#ts drabbles

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

This post is brought to you by the Sky Airlines phone line that has had me on hold for over an hour (though to be fair, that's just what happens when over a day of flights are cancelled):

Alastair was sweating. It took him hours to fall asleep to be woken by nightmares. In the darkness, he could see them: the people he’d abandoned. Charles. Coward, he said. He was angry. His father. A ghost, abandoned by his son at the moment he needed him most. Thomas. He was silent, but there was sadness in his eyes. The latest letter was on Alastair’s desk. His letters weren’t like Charles’, frequent and demanding. They were gentle, raw, honest. But Thomas would grow tired of him. So Alastair wrote. Dear Thomas, It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

the last time & better man | begin again

send me a TS song and I'll write a drabble!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

kaminari complains to his friends about how gross it is that you and katsuki kiss every morning in front of your classroom door. like, have some compassion for the singles, yknow ?! his friends tell him to just drop it.

what they don’t know is the reason he kisses you every morning is to guess which flavor your lipgloss is. and he’s a little too proud when he gets it right.

[lqveharrington]

The Alchemy | D.M.

summary: Although Draco promised that he would keep your relationship a secret just for you, he can’t contain himself after winning the Hogwarts quidditch cup.

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

includes: FLUFF, established relationship (and a last name of Evergreen for the reader)

a/n: inspired by the olympics recently ❤️

When Draco asked you out in fourth year, you thought it was a joke. Sure, you were both acquainted due to your pure wizardry bloodline, but you were in Hufflepuff. The only time the other houses thought you were useful was when they wanted to sneak into the kitchen. So when he came up and sat down beside you when you were studying potions, you were disheartened.

“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You were just starting to understand what ingredients made a truth serum.

“Do what? I’m asking you if you want to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend.” He spun the Malfoy signet ring adorning his hand.

You look up at him with tired eyes, “Did someone put you up to this?”

“What? No no, I—“ He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at how you were able to fluster him with even a small glance. “I’m really asking you to go on a date with me.”

You search his face for any indication of a lie, before biting your lip softly and looking down at your parchment. “Are you really?”

“I am.” Draco dropped his hand onto yours to stop your fidgeting with the quill.

You felt your own face heat up at the notion. He thumbed your palm softly as you stayed quiet, not minding his closeness. Finally, you looked up at him, “You have yourself a date, Malfoy.” He sent you a soft smile but before he could say anything else, you interrupted. “Please don’t let me down.”

Draco never let you down. Despite your earlier doubts, you saw how kind and thoughtful the Malfoy heir was underneath his hardened shell his father had built around him. In private, he was always attentive, loving, clingy — there wasn’t a moment where he was separated from you. In public, he had to rein in those feelings just for you.

Even when you started your seventh year at Hogwarts, you were still terrified what others at school would say about a Hufflepuff dating the Slytherin Prince. Sure, his parents and your parents knew, but not the entirety of Hogwarts. You had asked Draco to keep your relationship private until you were ready to face the reality of your relationship to the rest of the world. He begrudgingly agreed, respecting your wishes; but the need to kiss you in front of the entire student body to rightly claim that you were his was wavering.

Especially when it had been three years since you first started dating. And right now, you were currently hiding below the stands together as you greeted him with good luck kisses for his final quidditch match as a student in Hogwarts.

“I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. You say softly as he holds you close by your hips — smiling into all your kisses. “Good.” Kiss. “Luck.” Kiss.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Draco murmurs against your lips. He pulls away gently to look at your ever so loving gaze. He draws small hearts on you hip, “You done?”

“Never.” You kiss him again, hands cupping his jaw. “I want you to be stuck with me forever.”

He hums into the kiss as you thumb his cheeks softly, “I will after I win this game, my love.”

You separate again, grinning like a lovesick puppy. “Good luck, Dray. I’ll see you later.” You press one last kiss to his lips before leaving his arms and running up the Hufflepuff stands to cheer. You couldn’t deny that even after all these years he still made you giddy and red.

Draco shook his head with a soft smile only you could coax out of him. He walked out from the stands and hopped on his broom, ready in the air for his final match as Slytherin’s seeker. Cheers filled the stadium as the players took their place, captains shaking hands.

The final match for Slytherin and Gryffindor was probably the most anticipated all year round. Since it was also Harry Potter’s last game as seeker, and the two seekers were known as rivals, it was hyped up to be one of the best end matches of the season.

As the game progressed, Slytherin and Gryffindor were constantly tied. It was really up to the seekers to find the golden snitch to determine the winner. There were bets taking place in the house stands, mind fixated on earning a few galleons for the last time. For the Hufflepuff stands, they were a house divided. Many cheered for scarlet and gold while the other half cheered for green and silver.

You didn’t mind the division between your house. After all, you only watched the games for Draco. Your friends were cheering for the Gryffindors whilst you carried the small Slytherin flag in your hands — eyes trained on the blonde high above the game itself. The second you blinked from the blazing sun, Draco was soaring after the golden snitch, Harry close behind and eventually flying right next to him.

The shouts from the stands only fueled the seekers’ attention to the flying gold. Draco and Harry were chasing in circles after the snitch, attention focused on nothing else even as the bludger zoomed past them.

You held your breath as they both reach out for the snitch. Your friend held your shoulder in anticipation, watching the two closely. Before you could register what happened, she gasped and shook your shoulders in frustration.

“I lost ten galleons to that!” She sighed heavily as Draco flashed the golden snitch in the air.

The rush of the win made you scream happily with the other Hufflepuffs and houses cheering for the Slytherin team. You wear clapping your hands as the team began flying around in victory. You watched as Draco flew around the stands more as the rest of the Slytherin team settled on the grounds. His eyes scanned the stadium until they lit up when they saw you at the very front of the Hufflepuff stands — waving your Slytherin flag with pride.

“Seems like Malfoy is off showing the last snitch he’ll catch for the Slytherin quidditch team! But we all want to know where the trophy is!” The third year announcer spoke, voice casted across the stadium.

You smiled at Draco softly when you finally met his eyes. And before you knew it, he flew right over to you and cupped your face, kissing you senselessly. You grinned into the kiss as you held his cheeks, the shouts and screams from your housemates blending in your ears.

“Aw, quite a beautiful way to celebrate the win. Don’t you think so, McGonagall? Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Malfoy and Evergreen— Ow, sorry.” The third year announcer spoke once more, rubbing the spot the professor lightly hit them with a newspaper.

You part from Draco with a blinding smile, “I think I agree, this is a beautiful way to celebrate.” You say quietly only for him to hear, pressing quick kisses to his lips.

“I’m proud of you, love.” Draco nudges your nose with his to gently stop your kisses for a second — even though he did want more.

“Me? You just won the quidditch cup for your house!” You laugh while wrapping your arms behind his neck, careful in trying not to pull him off his broom.

He rubbed the apples of your cheeks, “You just let me kiss you in front of the entire student body… I think that’s more important.” He pulled you in for another mind searing kiss, making you smile helplessly.

“AGAIN?” The third year announcer shouted into the microphone once more. “Is there—“

“Alright, we’re done announcing, boys and girls.” Professor McGonagall spoke and shut the speakers off; although she was quite happy for the couple.

You giggled as he pulled you into a hug. “I love you.”

Draco pressed kisses to your cheek repeatedly, “I love you more.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[saradika]

— invisible string

din djarin x vaguely force sensitive!reader

rated e - 1.7k

tags: divergent timeline, soulmate!au, takes place across season 1 & 2, missed connections, the Razor Crest lives, PiV, marking, creampie, magical elements

a/n: for the TS Challenge by @beskarandblasters! This was so fun, thanks so much for hosting this event! 💖 I was so excited to get this song & character

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You feel as if you are always out of step.

Too early. And then somehow - just a little bit too late.

As if you've missed something crucial. A prickle on the back of your neck. Eyes scanning the crowds of people as you weave through cities - looking for someone.

As to whom, though - you're never quite sure.

You think it's always been there. A similar sort of feeling that flickers when you're in danger. That was something you had cultivated. Manipulated into a force you can wield. A push and pull, an aid - when you need it. Something you draw from often, during your days as a smuggler.

But you're not sure what to do with this.

The feeling is pushed down on Nevarro.

Contacted for a job, one that had been easy enough. Your goods exchanged in a dingy cantina - a shipment of stolen fuel cells furtively traded to an irritated man that went by Karga. Your eyebrows raised at the charred hole in the man's fine clothes - a half-hearted wonder at how the man was still standing.

The Imperial credits he offers you do not get you far. He's unable to offer you a puck - his trade was in bounty hunting, not smuggling. You're not sure if you'd take one, and the cells are enough to keep his crew afloat for a while. A dead-end for now, but you think - not always.

After, your ship drifts along an unseen track.

To Tatooine this time. A big job for the Hutts that takes you two weeks. Days in the sun spent waiting for the payments to transfer to your account, and so in the meantime - you tinker.

Trading your way up. A broken blaster fixed, exchanged for ship parts. The parts installed, the labor paid for with two, beat-up old speeders.

Only to sell them both to a cocky hot-shot bounty hunter for double their value - his over-blown self-confidence eclipsing the fact that you were absolutely swindling him.

It’s not your problem.

Though here, you can't help but feel the urge to linger. An itch beneath your skin, as if you've missed something, again.

You ignore it. Trading up one more time - swapping Mos Eisley for the sea. The choppy waters of Trask washing away the grit and sand that clings to your skin.

There's always work to be found here - deals to make with the Quarren and Mon Calamari. Those days spent at the inn, with lunches of warm homemade chowder and wrapped in chunky-knit sweaters.

Eyes snagging on a couple that often sits together at lunch. Their features frog-like, affection clear in their soft chatter, the slow blink of their large, black eyes. You imagine it to be a stolen moment - meeting up in the afternoon, too eager to wait until evening to see each other.

It’s nice.

It follows you, back to your room.

You think about them later - the obvious connection. A bone-deep urge to find another that matches a part of you. Something you've never had.

Somehow you know it’s out there.

But it's not time.

The next day, your ship takes off again.

There's a feeling deep down that for once, you're right where you need to be.

Your path is not guided by a job. Something spinning inside your chest like the point of a compass, your fingers keying coordinates with a mind of their own.

It's not a sea. Not a desert. Not a growing town, slowly rebuilding.

You're taken to a forest. The trees are unlike those you've seen - stretching tall and thin towards the sky. Their leaves sparse, but still filling the space with the sheer number.

There's a village - but you're drawn away from the tall walls. There's nothing inside that you seek. Drawn back to the trees you had seen from above. There's no tracks for you to follow, it's only your own boots pressed into the earth.

But you still go out, day after day.

It's on the third day, as you sit by the edge of a clear, shallow pool, that you hear the crack of branches under boots.

It should frighten you… but it doesn't.

It feels like an inevitability.

Your head turns, and there's a man there. His limbs encased in armor of shining beskar. A Mandalorian, you realize, when your eyes meet the dark visor that bisects his helmet.

"It's you." The words are a flat buzz, through his helmet. Unsurprised, somehow. Just as you are.

And it's him.

There's something about him, this man.

Deep down, it feels as if a string is tied around something vital inside you. A piece of you that you cannot live without, twined with its match inside him. Like the path you've taken has always led to this moment, this meeting.

You're not sure what that something is...

But think you are finally ready to find out.

His touch is familiar, though you've never known it. Much like everything else, it feels almost destined.

You know he feels it too. A slow circling dance, the weight of his eyes following you from behind the visor. That string inside no longer feels like a leash, but instead - a lifeline.

Finally being able to acknowledge that he has been what you've been orbiting around this whole time. Easing that ever-present ache of loneliness that had always followed you.

For some time, he had thought you would be the one to train Grogu. That perhaps this had been the reason why the fates had pushed you together.

You had tried, and failed. That part of you still too raw, too unfashioned. It lived inside you, but it was something you had been unable to teach another. How could you, when you did not even know the word for what it was?

And as time passed, you realized deep down that you were truly meant to be here now. Not for the before.

An aid at first, of course. You had gone with him to Tython. Traded in your ship, and traveled on the Slave 1. Had faced death by his side, staring into the black chrome of the Dark Troopers.

Had grieved with him, after.

You think this had been your place all along.

This liminal space, in those months that follow.

Giving him something to grab onto. Fingers sinking into flesh, your back hitting the mattress as he follows.

It’s dark, in the belly of his ship. With anyone else your senses would be screaming, a ringing alarm.

But you’ve come to know each room, fingers tracing the cold metal. From the walls, to the bunk, to him - the tips slipping under to tug at the fastenings of his armor.

He is quiet, like he often is now. But you can feel the heat that rolls off him in waves. The harsh buzz of his breath through the vocoder, before the light cuts out completely.

Before it’s just him and you.

His knees nudge your thighs wider. Pressing into muscle and flesh, forcing them up and apart. Your fingers twist in his curls, angling your mouth up to meet the kiss that is all teeth and tongue.

Fingers dip down, thick and calloused. Parting you, nudging inside to where you’re wet and waiting. Pumping deep with his thumb pressed snug against the button of your clit - leaving you dizzy and clenching and wondering if he just knew, as well.

You think he did. He does.

And when he works himself inside you, you finally feel full. Ripping a sound from each of you - his rough and swallowed, yours a broken murmur of his name.

Something else given in the dark, on another night akin to this. Pieces of himself peeled back and gifted, only to be carefully wrapped up and buried deep.

The pound of his hips itches at something you’ve been missing. Those hands tugging at your hips, pulling you to meet each harsh thrust. Fingers slipping down to swirl against you again - a spark rising each time you fit together, building swiftly to an inferno.

“Din,” You breathe, as something heavy flickers inside you, just out of reach, “Stars, please. Don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” It’s a low oath, as his cock grinds deep, “I’ve waited too long for you, cyare.”

He wrenches it from you, setting you ablaze. Your is cry loud in the tiny room as you come undone. The wild swirl of your senses narrowing down, until it’s just him. Din’s mouth against your neck, warm breath and teeth nipping marks into your skin - the pleasure flowing from you in pulsing waves, sinking into him.

Making him follow, no more than a dozen thrusts later. A gritted, bitten-back moan of your own name, before his hips are stuttering. Giving back what you passed to him, his cock throbbing inside you, buried deep.

Where he stays, until he’s gone soft. A pang of loss shuddering through you when he slips from between your thighs - expecting him to return to his own bunk.

To leave you, again.

But the mattress dips, next to you. The space narrow, a short sigh when you wiggle too much trying to get comfortable. Hands hooking around your wrists, hauling your hips over his. Settling you down on top of him.

And in the dark - he stays.

“Should have met you on Tatooine,” Din tells you later that night, unbidden. Letting your legs twine with his, thighs parted to make room for you. “I didn’t know it was you. If I had-”

His words end abruptly, hanging. Both of you thinking about all those moments when time hadn’t lined up. The synchronicity of your movements, just barely nudged out of time.

Both there, during that same moment. If you had stayed another day, maybe that would have been your meeting.

But you had left early, and he had came late.

“We’re here now.” You tell him, chin pressing against his chest. Eyes finding his in the dark, though you cannot see. “Isn’t that enough?”

There’s the brush of his hand along your spine - knuckles, and then fingertips as they unfurl.

“Yes.”

It is enough, for now.

You’re not sure if it’s forever. If, for some reason, you’ll be forced to part again. But tonight, you’re not worried.

Because, if you were to reach inside yourself and pluck that golden string right now - letting it thrum…

You think that he would feel it, too.

thanks so much for reading!! 💖

cyare - beloved

[wri0thesley]

Oh for lucas to wake up in the dead of night and find your side of the bed empty and start to panic, only to see you leaning in the open window clad in just his unbuttoned shirt staring wistfully at the moon and stars

cw: kidnapped reader, yandere character, allusions to past non-con/dub-con, references to cannibalism.

The breeze is just cool enough to be bracing, your fingers tight in the wood of the windowframe as you feel gooseflesh rise across the back of your neck, the open collar of Lucas's shirt. It is just enough to remind you that you are real; that you exist beyond sitting quietly at Lucas's side, at washing up dishes and smiling sweetly and keeping your mouth shut.

The moon is full tonight. You wonder if, somewhere else, the other people you love are looking up at that same moon. You wonder if they are wondering about you; whether your picture is splashed in newspapers, taped to flyers on streetlamps, shared on Facebook again and again with pleas for you to come home. It would not matter if it were; none of those things make it here, to this cabin in the edge of nowhere.

The sheets rustle. The bedframe creaks, and you feel your spine stiffen. You hear a low mumble of distress that quickly becomes a growl of anger, and you find yourself frozen still in fear as if, if he does not see you move, he will not see you at all.

It's instinctual for him to roll over and crush you against him in his sleep. You'd been amazed when you'd woken up earlier that night and had found yourself not in his bear-like grip; your cheek not squashed against the steady beat of his heart, your limbs not bound by a muscular thigh slung over yours, cuddling you close like a favourite stuffed animal that isn't quite yet worn enough to be disposed of.

You'd seen the moon and been drawn to it like a hypnotic force, as the reminder of where you are had crashed back down on you and choked you with longing to be somewhere else. You'd hated your life once - can you believe it now? You'd hated the monotony, every day the same, your own four walls and the knowledge that your life was probably going to stretch on like this forever--

But that monotony was certainly preferable to this. Get up, go to work, buy a nice sandwich from the artisan bakery, a walk in the evening wherever you wanted to go . . . you would give anything to have that back, rather than 'wake up in the arms of a monster and smile nicely and bite back your anger and pretend that it's alright that he feeds you people'.

"Darlin'?" There's a note of warning in his voice. Something steel-edged beneath the sweetness. You'll have to play this carefully. You're not stupid enough to run, and you're certainly not stupid enough to try and run through an open window when you're only wearing his shirt and no underwear (and too, when you can still feel what he left in you not hours ago, sticky on your inner thighs).

"The moon's full," you say to him, turning around and giving him a soft, sweet smile the way that you've learnt he likes. No teeth; a hopeful shine in your eyes, a naive kind of excitement at the wonderment of everyday life. If faced with it yourself, you'd scoff and think that you were laying it on too thick - but the reminder of the feigned naivety is one of the quickest ways to get Lucas to calm down.

(A pout and a sniffle and an apology, when he'd caught you on the front porch without him one afternoon, and you'd told him you just wanted to see the chickens he told you so much about. A sigh and a wistful look about your own favourite childhood movie, when you'd grown tired of the Western VHSes Lucas favourited - a romance, of course. A fairytale. Something that was set in a pretty cottage in the woods, that you told him with such a guileless look that you ought to have won an award for it reminded you of him).

"Isn't it beautiful?"

He stands up from the bed and it takes all of your grace not to flinch at the reminder of his height and breadth, at the scars scattered across his body in the moonlight, highlighted by what little he wears. You keep your eyes wide and your smile pretty, and you practically see the tension unknotting from his shoulders.

You heave a sigh of relief that you disguise as a sigh over how pretty the night sky is.

"You got outta bed just to look?" He says, with only the barest note of warning left in his voice now - it's been far too tempered by indulgence, because you have played the game so well that he's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. "You scared me for a second there."

The part where you're barely dressed and nervously toying with the hem of one of his own shirts where it sits high on your thigh and the reminder of how you'd sighed and clung to him earlier probably doesn't hurt, either. Give and take. It's not so much, is it, to give him your body for that hunger to avoid it being used for any other kind?

"I'm sorry," you say, contrite, and you let your face fall the merest fraction. You will tears to the corner of your eyes. "I--I didn't mean to-- I just wanted to look, the night's so clear and pretty . . ."

Jackpot. One of them slides down the apple of your cheek and Lucas takes a slow, shuddering breath that he thinks you don't notice. He steps closer and then he's behind you, and one big hand is sliding over your hip, around your waist.

"It's cold," he says to you. "Lemme shut the window; it's just as pretty when you're not shiverin'."

Was it worth it, you wonder - that brief moment of remembering that life is still going on, even though you're trapped here? You think it might have been, even as Lucas presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and guides you back to the bed.

"Besides," he murmurs, the proof of how much your tears have affected him obvious in the want in his voice. "Ain't no moon that could ever be half as pretty as you."

The next morning, Lucas goes into the spare room and returns to the bedroom with his arms laden with red gingham. He asks for your help holding them whilst he puts the curtains up, and you pretend not to notice that the uneven but tiny hem stitching suggests they were made by hands other than your own or Lucas's.

He closes them carefully before you lay down to sleep.

[vmp3ater]

hi how are you doing!! :D Your furina fic made me so giddy and since you take reqs,..,,.,..

this is a popular prompt but pleasuring furina or neuvillette during a trial, under a table or otherwise hidden from sight and watching the poor things squirm and try to keep a straight face

this is moreso a suggestion than a req though since you seem to be out of ideas lol have a great day :)

furina x gn! reader

warnings. dom! reader, sub! furina, pre 4.2 aq furina, semi-public (u are at a trial, no one sees), fingering, lap sex, reader n furi trying to be as discreet as possible. written by a minor.

notes. since i only do one character per post i chose furina, u can tell she’s a favorite of mine 😱 tysm for this request bff ‼️

this trial was boring.

yet it became more interesting when you had the hydro archon writhing and squirming on your lap, her back facing towards you as she tried to keep a straight face. but your ring and middle fingers that were curling and wiggling deep into her cunt prevented that.

furina’s nails dug into either one of your knees, your fingers swiftly moving into her. she so desperately wants to grind down on your hand, and moan and whine as loud as she wants to, but she can’t risk her and you both to get caught. so she bites her bottom lip as a weak attempt to stifle herself, yet whimpers bleed in between her gritted teeth as you move.

“shhh, lady furina,” her title rolls off your tongue like a melody, whispering as quietly as possible into her ears, only sending shivers down her spine. “we can’t risk anyone hearing you, can we?”

“i—“ furina so badly wants to brat at you, but her flamboyant facade faded quickly when your hand was deep into her shorts, trying to keep yourself hidden as best as possible while your free hand ran down her thigh, making her squirm and grind back towards your fingers that were pistoning in her tight cunt.

furina flutters around your fingers when she feels herself get close, trying her damndest to keep herself as quiet as possible when your fingers drag along her sweet spot. she hopes she doesn’t get loud, what if someone hears her? not like she knew she felt loud that someone, god forbid neuvillette heard her.

“‘m g’nna cum,” furina whispered, turning her head back to look at you, her voice all raspy and higher pitched.

“you can cum, sweet girl,” you responded, yet it was a whisper over neuvillettes, the defendant’s and the crowd's words. “but do it quietly.”

that was all the permission she needed from you. every time your fingers swiftly thrusted into her at the best of your ability, furina came around your fingers, heavily breathing as she used all of her self control to keep herself down. you smirked from your position behind her, holding her closer to you by just your free hand as you worked her through her orgasm.

everyone didn’t even notice you too, their attention was more focused on the reason for this trial rather than you fucking furina with your fingers during it. you drag your fingers out of her when she finishes her orgasm, whispering a low “good girl…” into her ear before you sucked her juices off of your fingers.

[devildom-moss]

I was thinking about Diavolo using his magic on MC

(angst) | (slight comfort) | (depressed gn!MC - w/ recurring episodes)

Diavolo noticed that there had been a change in you for a few weeks – something subtle and hidden. Whatever it was had filled him with a sense of dread, and he decided it was time to use his powers on you. He made sure to get you alone.

“MC, I called you here to ask, how are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lying.” It almost sounded like an accusation – had he not seemed so certain. You gulped.

“I told you: I don’t like you using your powers on me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you’ve been off for a while. I was worried.” And he was right to be worried. “I needed to know – to confirm. Why did you lie? . . . Are you depressed again? There’s nothing wrong with admitting that.”

You took a second, sighing at his words. “Clearly there is.”

“What do you –”

“You said ‘again.’ Do you know what I hear when you ask that? ‘Why aren’t you better yet? I thought you were fixed. How are you already sad again? Is it going to be like this forever? Why can’t you just be happy?”

Diavolo was stunned and he stared at you with a disgusting hybrid of pity and guilt. “You know I don’t think that, right?”

“Of course I know that, and it only makes me feel worse.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter how kind you are, my brain still tells me that every time I get like this, it’s going to burden you and everyone else. I start to think: why did you have to bring me here? If you never met me, things would be easier for you. I wish you had picked someone better. I wish you didn’t waste your kindness on me.”

“But I want to. It doesn’t take as much time and effort to love you as you think it does.” Diavolo moved to hug you, but he stopped himself short. “I know it sounds selfish, but I’m happy you’re in my life. Just let me love you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“You’re lying – well half-lying. Be honest; do you not like that I’m in love with you?” You bit your lip, trying to hold the truth back. Diavolo broke your resolve with a single “please.”

“Fine. I want you to love me. I want you to fix me, but I don’t want you to get disappointed when it doesn’t work. I don’t want to be disappointed when it doesn’t work.”

“Then don’t expect it to. Can I?” Diavolo opened his arms to hold you. When you didn’t protest, he pulled you firmly against him. “I can just love you. It doesn’t have to be more monumental than that. Besides, I don’t think I could stop myself even if you asked me to.”

[unaluv]

ੈ✩ bruno thoughts that nobody asked for ¡! ❞

gender neutral, these are just hcs that have def been put out there before but i just have some things to say

suggestive! not smut but proceed w caution??

a/n: when im writing this its legit 5am and the birds are chirping but my bucciarati thoughts wait for no man

maybe this goes without saying but in comparison to the rest of the bucci gang i just knooow hes such a romantic lover (caesar style)

this man is HANDSY. hands are always on you when you’re around each other, not even necessarily sexual, he just loves to feel the warmth of your skin under his palms!

and even when it is sexual, his hands are never leaving you- i’m imagining like running all over your torso type situation like they are always moving (god i love him)

he just wants to feel you close!! understandable

idk if this is a popular opinion in the jojos fandom but i feel like he would be possessive too like not in a toxic way just

like he is prooooud of his s/o and he wants the whole fucking world to know it but if ANYONE tries ANYTHING my man yelling sticky fingers he don’t play

(my man like 😭😭💕)

he looooves when you run your fingers through his hair

that man has a well maintained haircut (ik y’all seeing the fuck ass bob) and so naturally he loves getting it done- even just dragging your fingers through the strands of his hair likeee ik hes eating that up

he def does not mind you taking the lead, and i just know he’s into ts

i feel like hes super into a dominant s/o like this man just wants you to feel good, but when you take control, even in everyday life i just know he loves it

even if a more shy s/o occasionally showed a bit of sass likeeeee

i feel like he’s totally down for polyamory likeeee idk

i reckon he’d be fine with just one s/o, but he’d also def be down for polyamory, or even just a non-monogamous sexual relationship & he has def experimented with it in the past

hes def bringing a certain long-haired someone in (if you’re comfortable w that ofc)

this my man just has so much love to give!

definitely big on eye contact

idgaf he’s flirty as FUCK like the eye contact goes crazy w him, and he’s gonna be noticing every little detail of the way your eyes flick over his face when he’s close to you

loves to see you shy away and blush but will also find it sooo attractive when you hold your ground and stare right back

a/n: for some reason this post keeps glitching so if u see any duplicate paragraphs ignore it 😭😭🙏

[imgondeletedis]

hey guys so

who would be interested if i wrote a mini-series Benedict bridgerton x reader, like a dark multi-shot, might or might not be inspired by fortnight by Taylor Swift because in my opinion one of the complex songs on this album, you've got to trust the process, I MIGHT GET A LOT OF BLACK LASH BUT ALRIGHT I am kinda proud of it, gonna include a slight cheating warning. So who wants to be on the taglist?

Gif not mine obviously.

Will also post on ao3 if someone's actually interested hehehe

[aeroplaneblues]

so i followed you for your haino art and because your artstyle is super cute, and then you posted wriothesley and cyno interacting and i’ve been pulled into rare pair hell. im now the #1(and possibly only) wriono shipper and what im trying to say is could you please draw them again im going crazy

Im so sorry but this made me laugh so hard😂😂 here is my apology for leaving you in rare pair hell:

[reticenceofladyeva]

hoax iii (my smoking gun)

Zuko is behaving oddly.

Her brother has always been overeager, to an extreme fault, but he has always known to let her go for the kill. He's never had the stomach for it anyway.

He's never had the stomach for civilian casualties either, Azula muses as her eyes linger on his scarred face.

"What?" he snaps, glaring at her.

That, at least, is familiar. "Oh, nothing," she says, keeping her face carefully neutral. "I was just wondering what possessed you to take up with some Water Tribe peasant."

Zuko's eyes narrow fractionally, but he doesn't protest as she expects. Interesting.

"I thought she would lead me to the Avatar."

Azula holds back a derisive snort. It won't do to alienate him now. "You've certainly had worse ideas," she says instead, mildly. "A pity I'd already captured him."

This does pull a reaction out of him, and Azula waits as he rails about how it was my task to capture the Avatar, and how will Father ever accept me now that you're the one who captured him, blah, blah blah.

Azula's perfectly reddened lips twitch.

She'll tell him Father doesn't know the Avatar has been in her custody at a more opportune time. Zuko has always been a reliably useful fool. It doesn't appear he's about to stop now.

Just the same, Zuko is behaving oddly.

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

Basically the best news I got all this weekend. I miss your writing so much! 🦔

As a start, what about Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift? <3

that's so sweet!! I'm hoping to really start writing more once I leave my job at the end of the month (just in time for angstmas ;))

ly got to me first on anti-hero, so here it is! feel free to send another one, the only other requests I've gotten so far are for sweet nothing.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend!!

[moonbeam-dragon]

Prinxiety Fluff Drabble

Virgil wasn't huge on touch. He just never enjoyed it. He had gone a long time without any sort of hugging or even brushing someone's hand. It didn't upset him. He liked his space. He liked his privacy. He liked feeling cold and set apart.

He wasn't with Janus and Remus anymore. He wasn't exactly with Roman, Logan, and Patton at the time, either. He didn't have anyone emotionally close to him, so he didn't let anyone physically close to him. He didn't feel a need to touch humans.

That was until he accidentally took Roman's hand. Virgil blamed Patton for the situation that followed. Virgil hadn't minded it. He'd been flustered and irritated. But the touch itself didn't hurt. In fact, it felt great. Roman's hand had been warm and soft, only slightly calloused. He wanted that kind of gentle, calming contact again. But that meant asking for it. That meant having to be close to one of them. So that was a no. He didn't need anymore touch.

+++

Virgil tucked his face into Roman's shoulder, absorbing the prince's warmth.

It had been such a long day of trying to create something. Videos demanded ideas, which triggered stress and anxiety. By the time they'd come up with something good and started on it, Roman and Virgil were exhausted. Virgil was still shaking from the small anxiety attack they'd managed to give Thomas. They never meant to upset him so much. It was part of the process. Granted, that had been happening less and less lately. He supposed that was good.

The stress had thoroughly exhausted both Sides and they'd retreated to their own rooms. Logan and Patton were used to it. They hardly ever ate dinner as a group anymore. They didn't really need to eat anyways. It had just been a nice thing that they could do to be together. Now Virgil only really ate when he stole snacks to eat while watching endless conspiracy videos. They heard Logan and Patton in the kitchen, eating dinner themselves. They didn't care to join. Neither had the energy to have any sort of social interaction. Virgil only gathered the energy to put on his skeleton onesie, go to Roman's room, and collapse next to the prince.

Somehow, Roman had enough strength to move their bodies closer. Virgil didn't object in any way. Roman knew what he was and wasn't comfortable with. Besides, it wasn't often that Virgil was comfortable with being so close. It was a special moment to cherish if the emo let himself be cuddled this way.

So Roman lay there, holding Virgil to his chest, cozy.

[lqveharrington]

Guilty as Sin | C.S.

summary: Your relationship with Coriolanus must remain hidden due to his campaign for presidency. The funniest part? You were the daughter of his rival. The worst part? All the girls flaunted over him.

pairing: politician!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: kissing, jealousy, coriolanus and reader being possessive, slight suggestiveness (that’s pretty much it, let me know if i missed any)

a/n: coryo my bb, i missed you 😕 (a really short one-shot to make up for my lack of coryo content)

Hidden. That was the extent of your relationship with Coriolanus Snow. From stolen kisses before interviews, to longing glances from across prestigious functions required for the running politicians; you were content enough to have him behind the scenes. Well, you were content enough until all the girls started flaunting over his sudden rise to power.

“It’s disgusting, really.” Your father scoffed and shook his head at the young Snow. “I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten backlash from all the ladies practically throwing themselves at him.”

Your hands twitch at the sight, red nails printing crescents into your palm. “You could always change that, father.”

He raised his brows at your sudden fierceness, “I suppose I could. But what good would it be to waste resources on him?”

Coriolanus glanced around the bastion in boredom when he met your icy stare. He raised a brow before tilting his head toward the hallway — excusing himself from the crowd of ladies when he saw you roll your eyes and take long strides to meet him.

“What is it?” You asked with irritation filling your voice.

He squinted at your tone before opening a door and shoving you through it, causing you to stumble across the marble floor.

“God— Coryo, this dress is expensive!” You catch yourself on the bathroom sink, glaring at him through the mirror.

“What are you making faces for?” He leaned back on the wall, hands tucked into his pants pockets. He tilted his head as he waited for you to answer, watching your expression change.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, messing with the golden necklace adorning your neck. “Which of those girls will you marry, Coriolanus?”

He raised his brows, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, except for the fact that you constantly have women swarming around you like you’re a bachelor.” You shift your gaze toward the door, frowning when you saw his foot blocking the bottom.

“You’re jealous?” He pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin under his finger. “That’s new, dove.”

You frown, “I’m not, I’m cautious.”

Coriolanus hummed, pressing a soft yet imperious kiss to your lips — using his free hand to tug your waist closer to his own body. He felt you melt into his embrace as he traced circles across your hip. “Those women don’t hold a candle to you. Why are you worried?”

“I’m not…” You murmur, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. Might it been a more private setting and gala, you would have done things you wouldn’t normally do. Meeting his stare, you find him wanting more than just two simple words. “No one knows about us. What if someone draws up a contract for an arranged marriage of some sort.” You take a finger and make patterned across his dress suit, refusing to meet his eyes. “Or what if my father draws up a contract for another? What would happen to us?”

He took your hands and held them tightly, urging you to focus and calm yourself. “I won’t let that happen, alright? Once I win the election, you’ll be right at my side as First Lady.” He brought your hands up to his lips and pressed two kisses onto the back of your palms. “If anyone dares to defy us, then off to the Districts.”

“And what happens if my father wins?” You whisper, terrified a noise louder would break your heart. “What will we do then?”

“Do you doubt my ability to win a presidential election, dove?” He asked whilst thumbing your hands. “Your father may think he has the resources to best me, but I assure you, Snow lands on top.”

You roll your eyes jokingly at the motto before capturing him in another kiss. “Then win, Coryo.”

As days passed, you watched Coriolanus speak with many ladies of the Capitol Elites. And each time you wished he would come over and claim you as his in front of everyone. With each passing moment, election day came closer and closer until it was day to recognize who won the Presidential Election.

“Miss, you must stop fidgeting at once.” Your handmaid, confidant, and past governess in your house staff spoke from beside you, creasing her brows at your state. “The cameras are watching.”

“Let them.” You pick nervously at the golden necklace, watching the voting count change every few seconds. “They’re about to find out who’s the new President anyway.”

She sighed and took your free hand in hers, squeezing it for reassurance. Although she — and many of the Capitol — believed you were hoping for your father to win, you couldn’t help but break into a bright grin whenever Coriolanus received more votes. Not before long, the big screen blackened, hiding the finals votes before they announced the winning candidate.

Your eyes met with Coriolanus’ before uproar took over your father’s stands, causing you to wonder exactly what happened.

“Maria—“

“Your father lost, Miss. Snow is our future President.” She squeezed your hand, carefully watching your expression change from confusion to surprise.

“Excuse me.” You released her hand and stood from your father’s box, running through the screams of your father’s supporters and stands. There were shouts of disbelief and anger as you ran, dodging angry men and women before your heels clicked against the floor.

You scanned the scene, watching your father walk down from his podium in defeat but not finding Coriolanus in his respective podium. You pushed through all the people near the blonde’s stands, hearing their cheers of happiness before your eyes meet his once more.

Your face split into a beguiling smile as you ran into his arm, grabbing his face and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He spun you around despite his and yours image. You giggle into this kiss and rest your forehead against his, sighing contently at the outcome.

“What did I say?” He asked as the camera’s spun around to capture your intimate moment, your father seething alongside his supporters. “Will you be my First Lady?

You wipe lipstick off his lips before giving him another kiss, “Of course, President Snow.”

read more about coriolanus snow here!

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[wri0thesley]

Diluc and L, pretty please!

L - Lily (purity): “I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

cw: injury, dub-con, captive reader

You're trembling. Diluc is blood-stained, his jaw set stubbornly, his clothes a mess of blood and charred carbon and mud and Archon-knows what else. You shouldn't have done this, you think, as his hand grasps your chin in his, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh of your cheek. He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

"You want to clean me up?" He asks you again, and you curse yourself for your own stupidity. He is your captor, not your lover. It can be hard to remember, wrapped in luxury, brought breakfast in bed by maids and dressed in pretty morning gowns of fabric you could never have afforded before Diluc's attentions - those days when Diluc is not here, and you can imagine Dawn Winery is yours.

But you are, at the heart of it, his captive.

When he is at home, he broods through the house; tells you shortly that you're not to leave this room, you're not to go onto the balcony without anyone with you, you're not to eat that, or say this, or forget your manners again. He sleeps beside you, arms like vices around your waist.

But he has not been home for two weeks, and when you had seen him at the door to your shared chambers, his face bruised and his lip swollen and bloody and his entire body bowed with exhaustion . . . you had forgotten all of it in a moment of weakness, and the memory of who you were before Diluc had made this your life had come rushing to the forefront.

You had seen to plenty of men and women injured like this, when you were in the employ of the Church of Favonius, running their clinics. You had patched up children's knees and sewn shut the wounds of the Knights with the same sweet smile and gentle disposition. You had learnt what to say to men like Diluc, who gritted their teeth and insisted it did not hurt and they did not need your assistance even as they fell to their knees on the marble floor of the cathedral and you had to ask some of the sisters to help carry them into the infirmary room.

You could backtrack. Slink back into bed, shake your head, say something about the mess and the scent of the blood--

But you couldn't really, could you? Diluc had - at least, he says - fallen in love with you in those little backroom infirmaries, elbow deep in blood and medicines and bandages. He had looked at your soft smile and heard your gentle voice and, he says, thought you far too sweet and precious a thing to languish there, at the mercy of any rogue who could walk into the Cathedral and ask for sanctuary. He would know you were lying.

You give him a wordless little nod instead, your face still cradled in his gloved hand. A look flits across his own visage; something so sweet and adoring and disbelieving it makes your stomach twist.

"I don't deserve you," he rumbles, and truer words have never been spoken, as he lets you take him gently by the arm and tug him towards the adjoining bathroom. You ignore the muddy boot-prints on the floor; you try and will yourself to imagine the Cathedral around you. Nothing more than Master Diluc Ragnvindr, needing your aid - you think, as your fingers reach for the fastening of his shredded, tattered jacket and push it off the broadness of his shoulders.

He lets out a hot breath that reminds you that this is not just an ordinary day at the Cathedral; looks at you through half-lidded eyes as you busy yourself with running warm water into the basin, searching for cloths and sponges. There is nothing untoward kept in this bathroom - Diluc does not even shave in here, lest you get the wrong idea about something sharp - but there are, thankfully, enough cloths and a tiny bottle of antiseptic, so that you can clean the wounds on his already scarred chest even as he hisses.

He . . . isn't often undressed around you.

That, he tells you, he will wait for - big soulful crimson eyes trained on you. Until you're ready. Until you realise just how hard he is working to take care of you and you return to him the affection he knows you have in your heart. He would never, he promises, hand on his heart, force you to do anything--

He says, as if you are not forced to play house like a pretty little spouse in his luxurious winery already. He says, as if you are not forced to bite down your growls and hisses and sharp words about the life he has stolen you from. He says, as if you are not forced to pretend you are someone else lest you simply go mad.

His breath is coming out in pants as you work your fingers through the matted crimson strands of his hair. His cheeks have flushed beneath your careful, slow attempts to clean him and his wounds. He groans, chest-deep, as you swallow and reach for his trousers, where you can already see that a gash on his thigh has stuck the fabric to his skin.

"This is how I fell in love with you," he grunts, as you manage to undo it, as your cheeks burn with humiliation as you undress him and he sits there, placid and silent. "So . . . lovely. So . . . caring. Even to those who don't deserve it." You kneel before him, so you can check over the wound to make sure there is nothing stuck in it--

And your mouth goes dry and fear and disgust war in the pit of your stomach as you realise he's hard, the stiff outline of his cock pressing against his underwear. Diluc reaches out for you, one hand curling around your shoulder, another soft groan falling from his mouth as he looks down at you.

You freeze where you are. The moment shimmers between you, charged with possibility, and you find yourself reciting a prayer to Barbatos in your head over and over again, muddling over the words in a fever pitch that Diluc will keep his word--

But he's been off ever since he limped into the Winery. Muddled. A blow to the head? Whopperflower nectar? Some creature's venom, some spell from the Abyss? You don't know what it is, only that Diluc is looking down at you and there is a hot, burning kind of hunger that he usually tries to hide written clear in his crimson gaze.

"You're so pretty down there," He says, voice low and dark and husky. "I . . . I shouldn't taint you like this. Not when you're so pure."

"Diluc?" Your voice comes out thready and reedy, your body trembling like a harp-string. "Let me patch you up--"

"No," Diluc says, more to himself than to you. "I've waited so long--"

The hand on your shoulder curves upwards, thumb brushing your collarbone, your jawline. You curse the thin little morning gown you'd let Adelinde dress you in this morning, the square neckline a little risque - giving Diluc unfettered access to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat and your collar.

He's not interested in those, though. His thumb presses against the seam of your lips, instead. With a strength that an injured man should not possess, he uses his other hand to pull you closer at the same time as he hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it to open up.

Panic flaring in your mind. Diluc pulls your mouth open as wide as he can, uncaring that you're drooling - his eyes are somewhere far away now, as he mutters to himself--

"It's not so bad," he's saying, "I'm not . . . it's just your mouth, and I've been so calm, and you're so beautiful-- it won't . . . ruin you--"

"--'iluc--" You can't speak for his thumb in your mouth, for the saliva filling it, for the fear that runs through you as his other hand slowly goes to unbutton his placket as if in a trance.

"Shh," he says to you, and you have never heard a less reassuring hush. "It's alright, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. You offered, remember? I would never . . . force you to do anything--"

[nova2kss]

Give me like 2 days yall🤭