible!"

Just like that, the carefully built silence was shattered quickly by a heavy and thick air of tension. Quick nervous glances were exchanged between them, their gazes flickering between one another and Yn.

"It's not like that Yn-! Lev meant you look terrific even for someone who has shut herself in for a couple hours! He pronounced it wrongly, you see..."

Yachi stammers out, a nervous laughter slipping past her lips as she finishes. Her head barely processed any of the words she was spilling from her mouth, desperately only thinking about how she could salvage the situation Lev had caused.

She wouldn't want Yn to slip back into her comfort zone once again. Just when she had finally came out after what seemed like eternity.

"What? I meant what I said. Yn does look quite terrible."

Lev continued stubbornly, not realising the outcome he was ultimately stirring the situation towards.

His words were only earning sharp glares from Yachi, whom was slowly starting to feel exasperated from how quickly Lev was dismissing her efforts in trying to make things better.

"You.."

Yachi begins, huffing out an exasperated breath as she stares at Lev, who continued to give her an oblivious look before shrugging absentmindedly.

Fortunately for Lev, before Yachi could explode from the pent-up emotions she'd been holding in on him — all her nerves, worries, and desperation — Yn cleared her throat slightly, turning everyone's attention back to her.

"It's okay, Yachi. I cried for a couple hours before falling asleep in the room. It's normal that I would look terrible."

She responds softly, a hint of bashfulness in her tone, as she gives Yachi a brief smile of gratefulness.

"I'm glad you're okay, Yn! You didn't reply my texts since the early afternoon!"

Bokuto finally speaks up, internally relieved that the tension in the air was quickly cleared up. As he met Yn's eyes, he felt all awkwardness he'd been feeling internally disappearing like dark clouds in the sky after a rain.

Instead what filled the gaps was a fresh feeling of nervousness. As she met his gaze, it felt like a swarm of butterflies fluttered within his stomach.

She seemed to blink for a moment as her gaze catches his, a look of surprise casting over her face as she swallows slightly. Her lips parted slightly before quickly falling shut once again, all her words were stuck in her throat.

She didn't look that terrible at all. A wave of warmth hit Bokuto's cheeks, painting a light shade of red across them as he became conscious of the thoughts in his head.

"Sinc- Since when were you here?"

Yn's words finally came crashing out of her lips, stumbling over one another clumsily.

She wished she could run back into her room, scramble back into the warmth of her bed and bury her face into her pillow. Yet, her legs stood completely frozen.

The most she could muster was to turn her face away quickly, hiding her swollen eyes from his sight – even if she knew he probably already had a clear view of them – pretending to fix her hair in the process.

"I- Do you want to get a quick breather with me?"

Yn could feel her fingers trembling with excitement as she stepped out onto the front step, following quietly behind Bokuto.

She had no idea what he had planned when he said that simple sentence, yet she found herself anticipating the possible events that could happen with him.

"Here. We're going on a motorcycle ride."

Bokuto responds as he leads her to a black motorbike which almost looks like it was glistening under the distant moonlight. It was practically unscathed and almost new.

Did he not ride it often? Or perhaps he took care of it really well.

Yn thought silently to herself as she took the helmet Bokuto handed to her. He had this wide grin plastered across his face that he seemed to use to hide all the possible nerves he was feeling inside.

"Are you nervous?"

She asks, finally speaking up after a moment of silence as she wears the motorcycle helmet over her head slowly.

His gaze immediately flickers over to her as he hears her words, meeting her eyes almost immediately as she looks up at him. For a moment, his eyes seemed to flash a look of vulnerability before it disappears quickly as he hops onto the motorcycle.

Glancing towards Yn, giving her his usual confident grin before revving the motorcycle engine — the sound much more dramatic and louder than what one would have expected — causing her to break out into a soft, gentle laugh.

"See, I'm not at all nervous! I got this, Yn. So hop on, okay?"

He says, still putting on his confident facade, even when his fingers were slightly trembling nervously as he held onto the motorbike's handles.

With the pace his heartbeat was going, he found himself internally praying his heartbeat wasn't too loud to the point she could hear it from where she was.

He could feel the vehicle shift slightly as she hopped onto the motorcycle, sitting comfortably behind him. With every single bit of self control within him, he tried his best to stop his eyes from shifting towards the rear view mirror so that he could get a glimpse of how she looked as she sat behind him.

Which was perhaps a breath of relief for her as she could feel her face heating up slightly, splattering a shade of pink across her cheeks as she places her hands onto his waist gently.

"Hold on tight..Okay?"

He responds as he feels her hands holding onto his waist, the grip so gentle, it almost felt non-existent. It was hard to make it sound like his voice wasn't breaking into parts, even if he was getting so nervous to the point it felt almost hard to breathe.

"Okay..."

Her soft voice tickles in his ears. It was the first time he had heard her voice so close to his ears, that one word of acknowledgement from her was enough to make the tip of his ears flush slightly.

Unable to resist it any further, he turns around, just slightly, to take a quick glimpse at her.

Her head was turned away from him, her hair dancing slightly along with the cool night wind. She lifted a hand to push a few strands behind her ear gently, slightly revealing her cheeks dabbed with patches of red.

That sight was enough to make Bokuto turn back ahead, his own face blushing slightly now as well. To see Yn's slightly reddened cheeks made his heart skip with excitement, knowing he perhaps wasn't the only one having fluttery jitters within his own heart with how close they were right now.

That perhaps.. she felt the same way. Exactly how he felt.

During the hush of the night air, even though there were little to no words exchanged during the ride — other than the occasional “woahs” from Bokuto when he swerved a little too hard — there was something comforting about the whole ride to the both of them.

It was the subtle fluttering in Bokuto's heart each time he heard Yn's soft laughter to his tiny interjections. The way he sometimes could hear her heartbeat syncing with his.

There was no way he could mistake all of it, even with the sound of the motorcycle engine revving loudly in the background. Every soft sound she made was caught clearly in his ears, easily unforgettable to him.

"Was this your first time riding a motorbike, Yn?"

Bokuto asks, keeping his gaze on the road in front of him — though one could catch his gaze flickering from time to time towards the rear view mirror to look at Yn.

"Yeah."

She replies softly in response, her response surprising Bokuto slightly.

"And you would ride with me...? Even if you've never rode on a motorcycle before?"

"Yeah. I mean..I don't see anything wrong with trusting you."

Those words. Perhaps she had no idea how much it meant to him then, but it was enough to bring a silly grin onto his face.

His heart swelled with pride as he turned around quickly to look at Yn, just a brief glance without any words exchanged, but his expressions was enough to tell her how he felt.

As she caught hold of the gaze in his eyes, she nearly choked on her own breath. His gaze matched one of a golden retrievers', one which seemed to crinkle with delight, glowing like sun peeking through the clouds.

"I'm glad."

He says after a beat of silence. His words making her heart skip a beat without much effort.

"To have your first experience of being on a motorcycle ride."

When the motorcycle finally skids to a stop, he finds himself quickly turning behind to look at her, smiling brightly as soon as he finds her eyes on him.

"You okay? It wasn't that traumatising right?"

He asks as he gazes at her, reaching out to help her unbuckle her motorcycle helmet.

Although the ride had stopped and the adrenaline she had felt from the ride was slowly disappearing, she could still feel her heart hammering in her chest. Nonstop.

"I enjoyed the ride."

She says simply, a small smile settling on her lips as she lifts her eyes to look at him — feeling his gaze immediately drift away from the buckles of her helmet to her eyes.

"Really?"

He asks softly, as though looking for some sort of confirmation from her answer.

"Really."

Hearing her words, he can't help but feel a big smile spread across his lips. He reached up to remove her helmet, trying to look calm and composed in her eyes — even when he was practically holding back from pulling her into a huge, crushing hug to express his happiness.

His fingers trembled with excitement as he removed her helmet gently from her head, keeping his eyes fixed on the helmet even though he could feel her gaze continually fixed on him.

Watching his every move, even after he turns away.

Her gaze was making his palms go sweaty, his fingers felt clammy as he reached up to take off his helmet as well. Even if his grip on the helmet wasn't as firm, it felt as though the helmet would never slip out of his fingers — especially when his fingers felt so sticky.

"This is one of my favourite places to go to when I feel stressed."

He finally responds after a while, letting his words settle into the silence of the night air as he hops off the motorcycle.

However, before he turned away from the motorcycle, he offers a hand towards her, an attempt to assist her in coming down from the motorcycle.

Her gaze drifts down to his outstretched hand for a moment, before taking it gently. He could swore he saw her cheeks flare up when his fingers interlocked with hers.

"Ah- Sorry if it's sweaty."

He adds on quickly, pulling away from her grasp as soon as she successfully hops down from the motorcycle.

Yet before he could turn away to hide his small bashful smile, a soft laugh escapes her lips instead, capturing his attention back to her immediately.

"It's okay. My palms are probably sweaty too."

She says, shaking her head gently before walking ahead. Her steps are gentle and soft against the pavement as she walks. It was almost comparable to the sound of a light drizzle.

He follows along with her, his steps falling in place next to hers as she walks. The sound of their footsteps were rhythmic when placed with each other.

"What would you usually do here?"

She asks, her steps coming to an abrupt pause as she turns around to face him with a small smile.

"Well..I scream out my frustrations here, I guess. Or vent like I am having a conversation with the moon."

He responds, gesturing towards the full moon in the sky ahead of them. In contrast to the chilly breeze that blew at them, the glow of the moon seemed warm and inviting.

She laughs softly, her eyes turning towards the moon as well, her gaze softening slightly as she meets its glow.

"You know.."

She began softly, her eyes tailing away from the moon to meet his slightly. There was still a hint of vulnerability and softness within her gaze, making his heart flutter slightly.

He finds his full body turned towards her, as though ready to give her his full attention.

Was it the vulnerability in her eyes that made it easy for him to want to hear her out so quickly? Or was it the way he wanted to know more about her that made him so readily attentive to everything she wanted to say?

He had no idea too. But he knew then that his interest in her was something he could no longer hide — no matter how much he tried, held back, or resisted.

"There was so much I wanted to say after I came out of my room. But...after the whole ride, I couldn't find the frustration to express my feelings."

She continues softly, her gaze drifting away from his eyes slowly as a soft shade of pink begins to bloom across her cheeks.

"So thank you..for letting me have this tiny breather."

He feels his breath hitch slightly at her words, the fluttering in his stomach becoming clearer each second, almost overwhelming him.

"I- No..I should thank you."

He responds back quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself from saying anything.

"I...I really like you a lot so having you accept my invitation, even when you could have stayed at home and vented with your friends...makes me really happy."

His gaze slowly trails up to meet her gradually widened eyes, the colour on her cheeks becoming more obvious as she hears his words.

"Wha..What?"

She begins, stuttering slightly as she glances up at him. She could feel her brain short-circuiting as she hears his words, almost unsure if she even heard him right. "I..like you! Yn!"

He repeats once again, his face almost beetroot red as he turns his gaze back up towards her.

She could feel his gaze expectantly looking at her, perhaps anticipating her response nervously — hoping she'd reciprocate his feelings too.

But she knew that he didn't even need to look at her with that gaze to make her say 'yes'. The answer was already laid out simply for her all along, now just waiting at the tip of her tongue to be said out.

"I like you too..Bokuto.."

a/n: yippee!! we're finally done with this smau omg (I'm crying tears of joy) tbh it's been quite a journey for me — a journey of tears, happiness and pain — to finally get where I am right now :) I don't usually have a lot of commitment level when it comes to writing (unfortunately) so the fact that I made it here in one piece...it's really something !! tysm for reading tftd to the end. while this was not my proudest work, I had so much fun writing some of these chapters and knowing that there are people enjoying my reading (behind all the hard work I've done) maybe I will release after parts to this series (so pls look out for them !!) because ending here feels like something is missing...something like a reaction from the respective friend groups? (yeah I think so too) also if you're looking for the usual fyi's section, I'm sorry they're not here today.. :'< because I have no idea what to add LMAOO

⌗ taglist | @keijiskisser @wyrcan @insanelycooljk @mawenskiblue @cupidsblonde @blueballslock @giocriedpower @phoenix-eclipses @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @anteroz @scarltwitxh @chososneakylinkk

! note: you may fill out this form to be removed/added to the taglist! (for those who are in the taglist already, pls check ur personal settings to make sure you can be added properly!)

[hinamie]

top three character designs in jjk (cumulatively - have to take into account both physical traits and outfit) ?

GFSDGSDHJj making me Dig Deep on this fine saturday i see,, believe it or not i hadnt really thought much about it ((yuuji and megumi take up so much of my mental inventory that id never really taken a step back to look Objectively at their designs and how much i would like them were they Not my favourite characters)) ended up being surprised at my final answer, specifically yuuji's placement here??? also megumi unfortunately did Not make the cut ,,(ily megu but u Are just . a pointy black haired best friend char gomen.....)

Miwa SHE S SO OSOSOOSOOS CUTE . LOVE th design love the decision to make her uniform a suit love the asymmetrical bangs. also shes miku coded and has a sword :)

Yuta Dead eyes on characters my BELOVED <33333 also SWORD . objectively a bit plain but fr him it fits so well ? i love the choice to give him a white top it's so simple but makes him stand out rly well from the rest of th cast in th classic uniforms. also love the whole thing where a char will b like. Sheepish tired smile into Cold Bloodlust LOVE THAT I EAT IT

Yuuji tbh it was a tough race fr him here bc i think his outfit loses him a couple points,, ((th red hood HARD carries but i would give the rest of his uniform some minor but Necessary tweaks gomen yuuji i am Altering your pants)) but he makes the cut bc his design overall is so iconic <3 /Great/ shonen protag look. specifically in the manga the way gege draws him i LOV th sharpness of his eyes i love how boyish and dynamic his design establishes him as being . also the pink hair was an S tier design choice thank u so much mappa kisses their design team

honourable mentions:

Maki (scars+short hair ver) LISTEN SHES OS HOT IM NOT SORRY. NO FURTHER COMMENT . i do still like the others More overall tho dfhjgd

pocket pick but ,,,Uraume??? I cant help it i Have A Favourite Colour,,,I love their dumb hair sm..... also the design Fits their vibe so well just the cold and mysterious and menacing in a Spectral way ?? Love th traditional vibe also . maybe an unpopular take but fr me at least their design does what geto's was trying to do with the robes but Better

[vexedtonightmares]

🎞 TEN SERIES IN GIFS 📺

ty 4 the tag ily @otrtbs !! i'll tag @serethereal @jam3sp0ttery @killherfreakout <3

the oa / succession / skam / sharp objects /severance / arcane / lost / hannibal / we are who we are / mindhunter

[theragethatisdesire]

theragethatisdesire!!! i saw your beautiful collection of books awhile ago so i wanna know your top 10 fave books & top 5 fave fics <3 (doesn’t have to be anime related:)

em!!!! hi my love, how are u?? i hope ur feeling good n healthy n happy today. this is going to be ..... so fucking hard to manage LOL but i will TRY!!!

top ten books (in no particular order) i think i will say......the lovely bones, the secret history, because of winn-dixie, dispatches, the picture of dorian gray, the virgin suicides, where the crawdads sing, sharp objects, midnight in the garden of good and evil, the little princess

top five fics (in no particular order)

the life and times this is genuinely one of my favorite things that's ever been written including non-fanfic media it's my....literal favorite oat

lily valley by my beloved @shepnicolo <3 <3 <3 it's just beautiful all the way through

in the dark of morning, you promise me the sun yes, it's bakugou. no, i haven't seen my hero academia. it is still genuinely one of the most tactful, realistic handlings of grief i've read (including non-fic media like novels). literally so well done.

deflowered i don't even know what exactly it is about this fic (besides the fact that the smut scenes are outrageously hot) that won't ever leave my brain, but it's just so well-written and i am forever heartbroken that it is on temp/permanent hiatus. sigh.

you say the word, i'm on the way ONE OF MY FAV EREN PIECES OF ALL TIME I LITERALLY SCREAM WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT. i cry every time i read it and i don't even know why lol.

bonus because i couldn't leave it out lol indulgence by philliam!!!! this is just singlehandedly the hottest eren fic of all time it's so steamy eren's so fine and it inspired me to start writing and like ... here we are!!

THIS IS HUGE I'M SORRY thank u for asking em :-) ily!!!!! enjoy my rec list...

[jesusbutbetterrr]

White, lavender, green, red, sky blue 💚

I AM TRUSTABLE WITH SHARP OBJECTS I SWEAR

ily silly <3333

[jaimeslanisters]

Me reading hotd fics:

Aemond falls in love...

Here we go

With Visenya/Aemma

Wow the originality😑

His niece. A bastard, Daemon or Harwin's bastard(never a daughter of Laenor eh but if that's the case, Nyra hates her so her daughter is gonna be a team green girlie)

Then they hate each other for three chapters, then they get into it in the next then of course he's gonna betray his own family to get laid🥱

Lady Lannister

Hmm that's new

Daughter of the mighty Joanna and Jason Lannister,as soon as she steps in KL, she befriends Helaena and wants to marry Aemond

I'm hooked.

They've been oblivious for their feelings for years but they are extremely political savy and unhinged for each other

Also Aemond kills for her honour and LL wants him to belong to him, also she sends her sister Cerelle to Cregan's arms(when they will appear I'M GONNA SCREAM

They haven't kissed

It's been 84 years

Viserys and Daemon aren't whitewashed by the narrative and authour aknowledeges they aren't good fathers, nor good men,they are preying into younger girls(Nyra and Ali)

LL, Baela and Rhaena will become besties

NICE

LL is pulling Rhaenys into the green's side

YES QUEEN.

Lannister Family being wholesome

LL is a lady with a sharp tounge, she's aware of her position as woman and wife at the eyes of Westeros, but that doesn't make her any less

Also Tywin, the most brutal and proud men of the entire Westeros, has come to respect her

ur asks literally ALWAYSSSSS make my day ily ily 😭😭😭

thank you so much!!!! pawn definitely spawned from a desire for something different than the normal fare 🤧 i spent like two days reading aemond fics and while there definitely were some bangers, the vast majority were the typical “rhaenyra’s daughter loves aemond so much he betrays his entire family for her” which…… is so far off base for aemond like…. don’t slander my man like that.

i saw a lot of female mcs where she’s #NotLikeOtherGirls and is like an amazing fighter that would put jaime lannister to shame and hates typically feminine hobbies which isn’t objectively awful but i wanted to write someone who IS like other girls, if that makes sense? lady lannister loves songs and reading and she does embroidery and doesn’t resent being a girl and that doesn’t make her any less powerful of a player.

thank you for enjoying pawn so much!!!! i’m glad my little fic can interest you after so many other stories in this fandom