#request for clemency

[1899gifs]

"People say we shouldn't judge anyone by their looks. It's impossible though, isn't it?"

#1899 netflix #1899edit #clemence #mathilde ollivier #multiep #requests

[dulcesiabits]

plum blossom soliloquy.

summary: ruan mei is the one person in the universe who can touch you.

notes: 3.6k words, author's notes, themes of codependency/worship, made-up science, loosely inspired by cardia from code realize

Ruan Mei collects pieces of you everyday. 

With insulated gloves pulled up to her elbows and safety goggles perched on her nose, she extracts samples of your blood, strands of your hair, and biometric readings from her scanner. This is your daily ritual, and Ruan Mei’s visits mark the beginning of your day. She never fails to come in like clockwork, more consistent than the sun itself.

You don’t ask what she does with the samples; her explanations never make much sense, and your education is woefully limited. But Ruan Mei always hums as she works, delicate strands of music like peach blossoms waving in a spring breeze, and you can never take your eyes off of her as she carefully clips strands of your hair, head bent over in concentration. Close enough that you can smell the plum pastries still clinging to her, warm and sugary and fragrant. She must have had some for breakfast.

“How are your findings?” you ask. 

“The high toxicity level of your body remains stable,” she murmurs. “And yet, you still don’t feel any discomfort?”

When she says this, Ruan Mei looks at you with calculations and dreams swirling in her eyes like a galaxy. You flush at her evaluating gaze, as if she can stare past your skin into the hollows of your soul, everything stripped bare in front of her. 

“No, not at all,” you say softly. “I feel normal.”

“You’re a marvelous specimen,” Ruan Mei responds. 

You bite back a smile at her words, pressing your teeth down on your bottom lip. There’s a miniature sun in your chest, burning and bright, at her praise.

“Will I see you at the same time tomorrow?” you ask her. 

Ruan Mei stands, briskly arranging all her samples. “Yes, of course. Your meals will be delivered as per the usual time.” 

“Ruan Mei,” you say quickly, “May I make a request?” It’s audacious of you to ask. You’ve never voiced your thoughts to her before. You don’t dare to disturb her, and try to stay out of her way as much as you can. What is so different about today? Nothing, nothing at all, but the sight of her back to you makes you feel lonely. So, you offer your words to her like a worshiper to a god, hopeful for any acknowledgement.

She frowns thoughtfully at you. “Yes?”

“May we have today’s meal together?” 

“Together? I fail to see the point of such an endeavor,” she says. “We run on different schedules.”

“I’m sorry if it’s presumptuous,” you murmur. You should have known better than to bother her. “You can forget it if it’s too much.” 

Ruan Mei tilts her head at you, squinting as if you’re some particularly strange calculation. Your skin tingles under her gaze, and you fight to keep your own eyes locked on hers.

“I suppose I can,” she says at last, “if that’s what you wish.” 

“Thank you,” you say.

She nods, once, before exiting out of the lab. You let out an exhale, before hugging yourself at the unexpected clemency she has granted you. 

The two of you do not talk much outside of the scheduled appointments in which she, like clockwork, shows up at eight in the mornings per standard time to collect samples of your body. Though she has given you free reign of her lab, outside of a few forbidden zones in which she conducts delicate research, you mainly squirrel yourself away in the little room she’s provided for you. It’s comforting to burrow in your corner of her lab; the idea of disturbing her experiments with your carelessness worries you endlessly. You’re not used to having space to wander, either, and keeping your world small and limited is easier for you.

Some might call her cruel, but that’s only because they do not understand the nature of her work, so grand and all-consuming that you’re honored to have a role to play in it at all. You would gladly offer up every last piece of yourself if only to feel Ruan Mei’s touch once. After all, what other use would a body like yours have? Your body, which is toxic to the touch. Prolonged exposure to your skin is lethal. Flowers wilt. Birds choke up. Everything beautiful dies when it comes into contact with you.

But Ruan Mei, as lovely as a plum blossom, is the only beautiful thing who hasn’t. 

—

Your story before Ruan Mei was painfully dull. There was nothing to say about that time, which was filled only with a monotony of endlessly repeating days, of set meals and lessons and an empty manor, with its carefully preserved artifacts.

You didn’t remember your parents. Perhaps you had killed them, or they had abandoned you. Maybe you didn’t have any parents at all, and had simply sprung into existence by an aeon’s will. You had never learned the truth about your heritage, no matter who you asked. Not that there was anyone to ask. In your frozen wasteland of a home, you had grown up with only a few android servants for companions, who oversaw your education and general health. Outside of that, you were alone. You could only learn about the world through the books you read. 

“What’s this?” you pointed a finger at a picture of a tree, pink flowers blooming voraciously across its every limb. You must have been seven or eight, and had never seen anything so colorful before. 

“That is a plum blossom tree,” your android teacher said, its motors whirring. “It is a tree that can be found across the Xianzhou Luofu, and is a popular subject of art. It blooms during the spring, and the fruit has a variety of uses in cooking and medicine.”

“Plum blossoms…” You trace the brushstrokes of the petals with your fingers, as if you could feel the soft silk if you just tried hard enough. You knew what trees were, but you had never seen one in person. Nothing green could survive in the icy landscapes of your particular planet. “Do you think I’ll be able to see it one day?”

“Negative. It is too dangerous for you to venture away from your home. It is possible your body could contaminate the tree and sicken it, as well.”

“Oh.” 

It was just the way things were. You were dangerous. You could not leave. You would most likely stay in your isolated mansion, surrounded by drifts of snow and ice, until you died. 

There were no visitors. All you understood about the world came from the books the androids offered you. There was no advanced technology in your household, as if someone had forbidden all your contact with the outside world. The most you were allowed was a scratchy record-player, out of which poured music you had no context for.

That was your life. At least it was until Ruan Mei arrived.

Ruan Mei had not bothered to knock on your door. Instead, she had picked the lock and strode in as if the mansion belonged to her, even as the androids fruitlessly tried to get her to leave. She brought in swirls of snow, trekking ice across the floor, sending your servants into a panic. She was calm, even as they pushed her with their mechanical arms.

The commotion and the noise had driven you out of your room, where you hovered on the second floor, watching this strange woman. Slowly, you crept closer, down the stairs, to the first floor, to the source of the disruption of your average life. 

When Ruan Mei saw you, she strode towards you. Entranced, all you could do was watch her. This was the first human you had encountered in your entire life. Was she a dream? Or a ghost? It wasn’t until she was close enough to raise a gloved hand to brush against your cheek that you flinched back, skittering from her touch. 

Still, enough of the glove brushed against the edge of your cheek so that the silk sizzled and blackened against your corrosive skin, revealing her pale fingers.

“Curious,” she said, flicking the glove aside. “It seems the rumors weren’t wrong. You are a strange specimen.” 

“You shouldn’t do that,” you rasped, still edging backwards. “You shouldn’t touch me. You could get hurt. It’s— it’s dangerous.”

She tilted her head. “I’m a scientist. It’s part of the nature of the profession to do dangerous things.”

What a strange woman. Were all humans like her? You couldn’t tell, but there was a strange shine in her eyes, an endless hunger when she stared at you. It made something in you catch alight, sending trails of fire through your veins.

She was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, who disrupted everything you thought you knew and understood. Where had she come from? From your dreams of companionship, like a fairy tale sprung to life? Or from the fervent wishes of your heart, answered at last by a star or an aeon?

“Who… who are you?” you finally brought yourself to ask. You couldn’t look away. 

“You can call me Ruan Mei,” she said calmly. She extended her ungloved hand to you, palm up, fingers spread. Pale skin, traced through with blue rivers of veins and valleys of creases. Nothing like the smooth, unblemished synthetic hands which nurtured you for years. “And I am going to take you out of here.” 

It was dangerous. You were trapped here for a reason. You couldn’t leave. If there was one thing you had been taught, it was that it was your duty to stay in your manor.

But she was so beautiful. Even if you didn’t take her hand and tried to chase her away, she had stolen something from you that you could never get back. 

There was only one choice for you now.

—

You learned more about Ruan Mei’s mission in her aircraft, where you were bundled up in a blanket you brought from home so you wouldn’t burn through the seats. You didn’t bring much with you, outside of a few objects that she wanted to examine.

Ruan Mei wanted to understand life. No, she wanted to create a perfect lifeform. It was her self-imposed mission, and when she had heard rumors of you from a colleague, she had immediately flown to your glacial planet to find you. 

“A human who is not a human is the closest thing to an aeon,” she explained calmly. 

The idea that someone like you could even be close to divine felt wrong, but the way Ruan Mei said it made you wonder if it could be true.

You learned more about her in the following months. She was diligent and articulate. She loved desserts, and enjoyed embroidery. She was a member of the Genius Society, and took tea every morning before she began work. 

From the meetings you overheard her conduct, her coworkers called her cold, and disinterested. But they couldn’t have been more wrong. She was the one who had found a way for you to live in her home without melting everything you touched. 

Ruan Mei hypothesized that the entire manor you had once lived in had somehow been treated so you could touch things without your poisonous skin corroding it. The fact you didn’t melt your own body was proof there could be a way to counteract your own poison, and that she could find a way to prevent you from doing the same to the things around you. It took her only a few days to collect samples of your blood and to use the blanket you brought back from the manor to create a solution she used to treat the entire area in which the two of you lived. Now, you could touch things with your bare hands without fear.

“It’s for the sake of my research. I can’t do work if you melt every beaker I try to use to collect samples,” she said, but you were grateful regardless. 

You had never been useful before. It wasn’t a possibility you were aware was possible. 

“So you’re the lab rat she’s dragged in,” one of her colleagues had told you dismissively. Dr. Ratio, that was his name, perhaps. He had visited to share lab results with Ruan Mei, and you had run into him by accident, jumping a mile in the air at the sight of the stranger. 

You had burned with emotion then, and it was only now, after replaying that scene in your head again and again, that you could finally come up with the proper words to refute him. 

“So what if I am? She needs me.”

Using you? Even if that was true, what did it matter? Love, affection, care… Those sorts of emotions were quick to fade and notoriously unreliable. You wouldn’t be able to trust them. But her experiments on you, each and every day? Those were real. Those were proof that you were important to her, more important than anyone else could ever be.

Your body’s condition was finally good for something. It had brought Ruan Mei to you.

—

The appointed time of dinner draws closer, and you still haven’t figured out how to prepare for her arrival. 

What should you wear? No, should you tidy up the area? There were automated bots who cleaned each room and made the meals, as Ruan Mei found such things a bother to tend to when she was busy. Ah, maybe you should have asked if it was okay to make something for her, perhaps a cake that she liked– not that you could cook. You couldn’t serve her terrible food. And it wouldn’t nearly be enough to repay her for everything she’s done for you.

A soft, elegant knock echoes against your door. The time has passed faster than you expected. You leap up, heart pounding, as Ruan Mei steps into your room, a bot trailing behind her, carrying a tray.

“Hello,” she says. “I’ve brought you your meal.”

You pull out a chair for her, and she slips into it with a word. Her every moment is precise, elegant, with no wasted movement. Every minute of her day must be carefully planned and executed. She could have a mathematical equation for the entire universe, hidden in the palm of her hand.

The bot lumbers over to your side and sets a stainless steel plate down in front of you. To your surprise, it’s not the usual mush, packed with, as Ruan Mei says, enough nutrients to keep you healthy, even if not the most favorable meal. Instead, it is a real dish: fragrant stir-fried vegetables and braised meat, steamed fish and two bowls of rice, set with a pair of chopsticks perched across each bowl. It’s food from Xiangzhou Luofu.

“Well?” Ruan Mei says, already plucking a piece of fish into her bowl. “Eat.”

Emotions choke your throat as you tentatively reach for the chopsticks, and poke at some of the vegetables. The poison in your body makes it hard to taste the food before it dissolves in your mouth, but to your surprise, you can taste every ounce of flavor in these vegetables, succulent and lightly-seasoned.

It’s delicious. Ruan Mei must have done something to your meal; had she poison-proofed it somehow? But for what end? So you could enjoy the meal? But why? It seems the sort of sentimental behavior she doesn’t tolerate.

There’s nothing but the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain plates as the two of you eat. You’ve never been with her for such an extended period of time. What can you talk about? Her papers for the Genius Society? No, you wouldn’t understand a word of it. You could mention the books you’ve read lately, but you don’t know if she would care about romance novels.

“How is your research progressing?” you ask timidly. That’s a safe subject, at least.

“It’s progressing smoothly with your assistance,” she says. She flicks a glance at you, scrutinizing. “How are your accommodations?”

“Perfect! The pillows are soft, and the temperature is always mild, so I never felt too hot or cold. And you’ve given me plenty of books, so I never feel bored,” you say. “Thank you, Ruan Mei.”

“It’s only natural,” she says. “A lack of stimulation might lead to a degradation in your condition. I’m only trying to keep your environment stable for my own research.”

“That’s extremely thoughtful of you.”

“So that’s how you see it,” she murmurs. You sneak a peek at her, but she’s focused on eating. Better not to comment, then. Maybe that’s a sentiment you aren’t supposed to respond to.

Silence falls again. The rice is dwindling, and only sauce is left on the plates. What can you do to make her stay? To engage her interest? This is a rare opportunity, one that might not come about again. 

Sometimes, you think about faking illness, if only to keep her by your side for longer. Any change in your condition would concern her. But most likely, she would just send in a medical bot to check on you, and your ruse would be easily discovered. A childish ploy for attention would never work on someone as intelligent as her.

She’s standing now, neatly folding her chopsticks over her plate. Why did she accept your invitation, again? Maybe that’s not for you to question. You’re fine with your relationship. You’re fine, so you shouldn’t get too greedy, and to want more than you are allowed.

“Ruan Mei,” you say again.

“Yes?”

“Am I helpful to you?” you ask plaintively. 

She doesn’t answer right away. Ruan Mei looks at you, really looks at you, her gaze luminous and all encompassing, like a lighthouse in a storm. Her gaze flays you open, excavating every last inch of you for her appraisal. Without her attention, you would revert back to who you were before, a lost person trapped in a glacial manor, all alone.

She walks over to where you still stay sitting. She reaches out one gloved hand and places it alongside the length of your cheek. There’s an emotion struggling to break out through the calm waters of her eyes. You can see it, floating right beneath, under her tranquil exterior.

You can’t breathe. You wait for the sizzle of acid, of melting flesh. You wait for her to recoil. You wait for the words you’ve always heard, the knowledge you’ve always known: your body is a curse. It’s dangerous. You aren’t meant for human connection, much less someone else’s touch.

But none of that happens. Ruan Mei’s touch is gentle, ghosting against your skin. You can almost feel her warmth through her glove, and can almost imagine how soft her hand must be, how lovely it would be for her to touch you, to really touch you.

You still remember the sight of her hand, the first time you met her. Flesh and bone and blood and nerves, all the delicate components that come together in a miraculous fusion of life.

“You are helpful,” she says curtly, pulling away. “I need you.”

“Okay,” you say smiling. “I’m glad.”

Raw, naked need. It’s more reliable than Ruan Mei saying she likes you, or cares about you. Need is hard and visceral, like plum seeds packed in fertile ground. 

The bot clears away the food, and your table is as clean as if you’ve never had a meal there in your life. You sit in your chair with your hands folded in your lap like a doll.

Ruan Mei is by the door when she pauses. “By the way. I have something for you. It followed me home, and since I have no need for it, I believe you may find better purpose out of it than I could.” As she speaks, a strange, furry creature darts between her ankles and into your room, a flash of gray fur and wide eyes.

It’s only when it comes to a stop that you see it’s some sort of… cat? A cat that looks like a cake, with its tail curled close to its body as it looks up at you, its head peeking out of its cake-like body. 

Wide-eyed. Scared. Needing.

You hug your arms around yourself. “What if I–”

“It can survive your touch,” she interrupts. “I made sure of that.”

“Ruan Mei,” you say breathlessly, holding out your arms. You say her name like you would say the name of a god. The creature scampers into your hold, but she’s stepped out, and the door is sliding closed, and still you add, “thank you.”

There’s no response. You hold the creature to your chest, and it is so, so warm. It’s alive and trembling and soft. This is the touch of another living being. This is what being alive means: to feel the touch of others. To hold them. To know you are real.

“What’s your name?” you coo, stroking the creature’s fur. It feels like velvet.

“Don’t have one,” it replies. You almost drop it; you haven’t expected it to actually reply. But Ruan Mei is a genius; of course her experiment has some measure of intelligence. 

“I’ll give you a name,” you say. “What about Plum?”

“Plum? It sounds nice,” the creature says, nuzzling into your grasp, finally relaxing in your grip.

“It’s because…” You remember that book about plum trees you read as a child. You remember the smell of Ruan Mei’s favorite plum cakes, clinging to her skin. You remember Ruan Mei, pulling you out of your dull existence. “It’s because plum blossoms are the most beautiful flowers in the universe.”

You hug Plum closer to you. Whether Ruan Mei is an angel who saves you, or a devil who pulls you into hell, or a cruel god who will destroy you, it doesn’t make any difference. As long as she is the one reaching out her hand to you, you will take it, no matter where she leads you.

#liya writes #honkai star rail #ruan mei #ruan mei x reader #x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr ruan mei

[pedropascallme]

Slow Down, Lie Down

Pairing: Shayne Topp x f!Reader

Summary: “‘I’m fucking exhausted, Shayne, it’s like I have to be so high-energy all the fucking time, and I’m burnt out and stressed for no fucking reason and I just—…you!’ You took a deep breath, leaning into his touch. ‘You…’ you looked at him through damp lashes, and he looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish your thought, not catching on to your statement. You cocked a brow, ‘I want you, Shayne.’”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), Shayne's gold chain is a warning in and of itself but it also comes into play here so take that as you will. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: This is based off of a requested prompt from the lovely @slaydoggg who asked for a Shayne fic quite a while ago and I just got around to finishing it! Hope you all enjoy <3

The last day of any shoot week was the only time in your life that you’d ever felt genuine burnout.

When you were in school, you’d had a sort of leniency policy with yourself; long days never turned into long nights, you’d stuck to a schedule that allowed for grace periods, you’d been confident in your ability to ask for help.

But when it came to working in such a high energy environment, where you felt like you had to be on all the time, where quiet always seemed like a synonym for bad, it was hard to grant yourself any clemency from just going, going, going all day.

Not to say you didn’t like what you did—you wouldn’t trade your place at Smosh for the world. The office was a safe space above all else, and even though it was your place of employment, most days it felt more like a high school cafeteria, where you and your friends gathered and chatted and made each other go red in the face from laughter until milk shot out of someone’s nose, or whatever.

Still, shooting a TNTL at 7PM on a Friday after a week of filming felt like some kind of sick joke. Did you even have any ideas left? Improv was one thing, but improv with zero social battery left was a completely different story, one you were unsure you wanted to know the end to.

“You alright?” Shayne pulled you from your thoughts while you gathered in the studio to film.

“Yeah, yeah. Just…y’know, little tired.” You smiled, an offering he returned, “But I’m alright.”

He could tell that you were teetering in the space between apathetic and completely exhausted. It was hard to keep things from him. Goddamn psychology degree. Even before you had started dating, it seemed like Shayne had a sixth sense for the feelings of the people around him, especially when it came to you—and Damien, but they might as well have had their own telepathic communication link, as far as you were concerned.

“Ok,” he rubbed your shoulder in an attempt to soothe you despite your denial of any discomfort, “We’ll go home soon. Go be funny.”

~~~

“Good! Cut!” Shayne called from behind the camera after Courtney wrapped up the video. You had never felt more relief in your life; the promise of a bed and a weekend of relaxation awaiting you at home made you feel like a huge weight was in the process of being lifted off your shoulders. You felt like you were floating, completely dissociated from the world around you while your friends giggled as they recalled jokes they had made not even 20 minutes ago.

You gathered your things and met Shayne outside in the car. You stared through the windshield, still tuning everything out and unaware that he was addressing you.

“Hey,” he squeezed your thigh, “did you hear me?”

“Mm, sorry,” you shifted to look at him, realizing you were still unbuckled and quickly correcting your indiscretion.

“What do you want for dinner?” He was doing that thing where he studied your features as if you were a doll, seemingly unaware that you could see him scanning your face.

“I dunno,” you sighed, “let’s just order something when we get home.”

“Ok.” He fell quiet and peeled out of his parking spot. The ride was quiet for the first ten minutes before he spoke again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m just ti—”

“‘Just tired,’ I know—but is there anything else?”

You shifted uncomfortably, running your hand over your seatbelt. “I dunno.” You knew you sounded repetitive, childish, but it was hard to communicate the exhaustion you were feeling to someone who did the same thing as you all week and never seemed to fall victim to the same sort of fatigue that you did. “Really tired.”

“Do you feel stressed?” He pushed.

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?” The words came out with a harsher edge than you had meant, and you saw him briefly furrow his brows in shock before regaining his composure.

“No, I’m just worried. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.” He parked in front of the house and turned to you, “I love you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep anything from me.”

You nodded, and the floodgates threatened to open as tears pricked your lash line. You sniffed. “I know,” another sniffle, “I love you, too.” You felt ridiculous, like a toddler overdo for a nap with the way you were acting just because you were really that tired. You just needed a little reassurance; to remember what it was like to feel rested and sated.

Shayne unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over the center console to take your face in his hands. “What do you need, baby?” His thumb caught a tear that had slipped over your cheek. “Tell me. You’re…freaking me out, a little.” He chuckled, still retaining the sympathetic look that painted his face even when his eyes creased up with his small smile.

“I’m fucking exhausted, Shayne, it’s like I have to be so high-energy all the fucking time, and I’m burnt out and stressed for no fucking reason and I just—…you!” You took a deep breath, leaning into his touch. “You…” you looked at him through damp lashes, and he looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish your thought, not catching on to your statement. You cocked a brow, “I want you, Shayne.”

“Oh—oh. Oh!” He lit up, eyes wide and smiling like a kid in a candy store.

One thing you appreciated was that no matter how often you two were intimate, no matter how many times he saw you naked, he still managed to make it seem like a miraculous, once in a lifetime event when you fucked.

Talk about validation.

He all but jumped out of his seat, waltzing over to open the door on the passenger side of the car and waiting impatiently for you to unbuckle yourself and step onto the sidewalk. You’d never seen him open the door to the house so fast.

Before you had the opportunity to remove your jacket, your shoes, or put down your bag, you were pushed against the now-closed-and-locked door by Shayne, who immediately found your lips and pulled you into a deep kiss. It was gentle, reminiscent of the first time you two had kissed in that it was exploratory and slow so as to adapt to the needs of the other; but no matter how he did it, kissing Shayne always felt like perfection. You dropped your bag at your feet before bringing your arms to rest on his shoulders, lazily pulling at his flannel while he dragged his tongue over your bottom lip. He rested his forehead against yours when he pulled away.

“Feel better?” He let his nose bump against yours as he spoke.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “But I think I could use a little more…remedying…” You brought one hand to the collar of his shirt, dipping under it and trailing your finger back and forth.

“Thought so.” He pulled your hand away momentarily to pull you into him, hands on your waist, and you got the hint, jumping so he could lift you, wrapping your arms around his neck while your legs found purchase around his hips. You licked a stripe up his neck and felt him shiver underneath your tongue.

He hesitated to drop you on the bed. “I could just fuck you like this, y’know…” He made a show of how easy it was for him to pick you up, bobbing you up and down in his arms momentarily, miming how he’d fuck you.

“Fully clothed?” You pointed out, and he relented.

“Next time I’m getting you naked before I pick you up.”

“Buy me a drink first, man.” You laughed, peeling off your jacket and shirt and unbuttoning your jeans, pulling the fabric from your body; it felt freeing in so many ways, the removal of a week of work from your skin, your limbs able to breathe without the constricting material, the knowledge that Shayne was there to see you in all your nude glory—it was incredibly satisfactory.

His shirt was off when you looked back up, now in just your bra and panties. The chain around his neck glinted in the low light of the bedroom, and you felt a wave of lust crash over you; crawling towards him to the edge of the bed where he stood, you let your hands trace up his abdomen before landing on his shoulders. You peppered kisses over his chest, taking in the taste of his skin and inhaling his scent. His hands came up to grip your waist, squeezing gently to get your attention.

“Not about me right now,” he reminded you, somewhat stern in his cadence.

“You don’t want me to go down on you?” You purred, goading him.

“As much as I would love to see you wrap your lips around my cock right now…” he spoke while he pushed you back onto the mattress, pulling you towards him by your ankles, “I’d much rather be making you feel good.”

“Yeah?” You breathed, and he planted a kiss on your thigh.

“I’m a giver.” He kneeled in front of you, "Lie down." You leaned back, letting yourself melt into the comforter under his touch. He let his hands roam your body; thumbs brushing the curve of your breast over your bra before dragging his palms over your stomach, dipping under you slightly to squeeze your ass. You let out a huff of contentment at the feeling, and he did it again, before his fingers dropped under the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down your legs.

When you felt the first swipe of his tongue over your core, your drowsiness was replaced with a tingling pleasure that started in your clit and spread to the back of your neck; you feathered your fingers through his hair to coax him onward.

“Poor baby,” he muttered, dipping his head down into you and licking up from your slit, gathering your slick on his tongue, “you just needed some help relaxing, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned when he used his tongue to circle your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure to help you unwind; you bent your knee, effectively trapping him face-first against your cunt.  

“It’s ok,” he flattened his tongue against you, keeping pressure on your clit until you started to squirm, “I’ll help you, baby. Don’t worry.” He licked through your folds before slipping his tongue inside of you, contorting the muscle to curl in and out as he saw fit. You tugged on his hair, a silent message telling him not to stop amidst your quiet moans and the subtle roll of your hips against his mouth.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently until you arched your back, muscles relaxing when he let up on the pressure before he repeated the motion just to watch you squirm for him.

“Shayne…” You whimpered, one hand coming up to grope yourself through your bra, drunk off the feeling of his tongue.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered into you, alternating between sucking on your clit and lapping up the mixture of his spit that trickled down your entrance and the wet that dripped from you. He snaked his arms underneath you, resting them under your thighs with his hands gripping the plush skin, giving him a better angle to watch you come undone. He fucked you with his tongue again now, unable to ignore the way you bucked your hips against his mouth and the filthy moans that fell from your lips, before he licked a long stripe up your cunt and began sucking on your clit once more.

Your orgasm crashed over you, a calming tide that came in and out with no fanfare, but was still so beautifully curated to your needs. Shayne watched your breathing pick up and then slow down as you sank deeper into the bed. He rested his head against your thigh.

“Was that helpful?” You could feel him smiling against your skin.

“Maybe a little,” you rolled your eyes playfully, and he stood, leaning over you and kissing your cheek. “Got anything else that might help?”

He laughed quietly, briefly kissing your pulse point. “Anybody ever told you that you can be real needy?”

“Is that a bad thing?” You let your hands wander over his stomach and chest, dropping down further to play with the waistband of his jeans, and he groaned.

“Not in the slightest,” he clarified, before straightening himself up to remove his jeans. You closed your eyes, still enjoying the comfort of the bed, the undisturbed joy you got to experience with your boyfriend away from the chaos of work. When you opened your eyes, Shayne had one knee on the mattress, boxers still on—much to your chagrin—and beckoning you closer to him. You sat up, shuffling towards him on your knees, and he guided you forward so that he could unhook your bra and let it slide down your arms.

“Your turn,” you bent down to tug at his boxers, and he smirked at the difficulty you had trying to get them off of him at this angle. He gently shooed you off, taking them off on his own, before pulling you in for a long, slow kiss. It was somewhat needier now than the one you had shared at the door, but it still felt just right; his tongue broke through your lips and, after sucking gently on it for a few seconds, you pulled back, too desperate for him to fuck you now to focus on anything else.

He pushed you down onto your back gently, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed and propping your legs on his shoulders. Fisting his cock, you watched him spit down onto you, letting the saliva trail over your hole before he ran his cock through your folds, gathering your wet on himself. You squirmed, eager and impatient, and he raised an eyebrow, smiling down at you.

“Needy.” He reiterated, before pushing into you. You felt the initial stretch, the blissful pressure of his cock plunging into you, and in this position, with your legs raised above you, you could feel him nestled deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” you heard him mutter when he bottomed out, and one of his hands came down to your side, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your hip bone. “God, maybe we both needed this…”

“Mhm,” you sighed dreamily up at him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted.

He pulled his hips back less than an inch, focused on staying close to you and drawing your pleasure out, before pushing back in—not rough, but certainly hard; the force pushed you up the mattress slightly. Caught off guard by his movement, combined with the feeling of his cock pressing into you even deeper than it had before, you couldn’t help the moan of his name that was knocked from your lungs.

He kept fucking you like that, slow and deep, hands sweeping over your skin like he wanted to remember every curve and bend of your body.

“You’re so beautiful,” Shayne managed to speak out between low moans, “So fucking beautiful.”

You placed a hand over his where it sat on your thigh, still holding your legs above your body and against his chest. “All for you.” You squeezed his hand gently, and he leaned his head back.

“God, yeah—that’s right,” his thrusts started to get rougher, just enough for his cock to push against your most sensitive spot and keep you hovering over the edge. “All for me.”

He leaned forward, pushing your legs back with his body; he had even more free reign like this, thrusting into you hard and fast, and you mewled underneath him, letting out whimpers of delight at the way he pushed you closer to your high.

Propping himself up with one arm, his other hand resting on your waist, he dropped his head down to your chest and licked messy stripes over your breasts, capturing your nipple in his mouth and sucking on it before alternating to the other. You arched your back, struggling to decide whether to focus on the way his cock felt brushing against your g-spot or the way his tongue felt teasing your nipples.

You quickly decided that now wasn’t the time for decision making, allowing yourself to succumb completely to the way his movements worked in tandem to bring you satisfaction.

When he came up to kiss you again, you grabbed at his chain, pulling him further into you, and he moaned into your lips, tongue immediately seeking refuge in your mouth and licking into you. You returned the favor, eager to taste him. He moved his hand, positioning his thumb over your clit and kneading it in time with his thrusts, and you gasped at the friction. Mouth open and unable to tear your gaze from him, you yanked on the chain around his neck again, and he growled, pushing into you with less regard now—nice and rough to get you over the finish line.

“Fuck me just like that—oh my god, Shayne!” Your legs trembled from the strain of the position and the orgasm that built in the pit of your stomach, and when he licked his lips, panting, and you felt him press harder against your clit, you were engulfed by the electricity that seemed to shoot from him straight into your bloodstream. You cried out his name, throwing your head back and letting the pleasure take over.

You heard him hum above you, the combination of a contented sigh and a desperate groan as he watched you cum on his cock; panting, you placed a hand gingerly on his cheek, the other still toying with his chain, pulling his face towards yours, ghosting your lips over his.

“Cum in me,” you whispered into his mouth before kissing him, and you felt his lips part against yours with a moan, stuttering your name and spilling into you.

His head rested against yours, both of you breathing hard and trying to regain your composure. He kissed your ear, then your cheek, your nose, your other cheek, your other ear, before finally placing a sweet kiss against your lips, soft and full of love.

He took a deep breath before pulling out of you, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

“I know. Come here, baby” he helped you straighten your stiff legs before scooping you up and placing you properly along the bed; you curled up instantly, satisfied and relaxed. Shayne crawled into bed behind you, a box of tissues in his hands that he pulled from to wipe the excess mess from between your thighs. He was gentle, quiet, kissing your back while he pulled your legs apart to clean you off.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, turning over to face him, “I feel…much more relaxed.”

“Glad I could help.” He kissed your forehead, tossing the box of tissues across the room and cringing when they landed awkwardly in the middle of the floor instead of on the dresser he had been aiming for. “Never want you to think that you can’t tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I know,” you trailed your fingers over his chain, looking up to meet his gaze, “I’m sorry I was grumpy.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that, baby. I’m sorry you felt so exhausted.”

“I’m still exhausted,” you smiled, “just in a much more enjoyable way.” You watched him break into a smile, pulling you against his chest and kissing the crown of your head.

“You can sleep in tomorrow.” He stroked your hair.

“Only if you sleep in with me.” You nuzzled into him, already feeling sleep tug your eyes closed.

“Can’t pass up an opportunity like that.”

#shayne topp #shayne topp fanfiction #shayne topp smut #shayne topp x reader #shayne topp x you #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #smosh smut #smosh pit #smosh games #smosh squad #smoshblr

[ama0310]

Interruptions

Character: Tom Blyth

Requested: No

Type: Fluff

Summary: Tom Blythe’s girlfriend, Amelia Burkhart joins the cast of The Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes as Sejanus Plinth’s girlfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia never thought she would have the pleasure of working with her boyfriend, but after many years in the industry she finally has the chance to say she has. 

Working in a franchise as big as The Hunger Games was such a surreal experience , and the fact that she gets to share it with the person she loves most adds an extra layer of perfection. 

Her connection with Tom, sparked through a mutual friend, has consistently radiated fireworks. Now, after two amazing years together, they find themselves side by side, working on the anticipated Hunger Games prequel. 

The funny thing about that was that she plays Anastasia Clemence, the love interest of Sejanus Plinth, while Tom, cast as Coriolanus Snow, found himself entangled with Lucy Gray, portrayed by Rachel Zegler, who happens to be Josh Rivera’s girlfriend who is playing Sejanus Plinth.

It was like an episode of girlfriend swap everyday on set. A humorous acknowledgment among the actors. 

In a pivotal scene, Josh and Amelia engage in a passionate exchange, transitioning seamlessly from a heated argument to an intense make-out session. And for some reason both Tom and Rachel decided to watch it.

“Are you serious Sej? You’re working with the dam rebels. Do you not even want to go back home?” Amelia slipped into Anastasia's shoes the moment the cameras started filming. Amelia, as Anastasia, confronts Josh’s Sejanus, discovering his involvement with the rebels.

Josh ran a hand through his hair looking at the girl in front of him, “I need to do something with my life Stasia, I need you to understand that.” He responded, expressing Sejanus’ commitment “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. It’s not fair to them.” 

As emotions surged, Amelia, teary-eyed, pleaded with him before pushing at his chest, “It’s not fair to me that you are putting yourself at risk, Sejanus. This isn’t just about you. This is about our future, our life, and you’re throwing it all away and for what? You can get hurt Sej, or worse, you can get killed.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears grabbing onto his face, “you can’t leave me. You just can’t. I-I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

He sighs leaning his forehead against hers,”It’s all going to be okay Stasia, I promise. I need you to trust me. Coryo has a plan. He’ll get us out of here.” He presses his lips to her forehead mumbling, “I won’t ever leave you . I promise.” 

The atmosphere hung in suspense before a sudden surge of passion seized through Amelia. She grabbed the back of his neck, pressing her lips to his, arms immediately wrapping around her waist, with an urgency that transformed them into Anastasia and Sejanus. 

He effortlessly lifts her, her legs wrapping around his waist, and slams her against the wall. Their tongues intertwined, teeth colliding in a chaotic dance that defined their unique connection–a beautiful mess that belonged solely to them. His hands ran through her hair, gently tugging, evoking a soft moan from her.

The scene took an unexpected turn as her boyfriend’s voice disrupted the intimacy.“DO IT AGAIN SHE LIKES IT ROUGH,” he proclaimed, shattering the moment. Amelia couldn’t help but burst into laughter, followed by Josh, who carefully placed her back on the ground.

"Tom, we've been through this before – you can't just shout out like that." The director sighed, chuckling slightly. "You're a bit weird, you know? You might be the first actor I've come across who enjoys watching their girlfriend kiss another actor. Let's take a 5-minute break, and then we'll give it another shot." He gestured toward Tom and Rachel. "…But this time, without either of you here."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "I didn't even do anything; it was all him." She accused Tom, pointing at the man who pretended to be shocked. The director rolled his eyes playfully as he headed out the door. She lightly smacked Tom's arm. "See what you did? You just got us kicked out of the scene."

Amelia and Josh approached the other duo. Amelia gave Tom a light shove. "You knew that was going to be a perfect take. Now we have to do it all over again."

Tom smiled sheepishly. "I couldn't help myself. This..." He motioned to the four of them. "...always makes me laugh."

Josh draped his arm around his girl. "You don't catch either of us making a scene during your performances. We're the epitome of well-behaved." He and Amelia exchanged a high five. 

Tom glanced at Amelia, the girl nestled in his arms, and grinned. "Alright, I'll behave next time. And you," he pointed at Josh, "better keep that tongue of yours in check."

Amelia's eyes widened in horror at Tom's comment, while Rachel and Josh erupted in laughter before making their way towards the snacks. 

Amelia wrapped her arms around Tom's neck, shaking her head. "You're terrible. But Tim's right; I never thought you'd be up for watching me kiss another guy in real life. On screen, it's different, but showing up to these shoots is just crazy."

Tom gave her a light kiss. "It's Josh. We both swap kisses with each other's girlfriends." He shrugged playfully. "I trust you. I know the role you're playing, and I know you'll give it your all." Leaning in, he hovered over her lips. "Plus, after his untimely death, Anastasia has no other choice but to run into the arms of his best friend." He kissed her slowly, making her melt. "And then it'll be you and me in these scenes. No interruptions."

#president snow #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tbosbas #sejanus plinth #thg #Tom Blyth x OC

[fayes-fics]

Benedict, angst, regret maybe?

Regret +Benedict + Angst

One Word Challenge Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem! reader

Authors Note: Hi Nonny. I don't often write angst, tbh, but here goes. Thanks for your word! 🧡

You turn your back, pride making you unwilling to let him see the tear as it tracks down your cheek. Benedict implores you to please look at him, his voice breaking, heavy with emotion. 

“No.”

The word is a harsh expulsion from your lips. Your ribs feel as if they are cracking into a million pieces, a hole in the very pit of your stomach like a literal gut punch. 

You can tell he has fallen to his knees behind you, the heavy whump upon the carpet. 

“I am begging for your forgiveness,” his voice has gone small, scared even.

“You had a choice not to go there, Benedict,” your sigh brittle, intentionally ignoring his request for clemency, feeling a storm of indignance in yourself as strong as the wind howling outside the windows, angrily wiping another tear from your face.

“And I will regret that decision for the rest of my life,” he confesses, tone wavering, as you feel a light tug on the hem of your dress. “You are the only one I love, y/n, will ever love; I cannot go another day without you…” 

It's the declaration you have been waiting for all your life, but now it just leaves an ashy taste in your mouth. Uncertain you can forgive him, the bruise over your heart is too fresh and multicoloured to think straight.

“I will give you my answer in a week,” your response clipped, a knell of finality that has him accepting his temporary fate mutely and meekly, shoulders hunched, a defeated air. 

His retreating figure is a watery, smudged blur through the rain that lashes the window and the tracks of your tears.

No taglist as this is a quick-fire writing challenge

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[blackpearlblast]

Kevin Keith's 27 day hunger strike and the censorship around it

(most post body text copy-pasted from Death Penalty Action news email)

From prison, Kevin planned to manage a publicity campaign to call attention to his hunger strike and his demand for a just resolution to his case, however... the day he started his hunger strike, he was moved to solitary confinement. A prison executive came to see him... 

First she demanded that he hand over all of his documents, his paper, stamps, envelopes and his pen. Then she informed him of a policy change: Prisoners on a hunger strike are not allowed to communicate with the outside world.

Kevin had told his lawyers and some members of the media of his plans, but that was it. I certainly had no details, and Kevin's brother Charles also had no details. Worse, there was no way to contact or even visit Kevin, because he was in the hole (solitary confinement).

Kevin held out for 27 days.

His lawyers came to check on him once a week to make sure he was OK, but that's it.  No media responded to his plea. No celebrity supporters tweeted about his plight. We at Death Penalty Action had no information, and could therefore do nothing.

Even as Kevin drank copious amounts of water, he still was dehydrated. Kevin received intravenous hydration ten times, on the following dates:

February 7

February 12

February 14

Twice on February 16

Twice on February 18

Twice on February 22

And we had no idea.

Kevin says he found a spiritual benefit to the experience, but he stopped when the prison doctor warned him that he risked damaging his kidneys. They threatened him with being transferred to the hospital, restrained, and force-fed. At that point, he decided to end his hunger strike.

Kevin Keith is still waiting for Governor DeWine to act on his request for executive clemency. As you may recall, the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled against him back in November. It is unclear what additional legal avenues he has available to him.

to support kevin keith, you can sign his petition, send him money so that he can buy food to help as he recovers from his hunger strike, and watch his brother charles keith's 6 minute video on his experiences fighting the death penalty.

#death penalty #death penalty action #black lives matter #prison abolition #end the death penalty #petitions #dp #kevin keith #hunger strike #removed most text stylings because they tend to really bother my eyes as i've talked about but this is a lot of text #and that one sentence felt very important so i bolded it but if anyone needs plain version of it let me know i #very much understand.

[junggunz]

WANT U ft. samuel seo | 🔞

summary: you finally call it quits for real after realizing your relationship with samuel was too turbulent to handle in the long run. but even after breaking up, it seems like you don't want to completely remove him from your life.

cw: samuel x fem bodied!reader | SMUT | cautious dubcon warning because reader and sammy have both been drinking | tiny crumb of plot | established relationship | toxic relationship dynamics | angsty | poor coping mechanisms | public sex (in an alley lmfao) | p in v | creampie | all characters featured are 18+

wc: 3.2k

an: killing two birds with one stone. part two of my silly little song fic series. i forgot when it was requested tbh but i had an anon who wanted a scenario that included reader being pressed against a wall aka 壁ドン lol i hope you don't mind i picked samuel over gun- anywho here's the playlist that goes with this series.

"Been waiting for so long to finally be strong but here you are."

It had been several months since the two of you split yet Samuel was sending you texts every so often to see what you were up to; almost as if he was checking to see if the heart he broke was still shattered on the floor where he left it. 

The peak low point of your breakup was when he would drunk text and call you every weekend, insisting that he regrets his actions. Unsure if he meant it or if he was just talking out of his ass, you still gave him the time of day because you were just as fucked in the head as Samuel; you honestly liked the idea of him missing you and begging you for clemency even though you knew you wouldn’t take him back. 

All of the vehement screaming matches. Fits of jealousy from both of you. Playing the blame game. Giving each other the cold shoulder rather than apologizing. And the worst part of it all was that the two of you could never see eye to eye long enough to be able to work through these trivial things. Every single petty argument just had to turn into an exchange of obscenities and questioning the other’s intelligence. Though the relationship was highly volatile, there was a mutual understanding that you both cared about one another and held some deep rooted insecurities; but that excuse wouldn’t cut it if you two were to be together for the long run. 

As much as you wanted things to work out, you couldn’t beg Samuel to change. You were too busy trying to sort out your own emotional baggage; the last thing you wanted to do was try to get someone else to realize the error in their ways if they wouldn’t even listen to you or always remained taciturn during conversations and made you feel like you were talking to yourself. 

Desultory attempts at dating around later on and trying to take your mind off of Samuel prove to be futile as you find yourself feeling more hollow than usual. Perhaps you weren’t as healed as you thought; craving the emotional intensity Samuel pursued you with from the start couldn’t have possibly been healthy. 

Even with all the stupid fights you got into, he never failed to make you feel wanted. And on top of that, the make up sex was good enough to make you forget why you argued in the first place.  

“Isn’t that your ex?” Your friend whispers to you while your little clique was out at a tiny little pub, enjoying some soju and various drinking foods. 

“The joke was funny the first couple times, but it’s getting old now.” You say dismissively with a small laugh— but you find your bleary eyes darting around anyway— to verify whether or not she was taking advantage of the fact you were drunk and trying to mess with your head.

But lo and behold, you spot him at a table by himself. It was inevitable that you would run into him at least once given how small the city seemed sometimes. What’s more surprising is how he doesn’t have any company to share the gold colored tin kettle presumably filled with makgeolli and the few bottles of soju in front of him. 

You recognize the sullen expression he wears on his face as the look of contemplation. Conflicting emotions start to argue for a spot in your mind. One part of you was pleased to see him looking so miserable; the other feeling the urge to comfort him since enough time had passed for you to forget you said you hated him. 

Though you know very well that if you approached him now, there was a fifty-fifty chance of you getting into an argument with him; you can’t help yourself when you abandon the table you sat at with your friends to fill the empty seat across from Samuel. You had consumed enough alcohol to be able to dismiss this as a drunken mistake; but you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Sammy, you shouldn’t be drinking like this by yourself.” You call to him, your tone coming out more affectionate than you intended. But, oh well—you could blame it on the alcohol if he called you out for it. 

Lifting his eyes to look at you sitting before him, his face doesn’t light up the same way it used to whenever you would speak to him. Right after your breakup, he always appeared just fine when he showed up to your doorstep drunk out of his mind. It seemed that now, the realization that things were actually over had kicked in and drained all life from his face.  

“It’s not your place to be concerned about what I’m up to.” He tells you somberly, averting his gaze to the half empty bowl of makgeolli in front of him and reaching for the kettle to refill it. 

“You used to be really adamant about trying to talk to me. I’m giving you the chance now and you’re gonna be cold to me?” You ask, feigning offense and pouting slightly. 

“It’s loud as hell in here. If you wanna talk, we can talk somewhere else.” Samuel replies, swiftly standing up from the metal chair then making his way over to your side of the table to grab you by the arm; lifting you up from your seat and dragging you off to who knows where. Stumbling haphazardly behind him, you find yourself outside in the dimly lit alley between the pub and the business next to it. 

“Why are you talking to me now? Could you sense that things were going to shit for me or something?” The sharpness in Samuel’s voice alone was enough to make you flinch. 

When paired with him glaring at you as he backs you up against the  wall, caging you in his arms, it has your body instinctively shrinking from how intimidating his demeanor is. But you’re not actually scared of him. Not in the least bit. His tall height and all that ink covered muscle means nothing to you when you know how frail his ego is. If you really wanted to, you could devastate him with just a couple words. 

“Oh, so you can bug me for months on end when I’m trying to get over you but I can’t return the favor?” You scoff with a slight roll of your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just happened to see you tonight and wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

“Weren’t you the one who said you hated me and wished I got launched off into space?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “You’re so—”

“I know what I said and I meant it in that moment. Now, things are a little different because I’ve calmed down.” You cut him off, knowing very well that it was one of his pet peeves. 

Jaw clenching in frustration from how easily you get under his skin, Samuel bangs his fist against the wall behind you to relieve some of the agitation boiling up within him. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears from how agitated he was getting. If you had been someone else, you would have gotten a full ashtray to the face or a swift kick in the gut. However, as the soft spot he had for you hadn’t completely faded away, he can’t bring himself to tell you off for the minor infraction. Even with him knowing that you interrupted him on purpose. 

“What are you trying to accomplish right now? Pissing me off? Making up with me? What do you want?” Samuel fires off, voice rough and impatient as he stares at you; his eyes trailing from your face down the familiar silhouette of your body. 

“If you look at me like that, you’re gonna make me think about other things.” You tell him, a stupefied giggle falling past your lips while you gaze up suggestively at him. 

Samuel’s eyes shoot right back up to look at your face, the ditzy smile on your face telling him all that he needs to know about where your head is. Hands slipping from the walls, they land on your shoulders to press you firmly against the structure behind you.

“Yeah? Have you been thinking about how no one is gonna be able to fuck you like I can?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Because I think that’s the only reason why you would speak to me again.” 

The truth is harsh and it sounds even more brutal when Samuel says it out loud. Knowing you too well, there’s no reason for you to lie to him unless you want to get into a verbal altercation with him and sour your currently elated mood. 

“Please? Just for old time’s sake.” You plead him cutely, batting your lashes at him while your fingers skitter along the hem of his pants. “I haven’t slept with anyone since we broke up.” You confess, knowing that the admission would at least tempt him into giving in.

Mulling over your words for a bit, Samuel’s eyes bore into yours. He’s uncertain. He doesn’t know if he would be able to feel satisfied with just one more night with you. He’s always been easily enticed by you; with the addition of alcohol gently fogging his judgment, that feeling is magnified at least a hundred times. Self restraint is usually something Samuel doesn’t struggle with. But the memory of how wet and warm your body felt around him has his control wavering. 

All it takes to get to him is you making the first move, closing the distance between your faces until he meets you halfway; pressing his lips against yours. Hands crawling up the sides of your neck, Samuel cups your face roughly; the pads of his fingers digging into your cheek. Behind each kiss there’s a shared sense of hunger and perhaps even longing. Soft lips slotted between yours, every suckle and nip makes your body buzz in desire. Remnants of alcohol linger on Samuel’s tongue as the tip slips past your open mouth while you’re moaning wantonly. So drunk on the taste of him, all your inhibitions leave you; not even bothering to double check if your current location was secluded enough for you to be carelessly reaching under your skirt to slip off your panties. It's a muscle memory thing for you when you sneakily tuck the flimsy fabric into Samuel’s pocket. 

His hands trail down your figure slowly as if trying to get familiar with every dip and curve—but Samuel knew himself well enough to know that you made yourself a permanent home in his memories. As his palm smoothes over the slope of your ass, the absence of a pantyline beneath the thin material of your skirt causes him to pull away from you. Looking at you curiously, he’s met by a cheeky grin as your smaller hand guides him under your clothes to feel the pent up sexual frustration that’s spilling out of you now. With how obscenely wet you are, Samuel feels barely any resistance when he dips two of his fingers into your heat. Feeling just how riled up you’ve gotten just from kissing devours the last morsel of patience Samuel has before he’s hastily undoing his pants and lowering them just enough to pull his cock out, eliminating the remaining space between your bodies and swiping the tip along your folds.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” He taunts, tapping the head of his cock against your swollen clit. “You wanted me so bad that you’re letting me fuck you in this dingey alley.” He laughs mockingly, eliciting a small mewl from you as you buck your hips up against his.  

“Don’t tease…” You murmur softly, sneaking a glance at him out of fear you would fall for him all over again. Bracing yourself for what was to come, you loop your arms around his neck, gazing between your bodies as you’re entranced by the sight of your arousal thoroughly coating him.

Muttering something under his breath that goes unheard by you due to the sound of your heart thudding against your chest, Samuel’s hands latch on to your thighs; wrapping them around his hips before he pushes forward into you. Chest tightening, he grits his teeth as the tip of his cock dips past your tight entrance; the unforgettable warmth consuming him and filling him with the sense of being home. The sudden intrusion has you gasping in surprise, but the pain laced pleasure is so intoxicating, you find yourself trying to take more of his length inside of your needy little hole. Even as tears well up in your eyes, clinging to your eyelashes, it doesn’t stop the shaky plead to be fucked from tumbling past your lips. 

No build up. No more condescending comments. Samuel wastes no time thrusting into you animalistically, his full balls slapping against your ass. At this point, the only thing he has in mind is releasing months of frustration on to you as he continues to fuck you with the intention of making you regret breaking up with him. Head falling back with a slew of vulgarities, your wet walls clamp around his size; your cunt refusing to relinquish its vice grip on him. It only fuels him to go harder, grunting as he ruts into you so harshly that you have to cling on to him and lock your ankles around his lower back out of fear of losing connection. 

Some semblance of coherence slips back into your system when you feel the bumpy texture of the wall starting to make your back ache and you try to keep your noises to a minimum. But nevermind the discomfort of the rough surface of the wall beneath you rubbing up against you. It hurts more to know that Samuel wouldn’t be going home with you after this. All you can do for now is bask in the moment; feeling every inch of him filling you up and hitting every good spot just the way you like it.   

“What am I gonna do with you? Why don’t you get that you’re made for me?” Samuel growls into your ear, hips continuing to buck into you aggressively with sharp, precise thrusts into your gummy walls that make your cunt gush more arousal. “So…fucking perfect for me.” He rasps out in a shaky voice, the blunt tips of his nails dig into the meat of your thigh as he continues to slam into you.

It’s not right, but the possessive talk has you squeezing around him. Your guts twisting in excitement as his thick length works your sopping pussy, thrusting into you at spine-breaking pace. Whimpering from how hard he was squeezing your thigh, you could feel his fingertips leaving their marks on your skin. 

“P—please, don’t stop.” You croak, letting your head fall forward onto Samuel’s shoulder; making the mistake of burying your face into his shirt and getting yourself drunk on the smell of him. Once you realize what you’ve done, you pull away again with a small sniffle. It wasn’t abnormal for tears of pleasure to stream down your face whenever you had sex with Samuel, but in this context, there was a high chance that the tears were provoked by some other emotion. 

“Oh, baby. You should know I don’t plan on stopping until I make this tight little pussy cum all over me.” He tells you, his breath tickling the side of your face before he presses a gentle kiss on your temple that contrasts starkly against the manner his hips move. 

It’s so unbearably hot between your bodies, even under the cool night air. It only contributes to how lightheaded you feel as you feel your climaxing building. Samuel’s eyes happen to glance down below to your point of connection and he sees the white ring of cream you’ve oh so adoringly left around the base of his cock. A wave of satisfaction washes over him upon seeing the mess you’ve made. And he’s even more pleased when he feels your walls pulsing around him, signifying you’re about extremely close to orgasming.

“Look at me.” He commands you sternly, movements unfaltering. When you don’t heed to his demand, he delivers extra rough snaps of his hips into you. “Look. At. Me.” He repeats, each syllable punctuated by the ruthless thrusts. 

Reluctantly meeting his eyes, his expression is softer than the last time you looked at him. Behind all the carnal lust, it’s impossible to miss the affection lingering in his irises and so many different emotions overcome you at once. It feels like there’s a disconnect between your mind and body—your head is scrambling to find out what’s going on while your body is tensing up, euphoria slowly taking over as bright colors decorate the edges of your vision. 

“Ohhh—fuck!” You yelp, feeling an orgasm strong enough to render you brainless ripping through your body. Trembling in his arms and gazing at him like he was your God, the telltale signs of your climax had always made the veins in his cock throb like crazy. 

“See? If you weren’t made for me, how come just looking at me is enough to make you cum?” Samuel murmurs against your mouth, kissing you softly and relishing in the salacious moans you emit between licks across the seam of your lips.

Now able to chase after his high, he searches for it in the deepest part of your pulsating walls. Despite your sensitive pussy trying to hold him in place, he thrusts into you almost violently; his thick size spreading you open and imprinting its shape into the slick walls. As Samuel fucks you through your orgasm, rearranging your insides as he pleases, your mind is long gone and ventured off into space. You may have been brought to orgasm from looking at him, but the sight of you in your post orgasm haze was what brings Samuel to his finish. A guttural groan rumbles in his throat as his thrusts become sloppy and vicious before hot white ropes of his seed paint your insides. Holding himself deep within you, he fills the deepest part of you and your body milks out every last drop eagerly. 

Taking a few silent moments to even out your breathing, the two of you eventually part; your legs unwinding themselves from Samuel’s body before you hastily pull down your skirt and he fixes his pants. The tension between the both of you is so thick, you think you should at least say ‘goodbye’ or something to cut through it but the words get caught in your throat. Seeing that Samuel had already moved to lean on the very wall you were just fucking against and was lighting up a cigarette let you know that he had nothing to say either. 

With how many times you told him you never wanted to speak to him, this should have satiated you; but when you make your way back to the bar to rejoin your friends, the itch to unblock Samuel’s number on your phone starts to nag at you.

#lookism x reader #lookism smut #samuel seo x reader #samuel seo smut #samuel seo scenarios #junggunz.txt

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Congrats on 100 followers!!!! and since ur taking requests to celebrate, maybe something with a sub!viktor x afab!reader? u usually write him more dom coded so i'd love to see your take on that!!

bless you for requesting this. i had the nicest little writing session working on it. i should write more sub!viktor for sure. cw: viktor is finally getting punished for being a fucking tease. unbeliavable. word count: 600~

He sharply exhales into the curve of your neck, eyes two sad watercolor spots devouring you from under their half-lidded cover. The angle is rather inconvenient for one small pleasure you still didn’t rid him of — for the past few days Viktor has been surviving purely on staring, and by now he’d become absolutely miserable — you turned the man into a shamefully perverted suitor, stealing glances at your cleavage whenever it appeared in his visual field. He’s rarely that touchy at work — which means that a once-sweet gentleman is now at the peak of his desperation; arms wrapped around your waist, lips a warm tender pout against your shoulder, kisses hot enough to be palpable through the fabric of your blouse. Has you gasping, hands gripping the edge of his desk for support. 

“Are you feeling merciful today, by any chance?” he quietly inquires into your ear, eager to deliver a sloppy stroke on that one spot with his nimble tongue. Poor thing hasn’t been taken care of in days — cock a painful swell in his unbearably tight pants. He tries not to act too invasive, but it presses into your hip nonetheless — heavy, hot, and asking for your touch.

“That depends,” you huff out a laugh, effortlessly escaping the cage of his embrace. He swallows a groan of frustration, fingers squeeze the cane so hard he might as well just bend its sturdy handle. 

“Why must you persecute me with those vague answers?” he sighs, bright head pleadingly tilted to the side. It’s a refreshing turnover — once a tease and a smartmouth now pitifully obedient. Oh just what a few cruel sexless days do to charming brats. 

“Plainly because you haven’t earned a clear one yet,” you’re all but laughing into his face, but he doesn’t protest your mockery — oh the things he’d sacrifice to sprawl you out on his desk, tongue an agile little swirl inside your cunt — use me, fuck me, let me please you. But he prefers to address this in his own way. 

He responds by setting his cane aside, limping leg a trembling unstable thing without its support. You arch a confused eyebrow, but he doesn’t let you stay puzzled for much longer, blessing you with a pleasure of watching him sink down to his knees — a little clumsy and rather uncoordinated, yet still beautiful, and you gawk at the devotion of copper eyes looking into yours with promising yielding. 

“Viktor, what are you doing?” you hiss, evidently worried about the not exactly private setting of his workshop. But it doesn’t bother him in the slightest — the possibility of getting caught with his face buried under your skirt is certainly not something he’s fearful of. Cold hand directs the back of your palm closer to his lips, and he lingers there — mouth hovered about your knuckles before a kiss.

“I’ve grown so desperate for you,” he whispers — oh the mouthy bastard — and a chaste peck caresses your hand, forcing your breath to hitch. 

“I understand, but-“

“I’m begging you to reconsider the punishment,” he utters, meaning every word — and you’d gladly ride his face until he’s a breathless mess for the pure way he’s staring up, seeking your pity. “The lines I’d cross for your touch — if only you would have me. Please.”

He doesn’t dare to snake his other hand up your legs — he’s waiting for permission, and it might just be the death of you — your sweet, sweet man, who is definitely going to deservedly cum tonight. 

But that's your entertainment for later. 

Your fingers caress the line of his chin, and he leans into your little clemency with a thankful whimper. 

“And you promise not to get us caught?”

“Consider this whim fulfilled. As well as whatever other whims you might have in store for me.” 

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor smut #no beta we die like men #i need to be spayed #the lines i'd cross for this man though #viktor x reader smut #send me requests

[jesseleelazyblog]

Unethical Executions in April

Micheal Smith is being executed in Alabama despite having an intellectual disability that would disqualify him from the death penalty in any other state. The only reason he is still being executed is because of a few confusing technicalities in Oklahoma law.

Petitions Here:

Letter Writing Campaigns for oklahoma residents here:

Missouri is slated to execute Brian Dorsey despite his claims of ineffective counsel and the fact that he is picture of remorse and rehabilitation: he turned himself over to the police and pled guilty, has had a flawless prison record, currently resides in the honor ward while working as a prison barber (a highly coveted job only given to trust worthy inmates), and has about 60 prison staff members advocating for the commutation of his sentence.

Petitions Here:

Letter Writing Campaigns and other actions for Missouri Residents here:

https://www.archstl.org/missouri-bishops-others-request-clemency-for-brian-dorsey-first-inmate-to-be-executed-this-year-9478

#missouri #oklahoma #oklahoma politics #missouri politics #death penalty #end the death penalty #signal boost #anarchism #anarchy #current events #criminal justice #criminal justice reform #progressive politics #progressivism #leftist #leftism #leftist politics #progressive #wrongful execution #execution tw #Execution #Oklahoma execution #Missouri execution #Micheal Smith #Brian Dorsey #Save Micheal Smith #Save Brian Dorsey #true crime #Executions #Stop executions

[zablife]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if you’d like to write something with this one, I’m not too late and your gif requests are still open🫶🏻

Hi Reb, tysm for the ask! I haven't written Michael much recently so this was a treat! I went for dark!Michael bc he's so perfect for that characterization. I hope you enjoy it!

I Told Them

"How? How the fuck did they know?" Michael asked, running his hands through his neatly combed hair.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you stroked along the silk backing of his waistcoat. "Michael, I....there's something I need to tell you," you said in a trembling voice.

He turned capturing your small hands in his as his brow furrowed in confusion. "What is it?," he asked. Noticing how unsteady you looked on your feet, as though you might faint, he motioned toward a chair.

You searched the kitchen nervously, taking a seat across from your husband before clearing your throat. Michael paced to the other side of the room nervously as you collected your courage to speak.

Then finally you looked up at him, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes. "It was me," you said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I told them."

Michael stopped with a jerk and turned to face you, allowing your confession to wash over him slowly. "You fucking what?" he spat suddenly as he pressed his palms into the table, leaning forward to challenge you. You could see the rage building within him as his breath quickened.

"I told them," you repeated. With no servants bustling about, the sound of your words echoed off the tiled walls, amplifying your timid voice.

Michael's jaw clenched and his upper lip snarled with such animalistic aggression you thought he might lunge across the table at any moment. You clutched your arms tightly to your chest fearful of what he might do next.

"Was this your plan all along? Have me arrested so you could take my money?" Michael asked, walking around the long table toward you slowly.

You gulped as you shook your head. "No, of course not! I love you, Michael. I was only trying to help," you explained. The closer he drew to you, the more afraid you became.

Michael had changed in his brief time with the blinders. He was not the same boy you'd known in the village and he certainly wasn't the husband who vowed to love and cherish you. He was capable of anything, you knew that the night he came home covered in Father Hughes' blood.

Michael towered over you, a dangerous gleam in his eye as he raised you from the creaking chair by your elbow.

"They already knew about your family's involvement. It wouldn't have been long before they connected it to you. I thought if they knew the truth about the priest's past, you'd be granted clemency. Anyone who knew would surely show mercy because that man did terrible things and he deserved what he got," you rambled, hoping he would see you'd tried to be a loyal wife. No matter what he'd done, you were on his side.

His hand flew to your throat as he hissed, "If you believe one word of the shit you just said, you're dumber than I thought. They'll hang me for this!" He shook you with brutal force and you felt as though you might lose consciousness.

As he held you up against the cold iron sink for support, he inhaled a ragged breath. "Only one thing you said is true, Hughes deserved to die for what he did to me," Michael said, a distant look in his eye as the painful memories resurfaced.

The moment was not to last as his grip soon tightened painfully. Your vision went spotty from lack of oxygen and Michael leaned in to whisper, "And so do you."

#zablife ask box #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Michael Gray #Michael Gray fanfic #Michael Gray imagine #Michael Gray x you #Michael Gray x y/n #Michael Gray x reader #rebelwriter ❤️‍🔥

[1899gifs]

"Stop your little act. It's pretentious."

#1899 netflix #1899edit #clemence #mathilde ollivier #1x01 #requests

[darklydeliciousdesires]

London Will Burn - Chapter Four.

Thanks to my little audience for your continued readership :) I get such joy from reading your comments, my darlings!

Previous chapters - One Two Three

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,745

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.

There were dirty girls, and then there were dirty girls. Those who revealed themselves to be anything but vanilla, those who thrived on filth, who in this instance enjoyed riding a tongue while the bearer of it worked a well-lubed glass dildo in and out of her arsehole and sucking hard upon her clit.  

He’d already made her come twice, but there was no way Sean was allowing her to dismount yet, her cunt streaming against his mouth, soaking him as he ate her with fervour.  

“I think you have another for me, don’t you, you dirty girl,” he groaned, gently nipping at her folds, rutting the bobbled glass phallus a little deeper. She couldn’t even form words, just gritted gurgles as her heart pounded like a war drum. “Yes, you do. Come on, little vixen. Come hard all over my tongue.” 

The heat of each lick drove an absolute nirvana through her, Rin trembling as she choked on the cries that flooded her throat, his free hand spanking her repeatedly as he made another release surge through her. He gentled thereafter, though granted her no clemency in stopping.  

He at least waited until her trembles had subsided slightly before licking her with the same gusto as before, loving the feel of her dew bathing his tongue as once again it became incessant. He had her lit up like a grid, her nerves gleaming as the warm wells of pleasure pooled and tipped, the heat roaring once again and leaving her a panting, shaking wreck.  

“I want you so fucking badly right now,” she purred, climbing back, taking the dildo from him and pulling it out to cast onto the floor.  

“And how do you want me, exactly?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at her.  

“I want you to hold me down and fuck my arse bareback, then come in me and watch it drip out all over my pussy.”  

She chuckled immediately at the look on his face, his mouth dropping open slightly as he screwed his eyes tightly shut, mouthing ‘you absolute devil’ as her giggles escalated. “Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack, Catherine, telling me something like that? Twenty-five years old is much too young to suffer a myocardial infarction.” 

“But will you do it?” 

His pupils were so blown, barely any blue remained as he moved, grasping her throat and pulling her close. “Of course, I bloody will.” Five minutes later, and with the assistance of a lot of lube from the bottle which had come from the box of sexual goodies beneath her bed, and he was steadily filling and emptying her, his hand clutched tight at the back of her neck, holding her down as she’d requested. 

A forest fire roared through him as he watched his cock slide back and forth, the sight of her fingers stroking over her folds, dipping into her cunt and reaching to stroke slippery swirls over his balls as he rutted her arsehole deeply perhaps the greatest sexual sight he could remember viewing in a long time. The filthy hedonism of it made him feel mindless, his groans steeped in grit and gravel, the tight clutch upon her rounded bum leaving red crescents behind, as well as a spanked handprint. 

As for Rin, she was swimming in the heaven of it, finally finding a man as dirty as her to indulge with. She’d found that the reveal of her toy box had daunted some men of her sexual past, but when Sean saw it, all he’d done was smile and call her a filthy deviant. He’d also added that he was especially partial to filthy deviants, too, him being one himself.  

“No, no, little vixen,” he told her balefully, gripping her neck tighter when she tried to move. “You will stay right where you are, and fucking take everything I have to give. Understand?”  

Oh, the glimmers that shot through her, to hear the aroused rumble of his cadence, his authority over her, the feel of his cock sinking back into her fully. “Mmm, yes I do. I want you to give it harder, though. I need it. Please.” 

Who was he to argue with that? The noise she made as he began to pound into her hard had all the hairs on his arms standing on end, knowing he was doomed to last for any good length of time, the constriction around him too hot and tight. He at least managed to hold back right to the point her orgasm raged through her, spilling into her deep, withdrawing to do just as she’s suggested and watch his load begin to trickle out.  

Their sweaty, bliss-buzzed bodies came to rest for a while in the tangle of messy bed linen, Rin eventually crawling out and staggering to her ensuite, turning on the shower and stepping in once the water had warmed. It was mere moments before two arms wrapped around her, a set of sumptuous lips kissing the side of her neck.  

She turned, reaching to stroke his cheeks, her smile curling her pretty lips. “You’re not going home tonight, are you?” 

He shook his head, his mouth meeting hers. That was exactly the answer she was hoping for.  

Once showered and dried, they returned to the bedroom, Rin pulling open her bedside table drawer and fetching herself a cigarette, wandering out onto the stone balcony and lighting up. The spring night was cool without being cold, Sean joining her, stealing the cigarette to take a couple of puffs.  

“Didn’t know you smoked.” 

Handing it back, he looked out across the rolling lawns. “Only on certain occasions. Trust me, after that, I bloody need it.”  

She hummed softly. “Same here. A cigarette after a good fuck or a good fight and that’s it. It’s a filthy habit in truth, then again so is getting anally railed by a hot redhead.”  

“Probably a little less addictive, though.” 

Nudging him, she took another long drag. “Don’t sell yourself short, Wallace. Trust me, whenever you want me, if I’m available then all you have to do is say the word. I don’t let sex as good as that out of my clutches easily.”  

His stomach pinched a little, looking away into the ink of the night, silence abounding. “That second part of your statement I said we’d return to earlier, prior to my teasing you over questionable boyfriend choices. Does your mother know about Maximus?” 

Another question she truly hadn’t been expecting. Maximus “Max” Diaz had been the onetime ringleader of a Spaniard gang outfit there in London, one who had dealings with her father on an export basis. Translation? They ran his guns to their network back home, which then headed for Africa and into the hands of the various terrorist fractions who depended on them.  

Those dealings turned sour over accusations of deceit and swindling, as was often the way in gang culture. In this instance, the smaller fish had attempted to take on the shark, and duly discovered – with much savagery - just how sharp the shark’s teeth were. 

Max’s retaliation against Kevin for this? Kidnapping his daughter. Kevin’s retaliation once he and an armed team of associates – including Finn and Sean – had located her? Handing a gun to Rin and allowing her to put a bullet in his head, before said armed team then eradicated the Spanish in their entirety. 

Sean remembered how she’d done it so coolly, anyone could have been mistaken for thinking her a lot more hardened than she was at such a tender age. Fifteen. It truly was no age for a child to have blood upon their hands, but it was the way of their world. They both knew and lived it. He’d only been a year younger himself when his father had demanded he take a life, his elder brother seeing Sean didn’t have it in him and stepping up to do the job instead. 

Rin’s eyes narrowed a fraction as she remembered it, her thoughts transporting her back into the memory of that night. “Of course, she does. It’s who we are, but equally who I think she sometimes tries to kid herself that we aren’t. She likes being Lady Mulford and all that comes with it, but she is what she chose, and she chose to be a gangster’s wife.” Pausing, she took a long drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke before it plumed from her nostrils. “We didn’t get to choose though, did we?” 

“We did not,” he spoke, his tone flat as he took the cigarette from her and drew upon it fiercely.  

She jerked her head back in the direction of the bedroom. “You know you can just go and help yourself to one, don’t you?” 

He shrugged, handing it back. “Then there’d be no fun in taking yours, would there?” She nudged him, Sean laughing quietly as he exhaled the smoke through his nose. “You came through it all alright, didn’t you? While we were there in the warehouse, I did want to check, but your father got you out of there before I could. Plus, it didn’t feel right since I didn’t really know you. I still don’t, I suppose.”  

“There’s nothing stopping you getting to know me now.”  

Yes, there was. Right there on the balcony was the first time Sean experienced it, an inner voice telling him to go back inside, locate the recording on his phone from that afternoon and delete it. She didn’t deserve it, to be used to cruelly. However, he didn’t deserve her tight fisted, greedy cunt of a father to welch on a deal so important to him, just because he thought he could get away with it.  

It was his first solo deal for the Wallace Corporation, both above and below board dealings tied into one agreement. The fact that Kevin Cavanagh knew that and had decided to screw him purely because he thought he could wasn’t lost on him. He would not lose face or standing by running to his father for assistance either, just as Kevin expected.  

What he’d intended all along, and what he had to follow through on, was to remind the reluctant shit of a man exactly who he was dealing with, and what would befall him if he didn’t comply. There was truly no room for lamentation, and no going back. 

His jaw tightened a fraction, nostrils flaring as the annoyance rose up in his stomach like a wave of fire. How fucking dare Kevin make his demands for more. The cut he would be receiving long term from his investment in the new apartment blocks being built would more than make the initial outlay worth it, as well as the kickback he would be receiving in order to allow the vast cargos of heroin port in his docks.  

Kevin always did enjoy the upper hand, though. 

Sean could not allow him to have it in this instance, however. In any instance for that matter. Weakness was not an option, especially this late in the game, the funds needing to be secured by midnight that Sunday, lest the bid be handed over to the next corporation vying for the project. He couldn’t afford to lose.  

“You’ve gone very quiet.” 

Her words roused him, his face softening, turning to kiss her shoulder and smack her on the bum. “I think I’m still partially delirious. Partial isn’t good enough. I requite full delirium or nothing at all.” Rin found herself promptly tossed over his shoulder, managing to flick her cigarette over the balcony before she was taken back inside and promptly thrown upon her bed.  

“I think it’s about time I used something quite interesting I noticed in your little Pandora’s box of iniquity.” Reaching from the side of the bed where he kneeled straddling her thighs, he picked up the leather cuffs attached by a short length of chain, reaching forward to buckle the first upon her wrist.  

He then looped it behind the bedpost, attaching the other, hands running in slow glide down her arms as he leaned to kiss her. His hands slid to clutch at her waist, pinning her, eyes glinting a wicked glitter as his mouth broadened with satisfaction. “At my mercy completely, little vixen. I shall enjoy this.”  

The press of his lips against her sternum and the wet, dragged circle of his tongue to follow evoked an instant flurry of goose pimples to rise over her skin, Rin softly exhaling as her body arched like a bow. 

“Not taking anything else from the box?” she inquired, Sean shaking his head, skimming a lick over the pebbled peak of her nipple.  

“I don’t need to for what I have in mind, darling. Trust me, I’m enough.” She didn’t doubt that for a moment, but as his mouth moved over her body, she knew proving it without a shadow of a doubt was where his intention lay.  

He did not disappoint. 

He mapped the art of his pleasure over her body, mouth and hands devoted to lavishing every dip and curve, each rise and fall, until she quivered beneath him. It was like liquid sunshine, poured warm over her bones, his mouth not missing a single inch of flesh with the dedication of kisses, soft bites and licks. 

Well, there was one place he very deliberately missed.  

She felt herself aching with the need to be touched, her sex dewy and longing for the attention his mouth gave to her everywhere but between her apex, kisses rained over her legs, her feet, her toes sucked, her hips caressed with licks as he watched her writhe.  

“How does it feel, to be so riddled by anticipation you can barely stop quivering?”  

She moaned, feeling him blow upon her nipple before sucking it once more. “Halfway between heaven and hell.”  

He chuckled, moving to her neck. “Exactly as I planned.”  

He didn’t want to give her what she craved too quickly, but the truth was he wanted it just as much. Pleasuring a woman with his mouth was an act he truly thrived upon. Nothing much got his cock harder than feeling his tongue becoming wetter with a woman’s silken arousal. Working his mouth and hands all over her again, until her trembles intensified and her moans escalated, he finally settled between her legs.  

Skimming a few teasing licks over her slit, kissing her bare pubic mound a few times, he let her truly simmer on it before finally, granting what she had been waiting for. The flat drag of his tongue between her folds had soft cries pouring from her mouth like wine, each lick then focusing directly upon her clit. He bathed it in soft heat, flicking up and down slowly, lightly, the heat of his breath teasing whenever he paused, watching her through lust blown eyes. 

His tongue continued to rove through her hot, viscid flesh, circling, harder pressure replaced with soft, thumbing her clit hood to make her little bundle stand out against the rapid circles he placed upon it. The sound of her cries and the noise of chain scraping against the wood of her bedpost sent hot daggers directly to his cock, loving the feel of her swelling against each lick.  

He then surprised her by moving to unfasten her cuffs, answering the questioning look she gave after kissing her with hunger. “I want to feel your hands on me while I eat you alive.”  

Good enough reason as any, she thought.  

His mouth returned, lips wrapping her clit in the pillowy warmth of a suck, groaning against the sweet, petal soft of her, his hands touring her thighs as he felt hers graze over his scalp and down his arms. Her hips bucked against the suck he was yet to release, increasing the pressure, having her crying out when he added his tongue to flick firmly at the same time.  

He had cascades of pure ebullience skittering through her as she tensed, Rin panting hard as she felt her clit tingle and throb, coming hard with a feral cry against his mouth, dying for the spear of his thick cock to further sate her. As if guessing her thoughts, he emerged to trail kisses up her body, her legs remaining draped over his shoulders as he reached her mouth and sank his cock into her wet warmth.  

“Erm, pardon me, sir,” she began, grasping his hips and pushing him back, laughing when he growled in annoyance and rooted himself deeper. “You appear to be forgetting a little bit of latex.” 

“I know,” he sighed, looking pained. “Do I really have to wear one? Fucking can’t stand the damned things.” 

“Well, I suppose you don’t have to,” she mused, loving the feeling of his bare cock inside her. “The seventy-two-hour pill exists for a reason, so I can just go and get that. As long as you don’t have anything that’ll give me fanny rot.” 

He snorted with laughter. “Fanny rot? Is that the technical term?”  

“Don’t take the piss,” she warned, pointing a finger, one that he bit with a little growl. For someone so stoic in demeanour, it made her tummy flip pleasantly when she experienced the rarity of a playful Sean. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

“I do, and no. I’m clean as a whistle.”  

“Mmm,” she purred, exchanging kisses of sugary sin. “Good. You can utterly flood me with cum, then.”  

He raised an eyebrow, gently biting her cupid’s bow. “That’s a given, darling.”  

Every time he called her darling, even though she knew it to be his standard greeting for women, she experienced a little flutter in her chest. There he was, the perfect man of her dreams, and he couldn’t get enough of her. Maybe their dalliance mightn't be as casual as she’d first expected, and she certainly did not want to give that up.  

Feeling goddess worshipped by a man like him was addictive; the way he fucked her, how he looked at her while he fucked her, the longing, the heat, how he moaned so deeply just before he came. Sean Wallace would be a tough act to follow if he didn’t become her lover, that was for certain.  

Oh, if only the poor girl knew... 

Little shocks skittered through her as he set about filling and emptying her wet heat slowly, stirring a moan that rocked through his entire chest when she reached to pinch his nipples. That action resulted in the infliction of his cock thrust sharply within her, arrowing deep. He then resumed the slow drag, all in, almost all out, her insides fizzing with bliss as each stroke made the ecstasy radiate.   

He teased her a little by pulling all the way out, pausing, sliding back in again, then out once more, stimulating her slit with the tip of his erection before entering her and repeating it all again. 

“Yes, you like that, don’t you?”  

“Mmm.” That was the only sound she was capable of making, pulling him to her mouth, kissing him wantonly. It was all sugared embers and slow, rolling pleasure as they panted against one another’s mouths, Sean sitting back up again, moving his thumb to stroke over her clit.  

He paused, pulling her legs up to rest over his shoulders, a fluttered rumble of the word fuck leaving his throat as he slipped deeper into her, grinning while his tongue licked a circle at her ankle. “You’re literally pouring wet, little vixen. God, it feels incredible.” He groaned, taking her foot and kissing it, sucking her toes, overcome by how she felt stretched around him.  

Fixing a lustful gaze into the hypnotic blue of his stare, she ran her hand down to where they were fused, letting her fingers slip either side of his cock, her arousal throbbing strongly at feeling him thrusting so savagely. He had her mewling softly, leaning to suck her nipples in turn, his hips beginning to piston a little faster as the need to chase the lightning cracking beneath his skin became uncontained.  

Her moans escalated as his mouth founds hers, kissing one another with furious need. “Fuck, you’re so bloody hot.” He winked in reply as she pushed her fingers into his mouth, watching him suck her wetness from them, biting gently, his groans vibrating against her hands as she ran them over his neck and chest. “Fuck me harder. Please, please give me that fucking perfect cock so hard, I scream.” 

He relented to her command, cock speeding up its pace, Rin crying out, the thick heat of him absolutely incredible as he fucked her into the bed. It was almost inconceivable, how good he felt.  She was utterly assailed by him, his chest heaving as that lightning beneath his skin began to gain heat and streak, thumb still rubbing on her clit as he stroked an explosion of sparks, pleasure sizzling through her.   

The slick grip encasing him began to flutter madly, the sweet, heady rush capsizing them both, Rin lost in the huge wave that was the undoing driven into he as her nails gripped his shoulders, tearing down over his back. He collapsed to her, grunting at the pain of it, the pleasure throbbing through him, his spasming cock flooding her as he shuddered through his release. He rested his head to her chest, lungs heaving with effort, Rin moving her hands to stroke his face.  

“Have I knackered you out?” 

He turned his head, kissing her palm. “Not fucking yet, you haven’t.” 

It was gone 3am before they fell asleep that night, Rin resting her hand to his chest as she drifted off. A moment passed, feeling his fingers curl around hers, moving it onto the pillow beside her head before he turned away from her.  

“Hmmm, really just sex, then.” she thought, sighing softly and turning onto her front. If that was all it would be, she was fine with it. The confliction she felt as she turned to get comfortable was prompted by fact that at several points since his arrival, it hadn’t felt like that. Far from it. Or was she just looking into it too much? “Fucks sake. Just enjoy his dick and don’t stress.”  

If she was ever going to take her own advice, that moment would have been a good time to start.  

#sean wallace fanfiction #gangs of london fanfiction #sean wallace smut #sean wallace fanfic #sean wallace x ofc #sean wallace fic #gangs of london fanfic #gangs of london fic

[megumi-fm]

a list of english words and their meanings because the gre verbal section is kicking my ass

abject: to the maximum degree; (alternatively) completely without pride or dignity

absolve: wash away guilt, obligation, or punishment.

adroit: clever or skillful

apocryphal: of doubtful authenticity, although widely circulated as being true

apposition: the positioning of things side by side or close together

beholden: owing; being indebted or obligated (to someone)

belie: disguise; contradict; failing to give a true notion of something

bloviate: to talk pompously and at length

bucolic: relating to the pleasant aspects of the countryside and country life

circumscribe: to restrict within limits

clemency: mercy

cursory: hasty and therefore not thorough or detailed

derision: scornful ridicule or mockery

desiccate: to remove the moisture from (something)

didactic: intended primarily to teach rather than to entertain

dispensation: exemption from a rule or usual requirement

docile: compliant; obedient; submissive

egregious: outstandingly bad or shocking

emulate: match or surpass (a person or achievement), typically by imitation

entail: require; call for

entreaty: an earnest or humble request

ethos: the characteristic spirit of a culture, era, or community

foil: a person/thing that contrasts with (and as a result emphasizes) the qualities of another

garrulous: excessively talkative, especially on trivial matters

glib: fluent but insincere and shallow

gregarious: sociable; fond of company

hackneyed: overused and unoriginal

idyllic: extremely happy, peaceful or picturesque

imperil: endanger; put at risk of being harmed, injured, or destroyed.

implicate: show (someone) to be guilty or involved in a crime

incorrigible: (a person or habit) cannot be changed or reformed

inept: unskilled, incompetent

intrepid: fearless; adventurous (usually used in a humourous connotation)

irreconcilable: (of two ideas or statements) conflicting; contradictory to each other

jargon: special words or expressions used by a profession or group that are difficult for others to understand

libertine: someone (usually a man) who freely indulges in sensual pleasures without regard to moral principles

librettist: a person who writes the text of an opera or other long vocal works

logorrhea: excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness

loquacious: talkative

onerous: (of a task or responsibility) involving a great deal of effort, trouble, or difficulty; burdensome

ostentatious: characterized by pretentious or showy display; designed to impress

palpable: tangible; (an emotion or atmosphere) intense enough to be felt

pat: simplistic; superficial and unconvincing

patina: gloss or sheen (on the surface of a metal) due to age or polishing; impression or appearance of something

perfunctory: usually an action, carried out without real interest, feeling or effort

perusal: the action of reading or examining something; scrutiny

pervasive: something unwelcome spreading widely throughout an area or a group of people

philistine: hostile or indifferent to culture and the arts.

polemic: expressing or constituting a strongly critical attack on or controversial opinion about someone or something

poring: to be absorbed in reading or studying (something)

pragmatic: practical; realistic

profligate: extravagant or wasteful in the use of resources

pugnacity: readiness to quarrel or fight

ramification: complex or unwelcome consequence

reactionary: conservative; opposing political or social progress or reform

repudiation: refuse to accept; reject

reticent: reserved; introverted; withdrawn

reverence: deep respect for someone or something (used in religious connotation)

roiling: (for a liquid) to make turbid or to move in a turbulent manner

scant: barely sufficient or adequate

scrupulous: careful, thorough, and extremely attentive to details

skein: length of thread or yard, loosely coiled or knotted; strand; an element that forms part of a complex or complicated whole

skewer: fasten together or pierce with a pin or skewer; subject to sharp criticism or critical analysis

sporadic: scattered or isolated

spurious: bogus; something that is not what it claims to be

staid: solemn; grave; serious minded; quiet

subsume: absorb something into something else

sullen: bad-tempered and sulky

temerity: excessive confidence or boldness

tentative: not certain or fixed; unconfirmed; provisional

tout: attempt to sell or show the merit of something

trite: lacking originality or freshness

truculence: eager or quick to argue or fight

understate: describe or represent (something) as being smaller or less good or important than it really is

vignette: a short description or account of something that expresses its typical characteristics very clearly

#vocabulary #english #language tag #langblr #english vocabulary #vocab list #english vocab #engblr #gre.txt

[faejilly]

hello!! absolutely adore your writing <3 no worries at all it not, but may i request an alternate pre-series meeting in canon / canon-adjacent where valentine is actually dead? always very curious about how malec’s relationship might change if they met and started dating Not in the middle of a really intense war lmao, so i thought maybe their first meeting would be a good starting point? but don’t sweat it if this doesn’t strike the fic muse <33

asdfjklgh thank you! so this MORE THAN struck the fic muse, but I got distracted by a tangent as to how it all Got Very Different™️and have not actually introduced Malec to each other as of yet but if you'd like some Magnus going what the fuck? at the Clave actually being competent this will hopefully be entertaining. AND ISTG I will get to Malec meeting! Eventually?

A familiar flare lit up his apothecary, and Magnus reached out to catch the fire message. The flames sparked brighter, and he blinked away the after-images as something heavier than he'd expected solidified between his fingers.

A single sheet of paper, cleverly folded up to resemble an envelope and keep the message inside; there was the unfortunately familiar black curl of a rune along the edges.

Magnus grimaced.

It was probably some horrifying form letter designed to intimidate him into something that was not remotely his problem, but he was going to have to clean up regardless. Shadowhunters didn't request things, they ordered, and brow-beat, and the only reason they got away with it was because they treated everyone equally terribly, including themselves, and to be quite fair to their militaristic grand-standing, the world was continuing to not be overrun by demons, so it seemed to be working for them.

Even Valentine hadn’t made much of a dent in their self-righteous arrogance. The Lightwoods hadn’t lost possession of the Institute they’d killed to get, buying clemency with their children, from what he’d heard, which was even worse than typical nephilim parenting. Despicable, ev–

He blinked. That wasn't the New York Institute's watermark, it was the Inquisitor's.

He tilted it to let the light from the windows spill across it, but that was very clearly the silhouette of a Demon Tower behind two crossed blades, not the broken stone the Clave had required the New York Institute to use after the Uprising to signify its failure to uphold their so-called sacred duties.

He huffed out a breath in not quite a sigh, and felt a frown starting to form between his brows. It was easier to deal with Inquisitor Herondale and her people than the Lightwoods. (She at least hated Valentine as much as the downworld.) But that didn't mean a formal letter was likely to be a good thing. Whatever had happened in the aftermath of Valentine's attempted coup had been kept very quiet behind Alicante's borders, and everything the downworld got to see had returned to business-as-usual.

He rolled his eyes, because nephilim, but ignoring one of their summons made them even more petty and obnoxious, so he turned it over to unfold.

And stopped again upon seeing how it was addressed.

High Warlock of Brooklyn Senior Scholar of the Spiral Labyrinth Ambassador of the Accords The Right Hon. Magnus Bane

They'd used a fountain pen and written in proper uncial calligraphy and if he hadn't known that the magic for fire messages didn't work on animal skin, he might have thought they'd used actual parchment rather than what must instead be a very high quality paper stock.

"Huh." He peered down at the letters, trying to think if he'd ever seen a nephilim address a notice to a downworlder in the same formal terms they used amongst themselves. And then almost dropped the whole damn thing when he realized that the initials scribbled across the fold in lieu of the wax seal that would have prevented the fire message from activating properly were IWH. And in the exact same calligraphy as the address.

"What the fuck." He spoke aloud, louder than he'd expected or intended, almost loud enough to startle himself even as he flung the whole thing out and away.

He watched as it fell to the floor, and he stared at it.

It still just looked like paper.

It had to just be paper, the rune to send it wouldn't have worked otherwise, but High Inquisitor Imogen Whitelaw Herondale had written on that with her own hand and sent it to Magnus as if he was an equal and what in all seven hells was that about?

He stepped sideways, unable to convince himself to look away from those initials even as his fingers scrabbled across his desk in search of normal paper and pen to send a message of his own.

Ragnor, could you please indulge me with your thoughts for a moment?

He'd half expected he wouldn't get an answer, not even another fire message or a call on the phone in the other room; Ragnor had been even more of a hermit than usual since the Uprising. (Not that Magnus could fault him for that. If he wasn't a High Warlock he probably would have disappeared into the countryside somewhere as well.) But instead he felt the familiar press of Ragnor's magic against his wards as a portal opened almost immediately in the foyer.

"Apothecary!" Magnus called out, still staring at the paper on his floor.

He heard footsteps, felt Ragnor's magic approach, could even see the shadow stretching towards him when Ragnor paused in the doorway. "Ah, you got it too?"

That finally made Magnus blink, the hold of the strange message broken. He turned his head and lifted his eyebrows.

Ragnor shook his head. "I think you need to experience it for yourself."

Magnus snorted, but stepped forward, picked up the paper, and this time he unfolded it and began to read.

And then read it again.

And again, even as Ragnor came to stand beside him.

"What the fuck," he repeated.

Ragnor grunted, apparently not having any more idea than he did.

"Do you think it's real?" Magnus asked, and he could hear the almost plaintive whisper of something he couldn't pretend wasn't hope in his own voice.

"Only one way to find out." Ragnor's voice was dry, but gentle. There was hope hiding in his voice, too. "Shall we?"

*

It seemed real the next evening.

They arrived in front of the New York Institute to find Theo and Gretel from the closest Werewolf pack already there. A pair of fae nobles Magnus didn't recognize, both in full Court regalia, one Seelie and the other Unseelie, arrived a few minutes later, just after the last lingering blush of daylight faded, escorting Raphael and Lily who were here for their Clan.

Magnus almost asked if any of them knew what the fuck was really going on, but did in fact retain his composure and instead just lifted his chin to wait. (He had to admit, even if just to himself, that he was glad Camille was off somewhere being Camille rather than here in New York to represent the vampires and make this whole situation even more uncomfortable.)

They didn't wait long.

The double doors to the Cathedral swung wide open, rather than the main entrance that led to the central hub of the Institute and the Heads' Office. The High Inquisitor herself stepped out, and fucking bowed to them, and Magnus made a small noise of disbelief that he would deny to his dying day if anyone ever asked. (He didn't think anyone would, however, as he had not been the only one. In fact he was pretty sure the only one who hadn't betrayed their surprise was Ragnor, though the fae had managed no more than a slight shift in posture or positioning.)

"We have set up precautions so all may enter." Herondale paused, and tilted her chin towards Ragnor and Magnus. "I understand if you wish to verify before anyone tests my word?"

Magnus stared at her. She'd just admitted that they had no reason to believe her. She'd admitted it out loud and didn't even sound upset about it.

Ragnor bumped his elbow, and Magnus tucked it all back behind his High Warlock mask. He nodded back as formally as he could manage before lifting his arms and letting his magical senses expand.

There was something inside that was still warded enough to prevent him from being able to tell what it was, but its power was passive rather than active, so it wouldn't be able to be turned against them without warning.

There was also an echo of banked power that felt suspiciously like Silent Brother -and- Iron Sister -and- Soul Sword which was a thing the letter had mentioned but he hadn't been sure he'd believed; (especially that it was only there for Herondale to swear on rather than to be used against the rest of them, somehow). Beyond either of those, it was also very clear the resonance from the Angelic Core had been banked, somehow, the blessing to make the ground hallowed had been covered and muted, and it was entirely safe for any downworlder to enter, regardless of age or power level or wards.

He couldn't quite resist a glance at Ragnor, whose expression indicated he was right there with Magnus and his inexplicable conclusion. Ragnor managed to imply a shrug with the shift of his eyes, and Magnus turned to their fellow downworlders. "She's correct, the building is completely safe for us to enter."

He refrained from suggesting that the nephilim in the building were trustworthy, as they'd all already decided to take that risk when they'd shown up in response to Herondale's summons.

He supposed the fae might not have decided so much as been ordered, but regardless. They were already here. And it was time to see if the rest of it was true.

The rows of pews were nearly full of nephilim in mourning white, more than Magnus suspected usually served in New York, all of them eerily silent, heads politely bowed just enough to lessen the weight of their attention on the entering downworlders.

Behind the chancel, in the raised choir stands, there were additionally about a half-a-dozen black-clad guards, an Iron Sister in gleaming white, a Silent Brother in his bone-dull robe, and the Soul Sword itself, the ruby glinting in its hilt.

To the left of the altar were half-a-dozen nephilim children roughly equivalent to elementary school aged Mundanes, only one of whom had the steady glow to Magnus' senses of a runed Shadowhunter rather than the flickering eldritch taste of angelic potential that the young ones carried before they received their first Mark.

Except for one small red-head just under ten who was familiarly blank, and he realized that the Inquisitor must have found the Fairchilds because that was young Clarissa, still under the power of the wards her mother had paid him to build for her.

He hoped Dorothea was safe, wherever she was. He hadn't felt her magic break, so at least he was reasonably sure she was still alive.

He swallowed, let his gaze skip over the draped stand centered on the aisle in front of him, and focused instead on the dozen adults opposite the children, each with a visibly red Circle on their neck, their shoulders all stiff in the distinctive posture of prisoners whose hands were chained behind their backs. Some of them he didn't know at all, a few were only vaguely familiar, but then there was Jocelyn herself, and Starkweather, and both Lightwoods, and someone who looked eerily similar to the Consul himself.

There was one man beside the rest with his hands cuffed in front of him instead of behind, his Circle rune dark and quiescent rather than inflamed, a Chinese Shadowhunter standing next to him, close enough the white of her sleeves brushed against his arm, with neither a Circle rune nor any restraints on her at all.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice." Herondale spoke up after giving them all a moment to look around, and without another word she turned her back to eight potentially hostile downworlders and knelt before the Sword.

The Silent Brother lifted his hands, the pressure of his attention clear even when he didn't say anything. The Iron Sister lifted the sword, balancing it gracefully in such a way that it tilted gently down from her grip until the tip almost rested on Herondale's forehead. The ruby glowed, and the flare of angelic power was strong enough to sizzle against Magnus' skin. Carried along with the magic was the Silent Brother's intent, and the Inquisitor's voice filled the Cathedral, both inside and outside his head, resonating in his bones and his blood.

"The traitor Valentine Morgenstern has been killed, and the only surviving nephilim members of his Circle are here to face their final sentencing, as witnessed by the Downworld Leaders of New York City, in this the soul of the New York Institute, a place most wounded by his actions. This truth I swear, upon the Angel Raziel and His Mortal and Immortal Instruments, as High Inquisitor of Alicante and Idris, Commander of the Gard, Elder of the Clave and Council, Head of the Herondale Family, Blooded Shadowhunter and Mother of Soldiers, Lady Imogen Whitelaw Herondale."

Magnus swallowed, ignoring the burn in his eyes and the faint taste of copper down his throat.

The Soul Sword compelled the truth from the nephilim, but all it required when they swore upon it was that they believed in whatever truth they spoke.

This ritual was something else entirely. The balance of the magic he'd just witnessed, a trio of complementary powers braided together, Brother and Sister and relic, knowledge and skill and power, secrets and vows and faith, with each separate piece enhancing the other two, meant that Herondale couldn't have sworn on something that was untrue at any level, even if she'd personally believed it all the way down to her bones.

"Well, fuck me."

Magnus snorted, barely stopping himself from giggling (possibly slightly hysterically) at Ragnor's sotto voce reaction. Not that he'd been thinking anything any more eloquent.

It was real.

*

The rest of the meeting was less dramatic. Even whipping the cover off the stand in the middle to reveal Valentine’s head encased in silver-edged glass had been less shocking. (Well, to the warlocks and fae, at least. Vampires and werewolves weren’t quite as able to feel the way the ritual had invoked truth magic against the nephilim, so being able to examine (and presumably scent) proof that Valentine was dead was a bigger deal for them.)

The former Circle members were all going to be deruned, exiled, and imprisoned, each alone at a different Institute so they couldn’t work together and their status could be verified by downworlders whenever they wished, unlike traditional prisoners kept in Alicante at the Gard.

There were two exceptions. One: Lucian Graymark, now Luke Garroway, was a werewolf, and the nephilim abdicated their authority and explicitly left his punishment up to the downworld itself. Second: the man who’d been standing slightly separate from the other prisoners, Patrick Penhallow, who had avoided participating in any of the Circle’s true atrocities and was the one who had discovered Valentine was alive and hiding with the presumed dead Herondale heir and promptly informed Imogen personally. He was still to be exiled from the Clave and Council for punishment, but would be allowed to continue as a Shadowhunter and would, in fact, be staying in New York City where he would be an official liaison to the downworld.

But only if the downworld representatives summoned agreed.

Magnus wasn’t complete sure which part of that was supposed to be mercy and which part was punishment, but he was surprised enough at the validation offered to himself and the other representatives that he did, in fact, agree to it along with everyone else.

That wasn’t even the last surprise though.

No, it got better.

Worse?

Magnus wasn’t sure anymore. He was going to tell Catarina about this and she wasn’t going to believe a single damn word he said.

Instead of re-opening their Academy in Alicante, the nephilim were going to train their children at the Institutes, and would include exposure to and lessons from former mundanes and current downworlders. The children there in the chapel for this meeting were the orphans of the Circle, whose parents were all formally being removed from their bloodlines, and this new generation would be raised in New York City.

Imogen Herondale herself was going to be acting as Head of the New York Institute with Jia Penhallow (Patrick’s wife, who had not ever been part of the Circle) as her Co-Head until such time as as the downworld agreed that the next generation of nephilim seemed sufficiently un-Circle-like and one of them could be appointed.

(That wasn’t, of course, how she’d said it, but it was clear enough.)

Magnus was mostly in shock and just nodding along at that point.

When she’d confirmed that the downworld was reasonably accepting of all of that, and had even told them how to contact Patrick directly with any questions or concerns, she slipped into something that looked like parade rest, and without a bit of warning that Magnus could recognize, the entire chapel-full of nephilim all stood at the same time, chanted “ante faciem Angelus” all together, and then they bowed, too. All of them, each with a hand over their heart, respect and responsibility and something that felt like an apology ringing through the air. From nephilim. To downworlders.

“Fiat justicia!” Herondale called out in response, and the nephilim filed back into their institute, and the black-clad guards very politely escorted the downworlders the other direction and shut the big fancy doors behind them, and Magnus was blinking at Ragnor in the street outside the Institute again.

“What the actual fuck.” Gretel broke the silence first.

Magnus started laughing, and nodded in agreement. That absolutely covered it.

The Clave had said they’d dealt with the Circle, and requested the downworld’s input, and claimed that things were going to be different this time, and it was all really, truly, completely, real.

#tangential tuesday #hopeswept #jilly writes #shadowhunters #magnus bane #fantasy politics and lore oh my! #I need a series tag but idk #wtf the clave is competent #lol #no beta we die like valentine #I should probably proofread this before I post it on ao3 but #not on ao3 #as of yet #so this is a problem for tomorrow!jilly #jilly answers

[aquagirl1978]

Hi! Can I please request Luka + kisses #13? I don’t mind whether it’s fluffy or spicy! Thank you! ^^

Thank you @tsun-bun for this request - sorry for the delay in this. Hope you (and all the Rev fans out there) enjoy this!

Lips Like Sugar - Luka Clemence x Reader (Ikemen Revolution)

A/N; Day 9 of my 12 Days of Christmas event. Also part of my New Year, New Celebration follower celebration.

Pairing: Luka Clemence x Reader

Prompt: kissing bruises and scars

Word Count: 584

Tags: fluff with a bit of spice

You stopped and stared, leaning your back against the archway leading into the kitchen, otherwise known as Luka’s domain. Luka, your beloved boyfriend, was standing by the counter, his back facing yours. Your gaze lingered on him as he worked – with his shirtsleeves rolled up, the muscles in his bare forearms flexing as he mixed the batter by hand. 

When a few moments passed and he didn’t notice you were in the room, you decided to surprise him. Walking on tiptoe, you approached him stealthily until your chest was mere inches from his back. A surprise no longer, you wrapped your arms around Luka’s narrow waist, suppressing laughter as he nearly dropped his whisk. 

“Whatcha cookin’?'' you asked, whispering in Luka’s ear as you rested your chin on his shoulder. He tilted his face to meet yours, his amber gaze glowing as he met yours. 

“Your favorite – raspberry jam thumbprint cookies. You can help me after I’m done mixing this batter.”

Humming in agreement, you gathered Luka’s long, dark locks in one hand, sweeping his hair to one side over his shoulder, exposing the nape of his neck. You brushed a single kiss upon his warm skin causing Luka to shiver.

Enjoying his reaction, you laced your fingers with his and brought his hand to your lips. Gently, you kissed the back of his hand, pressing your lips against the faded scars littered across his fair skin. 

You tilted your joined hands, exposing the inside of Luka’s wrist and placed a gentle kiss on his delicate skin, where old scars ran hidden parallel to his veins. Luka let out a soft sigh as you peppered him with small, delicate kisses

“We should, um…get the cookies ready for the oven.” Luka averted his gaze as he spoke, a pale pink blush coloring his cheeks.

Luka brought the cookie dough to the table where he had the rest of the items needed assembled. You worked together like a well-oiled machine, with Luka rolling the dough and pressing his thumb into each cookie and you spooning jam into the thumbprint. Before you knew it, the cookies were in the hot oven. 

“What do we do now?” you asked, wanting to help in any way needed.

“Now we just wait." Luka approached you, a seductive smirk adorning his face. “We have a few minutes before the cookies will be done.” He cupped your cheeks in his hands, his amber eyes gazing into yours adoringly, and brought his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was sweet; you could taste the raspberry jam he must have been sampling while you were sliding the tray of cookies into the oven. Your lips melted into his, like fresh cotton candy on your tongue. 

Your lips were still parted when his lips left yours; your breath hitched when he fastened his mouth to your neck and nibbled gently. A delicious tingle crawled up your spine when he pulled at the collar of your shirt, exposing the soft slope of your shoulder. 

He rained a shower of kisses down the curve of your neck, your heartbeat quickening as he ran his tongue along your collarbone. Twining your fingers through his hair, you pulled him close to your chest, not wanting this moment to end. 

And then the timer went off.

“Sorry,” Luka muttered as he pulled away, a sad pout already forming on your lips. He leaned in, whispering while kissing you.

“Go to my bedroom. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Tagging: @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @alixennial @redheadkittys @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @kisara-16 @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @crypticbibliophile @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @lunaaka

#12 days of christmas #new year new celebration #ikemen series #ikemen revoution #ikerev #luka clemence #ikerev luka #ikemen luka #ikerev fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

[bllk-after-dark]

intrinsically bound to you.

pairing. chigiri hyoma x gn!reader

content warnings. MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, nsfw, no pronouns or genitalia mentioned for reader, shibari, sub!chigiri, dom!reader, dacryphilia, petnames (use of ‘my love’, ‘baby’, ‘good boy’ and ‘pretty boy’ for chigiri), praise, handjobs, edging, biting (singular instance), mild degradation, teasing, messy orgasm, aftercare routines, overstim mention

word count. 1.5k

White is such a pretty colour on Hyoma. 

The dress shirt he wore for your first date was a clean, crisp white, the perfect neat polarity to the black trousers and shoes he paired them with. You had spent half the evening staring at the way that the fabric hugged his chest, and how wonderfully such a simple plain hue accented the pink shades of his hair and irises. 

When you moved in together, you became used to the white headband he tucks his hair out of the way with when he performs his nightly skincare routine. It was one you’d bought him previously, novelty dog ears built in that flopped down over the upper hem, and he wore the thing religiously, until the devastating moment that overuse had caused it to fray too far and it had to be relegated to the trash. 

You have found yourself in years since treating him to white accessories wherever you can, in the form of scarves, jackets, gloves, anything you can find that you think will suit him. And, whether subconsciously or not, that same hue finds its way into his everyday wardrobe more frequently than it used to. 

But white looks especially good on Hyoma when it is wrapped across his chest in the form of thick ropes, knotted into a diamond harness that perfectly accentuates just how large his pectorals have gotten lately from his training. His nipples are pert and pink, sensitive against the cool breeze from the fan you’ve set up to maintain the room’s pleasant clemency. Each full breath flexes the ropes, tight but comfortable as they stretch around his chest and rub against the skin.

You’ve strung a heart ladder design up just his left thigh, avoiding the right leg entirely as per his request, and the entrancing way that it presses and shifts against his taut muscles as he kneels for you is more than worth the few hours it took to learn how to tie it. 

Lips full and pouting, Hyoma whines as you admire him, each sweep of your adoring gaze sending chills through his spine and directly to his leaking cock. With his hands behind his back, and that rope very gently secured to the headboard, there is nothing he can do to relieve himself. So instead, he settles for grinding idly into the air, each motion bobbing his length up and down hypnotically, an attempt to bait you into touching him at last. 

“You’re so desperate for me tonight, my love,” you hum in amusement. “Do you want me that badly?”

He nods with vigour, loose strands of cherry hair falling out of the braided bun you’d put it in for him and framing his flushed cheeks. You shuffle closer, kneeling in turn so that you’re both at similar heights, and reach out to swipe them behind his ear again. Hyoma leans into the touch, wide-eyed and hungry for any physical contact he can get. 

“Use your words, baby,” you say, “need you verbal for me for a little longer. Now, do you want me?”

“I do,” he cries, tears brimming up and hanging in fat droplets along his lower lashes. “Want you so bad.”

“Okay, because you’ve been such a good boy for me.”

The tip of his cock is already leaking as you dip down to brush your thumb across the slit and he sobs at the contact, collapsing against you as much as the ropes will allow him. Aimless wet kisses are pressed to your clavicle as you start to move, a torturously slow pace that sends his mind reeling. 

Everything about your handjobs has always been addictive, from the way that you skilfully vary your pressure to the dutiful attention you pay to the head and sack, seeking out every spot that brings him to the edge like it’s nothing to you. But there is something more to it now, tied up like this. Each instinctual movement that Hyoma makes back against you causes the ropes to rub against his skin, a delicious binding friction that encompasses his body and lights each and every nerve aflame. 

A hitch in his breath gives away that he is close to his first orgasm of the night, and Hyoma watches you with anguish as your pace slows, as your hand pulls away and slides up his stomach. You hook your thumb under the stretch of rope that runs along the underside of his left pectoral and test that it hasn’t tightened itself under all of his needy squirming. 

“What?” Smiling innocently, you cup his cheek with your palm and press a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. “You didn’t think I would let you come that easily, did you? You have such extraordinary stamina, and yet you were about to come so quickly.”

“Don’t tease me,” he pouts, lower lip full and glistening, slick with saliva and red from how hard he had been biting it to keep himself composed.

“Mm, I need more convincing than that, pretty boy.” 

As his high fades, his attitude slips back into place, and Hyoma huffs at you. You’re sure he’d cross his arms too, if he could, just for extra effect. 

Gently, you grab onto the front of the rope harness and tug him towards you, drawing him in close. Against his lips, you declare the terms of his potential release. “Kiss me like you mean it, and I’ll consider letting you come for me.”

Hyoma is all too eager to press against you, tongue lathing desirously against your own. 

One of his strengths had always been his kisses. Deep, impassioned, encompassing, like each and every one is designed to swallow you whole. And whilst he’d do a better job if he could touch you too, if he could cradle the back of your head to provide some extra leverage to kiss you harder, he’s doing well enough as it is. 

At least, if the way that you groan against him when he runs his teeth across your lip is anything to go by, unified with the slow release of the swollen flesh as it catches against his incisor. 

In the meantime, you have returned to his cock, pumping in time with each kiss. He thrusts into your hand in turn shamelessly, trying to chase after the orgasm you had denied from him and take it himself. 

“Was that good enough for you?” he simpers when you pull away, bolstered confidence from your reactions driving him to act more boldly. 

“Of course it was,” you praise sweetly, littering more kisses across his cheeks and up to his temples. “But you were greedy, weren’t you baby? You really couldn’t wait until we were done for me to let you come again, hm? Had to take it all for yourself.”

“I needed you,” Hyoma protests, dipping in to steal a kiss from you. “Need to come so bad.” 

When you do finally let him come for you- though not after edging him a few more times just to put him in his place- he makes such a beautiful mess that you could consider it artistry. And he gets to remind you once more just how good white looks on him. 

“What a pretty mess you’ve made for me,” you croon, stroking Hyoma’s hair tenderly as he comes down from his high. “Let’s get you something to drink, hm?”

You shift and take one of the water bottles you’d left on the bedside, uncapping it and bringing it to his lips. When he is hydrated, you smile kindly, absently running your fingers across the lengths of rope still encasing your lover. 

“Would you like to stop now?” you ask. “We can get cleaned up and cuddle if you want.”

But you’re met with the defiant shaking of Hyoma’s head, and you have to tuck his hair behind his ears for him again when he loosens them from their place. 

“I can keep going,” he insists.

“You want to come more?” you tease, hands roaming through the shapes made by your ropes. “Such an insatiable appetite today.“

“It feels good,” Hyoma confesses, flush returning to his cheeks. “I want to keep going.”

Contemplatively, you hum. It certainly isn’t too late in the evening yet, and your partner looks breathtaking tied up like this for you. 

Surely a few more times won’t hurt. 

“I think,” you begin, sinking down until your mouth is level with his pelvis, sweet smile turning devious as you observe Hyoma with a yearning hunger, “since you’re so enthusiastic for me tonight… I’ll start with making you come so much that you’re begging me to stop.”

ven. this was uh. only supposed to be like 500 words. whoops <3

#blue lock smut #chigiri x reader #chigiri x gn reader #chigiri smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #↝ ven 🌹