#Scarlet Distinction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jhopezwrld · 3 months

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i'm your little scarlet, starlet, singin' in the garden

summary: your sweet boyfriend jay eats you out for the first time

warnings: smut!!! oral (f receiving), swearing, corruption kink, dirty talk, uhhh i think that’s it

wc: 2,042

a/n: i wrote this in like an hour & a half and i actually hate it so much. pls leave feedback lol im an attention whore

minors do not interact plz! xx

"just tell me."

"nuh-uh."

"pleaseeeeee?"

"not happening. just drop it, jay. i don't wanna talk about this anymore." you pout, turning your body away from his. you lie flat on your back, staring up at his blank ceiling, but your view of plain white is suddenly obstructed by your boyfriend. he'd been bugging you to tell him just how experienced you were since you had let it slip that your first kiss was only last year. "please, baby? i just wanna know. promise i won't laugh or tell anyone." he says, holding his pinky finger out to you to exaggerate his point.

you roll your eyes and slap his hand away. "m’not telling you, jay. it's embarrassing!" you tell him, moving your hands from your sides to cover your face, which was already heating up. you can feel him stifle a giggle at your side, which makes you whine. "see! you're already laughing at me." he straddles you, using his much larger hands to pull yours from your face. "i'm laughing 'cause you're cute, baby. everything you do is cute cause you're my girl, yeah?" he asks, bringing his thumb up to caress your bottom lip.

you nod at that, pressing a small kiss to the pad of his thumb. he smiles and presses his thumb harder at the seam of your lips. "has anyone ever put anything in here, baby?" he inquires, parting your lips with his finger and brushing his thumb over your teeth. you shake your head, too shy to verbally answer his question, but that isn't enough for him.

he removes his thumb from your mouth and instead uses his hand to squeeze your cheeks together. "didn't i just ask you a question? c'mon, angel, you know how to use your big girl words. answer me, has anyone ever put anything in this pretty little mouth of yours?"

"n-no. no one ever put anything in here." you sputter, feeling your stomach turn at the way he's speaking to you. "hmm, that's what i thought. my sweet innocent girl. has anyone ever kissed you like i have?" you know how to answer properly this time, so you do. "no, no one has ever kissed me the way you do." you answer, keeping your eyes glued to his shoulder, too embarrassed to keep eye contact with him. "s'what i thought. gimmie a kiss, pretty girl." he tells you, and you obey, looking up at him and connecting your lips.

his tongue immediately invades your mouth, brushing over your teeth and exploring the entirety of your mouth before tangling with your own. there was something so distinct about the way he tasted, like warm cinnamon and ginger. it made you shiver, which jay picked up on immediately. he pulled away from you slowly, admiring the string of saliva that connected the two of you, making you flush and squeeze your eyes shut. he moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and licking at your pulse point.

he presses one last kiss to your neck and pulls away. "s'it good baby? you like it when i kiss you like that?" he asks, although the smirk on his face makes it clear that he knows the answer. "y-yeah, i like it. makes me feel like-" you pause, not knowing how to describe what you’re feeling. he nods his head as to tell you to go on, and you do. "makes me feel warm down there." you voice. he takes his hand that had been lying by your head and places it on your clavicle "here?" he asks condescendingly.

you shake your head no, and he moves his hand down to cup your breast. "here?" his fingers find your nipple through the thin shirt and bralette that you were currently wearing. you gasp and push your chest into his hand. "has anyone ever seen you here, sweetheart?" his hands graze the bottom of your shirt, and you shake your head. "can i?" he asks, and you nod. "didn't we just go over this, baby? use your words."

you sigh, trying to articulate your point before speaking again "i want you to take my shirt off, jay. want you to be the first to see me like that." you admit. he lets out a groan and bites his lip while gripping the sides of your shirt. "arms up, baby."

you lift your arms above your head and he slips your shirt off of your body. the coldness of his room (or the intensity of his stare) causes your nipples to harden, turning into pretty peaks hidden under soft pink lace. "so fucking pretty, jesus christ." he says, dragging one hand up the length of your stomach to your right breast, palming it.

“so soft and sweet. all for me, right?” his voice is so low it’s almost unrecognizable. you nod “yeah, s’all for you, jay.” your response is rewarded soft smile before he ducks his head down to suck your covered nipple into his mouth.

you let out a squeak, tangling your left hand in his hair, while your right stays by your side, curled into a fist. his tongue laves over your stiff lace-covered bud until he’s satisfied, pulling away to look at the wet spot he left. the loss of his mouth makes you whine, silently begging for more. "can i take this off, baby? it'll feel so much better." he explains, grazing his fingers over the delicate fabric of your bralette. you know he's right. if the feeling of his mouth through your top makes warmth travel south, what would it feel like with no barrier? you nod faster than you can speak.

"please take it off, jay? wanna feel your mouth, pretty please?" you beg, batting your eyelashes at him. jay groans and adjusts the very prominent bulge in his sweatpants. his hands grasp at the cups covering your breasts and he pulls. the sound of fabric tearing hits your ears before you realize what's happening. before you can protest, his mouth connects with your nipple. teeth and tongue cover your sensitive bud, licking and biting. a moan leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

he smiles up at you and uses his free hand to play with the fabric of your sleeping shorts, which makes you buck your hips into his hands. he releases your tit, giving it one last kiss before pushing his body up to kiss you again. his knee presses in between your thighs, rubbing deliciously against your clit. he detaches your lips to press hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck. his hand again reaches down to your shorts. "can i take these off too, baby doll? just wanna make my girl feel good. can i make you feel good?"

"we don't have to do anything, baby. don't wanna make you uncomfortable, just wanna make you feel nice," he says, caressing your cheek.

"please take them off, jay? want you to touch me and make me feel good. i want you to do it, please." you say, clenching your fists at your side. he smiles at you, presses a sweet kiss to your lips, and lowers himself down his bed. coming face to face with your most sensitive area, he pulls your shorts down quickly and comes in contact with your pretty lace boyshorts.

his fingers trace the intricate patterns on your hips and slip down to rub over your covered slit. his fingers and eyes meet the sticky sweetness in between your thighs. He sucks in a quick breath and thanks whatever god blessed him with an angel like you. he hooks his fingers into your panties and slips them off. you watch his reaction closely, his bottom lip is trapped by his teeth.

it seems he's in awe of your pussy. his eyes trace the length of your folds, glued to the strings of arousal that wet your lower lips and inner thighs. "such a sweet little pussy. pretty pussy for a pretty girl. can i taste it?" he asks, his warm breath coming out in puffs against your sensitive parts. you squirm under his gaze, unsure of how to answer. "b-but what about you? wan'you to feel good too, jay."

he coos at your reply, pressing a sweet kiss to your inner thigh. "s'gonna be good for me too, baby. been wanting to taste you for so long. i think about how good your pussy will taste when i touch myself at night. might just make me cum in my fuckin pants." he admits, adjusting his bulge again.

his admission makes you whine and push your hips up, searching for pleasure. "but what if i don't taste good? or what if i-" he cuts you off by pressing his face into your cunt, laving his tongue against your honeyed cunt. you let out a loud whine, throwing your arms over your face. his hot tongue wriggles between your folds before he sucks your clit into his mouth. he splays one hand over your hips, preventing you from wiggling out of his grip, while his other hand reaches for your own.

his hand grips yours, and he squeezes, providing you with a bit of comfort. your heartbeat quickens as you feel his tongue exploring parts that only you have touched. his lips move in a way that reminds you of the way he kisses you. messy and passionate. you let yourself relax, giving in to the sensations flowing through your body. jay licks thick stripes from your hole to your hardened pearl, drinking from you as if you were leaking ambrosia.

you moan sharply, thrusting your hips into his mouth the best you can with his arm holding you down. he removes it, taking his middle finger and rubbing it against your hole. he detaches his mouth from you, keeping his eyes on your pussy as he pushes his finger inside of you. he sucks in a harsh breath “holy shit, baby. you’re so fucking tight. don’t you touch yourself?” he asks

you take a deep breath before responding. “s-sometimes, but my fingers aren’t as big as yours. it’s never felt like this before” you moan out. he smiles at you and dips his head back down between your thighs. he speeds up the movement of his finger and speaks again “that’s right. i’m the only one who can make you feel like this.” he rasps, before connecting his mouth with your clit again, sucking hard. you cry out and tangle your hands in his soft locks. he pushes another finger into your slick pussy and laps at the wetness that leaks onto the base of his fingers.

your brain feels fuzzy and the only thing you can think to say is his name. his movements speed up as you cry out, and the bed creaks as he thrusts his hips into the mattress. jay can practically feel himself spiraling at the way you’re lost in the pleasure he’s providing you. he can feel you clench around his two fingers, your orgasm impending. he doubles his efforts, suckling on your clit while his fingers press into your g-spot, and that’s what unravels you. your hips arch and you sob out a broken moan, squeezing your thighs around his head as your orgasm washes through you.

jay kisses around your thighs and eases his fingers out of your slit. as your breathing regulates, he slithers up the length of your body and places the two fingers that were just inside of you on your closed lips and taps as if to say ‘open up’. your lips part and he presses his fingers onto your tongue. he smiles as you seal your lips around his drenched digits.

“see how sweet you taste, baby?” he asks. you hum around his fingers and nod your head. as he removes them from your mouth, you peer down at the wet patch over his obvious boner in his sweatpants.

you frown at him and run your hand down his torso to the happy trail that disappears into his pants. “can i help you, too?” you question, looking up at him with curious eyes. he smirks at you and pushes his hips into your own. “i’m gonna ruin you, sweet girl.”

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jay park smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen hard hours #enha smut #enha hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #smut #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #jhopezwrld #my writing

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sarahscribbles · 2 months

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saz i am the FIRMEST of believers that loki’s into cock warming, especially when he comes home from a long mission or gruesome battle literally all he wants is to be nestled inside you for hours 😌

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The endless sky stretching beyond the Allmother’s library is a vibrant swirl of scarlet and amber when you hear the clatter of a dozen hooves in the courtyard below. Over the excited braying of horses you hear the calls of Einherjar for stable hands and body servants, and the book in your lap quickly tumbles to the floor with a thump as you rush towards the window in a flurry of skirts.

The sudden disturbance in the quiet of the evening can only mean that the campaign is over and the princes are home.

Loki is home.

You reach the window just as he swings a long leg over his horse and drops elegantly to the ground, looking every inch the warrior in leather and metal. The last dying rays of sun catch the small golden band around his finger and the breeze tousles his perfectly styled hair, but he barely appears to notice because his attention is already fully focused on something else.

You, standing at the library window.

He found you within five minutes of arriving back home. Always, your husband will find you, as though some invisible string connects his heart to yours.

The smile that curls across his lips when he catches your eye is both devilish and devastating, as is the wink he offers you as his horse is taken away.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in your stomach and your fingers curl tighter around the pillar they rest on. Six weeks he’s been gone - one of the longest campaigns of your marriage - and it’s taking everything in you not to run through the palace and have him right there in the courtyard.

Perhaps more than once.

His bright eyes linger longingly on you until he disappears beneath the window ledge and into the Palace. From the floor below, you hear the gentle buzz of conversation and revelry as the warriors recount their journey to victory for anyone who will listen. You hear the distinct sound of Thor’s war cry; the hearty cheers of The Warriors Three; the joyous clanging of swords in celebration…

You hear the familiar deep roll of laughter that you would recognise anywhere.

The sound of your husband’s mirth, his uncontained joy, makes you giddy with excitement, the likes of which you haven’t experienced since you first started courting him or the first time you got to taste his kiss. You’ve missed him - missed the warmth of his embraces, the softness of his lips, the easy way he can make you laugh without even trying.

You’ve missed your best friend.

Forgetting all about the book you’ve left lying, pages akimbo, on the floor, you rush from the library on quick, quiet feet to race your husband to your chambers. You know it will be his first port of call, as it always is after any length of time you spend apart, and the thought alone is enough to make you fizzle wildly with anticipation.

Will he take his time worshiping your body? Will those large, gentle hands spend hours refamiliarising themselves with every dip and curve? Will his lips lavish attention on you until not an inch of you has been left unkissed?

Or, will he back you against the chamber wall and hoist your skirts around your hips? Will he rip your bodice from your body and roughly have his way with you? Will he make you orgasm again and again until you go limp in his arms?

Perhaps both if you’re lucky.

Perhaps this reunion will be similar to the last when neither of you were seen outside your chambers for three days; one day of pleasure for each battle the Asgardians had won, so your husband had promised.

And delivered on.

The late evening air tingles with his magic as you pass along the Palace hallways. He’s closer than you had initially believed, but when you finally approach the ornate double doors of your chambers, only the two Einhenjar stand outside.

You breeze quickly past them with a brief nod, stepping straight into the empty living area of your chambers. There’s nothing to suggest that Loki is anywhere within or lurking in the rooms beyond, so you haltingly let your guard down.

Beyond the walls of your chamber, you hear the merry sounds of the warriors making their way to Odin in the heart of the Palace to boast of their victory. They pass by in a raucous cacophony of cheers and shouts - still loudly retelling the events of each battle to their eager audience of courtiers - and you prepare for your husband to come striding through the doors energised by victory.

But they remain firmly closed.

Your brow furrows at the same time a knot of disappointment twists in your stomach. Loki’s letters from the battlefield had been dripping with innuendo and filthy promises of how he planned to ravish you upon his return - some so salacious that you’d had to lock the doors to your bedchamber early in the afternoon.

Surely, after so many promises of debauchery, he wouldn’t choose an audience with Odin over you.

The sounds of Thor and his fellow warriors become increasingly more faint and still there’s no sign of Loki. You wait another minute and then start towards the doors, but you’ve barely taken three steps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your middle so suddenly that you yelp in surprise.

“I caught you, my little mouse.” Loki’s soft voice purrs in your ear, and you feel his warm lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You pretend to huff, but it’s impossible to stop the smile that spreads across your face at being back in your husband’s embrace. “How do you always manage to do that?”

His answering laughter makes your heart swell. How had you survived six whole weeks without him?

Loki places one last kiss to your temple and twirls you around in his arms. You’re flush against his chest and the familiar feeling of safety washes warmly over you. “Do you forget to whom you are married, dove?” he teases, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

“As if such a thing is even possible!” you reply, teasing him just as easily.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs, and pulls you tighter against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

Briefly, you consider teasing him a little more, but something in his eyes makes you reconsider. Reflected in them clear as day is how deeply he missed you and how desperately he needs to hear you say that you noticed his absence.

“Like one would miss a limb,” you say softly and twist your arms around his shoulders.

Loki smiles and dips his head to kiss you gently. It’s sweet and innocent yet it still awakens six weeks of need within you. Your fingers curl greedily into his hair as you pull him to you, silently begging him for more, but you only feel him bite your lower lip and pull back.

“Don’t you wish to go and congratulate Thor and the others? I’m sure they would relish the praise of their Princess,” he says, his pretty green eyes dancing with mischief at your pout.

“The only thing I wish to do is spend the next few hours welcoming my husband home,” you reply.

The very thought has a throbbing ache begin between your thighs. You picture tousled bed sheets and your husband's firm body writhing and flexing beneath your hungry fingers. You want to spend hours losing yourself to the feel of him and clutch him to you like a life raft as he makes Valhalla dance behind your eyes.

You want to enjoy your husband.

Loki squeezes your hips. “You know there’s nothing in the Nine that I can deny you, darling.”

Before you can draw breath to reply, he’s easily tossing you over one shoulder and carrying you towards your bedroom. Your shrieks of laughter ring through the chamber. After six weeks, your heart is full again, swelling with love for the man who’s rushed straight home to you and is kicking the doors to your room closed with a satisfying bang. You wait for the inevitable feeling of soaring through air as he tosses you onto the bed, but seconds pass and you’re still draped over his shoulder.

“Are we feeling sentimental this evening?” you question, only half teasing.

By now, you had expected to be stripped and possibly restrained to the bed, but your husband appears to be in no rush to have his way with you.

“Possibly,” Loki answers, lightly tapping your ass.

He sets you down gently on your feet, then takes both your hands in his to raise them to his lips. They’re warm as they kiss the backs of your knuckles and his sparkling green eyes never once leave yours.

“Undress me, darling,” he whispers softly and releases your hands.

He’s already stepped out of his heavy outer armour, likely as soon as he stepped inside the palace, leaving him in the casual, soft leather that you know all too well. Your practiced hands reach out easily to push the long overcoat off his broad shoulders, and it falls to the stone floor with a quiet thump.

The rest of his clothing is quick to follow. It’s beautifully intimate, undressing him - revealing him piece by piece so you can marvel at this beautiful man who wears your ring on his finger. You reach out to lightly trace the scars on his abdomen that weren’t there last time, scars that you’ll kiss over and over while he falls asleep in your arms later.

“I’m fine,” Loki whispers, reading your thoughts while your fingers continue to dance over his skin.

Your eyes dart to his, searching for any tiny flick of untruth. The god of lies he may be, but he can hide nothing from you.

“I promise, dove.” He continues, letting his hands fall to rest on your hips. “I’ll recount the story of every new scar for you if I must.”

Your own hands find his on your hips to pull them to the fastenings of your gown. “I insist on it, my prince,” you say with a smirk.

Loki rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives you is nothing short of adoring. “As you wish,” he says, and begins to trail a single finger along the bodice of your gown.

In a pale shimmer of green the fabric disappears before you, melting to nothing until you’re finally bare before him. His eyes drink you in - heavy with six weeks of pent up desire - and you can’t fight the shiver when he reaches in to suck a bruise to the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing a kiss over your bruising skin. “Ethereal.” He adds, sliding his hands around your waist and letting them run along your lower back to squeeze your ass.

“Mine,” he says more forcefully, placing a firm kiss to your lips at the same time his hands lock around your knees.

You squeal against his lips as he hoists you into his arms, but easily lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You feel the shift of his body as he climbs onto the bed, but instead of being laid back amongst the generous piles of pillows as you expected, Loki positions himself back against the intricate headboard with you still straddling his lap.

“How I missed you, my darling wife,” he says quietly when his lips leave yours, and then he’s coaxing you onto your knees before him.

Loki takes your hand in his and guides it towards his cock, wrapping your fingers around it with a contented sigh. You know what he’s asking without him having to say a word.

Slowly, you begin to stroke him, watching his eyes flicker closed when you increase the pressure. “Did you miss me? Or did you miss this?” you tease him.

“How unfair of you to make me choose,” he replies instantly.

You squeeze his cock with a smirk, not missing the quiet groan that floats from him or the slight curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, that might cost you later, dove,” he says. It’s meant to be a warning, you know, but it only makes your core burn for him.

“Perhaps that’s what I’m counting on,” you quip back quickly, which makes the god in your bed chuckle softly.

His cock grows beneath your touch, which only makes a surge of power shoot straight to your head. You begin to stroke him faster and apply just the barest hint of pressure, but a large hand quickly reaches out to still yours.

“Am I…,” you begin, but trail off when you glance towards him.

Loki’s eyes are alight and dancing with the promise of mischief. Without a word, he edges you forward on the bed until your aching cunt is directly above his cock. You clench desperately at what you know is coming and it feels like an eternity until Loki is coaxing you down and the head of his cock is brushing teasingly against you.

He maddingly drags himself through your soaked cunt again and again, pulling groan after groan from deep in your chest. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his shoulder, leaving a pattern of tiny half moons in their wake as you fix him with pleading eyes.

“Fuck, Loki. Please, put it in,” you beg, needing to feel your husband fill you after six long weeks apart.

Loki grins back mischievously. “As my love commands.”

Slowly, he eases his cock inside you, making you take him inch by inch until you can take no more of him. He hisses at the feel of your cunt clenching wildly around him, and you’re rewarded with a stream of moans and curses until you’re fully seated on him.

A hand closes quickly around the base of your skull to pull you in for another blistering kiss that’s lazy and wondrously sloppy. “I missed this tight little cunt,” he rasps into your ear with a roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” you curse softly and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He feels so blindingly good inside you that all you want to do is ride him until he can’t remember his own name, but when your hips begin to rock against his, Loki plants two strong hands on them to hold you still.

“Ah, ah, darling. This is more than enough for now,” he says lightly.

Not fully believing what you heard, you pull back to peer at him. “What? Loki, it’s been six -.”

“Shhh, dove. I thought you insisted on hearing all about our time away?” he replies.

“Yes, but not now! There will be plenty of time for you to tell me after!” You try not to whine. There had been three battles in all, and Loki had promised to tell you about all of them in detail.

Your husband shifts beneath you, making you whimper when his cock does the same. “Perhaps, but, for now, I wish to have my darling wife warm my cock as I tell her about our victories. Would you deny me that?”

He knows that he has you. You can’t deny this man anything, even if it means spending a tortuous evening with his cock inside you.

“No,” you reply, fighting to keep from pouting.

Loki pulls you in for another quick kiss. “Good girl,” he says and gives another teasing roll of his hips. “If you can continue being good and not try to pleasure yourself all evening, then I will personally see to it that you don’t walk properly for the next week.”

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfction

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andscene-if · 3 months

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AND SCENE—an 18+ slice of life plunges you, a nepotism baby, into the major spotlight as the lead in a highly anticipated movie, navigating swarms of hate, swirling scandals, dating rumours, false tabloid reports, and invasive paparazzi.

Breaking news—the love interest role in Claire White's latest blockbuster finally has a star, and it's none other than [MC], pictured above, the youngest offspring of Hollywood moguls. Brace yourselves for a wild ride as [MC], usually seen in their parents' flicks, takes on a meatier role in one of next year's most hyped movies.

But hold the popcorn—whispers on the red carpet suggest [MC]'s previous filmography is more "meh" than marvellous.

Is this casting coup the pinnacle of Hollywood nepotism, or will [MC] flip the script and prove they're a force to be reckoned with? Love them or hate them, one thing's for sure: this star-studded spectacle is about to kick off, and only time will spill the juiciest deets straight from the set.

So, grab your shades, folks, because this Hollywood rollercoaster is just getting warmed up and PinkCelebTea will report every step of the way—you know how it is!

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NEXT UP: Our insiders spill the tea—L Alvarez ain't exactly doing cartwheels about acting alongside what they're dubbing an 'untalented and undeserving' co-star. Trouble behind the scenes already?

# Choose the movie genre & title + those of your previous 4 films. # Customise your MC & public persona. # Navigate drama in front and behind the screen. # Shoot the movie cover & go on press tour. # Prove you're more than just a nepo kid...or don't. # Romance one out of four love interests. # Maybe even snag a few nominations by the end!

THE CO-STAR [M/F]—Louis/Luana Alvarez.

Appearance: 6'0. Brunette with curly hair (short for m, chest-length for f), pale skin and dark brown eyes. Signature style includes a white shirt/blouse, top buttons undone, and loose pants. Always impeccably dressed, with a flair for full-on glamour on special occasions, such as the red carpet. Personality: Reserved and quiet. While not everyone can pull off that demeanour, they do it flawlessly. Fans absolutely adore their composed exterior, noting, "it adds to their mystique."

THE MAKEUP ARTIST [F] — Red.

Appearance: 5'7. Long ginger hair, tanned skin adorned with freckles, and green eyes. Often dressed in skintight black or dark attire, with a scarlet shade coating her lips. Personality: Red exudes calm confidence with a soft-spoken demeanour, yet she's not one to be underestimated. She holds herself in a thoughtful, sensual, and quick-witted manner.

THE BARTENDER [M/F] — Zayn/Zara Lao.

Appearance: 5'11. Brunette with wavy hair (short for m, just below shoulders for f), tan skin, brown eyes, and a distinctive left brow slit. They've also got tattoos all over their body. Since the club gets hot quickly, you'll usually find them in something small and non-constricting, like a vest top and a pair of jeans. Personality: Unapologetically outspoken, they don't hold back. Blunt yet surprisingly charming, they've become somewhat of a local favourite in the area, rubbing shoulders with the right kind of people.

THE RIVAL [M/F] — Phoenix Ryder.

Appearance: 5'11. Black tightly curled hair (short for m, long for f & often styled differently), dark skin, and brown eyes. They sport a 90s-inspired style—often seen in loose-fitting denim jeans, a breezy shirt/crop top, and adorned with silver rings. Personality: Suave, charismatic, confident, and a touch cheeky—checking all the Hollywood boxes. As noted by many, "a legend in the making."

++contains mentions of alcohol and drug use, violence, explicit language, and optional sexual content++

DEMO TBA | CHARACTER INTROS

reblogs are appreciated :) thanks for reading!!

#interactive fiction #masterpost #wip #cog #choicescript #interactive game #dashingdon #hosted game #choice of games

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historiaxvanserra · 3 months

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Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of | Chapter 3

Pairing: SingleDad!Rhys x Reader

Summary: A few weeks since making your bargain with the High Lord and he seems to be slipping into a deep sadness and his absence is keenly felt. Nyx has a fever and Rhysand is nowhere to be seen.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault, allusions to depression, abandonment, broken homes (y'know keeping it light, in all seriousness this is not all angst it's quite sweet actually).

Dreaming comes as easy as breathing there in the darkness of the High Lords townhouse. Hewn City is a dark metropolis; all shadowed emerald light and a cruel chill that seeps into the empty parts of you. You dream shapeless dreams, all plumes of jade light and the cruel laugh of your father as he utters your name like a curse.

A pitiful cry cuts through the echoing antechamber of The Moonstone Palace. A much too tangible thing to be the shadow of a long repressed memory. Another sob bleeds into a wail and your body comes back to consciousness with all the force of a raging tempest.

Nyx.

Instincts you thought had died under that mountain seem to rouse you from your state of misty wakefulness. The dream slips away from you once more and in its place, sunlight -- radiant and topaz as it ribbons into your room -- and shaded by the canopy of cypress trees that flutters against your window in the balmy summer breeze.

The air in the nursery smells like moondust and lavender as you enter and the room is shaded in shadows, a darkness so deep that it arches on oppressive and the heat almost feverish. You can vaguely make out the figure of Nyx in his cradle and as you cross the threshold into the nursery his wails seem to dissolve into mournful little sobs that seem to you almost as rehearsed as his fathers arrogant front that he wears so well. Beneath it all there is a fragility there, in the truth that lies in the darks of the High Lords eyes. The same is true of his son as he casts his deep sapphire eyes, brimming with silver tears, towards you in a plea for comfort.

“Good morning, little bat,” You whisper gently at the infant, languidly stroking the dark onyx curls away from his face and catching his errant tears with the pad of your thumb. Even in the darkness of the nursery you see the deep crimson that colors his chubby cheeks and the bridge of his nose and you can feel the heat coming off him in cruel plumes as he continues to let out broken little sobs. It is almost painful to watch him in his pitiful mood with his ruddy cheeks and dark eyes.

“Oh my darling! are you unwell?” Nyx only sniffles in response, as his chubby fist finds purchase on the neckline of your nightdress and drawing you closer to him. Taking him into your arms you move towards the windows. The wave of fresh citrusy air is a welcome break in the feverish heat of the nursery and the celestial topaz light reveals Nyx to you more clearly. His hair is the same shade of blue-black as his fathers, and his eyes are a deep, captivating sapphire that shine with the same mirth you’d seen in Rhysands violet eyes. The tips of his pointed ears and nose are flushed a deep scarlet and the hue of his golden skin seems almost pallid in the morning light. Pressing a kiss to his forehead has him burrowing further into your chest seeking comfort and giving you a sleep addled, gummy smile as his broken sobs dissolve into deep and chesty snores as you descend into the lower levels of the house in search of his father.

“Let’s go find your daddy, shall we?” you murmur against Nyx’s messy curls.

The house seems to be steeped in a solemn silence as you reach the foyer and round the corner into the large sitting room. There’s a chill in the stagnant air and the room, usually stained in Rhys's distinct scent, is eerily devoid of his presence. It’s been the same for the last few weeks. At first Rhys had been a constant, if not outrageously over protective, presence in the townhouse but as the weeks wear on its as though he is surrendering himself to the darkness that seems to attend him these days. Allowing himself to sink into the vast and starless abyss where no light can reach him. The High Lord you knew in those first weeks seems like a distant memory now; now, he walks these halls like a half-formed ghost in the night, and by morning he is gone. Leaving only the smell of jasmine and mandarin in his wake. Rhysand no longer seems to find no joy in his family, or the son that is a constant reminder of his lost love, and you, once an easy distraction, has become another burden that he avoids like the plague. It wouldn’t be so bad, you think, should he find it in himself to visit his son for more than the mere minutes before he finds rest in the evening. But these days he works too much and drinks more still. So much so that the air in the townhouse around his private rooms has begun to smell more of the woody whiskey that he drinks than his own unique blend of jasmine and citrus that intoxicates you night and day.

What’s worse still is that when you do see him it is when the house is cloaked in shadow and you seek him out only for him to bury himself under a pile of papers and false compliments as though you and he aren’t one and the same. As though you don’t see his vain attempt at wearing arrogance like some sort of beautiful armor.

When you look at him now all the light has gone from his violet eyes and he looks like the errant memory of the Male who had been your dark winged savior in Hewn City. His hair is longer and the ends curl away from his pointed ears in haphazard waves and the scruff around his jaw has mutated into an unkempt beard that ages him.

He looks so much like his father, you think. A thought you’re certain the High Lord wouldn’t care to hear.

“Rhys?” You call out, though the resounding echo is answer enough. As is in response Nyx seems to huff a frustrated sigh as his dark lashes flutter open in the harsh jade light of the living room. The babes wings twitch and spasm as he becomes fully lucid in your arms and he wriggles defiantly against his swaddling.

“I suppose it’s just you and me today, little bat,” again, you think, though Nyx only offers you a high-pitched giggle as he points towards the kitchen where he has learned his breakfast waits.

“Let’s get you something to eat, yes?” You say animatedly, taking one of his curled up fists and placing it to your lips and peppering gentle kisses on his soft skin. He smells like lavender soap and moondust but his usual calm scent is tainted with something almost medicinal that speaks to the extent of his illness. Though it has done little to dampen his spirit you think as he finally breaks loose of the satin blanket you had wrapped him in before leaving the nursery.

“And then maybe we can go into town and get some herbs for that fever, hm?” Though Nyx is much too young to make sense of your words he seems invested enough to mimic the nodding motion you make at him as you place him in the high chair while you move to prepare a selection of mashed fruit that he tastes eagerly.

When Nyx is finished his breakfast he manages to stay lucid enough for you to get him changed into some little blue overalls with silver embroidered crescent moons along the arm straps and leg cuffs. But just as you’re securing him into the navy sling he seems to drift off into a serene dreamstate with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a strong and steady lullaby as you stroll through the streets of Velaris.

By the time you and Nyx reach the main square the sun is at its peak in the sky and the world seems painted in the leonine hues of summer in the mountains. Nyx takes it all in with a sense of awe and excitement. The air is crisp and fresh and the smells of the sweet tarts and jams from the bakeries on Crescent Street are undercut by the salty smell of the Sidra as the wind blows westward. The row houses are hung with ivy and honeysuckle and the patrons of the boutiques and antique bookshops on the main square all seem as though they live in a perpetual state of bliss. Velaris truly is a wonder you think as you approach the yawning sage coloured door of Madja’s apothecary.

“Here we are Nyxie!” You smile brightly at the babe as he squeals and your take his hand in yours and point him towards the sign hung above the apothecary door. The sign is painted gold on a black wooden board that simply reads The Apothecary at Orion Street.

The door is ornately crafted; painted a muted sage and the glass panes are inlaid with beautiful colors making up the components of an emerald bottle, the likes of which line the shelves and window displays, each labeled in elaborate cursive. A small bell rings melodiously to alert Madja of your presence and as the door closes behind you the smell of wyrmwood and heather is thick in the air. The walls are all painted a deep bottle green and the shelves are stacked with ancient bound books and various concoctions in dark jars and bouquets of dried herbs hang from the high ceiling above the counter. In the dim lights its hard to make out Madja’s hunched figure through the plumes of thick smoke coming from the back of the store.

“Madja?” You call into the darkened store, stepping further into the apothecary, “Madja? Hello? Anyone back there?”

“Just a second, my dear,” A loud screeching sends you backwards, a cautious hand cradling the baby content in his sling, and from the back room an old woman appears clutching various glass vials and instruments.

Madja stops abruptly and places the contents in her arms down on the counter when she takes in the sight of you; dressed in a simple dress with the heir of The Night Court wrapped around you chest. Her brows draw together and the lines around her mouth deepen as she regards you both with narrow eyes.

“Is everything alright, girl?” She asks with the faintest hint of alarm, her dull eyes trailing over both you and Nyx as if looking for some injury or illness. “The High Lord is well?”

“It’s Nyx, he has a small fever, is all.” You offer her and her face seems to soften then and she hums lightly retreating into the darkness of the back room again. The sound of her puttering around the small workroom rings sharply through the shop floor as she collects a few glass bottles and salves.

“I thought you’d be able to give him a tonic of some sort for the fever?” You raise your voice above the clatter of glass and utensils until she reamergs from the darkness. When the older woman comes back into view she's got a selection of salves and balms and three bottles of tonic, each filled with a different color liquid. She sets it down on the table and advances towards you with surprising candor and inspects the babe closely, pressing a weathered hand to his cheeks and forehead and inspecting his mouth as he offers her a gummy smile and idle babble.

In those quiet moments while she is checking the babe over you allow your mind to wander. It does not wander far, flicking to images of the High Lord hunched over his desk and his eyes ringed purple in the silvery lamp light.

“A small fever,” Madja’s voice is rich and deep as she hums to herself in acknowledgement, patting the babe fondly on his haphazard curls before collecting a small cloth bag and placing a few salves and bottles inside, “the balm is for his gums and the tonic should break the fever.”

The old woman nods towards the infant as she hands the bag off to you, “he’ll be okay though?” your voice is apprehensive and you realize then the anxiety clawing its way up your throat at the thought of the babe in your arms coming to harm.

“Yes, he will,” Madja says with a deep sigh, running a hand over her brow “Now is there anything else I can help you with?” You decline and begin to collect the bag heavy with various salves and tonics and turn on your heel to the street when a thought occurs to you.

“You wouldn’t have any sleeping tonics would you?” The clinking of glass is answer enough and Madja adds them to the cloth bag with a questioning look in her dark eyes.

“For the High Lord, he’s been kept very busy as of late.” Madja smiles knowingly and pats you on the shoulder and ushers you to the door, the bell chiming as you cross the threshold into the street. Turning once more back to the apothecary, Madja offers you a wave and shouts out “Tell Rhysand he is under strict instructions to get a good night’s sleep…and a shave!”

Madja’s laugh is sweet and rich on the midday breeze and you wave her a final farewell before slipping down the avenue that leads you straight back to the Townhouse.

___________________________________________________________________________

By the time the sun sets over Velaris, Nyx had already had two doses of his tonic. His fever broke sometime after his evening meal and relief floods your heart when you notice the change in his color during bathtime. The babe is lathered in bubbles from his lavender soap and he’s giggling happily and babbling to his rubber bat toys as you run a washcloth over his cherub cheeks that are stained with the delicious remnants of the cherry pastries you had bought from a bakery on the way home. It’s then you notice that the blush tinting his cheeks is a light coral instead of the deep scarlet that had graced his sweet face earlier that morning.

Nyx splashes giddily as you tap his nose and laugh animatedly at him, “Someone’s feeling better! Aren't you, little bat?”

“I heard he gave you quite the scare this morning,” It’s Rhysand’s voice, a low velvet tenor that sounds so beautiful as it hits your ears.

He’s learning against the frame of the bathroom door wearing his signature lazy smile though you can tell from the redness around his dark violet eyes that he hasn’t slept well. His hair is pushed back from his face though the longer strands frame his chiseled face quite beautifully, you must admit. Though the coarse hair that has grown in around his jawline does nothing for the delicate slope of his nose nor the sharp line of his jaw. He’s since shed his suit jacket and the sleeves of his shirt have been pushed up to the forearms and in this light you can make out the intricate swirls and patterns that make up the inky lines marked into his tan skin.

“It was just a little fever, we went to see Madja,” You say softly sighing as you lift the babe from tub, “he was crying for you this afternoon.” The words come out much too clipped for you to play them off as jest.

When Nyx is swaddled in a plush ivory robe he squeaks in delight at the sight of his father, his babbles devolving into calls of ‘dada’ and ‘dad’ until Rhys takes him in his arms pressing light kisses along the curve of his sons pointed ears and clammy forehead.

Rhysand sighs deeply, inhaling the scent of his son’s lavender soap. Nyx’s curled fists tug happily at Rhys as he carries him from the washroom and into the nursery. The High Lord makes quick work of changing the babe into a dark purple sleepsuit and you catch him checking over him guiltily-- running a thumb over his tear-tracked cheeks and murmuring a muted I’m sorry into his sons onyx hair.

“I’m sorry, Love,” Rhys says quietly as he tucks Nyx into his crib, his voice is hardly more than a whisper and you try to focus on the way his broad hand rubs sleepy circles onto Nyx’s back as he slips easily into a state of dreaming.

The babe is an oddly sound sleeper.

“Sorry that I haven’t been here, it’s just--” Nyx stirs a little as Rhys leads you out into the hallway, “It’s been a rough few weeks.” He huffs another tired sigh and leads you down into the living room.

The emerald light casts the room in a jade glow that reminds you of Hewn City so much that it makes your skin crawl. Rhys finds his place by the fire in the armchair he had claimed that first night he brought you here. This time you don’t wait to be seated and instead take the armchair directly opposite him.

“You don’t have to explain to me, Rhys,” You whisper softly, a hand reaching out to take his in a gesture of friendship and comfort. He takes it without hesitation, with reckless abandon that speaks to how truly vulnerable he is here in this room. Laid bare to you after so many weeks of false pretenses and shameless flirting, “but he cried for you today and you didn’t come.”

The pain that flashes in those violet eyes manifests into a physical ache in his heart, a hurt so deep that you feel it too, somewhere in the cavern of your heaving chest.

His pain is yours. As though you are made of the same darkness. Born from the same star.

“You need to come when he calls.” You stand to your full height and Rhys makes no effort to follow, only sinks deeper into the armchair, his body flirting with sleep. From your pocket your slide a small vial of purple liquid across the end table towards him.

“To help you sleep,” His frown deepens and his brows knit together with a wary concern, “I got it from Madja.”

“I don’t need to sleep.” Rhys eyes it suspiciously and through dark, thick lashes regards you with narrow eyes, “I need…I need a drink.” His hand stretches towards the empty whiskey glass on the dark mahogany end table. His broad fingers flex lightly around the glass in his hand and before he can reach for the decanter of amber liquid your hand closes around his with a fond pressure as your eyes plead with his.

“Doctor’s orders, I’m afraid,” You say lightly, feinging an air of regret in your words as you slide the purple vial closer still, “A good night’s sleep tonight.”

“And in the morning?”

“A shave.” Rhysand’s resounding groan echoes around the dark halls of the townhouse. The sound, like velvet night, becomes the soothing lullaby that sends you into a dreamless sleep.

A thing of lovely beauty.

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar

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thelonelyshore-if · 4 months

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Meet me at the cabin. Please.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. A cryptic late night text sent from your younger sibling, begging you to meet up at your family’s old lake home. The plea for help was as concerning as it was confusing. As far as you knew, neither of you had set foot in the cabin in a decade. You had your hesitations, but Willow seemed desperate. You couldn’t help but oblige.

Everything goes downhill fast when Willow's research into childhood ghost stories lands you in a town that doesn't exist. A town where people go missing at an alarming rate, where things that aren't quite human run businesses with hungry eyes, where time runs differently.

A town you can't leave.

Something about Easthaven is wrong. A supernatural fog permeates the town, so thick you could choke…but you’re one of the only people who seems to notice it. You’re quick to realize the fog keeps the residents ignorant, keeps them passive, keeps them trapped. When people who have long since gone missing start coming back home, you realize Easthaven’s mysteries go deeper than you could have ever imagined.

Explore the magic and the horrors of the small town of Easthaven, team up with the few others who can see through the fog, and do everything you can to make your way back home.

The Lonely Shore is an 18+ supernatural horror story (and mystery) inspired by works such as Midnight Mass, The Mist, Scarlet Hollow, and Gravity Falls. A story about how sometimes places can feel like people, how easy it is to do terrible things for those we love, and how small towns have a way of eating you alive.

FEATURES:

Play as male, female, or nonbinary; trans or cis. Choose up to two sets of pronouns or input your own. Customize your appearance and develop your personality throughout the game.

Romance or befriend a cast of characters. Options for ace and aro routes, as well as three polyamorous paths.

Customize Willow, your younger sibling. Select their gender and determine what your relationship with them is. Will you rebuild a broken relationship? Or let a good one go down in flames?

Explore the world of Easthaven, a town that exists outside of time, separated completely from the rest of the world. A place where tragedy is mundane and death is around every corner. Encounter the Fog, the source of all of Easthaven’s horrors.

Build up to one of five distinct magic styles as your character comes to life; including necromancy, clairvoyance, manipulating the Fog, becoming something monstrous–or suppressing your magic instead, having it come out in uncontrollable bursts.

Solve the mystery of the Returned: citizens who have been missing for months, years, decades but who have recently started coming back home.

CHARACTERS:

Jaylen 'Jay' Jones (M/F)

A veterinarian-in-training and member of the town's Search & Rescue team who has seen Easthaven's horrors firsthand. A kindhearted but wary person who cares more about keeping people safe than they do about solving the town's mysteries. They're tired of losing people.

Yasmin Bakir-King (F)

The local librarian, a fiercely clever widow with very little patience for nonsense. Very outgoing, she's one of the most well-known figures in town. She starts the story unaware of Easthaven's dangers but very quickly gets thrust into the middle of the town's latest mystery.

Amir/Amara "Croft" (M/F)

A reclusive, ill-tempered horror author who just so happens to be the town's latest newcomer…until you show up. Croft came to town with their share of secrets, and there's nothing in the world they want more than to escape Easthaven.

Beck Dawn (genderfluid)

Fun-loving and reckless, Beck is an adrenaline junkie who can't seem to stay out of danger…despite being completely unaware of the town's secrets. A magnet for trouble, it's no surprise Beck lands right in the middle of Easthaven's latest mystery.

Ravi Singh (M)

Easthaven's local mortician. Ravi is easygoing and quick to laugh; though sometimes his humor leans towards the macabre. But his easy smiles don't cover up his almost chilling comfort with the Fog; nor do they get rid of the pile of skeletons in his closet.

Perri Loveless (M/F/NB)

Runs one of Easthaven's three radio stations. In the day they play music, and at night they host a supernatural-themed call in radio show, The Lonely Shore. Perri is an enthusiastic (if a bit awkward) person whose theories tend towards the unbelievable. It's unfortunate that, despite all of their theories, Perri has no idea what's actually going on in Easthaven.

And…

"Willow" (M/F/NB)

Your little sibling. Flighty, impulsive, and outgoing; their fascination with the occult is what lands you in Easthaven. Your relationship can range from best friends to sworn enemies. Will they be able to save you from the mess they've made?

LINKS:

DEMO | ROs | Content Warnings

( current wordcount : 114,296 without code )

#interactive fiction #if intro #choicescript #dashingdon #hosted games #if wip

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kentstoji · 5 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ NECTAROUS

ㅤㅤㅤ pairing. mk men x gn reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. mortal kombat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (a little suggestive).

ㅤㅤㅤkissing liu kang was a divine experience, akin to discovering a new world and venturing into it, relishing every romantic ecstasy. his arms were strong and warm, carrying a distinctive fire befitting his position attained after his triumph against kronika. being enveloped by him in a loving and almost possessive embrace was like diving into liquid lava, yet the flames were harmless. (the most they could do was leave purple and reddish marks along your beautiful neck, while liu kang's experienced and bold lips traced a path, and your face took on undesired shades of scarlet.) your lips part in fervent lamentation, breathless.

ㅤㅤㅤbi-han was, by nature, a conqueror and consequently, a born leader. a dominator in various aspects, and in the romantic realm, this particularity wouldn't easily alter. honoring the element he proudly manipulated, bi-han had frigid lips, like a morning after an intense snowstorm. his hands, firm and calloused by years of battles and victories, established a rule at the base of your neck, keeping you under the grandmaster's longing, shaping you to fulfill his needs and desires. it was a selfish dance in which you never had the chance to be victorious, but teasing him to the limit was as satisfying as winning a battle. he exploded, and you loved paying the price. (kissing him was like feeding a voracious, wild creature that had no basic knowledge of emotions. the beast, however, calmed when tasting the flavor of your lips, biting them until he felt the sweet taste of your life essence flowing crimson between his lips.)

ㅤㅤㅤjohnny cage was a provocateur, and you were his favorite victim. maintaining a playful spirit, Johnny's kisses were a wet mess, lips colliding eagerly, a overwhelming need. his hands fixed themselves on your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer as he yearned to merge into one body, immortalizing the passion and love between you. it was common to find a glistening line of saliva when you finally parted. you were breathless, your chest moving frantically in search of oxygen and... something more. johnny would notice this. (of course, he would notice. he always made a point to observe the reactions when you were together.)

ㅤㅤㅤ"can you handle more, sweetheart?" he questions, his pink, swollen lips curving into a wicked smile, full of cruel promises.

ㅤㅤㅤwithin and outside a relationship, you are shang tsung's test subject, the perfect specimen at the mercy of his dark ideals. breakable and submissive, like a pet, you've become his favorite pastime, the perfect challenge. unraveling the mysteries of your body is an art for him, a game where every touch and kiss are strategies to corrupt the remaining shreds of sanity within you. he appreciates knowledge, and your genuine reactions are accompanied by translucent pearls of warm tears. tears of ecstasy, he concludes with arrogance. shang tsung is a selfish partner; (his kisses are long and suffocating, embedding themselves in you like a parasite.) the scent of his perfume will linger, intoxicating and persistent.

ㅤㅤㅤhanzo is an uncontrollable romantic, and his soul is as warm as the affections he displays in the comfort of the space he now calls home in your relationship. kissing him is an open invitation to be consumed by hungry flames, much like his emotional yearning. his hands rest on your face, fingers gliding in a long, gentle caress, savoring every reaction you show: the flushed face and trembling hands are signals for him to continue. with your consent, he does. you are led to a dark precipice with kisses planted at the base of your neck, discreetly directed towards your chest. hanzo, experienced and considerably older, knows what he's doing, aware of the buttons to press to make you dance with madness.

ㅤㅤㅤ"breathe, my love," he says, noticing your open eyes, seeking more of his touches. "the night is still young, and we are just getting started."

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