#Private Eyes Inc.

[highedgemedia]

#Gas Pipeline #north carolina #security services #ncprotectiongroup #Gas pipeline security #NC Protection Group #Oil and Gas Industry #Private Eyes Inc. #private investigator #private investigation agency

[dirtyriver]

Avengers inc. #3, cover by Daniel Acuna

#Comics #Private eye #Avengers #Avengers Inc. #Wasp #Vic Shade #Jane Foster #Daniel Acuna

[chernabogs]

Threnody

Inc: Malleus x Reader, with a lil bit of Lilia parenting Warnings: Existential crisis, anxiety mentions, allusions to death, dabbling in insecurity, post-blot coping WC: 2.9k Summary: There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within.  Part 1

The gasps of spring’s last moments found closure under summer’s blade as she sliced through the tolerable weather into that of stifling, uncomfortable heat. Despite the way it made his skin itch beneath his uniform, or the way it left an aroma of sweat and humidity on those he surrounded himself with, Malleus was apt to linger on the Isle of Sages for slightly longer than necessary this time. Of course, Housewardens were always the last to leave anyway—someone had to make sure the dorm rooms were cleared out and prepared for the coming fall. 

Last to leave, first to arrive. 

Even then, there was more motivation than the years before for him not to depart so hastily back to the cooler, darker halls of Black Scale Palace for all of three months. Motivation which was presently situated on one of the couches of the Diasomnia lounge, basking in the fresh air from the open windows as Malleus arranged the last of the disarrayed cushions to his liking. 

Yours had come to be a strange relationship in the aftermath of his uncomfortable realization post-overblot. He had bit his tongue like a man cursed and ensured that you had not caught wind of the idle thoughts turning in his mind as he had observed you, so patient and so giving, sitting next to the cot he had been delegated to in that medical ward. 

Your idle chatter had been efficient at keeping periods of silence from stretching for too long. Those periods of silence would have been the trigger to make him shoot off his mouth at you, ejecting his revelations like a psalm that no one was ever meant to read. 

… He wanted you. He wanted you, so much so that it ached in his body …

Such thoughts were akin to ones that a man in torment would have, writhing between the battle of want and learned conservativeness. 

He had admittedly avoided you for a week upon being released. His excuses were mainly that he wished to focus on the reparations duly owed to everyone that had been caught in the prison of his insecurities. Internationally, he had a script written for him by some of the more political of Briar Valley, apologizing for his actions and ensuring he was taking the steps to never fracture again. Privately, he fumbled over words in the dark to the three he had hurt the most, his voice breaking as fingers twisted the hems of his sleeves. He had been more nervous asking forgiveness from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia than he felt speaking to an international stage.

He had not asked for forgiveness from you, despite the fact that you and Grim had been on the forefront of this conflict, alongside the Shroud brothers and STYX. Your presence by his bedside had felt like absolution already granted, and so to plead for it would be a waste of fragile breath in the end. 

“Have you marred the cushion enough?” A teasing tone snaps him sharply from his ruminations as he pauses, his mind sluggishly returning to the present. He holds the couch cushion in his hand, its form warped from the original due to his constant pushing and remodelling. Malleus clears his throat before dropping it unceremoniously and nudging it with his knee. 

“It was due for some rearrangement.” His voice is less light as he assesses the rest of the dorm before his gaze drags itself back to you. The sunlight dapples across your skin as you watch him, the faint smirk on your lips doing little to hide the tiredness that rests in your eyes. Like him, you too have fought battles this year. It was selfish to bemoan his own hells when you have been in levels far deeper. 

“Sometimes you seem more meticulous than Riddle. I should be thankful I don’t need to memorize a rule book for Diasomnia as well.” You still continue to poke fun even as you observe him with a sharp stare. This is a look he has grown familiar with since his overblot. Perhaps born of concern, or perhaps born of paranoia, but you have been dissecting every comment he’s made as of late in a more clinical fashion. 

Malleus does not deign to give you a reply as he drifts around the lounge, readjusting candles or shifting books ever so slightly on the table. He wouldn’t say he’s overly anal about how things operate, but he does appreciate a sense of order. He has dealt with enough chaos this past year that the thought of more feels like a weight on his back. It’s when he enters his third lap of the room that you speak up again.

“Malleus.” His name slips from your lips like a lure, causing his attention to move from the lounge to your form once more. The smirk is absent from your lips as a sterner expression rest on your face. He still enjoys the sight of it. Smiling, stern, or despairing—he struggles to find flaws in your complexion. “Is there something on your mind? You seem quite restless.” 

That terrible impulse to speak true rears its ugly head once more as deeper thoughts bubble up to his tongue. Want, want, want, want—

His upper lip curls into an expression he doesn’t mean to give—disgust—and he see’s the consequence of this by the hurt that flashes in your eyes. He turns to face away as an ugly feeling embraces his body.

... You cannot speak with them, or hold them, or tell them how much they mean to you ...

“Nothing, Prefect. I’m merely thinking about what still needs to be done.”

_______________________________________________

There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within. The skies above are a roiling mass of grey as the scent of rain perfumes the air. Malleus observes it with fraught silence as he taps painted nails along the windowsill. That ugly feeling is still wrapping its arms around his body. He has showered several times, scrubbing his skin until it was raw in an attempt to remove the heat and the unseen slickness that is holding him hostage. The failure to do so has set him in a foul mood—one that the entire world can now sense.

This can be easily written off as a last spring storm, intending to make the season’s death a performative one. At least, those who have not been alive for several hundred years would think so.

He can feel a gaze on the back of his neck for a while before he finally rolls his eyes and decides to address the elephant in the room.

Or, more accurately, the bat.

“If you intend to surprise me, you’re doing a poor job at it,” Malleus mutters wryly as he finally looks back to the shadowy corner. Red eyes glint in delight before being accompanied by a white smile as Lilia moves to stand by his side.

“I was trying to surmise if I would be allowed to approach, or if you’d try to fry me with a lightning bolt first.” Lilia clasps his hands behind his back as he leans forward to look at the skies above. His expression is quite relaxed for someone fully aware of the turmoil going on in the man next to him. Lilia’s brush with death in the recent months had caused him to be more open-minded to the possibility. “You’re going to make move out day a very unenjoyable experience if you keep this up.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Malleus’ voice is dry as he taps his nails again, his attention fixating on the skies. The ugly feeling churns alongside the clouds above and for a moment it makes him feel satisfied to see a physical reflection of his state.

“Malleus.” There’s a sharper, more paternalistic tone now behind Lilia’s words. Malleus can feel the disapproval rolling off of him the longer they stand here in a stubborn silence. In the aftermath of the blot, Malleus had agreed to be more communicative of his moods to his family, and so it’s with a reluctant grunt that he speaks again.

“I don’t feel good.” His words are just as sharp as Lilia’s as his expression darkens. “I don’t know why.”

“Have you visited the medical ward?” Lilia’s hand flits out to touch Malleus’ forehead, as though checking to see if he’s feverish. The gesture causes the prince to scowl and move his head back. “Oh, come now, don’t get moody with me. I’m concerned.”

“Is it concern, or do you just wish to fuss over me?” He grumbles back as he bats his guardian’s hand away. “I haven’t visited the medical ward, no. I’m not too sure if there’s cause to do so.”

“Then at least tell me what you’re experiencing. Perhaps I can provide some insight.”

Lilia would be the most probable to give some sort of answer. Malleus knew the cause already, but his denial of the fact makes him speak up regardless. “I feel... unclean. Hot. Restless. There is a twisting sense of anxiety in my stomach that has made sleep quite evasive as of late, and it only is growing with each passing day. It’s as though I’m afraid of something—but I have yet to discover what.”

Lilia frowns as he looks from the window to Malleus. There’s a seriousness to him that comes from those many, many years of experience. “Is that so? And is there something you think of that seems to make this feeling grow?”

Malleus’ jaw clenches at the question as memories briefly flash in his mind. Sunlight dappling on skin, lips curled in a faint smirk, and idle chatter at a hospital bedside.

“Malleus?” Lilia’s voice is softer this time. Malleus knows that in this moment, he is playing traitor to his own thoughts. He looks to his guardian, and his silence is all the answer the other man needs.

“Am I ill?” He asks, and it’s when Lilia’s expression becomes one of faint sympathy that the ugly feeling becomes clearer.

“... no, not ill.”

Lilia’s repetition of the same answer he gave Malleus so long ago feels like cruel irony in this moment. Malleus barks out a laugh before waving dismissively at the other, who takes his cue to vanish away.

Not ill, no. But foolish, most certainly.

_______________________________________________

Ramshackle is no longer a dorm of ruins. The school year and your tender care has given it new life, something that many may have thought would never occur. No longer can he hear floorboards rotting or cement cracking under the weight of time. Although he mourns the loss of such precious tribute to the end, the prospect of rebirth is invigorating all the same.

He draws to a stop by the iron gates and takes a deep breath, looking to the dorm in silence until he see’s a figure step out and stand on the porch, waiting for him.

He does not make you walk to him this time.

Malleus’ hand grasps that iron gate and forces it open so that he may step through. He walks with purpose towards the porch where you stand, a mug of something in your hand as you watch him in the dying light. Birds sing their last songs and grasshoppers begin their own chorus as he stops just at the edge of the steps and looks to you appraisingly.

“Are you ready to retire?” He asks.

“Depends. What brings you to my home tonight?” You counter, smirking wryly from over the rim of your mug. That expression makes his nails dig into his palm behind his back as he clears his throat. He feels more nervous standing before you now than he felt speaking to an international stage.

How funny.

“Walk with me.” The words come out more as a demand than a question, and for a moment he balks, thinking that the authority in his tone may have just cost him an opportunity. But then you take a sip of your drink before setting it down on the porch’s banister.

“Please?” You hum, and Malleus clenches his jaw, looking to you with an unwavering gaze.

“Please.”

_______________________________________________

The nights silence, often welcoming, now feels as though he’s standing on a stage before an audience held in rapt attention. The two of you walk silently down your usual route as his mind turns and tosses his thoughts like a restless sea. He wishes to know if you feel a similar turmoil to what he presently does—and yet you are moving in perfect ease by his side.

“... and I can tell you, he wanted to make another contract with Azul over this. He was making faces at the man the entire time we were in the Lounge and Floyd looked ready to drag him to the backrooms.” You’re chattering away about your two other friends as you walk. He finds the situation grimly humorous. He’s having a crisis, and you’re filling him in on how ridiculous the antics of your companions are.

“Is that so?” Malleus murmurs vaguely, if only to keep you speaking, if only to keep hearing your voice. The two of you continue on your route as he remains in a trance like state.

No, not ill.

Lilia’s words are an omen hanging over his head. His guardian knows, and although Lilia is very skilled at keeping secrets, the fact that another is involved in this only makes his anxiety grow. He looks to you briefly. There’s a time limit left on how long you will remain by his side, both for tonight and for the future. You may return home, or you may embark on some grand adventure around the world, drinking in all the sights that Twisted Wonderland has to offer while he’s forced to remain in a palace on his own.

Everyone misses the ones they love when they leave us.

His grandmother’s comment in the mausoleum also comes to the forefront of his mind as he ruminates on this. He will miss you, and that’s an uncomfortable fact. He will miss you, and he cannot place if this is because of genuine care or because he’s so goddamn terrified of ending up on his own, that he cannot come to terms with the loss of someone by his side.

He doesn’t even register the two of you coming to sit on a bench by the main street, doesn’t even register how empty it is. He doesn’t register anything at all until he feels the sensation of your warm hand on his and it pulls him so harshly from his thoughts that he fears he may have whiplash.

“Hey?” You’re looking at him, and it seems that at some point you had stopped talking about your friends, stopped talking about your day. There’s concern in your eyes and it’s such a warm feeling, to be worried about, but for some reason it makes Malleus want to shrink back into the shadows even more. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem like you’ve been in a whole different place this entire walk.”

No. He wants to say. No, actually. According to my guardian I am not ill, and yet the very prospect of watching your form grow smaller on the coast of this Isle as I return to the Valley is one that fills me with such abysmal fear that I cannot even comprehend it. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I do know that you are the centre of this all.

You will die. So will I, in the end, but yet it’s this childish fear of seeing you fade away while I still remain that I cannot seem to get past.

Please, show me how to get past. Let me know, so that I may know you.

The words that had fought so hard to escape him so far now shrivel on his tongue as he looks to you. Your gaze flickers around his face, focuses on his lips, and it’s that action that makes a bolt of heat shoot through him. But before that bolt can ignite to something more, the ugly feeling wraps its hand around his throat and wrenches his head back. He jerks his face away and stands from the bench, his body stiff as he clears his throat.

“No, I think I may be coming down with something. It would be best to head back.” Even his words feel fabricated—traitorous! —as he speaks them aloud. This is not what he wishes to do. He wishes to thread his fingers through your hair, to pull you in and to lose himself within you until he can no longer differentiate where he ends, and you may begin. He wants to taste your words before they leave and know your thoughts before they’re spoken. He wants you, so much so and it aches and—

“Malleus,” you begin again, moving to go to his side, but he raises a hand to you sharply.

“Now.” He chokes out before setting off down the path, uncaring to see if you’re truly following or not. His mind is in turmoil and his body feels as though he has no control over it any longer. All that lingers now is the way your gaze went to his lips and the silly, hopeful thoughts such an action provoked.

Please.

#twst x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #ok i promise i'll give u a nice conclusion but there is a BUILD UP #the man is like an onion we got layers we gotta pull #the beautiful crisis between what you were raised believing and what you desire #OUAGH #the tension of want and control #malleus has several crisis in my stories and i love it all

[shinestarhwaa]

I'm so excited for your event I'm literally dancing in my chair 😂

My request is San + kinks 12 and 25 + line 48 + 59. Arranged marriage AU hehe.

Let's gooo and let the creativity fairy bless you mwah 😘🩷

Thankyou darling! I hope you'll enjoy this one!

City Lights || CHOI SAN

Genre: Smut

Pairing: husband!San x Fem reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Tags/warnings: Arranged marriage! AU, Dirty talk, praise kink, virgin!reader, handjob, fingering, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, making a baby🤪

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @lemonhongjoong @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @1-800-shedevil @glintneon123

ENJOY!

"Well, it's quite romantic, isn't it? With all the lights?" Your husband grinned. You gave him a weak smile, still feeling fuzzy from the flight. He patted your back as you walked down Regent Street.

"Is there anything you need?" He asked. You shook your head. "Did you lose your tongue, Y/N?" He sighed. "No, sorry," you apologized quickly.

You and your husband had just touched down in London for your honeymoon. San insisted on going somewhere sunny but you loved the gloomy days and requested to go to London instead. After all you were married and supposed to be together forever, there would be a lot of opportunity's to see warm countries instead.

San had requested you to be his wife, well actually, your parents had arranged this. You hadn't found a suitor yet and his parents wanted him to marry someone from good wealth and they didn't trust San with finding a wife as he fell in love with 'nothings' before.

But you were something. Your parents run one of the largest company's in South Korea and is currently planning on blending with Choi INC., the company that San's parents run. It was only natural that they both decided on getting their children to marry each other.

Now you could have done worse, you were aware. He was handsome and he hasn't been bad to you so far, but it was hard for you to give him so much attention and love when you hardly knew him. You were married for money and specifically for your parents' money and you thought it was kind of fucked up.

Nonetheless, you were with San in London for a week and you had to make it work. You have been a little absent, your mind too clouded. You were expected to gift him at least one child, preferably a son, San's father had said. You smiled to yourself when San defended you in this, saying your body belonged to you and if you would have his child he'd love it no matter the gender of the baby.

Maybe you were paired with a good man after all.

You had told him before your wedding he shouldn't expect sleeping with you on the wedding night as you didn't know him well enough and San understood. Yet the pressure of conceiving a child on the honeymoon was bigger than yourself and it concerned San as well. You knew there was a big chance San would want to have sex with you this week. But how on earth were you going to tell him you were a virgin?

On the first day of your London trip he took you to see Notting Hill, the Big Ben and the London Eye, the typical tourist stuff. On the second day you went shopping and he bought you beautiful clothes. Today was the third day and the time was ticking and somehow you could feel San's impatience. You were gonna have to tell him tonight. After a long day of visiting the famous palace and beautiful museums you finally sat down in a private booth of a lovely restaurant. The Mojito in your hand slightly calmed your nerves as your dinner was filled with anxiety.

''What's going on, dear? Was today a lot for you?'' he asked. Dear. Oh My.

''Well, there's just something on my mind,'' you confessed. ''Tell me about it, it might clear up your mind,'' San offered as he took another bite of his salmon dish. ''As you know, there's the matter of... bearing a child for you,'' you started, slightly startling San, but he nodded. ''It just feels like big pressure to... have a healthy son.''

''Dear, first of all...It's not just for me... It... would be our child, right? We'll raise the child together and... We will love the child together. I also don't care if it's a son or a daughter, as long as it's healthy. Even if it's unhealthy I'll promise to love the baby.''

You took a deep breath and nodded. ''I know that it's sudden,'' San spoke as he took your hand in his, ''I know that it might be really soon for you, but I promise to be here. I'm not going anywhere. You'll be fine, I promise.'' You felt your heart feel lighter as San reassured you again. ''Thank you San.''

You continued your dinner peacefully and he often made you smile with his kind remarks. "The city lights shine beautifully on that angelic face of yours." You grinned and rolled your eyes at his cheesy lines, but they made you feel fuzzy inside. Maybe you could truly trust him with your secret.

''How could you ever be a virgin?'' San gasped.

You were seated on the hotel bed and San was just about to kiss you. You were quick to stop him, hands rested against his chest as you blurted it out. You felt your skin getting hotter, a blush creeping up on your cheeks.

''It just never happened for me. The kiss we had at the wedding was my first too,'' you confessed. You tried so hard to be brave but tears filled your eyes. San's heart filled with worry and he took your hands in his, gently rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. ''Y/N...'' He started.

You looked down but San lifted your chin up again. ''I'll take care of you, if you'll let me.'' Something inside you changed and as of that moment you wanted nothing more than to be in your new husbands' arms. You fell into his embrace and closed your eyes for just a second.

''I'm so sorry I wasn't more careful, I just think you are so beautiful I didn't think of it.'' ''You think I'm beautiful?'' San nodded. ''I think you're stunning. You looked like an angel in that weddingdress... and even when you go to bed you're still gorgeous,'' he said softly. You nodded and smiled. ''Thank you San... I feel better. I don't know if I can do it tonight but... I promise you... I'll give you your baby. Tomorrow.''

''Tomorrow?'' ''Tomorrow.''

It was 7PM and you were having your 'everything-shower'. Hair washes, legs shaven, body butter doing it's work. You knew San was sitting on the bed and he was waiting, waiting to fuck you into oblivion. At least that's what was said in the books you've read.

Is that even a thing in real life? You knew how sex worked, you weren't innocent, but you also didn't know everything. You dried your hair as you looked into the mirror. Did you look good enough to have sex with without any make-up on?

You looked at your body, your wedding night lingerie on. The white material complimented your skintone and it hugged your body in the right places. But it did not stop you from being insecure.

What was a woman's body supposed to look like? What if he thinks your private parts look strange? He's married now, he will have to live with it. You shook your head and sighed, forgetting your stupid thoughts. Don't think so much, you told yourself.

You put on your robe and scrunched your hair to make it look right again. You finished your skincare and stepped out of the bathroom. San was indeed seated on the bed, his tight black shirt and pantalon showing off his big muscles. You swallowed thickly at the sight of him.

"Hi," you spoke softly as you walked closer to him. He smiled and stood up, taking your hands. "Hello there, beautiful."

His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you tight. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his hand slide up and down your back. "Y/N, can I kiss you?" He asked. You weren't sure if it was forced or genuine, but you felt safe enough. San was a good man. He is kind. And he's your husband.

You nodded slowly.

His lips attached to yours slow and softly. Gently. Even though you were inexperienced it was like he guided you, it was automatic. San's lips were soft like cushions and his movements were smooth.

San's tongue slipped out of his mouth, slowly licking your bottom lip. You stopped the kiss before his tongue could slide in, slowly panting out.

Before he could say anything you attached your lips to his neck and carefully unbuttoned his shirt, slowly revealing his toned chest and abs. As you watched him stripping off the shirt and pants you discarded the robe, letting it fall on the ground.

His mouth fell open as he watched you in all your glory, softest skin ready to be touched, lingerie waiting to be torn off your body. "God, dear, you have no idea how beautiful you are. Feel how hard I am now," he breathed out as he took your hand and laid it on his clothed cock. You gently palmed it and you felt your breath hitch in your throat again at the feeling of his growing erection.

"I did that?" "Yes honey, you are doing that. You're that hot," he smirked, "do you wanna touch it, Y/N?"

Your husband slid down his boxers and revealed his big, throbbing length. You admired his naked body before you took his hard dick in your hand, stroking it slowly. San's breath picked up when you spat in your hand and smeared the spit over his cock as lube, working him up.

"God babe, you're insane," he groaned when you picked up the pace, jerking him off at a steady and affective rhythm. You felt your pussy clench around nothing at his praise, making you rethink your life, were you getting off on his praises?

You worked your hand faster and his grunts and puffs got louder and his hips bucked up. "You're making me feel so good angel, you're gonna make me cum if you're gonna keep going," he moaned. "B-But I shouldn't, I need to cum inside your pussy, baby," he said a few seconds later as he stopped you. He took a deep breath before pulling you close, unclasping your lacy white bra.

Your tits sprung free, meeting your husbands' eyes. They filled with hunger and lust as he took the image of your bare breasts in. He was an ass-man but as his cock kept twitching at the sight of you, he had to admit your breasts excited him to the fullest.

He slipped off your panties as he laid you down on the bed. You were shy, nearly blushing as he kissed every inch of your body. "So beautiful," he whispered after a few kisses, "doing so well for me."

San spread your legs slowly and looked at your wet cunt, gaping at the sight of it. "I am going to touch you now."

His fingers reached your folds, sliding them through gently and collecting the wetness. "God, so beautiful, you're a diamond, baby," he hummed from between your thighs. San had lowered himself so he was at eye-level with your cunt.

You took a deep breath as your anxiety rose, but San's tongue lapped at your sensitive clit only seconds later. You whined as you forgot about your surroundings, San's tongue being the only thing you could concentrate on.

It worked magic against your clit as he slowly scissored his middle- and ringfinger inside you to work you open. You felt the cold metal of his wedding ring prod at your entrance as he fucked his fingers deep inside you.

Your moans grew louder and soon became uncontrollable as San went nuts on your pussy, losing himself in the pleasure of pleasing you. Mutters of "you're doing so well" and "prettiest pussy" left his mouth every now and then, only working you up more.

San made you arch your back from the pleasure and you felt your orgasm coming closer as San sped up the pace of his fingers. His tongue kept flicking and toying with the sensitive bud and his fingers finally found your g-spot as he curled them just the right away.

With a loud moan you released, orgasming on his fingers and tongue. He licked you and his fingers as clean as he could before he pulled himself away to hover above you.

"I promise," he panted as he kissed your jaw and neck, sliding his cock between your folds a few times. The head of his length rubbed against your clit, making you whine out his name. "I promise I will be gentle and I will take care of you, and I'm gonna make you feel so good, gonna make you a mommy, my delicate angel."

You held your breath as San slowly slid his member inside. "Breathe out honey, deep breaths," he grunted as he felt your tight walls squeeze him tightly. You clenched your eyes shut as you breathed in and out, taking all of his cock little by little.

"Yes, my precious angel, you are doing so well, you're taking my cock so well," he cooed, slowly pushing his cock in and out of you. You winced as he did so, feeling the sting and hearing your body telling you to stop, but you weren't going to stop, not when he positioned himself in a way that made it possible for him to directly hit your g-spot as he thrusted into you.

"Oh! S-San," you whined out. The stretch of his cock still hurting, but pleasure overtaking as he repeatedly hit your g-spot. "Right there, huh, angel? Right there? I'll fuck you right there, my good girl," he grunted as you nodded eagerly.

"Yes please, fuck me right there," you squeeled, nails digging into his biceps. "You're doing so well, pretty pussy taking my cock, you like that huh? You like the way my dick slides in your little pussy?"

"Yes, yes I love it, please," you moaned, feeling his cock reach deeper inside you. You nearly forgot about the stretch until he moved slightly, making you tense up.

"It's okay precious, it's okay, I got you," he said as he slowed down, holding you in his arms. You whined out as you felt his cock stretch out your walls more. "S-San!"

"My good girl, taking me so well, you're being so good, so brave," he grunted as the grip on your hips tightened. His hand reached between your bodies and his fingers found the way to your sensitive clit. He rubbed it quickly and made the moans spill from your lips.

"O-oh, San! Yes!" You moaned loudly as you felt another orgasm wash over you. You clenched down on his dick, making him reach his orgasm too. He moaned loudly as he spilled all his seeds inside you, filling you up to the brim.

He panted out and stayed inside you, not wanting any of it to leak out. You regained your breath as your hands ran over his back, eyes closed. "My precious angel," he whispered in your ear as he slowly pulled his dick out of you. You felt some of your man's hot cum drip from your pussy down to your ass, making you hiss at the feeling.

"You were amazing honey, you did so well," he said as he kissed your head, holding you in his arms. "I will make sure to keep trying to put a baby in you," he promised as he carressed your hair, "and I'm gonna make you feel so good every day, while you're looking so pretty in the city lights."

#kpop #ateez #smut #san #starshinehwaa's prompt list #starshinehwaa

[halfmoth-halfman]

a designer dress from heaven and your dirty wedding ring - prologue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: it's finally here, the mob boss!price series! before we start, i want to give a special thanks to the fabulous @mvtthewmurdvck for letting me rant and rave about peaky blinders while i work on this series, to the amazing @valkyriesregalia and @bubble-dream-inc for reading and giving me feedback, and of course to @uselsshuman's discord girlies for hyping me up and giving me inspiration, i love you guys 💜!! || next

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

Your father had mentioned it to you a few times when you were a child; you remember the admiration— and jealousy— that laced his voice as he weaved tales of smoky backroom poker games and men who’d skin you alive for looking at them wrong.

You hadn’t believed him then, assuming it to be like all the other fairytales and war stories he told from that worn leather armchair— exaggerated tales meant to teach you lessons he himself never followed.

Now that you’re here, though…

You’d expected better security.

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to get inside. With no one at the front and the doors left unlocked, you waltz into a vision straight from your father’s imagination— all deep red velvet and hazy air carrying the scent of cigar smoke and danger.

It’s surprisingly modern with a vintage feel to it. You should’ve expected as much, but you still find yourself impressed. You weave through the round tables and plush chairs— elegantly decorated with brilliant red flower centerpieces sitting atop white silk tablecloths— making your way to the center of the spacious room.

You have the perfect view of the stage from here— directly in the center. It’s gorgeous: hardwood polished to perfection and bordered by thick, velvet curtains— even in the bright white of the blaring house lights, it’s a sight to behold.

“Um, you can’t be in here— we’re closed!”

The voice startles you, but you maintain your composure, turning slowly—non-threateningly— on your heels with a wide, unassuming smile. A long, half-circle bar stretches across the wall opposite the stage, just up a small set of stairs and past the various game tables, lined with golden railings. The wall behind it is completely covered in shelves of alcohol— some you’re well-acquainted with, some you recognize from your father’s private collection.

And there, gathered at the far right end of the black-quartz bar, are three men dressed in black, staring back at you.

“No one told me,” you smile, gesturing towards the front of the club, “and the doors were open.” The men groan to themselves, then mumble to each other. They glance back at you occasionally; you keep your polite smile taking in the rest of the club as they speak.

“Well,” one of the men— the American one behind the bar with a colorful sleeve tattoo and impressive facial hair— clears his throat. “We’re still closed regardless. One of the boys can see you out.”

The other two stand, the handsome one with light eyes and a brown mohawk making his way toward you.

“I have an interview-” all three pause, shooting glances at one another in silent conversation. You dig through the pockets of your denim jacket, pulling out the folded paper and holding it out to Mohawk. The room lapses into silence, so you add, “S’posed to meet with the owner about a singing gig?”

That takes the man behind the bar by surprise.

Mohawk takes the paper from you, unfolding it to read it over. His brows shoot up, eyes scanning the worn words. He turns, holding the page to the third man—the one with short, curly black hair and a scar on his left cheek— who takes it and skims over it. He glances between the paper and you, between you and the paper.

“I’ve got this,” he addresses the other two.

British, huh?

Not what you’d expected.

“This way,” he smiles at you, all charm and politeness as he folds the paper back up and leads you toward a section of booths tucked against the wall off the right side of the bar. You follow, smiling at Mohawk and Bartender as you go.

You slide in across from your interviewer, taking him in as he settles with his hands folded atop the table. He seems young, maybe a few years younger than yourself, with dark skin and kind, brown eyes.

But you can see the sharpness behind those kind eyes.

You know better than to trust a friendly gaze— your left shoulder aching at the reminder.

“Not gonna lie…I thought you’d be older,” you joke. He arches a brow, curiously narrowing his eyes. “You just seem a little young to own a club.”

“Ah, you caught me,” he laughs. “The owner’s my father, but I handle most of the staffing.”

“Oh! Well—” you extend your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Garrick, but you can just call me Kyle.” He shakes your hand, firm but not too strong—clearly practiced. You retract your hand, letting it fall into your lap. Kyle stares at you expectantly, and you give him your best smile.

It’s only a few seconds, but the silence is almost unbearably awkward.

“And you are?”

“Oh, shit. Right.” Heat floods your cheeks; you hope you haven’t fucked this up already.

“Canary.”

“Canary?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe you; you don’t blame him— you wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, like the bird.”

“I’m familiar.”

“It’s…it was an inside joke between my parents that they ended up liking a little too much,” you explain.

“That’s…sweet,” he smiles, a little less taunting now. “Is there a…last name too, Ms. Canary?”

“No,” you reply immediately, “just Canary.”

“Okay then, Ms. Canary-like-the-bird, do you…have a resumé?”

“Yes, I do.” You dig through your bag, pulling out your resumé and handing it to him. Kyle gives a hum of thanks, reading through it with those sharp eyes.

You hope it’ll do; it took you three whole hours to get it done last night.

“No references?” he asks, briefly glancing up at you.

Shit. You knew you forgot something.

“I…mostly worked solo,” you lie, “but I have a couple cards for people I’ve collaborated with.” You reach for your bag like you’re ready to dig through its contents. There are some cards in there; you’re prepared to give him those, but you’re not prepared to explain why a singer would’ve previously collaborated with a real estate agent and a tattoo parlor that’s been closed for years.

“That’s alright,” Kyle says.

Thank god.

“Have you worked in other clubs before?”

“Just one.”

He looks up, waiting for you to elaborate, but you stay silent, smiling back and adding a few bats of your lashes for good measure. He laughs, quiet and to himself, looking back at your resumé.

“I’ll have to run this by my dad—” He sets the paper down, eyes skimming over it once more, “—is there a number we can reach you at?”

“I don’t have a phone…not yet, anyway.”

Kyle looks up at you, surprise evident, but he masks it with impressive speed.

“Alright, Ms. Canary, one more question for you.” He leans back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over— taking in your appearance bit by bit and committing it to memory.

“What are you running from?”

“I— what?” The smile falters slightly, but you see his eyes dip down to your lips, and you know you’ve been caught.

“No last name, no references, no phone…”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“And we haven’t used these—” he holds up the flyer you’d brought with you, “—since I was a child.”

You drop the smile, hands slowly clenching into fists in your lap— your nails drag across the ripped denim of your jeans to dig into the meat of your palms.

“I’m not running, just…” you pause, searching your mind for the right words. ”Starting over.”

Kyle keeps his eyes trained on you, not moving a muscle. You can tell he wants more information.

If you weren’t so desperate…

“My ex was super shitty, and the divorce got real ugly—real fast,” you sigh. “In the end, I let him have whatever he wanted just for the chance to get out, and, as it turns out, he wanted everything. So…here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kyle lets out a low whistle. “My condolences.”

You can’t help but laugh, a small weight easing off your shoulders.

“Well, the bad news is this flyer’s ancient, and we aren’t looking to hire entertainment at the moment. But the good news: we are in need of a cleaner.”

“You pay in cash?” you ask, noticing the twitch of the corner of his mouth as he bites back a smirk.

“We can keep it off the books, no problem. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth talks

[diejager]

I dont know if you write about it and it’s fine if you dont but I just wanna share my thoughts, if it’s alright with you. 🙂

Know what would make the siblings with Ghost fic? Inc*st. You’ve already laid the groundwork for it, tbh.

Being together most of the time in public and in private settings, men not being able to approach Doc due to Ghost intimidating them, the physical intimacy that is present and constant, and both being closed off to anyone else but to each other. It’s all there, just a bit more darkness and…tada!

I wont say anything anymore as I do not wish to offend you if this is not your cup of tea. But if it is, then I will look forward to your great work, as usual. Thank you and have a good day. 🥰

You, anon, are so blasphemously brilliant. Inc*st isn’t something I’ve done, and isn’t good per se irl, but this is fictional works. So, yeah, here ya go :D And like I said, I’m pretty loose with what I’m willing to write. PS. I am SO going to hell for this-

Pairing : big brother Simon “Ghost” Riley x lil sister reader

Cw: DARK, INC*ST, smut, yandere, DUB-CON, fingering, self-hate, tell me if I missed anything. Wc: 1.4k

NOTE: You've been warned about the content, if you don't like Inc*st, don't read it. Just don't report it, cuz that would be annoying.

YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND YOURS ALONE.

He knew it was wrong, the sheer sinful shame of his acts towards you made him a monster, a vile creature, one worse than the abusive father you shared. His intentions, his thoughts, his needs, they were so wrong, too wrong that he had to choke down the disgust that riled in his guts. 

I’m disgusting, he repeated those words a dozen times, a hundred times, a million times, how many times he needed to get them to stop himself. I’m so fuckin’ disgusting.

Being able to look at himself in the mirror made the sinking feeling worse, he could see the face of the monster he was, not the one who wore a mask or hid behind a moniker; the face he glared at was Simon, the face that shared similarities to yours: the blond hair and the brown eyes. He had red-rimmed eyes, unlike your softer ones, full of life and power. He’d felt the need to break the mirror, shattering it into small pieces and watching his face crumble into fragments and blood, but it would make you worry so much. The blood in the bathroom tiles, wall and sink, his bloodied and roughly wrapped hand and the missing and broken glass would give him away; albeit a shattered mirror was enough for you to rush to him in a flurry of worried words and hushed comfort. 

He felt so fucking disgusting, you cared so much about him, so much care and dedication you devoted to him and him alone since you’ve been young. The words you’d whisper in his ears at night when his regrets crawled out, burdening his mind with bloody and visceral images that terrorised him. You were his solid link, the anchor that held him firmly alive and sane, able enough to keep going. 

You were his lifeline as he was yours, you clutched onto him for love and comfort while he latched on you for the same, but he had needs, dark ideas and images he made with you. His sacrilegious dreams and thoughts violated his image of you, the sweet girl he protected from your abusive father that would beat you and him. 

Stop, this is disgusting, he kept reminding himself, screaming the words to himself in the bathroom, the shower head pouring scalding water upon his request as punishment. Stop it. Stop it, Simon, he screamed, but it never helped, the burning water, the frozen winter, or the pain from wounds, they all numbed until he seaked you out. Then, he couldn’t stop himself, his hands and mouth were so hungry.

You were always with him, and he was always with you; you were stuck by the hip. He came to you by habit, by instinct, by heart. You were his comfort and the only thing that mattered. That's why he was doing this, his need for a physical relationship, the carnal hunger he had, the darkness he wanted to share, all for you. The more selfish side of himself told him that he deserved it and that he was doing this for you. For you, anything.

“Si, are you sure?” you mumbled, breathing in the sweat and cologne on his throat, the thick muscle of his neck bulging when he gulped down harshly. “Si, I’m- I-“

“You trust me, don’t you, love?” he asked, wording his words in a way that would make you less hesitant, and question his intentions less whenever he called you love. It was the nickname everyone at home called you, the youngest of the family, the baby. “Do you?”

“‘Course I do, Si. Of course, I do,” you had a quirk of repeating your words when you got stressed, became so nervous that you’d stutter. It only happend with him or the team, feeling comfortable enough to let them in, to let down the wall you built around you and him enough so that they could see the real you. Task Force 141 truly became a new family, to him and to you.

He shushed your nerves, hands trailing down your backed back to your hips, thumb rubbing circles on your warm skin. You straddled him, he told you that it would make him feel better, it would help him relax and take the edge off. One hand went back to cradle the back of your neck and pushed your closer to him, his head laying on top of yours. His other went further down your back, cupping the fat of your ass, kneading with the softness. His blunt nails dug into your ass, index finding the tight rim of your anal hole. 

You whined and clutched the back of his shirt tightly when he went lower, fore and middle finger bumping into your shaved lips, sliding to your slit and rubbing your clit. You opened your mouth to ask him once more, still hesitant to Simon’s idea, but a moan left instead. His hand rounded your thigh to deftly circle your button between his clothed torso and your sheer nakedness. You wanted to hide, feeling his rough, calloused pads writing eights on your sensitive nerve.

You fidgeted, writhing quietly over him, hip bucking forward and mewling when his forefinger would dip slightly into your cunt, tip sliding in before he pulled back to tease you. Although his intentions were to tease you, pleasure you, you felt the nagging discomfort of sharing this with Simon, he was your brother, the eldest of your family and the only one who you could seek comfort with. It never felt the same when you went to the other men, Simon never liked it either. 

This wasn’t what siblings usually did, or should at all, but how could you deny him, tell your only family no. The burden of pulling back from him in his time of need would hurt more than the discomfort you felt at the moment, the buzzing in your mind and the tingling pleasure he was giving you. This was anything but normal, but for him, for Simon, you’d see it through. 

“Si-!” you jerked back when he slipped a finger in, voice breaking when you cried out, huffing loudly onto the skin of his neck, where he kept you. “Wait-“ your nails sunk into the meat of his back, tapping him, telling him to slow down or wait a bit. 

“I got ya, love,” Simon whispered calmly, adding another finger to pump in and out of your soaked cunt, your body reacted naturally to stimulus even if you’d cried no or stop, please, the body and mind were separate things. “I know, (Name), let me help ya.”

Help wasn’t what you’d qualify this as; although your body reacted to him, any body would do the same if they were on the receiving end. You wanted out, you wanted him to stop, but you also knew no one would love you the way Simon did, or the way Ghost did. He was your haven, your safe space that no one else could become, you already had him, why would you need anyone else. 

“That’s right. Ya got me, so ya don’t need anyone else, right?” 

You couldn’t reply, lost in the drowning sensation of being so full and stimulated by Simon, his big fingers dragging over the spot that made your mind numb and curling just right to make you see stars. Your body shook, crying out his name as pleasure washed over you, walls clamping on his digits, your hips bucked as you rode his hand. 

This is wrong, this is so wrong, Si, you wished you could tell him, but the orgasm made all thought disappear. When was the last time you fucked someone, or dated? You couldn’t remember having anyone significant other than family in your life. Sure, you’ve laid with some soldiers and boys when you were younger, more spry than your current age, but those were long ago and none were as big as Simon was. Men were rarely his size and height, he was a rivalling force in the military and in life. 

He was loving and tender, slowly pushing you over the edge a second and third time before he felt the need to stop, too ashamed of himself to relieve the unbarring and painful sensation of his hard cock straining against the tightness of his brief and pants. You were his priority, your pleasure being the sole purpose of this moment: locked in your shared room, walls reinforced to be sound-proof from the inside and being at the mercy of his skilled fingers. 

He gazed at you, eyes squinting at the fiery blush on your cheeks, warm and sweaty, your eyes dazed and teary from him, tired even, and your breath and heart rapid, loud and gasping. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him tentatively, unsure of how he felt now. Did he feel better? What happened that made him so riled up, mad? 

“I won’t let anyone touch ya, (Name),” he swore, caressing your cheeks sweetly with his clean hand. He loved you too much to lose you to someone else, he couldn’t let another man or woman take you from him like they did with his family. “I love you, (Name),” he said those words like they were a mantra, sacred words meant for you alone. 

“I love you too, Si.”

Only for you, Si. It’s wrong but for you, anything.

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader smut #simon ghost riley x you #mw2 smut #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon x reader #yandere ghost #yandere simon riley #yandere x reader #tw dubcon #tw: incest

[aemonds-princeregent]

Psycho! Aegon x Psycho! Reader (Honey Blood)

Warnings: Modern AU, Toxic relationship, psycho behaviour of both aegon and reader, smut, blood kink, +18

Part 1: Honey Blood

She watched as Aegon cross the threshold of the coffe shop. He looked like an angel, his silver locks cradling his face. She thought no painting or picture would ever be near to how beautiful he was.

As he got closer to the cashier, she got more nervous and played with her dark hair, pulling some locks behind her ear.

-You're late- She said, almost a whisper.

-Never knew you were keeping taps, stalker- He said in a friendly and playfull tone.

-Sorry, i didn't mean...- She stuttered.

-It's alright love- He flashed a smile. And she was about to past out so she held onto the counter.

-What would you like?- She smiled.

-You tell me love.

-Chocolate with 3 sugars.

-You know me well- He smiled

Aegon handed her a black card and his fingers grazed hers. She tried to keep herself calm and continue with his order.

Then she saw him cross the street and walk into the Targaryen Inc. building.

It's true, he was late today. He usually came around for a cup of chocolate around 9am, today it was 11am. She thought she would like to know why. She had promised herself not to do it again, but Aegon just got the best of her.

She waited everyday for 9am just to see him. At night, she dreamed about him and what could she say for him to notice her and she did wanted to try one morning, but he came in, arms linked with a stunning girl, she must be a model or something she thought. But most of the time, he came alone, most people would want coffe but he wanted chocolate, icy on the summers and warm in winter.

As the time passed, she learned a few things, he was Aegon II Targaryen, soon to be CEO of Targaryen Inc., known to be quite the party animal and ladies man and quite fond of sweets.

As I said, she had promised herself not to do it again, but Aegon was driving her mad. Her doe eyes and inocent demeanor always got her out of trouble when following those she fancied, she would never get close to them, just follow them around cause she wanted to see them. She knew her infatuation would soon be onto another so she was satisified with just following them around. If anyone caught her, she pretended to be lost and one look at her doe eyes had people believing any excuse she would say.

So after work, she fixed her white blouse, put her hair in a ponytail and walked to the reception of Targaryen Inc. She pretended to be an assistant of another Company and asked for Aegon's private adress, she said she had been told to deliver some papers and her boss would kill her and worse fire her if she didn't suceed, she managed to convince the recepcionist and got Aegon's adress. He lived in the most luxurious part of the city, in the Targaryen Towers, the most expensive apartments of the city and owned by his family most likely.

She waited near the towers and there he was. He climbed out of his sports car and of course, another girl, this one was strawberry blonde, stunning and she followed fim into the building.

She knew it was time to go back to her apartment, but no one was waiting for her, she lived alone, no one would notice if she didn't came back, just for one night, she would go back to her apartment in the a.m. and be ready for work. She had never gone this far but Aegon called to her as if he owned her, she tried to convince herself.

She saw Aegon was asking the manager to park his Lambo, so she went into the backdoor of the building, walked to the nearest elevator and pressed the number 57.

Aegon lived on the 57th floor, apartment 11th.

She hid once she saw Aegon and the girl walking out of another elevator, they were kissing so hungrily, part of her wished she was the other girl and part of her was just happy watching, as she didn't like to be touched.

Aegon opened his door and he walked into his apartment, the blonde girl kissing his neck. He was distracted, so she just saw a chance and took it. She put her foot before the door could lock and as she heard them go upstairs, she walked into Aegon's apartment, being careful not to make any noise.

Then she followed them upstairs, Aegon's bedroom door was open and so was the walking closet in front, she walked into the walking closet and kept the door slightly open. She could see Aegon kissing her, taking off her clothes and trailing his tongue over her perk nipples. She felt her core, she wanted him so badly she could barely breath. And then, the girl went down on him, taking him into her mouth, Aegon gasping softly, looking straight at the walking closet door, looking straight at her.

She wanted to scape, but a part of her was spellbound by the moment, spellbound by Aegon. While the other part of her thought there was no way he was seeing her and allowing her to be there, so as much as she wanted him to see her, he was just probably staring at the door.

The blonde girl kept taking him and he kept staring at her through his door, his grunts getting louder as he came into the blonde's mouth. After that, he told the blonde that he would call her and that he had gotten a sudden headache and needed to rest for tomorrow's board meeting.

She remained hidden, she would leave once Aegon was sleep.

But as soon as she heard the main door, hurried steps came up the stairs and Aegon opened the door of his walk-in-closet.

-Hi love- He smiled with something devious in his eyes.

He look even more handsome if it was possible.

-I... I...- She stuttered.

The words stuck at her tongue.

He suddenly came and hugger her, caressing her dark long hair.

She stood still but she wanted to hug him so badly, she just pressed herself to him as much as she could, if she was dreaming, she didn't want to wake up. And then she felt him, as he rapidly slid some sort of fabric over her nose. She couln't breathe and something smelled weird, she tried to move her arms to put distance between them, but her consciousness went away.

-Shh....I know love, I know...- Aegon said softly as he caressed her cheek and carried her body on his arms.

-

She woke up in a dark basement, it was clean and minimalistic, but had no windows. She felt someone was tying her arms behind her back, tying her to a pole, so she tried to scape, but her limbs seemed to be coming back into consciousness quite slowly, so she headbutted the figure and tried to run. But, he catch up to her quite quickly.

She focussed her eyes and there he was... her angel... Aegon, looking as beautiful as ever, blood pouring out of his nose, grazing his lips.

He just stood in front of her and she stood still, he pressed his hands to her shoulders and then her clavicle, she felt her body on fire, just aching for him so badly. He seemed to notice, and almost as if he could read her mind, he pressed his thumb to his blood and then licked his finger.

-Want a taste, love? - Aegon whispered into her mouth.

-Yes- She whispered.

Aegon kissed her and she could feel his blood on her tongue, warm and sticky and sweet. He tasted like heaven and she wished to caress his face and his hair so bad, but her hands were still tied behind her back.

Aegon grew hungrier and bit her lower lip, tasting her blood too. Aegon then pressed one of his hands to her waist as the other caressed her chest and her breast. They were moaning into the kiss, their tongues and lips coated in their blood, as drops of their blood were spilling onto her white shirt.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii fic #aegon ii smut #tom glynn carney #aegon fic #aegon smut #mine

[armysantiny]

-[renjun; soft bf headcanon

P: Renjun x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, headcanon | Inc: soft bf!renjun, meeting on sns, handholding, teasing, friends to lovers, getting smothered by your friends, café dates | Wc: 451 | W: food cw | R: G

Nct’s resident artist boyfriend everyone!!

Anywho—

You and Renjun initially met at an art workshop

He was looking for help with a brush technique and there you were, having just learnt it from the art professor

Bless you for offering to help him because he’s certain he wouldn’t have asked himself

Somewhere during the workshop, social media handles are shared

You two are the creative friends to lovers fr

Sending aesthetic pictures to each other and saying what do we think?

Renjun’s the one who takes the initial leap to give you his number

And the rest was history <3

Renjun is 100% the teases you out of love boyfriend

It’s his love language <33

Very much a fan of buying little trinkets he finds that remind him of you

Presents them to you when he gets home by quite literally dumping the paper gift bag in your lap

Immensely satisfied by the reaction on your face

Takes you to craft stores and small privately-owned cafés on dates

Saves your favourite new cafés and restaurant on his phone so can grab desserts and take-out from there on his way home for you

This man makes such a good impression on your friends

I’m convinced they smother him in affection whenever he joins you on an outing

Low-key pleading for help with his eyes while he’s having his poor soul squeezed out of him

And you’re over there watching him suffer with an unassuming grin on your face

What did he really expect from you, huh?

You little traitor – his words, trust me

But it’s fine, he loves you anyway

Even if he’s wheezing to get his breath back

Isn’t the biggest fan of PDA but peppers you with kisses all over the second you two are alone

Expect forehead kisses and the occasional peck on the lips when you two are outside

Hand holding with Renjun >>>

Makes up for his lack of PDA by having your hand in his almost always

He stuffs your hand in his pocket when it’s cold and puts a hand warmer in the hand he is (unfortunately) not holding

Pretends not to absolutely combust when you put your head on his shoulder as you’re walking home from a date

He feels absolutely normal about this. Yes :D

Takes candid pictures of you and uses them in a collage that he surprises you with on your birthday

I swear down he has the softest of smiles as you process the gift in your hands

Has the sweetest of heart eyes fr

“This…you made this for me?”

“Of course I did, my love~”

You better keep this man

Renjun best boyfriend

I’m rooting for you two <3

© copyright work of armysantiny 2023-2024

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[mayajadewrites]

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Story Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Twelve: Alone

When you arrive home it almost feels like the world has shifted. You're no longer in your private room with Levi. You no longer wake up next to him. The sun isn't peering through the curtains like they did in Mexico. You sign as you pull your bag over your shoulder and take your first steps towards the house. 

Levi hasn't spoken much since you slept together. You noticed a $5,000 deposit hit your account this morning, reminding you that your relationship with Levi is as simple as that. A transaction.

He brought your luggage inside and left it in your room as you start your shower. You check your phone to see if Alexis has text you, but nothing. Her location says she's about 2 hours away. You have to remember that she is technically an adult now. You can't question her every move. She's capable of making her own decisions. 

You slip on a lounge set that Levi bought you, the fabric screams luxurious. It consists of shorts and a cropped t-shirt. You brush your hair and apply various products in it, letting your natural waves take form.

You hear a knock at your door but no words.

"Come in." You continue fussing with your hair.

"Are you hungry?" Levi's newly tanned skin was glistening under the lights in your room. "I thought we could order takeout since there are no groceries."

"Sure." You nod after you glance at him. He's freshly showered too - his hair damp from the water.

"Ok." Levi gently closed the door as he left. You sighed, wishing you could kiss him again. Wishing you could wrap your arms around him and feel his heart pound against your chest. Paradise is over, it's time to get back to reality.

_____________________

After dinner you and Levi retreat to your bedrooms. Very few words were shared between you both, but your heads were filled with conversation. You checked your sisters location again, same place. You want to give her space and let her be her own person. So you flip your phone over and close your eyes.

It felt like hours passed and you still haven't fallen asleep. You sigh and get up to get a glass of water in hopes that that will make you a bit sleepy. When you walk to the kitchen, you hear the familiar grumbles and screams that you heard just days ago. 

You leave the glass on the counter and made your way to Levi's room. You've never been in it, to be honest you've been too scared to even try to. You hear Levi's low voice mutter again, then he yelled.

Just open the door.

What's he gonna do, get mad at you for being worried?

You take a breath, wrap your hand around the doorknob and push it open. 

When you open the door you see Levi laying on his back, his blanket only covering half of him. The other half exposes his chest and stomach, beads of sweat trickling down his skin. He doesn't seem to wake up from you entering, so you take soft steps towards him.

"Don't leave me alone." Levi's eyes seemed like they were glued shut. "God, why are you taking her from me?"

You gently sit on his bed and caress his face gently. He purses his lips as he leans into your touch but his eyes are still closed. With your other hand, you drag your fingertips along his arm span. 

Soon enough Levi's eyes shoot open and he stares at you for a moment. You don't stop caressing him, you simply stay silent. He watches you touch him, almost scared to say a word.

You stop to look at him, planning on staying quiet. You take a step back and try to remove your hand from his face.

"Stay." He whispers, almost not loud enough for you to hear him. "P-please stay."

You examine his facial expression to make sure he's awake and not sleep talking. You nod, still no words leaving your lips. You walk to the other side of his bed, carefully moving the covers so you can slip under them. 

There's space between you and him, your bodies wanting to touch one another but refusing to make a move.

You turn your face towards Levi, letting your hands stay planted on your stomach. Levi turns his face to look at you, your breath hitching once his eyes meet yours. His slate eyes look so vulnerable. The light from the moon slightly hitting his skin created what looked like a painting, but this is real life and this man is in front of you now.

You gave him a soft smile to reassure him that this is okay. You're actually more than okay with this, but your head and your heart are currently at odds.

Your brain knows that this isn't more than surface level. He gives you money for spending time with him, and you're his full time assistant. There's no real feelings involved.

But the way your heart feels right now screams the exact opposite. Your heart jumps when he looks at you. Your body craves him. 

You watch him as he inches his face closer to you and you swear you can hear his heartbeat. "Light?"

"Green." You stare into his eyes as he moves to lay on his side, his hand reaching out to your face to pull you into him. Your body tenses at his touch as his entire hand grabs your face, pulling your lips to meet his.

His kisses are messy and desperate, much like how you're feeling at this moment. You bring your leg to hook on top of his, your thick thighs pressing against his legs. His hand slides to your plush skin on your inner thigh, squeezing it gently. You moan against his lips as he kneads the skin on your thighs, making you squeeze the thigh he's caressing against his leg. Your core is aching for him, no doubt already soaked.

Levi's hands wander to your waist, his hand dipping in the curve. He keeps kissing you as he makes way to your breasts, taking an entire tit in his hand as he massages it. 

"Fuck." He moans against your lips, his eyes closed. "I dream of these." He detaches his lips from yours as he slips your shirt over your head, your tits bouncing from the newfound freedom. "They are so perfect." He presses a kiss to your right breast, his thumb circling your nipple. His lips soon wrap around the hard nipple as he starts sucking gently. You press your palm to the back of his head wanting to feel him. All of him.

Patience.

The word Levi continues to say when you whine for him. But tonight is not the night for patience.

A whimper leaves your lips that catches Levi's attention. "What's wrong, princess?" His voice was husky in a way that made your core throb even more.

"I need you." You pull his face back up to meet yours as you kiss along his jawline to his neck. You suck gently on a spot on his skin, not caring if it leaves a mark. Your brain is too clouded with lust to give a shit. 

"Spoiled princess." Levi flips over onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You're both still clothed from the waist down, your core pulsating against the fabric of his shorts.

"I want to feel all of you." You hook your finger to the elastic of your shorts and throw them to the side along with your hot pink thong that you were wearing. "Can I feel you, Levi?" 

Levi's cheeks are flushed red as he quickly takes off his pants. Your voice was like velvet to him, he would do whatever you would say. He could never tell you that though.

His large hands plant on each side of your plush hips, the heat from your skin almost burning through him. You looked down at him as his mouth was agape - his lips plump and swollen from kissing you. His hair was pressed against the pillow as he studied every inch of your body. 

You look down at his cock, pressed against his chest as he continues to caress your skin.

"Are you sure?" He whispers as if you're in a crowded room. "I don't have any condoms."

"I'm on the pill, and I have only slept with you." 

"I can't guarantee that I'm going to pull out once I'm inside you." 

"I'm fine with that." You lean down and kiss his lips before taking your hand to position his cock at your entrance, his tip already soaked with pre-cum. 

"Sit on my cock, princess." He groaned as he felt your pussy lips slide against his tip. You push his cock into your pussy, an inaudible noise coming out of your mouth. You press a hand to your face after you moan, embarrassed of the sound you just made.

"Enough of that." Levi swatted his hand to yours that was on your face. "I want to see the pleasure I give you on your face. Don't ever hide from me again." 

You nod as you slide down his cock, his length pressing against your gummy walls as he stretches it out. "Levi," You moan as you watch his cock disappear in your pussy. "You feel so good, but fuck you're so big."

"You're taking me so well, princess." Levi gently thrusts in you as you move your hips to ride him. He presses his hand to your soft stomach, feeling where his cock is inside your body. "You feel me there, baby?" 

Baby.

You nod and move your body up and down on his cock, planting messy kisses on his face. This is the type of dick to make you go stupid. Every thrust makes your toes curl. 

"This pussy is mine." 

"All yours, Levi." You feel your walls pulsating around his length at his words. Levi's mouth attaches to your neck, undoubtably leaving bruises on your skin. But you don't care. Not right now.

Fuck the rules.

"L-Levi, I'm gonna come." You stutter as your breath hitches.

"Come all over me." He whispers in your ear. The outline of your eyesight turns white as you reach euphoria on top of his dick, riding out your high. You moan his name loudly, thankful that you don't have any close neighbors. Levi's hands gripped your ass as you rode out your orgasm as he came undone soon after. "I-I can't, what color is the light?" He winced as he pulled away from you slowly.

"Green. Fucking green light." You moan as he pushes himself inside of you, letting his cum coat your insides. He groans at his release and his chest rises and falls quickly. He empties himself into you, not sure if he's ever came that much.

You move to get off of him, but he presses his fingertips to your ass so you stay. You watch his eyes open, expecting some sarcastic remark.

"Can you sleep here tonight? Please?" Levi moved a piece of hair out of your face. "After you shower, of course."

"Yes." You nod, pushing your body off of him and feeling the void that his cock left you. You whimper at the loss of him.

You hear Levi take steps towards his bathroom, his shower turning on. You walk naked to your bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. 

Your neck is covered with purple bruises. You press your fingertips to your skin, wincing at the pain. Levi left a trail of bruises to your chest, his lips marking your right breast. 

As the hot water hit your skin, you replay the last hour in your mind. How his thick cock felt in your pussy, how his hands were soft and caring, caressing every inch of you.

You wish you could take a peek of what's going on in Levi Ackerman's brain at this moment.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman smut #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman x you

[bfpnola]

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#pinned post #reaux speaks #discord server #social justice #activism #abolition #anarchism #socialism #communism #marxism #leftist #intersectional feminism #palestine #black lives matter #stop asian hâte #anti capitalism #disability justice #neurodivergent #queer #trans #acab #foster care #mad liberation #free palestine #israel

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

@riversongsource​ river song appreciation week || day 3. favourite incarnation

melody malone || Come through the doors of the Angel Detective Agency Inc., Floor 33, RCA Building, Manhattan, and maybe you’re expecting just another private eye. I’ve got the trench coat. I’ve got the fedora. I’ve got the hip flask. I’ve got a .357 Magnum in my drawer and a .380 ACP in my boot. But I’ve got a couple more things you might not be expecting, if you know what I mean. (I’m talking a slash of ruby-red lipstick and a splash of Chanel No.5, what did you think I was talking about?)

#dwedit #rsaw23 #riversongedit #river song #alex kingston #doctor who #melody malone #if that doesn't show up I just give up lol #I had to delete half of the second gif #for some reasons tumblr hated it #anyway... that book is so much fun! alex nailed both river's and melody's voice #do yourself and read that campy goodness #mine

[dirtyriver]

Avengers inc. #2, cover by Aka

#Comics #Avengers #Avengers inc. #Wasp #Vic Shade #Aka #Private eye

[chernabogs]

` I wish I never met you.. ` but with general lilia and a human reader... 👀

this took a turn lmao

Mead & Ignicolists

Inc: General Lilia, human reader (GN), Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, platoon of soldiers, 1 barmaid. Warnings: War, mentions of death, mentions of political strife, possible graphic description of conflict (village burning), alcohol mention WC: 4.7k (help) Summary: Repeated meetings in conflict can sometimes lead to interesting terms, and debts must always be paid.

Hate does not appear immediately. It’s a slow brewing concoction, crafted from a myriad of ingredients that bubble and broil in one’s guts like a black ichor until it’s all that your body becomes knowledgeable of. Lilia did not hate the humans when they initially arrived. In fact, he’d say he never knew hate in his life at that point. Their arrival was heralded more as a vague notation in the bottom of the meeting agenda—a ship spotted on the shores, with a crew of people clearly not of the fae race.

He doubts anyone batted an eye at the comment. He knows he certainly didn’t, nor did Meleanor, whose mind was too preoccupied with important matters pertaining to the swell in her stomach beneath her dress. Perhaps out of everyone present, it was Levan who paid the most heed, as it was Levan who asked the valuable question of— 

“What is it they seek?” 

A question glossed over until the intel unit could gather more information. Lilia remembers not missing the concern etched in Levan’s body language, nor the way he leaned close to murmur in Meleanor’s ear. Her brow had arched slightly, her lips turning to a frown, but then her gaze had gone back to the court at hand and the matter was dropped until further notice. 

It’s two weeks later—a mere sigh for a fae—that Lilia and Levan are both called to a private meeting. It’s not Meleanor who has summoned them, but rather Maleficia, with her ungiving gaze that held a weight so great that Lilia still finds himself unable to meet it nearly 200 years later. 

“Resources.” She explains, her black nails tapping an indiscernible rhythm on the desk she sits at. “They seek resources. Which resources we remain unsure of, but they have been lurking about the mountains and the valleys to our east. They even have a camp.” 

“They were not authorized to harvest,” Levan murmurs, his golden eyes wide in surprise. “Is it not protocol to gain permission from the royal authority before digging into foreign land? I do believe that to be a standard for human culture… or perhaps what I read is outdated…” 

“It is a standard, for both humans and fae. You would not see us digging into diurnal lands without permission, hm? Lest we wish to have a multitude of curses from their court upon us.” Maleficia’s voice drips with some wry contempt as she slides a paper forward. “I have spoken with Princess Meleanor. We will send scouts to the nearest camp—Lilia, you will be the authority for that.” 

Of course, he would be. Levan is being put on house arrest—palace arrest? —as Meleanor’s pregnancy progresses. He’s as valuable as she when it comes to the life of the egg they had sired. Lilia takes the paper and skims over it, memorizing each pattern and coordinate, before rolling it up and pocketing it with a bow. 

“With pleasure.” 

—

He doesn’t go alone, nor does he go with a small unit. Lilia prides himself as a man who, when he commits, truly commits to what he’s tasked. He travels to the nearest human encampment—on the very fringes of the dark woods—with a platoon. He had tried to persuade the royal family to allow an entire company, but Meleanor had rendered that idea null with a single lightning bolt to the floor. 

A rather dramatic reaction in his opinion. 

The ride is silent, mainly because Baul wasn’t assigned to attend, which means it’s also a terribly boring journey as well. Lilia’s gaze continues to dart from tree to tree as they move. His breath rattles against the mask that sits snug on his face, making him far more intimidating than his appearance may give. Intimidation is the tactic here. Levan wanted this done democratically—but Lilia is aiming for results. He can feel his body nearly itching for some kind of confrontation as he hears the hisses and snarls of the platoon that accompanies him. 

They don’t need to wait long. Within a few hundred yards from the campsite, they’re swiftly confronted by a unit of humans adorned in armor that glistens under the sparse light. It’s silver, and gaudy, and could get them killed within minutes in these woods with the way they look like tiny beacons in the night. He can feel his lips curl under the mask. 

“Halt!” One voice command. He looks at them—looks at you—impassively. He cannot discern your gender, as you wear a helmet that partially covers your face, and your armor looks the same as everyone else that emerges around you. “State your name.” 

Another rapture of snarls emerges from behind Lilia, which he silences swiftly with a single raised hand. He then takes a step back with one foot and sweeps into a mocking bow. “General Vanrouge, of the Thorn Court. We are curious of our unexpected visitors, and so we arrive with a request for answers to our inquiries.” 

He thanks the stars that Levan forced the human language down his throat in the form of too many tomes to count. You observe him—or so he thinks, as he cannot see your eyes—before looking back to the others. “Inform the captain that a representative of the Thorn Court has arrived. With company.” 

There’s already tension brewing. He can taste it on his tongue, and it takes the form of a wavering grin beneath his mask. He shouldn’t want a fight, but he has enough pent up energy to do so, and he could tell that the presence of these humans has stirred up stress within the court now, including with Meleanor. 

In her condition, she doesn’t need the stress, and that puts him on edge as well. 

Your head turns back to look at him, and his masked face tilts up to look at you. No words are exchanged—the conversation between unseen gazes says it all. 

—

The Thorn Court doesn’t progress in communications past the sparse camp that Lilia visits, which he learns is nothing more than a scouting camp designated to establish perimeters—basically, a group of low, low ranking soldiers wandering about. They send a unit to the main camp, and that unit vanishes off the face of the earth. 

So, they send another, and another, each unit resulting in the same outcome of nothing but vague wondering and whispered words regarding their whereabouts. The assumption is that they’ve been killed en-route. With a forest full of dire beasts and humans, Lilia wagers that to be quite accurate. 

He doesn’t run into you again until those tensions have mounted higher, and this time, he’s alone. It was more by fluke than anything else—he had simply wandered too far into the dark woods, his mind fraught with concerns regarding the barrage of meetings he had earlier. Another village burned; another valley stripped bare of resources. The depletion was already beginning to impact the Valleys financial standing—by a fair amount, considering how close to tears the royal accountant looked giving his updates. 

When he spots you, you have yet to see him. You’re without your blinding armor and standing at the edge of a lake, a rag in hand and a furrow in your brow. You remain blissfully unaware of the monstrous fae that’s laid claim to that lake, as well as the way that very creature is watching you now from the reeds just a few feet ahead. 

Lilia see’s It. He’s quite familiar with It, as the same bastard had tried to drown Levan when they were younger. His lips curl into a grin again. He has half the mind to let It pull you under. That would be one less human to concern himself with, after all. Until, like some horrible divine intervention on your behalf, he hears Levan’s voice whispering in his mind. 

Democratically.

He tries to ignore it, but he can so perfectly picture his friend's disappointed face in his head, to the point that he feels a cold chill up his spine like the man is watching this from afar. Knowing Levan, this isn’t too outlandish of a fear. 

“Niftehn,” he hisses, his native tongue slipping through as he steps forward from the shadows and—rather than announcing his presence—fires a rock into the nearby reeds. There’s a gaudy screeching sound as the fae—a cross between a scaled beast, a horse, and a man—launches forward in a bid to grab you before Lilia’s next move. 

It’s fast, but Lilia is much faster. He has his sword tip against the beast's forehead in seconds, halting It in Its tracks as It tenses, snarling and drooling in hunger and rage. It’s starving and for a moment Lilia feels sympathy. Thanks to the humans, they’re all starving as of late. 

“Zyln-imna.” He coos, a shit-eating grin on his lips as he and the creature square off. It gives him one last filthy look before sinking back down into the mud and reeds, until only bubbles indicate Its presence to begin with. He lowers his sword with a sigh and turns back to address you—

Only to find you well and gone. 

He stands for a moment, up to his calves in mud, and then scowls as he shoves his sword into the sheath on his back. How ungrateful of you to not even thank him for such charitable heroics. 

—

After that encounter, you cross paths several more times, to the point that he’s beginning to wonder if you’ve placed a tracking spell on his body. He even checks his supplies just in case—a childish action. The two of you don’t converse much between the multitude of squabbles that seem to break out as your scouting unit runs into his platoons. He doesn’t kill any of your men—but he certainly guarantees that you’ll all be carrying the message to your superiors, and you return the favour as well. 

This back and forth continues for months as the summer season weens into winter's embrace. The first snowfall is cutthroat, as it often is in Briar Valley. The platoon he guides cannot move until the unexpected squall dies away by mornings light, and so he makes the tactical decision to have everyone bank in a nearby village in the meantime. 

Unfortunately, as fates would have it, you seem to be doing the same with your unit as well. 

It takes a lot of dancing around for him to make sure his men don’t know about your men in the village. He doesn’t want a battle—he wants a drink, which is how he finds himself slinking into the town tavern with his hood up and his face tilting down. As a fae, he should be quite welcome here—but he knows that some villages have declared neutrality, and others in favour of human occupancy. This village he can’t get a read of quite yet. 

He does manage to get a drink without much hassle, and he’s settling down in a booth in a dark corner when the sound of another pint slamming on the table snaps his attention up. He hopes it’s one of his men—instead, he sees your scowling face looking back. 

“What a sunny greeting.” Lilia mumbles wryly as he narrows his eyes. You sit down across from him and proceed to make yourself quite at home. Months of repeated interactions appear to have made you quite bold. “I could kill you right now.”

“You don’t have your sword.” You counter as you take a swig of your drink. It seems like this isn’t your first one, with the way your sharp tongue is in full effect. “Are you going to strangle me across the table instead?”

“I should. It might teach you manners for once.”

Despite the threats, he has no intention of doing anything like that right now. Instead, he takes a swig of his own drink, watching you from over the rim with interest. He vaguely recalls a quote about ‘feasting with the enemy’ that he likely read during some tutelage session many years back. How ironic that he would be living it tonight. 

“You age yourself with comments like that.” You set your mug down on the table and observe him back. Despite the pouring drinks, your eyes remain sharp and alert—eyes he’s become quite familiar with as of late. “People here will catch on that you’re not human.”

He chuckles, giving a flash of white fangs against the dark. “Oh? You think my people will be so quick to rally against me? There must be a reason your unit is dressed in plain clothes, with your weapons and armor well-concealed from curious eyes.” A click of his tongue, and he leans close. “At least the lamb is aware of its place amongst the starving dogs.”

He leans back again as a beat of silence follows. You seem unaffected by his words as you take another drink. “Quaint. Is that your default line for those you meet on tavern nights?” 

For a second his mind doesn’t process your words. Then it clicks, and his brow furrows deeply in annoyance. “Disgusting. Your implications are souring my drink.” 

“Implications? I implied nothing of sorts.” You touch a hand to your chest and grin a little. “You were the one who put those implications in place.” 

He feels red hot irritation for a moment before he stifles it by downing the rest of his drink. Fae mead is meant to be savoured—but with your presence, he has a feeling he’ll finish the barrel by the end of the night. He waves a hand for a refill before his expression softens slightly into one of mild annoyance instead. 

“Why is your unit passing through here, anyway? You have already scouted these hills—months ago, in fact. I do recall our encounter then.” 

“Quite unforgettable,” you grumble back, grimacing as you do. You’re probably remembering the clash between you both, and perhaps you’re remembering the spirited banter that also occurred. Lilia wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you have the honour of being the only enemy he’s tried to have a conversation with mid-conflict. “We’ve been sent to scout again. I haven’t the faintest idea why, by the way.”

Your quick explanation silences his next comment. He bites his tongue and leans back. There’s a passage nearby that leads through the forbidden mountains—it’s only mildly less treacherous than crossing the mountains directly. He already knows this is what Heinrich seeks in sending your unit here. “How drab.” 

“Drab?” You wave a hand for a refill as well before fixing him with a glare. “My apologies that I don’t have exciting news of espionage and murder plots to keep you amused.” 

“Oh, I dare say you’re doing wonderfully right now without the murder to boot.” He pauses as the barmaid sets down two new drinks before departing. He tugs the hood a bit lower before taking a drink. “If you’re merely scouting out the passage within the mountain, then that’s hardly worth a full-scale confrontation between us, no?” 

Your gaze snaps up to him quickly when he relays your units plan, only for you to see the cheeky little grin he wears. Then your expression falls flat again, and you sigh. “Why do I even try?” 

“Because you like trying to play soldier. It’s quaint. I tried hard to do the same when I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed too.” He hums. Silence falls between you both once more as drinks are poured and emptied. There really is no need for conversation, and yet by the fifth pint, he finds himself growing restless once more. 

“Why are you still sitting here?” He finally grumbles as he sets the half-empty pint down. “I’m starting to believe you’re plotting something.” 

“Can I not have a drink with an acquaintance?” You counter, not budging from your position across from him. He narrows his eyes again. 

“Acquaintances? Is that what we are?” Another sharp grin. “And how do I get the term ‘companion’, then? Is it a promotion by dual, or do I just need to drop you on your ass a few more times?” 

Your leg shoots out to kick him underneath the booth, making him hiss in pain as his hand comes down to rub his knee. “Brat. I should have you dragged out for that.” 

“Delarynn surith.” The words that leave you are pronounced so poorly, it takes him a minute to process what it is you said. He doesn’t even recognize it as his own native tongue until you repeat it again. 

Delarynn… lord. Surith… 

Lord. 

Lord bitch. 

Lilia can’t help the cackle that escapes him, loud enough to draw a few gazes their way as he slouches over in the booth. Perhaps its the fae mead, or perhaps it’s the scowl on your face when you said those words with such confidence, but the whole situation is coming across as the funniest shit he’s heard in a while. 

“Who taught you that pronunciation?” He gasps between laughs as he wipes his eyes. “I’ve heard infant fae speak better!” 

“Oh, shut it. At least I’m integrating with the culture here!” You counter, scowling still as you take a drink. Then your expression starts to crack a bit as well, and soon your shoulders are shaking with chuckles. “God, I did butcher that…”

“Delarynn is not del-rye-win. It’s deh-lahr-rin. Surith, though, you did quite well. I suppose it’s a word many who come to the Valley learn quickly.” He muses as he chuckles a few more times before falling silent. The barmaid brings over another pint. “I should teach you some more before you piss off every villager you meet.” 

“That would be nice.” You murmur as you take a drink. It doesn’t occur to either of you until a few seconds later that such an occasion would, in all reality, likely never happen. When will you two meet amicably after tonight? Perhaps there’s a thin chance, but you’re more likely to encounter it in dreams than anywhere else. 

This seems to dawn on you slowly as you set your pint down. He watches your face, watches the thoughts flit by, before you sigh. “... I wish I never met you; you know.” 

His eyebrow arches at the comment. “The feeling is mutual. Never meeting you would mean none of what we are living would have ever happened.” 

No war, no death, no conflict day in and out. He would still be working at the palace by Meleanor and Levan’s sides, poking fun at courtiers and assisting in the arduous process of nursery planning. He wouldn’t be leading platoons, spending cold winter nights alone in taverns, and feeling an ever present sense of doom about what was to come. 

A curious expression crosses your face. It’s a mix of both contemplation and conflict. You seem to be fighting yourself for a moment before you finally clear your throat and lean forward. “The lake. When you stopped that thing from attacking me. I never thanked you for that,” you begin. 

“No. You scurried off into the bushes like a scared little lamb.” Lilia shoots back with a smirk. “Are you thanking me now? You can always do so by covering my tab.” 

“No. A tab wouldn’t be enough.” You lean close then, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin. It smells sweet, like the mead you’ve both been drinking tonight, and he tenses at the proximity. A part of him wants to grab your neck and slam you on the table for having the audacity to come so close. Another part, which confuses him the most, wants to grab you there and do something entirely different. “A life for a life.”

“What?” His voice sharpens as your words quickly sober him. You hush him and glance over your shoulder. 

“Ten kilometres east. Tomorrow. There’s a unit moving into the village there. It’s a supply stocking mission.” You then lean back and take a swig of your mead, like nothing ever happened at all. He stares at you blankly as you rise from your seat and push the empty pint aside. “Do stay warm, General.” 

Before you can move away, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist in a vice grip. You look down at him in shock and frustration, and he returns that expression tenfold. “Why tell me this?” 

“Because I owe you. I don’t want to be in debt to a fae.” You hiss back, looking towards the rest of the patrons in concern. He remains unwavering in his approach. 

“Really? You could have just paid the tab, not inform me of crucial information. Why tell me this?” 

“Because I owe you,” you double down, and he hisses at those words. 

“Do not lie to me.” 

You twist back, leaning close to his face once more. There’s that sweet scent again—although this time he can’t be sure if it’s from the mead or not. “Because I am tired of death, and I have been reconsidering where I stand.” 

There’s a pause. Lilia isn’t a gambling man, but in times of conflict, sometimes a gamble is all that one can do. He squeezes your wrist once. “The birch tree, just beyond the village line. Seven sharp. If you are reconsidering, then reconsider fast.”

Then he releases you and turns away with a wave. You watch him for just a moment before you finally slip back into the crowd of patrons that now fill the tavern. He feels that sense of doom in his gut once more as he nurses his drink just a bit closer.

A gamble.

He hopes this doesn’t flip on him. 

—

The snow lets up in the morning and it is with this revelation that he changes the course their platoon is moving. Rather than return directly to Black Scale Palace, they would divert ten kilometres east—to avoid drafts, he explains. The platoon moves steadily towards the town line, and it’s at the birch tree that he spots a familiar figure ahead. His stomach turns as the platoon begins to whisper and hiss.

They know you. 

“At ease.” Lilia orders them sharply as he approaches you—alone. You observe him with a blank look. You have no weapons, but he searches you anyway. 

“I don’t know if I consider you wise or foolish,” he mumbles as his hands pat you down. You could be a valuable asset for the information you know—and that’s how he’ll pitch it to his unit. “Forgive me for the next moments.” 

You hiss as he yanks your arms behind your back and binds them tight. “... I think both foolish and wise are correct.” 

He says nothing further beyond the explanation of your surrender as the platoon sets off once more, with you now trailing by his side. He considers that he should have blessed you last night—it may have done well to ease the tensions from the others in the group. Perhaps this is something he can do when the two of you are alone next.

The walk through the dark woods to the village you revealed is a silent one filled with a sense of dread on his part. He can feel your unease as well, and it’s beginning to affect the rest of the soldiers. The snow muffles all sound around them, save for their footsteps as they move. They only stop for a moment to recoup before he demands that they push on. 

A supply stocking mission is a common mission the humans embark on, and one that his soldiers have dealt with many times. It’s a simple and petty way to disrupt business for the Silver Owls—so he doesn’t expect much of a hassle. 

Which is why he’s rendered to a halt when the first faint scent of smoke reaches him. The other soldiers soon draw to a pause as well. Fae are blessed with senses far more advanced then humans, and so the confusion on your face is easily written off. 

“General…” one soldier begins slowly, his mask tilting up towards the treeline above. Lilia follows his direction. 

There’s a light in the distance. It’s an orange haze, and as he continues to watch, he sees the first tongues of flames begin licking at the sky. A plume of smoke rises—black, as dark as the clouds swirling above—and then grows. 

That sense of doom Lilia has felt since this began suddenly ignites to a full blown inferno in his abdomen. He rattles off orders to the platoon before his mind has even caught up with his tongue, and within moments the unit is dashing through the forest at a breakneck pace. He grips your arm in a vice-like hold as he drags you along, snarling with every step.

“A supply stocking?” He spits as he yanks you closer to the clearing. The village you had informed him of was a small plot, consisting mostly of fae families that work the surrounding fields for the grain harvests each year. It’s a picturesque place that Lilia visited a few times on royal tours. 

It isn’t picturesque right now. Orange and red clash to create a painting of chaos. Buildings now stand as silhouettes against the great blaze that’s being fed by the grain, and the wooden structures, and the many trees that used to line the village streets. Lilia’s breath hitches as he observes the scene before them. 

“This wasn’t what I was told!” You gasp as you look on as well. He can see the abject horror in your gaze, the genuineness behind the fear in your voice. This wasn’t what you were told. Something went wrong, or something else was planned the entire time. 

Someone lied. 

Someone lied, lied, lied. 

But of course, they did. 

This is a war, isn’t it? His kind against yours, those who want versus those who have. You both should have assumed that others would take note of your encounters over these past few months, of the banter you’ve had and the grins you’ve exchanged mid-conflict. Perhaps someone set you up to be at that tavern, where he would be that night as well. Perhaps someone put all the pieces in place which would lead for you both to share a night, to whisper words, in hopes that you would tell him what was to come. 

He says nothing to you, but the look he gives shows that you are not accountable for this as of right now. He waves a hand for you to be taken somewhere safer than here—after all, it seems you’ve been marked as an aid to his side anyway. He may as well make you one.  

Then the scent hits him. Scorched earth: there’s a lingering aroma of charred something. The crackle of buildings crumbling from the heat and the high pitched whine of glass shattering under pressure. His men rush around him, ripping into the village and shouting for backup, for water, for survivors.

And he stands there. He stands there, drinking it all in, his eyes wide yet unseeing, his pupils dilated with adrenaline. Until a laugh bubbles from his lips. A wry, tiny chuckle, which quickly grows into a hysterical cackle, which somehow evolves to a scream of fury that tears apart his throat as it leaves. It cuts through the smoke and the ash and the snow that he can hardly see now from the burning tears—not from soot, not from soot—that blind his gaze. 

Families. Children. People who have done nothing but simply exist. He can visualize tiny forms charred black, their limbs stiff and curled in a last effort attempt to shield themselves from the heat they’re consumed by. He can see mothers holding children, husbands holding wives, lovers in their last moments.

Hate does not appear immediately. It’s a slow brewing concoction, crafted from a myriad of ingredients that bubble and broil in one’s guts like a black ichor until it’s all that your body becomes knowledgeable of. Lilia did not hate the humans when they initially arrived. In fact, he’d say he never knew hate in his life at that point.

He knows it now as he bears witness to fire, as he smells burning memories, as he hears history crumbling to its foundations.

He knows what it feels like to hate. 

#twst #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #not even in a romantic sense bro its so vague LMAOO #also just threw a language i made in there for fae talk bc idk man #they scream n shout #im so sorry if u wanted more romance but... man lilia was somethin else durin the war

[hiatuswhore]

The Game — Aegon II Au

♡ A/N: Something I’ve been playing around with. Someone teach me how to write smut lol. This is currently just a one-shot and unedited so bare with me. Please give me feedback, I’m begging for it.

♡ SUMMARY: Just another fake dating PR stunt. Your job, fix the bad boys image. Easy right, not if Aegon Targaryen can help it.

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.7K

♡ WARNING: Harsh Language

previous — Masterlist — next

“What was it like when you first met?”

You smile politely at the question, not a single hair sitting out of place. The gaudy camera pointing at the two of you gleaming. Aegon wets his lips grinning to himself at the passing thought. The interviewer looks between the two of you, and the question lingers in the air.

“You want to take this one?” Aegon asks, looking at you with a fond glint. At least that’s what the camera sees, just as it sees how you bashfully look away from him and toward the interviewer.

“We met by a complete accident,” Your smile beaming as you recall signing up for high pay, low stakes acting gig. Even during the phone interview you were certain it was a load of crap. “A friend of mine who works at Westeros Incorporated forgot some of their work and asked me to run it over.”

“She comes in wearing these joggers and hoodie, in a building where all the suits look the same. I couldn’t stop looking at her she was all confused and clearly out of place. It was absolutely adorable,” A thrift store hobbit, that is what he had described your leisure wear the first day you had met. His mother, Alicent had nonstop scolded him as his sister Helaena offered a kind smile and his brother Aemond pretended as though you were not in the room.

“(Y/n) as you likely know Aegon Targaryen has been deemed the bad boy in the press. Hook ups, parties, fights. Tell us about the Aegon Targaryen you know,” Behind the camera crew stands Aegon’s mother and grandfather, Otto. Otto had been the final part of the hiring process. You were invited to the Targaryen Estate, not home—a fucking estate. There you met all of the family. No one had acknowledged your presence, only when Otto called you into his office did all eyes fall onto you. In there you signed never ending stacks of papers from Nondisclosure agreements to medical information releases.

If the checks were not so dizzyingly high and the contracts signed were not so nauseatingly terrifying your answers would likely be different. The Aegon Targaryen I know is a lazy narcissistic asshole who is, “so misrepresented in the media. The Aegon I know is nothing but kind and dedicated to whatever he puts his mind to. He just tends to put his mind to some not so productive things as times.”

You turn to Aegon, leaning closer him as you smile. The interviewers awes softly as Aegon kisses your temple and you both turn your focus back onto the journalist. You both leave the interview hand and hand, all giddy smiles and sunny dispositions until the cameras gone, the doors shut, and prying eyes leave the vicinity.

Ripping your hand out of his you cross your arms in front of you, glaring daggers at the roll of his eyes, “We didn’t say anything about kissing my temple.”

“Kind and dedicated. Might as well have tattooed we’re lying on our forehead. Since the way you dress was not obvious enough,” Aegon scoffs. Before you can get another word out Otto speaks sharply.

“Enough. Good job you two. (Y/n) for Aegon’s birthday we’re going to the lakehouse. We’re going to take the boat out on Blackwater, paparazzi always capture photos for that so we’re sending over some tasteful bathing suit options,” Otto explains sternly, nodding your head quietly you roll your eyes as Aegon huffs.

“I’m supposed to be partying in Dorne for my birthday!” Aegon whines. Otto dismisses, without skipping a beat you grab your bag leaving the conference room. You take the elevator to the second floor of Westeros Inc before taking the private elevator to the discreet door. Pulling your hood up you walk flagging down a cab.

Arriving to your new apartment the manicured trim of the walls and marble counter tops still knot your stomach. Before the ink dried on the paperwork Otto had you sign, you had a new set of keys and a paycheck with more commas than you had ever seen before. New money, new apartment, new boyfriend.

Scarily enough there it was, several shopping bags on your couch. The bathing suits. Your schedule for the day empty you turn on some music, digging into the bags trying on the bathing suits. The black one piece accentuating curves with a snug hold on your body. Pulling coils of hair into a ponytail you clasp your gold snake necklace while taking a look into your living room mirror. Taking out your phone you play around with a few different poses before your front door swings open. Aegon walks in texting away on his phone as he stops in the kitchen, he grabs one of your juices before sprawling out on the side of the couch without bags.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You exclaim, eyebrows knit while poorly shielding yourself behind the jeans you had been previously wearing. Aegon looks up from his phone, his eyes trace up your legs before meeting your gaze.

“Otto wants the leeches with cameras to see me coming over here. I promise I’d rather be anywhere else,” Aegon says, turning back to his phone.

“Do you ever tire of being an asshole?” Your questions earns chuckle, Aegon focus stays on his phone as he says, no.

“Do you ever tire of complaining?” Aegon asks. You scoff gathering the bags before stomping off to your room. His bedroom door right across, oh right, the apartment stipulation. The nice Red Keep apartment will be yours to own, after the successful completion of your year long contract, fix Aegon’s image and the paychecks and assets flow. A therapist couldn’t help that egotistic narcissist.

You slam your door shut, dropping the bags to the floor you change into gym shorts and a t-shirt. Folding the bathing suits, you put them away. Sprawling our on your bed you let out a long sigh. Eyes closed you sink into the soft mattress, more cloud than bed.

The week passes with the regularly scheduled outings. Restaurants, museums, social events. At the Stark foundation Gala, you make small talk with Cregan Stark and his sister Sara. Out of most of the socialites you have met, you deem them the most normal. Cregan nods along most of the conversation as you and Sara complain about the media. Sara does most of the talking as you sip on some fancy wine you cannot pronounce.

“I’m obsessed with your dress, it’s designer right. Don’t tell me, Cersei Lannister,” Sara says, her eyes narrowed with a playful suspicious glint. The silk dress hugs slightly at the hips as it stops at your mid-lower thigh. Your back completely exposed, biting the inside of your cheek you cannot help but notice how Cregan’s eyes outline your body. The elder Stark towers over, his gaze intense but compelling. From the moment you and Aegon arrived, Aegon disappeared and you found yourself drifting closer and closer to the handsome Stark.

“Joffrey actually,” You says softly, chuckling as you smooth out the dress. Sara gasps, she takes out her phone texting away.

“That stylish cunt. I told him to tell me when his newest designs dropped,” Sara says, walking off with her phone pressed to ear you giggle shaking your head.

“All of this must be a bit weird for you,” It’s the first time Cregan’s spoke, his gruff voice sending a tingle through your body. You shift in place taking another sip of your wine.

“That your sister has a member of the biggest fashion designing family in the world on her phone. Or that their relationship is so casual she calls Joffrey Lannister a cunt the way I’d playfully insult my best friend?” You say, earning a chuckle. Cregan nods sipping his own wine, your eyes stay on each others a moment too long. The intense gaze sends your mind to all the wrong places. His hands large hands roaming, tall stature domineering, tongue d— “So how long is your contract with the Targaryens?”

You snap back to reality, Cregan still wears the same reserved look to his persona. Looking around the room, others still mingle without care. Cregan chuckles, “We socialites are all the same. I’ve known Aegon my entire life, this good guy for the right girl act is pretty dull.”

“So don’t watch then,” You scoff rolling your eyes you scan the room for Aegon. Cregan chuckles his demeanor never falters while he speaks cooly, “But I want to watch you.”

Cregan’s eyes look over your body shamelessly, “I want to watch you in that dress, out of that dress in all kinds of positions.”

Your mouth gapes as you process the words he says so casually. Before you can respond a hand wraps around your wrist, Aegon walks you to a back wall. A giant glass wall to your left and the rest of your party to your right. Aegon eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of tequila. He presses his body against yours, one hand on the wall above your head caging you in.

“You want to fuck the mutt be my guest but first we need to convince the press this is real,” Aegon says, licking his lip revealing the tongue piercing. His dainty silver chain shines in contrast to his all black suit, he looks undeniably good. The rasp of his voice captivating, and his narcissism irritatingly sexy. You take a deep breath bringing yourself back to reality.

“You’re drunk and I don’t know how dry humping me at a social event is going to help us,” You push off the wall looking down at your heels, you step left avoiding stepping on his shoes. The feeling of his fingers gripping your jaw pulls a light gasp from your lips.

“I’m not suddenly a fucking saint because of you. My grandfather said we have to convince the public, and they know me. The photographers outside can see into here, can see us,” Aegon says holding your face closer to his as he grins down at you. His other hands rubs on your outer thigh, lifting your leg from under your knee as he nestles between your legs. “Kinda like you like this, you’re sexy when you’re not talking.”

“Fuck you,” You whisper pulling your jaw out of his hand he captures your lips biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. The kiss steals your breath and the chuckle that leaves his lips vibrates through your chest to your core.

Aegon bites his bottom lip as he brings his thumb up tracing your lips. You furrow your eyebrows at him. The flashes in the distance confirms the photographers capture the moment from outside. Aegon interlaces your hand in his, before you step out of the building he smirks whispering into your ear, “Play the game Cinderella and you just might win.”

#aegon targaryen au #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #modern aegon #aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen au #aemond targaryen imagine #house of dragons #house of dragons au #alicent hightower #Alicent Hightower imagine #otto hightower #Otto Hightower imagine #helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen imagine #rhaenyra targaryen au #daemon targaryen au #Rhaenyra targaryen imagine #Joffrey Lannister imagine #Cregan stark imagine #Cregan stark au #cersei lannister #Cersei Lannister au #game of thrones imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon au

[lacedupforyou]

🄿🅁🄾🄿🄴🅁🅃🅈 |Yandere Kamisato's|

| Yandere Ayato x Reader X Yandere Ayaka | (No Thoma..)

(Obviously, No Inc!st, Shit's nasty. Reader has an anemo vision)

~

You were a lovely performer who danced in Inazuma often, Wether on stages, Private shows at teahouses, or on the street. The breeze in your dress and in your hair had drawn people to your elegance. It was like everyone knew your name.

Using your Vision to have the wind work in your favor and your moves had drawn the attention of everyone in Inazuma. You had gotten a letter to preform for the Kamisato siblings! And that you would be paid highly. Ah! You couldn't help but jump for joy. High pay and to perform for such important people!

The day had arrived to preform. You had your fans, your dress was on, makeup applied. You were ready to do your best! You had given them your best performance. The power of Anemo flowing through your hair and your dress. This had to have been your best performance yet! As the lights faded and it ended You walked off and spoke to a few of the staff before packing your items for leaving. That was until you noticed both of the Kamisato siblings standing in front of you smiling, Atleast you hoped ayaka was smiling by the way she used her fan to hide her mouth.

You greeted them politely and they offered you to join them for tea! How could you refuse? You walked with them and sat yourself down. You sipped the tea they had given you and discussed matters as they complimented your dancing with blushes adorning your facial features.

The room felt dizzy. The incense, The makeup on your face starting to sweat off, and your eyes drooping. You felt yourself black out. Ayato catching you and holding you with a smirk admiring your soft sleeping features.

You awoke next to someone. Your arms and wrists bound up. You look to see..Ayaka..? You groggily try to fully wake but the drug they slipped into your tea still had some effect. Ayaka's arms slipped around you holding you close. You could feel yourself shaking from fear and confusion.

"Shhh..Sleep your performance was awfully tiresome I presume.." Ayaka speaks breaking the silence. Her arms holding you close. "You're so beautiful..I knew when I saw you I needed to hold you like this. You're always so kind to others, Your innocence is so pure. My brother and I want to protect you from this cruel world"

Her words sent shivers up your spine. You heard footsteps and the other sibling entered the room. Ayaka glared. "It's my turn with her y'know. You held her and restrained her so I get to sleep next to her.." She reminded her brother "Thoma has made breakfast I've brought you some Y/N" It seemed to be normal miso soup. He slipped the spoon into your mouth and it tasted heavenly for some Miso soup.

"W-why am I here..?" You had finally managed words. "Your producer has made you ours. We are here to keep you safe. Disobedience will result in punishment. Now eat. Say Ahhh"

You open your mouth and he fed you more of the miso soup. Ayaka's arms still around your waist. "I want to go home.." You whisper to them

"Flower, You are home. This is your home. You are never, ever leaving us. No matter where you go we will be here."

(Part 2? I need to know people like this or want more!

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #ayato x reader #ayaka x reader #genshin x reader #yandere ayato #yandere ayaka #yandere ayaka x reader #yandere ayato x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling

[nogu-d-reamers]

WELCOME TO PLAYTOWN/POPPY PLAYTOWN- CHARACTER REFERENCE #1.

CATNAP NUITLUNE- DESIGN AND DATA.

Information data:

Name: Catnap NuitLune.

Age: 24

Height: 320 mts/10'4 fts.

Species: Smiling critter creature. Cat (Maine coon cat).

Occupation: private detective.

Genre: male (he, him).

Sexuality: anthro.

Magical usser type: cursed.

Birth place: Gasetúde (Playgrounds).

Birth day: august 8th (not real birthday, it's just a symbolic date).

Personality:

He is usually a reserved, quiet man, little bit sarcastic and to a certain extent withdrawn and in his world. Because of his type of work and the night schedules he manages; It is common to see him asleep during the day anywhere in his work clothes at the Piggy family restaurant or near Kickin's cabin (or in general keeping him company while he rests with one of his friends).Although he usually seems to be a lazy person, and some of his own comments towards himself; He is someone who puts the people he cares about above his own well-being and is loyal to his friends to an absurd degree.

On the other hand, topics such as his family, his past in "beta-unit 1006" or the "prototypism" tend to make him uncomfortable and he will skip the topic immediately or pretends he needs another cigarette (even if he's smoking a new one)..

A funny gag with him is that he usually appears out of nowhere in favor of the situation and scaring everyone at the same time while repeating «it's not my turn, but...»

about his work and daily life.

He is a As mentioned above, he is a private detective who, due to his predilection, works the night shift (which is why he spends the rest of the day half asleep). He works for the detective agency "Mob Inc." Therefore, his way of dressing in civilian clothes at work does not have many differences and he maintains a dark color palette. In that agency he works only with Mr. Mob (founder and chief financial officer) and his "brother" and day shift colleague Boxy Boo.

He ended up getting entangled in the world of detectives due to an altercation in his youth where he tried to steal the wallet of who would be his boss and was given two options: hand him over to the police or work for him and have a formal job.

"Magic" data (and other skills):

like a cursed, it has the standard abilities that they generally have without the need for it to be activated =

- improved brute force.

- hyperdeveloped senses.

-permission and knowledge of handling weapons of his rank.

But, this can be activated when your body is under a very high stress situation or in a situation of extreme danger.

His curse has 3 phases=

Phase 1: activated.

His body begins to secrete and expel poppy smoke (a reminder that poppies are an inhibitor of magic, and for beings like witches it is a lethal poison) through the respiratory tract and his character, due to the pain it causes, becomes aggressive and alert. ; If panic does not take over, he can deactivate it voluntarily.

Phase 2: controlled/stable form.

It's the shape they wanted to achieve when they experimented with it in the first place.

His body begins to adapt to the poppy gas and has a "mild growth spurt"; The gas also goes from being just a sleeping pill to a tool to generate illusions in its favor and can generate the gas or poppy substance in a more solid way in its claws or fangs. His attitude also changes, becoming more sinic and playful; like a hunter who enjoys torturing his prey.

He can be reasoned with to a certain degree and if he realizes that he has hurt someone important to him he can revert to his activated form.

If he spends too much time in that way...he can get out of control.

Phase 3: uncontrolled/ unstable form.

It is what went wrong and made him consider a failure.

If he spends too much time in his controlled form the Poppy Smoke itself "takes over" Catnap's body, giving him the grotesque appearance of a skeletal cat surrounded by smoke; the only trace of his actual body being his eyes and mouth injected with poppy gas.

You can't reason with him...

You can't fight him...

You can only do two things = run away and pray that his energy runs out quickly so that he returns to his base form.

Medical notes:

-He is under strict medical treatment so that one day his curse cannot affect him.

-Even though he is stable, due to his physical modification, his body feels the need for the poppy substance; So as contradictory as it may sound, you are allowed to smoke a certain limited amount of cigarettes solely made from these flowers while investigating an alternative for his case; His trademark is "the hour of joy."

-Bobby is his designated therapist.

other random data:

favorite food: niçoise salad «un delice~♪».

Favorite dessert: beignets «i love desserts, mais;the beignets are my biggest weakness».

hated food: militar cookies «...bad memories...».

smell: lavender + poppy.

strength: loyalty, insight, thirst for research.

weakness:self-deprecation.

favorite physical appearance: star-freckles «everyone loves the étoiles, Right?».

hated physical appearance:«that stupid mark».

person you respect most: kickin «I owe a lot to that stupid coq»

person you don't want as an enemy: Bobby «She's scary when I'm not on time for treatment... and boy, nothing scares moi».

hobby:sleeping and gossip.

Some crush?: ... «Mr. Witcher».

#poppy playtime au #smiling critters #catnap #poppy playtime catnap #Welcome to playtown #poppy playtown #poppy playtime