#and where is my lady with those pretty pretty strings

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

#könig x reader #d/s dynamic #sub könig is fine with me if he tries to top from the bottom or becomes totally unhinged in order to prove his love ^^ #he's a switch he just doesn't know it

[themotherofhorses]

maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)

summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."

masterlist | series masterlist

part one | part three | part four | part five

The rain was light. From his chamber’s windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemond’s mind was anything but.

He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.

Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.

Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.

And now they were gone.

It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?

He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.

But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.

How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!

He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realm’s countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?

He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.

Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.

The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.

After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.

He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.

And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.

He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride.  

Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his mother’s pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.

Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?

The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.

What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it.  

Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.

Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.

One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary. 

It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.

He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.

It gives him an idea.

So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.

“I can be of great use to you,” she adds, in tones thick with seduction.

But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. “It should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,” he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, “-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps I’ll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.”

In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knight’s through and through.

The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.

And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.

Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. “My time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,” she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. “I expect to be paid in return.”

“Yes, I know,” Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “You will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.”

He debates whether to bring her back to King’s Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. “My wife is missing,” he says, “and I wish to find her and bring her home.”

Alys frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Six months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.” Aemond sighs. “She is with child,” he says ruefully, “and I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I haven’t the slightest clue where she might be.” The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.

His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.

She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.

Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemond’s hand in hers. “Let me help you, Prince Aemond,” she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. “A father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.”

His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. “Thank you.”

“Blood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.”

Aemond tilts his head at Alys. “How so?” The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.

May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.

“It is a strong and powerful craft,” Alys explains, “capable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. ”

He hums, nodding along. “And how would it work?”

Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. “It would require the blood of your wife, my prince,” she says, carefully, “even just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.” But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, “Yet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.”

Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the room’s hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. “Would dry blood work?”

Alys blinks. “Well, maybe?” Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. “I suppose so, my prince,” she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, “Blood is blood, regardless of time.”

At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.

“My wife’s blood,” he says, smirking, “from the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.”

Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. “Perfect.”

tag list: @minttea07 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @smolnuggie911 @marahisthebest @bibli0thecary @whatsonthemirror @bellaisasleep @witchy-jadda @princeaemond1eye @mefools @xcharlottemikaelsonx @browngirl101

(if I did not tag you, it’s because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

[phfenomena]

his girl. || Coriolanus Snow x Reader

| WARNINGS - none!

i’ve literally never publicly wrote anything before so apologies if this is literally shit but i just finished reading the ballad of songbirds and snakes so i just had to.

there were no records for life in district 12. she floated in and out as she pleased, leaving people to wonder was she even there at all?. the ghost girl, she was.

but she was seemingly real to him. her small and almost hollow appearing frame twirled and cavorted all along the length of the makeshift stage at the hob. the covey following suit of her irregular movements. she almost glides like an angel coriolanus thought, awestruck by the girl in front of him. the spotlights casting a halo-like glow upon her shining face. all caution thrown to the wind as she strums forcefully against the tight strings of her guitar. before his mind caught up with the rest of his body, his legs were moving on their own. gradually approaching the dais supporting the beaming girl. his lips curl up almost matching the wide and enticing smile settling on the angel's face. he momentarily forgot all troubles that perverted his every thought. his own personal bottle of medicine. as the music influencing her frantic steps died slowly, she floated to the microphone sitting in the middle of stage.

“did y’all miss me? even the hunger games couldn’t keep me away from this wonderful crowd!”

the rowdy gathering of people screamed unintelligible words around coriolanus, but he couldn’t find himself to care. his girl was in front of him, the very girl he fought tooth and nail for to survive in the arena. the girl he wanted, no, the girl he needed. her eyes meet his and a flash of recognition flees quickly, but he saw it. he didn’t imagine it all, it was real. she was real. he felt as if they were the only people residing in this shabby excuse of a bar. her mouth drops open and her teeth reveal. she smiled at him. her fingers gently strum as she continues her invocation to the mass.

“now we did enjoy singing for y’all, but it’s late and a girls gotta get her beauty rest! thank you and goodnight!”

she blows kisses towards the crowd and happily bobs off stage. his feet carry him quickly and clumsily towards her direction. he finds her standing, rocking back and forth on her heels. was she waiting for him? her eyes catch his and she smirks.

“coriolanus snow. what the hell are you doing here? and what did they do to your hair?”

she exasperated at the end and goes to touch where his curls previously resided. he chuckles and grabs her hand.

“peacekeepers aren’t allowed to have pretty and curly hair.” he teases her.

she looks solemn as she quickly pulls him into an embrace.

“i never got the chance to thank you, did i? the little man shipped me off rather quickly. but thank you coriolanus.” she mumbles into his chest, voice slightly breaking.

“please call me coryo, y/n. and there’s no need to thank me, i would’ve lost my mind and never gotten it back if you weren’t the victor.”

she laughs into him. she laughed at his joke.

“you know just what to say to make a lady feel better. i think coryo is a very cute nickname, also a lot easier for me to say. i cant pronounce all of those letters.”

her accent is thick and melodious to coriolanus’ ears. his girl is in his arms and it’s all okay.

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow fluff #omg this is so bad sorry

[cuubism]

literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

--

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren’t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

#if i don't post this attempt at 'just smut' now i'll end up crawling into a hole and eating the crumpled paper of it instead #just doing smut outside of a plot is like so hard mad respect to the people who write smut oneshots damn #dreamling #nsft #dream of the endless #hob gadling #ye olde prince/knight dynamic #my writing #this fic is actually absurd i'm sorry. but if at least one (1) person thinks this is hot i'll consider it a success. it only takes 1 #im cringe but im free

[bokutosbiceps]

sakura blossoms (pt 1)

monkey d luffy x afab!reader | fluff | ~875 words

warnings: mild cursing, otherwise none !!

a/n: this is smth super different from what i usually write but i’ve been listening to this song for a while during my downtime + this came to my mind !! i wrote this in one go + i’d be down to do a pt 2 if y’all like it !! lemme know 😁

click here for pt 2 !!

click here for pt 3 !!

18+ MDNI

luffy sinks his teeth into the pork chop in his fist, squeezing his eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he rips the meat from the bone. 

“so good!” chunks of meat fly out of luffy’s mouth and onto his surrounding nakama, earning disgusted groans and gags from them.

“luffy, we're in a traditional theater. can you have some class? the show’s about to start!” nami scolds, pinching luffy’s ear. he whines but continues to bite into his pork, carefree and happy in this moment with his food.

“oy, and you better keep it down.” sanji says in a low voice, looking pointedly into luffy’s eyes. “there's supposed to be a beautiful woman, the best singer in wano, singing just for us tonight.”

luffy decides to ignore the snide remarks from sanji and nami and continue to stuff his face with the finest foods in wano. food that he'd earned by defeating kaido and freeing a whole country.

luffy couldn't care less about being an honored guest at some traditional theater. as long as there's good, unlimited food, he was there. honored or not.

why shouldn't he enjoy his food as loudly as he wants to? who cares if some lady is gonna sing?

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

you wring your hands and wipe them against your kimono, praying the sweat away from your palms. you're nervous, of course, you're going to be singing in the banquet honoring the pirates who had saved your country! why wouldn't you be nervous?

robin, one of the girls you'd received etiquette lessons with, happened to be one of those pirates and happened to be in attendance tonight. remembering this made you relax; robin was such a calm and compassionate woman, and she'd always encouraged you in continuing your singing career. pirate or not, she was a great friend.

and princess hiyori, or komurasaki, as you had known her, would be on stage with you to play the shamisen. you had two amazing women supporting you, so you really had nothing to worry about.

polite spatterings of applause led you onto the stage, following you until you stood in front of where hiyori sat, her fingers poised over the strings of her instrument.

a voice from the stairs above the stage introduces you, and you can hear robin’s cheers above the crowd's welcome.

you got this, y/n-chan!

you take a couple of deep breaths and capture your composure, standing up straight and elongating your neck. your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, allowing them to stretch into a warm smile.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

luffy pauses his gluttony for a moment to watch you, this nervous little thing, walk across the stage. 

then he notices you straighten up, your lips bending into a calm smile, your eyebrows softening, and your neck craning so you can regard the crowd with your kind eyes.

a shy bud blossoms into a proud and confident flower right before his very eyes, and luffy feels his grip on his kebab stick loosen.

he swallows thickly. you're pretty.

and he could've sworn you just smiled at him. 

luffy immediately becomes aware of how he's sitting: leaning onto one of his elbows, one leg flexed with his foot on the ground and the other laying open against the tatami mat beneath him. 

he sits up, lightly placing the kebab on the table and rubbing his grubby, greasy hands on his kimono.

“you good?” zoro leans over and asks quietly. 

“yeah.” luffy clears his throat and realizes he's fidgeting. “yeah!” he says a bit too loudly, earning some shushes and fingers over lips from the crew.

zoro just nods and takes a swig from his fourth sake bottle of the night. he continues to watch his captain focus on the stage, on you.

seems like you caught his eye. zoro snickers to himself and leans back on his elbows, ready to hear what the greatest singer in all of wano has to offer.

hiyori begins to pluck her shamisen, encouraging you with a calm smile. you look up into the spotlight, taking a deep breath and opening your mouth.

luffy is hanging onto every single one of your movements, holding his breath so he can listen to you without obstruction or distraction.

sakura, sakura

(cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms)

yayoi no sora wa

(across the spring sky)

mi-watasu kagiri

(as far as the eye can see)

kasumi ka kumo ka

(is it mist, or clouds?)

nioi zo izuru

(fragrant in the air)

izaya izaya

(come now, come now)

mini yukan

(let's go and see them!)

luffy doesn't clap when you finish. he doesn't cheer with the rest of his crew, or the rest of the crowd, when you bow and wave politely at the audience before slowly walking off stage.

he's making his way down to the stage, eyes trained on you and desperate to not lose sight of you.

luffy feels himself walking faster and faster till he's running, shoulders jolting backward by the crowds of people beating past him to use the restroom or get refreshments before the rest of the show continues. 

then he's reaching out for you as he draws closer and closer, his heart lurching into his throat when he feels the fabric of your kimono sleeve between his fingertips.

taglist: not tagging anyone in this since it's a lil different from the stuff i usually write :3

#one piece #monkey d luffy #luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #wano luffy #luffy x reader

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E2

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 2nd | monday plays: food play WC: 0.8k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker x f!reader WARNINGS: f!reader | switch!anakin | pnp | coitus | kinks: size, praise | foodplay | unprotected sex | finger sucking | mommy issues | body image: “short.” | no y/n

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“What are you up to?” The voice of none other than Anakin Skywalker breaks you out of your focus, pivoting your head in his direction in time to witness him stride into the kitchen.

“Oh,” you breathe, grinning in relief to see him. Your grip readjusts on the piping bag, returning to your meticulous work of tracing frosting streamers onto the sides of the dessert. “Finishing up this cake. It’s one of the ladies’ birthdays.” you answer his question, your volume lowered while you labor. Anakin remedies the lack of appropriate decibels by closing the space between you. The warmth of his presence against your back alerts you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when he stoops to hover his chin over your shoulder.

“Such a sweet girl.” he muses, commending you for your selfless act. Instead you’re selfishly thinking about the ways he could show his appreciation for you. He takes advantage of your distraction, and dips his finger into the careful decoration of the dessert.

“Ani!” you chastise him, patting him as he passes you to round the island. Lips enclosed around his thick fingertip as he sucks off the sweetness. That mischievous curl to them makes you shake your head at him, quick to reverse his misdeeds by dedicating yourself to filling the crater he created. He sits onto the stool opposite to you, and you curse your attraction to his height. Unlike you, he doesn’t struggle to get seated on those things. He releases his finger with a wet pop, and dives for another round. Fortunately, you intercept him. “Ah, ah! No.” you command, and there’s a shift in his eyes. A glint of intrigue, pleasantly taken aback as you raise the bag to offer to him. Obediently, he outstretches his index, and you squeeze a line of frosting onto it. You note how he obliges you, as if he enjoys being scolded and told what to do. To show you you’re exactly right, he licks up the stroke, replacing his appendage in his mouth as he maintains that eye contact and drawing it out precisely. Your breath hitches in your throat.

He fools you into believing he’ll sit pretty for you, clasping his hands together onto the surface of the kitchen island.

“Suck it off my hands, baby,” his winded order is too delicious to resist, greedily sucking as many of his thick fingers will fit into your mouth. Crumbs of cake stuck together in frosted gobs coat the surface of the kitchen island where your naked bodies lay. You slip and slide against him as his fat cock fills your hole. “That’s it- good girl,” Moans reverberate from deep in your throat at your shared actions. While you clean the destroyed confection from his skin, he laps at the sugar on your neck, licking long stripes to collect all that’s offered. Your salty sweat mixed in, creating a most delectable palate on his tongue. “Tastes so fucking good…”

You whine, swirling your muscle around his fingertips, tracing the wrinkles of his knuckles and the edge of his nails. As he pulls out, a string of drool breaks to lay on your chin.

“Too bad we ruined your cake.” he coos, murmuring his tacky lips against your neck. He trails up, an open mouthed kiss onto your jaw gathering your spit from earlier, consuming it. “You worked so hard on it.” Another fake verse of sympathy, punctuating it with a nip to your jawline. “All that only to get fucked with it. She’ll be so disappointed for her birthday.” To hammer it in, he slams into you, a shock to your body in comparison to his leisured pace from before. The way his tip kisses your cervix causes you to cry out as he digs his nails into your hips, rocking you in to meet his thrusts.

The lewd sounds of your conjoined bodies, how the dessert squishes and stretches between the movements of your positions, fills the room. When your mouth falls open to protest him, assure yourself through insisting to him how you’ll make another one, she won’t mind waiting for another one. You don’t get the chance, his chocolate brimmed palm claps over it, stuffing your face with cake. You make a noise of wonder, and it intensifies when he captures your lips with his. It’s hard. Gnashing teeth, sore tissue, prying your lips apart impatiently to plunge his tongue inside. You hadn’t chewed or swallowed, the breading wet from saliva yet he fed off of it, kissing you through it.

His breath pauses as he swallows, and slides back off of you onto his knees, cupping your backside to lift you to meet his thrusts. His herculean form glazed in the substance that barely resembled what it began as. Your ruined cake, worn like fabric on the both of you.

#Krayt House #Season 1 | House of Amateurs #Kinktober #dead dove do not eat #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #x f!reader #reader insert #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin x you smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fic #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x you smut #indy drabbles #smut #indy one shots #adultfilm!anakin #indy fics #kinktober 2023 #no y/n #switch!anakin

[chrollohearttags]

— musician eren! 💭🖇

he loves when you’re in the front row of any of his concerts. seeing the bright smile of yours brighten his entire mood and the glimmer of his initials around your neck gives him a boost of energy. One thing is for certain, Eren gives you a certain look when fingering playing his guitar. you knowww what he’s doing and he knows. obviously he knows, sick fuck but regardless of when and where Eren will give that look. Hopefully you’re ready for what’s in store after the concert.

I swear this is the only thot that will be in my head for the rest of the week. Thank you for this 😵‍💫🧎🏾‍♀️cause let’s talk about it.

cw: mentions of fingering, dirty talk, sexual content

(Y/N), always sitting pretty; front row at your man’s performances and having the time of your life, turning up to his music. You were always a big fan but now it all hit so differently. Knowing that he’s gotten much more confident and enthused while on stage because of your presence. Being blatantly aware that his sexier joints are inspiration directly drawn from his late night son the tour bus with you and when you first started hooking up. Even diving head first into the chaos of the mosh pits that break out during his more amped up joints. With the protection of his fans and security of course!..either way, you always have a good time. Constantly getting shoutouts and showered with love by his loyal supporters because their fave is so much happier after years of avoiding the spotlight and you’re to thank. You’ll wear the cutest, sexiest outfits..bouncing around and having a ball. He can see you from the corner, shouting his lyrics louder than fans who’ve been around since his early days. You were undoubtedly the biggest motivator for his best work. Especially when he sees that glistening Cuban Link with his initials around your throat and you making eye contact with him. EJ absolutely adores when he catches you singing his more hardcore songs about guns, violence and drugs..it’s so hot to him, he especially for such a beautiful woman to say such vulgar things. But his favorite part of the show..is when he gets to play an instrument. Always assigning a song to the setlist that requires it. Whether it be piano, sax or whatever, he could do it all! On this particular night, he chooses the electric guitar for a slower song that he wrote one night while working late, all with his special lady in mind. “I just wanna play a lil’ something for y’all real quick. Hope you don’t mind.” In actuality, it’s for his own gratification because what the other thousands of filling this venue right now are unaware of, is that as soon as they’re gone and he gets you to himself, he’s going to have a little private show of his own..

one that requires you sitting on his lap with your legs spread as he sinks those digits knuckle deep into you, all while making you keep eye contact. And the second you see him sitting on that stool, instrument propped on his knee and he starts singing into the microphone..he just knows it won’t be long before you fold. Those eyes fixated on you as he sings about making love and putting you on top of him. The mood in the building has entirely shifted. Truly showing off not only his versatility but his ability to shift the atmosphere like that. Honestly, it’s because he couldn’t think of anything other than those fingers picking at those strings being sank knuckle deep into that pretty pussy..whimpering as you straddle his lap. Casually strumming through those notes and you can’t help but imagine those very movements inside of you. Which it didn’t take you long to catch his subtle hints; the narrowing of his gaze solely on him, a half cocked smirk on his face and his bottom lip tucked gently between his teeth. It’s so sexy and a signal that he’s going to rearrange those pretty little insides when he gets out of here! Bidding the crowd adieu after his last ballad.

“Thank you, (city name). Hope y’all have a good night..I know I will.”

#cherry’s asks 🍒 #aot x black reader #musician x influencer au #musician eren #musician au #black fem reader #attack on titan eren #eren x black fem!reader #eren x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader smut #eren jaeger headcanons #eren jaeger imagines #eren jaeger x black fem reader #black reader smut #eren yeager #eren aot #eren headcanons #eren imagines #black reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jeager smut #eren drabble #aot au #aot drabbles #aot headcanons #drabbles #black fanfiction #queued posts

[meo-on-prairie]

Amor

Getou Suguru x Reader

Prompt: “Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? // With every guitar string scar on my hand // I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” - Lover (Taylor Swift)

Words Count:1.3k

Tags: Suguru x reader, AU, Fluff, pure fluff and good time.

Rambling: Back with my Swiftie agenda. This fic wrote itself ngl, I planned something completely different idk how I got here. Life has been putting me through the meat grinder so I’m writing fluffy fanfic to cope.

“We need to take down the Christmas light.” Suguru brought up while you two are washing the dishes after dinner. 

“Yeah we should. Or… we can keep leaving it up for another month.” 

Suguru pauses and gives you a pointed look, “Hun, it’s already April.”

“Exactly. We already procrastinated to this point, might as well procrastinate all the way. If we never take it down, we won’t have to put it back up in December.” you pointed out. 

You just find it’s useless to take it down. Not like you guys have it plugged in so you're not wasting any electricity, they're just there. There is no reason to waste time to put it up and take it back down every year. 

“You’re unbelievable” Suguru chuckled 

“Thank you, my genius knows no bounds.” you joke as you hand him another plate to dry.

He leans down to kiss your temple, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” you said smugly “I love you too.”

After you finish with the dishes, the two of you decide to watch a movie before going to bed. You cuddle up to Suguru. You enjoy this little routine you two have. You both wake up an hour earlier than you need to cuddle with each other, you eat breakfast together before going to work. If possible, you two would have lunch together. Suguru would cook dinner, you would wash the dishes and he insisted on drying them. Then you would spend the night doing things together or doing your own things while being in the same room. It’s a mundane and boring cycle, but to you, it’s anything but boring.

You always thought that love is all about butterflies in your stomach, heart racing, excitement, going on dates to fancy restaurants. And yes, those are always fun and lovely. But if you really have to choose, you would choose this mundane life with Suguru over everything.

“Would you like to go on a date with me this weekend?” Suguru asked you out of the blue. 

“Do you even need to ask?”

“It’s a polite thing to do.”

“Well then, Yes. I would love to go on a date with you.” you said with a small laugh. It’s cute, you have spent 3 winters with Suguru, but somehow he always manages to make you feel like you've been with each other for 20 seconds and 20 years.

“Where are we going?” you asked

“It’s a surprise, just dress pretty.” Suguru replied softly, placing a kiss on your hair. 

You hum softly at his response, “How pretty would you like me to be?”

He takes his eyes off the TV and looks down at you. Feeling his gaze, you tilt your head back to look into his eyes. 

“As pretty as you are right now.” Suguru muttered before capturing your lips.

////

You decide to wear a white tube dress you bought a week ago. You love the way this dress looks on you, it shows off all your curves in all the right places. But you’re not the only one that enjoys the way this dress looks on you. 

“It looks lovely on you, but I think it’ll look lovelier when I take it off you.” Suguru whispers in your ears from behind. He has his hands wrapping around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. 

“I bought it so you can take it off.” you hinted, turning your head to kiss the top of his hair. You can feel his smile against your skin.

Suguru reserved a nice Italian restaurant downtown. You’re seated near the window. The dimmed light makes Suguru look extra alluring. The way the light cast over his form brings out all of his best features.

You watch as Suguru pours himself his second glass of wine. The foods you order haven’t come out yet and Suguru is already on his second glass. He’s also oddly quiet, usually he would flirt with you as if it’s a first date. You also noticed that he has his left hand in his pocket this entire time. 

“What’s wrong?” you questioned, “You seem anxious. Did something happen at work?”

“Nothing, Love. you’re just looking so gorgeous it’s making me a little bit nervous.” He replied. You hum in response, deciding not to press it further. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

////

After dinner, Suguru drove you to what looked like an empty parking lot. 

“Where are we?” 

“You’ll see.”

“This place is both dark and empty, and if movies have taught me anything, this place is a good place to murder someone.” you point out.

“I can’t with you,” he shook his head, laughing a little “come on.”

Suguru opens the door for you and offers you his hand. You take his hand and step out of the car. Your hands intertwine with his as he leads you to this flight of stairs you can't seem to see the end of.

“You’re making me climb these stairs, in this dress?” you lamented.

“I’ll carry you when you get tired, it’s shorter than you think.” Suguru compromised.

“Ugh, you’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.” he acknowledged with pride.

Suguru was right, it’s not as bad as you thought it would be, though it did take the wind out of you. When you reach the top, you can’t help but stop and stare in awe. At the top of the stairs is a small shrine with a few cement benches around the vicinity. This place is at the perfect height where you can overlook the town and see the wide sky at the same time. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous” you breathe out, not taking your eyes off the sky. 

You have never seen so many stars in the sky before. They're glistening and shimmering, as if they are beckoning you toward them. You were so mesmerized you didn't notice how Suguru is kneeling behind you on one knee. A small box in his hand.

“My love?” Suguru called out to you.

“Yes?” you answer, finally taking your eyes off the sky. You turn around to face Suguru, gasping when you see the position he’s in. Tears welling up in your eyes.

“I have been practicing this for weeks, I have about 100 thrown out speeches. No words were strong enough to describe my love for you. Even the word “love” itself falls short. But even if I don’t have the right words, I do know what I want to spend the rest of my days waking up next to you, cooking dinner for you, and falling asleep with you. So will you grant me the greatest honor, of being by your side for the rest of this life and beyond?” he pleaded, voice shaking with every word.

You were crying at this point. Full on sobbing. You can barely see through the tears. You can’t find your voice either. So you nod. Furiously. Before dropping down to his level and throwing yourself around him.

“Hey now, don’t make me drop the ring.” he teased.

You pull away from him, still sobbing. He wipes your tears away with his thumb before taking your hand and slides the ring on you. You can see the reflection of your lips in his eyes.

To Suguru, your lips look like a question begging for an answer, so he answered. He kisses you hungrily, full of relief and sheer joy. He cupped your jaws to deepen the kiss. His lips move against yours like a well practiced tango. He can’t wait to throw out another 100 speeches as he writes his vow to you.  You kiss him back desperately, trying to convey him all your joy and show him how much you love him. Because he was right, the word “love” does fall short. You can taste the wine he's been sipping on during dinner. His liquid courage, you realized. It’s almost unbelievable how much you love this man. You want to go wherever he goes. You want to be with him forever. You would gladly take this magnetic force of a man to be your lover, in this life and the next.

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto fluff #getou x reader #geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #getou x you #geto fanfic #geto #jjk geto #suguru #getou suguru #getou #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jjk getou #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

[aaron-m-geist-ff]

Royal!au where Mahito is the castle wizard and is known for his eccentric nature.

You are the queen’s lady-in-waiting, but her majesty cares more for her beloved psychic mage with strange stitch marks on his skin. Nobody knows much about him, and many aristocrats in the court suspect that Mahito was the result of a terrible science experiment gone wrong.

Regardless of his origins, it is clear that he is powerful and well educated. He can create countless potions and can even successfully predict the future with his strange tarot cards. Mahito is always at the queen’s side, aiding in all of her decisions. He rarely ever speaks to anyone else.

Except for you.

You run into him in the corridor one day, nearly causing the wizard to drop his spell books. He always wears the same black robes which flow behind him as he walks at a brisk pace. You apologize profusely for your own clumsiness. And Mahito looks at you as if he is just now seeing you for the first time. The two of you partake in an awkward first meeting, which gradually turns into small talk. Eventually, you engage in full on conversations any chance you get.

The queen sits on her throne, overseeing her court.

You stand on her left.

Mahito on her right.

You exchange knowing glances every once in a while.

It goes on that way for what feels like ages until the tension breaks. You spend most of your free time in the wizard’s tower, watching him work amongst the organized chaos. Mahito ends up fucking you against his large mahogany desk, pushing his scrolls and spell books aside carelessly.

Those multi-colored eyes of his are glued to yours. His breathing is labored and quick as he drills his cock into your dripping pussy. His large hands push at your sweaty thighs, causing you to let out a string of high pitched moans. Mahito fucks you so deeply. He slams into your cervix just to hear those pretty noises.

“Ha…I pulled the lover card earlier,” he rasps. “My prophecies always come true.”

_____

Had to get this off my chest, y’all 🥵 thoughts?

Read more Mahito here

#jjk imagines #mahito x reader #mahito smut #mahito x you #jjk headcanons #mahito #mahito imagines #mahito jjk #jjk smut #smut #royal au

[no1heyyyyyyyy]

Ambessa's tastes

This is really just her likes and dislikes in regards to clothes, smells/scents, music, television/movies, food etc.

Due to her privilege, money, and power- Ambessa can easily enjoy the finer things in life and so in terms of music I see her really enjoying opera She really likes the opulence of it all, the outfits, storylines, makeup, the sheer technicality of opera singing I think she’d also like classical- specifically string instruments like the cello or bass. I think she’d like the deep, low sounds of those instruments more than the sometimes shrillness of a violin She probably also thinks that piano is quite pretty, because of the sheer range it has I think she’d find knowing how to play an instrument (especially an orchestral one) to be very beautiful, and is something that may get her to be more interested in someone in a romantic or sexual sense

In regards to Ambessa’s taste in food, I think it’s quite clear from the show that she likes seafood I also see her as someone who really appreciates a nice steak, she’d like it more rare as well She’d be alright with chicken, but it’s not her favorite. She doesn’t quite like the texture For vegetables I think she would want something that isn’t too overpowering because I personally think that she would love spicy food and seasoning in general She loves a home cooked meal as well (she finds cooking to be a very sensual experience to watch). Especially after a baths

I think she’s one of those people that is so used to spicy food that it barely even registers to her anymore She’s more of a taste person. If it tastes bad she won’t go near it, but if the taste is alright but the texture is off, then she can live with whatever is put in front of her I think that she quite likes savory things as well and has a love-hate relationship with sweets However I do believe that she loves fruit. So much, especially island fruits, she just gives me the vibes that she would love to have a partner hand-feed her fruits dipped in a rich dark chocolate

For clothing she quite likes soft, natural fabrics. Nothing too restricting, and with darker colors. For those reasons she does not ever wear dresses (also because she does not like them) She strives for comfort always, but she still makes sure she looks presentable and feels good in her clothes I think at home she wears glasses. Ambessa is my love, but she is also an old lady who’s vision probably isn’t what it used to be. She’d wear thick black square frames At a ball, or gala- essentially any fancy event where she can’t wear her regular get-up, she’d be wearing an immaculately tailored suit (most likely three piece with no tie) It would be either charcoal gray or black, but the button down would be a burgundy or dark red of some sort

She’d wear an expensive gold watch and a chain slightly tucked into her collar Her shoes would be expensive leather boots (think those boots all the Peaky Blinder boys wear) in either a dark brown or black No makeup except for her dark red lipstic For casual wear she’d like something soft like cotton or linen wide leg pants, something that doesn’t make her feel trapped, that she can move around in She would wear house slippers, and insist her guests do as well (if it’s a personal meeting) Ambessa is a classy lady who doesn’t like people ruining her nice rugs She’d put her hair up, with silk ponytail holders (if you know, you know), because she may be old but she would strike down God himself if she began to lose her hair I think she would enjoy soft sweaters in the house, especially when she’s snuggling with her dogs (she has big doggies, dobermans, rottweilers, german shepherds etc.)

For television and movies I think that she’d love trashy television series I know that she would be obsessed with The Real Housewives or something really trashy like Jersey Shore She would eat that shit up, constantly shaking her head at their stupidity, yelling at the tv with her dogs laying on her chest as her mouth is wide open at the shenanigans of dumbass rich people For films she would love a good film noir, or a murder mystery/whodunnit type situation, because she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from screaming out who the killer is She would have a notebook out acting like she’s playing CLUE instead of watching a movie in the dark with her dogs

I think she would also really like witty chick flicks (Heathers, Jawbreaker, Mean Girls, etc.), she’d like the dark humor and fun plot She would absolutely go see Barbie. She would love it, not for the humor but just the message- she wouldn't show it on her face but she would be deeply impressed with the film for both empowering and putting words to the feeling so many women (and women aligned/GNC/trans/nb/AFABs and more) have She would hate Oppenheimer. She would’ve left by the middle, she would’ve been so bored

She also would like Psychological Horror, but not the conventional slasher flicks, she wants nuance and meaning to her movies (she’s bougie as shit) She would really like Silence of the Lambs, Joker, American Psycho, Misery, Candyman (I know it’s technically a slasher, but I think she’d love it anyway), Hereditary, Midsommar, Gerald’s Game, mother! (she would have gotten so angry she would have had to watch the movie in thirty minute parts on different days) For scents, I think she likes things that are earthy and grounding, balsam, musk, peppercorn, cinnamon (only a little bit though), patchouli, cardamom, sandalwood, a bit of rosemary She isn’t a huge fan of candles, she likes diffusers more I think her natural scent is very neutral and can go well with a lot of things, but I think smells or sprays that would go best with her were would be woody with smells from pine, leather, tiny bit of lavender, bergamot, lemon grass, amber, cedarwood, musk, etc. Her sweat smells more neutral too, it’s a little sharp and musty, but it’s mostly undetectable to most

#lesbiansafe #sapphic #wlw #lesbian #gay #butch #arcane #aspec #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane fanart #vi arcane #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #vi arcane x reader #vander #arcane netflix #jayce talis #jinx #mel medarda #ambessa medarda x reader #ambessa medarda/reader #ambessa medarda tingssss #vi x reader #vi x caitlyn #vi x you #vi x y/n #sevika fluff #sevika

[aerltarg]

thinking again about my sad boys, aegon and rhaegar, the dragonbane and the last dragon, being depressed since childhood, finding solace in their happy ladies, daenaera and lyanna. but while aegon's older siblings died, rhaegar lost his younger ones. but hey, at least aegon got to be close to his dear younger bro viserys! meanwhile, rhaegar just couldn't have a chance to build any proper relationship with his younger bro viserys, with everything between them. also to think that daeron the young dragon was aegon and daenaera's son and jon, rhaegar and lyanna's son, admired him and considered him one of his heroes... oh bless them, i love them so much

[...] As she stood before the king that Maiden’s Day, clad in pale white silk, Myrish lace, and pearls, her long hair shining in the torchlight and her cheeks flush with excitement, Daenaera was but six years old, yet so beautiful she took the breath away. The blood of Old Valyria was strong in her, as is oft seen in the sons and daughters of the seahorse; her hair was silver laced with gold, her eyes as blue as a summer sea, her skin as smooth and pale as winter snow. “She sparkled,” Mushroom says, “and when she smiled, the singers in the galley rejoiced, for they knew that here at last was a maid worthy of a song.” Daenaera’s smile transformed her face, men agreed; it was sweet and bold and mischievious, all at once. Those who saw it could not fail to think, “Here is a bright, sweet, happy little girl, the perfect antidote to the young king’s gloom.” (Fire & Blood)

When Aegon III returned her smile and said, “Thank you for coming, my lady, you look very pretty,” even Lord Unwin Peake surely must have known that the game was lost. (Fire & Blood)

[...] Hope and good feeling reigned over the Red Keep as the new year dawned. Though younger than her predecessor, Queen Daenaera was a happier child, and her sunny nature did much to lighten the king’s gloom…for a while, at the least. Aegon III was seen about the court more often than had been his wont, and even left the castle on three occasions to show his bride such sights as the city offered (though he refused to take her to the Dragonpit, where Lady Rhaena’s young dragon, Morning, made her lair). His Grace seemed to take a new interest in his studies, and Mushroom was oft summoned to entertain the king and queen at supper (“The sound of the queen’s laughter was like music to this fool, so sweet that even the king was known to smile”). (Fire & Blood)

[...] “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.” “You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested. “Not sour, no, but… there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense…” The old man hesitated again. “Say it,” she urged. “A sense…?” “…of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.” Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar's birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?” “Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he came back he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved.” (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

“At the welcoming feast, the prince had taken up his silver-stringed harp and played for them. A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp.” (ADWD, The Griffin Reborn)

“The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle.” (ASOS, Bran II)

“By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes.” (AFFC, Cersei V)

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.” (ASOS, Bran II)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. [...] the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called. When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, 'Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.'” (ASOS, Bran II)

“He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black.” (AGOT, Eddard I)

“Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature. (AGOT, Eddard IX)

“It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy.” (AGOT, Eddard X)

#there are only quotes abt these two couples being sad boy x happy girl kind of trope #just bc im absolutely not normal abt them #there are more quotes i think i just chose my favourite ones #also im evil once again for reminding that lyanna smiled even on her deathbed :') #oh my knight of the laughing tree and sad singing prince i see you everywhere #asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #jon snow #targnation #rhaelya #valyrianscrolls #rhaegar x lyanna #aegon iii targaryen #daenaera velaryon #aegon x daenaera #asoiaf meta #bc i love my #asoiaf parallels #mypost #.txt #house targaryen

[ourautumn86]

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡

Joseph Quinn x Fem! reader PT.2

LINK TO PART 1!!

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

✧ Synopsis;; Joseph Quinn was filthy rich, for he was royalty. Handsome, charming and a gentleman, a dream dressed in pure silk for any kind of woman. But not you.

✧ y/n is a mere slave of a nobel family who just turned 18. On the night of the prince’s royal ball she is dragged against her will to this dance just to be used as a coat rack for the purses and coats of the family ladies, who, of course, treat her like absolute sh’t, to the point where they could agreed to hand her over for a generous amount of gold

“Just name your price, sweetheart.”

“Screw you, my prince.”

Just how lucky you were for had caught the

prince’ s attention!

< enemies to lovers 3

17th century royalty!

A/N;; i’m sorry if this is sloppy and like…, BAD, english is not my mother language and it’s my first joseph x reader story. either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!!!

CW;; this series might include 18+ content (details will be given at the start of each new part uploaded) MINORS DNI AND SKIP!!!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

WARNINGS PART TWO: cursing, blood, violence and a nude scene(?)

WORD COUNT;; +2,5k

(A/N pt.2; it is much enjoyable(??) if you read it with a british accent since this fic takes placed in the U/K)

:¨·.·¨:

`·. lastly; enjoy! <3

‘Because from now on you belong in this castle.’

You stepped back at his words, his smile never dropping as you amused him with your fighting against the maids that had returned in a clap of his hands. “You shall let them help you with your clothes and washing, I promise you you’ll feel better once you’ve found yourself clean.” he tried to convince you, his brown eyes glistening under the lights and his voice soft as a caress.

“I can take my clothes off myself.” you spit, your hands making your way to the back of your dress to unbuckle the single button that was left, among those who had fallen off through the years, and undo the bow that molded it’s skirt to your slim waist, letting your clothes slip to the floor and around your feet, leaving you completely naked to their sight since no petticoat had been given to you by your old family.

The maids gasped, as you had dared to undress yourself in front of the prince, whose eyes never left yours, not really budging at your actions for he was a ‘gentleman’. His smile only grew up more, which you’d started finding pretty goddamn annoying.

“Then, I shall excuse myself… Ladies.” he bowed to the maids, who did the same and said their goodbyes.

“Oh, bless my soul!” Ballard exclaimed as his eyes accidentally took a glance of your naked body once the door had opened, quickly adverting them to his right.

You gave them your back as he closed the door with a mocking smile towards his right hand, your feet, and later on your whole body, being surrounded in clear warm water for what you thought it was the first time in your life.

You sighed in relief and sank deeper into the bathtub, letting your eyes close once a pair of hands started washing your long hair, getting lost in the feeling of it all, in its warmth.

“I won’t put that on.” you shook your head at the dress that was currently being showed to you. Starting from the fact that it’s skirt was way too big for you to freely and comfortably move around, the puff on its sleeves looked ridiculous and seemed really troublesome and the corset which strings stood in the bag really threatened your ability to breath. It was a simple and definite no for you. And the color! That shade of yellow won’t flatter you, that’s for sure.

“It seems that the dresses that Lord Ballard sent are no good…” one of the maids sighed, tossing the last one of them aside.

“What a pity…” you falsely pouted, adjusting yourself in the padded chair you had been forced to sit on so the women could take care of your hair.

“Well, there’s still the one that the prince sent! Let’s give it a try.” a brunette one smiled, to which you huffed, you hair being combed by another maid that simply giggled, really entertained by your reactions. “Where was it…, ah, yes!” she seemed to find it, her gentle fingers taking a grip on the strip sleeves of the dress to reveal it to the rest, who let out a delighted gasp.

“Crumbs*! It’s beautiful!” the maid that combed your hair exclaimed, her eyes shining as brightly as the rest of the ladies’.

It was a really simple dress, though it looked more like a nightgown. It was made out of the most beautiful lace you’ve ever seen. It was light blue, and large, enough to cover your thighs, ending below your knees. It had different layers of silk and lace of all types with little ruffles and decorations. The chest was made out of two triangles of silk with lace surrounding them in a soft-looking way that made you…, not hate it. In fact, it was really beautiful.

“Would you like to try it on, miss?” they all inquired, hoping for a positive answer since they seemed to have fallen in love with the dress.

“Well, it’s the most… pleasant to the eyes,” you muttered, trying to not show your true feelings about that piece of clothing, winning exited smiles from the ladies, who helped you to stand and took off your body the towel that embraced you to help you get on the dress.

You felt free in it. It moved with you and it let you breath, and it was so soft. You jumped and twirled, testing the waters. Nothing seemed to get exposed, what made you really happy. Your incredibly long hair caressed your almost bare back, falling to your waist. Your fingers went through it in awe, no knots being found. You smelled like pure lilies and you felt so clean and soft that you almost felt the urge to cry once you’ve taken a glimpse at your reflection in a mirror the maids lent you. You touched your clean face in disbelief, your cheek was bruised and stung when touched, the same as your lips, but your wounds have been cleaned and your skin looked so pure you felt unrecognizable, always being greeted by your reflection full of dirt, cuts and bruises in the pond’s water you used to visit when the mistress’ clothes needed washing.

“You look truly wonderful, miss.” one of the maids said, the rest nodding and agreeing with her, and just when you were about to thank them for their help with a smile, two knocks at the door caught yours and their attention, the prince stepping in after a short minute just in case you were still getting dressed.

“I apologize for my intrusion, ladies. Is everything alright, here?” he asked as he stepped in, along with Ballard, his eyes quickly finding your back and later on when you had turned to face him, your eyes. He simply stood there, silently staring at you, his eyes capturing every single detail in your body and sinking deep in the way you looked…, with the dress he had chosen himself. “You chose it…” he smiled, his eyes finding yours once again, his soft voice reaching you.

“Well of course, it is the most comfortable amongst them all.” you said, looking down at the dress, catching him staring as you did.

He cleared his throat before bringing his hands from his back to the front, letting you see a couple of, really low heels, almost flat silk shoes. “I brought these, though I couldn’t find anything more comfortable, I’m afraid.” he awkwardly smiled, stepping closer and kneeling in front of you, what caused you and the maids to step back in astonishment and Ballard to whisper-yell a ‘Your highness!’. “May I?” he inquired, one of his palms facing upward as he signaled to your feet. You slowly and unsurely nodded, surprised by his actions, but allowing him help you put on the shoes.

You could guess what everyone was thinking at the moment;

Why in the world was the prince of the realm, no one else than Joseph Quinn, kneeling and helping a slave like you put on some shoes?

You slightly bent down to take a better glimpse at them. They were white with a little piece of lace surrounding its collar. They were beautifully simple, and they looked really comfortable. When you put your feet back down on the floor you could agree on your judgement by their appearance. Compared to your wooden ones, this shoes felt like walking on clouds. When your sight drifted from them, your eyes met the prince’s once he had gotten off the marble floor once again.

“Well?” his eyebrows rose in anticipation, wanting to know your opinion on them. Everyone seemed to.

“They are not too bad.” you shrugged, your pride making him smile and let out a soft and short laughter. The tension inside the room seemed to dissipate with that sound.

“I’m glad to hear that.” he nodded, making his way back to the door. “Then? Are you ready to go and eat supper?” he offered you, opening the door whilst his eyes looked into yours.

You glared at him for a couple of seconds, still not truly trusting nor liking him, but still decided to take your first step. And after the first one came a second, and later on; a third.

His eyes never left your body as you exited first, waving your hand to the maids as a quick goodbye, which they returned. He bowed at them before closing the door. You awaited next to Ballard in the corridor, which was carpeted with crimson velvet carpets and glistened under the candles of the chandeliers above your heads.

“Shall I fetch the cooks and maids to set up the table, your highness?” the blonde spoke, his hands intertwined behind his back, which stood straight, awaiting for an answer.

“You shall not.” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t like them to work so much this late at night.” the singing of the cuckoo clock hitting midnight catching your attention as your eyes met with the wooden cuckoo that jumped in and out of its home. You wandered through the corridor, your fingers detailing the marble and wood of the oak chest you found on your left, plagued with porcelain decorations and flowers. There were multiple of them through the interminable corridor, perhaps for embellishment. “Though I would appreciate it if you could fetch something for her. I could wager all the gold I have in my hands that she hasn’t eaten for days.” he seemed concerned, his smile fading for a couple of seconds before appearing once again when he saw you twirling around a porcelain doll sculpture of a ballerina.

Not even the blonde could understand his actions nor read whatever wondered inside his mind. But he thought he could just wait for whatever the future would offer.

“Sure, your highness. I’ll make sure to send it to her room in no time.” he nodded, after a ‘thank you’ from his friend and prince heading the other way.

You were about to place down another sculpture that you had picked up when his voice startled you.

“It’s Greek.” you felt your heart plummet to your stomach when it slipped from your hands, his being quick enough to catch it in the air. “Almost a was.” he mocked you with a smile, putting it back down on the chest amongst the others.

“Didn’t know the prince would be into collecting porcelain.” you winded him up.

“That would be my mother, the queen.” he chuckled. “Along with the king she has parted to the east to meet Rembrandt and discuss about his new works of art.” he explained, making you now understand his announcement at his ball, asking forgiveness for the monarchs’ absence. “Though I must admit, I take pleasure in pretty things.” his eyes met yours and for a moment you felt as if you were frozen in place, the only warmth you felt being the touch of his fingers gracing yours on top of the oak chest, after his hand had fallen near yours. Your eyes met his hand and later on his eyes again, pulling away from his warmth after a couple of seconds.

“And what does beauty mean to you, your highness?” you inquired him, giving him your back and taking a few steps away from him. “Perhaps gold? Diamonds? Maybe castles?” your hair softly fell on your shoulder as your turned back to face him once again, your dress beautifully dancing along with you.

He just silently stared at you, his hands once again on his back as he took a couple of steps closer to you, a smile tugging on his lips. “I guess I still have yet to find out.” his brown eyes found yours once he stood by your side, the amber of the candles shining on them. There was something in them that you could not read. “Then, shall we?” his eyes left yours just to show you the way in which you supposed you should head to to meet ‘your room’. You seemed unsure for a couple of seconds, to which he decided to taunt you a little bit more. “After you, sweetheart.” he moved aside, giving you a little bit of space.

“Don’t you dare call me that again.” he laughed at your rudeness.

You gave him a side look before taking a step forwards, and then another, and another, the moonlight of the windows hitting your skin, perfectly matching with the color of your dress.

He took a deep breath before following you.

What beauty was…, huh?

“I hope you find the room to your liking. If you are in need of more pillows or sheets just ask for them, alright? You can ask one of the maids to light up the chimney for you if the night gets too cold too.” he said while opening the door and letting you step inside. It was spacious and beautifully decorated. As you stepped in, the very first thing you could see was a huge window that met the gardens of the castle, to your left a chimney with red velvet sofas and a central tea table with books on top of it, you could find more of them on the willow bookcases on both sides of the chimney. And to your right you could find a queen size bed with puffy white sheets, a white dosel and an incredible amount of pillows of all kinds, along with oak nightstands with candles and a big white closet. When you looked upwards your eyes met with the shiniest of chandeliers.

Once you’ve turned around to meet his eyes once again, these caught a glimpse on a food trolley.

“The maids discussed that since you’ve probably not eaten in days it would be better for you to eat something soft so it wouldn’t upset your stomach.” he said, while taking off the top of the plate cover, the smell of chicken stew along with baked potatoes and steamed vegetables making your mouth water. But that was not really what caught your attention. “I apologize if you find it too-”

And before he could even finish his sentence or take a hold onto your actions, his back was slammed against the half-open door from which you’d entered the room, closing it in a very harsh slam exactly when Ballard seemed to be back to check on the prince.

“My prince?!? My prince!!” he desperately knocked on the door, trying to open it but finding it imposible due to the weight of both your bodies on the other side. “Guards!” and as he called for the guards that rounded the corridors…

“Give me a single reason for which I shouldn’t kill you right this moment, my prince.” your breaths intertwined as you stood completely pressed against his body, a knife that you’ve snatched from the trolley threatening to cut his throat as you pressed it against the skin of his pale neck.

He seemed astonished at first, his brown eyes staring into yours as your heavy breath caressed his lips, which parted as he spoke.

“You wouldn’t dare.” he pressed against the knife to get even closer to you, its edge sinking into his skin and the vermillion of his blood making its way to his collarbones like a river flowing down the hills.

“And what makes thee think that?” he smirked at your inquisition, his fingers brushing delicately your arm, its pads descending. From your shoulder to your elbow and later on to your free hand, which stood slightly hidden behind your dress. You gritted your teeth as he slowly and carefully rose it up ‘till both of you could clearly see it. You were trembling, so much it was actually impressive that you could hide it so well.

“Your body speaks to me, sweetheart.” he answered, caressing your palm with his thumb as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on its back.

And before any of you knew, more blood spilled as you rose the knife.

To be continued…

*Crumbs;; used for expressing surprise.

A/N;; guys i cannot believe y’all have already given Filthy Rich over 600 notes in less than 48h! i’m about to cry about the support and new followers. i really hope i don’t disappoint all of you with this story and you love it as much as i do <3

TAGLIST ♡!!!

@kik51199 @alicegrayson @hardysbitch @gamorxa @knifeluvr @estrellitams @elarasstardust @therealbattleangel @cherrypieyourface @stardustworlds @the-iridescent-phoenix @darkened-writer @brlnamy @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa

#joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn royalty #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things smut #stranger things fix it fic #royalty #female reader #enemies to lovers #17th century #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #peter ballard

[earthbaby-angelboy]

Imagine what happens if you, say, skin your knee while you're little and playing around the Chautauqua fairgrounds; you come running up to Walter just crying that you've got a boo-boo.

too much of a good thing | little!reader x cg!walter hale (wc: 1,004) - A/N: i was thinking of doing headcannons, but this idea is so cute that it deserves a full fic. with that, i'm going to start calling his little one "adne." it'll make my writing a bit less ambiguous/confusing. enjoy!

It was a hot and sunny morning, so you'd spent most of the day helping Charlene with small tasks, while Walter was nowhere to be seen. As the sun went down, the only illumination on the camping grounds were the small lamps and string-lights some of the performers had pitched up earlier. You began to worry. It was getting dark; where was your daddy? You and Charlene sat in the music tent, with her behind the piano and you sitting on a chair near the bottom of the stage.

"Leenie?" You asked, looking up at her. "Yeeeeees?" Charlene responded in a sing-song voice, while reviewing sheet music for tomorrow night's performance. "Where's dada? Haven't seen him all day."

Without missing a beat or looking away from the information in front of her, she responded "I haven't seen Hale- your daddy, either. I know he's very busy, but I'm sure he'll be done soon."

A small frown appeared on your face, and you murmured, "that's not fair."

Charlene tried not to let out a huff. "I know, honey, but your daddy is a grown-up and needs to do his job, so he can keep paying for all your plushes and pretty little dresses. You wouldn't want to go without those, would you?" She gave you a pointed look that had a playful air to it. You shook your head with a small smile. "No, wouldn' wanna go without those."

Propping a hand under your chin, you began to think. What could you do while waiting for Walter to get back? A few minutes of thinking later, and a lightbulb went off in your head. "Leenie, 's it okay if I go n' catch lightnin' bugs? That way, I can have a jar full of em' for dada when he gets back!" You asked excitedly.

Charlene sighed and finally tore her eyes away from the papers. She looked at you, practically bouncing with excitement at the idea of doing something to appease your daddy. She sighed, and gave in. "You know, honey? I think I've done enough work for today. Let's go catch some of those lil' buggies."

Getting down from her seat on the stage, she took your hand, and walked you out to the middle of the Chautauqua, near Walter's tent. As soon as you saw the little bugs, you took off in a run! The actual objective of catching some had flown out of your head as soon as you saw the beautiful iridescence they provided to the plain atmosphere.

"You better be careful, young lady! We don't need you getting any bruises," Charlene called after you. You giggled and continued to run around the grounds, hopping over the tent stakes and being careful of any rocks. As you continued to play, you became more tired, and a bit more clumsy. Charlene had noticed, but she too was now worrying about where Hale had went. Before she could even think of where to look, she heard a commotion from a tent halfway across the camp. She couldn't make out any of the voices or what they were saying, but she knew that it was bound to get rowdy.

Wanting to get you out of harms way, she called, "Adne, how about we come inside now?"

At the same time, Walter emerged from the tent the commotion was coming from. He was clearly agitated, with some of the performers in his face, shouting things that Charlene couldn't make out. Something about "cutting wages" and "lying about taxes."

She called you again. "Adne, come on-," but was promptly was cut off by the sound of a small thud, then a loud wail.

"...DADA!"

Everyone who had been previously arguing with Walter went silent. Stopping mid sentence, he held up his hand to signify that the silence should remain.

"Baby? You alright?"

"Hale, just get over here!" Charlene called.

Hearing that, he pushed through the crowd and jogged over to where you were on the ground. With the way you'd wailed, Walter was expecting a broken bone or some blood. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Charlene say, "baby, it's not that bad! Just a small boo-boo, nothing a bandaid can't fix!" Which was promptly followed by you shouting, "I'M BLEEDIN' LEENIE!" A smile came over Walter's face when he realized that you had not gotten seriously injured, but had just scraped your knee. Sighing with a slight smile, he crouched down in front of you and tilted your chin up to look at him. "What are you cryin' about, little miss?"

Sniffling, you responded, "got a boo-boo. Don' like boo-boos."

Walter looked up at Charlene, who responded, "she wanted to catch fireflies for you, but got a bit too excited. She's been asking after you all day." He sighed, then went back to you. "Alright, you got daddy's attention. Will ya stop cryin' now?"

You shook your head back and forth, your face puffy and red from the tears. "You gotta kiss it better, dada," you said in a soft voice.

The truth was, you had been thinking about your daddy all day. You wanted him to hold you and give you the attention you needed, but it seemed that he had "more pressing" matters. If the day had gone differently and you had still fallen, you wouldn't be in shambles. But it just seemed that this was what opened the floodgates.

Walter looked behind his shoulder at all of the performers who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, and for sake of seeming tough, he wanted to tell you to stop acting silly. But looking at the pretty little one sitting in front of him, dress splayed out and eyes wide made him throw all hesitation out the window. Softly, he leaned down to kiss your knee.

Seeing the relief on your face, he asked, "better?" You nodded. "M' better. Thankie, dada." He shook his head with a smile. How lucky he was to have someone as gentle and sweet as you.

"You're welcome, lovebug."

#elvis presley #the trouble with girls (1969) #fanfic #fanfiction #elvis agere #walter hale #cg walter hale #elvis cinematic universe #its 11pm so bare with me if this sucks #this was a lot of dialogue and tbh i don't do much dialogue #i hope yall enjoy it anyway! #:-)

[meatyarms]

LISTEN LISTEN okokokok this isn't a request I just- HRBXJDHCJD I need to get this out omg

So we know that in the Arcane universe there are nonhuman species. Imagine Sev's girl being a cat hybrid. IMAGINE BEING SEV'S CUTE LITTLE KITTY GF

Imagine her wanting to see if you're really like a cat, testing with laser pointers, string, catnip, etc etc and can either go one of two ways. Either you're confused asf cause "Sevika I'm not a house cat" (she'd believe that's a lie). Or, it can go her way, and you can chase the toys and treat catnip like crack.

The way Sevika's hands wouldn't leave your body. One, because she loves you to death and two, cause she loves to feel your soft fur. Lightly plays with your ears and smiles when they twitch. Gives teasing little tugs at your tail when she's feeling rather playful. And let's not forget how she'd be more than happy to help you every 2-3 weeks, wink wink.

OK SORRY I JUST NEEDED TO GET THAT OUT I'm literally obsessed with Sevika, she's my favorite scary lady. Anyway thanks for reading, hope you have a wonderful day/night, and may we pledge to Sevika with our hands over our hearts and our pussies

And out it goes~ think your excitement electrocuted me and rightfully so. These are interesting and have the feels of a chitchat which I'll willingly prolong and dump some thoughts.

A hybrid girl stretching about leisurely on Sevika's lap is an image too vivid to call new (?) A pairing of can't-shake familiarity that just looks right. Pointy ears, nails and, at your hindmost, a flexible, fluffy tail. Gently swishing when relaxed, taps restlessly disgruntled and LOUD-ly.

Cat hybrids. A spirited critter that holds themselves to standards high though at times unpredictable—gracious, but with many feats of hunting and leading their prey astray that, if to be domesticated and cared for, waters down to a unique provocative nature. 

I imagine her fascinated, eyeballing, as though a phenomenon otherworldly, your pupils narrow in suspense, or when your tail bends 's' -> 'z' to and fro as she playfully runs her index from your forehead to your nose. Boop!

Shape, cast. Qualities, possessed. So one can't help but wonder and, with Sevika's unending itch to get practical, run some tests. She approaches carrying to her chest shoelaces and a glowy fluorescent laser pointer, 'plucked from work'. You'd cross arms, bashfully ridicule her theory in its silliness—"Sevika I'm not a house cat!"—but then lark, jump, slide, chase, etc., at whatever she throws or waves; although curiosity bests Sev in a way, it also is a deep-rooted instinct found in cats.

As for catnip with girlfriend Sevika, she would occupy a small space in the same room, only for you to then occupy her—violent rolling in her lap, where she holds(steals*) the container up high serving as dangling carrots for your sloppy kisses, licking, biting around the neck, fingers, and even her hair(did you chew on it thinking it's catnip while delirious? Sevika says yes, tauntingly). Regardless of the botched trim and smeared slobber, she'll be the sole recipient of it all. Besides, someone has to tuck you in bed when you tap out from eating the herb to your heart's content. Regret of the day before is certain to permeate in your wake. Cue Sevika throwing proud smugs at you randomly throughout the next day, fingers skim over the marks as to highlight them when you so much as look her way, just to cause further fluster. You might even call this animal cruelty hehehehe. Sorry.

Absolutely endorsing par. 4, like she'd settle for just staring, baby will stroke an embrace over every strand to tuft on those ears and tail of yours. Pretty dusks and coral painted windows were a scene especially enjoyed indoors where, on a carpet's corner, lay your bodies slumped atop one another. One filing their claws, other interchanging her own to a different sharp-edged and back. Somewhere in an aimless banter, Sev's flesh hand lays hold on your tail, as it normally flails freely in the air. Twirls it around her arm over and over, plays fake mustache by horizontally spreading it under her nose, recoils to an embryo after biting it—she loves it when your sclera sheens, but dreads what it means, wisely so. Just ask the local wicked pets dealers, whose runaways found mucking up the yard never come back.

Maybe she uses the tail's outset to maneuver and reposition your back however she wants and........maybe you sweep your tail over her back. Like ever so many splinters caught on her skin, bare and humid, she begins to lurch. Now you gleefully reveal your canines, exploding in laughter after a short restraint, having mistakenly just given her every incentive she needed to scratch another itch she has been eager to since its earliest daydream—rhymes with pond edge but using only. Your. Tail.

I have to thank you for bringing the hybrids(and other manners of creatures) to my attention, almost forgot what immeasurable uniqueness they bring to the show if not for this. Wonderful day/night to you too ^^

#yes I again come to you with a new hc format #ask #❥ anon #sevika #hybrid!reader #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika smut #sevika fanfic #wlw #meatywrites

[clotpolesonly]

What are your Dark Heir theories?? I'm sooo curious to see what happens

it's so so hard to predict where anything is gonna go from here, i'm honestly STUMPED, adlfkhj

i have a couple of thoughts and i do not know how plausible they actually are, but

-- i think that Edmund Creen was behind the plot to switch Will and Katherine as children. possibly. i might be crazy, but i feel like somebody had to have orchestrated all of that, and somebody had to sent that servant from the very beginning to tell Will about the Stewards. the servant claimed that Will's mother sent him, but she KNEW that Will was NOT blood of the lady. she knew that he was not the savior they were looking for. she wanted Will dead, she wanted the world protected from him, and she would not have sent anyone to take him to the Hall. right?? but someone had to do that. i feel like Edmund is gonna be the chess master, the spider at the center of the web, pulling all the strings to orchestrate exactly what he wants to happen in a con that he's been running for almost two decades.

-- i think it's possible that Katherine might not be dead, or could be resurrected. if i recall correctly, her death by the corrupted blade didn't resemble the deaths from the beginning of the book when it was unsheathed. those were more sickness, like they were rotting from the inside out or something, and they just died. but Katherine was petrified. she essentially turned to stone. like the tree at the Hall. the tree that Elizabeth brought back to life with her touch. i'm JUST SAYING. it's within the realm of possibility.

-- i think, and this might just be wishful thinking on my part cuz i love angst, but I THINK that at some point in the series (maybe or maybe not in book 2) James will get collared. i don't know if Will will be the one to do it or what the circumstances would be, but Pacat cannot possibly just dangle that in front of us without following through on the fucked up promise of it, and i think he has the balls to do it. no idea how anyone would come back from it, but COME ON, GIMME THAT, I NEEEED IT.

-- i think that James genuinely doesn't know who Will is. we don't have confirmation one way or the other in the text yet, but we already got the surprise twist of "i knew all along actually" in Captive Prince. i don't think Pacat would retread that ground, and the sheer horror and betrayal of James finding out too late what he's done, what Will knowingly allowed him to do, what Will may or may not have intentionally led him to do, will be fucking delicious.

-- i think we'll be introduced to the 4th King or a descendant of him in DH. Pacat said that his favorite character in the series would be introduced in this book, and i think it's very possible it will be this person. the lost 4th king was said to return when their need was greatest, or something like that, and i expect DH to get pretty fucking dire, if we know anything about Pacat's narrative structure where trilogies are concerned 😂 also just more Reborns in general. it was said or implied that the Dark King killed a lot of his people intending for them to be reincarnated with him, but we've only gotten the one so far in James (two if we count the horse, which i do uwu), so i'm hoping/expecting to get more of them.

-- i think we'll get some kind of insight into the past. how much, i'm not sure, if Will and James will get clear memories of their entire past lives or if they'll get muddled flashbacks and feelings. we don't know how strong the buried past might be, if the whole personality/identity is in there waiting to take over or if it's something subtler. i'm hoping for subtler myself. there's a lot of possibilities, but i expect we'll start getting some answers and a lot of complications, and i'm looking forward to seeing what direction Pacat goes with it all.

#and the answer is #Anonymous #Dark Rise #Dark Heir #Dark Rise spoilers

[littlegreenfag]

i am very sorry to curse you with some of these linesKSJDJSKSK so, I originally looked for it is cause I saw this tweet from the director and needed to know the context Fully cause I just knew people would use it as a way to blame her for his actions and jfc this man needs to be banned from ever touching female characters

it is confirmed in the Novelization that she did use electro shock therapy BUT she did it following procedure. I even asked my therapist and doctor about it and it's emphasized by Joker himself that what she did is not at all what he planned to do. and then it was worse... it's even worse than what's in the movie. in the Novelization, he doesn't end at electrocuting her in the office place, they take her somewhere else Afterwards where he continues to electrocute her.

I was going to just add the screenshots of the scenes but it was too many photos so skdjsks

[Electrocution Scene(s)]

"Metal-capped teeth glinted in the light. He studied the beautiful young psychiatrist.

"Doctor Quinzel," he said, "how nice of you to join us. You're looking... good enough to eat. Figuratively speaking, of course. I'm strictly vegan. At least today."

Quinzel squirmed in Frost's grip, but he held firmly onto her. "Time for a little electroshock therapy," Joker said, then added, "Frost, do me a favor, will you? Dump our pretty lady on the table."

The mercenary threw Quinzel onto the exam table then strapped her into place. Joker removed his prison shirt, carefully folded it, then placed it to the side. He saw Quinzel staring at him, confused. He gestured toward the shirt.

"The government spent a helluva lot of money buying us thrift store rejects, so I'm not going to potentially dirty it with your blood. Come on. Do I look like a barbarian?"

Harleen Quinzel's eyes reflected her fear. "Please don't. Please. I did what you said. I helped you." She tried to struggle free, but the straps were designed to hold a 400-pound madman.

The Joker fell back. His eyes rolled into his head as if he simply couldn't believe what he had just heard. He shook his head to clear away his confusion, then stuck his face inches from Quinzel's own.

"You helped me?" he repeated. "You helped me? By scorching what few dead, faded memories I had into a sizzling knot?"

"Now I'm throwing you into the same black hole," he said as he stroked her face with the leather strap then rested it over her closed mouth. "Open up, doll," Joker said as he pushed the strap between her lips. "And bite hard. This is so you don't break those perfect porcelain-capped teeth when the juice hits your brain. You'll thank me later."

"You say you didn't want to hurt me," he continued as she complied, "yet you did. And I insist I don't intend to hurt you, but you know what? Sometimes hurt happens." He stepped back, then gave a wide smile and laughed his approval. "You are so going to be my Mona Lisa, and I, for one, could not be more proud."

Frost handed him the two paddles that had been sitting on the small steel instrument table. He made a show of smearing them with conductive jelly then placed them on her temples.

Quinzel knew what was coming, and his slow, deliberate moves only prolonged her horror. When he smiled at her... with that awful, gleaming, murdering smile... she screamed through the ball and leather strap.

"Forget you ever met me," he giggled, but she knew she never could.

Harleen Quinzel was in love with the man.

She convulsed as 450 volts seared through her brain. Her face contorted in impossible agony. Her teeth ground into the rubber. Joker was right-if he hadn't stuffed the ball into her mouth, her teeth would have cracked as she smashed them together.

The psychiatrist writhed in agony. She was mewling with pain, yet somehow asked for more. Pain and pleasure. More pain than pleasure. More pleasure than pain.

Until she heard the machine suddenly go dead. Her teeth stopped chewing the rubber ball, which was almost completely shredded into ragged strings, and then her body went slack. A single tear fell from her open eyes.

Goodbye, sanity.

Hello, madness, my old friend.

-

Joker let the last remains of her tears get sopped up in her laboratory smock then exhaled a long, satisfied sigh. He set aside the paddles and took a set of street clothes from Frost.

"Good lookin' lady, boss," his aide-de-camp said. "She really liked you."

-

The commander put his gun to the warden's temple. "Bang!" he said.

He laughed as he gestured to his men that they were done. Then they all walked away, taking with them the inert form of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, leaving the warden alone and lost, whimpering on his office floor.

-

Doctor Harleen Quinzel, one of Arkham's most brilliant and dedicated psychiatrists, was no more.

Electroshock. What a wonderful way of destroying a soul, the Joker thought as he watched Quinzel's eyes roll up into their sockets and dribble pour from between her lips. He laughed uncontrollably as each hair on her arms and neck stood up on its own and began a freakish dance.

The Joker watched Harleen Quinzel disappear as each cell in her body was assaulted with electricity, a process that was intended to induce seizures as a means of providing relief from crippling psychiatric disorders such as autism, catatonia, and schizophrenia.

For those sufferers and others, properly administered electroshock treatments were accompanied by IV muscle relaxants, with each session lasting no longer than ten minutes. The Joker had received hundreds of his own such treatments.

What if those sessions instead lasted for hours? he had wondered. Maybe even days? And what if, instead of receiving the relaxants, they received, oh... nothing? He could only imagine the joyfully painful results as the body thrashed on the med table, breaking arms and legs and so much more.

During his own treatments he had worn a laryngeal mask over his mouth, with a tube stuck down his throat, to make certain his brain continued to receive needed oxygen. But did the brain really need oxygen, he asked himself. What would happen if he intentionally forgot the damned mask, and let the oxygen chips fall where they may, so to speak.

So he went to work to answer his questions, and he soon had the answers.

Harleen Quinzel ceased to exist, but she gave birth to a far greater insanity than even the Joker anticipated, or could hope for from the once venerable Dr. Quinzel.

Harley Quinn was very much alive, and she was more than ready to give thanks to her "Puddin." With dyed-blonde hair tinged in pink, she was drop-dead gorgeous in the prison vernacular, high-velocity sex on a stick. She was also as insatiable as she was insane.

More than that, Harley Quinn was the kind of psychotic the Joker had always wanted as his pet.

[Club Scene]

Joker stretched his arms and yawned. "Then accept my gift. I'm sick of her," he said as he pulled his purple .45 from his pocket and held it out. "Or better, shoot her. Push her hair right on back with a bullet. Either way, do me the favor. Please."

"Smart guy," Joker said, and he laughed. "Lotta brains."

Harley squealed with delight as she fingered some of T's smart- guyness off of her face. She leaned into Joker for a big kiss, but he pulled back.

"Don't touch me," he growled. "This is on you. You know that guy made me a lot of money. We're leaving."

"Puddin', it's not my fault I make myself look so good for you other guys can only wish an' stare 'cause they're so jealous. I mean, you should think of it as them honoring your great taste in babes- and I am your babe, aren't I, honey?"

Joker grabbed her by the arm, and Harley squealed as he dragged her from the club.

"Yeah, you are, but you keep pushing me, and one'a these days you're going to cross the line, Harley."

"Then what?" she asked.

Joker laughed. "I dunno. We'll draw ourselves a new line, and another, and probably cross them, too."

[Chase Scene]

"Let's go swimming, Harley," Joker said. "You do swim, don't you?"

"Nope. Don't even like to drink that stuff."

"Well, that sucks for you then." Joker laughed as he whipped around another turn and cannoned toward the Gotham River.

[Waking Up After Being Taken In By Bats]

Harley Quinn woke up in a cage in Belle Reve, thoroughly rested from her fun-filled day-long class trip with her wonderful, sexy professor, Mr. J.

Whistle. Whistle. Any time now, Mr. J. I'm waiting. Harley stared daggers at Griggs. When she was free, her first order of business would be payback. Right now, though, clenched teeth and a dirty look would have to do.

Griggs leaned closer and caressed her thigh. "Why is it always a fight with you?" he asked. "I could make it nice in here. Really nice."

-

They strapped her to the restraint chair and immobilized her arms, legs, chest, and neck. A gag was tied around her mouth. She liked that. It was something Mr. J might do.

[Suicide Squad suits up scene]

Harley gave a whoop as, without hesitation, she stripped off her orange jumpsuit and rifled through the black bag with her name on it.

With only her underwear, it became obvious that she was muscular and fit. She sported a large tattoo on her back that let anyone staring at her-which included everyone assembled on the runway-know she was "Property Of The Joker."

Her flesh had been bleached white, just like his. Only she was a babe, and her skin had an alluring alabaster glow to it.

[Following Harleen falling into the chemicals in the flashback]

He stared at her for many more ticks before he realized she wasn't moving. Or breathing. Was she already dead?

"Nononono," he said. "I'm not done with you. I've got many years of humiliation I want to heap upon you, Doctor." He put his lips over hers and breathed life back into her tiny, little, sexy, sexy body.

____________

the lines

"Harley Quinn was very much alive, and she was more than ready to give thanks to her "Puddin." With dyed-blonde hair tinged in pink, she was drop-dead gorgeous in the prison vernacular, high-velocity sex on a stick. She was also as insatiable as she was insane.

More than that, Harley Quinn was the kind of psychotic the Joker had always wanted as his pet."

"her fun-filled day-long class trip with her wonderful, sexy professor, Mr. J."

"A gag was tied around her mouth. She liked that. It was something Mr. J might do."

"Harley gave a whoop as, without hesitation, she stripped off her orange jumpsuit and rifled through the black bag with her name on it."

"her tiny, little, sexy, sexy body."

genuinely make me want to commit murder the audacity, the disrespect!?? just absolutely disgusting . "Her tiny little sexy sexy body" JAIL JAIL FOREVER DEATH PENALTY

I hate him sm and to try and compare ?????? when the Novelization's electrocution is SO MUCH WORSE like I would feel physically unsafe around a man who thinks somehow that's comparable or can't see the blatant Shes In An Abusive Relationship context thats almost always there with Joker???? 😭😭😭

Oy, this is making me want to become the Joker

“Become the Joker” is what I say instead of “kill myself” because my therapist suggested it as a healthy alternative.

This movie and this novelization have no respect for Harley! She gets no respect! She’s like Rodney Dangerfield but a girl! Her only purpose is eye candy. That’s literally it. And she’s crazy in the movie, but not Harley-crazy. She’s jerk-off-material-crazy. She’s Hazbin-Hotel-character-crazy. That’s what she reminded me of most, honestly. She seems like a character that was written by Vivziepop. The moment I saw her licking the prison bars, I knew this wasn’t going to be good.

(Also, is it just me, or are some of the psychiatric abuse scenes a little torture porn-y? Like the scenes at the beginning that are like, flashbacks of the orderlies abusing Harley. They took it way too fucking far.)

“A gag was tied around her mouth. She liked that.” SHE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!

Also, the line “Hello madness, my old friend.” killed something inside of my soul. I’m offended as a Harley Quinn fan. I’m offended as a Simon and Garfunkel fan. I’m offended as a person who had faith that Suicide Squad wouldn’t be that bad of a movie.

You’re so fucking right. The novelization IS worse. I thought it couldn’t get worse than the movie. Oh, how wrong I was.

#post office #adina's originals #suicide squad #harley quinn