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Shameless Love

Synopsis: How they react when inappropriate thoughts of you engulf them, the desire for you in bed not leaving them alone.

Part 2 Part 3

TW: Very suggestive/mature, implications of sex, impure thoughts, mentions of insecurities, mentions of guilt, (Fluffy but spicy)

Part 1 (Separate): Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim

ᥫ᭡. Riddle Rosehearts ᥫ᭡.

The calm evening breeze peeks through his window, his eyes catching how the pages of the book he's reading flutter. Grey eyes study the pages, wearied from revision since who knows how long. It's only when a whine escapes your lips that he looks up, eyes widening in shock as you stretch. The top you wear rides up your ribcage, showing off your figure. Your eyes are closed as you groan from how utterly tired you are. The fatigue leaves your body with a pop as you replicate the stances a cat might when as fatigued as you, wanting to laze around.

All he can think in the moment is how beautiful you are.

It's not as if you notice how Riddle's gaze never once leaves you, his face suddenly as red as the roses Cater had painted. He shouldn't stare, it isn't gentlemanly and not appropriate in any way - no matter how close you are to him. Not even if you're his lover. He has half a mind to scold you, to give you a lecture about how mustn't do so in front of him and much less others. Though, for some reason no words leave his lips and it's only then that he realizes that he's been subtly chewing on them, biting the flesh ever so slightly that it's a pretty pink. He's quite cute at the moment, utterly mesmerized by you - trying to look away, but he can't. He doesn't want to.

He's warm all over when you look back at him, opening your eyes and offering him a lazy smile - body splawed in a manner that only gave leeway to lewd thoughts. He feels so awfully guilty, his rosy cheeks burning a fire inside him. A feeling so rough as though a thorny rose bush was crawling inside him, wrapping around his heart till it burst. A fire traveling down his body to places it shouldn't.

He only looked away in response with a flustered scoff, making it clear that he was embarrassed. However, you weren't sure why. You could only crawl towards him from the other side of the bed, wanting to be closer to your love. He wished for the moment, to maintain his dignity, that you didn't. For the manner in which you came his way could only be called seductive, as if you wanted to ruin him or get ruined yourself.

He scolded himself internally, trying his best to maintain his composure. He felt so horrible for what he was thinking, the way he was thinking about you. It sullied you, and with the way he was raised he felt as though he'd committed a grave sin. His ashy eyes fell onto you once you'd reached him, curling into his side with a playful smile. You were so endearing yet so distracting.

You had no clue what you were doing to him, did you? Not when you leaned over to kiss him. It was tantalizing, playing with the restraint he was trying to withold.

Nevertheless, the book slipped from his hands and his lips met yours. One kiss wouldn't hurt, would it?

ᥫ᭡. Leona Kingscholar ᥫ᭡.

A peaceful slumber is all he wanted really, what else did he ever want? The short answer was: You. If there was one thing he'd rather have other than sleep, it would be you - in more ways than one.

It was a hot afternoon and with how Leona was, he planned on taking a long nap. Of course, with you in his arms, cuddled and huddled up to him. It would be hot and sweaty, though no matter how much you tried he wouldn't let go - at least not till half an hour. That was how it was meant to go. A simple nap and maybe some cuddling.

Unfortunately it didn't go that way. Not when he couldn't get a wink of sleep with how you clung to him, a leg over his - bodies touching as if melting into one. No space in between your bodies as if you were waltzing in bed. You nape was exposed too, as if tempting him to take a bite of a forbidden fruit. Yet your slumber was so peaceful, such an adorable sight.

He felt awful for how hot he felt, his face tinged crimson with fluster. He could only stare, for the first time feeling unsure where to touch. You were asleep and here he was thinking about the position the both of you were in, how vulnerable you were around him. How lucky was he for such a wonderful gift. He was scared to either wake you or something within himself - yeah he felt like such a dick, quite awful. Not very princely of him, huh?

It's only when you opened your eyes, asking what was wrong that he realized how long he'd been staring. Though it was surely your fault, if you'd simply stayed asleep he could ignore it - now though? It was so different.

Your arms clung around his neck, pulling him closer and your legs tightened around his hips. It was innocent enough, to you maybe - it could be a sign to cuddle and kiss. To him? All he could think about was how you'd look after hours and hours of intimacy. How hoarse your voice would be, how you'd shake and tremble at his touch - how you might feel even a morsel of the yearning he felt for you in the most carnal manner possible. How sore you'd be in every part of your body and how long the both of you would go on and on and on.

Don't blame him for finishing what you started, especially when you pulled him into a deep kiss. Needless to say, it would be long before you left his room. Not that you mind.

ᥫ᭡. Azul Ashengrotto ᥫ᭡.

The clean scent of the sea melted into a warm musk filled Azul's office. The desk filled with paperwork and contracts from poor unfortunate souls whom he'd save so graciously.

But who's going to to save him from you?

It's not that you're doing anything, simply sitting on a plush lounge chair, knees huddled with the slightest gap between, and hands holding your phone that you're seemingly engrossed in. Maybe it's because you're doing nothing that his mind is wandering.

Your lips part before you begin to bite them again - He can't look away. In fact, he hasn't finished a single document since you came in. All he's done is try and try only to be distracted by you - the way you clumsily laugh at a meme or the way you sigh, waiting for him to be done for the day. And yet all he thinks about is how you'd taste and how you'd feel.

With the way you sit there, it's as if you want him to be shameless. As if you want him to lose it and act on these impudent thoughts. Suddenly the room feels hot as his suit clings to him. You look up to him, smiling and asking how far he's done with work - he's certainly not and it seems he won't be anytime soon. Not when you're walking up to him and looking down at him with those eyes - what's a poor unfortunate soul like him meant to do when you've stolen his heart?

You lean over his table complaining, joking of course, about how long he's taking. And all he does is look at your plush lips, then your collarbone, and then down to your legs. He feels guilty, he doesn't want to look at you this way - what if you find him disgusting? It's wrong isn't it? Even if you're his lover.

But then he wonder again, is it so wrong to long for you in the manner he is? When you're this beautiful? As ethereal as a pearl, one he wants to cage within his arms.

Is it so wrong to want to kiss you right here and right now? Ignore all the paperwork he has, to melt into a heap of cuddles and your warm embrace? To have you so selfishly?

You didn't even need a contract, all you did was bat those lashes and give him that smile - one that left blood rushing to every part of his body.

So don't blame him after sitting down on his lap, because you both know where that's going to go - especially given the look in his eyes, all clouded in hunger and the need to worship.

ᥫ᭡. Kalim Al-Asim ᥫ᭡.

Loving comes naturally to Kalim with how happy he always seems, ready to include everyone. Though it's so different with you, it's so real. Devoid of performative actions to appeal to you on the surface, instead he truly wants you to like him for him. That true love written in fairy tales, that's what he'd compare to what the both of you share. All rosy cheeks, flustered words, and holding hands during the sunset. Kissing under the moonlight without a care of what comes tomorrow.

It's more than perfect. It's where his home lies, deep in your arms. That's where he is at the moment, simply cuddling with you. His head lies in your lap while his arms wrap around your waist. His face nuzzles into your chest as you lay back into dozens of silken pillows. Your hands find his milky hair, massaging his scalp slowly. It's the most sugary moment ever, like candied apples and cotton candy.

So why is it that Kalim's head is going to a place it certainly shouldn't - when you're doing the most innocent thing like scratching his head. When you're simply talking about your day. When all you're doing is speaking. So why does it feel so tempting, why does he feel so needy?

All he can do is focus on the proximity, the way his face nuzzles into your chest. The way his arms wrap around your waist. The way your floral perfume fills his nose, the one he got you.

It's suddenly so intimate, so sensual. Maybe it's the fact that you're covered things he's gotten for you, that fact makes him feel a certain way he hasn't before - the realization takes root in something other than joy. A feeling that blooms into something sensual and possessive. His body seems to act on his own, holding you closer and tighter. It's a failed attempt to clear his head since the embrace only gives a push to arousing thoughts. The fact that if he moved a little more he could push you down on the plush bed and be on top of you while you're under him-

It's you who brings him back from his thoughts, a giggle leaving your lips as you repeat a joke you'd apparently said which he failed to hear. You thought he was daydreaming.

Surely thinking of making love to you could classify as such, right? Maybe he's not as innocent as everyone thinks.

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Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!

Note 3: Let me know if you want a part 2 with the rest of the Housewardens!

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Shameless Love

Synopsis: How they react when inappropriate thoughts of you engulf them, the desire for you in bed not leaving them alone.

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Very suggestive/mature, implications of sex, impure thoughts, mentions of insecurities, mentions of guilt, religious language (Rollo), metaphors, mentions of blood/violence (in metaphors), lots of yearning (Fluffy but spicy)

Part 3 (Separate): Rollo Flamme, Skully J. Graves, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech

ᥫ᭡. Rollo Flamme ᥫ᭡.

Holy light seems to bathe you whenever his teal eyes spot you, like a chapel itself opening for your entrance. You're a deity, meant to be worshiped and prayed to. You're a sanctuary, one he'll bring offerings if to only earn your gaze for a moment. He years for a simple word from your mouth, the honeyed feeling too addictive to let go off.

You won't believe how his heart wrenched in glee when you kissed him for the first time - even such an inappropriate gesture was like bathing in holy water when it came from you.

He's sure the angels sent you to him for a good deed he must've committed in his last life. Beauty conforms to you and everything that you do. He's sure he sees flowers blooming wherever you step, life bursting and frolicking from your mere presence. Your actions seem to mesmerize him with the elegance you hold, the grace you present yourself with. The feeling of seeing you blossom is such a pure emotion that his heart races at even the smallest actions you do.

You're divine in every form. You may not agree, but he couldn't disagree more. You are seraphic, the utter definition of an idol. He can only kneel at your altar, tense with the illusive thoughts circling his mind. It's like the magic of that beast, Malleus - thorns seem to wrap around his heart in red rage. Thorns of lust.

After all, he is still man. He is bound to sin.

He feels nothing but disgust towards himself for thinking of you in such a manner. The one he sees as a divine being - his god, his deity - is the one he wants to rob off purity. He repents day and night, hoping for that tainted image to leave his mind but he cannot help it - the way in which you contort in pleasure in his mind - it's such a blissful view. The maggots in his brain simply feed off his lust and rebrand that sin. The sin that is you.

It's a lust for your being, your very vassal that holds all your thoughts and consceince. He's merely one of the many devotees you must have. He's been given the graciously chance to be your servant - the one overseeing your heart. You choose to call him your lover, but to accept such a fantasy? Shades of fuchsia embrace his face and specks of heat crawl from inside his skin. The feeling of fluster leaves him shy like a virgin maiden. The thought seems too audacious, how could someone like him ever be your lover?

But then again, comes the ideal that someone else - an inferior degenerate, laying his hands on you - blisters his very core. At those moments he ponders lighting the world on fire, watching it all burn if only to keep you safe from monsters. Someone like you needs protection from those sinful creatures, those mages. Though he wields such evil magic himself, he's the only one qualified to have you. The only one who can keep you and your dear smile safe.

Yet it's that very energy which forces these roles in his mind that represses him. He sees you as untouchable, a superior - the purest in this world. Then you say and accept him into your heart? Despite the demons in his mind? Despite how lowly he is? You're too benevolent. Would you still think the same way if you knew what he wanted to do to you? What he wanted to do with you?

He wants to harmonize his body with yours, the the melody of a choir. The sweaty slapping of skin would be holy if it came from you - anything for your pleasure. But even he knows his thoughts are selfish, he's no better than those degenerates.

Do you not see what you're doing? The way his vassal begins to tremble, warmth creeping from the underworld of his mind. It whispers to him, you know? To bed you, to devour your - to worship you in the most unholy ways. To fulfill your needs and to maybe, if you'd allow him, pleasure himself with the mere image of your body. Just a glimpse is enough, he swears - but deep inside he knows nothing could ever satiate his hunger for you. The devil inside him knows it isn't enough. He wants more, he wants you whole - he wants your lust, to see arousal in your eyes, if only to know that he isn't going mad. That you want him just as much he wants you. That you accept him despite his flaws, that you want to be ruined. He's not like this, he tells himself. This is wrong.

You are meant to be cherished, not ruined.

Ah, but the thought of having you under him exhilarates him. He's breathless just thinking about it. Especially when you lay on your bed. You're teasing him, toying with his heart - watching him try and keep his resolve. He swears he will, he won't lay a hand on you. No matter how you tantalize him. He will prove to you just how disciplined he is.

But when you beckon him closer, how is he supposed to remain calm? How is he meant to keep his hands to himself without touching you when you're so near? You tell him how much you love him, how much you adore him and all he can think of is undressing you. He's a fiend and he deserves to rot and repent in hell for eternity.

He would call you temptation but how could someone so sweet trick him? Surely he's the one in the wrong. Though, even if you are the devil in disguise he has no desire to leave - he's far too deep to leave this haven you've created.

But then you're pulling him much closer and pulling him into the sweetest kiss. All he wants to do is hold this angel underneath him - pin you to the mattress and watch as it creaks from your weight. He wants to ruin a part of you, only for it to make you so much more angelic in his eyes.

He wants to feel seraphic bliss turn unholy as he sins.

Truly, your kindness has no bounds as you let him make love to you. Holding you down as he prays to the altar that is your body. Pleasuring you underneath you, only to fuse into the feeling of sin.

Yes, you're truly a deity. His god, the one he prays to in your chambers. The one he praises for purity, the one he devours till there's nothing left to consume. He'll go as long as you'll allow him, to feel the blessing of your body accumulate and simmer into his own. He is your only sin, and you are his only virtue.

So let him indulge this once, that's what he says every nightfall.

ᥫ᭡. Skully J. Graves ᥫ᭡.

You're an anomaly, really you are. Every action of yours captivates him just as Halloween does. He truly feels as though you're his missing piece - The Sally to his Jack perhaps? It's not unusual for him to be in one's personal space and the same applies to you, even more so. It's like he can't stay away, not from you. Like a moth to flame he will linger, just to burn into you. He will observe with those pumpkin eyes of his, the ends of his mouth curving into an unruly skeletal smile.

You're hauntingly beautiful.

Just as much he loves Halloween, he loves you the same. You're fascinating, can you blame him for wanting you all to himself? He wants you under him, above him - anywhere, as long as you're next to him. And just as his ideals for Halloween are, he wants to feel the adrenaline of love with you. He wants be be alone with you and he refuses to share. You're his and will only ever be his, just he will remain yours for dreadful eternity.

But it's those moments in the night that have him red all over. It's the physical aspect that gets him reeling. Seeing you unwind for the day, doing absolutely nothing. And trust him, he's as gentlemanly one can be. Keen on kissing your hand and bowing to you - but, he can't help but indulge when with you.

His eyes will linger in places they shouldn't, his hands will wander everywhere at once. All he wants is to feel your heartbeat against his skin, won't you let him?

So don't mind when he kisses up your arm, and when you let him he'll be left hot all over. It's this inviting part of you that bewitches him. The times when your lips part to whisper sweet nothings to him, how you love him so. Only, he's imagining how much he wants your lips to kiss his skin while he dissolves into you.

Skully is sophisticated, surely he can't kiss you with no words - so he asks, he pleads for you to let him kiss you. He's not sure why he's so nervous, jittery around you - like a ball of energy that shakes until you release it. He wants - no needs - to hear you say it, how much you want him and only then can he let himself be gone.

Feral could be a way to describe what he is in these moments, the time's where he's pinned you with hands by your sides. The part where his magnificent eyes give you a look that tells you he's crazy for you. The way he stops everything to look at you - into your eyes and then down your whole body.

He's so in love that it's ridiculous.

He's not rude, he swears. But the manner in which he wants your clothes off is impatient, it's needy. He's pouty as he leaves marks all over you and he's untamed in the way he moves. He wants you whole, so much so that he wants to feed on you. He wants to eat your heart, so that you're solely his. He wants proof on your skin, to see evidence of the nights you've shared.

All boundaries must be crossed as he meets your gaze. It's a need to pull you close, to feel you deep in his mind as he ruthlessly ruts into you.

He wants to be so close so he can hear your touch in his mind, feel you inside his heart, and have your taste in his mouth for eternity. Once isn't enough, he must have you at all moments.

ᥫ᭡. Floyd Leech ᥫ᭡.

Fickle. That's what Floyd's interest is. His attention on something lands only for a while as it captivates him. One could come back to check after only a moment and he's already lost the interest. It's like seeing a spoiled child find a new toy only to demand for something better. His moods are no different - he's hot and cold. He'll break someone's bones for looking at him wrong or he might hug someone in delight for that same look. It doesn't matter what you do, he'll do what he wants and when he wants.

However, the thought that he's mental isn't right.

But that's merely the surface level of things. He isn't as senseless as people assume, in fact he knows what he does is wrong. He's not heartless either but he's certainly no saint. And no matter what you may offer, he'll leave it soon enough.

Wrong.

That's what he used to think but you changed his ideal. He hates how corny it is, how someone as silly as his Shrimpy could keep him on a leesh.

A creature as sick as you should be put down.

Every time he'd leave, he'd only return more interested. But interest wasn't the right word either. Sure, it started with mere amusement at your expression maybe some mockery too. It changed soon enough and he'd figured that the heat on his skin wasn't from anger but sappy love.

Yuck. He'd gone all soft.

But there was this part of him that couldn't hide the giddy smile on his lips when you were around. That predatory feeling in his mind only extended into his heart. Rather than hunting you to break your bones, he hunted you to squeeze - to place his face in the crook of your neck and let the scent of your shampoo hit his nose.

This sappy feeling wasn't all bad when someone so cute was involved.

He wasn't gonna fight it, not when he had his Shrimpy all to himself. Not when he could cling to you all he wanted. Not when both your walls had gone down and certainly not when he felt so free. It was nice having someone to hug at night, someone who didn't get him all upset in a short span of time.

Someone he wanted to hear mewl and shriek from how rough he could be.

As touchy as he was, the thought of actually fucking? That didn't hit him until later. Not at all really. But when it did, he couldn't ignore it. Once he'd figured out that the this red hot feeling under his clothes, and this mind fogging urge wasn't the need to bloody his knuckles.

It clicked.

Why he was so jumpy and lax at the same time? The reason he wanted to see someone limp under him - not in the manner in which he treated other fishies where they'd be knocked out and bleedin' by the time he was done.

This was different.

It clicked so stupidly too. Seeing you scrolling on your phone in his room, on his bed. The fact that you were there on a silver platter, all for him. The way your hair fell in front of your eyes and the manner in which you'd occasionally stretch. You wanted him just as bad, didn't ya?

Especially when you had the gall to open your mouth all wide n' big, not even making eye contact. Don't blame him.

Were these thoughts wrong? He wasn't sure. It made him feel nervous, sure. But he didn't think it was wrong. Who wouldn't feel this way looking at you? However, the thought that others had the same picture of you that he had - the one where you were all squeaky under him as he rutted with animalistic passion - ticked him off.

So best make sure no one even dares, right?

It starts with a hug - lanky arms wrapping at your body from behind as he pushes you skintight against him. Not even a needle could pass between the two of you. The embrace is tight and his breathing is heavy. He'll make it so clear what he wants, not an ounce of shame in his voice once you're this close.

You'll be blushing by the time he's don telling you exactly what he wants to do you and what he's gonna make you do to him.

Before you know it, he's nibbling your neck with your hands pinned down. His licking that one spot in your neck, his jagged teeth teasing the area but not biting just yet. He wants to feel you squirm from how good you're feeling.

It's your fault really, actin' all tempting and gasping in surprise. How's he supposed to resist your cute reactions when he's such a bad bad guy?

You knew what you were getting into when you kissed him for the first time.

He'll treat you real nice, tough you up a bit - but it's nothing you'll be complaining about once you're done. Not that you'll be speaking much with how sore your throat is, and how he's still energized to for another round.

His one demand is that you let him mark you up all purple in hickeys, so those little fishes don't go takin' what's his.

ᥫ᭡. Jade Leech ᥫ᭡.

Calm, calculating, and composed. That is the persona that Jade maintains at all times - you'll never catch him off guard in that sense. He won't let anyone do so.

He didn't think he'd take those words back. He wasn't one for things like love, but it caught him off guard. That feeling had him realize how stupid love makes a person, how it creeps inside his mind like a leech.

He wanted to get rid of that feeling and he made it hard for you to love him, at first. That was until he realized just how careful you have to be with the one you care for. When he realized this feeling wasn't sick amusement. He never knew how your pain could become his and that was what truly hammered the realization that he'd fallen. Hard.

Though, it wasn't knowing he loved you that made him distraught. It was the desperation that came with it, the utter feeling of being depraved. It lay in the moments of silence at night, the times where he said nothing and merely observed.

He can't help himself, he needs something raw and beastial.

It was in those moments that he found his cheeks were rosy and his body warm. It was that feeling in his gut, the kind that ate at his guts. It whispered in his mind to consume you when you'd look up at him. The times where you'd simply be doing nothing and everything - the simple little show of skin was enough.

It made him want to do horrible things, just to feel you whine against his chest.

It was hard to be gentlemanly around someone teasing him like this. It was worse that you did so unknowingly while he simmered in his need for you. He hated it.

How could you be so composed when he felt like a dog, like he was in heat.

It was the feeling that gnawed at him to take you, to pin you underneath him and hear the way you'd cry from sweet relief. The little swinging of your legs when you'd sit in a chair or the way you massaged your neck from fatigue, it all made him want to hammer into you.

The sweaty joining of bodies in a symphony of grunts and pants. The sinful feeling of you clawing at his back as he tasted you over and over again. He craved it.

And when he finally had you? It was pure bliss.

The manner in which you fit in his embrace as he kissed you. The way he lost his composure at how you'd look at him. How impatient you made him, it was so amusing. It made him gleeful the way you had him in the palm of your hand.

He'd play as your little needy puppet as long as you acted like his. It was only fair.

He wanted to make you feel just as helpless yet just as ecstatic. he wanted to see you writhe underneath him as he crumbled on top of you. He wanted you to be his freak show and watch you locked up in his arms until he'd had his fill.

By the end of it all, your voice would hoarse from calling his name and body sore with bite marks all over. He'll merely smile before pulling you in once more.

You wouldn't be going anywhere until you felt the brunt of his need.

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!

Note 3: I really hope you guys are still enjoying this, I'm trying my best to make more parts with even more characters!! It would deffo help if you had some char reccs <3

[brownblob]

Shameless Love

Synopsis: How they react when inappropriate thoughts of you engulf them, the desire for you in bed not leaving them alone.

Part 1 Part 3

TW: Very suggestive/mature, implications of sex, impure thoughts, mentions of insecurities, mentions of guilt, (Fluffy but spicy)

Part 2 (Separate): Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

ᥫ᭡. Vil Schoenheit ᥫ᭡.

Simply perfect. That is what Vil is in every way possible, isn't he? Not a blemish in sight with unwavering composure and confidence unmatched. Just a look from him would send someone into a coma for his sheer beauty in all forms is unmatched. In fact, just looking at him seems like an honor. All of that is true. Though there are times when even the fairest of them all crumbles in front of the beauty of his lover.

It's been along day for Vil, as it is most of the times. Managing classes with a celebrity's life isn't easy, especially not as a Housewarden. Not to mention, managing his beauty. The night is really only when he has time to unwind nowadays. His hands massage moisturizer and various other creams onto his spotless skin, hydrating it further. He tuts at himself, noticing an imperfection that no one else - even the most observant - would. His taste for excellence, his addiction for flawlessness takes a toll on him wheather he realizes it or not.

He's working away, slowly but surely - perfection cannot be rushed. It's only when he spots your reflection from the corner of the mirror that the thoughts appear. You're laying on his bed with a giddy smile, looking through a magazine - one of his new works. It's an endearing sight really. The way you're admiring him, it's different from the way others do - it's real. As if you don't have an ideal for him, as if he isn't perfect to you but simply someone who gets better with every taste. As if he's human, and that he doesn't have to be perfect. Even a fool could see how utterly in love you are with him. That does something to a man.

However, it's not only your face his brilliant eyes catch.

His observation moves from your expression to your figure. You're laying on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with your legs up and swinging leisurely. It's like you're teasing him, inviting him to take a bite of a deceivingly sweet fruit. It's as if you secretly know what you're doing.

Although he knows he shouldn't delude himself, after all you're only resting in your innocence. Unknowing of what he's concocting in his mine.

It's when you look up at him, smiling with big wholesome eyes fawning over his photo on the magazine does he approach you. You're really cheeky, praising him sincerely knowing how he begins to feel after. A stunning smile finds it's way to his gorgeous face, manicured hands caressing your hair.

You continue to blabber but all he can do is stare at your lips down to your neck. He's not one to act on impulse, especially such actions. But there are times when even he can't control himself and that only ever seems to happen around you.

He's powdery with the scent of elegance wafting around him, robe left open to invite you to him just as he's inching towards you. His violent eyes are unfocused looking at every part of you at once. It's hard to keep still and only listen to you talk when you're distracting him so. Quite odd when all you do in the moment is nothing - as if he's the one who's unable to resist temptation.

It's peculiar how he, the desire of many, is unable to satiate himself around you.

It irks him when you don't look his way when he's yearning for you, for your touch. To feel you embrace him, to let him consume you as you do the same. How is he to voice his thoughts when feeling like a chaste maiden? As if what he's thinking is wrong - he's not one to feel this way. He voices what he wants and how he wants it. So why can he not do so now?

It's in the way you move your hair showing your shoulder, the way your flimsy shorts seem to ride up as you move to face him properly. And the way you look at him, as if he's your world. What are you doing to him?

He can only lean into you, wanting to be yours for the night and every other night. His hands hold you gently, guiding you as you remain there in awe. His lips find yours, connecting in rhythmic movements. It's his invitation for you to cling to him.

It's one of the few times he lets his ugly side out, the part of him that's ravenous and selfish openly. The desire to bed you only gets stronger with every kiss, the synchronized waltz of your tongues.

It's his turn to make you depraved and beg - for you to feel even a morsel of what he's feeling. To see you arch and lose yourself in pleasure. To watch you bathe in his affection.

Tonight you can be the star of his show, in the comfort of his bedroom lights and vanity mirror.

ᥫ᭡. Idia Shroud ᥫ᭡.

It's not odd for Idia to be holed up in his room, his sanctuary away from normies and whatever they do. It's also not abnormal to find you holed up alongside him - knowing he doesn't feel comfortable leaving, you have no issue coming to him.

It's another day like that, as you lounge around in his room. He's gaming at the moment - fixated on winning the final level. You're simply scrolling and snacking, occasionally watching Idia's score. Meanwhile he's occasionally watching you, subtly just making sure you're there. He's not sure why he checks if you're still there, but it's comforting to see you there as if waiting for him. Wanting his company.

It's when he beats the level that he looks to you one final time, you're already looking at him. He's got that sharp-toothed grin on his face as haughty words spill from his mouth about his puny opponents.

And you're there, just looking at him and letting him ramble on and on. If this were any other time he'd become all shy and want to embrace you. But right now? It's something else.

You're all pretty and perfect, inviting him to sit next to you. It's a normal gesture between the two of you - cuddling and watching some anime together, maybe even playing a game. All you crave for is this innocent intimacy - but something's bubbling inside him, blurring his vision as he starts to notice at parts of you no one else should look at.

Why is it that he's so hot all over? His heart's thumping and all he can think about is why life doesn't have choices unlike video games. After all, how is he meant to react? What does he do?

Is it the fact that you're on his bed or maybe how you're sitting. You're on the edge, knees touching one another - yet he's looking right there, at your legs and then you all over. You're doing absolutely nothing and he just can't help look at you with the worse thoughts in his head. He feels horrible. He's already such an outcast and now he's simply proving why.

But he can't help but keeps his eyes on you, they simply won't leave. Then come the vivid pictures of you and him - and none of them are things he could voice. He should stop, maybe look away from you? That should help since looking at you on flares up his hair and stimulates parts of him. But before he knows it, you're approaching him and all he can think of is how good you'd look down on your-

His hair is tinged pink alongside his ghastly pale skin by the time you're in front of him, wrapping your hands around his neck only for him to jerk and flinch. He's all stuttering and hiding away - he can't blame you for teasing him.

You're gonna kill him someday and today might be that day with how you're taunting him. But even he has a limit. If you're able to voice what he hasn't, then you should be prepared for what you've started. You've allowed him to create a burrow in your heart and you've always stayed in his - so don't stop him now. Not when he's so desperate for you, not when you've lit the match.

You joke around about how flustered he is, and how you've been waiting all day long for him. Yet, you can't see how much he's writing in embarrassment, but then again - if you're provoking him, you must have a plan? The joke hits the target and no matter how lightly it was meant to be taken, it's the fuel that invites him right into your arms. It's a routinely played game at this point. You call and he bites the bait, only fro you the realize the weight of the consequence. How even the outwardly meek can become insistent and bold. How the flustered can make you all red and warm.

It starts with soft kisses peppered from your nape then to your jaw, hair flared bright pink the entire time - his heart's beating out of his chest but it feels so good. And when he finally kisses your lips, waiting for you to respond - that's when the dam breaks.

That small sign of permission was all he needed to guzzle up your very being.

Don't blame him anymore, because you've given him more than enough to act on for what he needs. And right now he so desperately needs you - weather that be you under him to devour or you above him to worship. Needless to say, by the end you'll be covered in more marks to count and both of you too shy to admit what just happened.

ᥫ᭡. Malleus Draconia ᥫ᭡.

Lonesome, that is how Malleus felt with the responsibility of being the future Monarch of Briar Valley. Being a fae, he wasn't accustomed to many social cues either that often left him unsure of what he did so wrong. People would run at the sight of him or flatter him with lies - still, there wasn't a single person who approached him with the desire to understand. He wasn't only powerful, he had interests too - he wasn't invincible as many thought. What was true on the exterior might not be the same on the interior - for all the little fae inside him wanted was a friend.

He was used to solitude and fear of people that it became normalcy. That was before you entered the picture. So utterly unafraid that it was foolish, so stupidly silly. At first he doubted you, only to realize that he couldn't be more wrong. You weren't sure who he was, you even called him a silly name - that bravery of yours cracked open a part of him he'd hidden for so long. The side of him that wanted company had finally recieved what he wanted in the form of his "Child of Man". It wasn't too much time before he'd given you all of him - from friend to lover, it was fate.

It's not easy to understand you, though he wouldn't trade anything else it. He truly finds happiness in deciphering you, what you mean by the things you say. It's not easy, but it brings him joy. Oh, and when you listen to him? He simply melts.

Though it isn't this smooth always, especially when he's not sure if he's hurting you. You're a first for him, and you're meant to be his last. You're his as he is yours. However, the sentiment alone doesn't make it simple - he doesn't want for you to feel scared. Not of him, never of him.

That is a reason for restraint, to keep his carnal yearning a secret - closed off and shut away in his mind. A part he's terrified that you'd fear if he were to let out fully. But there are times that even he cannot control the calling, where his shameless love simply seeps out.

It always creeps out during small interactions. When you're studying in his chambers, all quiet and focused. It's not what you're doing but how it's you doing it. You're simply existing, focused with your pretty eyes set on the book, as your hands scurry to write down notes.

And then you look up at him, offering him a smile. Maybe it's small to you but not to him. For you to be so fearless, they have repercussions in the form of affection.

Maybe it's how much smaller you are in stature or maybe strength, maybe it's how different you are - but those simple facts give him a rush. And then it's the manner in which your hair falls down, the manner in which you absentmindedly shove it behind your ear. The manner in which your lashes flutter and the silly expressions you make - one's he's left in awe looking at. How could someone be so lovely?

It would be so much better if it was only awe and endearment. But It isn't. It's something ugly, unruly, and beastly. Monstrous feelings gnaw at his heart when he looks at you. He wants to tear you apart and consume your heart, feel the beating from inside you.

Here you are presented to him, in his chambers. Do you really not know the implications? Then comes how you're sitting, so carelessly that he can see every curve and every slope of your figure. It's temptation wrapped in naivety.

He can only step towards you, catching your attention. Can you truly blame him for acting like this? For wanting to pin you down and make sweet love to you? To become one with you? To see how you'd struggle and whine when he teases?

It starts with a kiss before his tongue meshes with yours. He only wishes to monopolize you whole, leave you breathless and trembling. Simply trust him and let yourself go, it's alright.

If it's truly so wrong why do you ignite him so? You shan't play with fire, you must know. It's a given that you need to take responsibility for your actions, look at how feral you've made him. He can't wait much longer.

And when it's over he'll be sure to care for his lover who's sore all over, body covered in markings he'd been dying to carve - soft hues of red and purple scattered all over, blemishes left from suckling and nipping.

You'll melt into him as he melts into you, both becoming one.

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!

Note 3: Here is part 2, hope you guys enjoyed it! I'm thinking of (maybe) doing this with the rest of the cast too, lmk your thoughts on that!!

[brownblob]

Just Lane

Lane x FEM!Reader

Summary: As if you'd ever fall for Lane, yet you have. The realization dawns on you and with how Lane's acting he might also want more than just a fuck. Is it meant to be?

TW: Slightly suggestive, Lane being himself (a little sexist and an asshole), mainly fluff (?)

There's something wrong with you, you're sure of it. There's no way the thoughts you're having would be there to begin with if you were fine. After all, Lane is the last person who you would've thought would occupy your mind. He's lazy, dumb, sexist, a fucking dick - he's Lane. He's not a knight in shining armor and he's certainly not one for romance. He'd rather lick the bathroom floor at Mad Dog than express his feelings. And despite all that, he's all you can think of. Day, night, evening, fuck it - even when you're sleeping. You've even begun checking your phone for messages from him, no matter how stupid.

It's worse when you're at shifts. His inky black hair tousled as he downs yet another redbull, not even sparing you a glance as he swears at the Snake game he's playing. The way his smoky yet icy blue eyes narrow at the game as if it's rigged before catching your stare. You can't help but blush at how you've been caught, again, staring at him mid-shift. Fuck. He's a cunt, really, grinning from ear to ear with the sleaziest smirk you've ever seen. His eyes darken with amusement as he holds your gaze and you find yourself unable to look away. Not to mention, unable to say anything other than incoherent mumbles. "No girl words left?" He's cocky, a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve half the thoughts you spend on him, yet you can't do anything. And he's right, you don't have any "girl words" left to say. You grumble before rolling your eyes, trying to save your dignity as you swipe the mop from next to him before heading out of the stockroom.

"What? Not gonna say anything?" You hear his voice trailing after you and then footsteps, followed by shuffling. You only make it to the rusty old door, about to open it - only for him to grab your arm and twirl you around. It's almost romantic, like one of those cheesy rom-coms or dramas. Almost. And then you realize it's Lane, all arrogant and childish at the same fucking time. Needless to say any dreams of a perfect princess romance leave your body in an instant. "Lane, unlike you I have work to do. Someone's gotta pull their weight here otherwise RJ's gonna eat us alive-" "The shift can wait. There's no customers, it's another fucking storm outside." You raise your brow at his words, shifting and pulling your arm from his grip - he's stronger than he lets on. Your mop lies on the floor long forgotten, and all you hear is the whirring of machines and the drip-drop of rain. You wanna say something, tell him to fuck off - that he's lazy and doesn't deserve to waste your time. That even BB is better than him. But you can't, you don't. He shifts closer and you notice how much taller he is than you, then his breath and finally how he's caged you against the old door. And suddenly everything feels hot. "I bet biker boy doesn't make you blush like this. He can't."

The jealousy in his voice is evident, followed by a "Tch". It's as if he's saying "I'm better, I actually care". He eyes you up and down and you wanna brush him off, saying he's a pervert and that staring at a girls tits isn't cute or swoon-worthy. But he's not staring at your boobs. He's staring at you, your eyes.

"You're pretty, y'know? Really pretty."

He says while simultaneously leaning closer, hot breath fanning your ear. One hand falls on your face, caressing the line of your jaw.

"Lane, stop being a creep-"

"You'e not pulling away though.." He's right, you're not. Shamelessly you're leaning into his touch. His lips curve into one of his lazy smiles, eyes sharp. His lips lazily graze your nape, as if he's peppering it with kisses.

"The store can wait. We can have another date, pretty. Just you and me and our stockroom. We've got everything we need."

It's only when he inches even closer, a little more and he'd be kissing you, that you tilt your head to the side despite how your heart tells you not to. "Lane...stop being stupid."

"I'm not, but if you want me to stop.."

There's silence between the two of you, neither want the moment to end - one's too shy while the other's too shameless. Neither knows if the feelings are real. One's scared of being played and the other's scared of being tossed aside. But both of them want it, the moment to last longer.

He moves away from you, his fingers brushing your cheek a moment longer than necessary. You miss the heat immediately, but you're relieved. You're not sure what the both of you are. You're not sure what he wants. You don't want just a fling, you don't want it to mean nothing so you shy away - he says he loves you randomly, you're not sure how much you trust it. You're not sure how much you trust yourself.

You stay in the same spot for a beat before bending down to pick up the mop and go along on your merry way.

He whistles. Actually fucking wolf whistles.

"Nice ass."

And here you were overthinking weather he actually cared. You laugh at yourself for the silly thought before walking out of the room without engaging with him.

Lane watches the door close behind you, the sound of your softer footsteps slowly fading. He settles back down on a carton of who knows what, opening up the game he was playing. Yet, he can't focus.

Somedays you're the only thing that he knows, the only thing that's warm. He can't look away from you, not when you call him dumb and not when you're flustered. He knows he's not the "perfect man", he doesn't wanna be all that. No one's worth all that effort, not after his ex fucked him over.

But then there's you. He wants to try for you. He wants to be dependable, he wants to be more than your dumb co-worker with unfunny jokes. He wants you under him. He wants you beside him, listening to all that he has to say and all that he won't admit. He wants you on him, cupping his face. He wants to melt into you.

He wants to give it a chance and then keep you forever. He wants to feel the bite of your words when you scold him, if only to make him feel alive. He wants you to comfort him like a toddler, if only to feel like someone cares. He wants it all but he's scared - scared of getting attached and you leaving, scared of hurting you in the process of his own dilemma, scared that you won't speak to him again.

And he knows what's going on. The word itches the back of his throat, refusing to come out - "love". He hates this fluffy feeling because he knows exactly what it is. He knows how vulnerable it can make him. It's one thing to fuck you, not that he has, and another to want it to mean something. It's one thing to say he loves you and another to actually follow suit - because he is. He's drowning in his own cowardice, drowning in the fact that you shy away.

His hands brush through his hair, the space in the stockroom feeling cramped, his leg tapping the floor again and again.

It's not long before he too walks out, his eyes settling on you mopping the floor. He can't help but smile then look away, only to look back at you. He wants to make a crude comment, maybe to push you away so you don't even think about falling for him. He can't afford to lose something he wants so badly, so it's better to not try at all.

But his mouth betrays him and he starts a conversation anyway.

"Whoa there Cinderella, you're gonna make me feel mean for not doing shit."

He says from behind the counter, catching your attention as you slowly turn around. The store is bare, not a single soul other than you and him. With how shit the weather is outside you doubt any customer will drop by.

"Yeah? Well you can try to help. Yapping isn't gonna clean the floors."

Your tone starts off irritated before you let out a sigh, knowing he won't do shit. And he proves you wrong once more because all of a sudden he's next to you, grabbing the mop from your hand.

"Yeah? You sure?"

You're silent, a frown on your lips - you don't even want him to do anything because you know he's doing it to be closer to you. You're not sure why and you don't wanna know. The fear of being pushed aside gnaws at you. What if it's not meant to be?

"Lane, mopping the already-mopped-floors isn't gonna do shit."

You words ring through the empty store as you reach for the mop, only for him to pull it further back. It's then that you notice how you're losing balance and hitting his chest. Maybe you're living in a rom-com, that's the only explanation. That, or the small puddle of soapy water underneath you. Maybe mopping a bit more would help.

"Thought I told you not to fall for me? Guess it's that hard when I'm in front of you."

He says, his hand grabbing your waist and stabilizing you. He looks in your eyes, his own expression as empty as usual before his eyes land on your lips.

"Still not gonna kiss me? You prefer that biker bitch, is that it?"

He's so rude but you can't help but laugh a little at his pettiness. You're not sure what comes over you when the next words leave your lips.

"you sure you could handle just kissing me? Once you do, there's no going back."

Now it's your turn to watch how a rosy blush blooms on his face, baby blue eyes widening when you hand slides down his hard chest in slow circles.

Maybe you're just two fools in love. As fate calls its, so it willbe. There's only so much flirting left till you end up in his bed and arms. It's guaranteed that when you do, he's not letting go.

You'll be his Cinderella then and he your..not prince charming for sure. Just Lane. He'll stay the same old Lane. That's just how he is, but now with a second piece. His own version of a soulmate, a lover.

Just lane and his girl.

Note: Lane is NOT my character but one from the AMAZING GAME "Big Bad Dogs" by @where-spar0w-barks. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS GAME, I AM OBSESSED!!!

Note 2: If any one has any ideas/requests please feel free to let me know! I really wanna write more bbd fics but I need the ideas!!

Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

[brownblob]

"I Love You"

When the words "I love you" spill from the prefect's lips, how do the Housewardens react?

Part 2

TW: Kissing in Leona's part, mentions of insecurities (Fluff)

Part 1 (Separate): Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto

ᥫ᭡. Riddle Rosehearts ᥫ᭡.

Like the thorns on a rose bush, Riddle's words were piercing and harsh. A follower of rules and also a preacher. Even so, what rules could he apply to you? You who was from another world entirely, you who understood little of his world yet were so brave, and you who broke his rules but never angered him. He was so utterly confused. He wasn't sure what he felt, really, you were far from perfect- mother wouldn't approve . Still, he couldn' t deny how his cheeks flared up when you walked into the same room, how he'd slightly fumble his words, and especially how his warnings were much tamer when you broke a rule. It all had to mean something or maybe he was going crazy. How could he like you, even a little- but how could he not?

But he had priorities and you weren't supposed to be one of them, you weren't meant to be a worry, you weren't supposed to be anything. But he cared. So much so, he didn't mind when you broke his rules, it felt right. It was the opposite to all that he was taught, something was amiss. It felt like a fresh breath of air, akin to sunlight engulfing him in a warm embrace. He felt at peace when you were nearby, as if he needn't be so uptight. Maybe it was alright for a few rules to be broken, to enjoy what life had to offer, to allow himself to relax.

He really was grateful for your calming presence, reminiscent to a fresh cup of herbal tea- with a slight hint of cinnamon, subtly spicy. Just like you were, not quite sweet but not sour, maybe spicy was the right term? So earthy and full of life, different from his dull self. But with you near him, he didn't feel so dull even he could be fun- at least you enjoyed his presence, it was enough.

Despite that, you weren't fair- why did he feel so warm when you came close? What right did you have making his face go red, and not from anger? Who allowed you to be so ethereal?

It wasn't fair.

How you were so insufferably pretty, and the way you'd willingly spend time with such a hot-head like him, trying your best to follow the rules of his dorm. You'd try to accommodate yourself to him, you'd really do that for him? He could just melt in your arms. The way you didn't mind when he lectured you for your recklessness, not speaking up but simply eyeing him with wide eyes- how was he even supposed to speak? You'd study alongside him, let him tutor you and afterwords you'd always stay for a cup of tea. He got used to it- your company and your mannerisms. Different from him, yet truly appreciated.

It was another tutoring session when something unforseen took place. Your hand was raveled in your hair as you grumbled and groaned, you hadn't expected the study packets Riddle provided to be so difficult. You had a test in two-weeks, it was time you started practicing practical magic, lucky you having Riddle by your side.

It was a tough night full of nit-picking, you'd say he was mean but you could see how he was trying his best to be tame with his words- how they were harsh but not mean, truly, this was also a challenge for him.

Hours went by, the moon rose in the sky and you were a tired mess, at least Riddle's tutoring helped. You were just about to thank him when the words spilled out of your mouth, unknowingly. Sleepy eyes looked up at him while a soft smile played at your lips.

"I love you, you know?"

How cruel of you to simply doze of afterwards, would you not even listen to what he had to say? Maybe it was for the best, if you were awake he wouldn't be able to meet your gaze. After all, his face was even redder than before, butterflies in his stomach as he simply stood there- had he been dreaming? He hoped not, it would be sadistic of life to play such a joke. He only realized it wasn't a dream when your head touched his hand, you were asleep and comfortable- you felt safe around him, trusted him. It was endearing.

Nevertheless, it was improper for you to doze off all of a sudden. But, just for today, he'd allow you- 'rules are meant to be broken', was what you always said. This was his form of breaking a rule, such a rebel he was. His hand traveled to your face, cupping you cheek gently before he draped a blanket over you- red like roses and Riddle himself.

"I love you too.."

A whisper, he hoped you heard it. Maybe you did and maybe you didn't- he might say it once more, after you awake. Till then, just let him admire you who looked so serene.

ᥫ᭡. Leona Kingscholar ᥫ᭡.

You're really gonna keep trying, aren't ya herbivore? Always trying to push him to go to class, to set his life straight. Really, why do you even care? Every time he pushes you away, orders you to bring him a snack, tells you to remain his pillow. You do it. Why do you stay? No one else would- he's a prince, is that it? His wealth, his influence, the power he holds. Is that what you want a part of? Everyone else had, just to ditch him after.

If you do, he doesn't mind- just stay, please don't go.

He wouldn't admit it but he liked your presence, the way you constantly clung to him, tried to lend a hand to help him who was strong while you were so weak. He might just go to class now, and he does, much more than before. You're a motivation he works for, it brings a smile on your little face. He wants it to stay, he doesn't even know why.

What really affects him is when he realizes, that you stay not for his money, nor his power and influence. You just like him. You enjoy his company, him as a person, an individual. He's not 'the second prince of Sunset Savannah' to you. No, he's Leona Kingscholar to you- not a second option, not someone you'll leave any time soon, and someone you genuinely care for.

Fine then, if his herbivore stays for him- he'll work them. You are a motivation to him, with your sweet words and the time you willingly spend- he too will work for you and be your reason to remain in Twisted Wonderland.

Was it selfish of him to want you to stay, no matter the cost? Maybe, but he is a prince- some habits don't leave, especially not when he's found his reasoning to move forward. He'll change some of his ways for you, it's cute when your face lights up as you notice him heading to class.

He doesn't change every one of his ways though. Why would he, when those ways of his allow him to see your face? You being pulled by Ruggie and towards him to wake him up, and you do- soft nothings spill from your lips as your try to wake the lazy lion before you. Of course he's awake, it's clear he is when he pulls you beside him. His weight stops you from moving, it's a usual now.

"Just stay for a bit, yeah? I promise I'll go to next class after, so just stay with me."

You do, it's comforting but so confusing. It's not appropriate for you to have feelings for someone like him, a prince of another world- you might have to go back to your won, though, you don't really want tot leave when Leona's around. It feels as though you're doing something meant for 'more than friends', something wrong. None of you confront it. It's serene in this silence, his warmth, in his embrace. It's a mutual feeling of safety, a haven. Let it last while it does, he'll make sure it's forever.

"I love you."

And the words spill out of your mouth, no ones near, just him and you. One of his eyes open, a neutral look on his face- you're not sure what to make of it. You don't have to, he's just shocked, not that he'll admit it. He didn't expect his herbivore to be so bold, he likes it, he likes you- loves you too. A grin soon flashes on his face, sharp canines flashing before he pulls you closer. You know what he's insinuating, you abide. He has a hold on the back of your head, hand intertwined in your hair.

It's a surprisingly soft kiss, it makes you want to melt- this is his answer, his reciprocation to your declaration of love. He's too smug to say anything.

Then the both of remain, safe in each others embrace. Your legs are entangled and chest touching the other's, you both relax.

"Love you too herbivore."

It's fleeting words, so soft that you barely heard them and if you did, you're not sure it's reality. As you seem to doze off, there's one thing in your mind. Where else would you go other than his embrace? This was your home.

ᥫ᭡. Azul Ashengrotto ᥫ᭡.

A swindler in the flesh and a contract that binds one to the other. Azul wishes it were that easy, but it's not. The last thing he wishes for is your hatred, you're already wary of him. The interactions he does manage to secure, somehow quite frequently, always render you even more skeptical of him. So guarded and cautious, his reputation's not the best but he isn't a monster, so why are you always scurrying off? Just let him speak, please?

But fate has another plan in mind for you always seem to bump into the swindler that you seem to avoid so- match made in heaven? As if. You won't believe his sweet lies, you won't sign a contract with him- but that's not what it's about. He doesn't wish for a contract, just some of your time.

As your interactions with him increase, you're introduced to very many versions of Azul. Being a swindler was just one part of him, the one that made wary. Nonetheless, he wasn't a monster- quite sweet actually, once you spent the much needed time with him. Words were exchanged, and you were warming up to him, slowly but gradually. Placed on his palm is your trust for safekeeping, you hope he doesn't break it.

As time goes by, you realize the swindler isn't at all what he seems- he has his own walls guarding him, his own insecurities. It's not what you expected, yet it adds to his character- it makes him human, he has a heart. The parts he hides are what attracts you to him- he sees it as a moth to a flame, hiding his failures. Yet, you look at it as a bee to a flower, so dainty a bond but so sweet.

Days go by and you notice how shy he can be, the smallest things can fluster him who seemed so sly. It's endearing, really. Your walls slowly break down, revealing your true person while he allows you to see glimpses of his own self, slow but steady. You don't mind, you both can take your time- walk hand in hand towards trust.

It's another night in his office, spent with him working on contracts. He truly is a hard worker, ambitious too. You admire those qualities, maybe not all the work he does but him as an individual is what you like. You don't seem to notice how the three words roll off your tongue, hand tangled in his locks of gray, seemingly playing with his hair; until you do, in fact, realize.

"Azul, I love you.."

Ink is spilled everywhere, the black coating the table and contracts on it. The pitter patter of the liquid allows him time to realize what you really said.

Those words that spilled of your tongue- so sugary sweet, could it be true? No contract needed, no form of force just his presence alone would suffice? He was enough.

His hand clutched yours tightly, ocean eyes looking up at you from his seat, tears spill from his eyes. He was so vulnerable in that moment, you found his true self as he had found yours. It's a nod from you that shows him that it's not a joke but reality.

"I-I love you too.."

He fumbles the words out too, a faint blush coating his cheeks as he looks away and to the ground. A giggle escapes your lips as you plant a kiss on his cheek.

Maybe the swindler was swindled by your love, except there was no catch- just your love, all for him.

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!

[brownblob]

He's A Monster

Jim Walters x GN!Reader

Summary: There's nothing wrong with you, you know it. No, you're not crazy. Then why does it seem like it? You're just paranoid, too distrustful of him who only has generosity in his heart and your best interest in mind. Even when his icy eyes linger where they shouldn't.

TW: Suggestive, creepy Jim, yandere, paranoia, angst(ish), mentions of blood, swearing

You swear there's nothing wrong with you. You're not going crazy, no, you're perfectly sane. You just keep having nightmares where something lurks in the void, wanting you as it's sacrifice. You tell Jim, you're not safe. Something's not right. He needs to listen at the warning, he said it himself beforehand "Sometimes though...I think dreams are doors" "You oughta be careful...what you invite in". So why doesn't he just agree and do the same as before, does he enjoy this? Your panic-stricken expression as you try and convince him that you're not safe. There's something out to get you, you even feel it on your skin at night as if you're not only being watched but devoured. You reassure him, you're not crazy. In hindsight you seem as anything but. "But dreams can just be dreams. Not real. You're safe here. It's safe here. He replies back, the southern drawl in his voice stretching, brow arched in frustration at your constant rebuttal. He sighs before bringing you breakfast, body leaning down behind you - caging you in. The scent of pinewood and musk engulfing you whole. Just as quickly the scent of iron hits your nose as you spot the blackberry preserve on your plate. It's completely normal, nothing wrong with it. But why does it taste metallic in your mouth then? The red seeping through the black hues of the jam. It's almost crimson and thick, as if...no. No that would be sick.

It's odd how he never takes any, heaping more onto your plate - feeling your pulse right after. There's something so wrong and you can feel it in the way he stares at you. Icy eyes stripping you down to nothing but the shell of yourself - predator and prey, like a game of cat and mouse. Biting his lips when he gets anxious, scared that he's going to get caught staring. He always does. At least, that's what you think - that you'll catch him in time. The sticky sweet stays on your plate making you rethink but you eat it anyways. The fork in your hand gently scooping up the portions one by one and into your mouth, on your tongue. He stares at it, not so subtly. Never subtly. His face heats up and his knee bounces up and down, up and down, again and again. His hand, now off your pulse, moving upwards to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours. He shifts closer too, his eyes settled on you as if daring you to move, convinced you wouldn't anymore. And move you do. His mood visibly sours after that, brows furrowing as he looks at you like a kicked puppy. Fucking manipulator, making you feel so bad for being mean. Making feel so horrible for just wanting your space, to not be looked at like a piece of meat. He gets up after a while, taking away your dishes to the sink, eyes still on the fork that was just in your mouth as he grins softly. Repulsive.

"Here...hope you like it." He brings you a warm beverage afterwords, pushing it towards you gently as if ushering you to drink. His own mug sitting in front of him untouched. You don't wanna drink what he's put in front of you, the steaming beverage making you nauseous. You swear theres something in the drink, there can't not be. It's either here or in the food. Last time you complained he'd angrily gulped the contents down, proving you wrong and shutting you up. Seeing your discomfort he takes a sip of his own drink, his eyes shifting down as if to ease you. It works. You slowly pick the mug up before sipping the drink; the heat burning your tongue as you yelp. "Too hot?" He asks with a gentle smile before you nod as he looks away into the distance. And he suddenly seems so beautiful, a blush betraying you as you continue to look at him. Fuck. Blonde hair pooling around him in silky strands and tired eyes that droop downwards in a beautiful shade of blue. Pale skin too, that stands out against his rosy cheeks and his lips chapped yet so inviting. They must be warm too. Why do you feel this way for someone so vile. Yeah, you're delusional, he wouldn't mix something in your drink. Why would he? The pounding in your head must be a coincidence. And then you're second guessing yourself again and again. Is he really that bad? When he's been nothing but sweet to you? When he's done nothing wrong and for all you know, everything is just your overactive imagination. But the fear within you only grows, the distrust visible in your eyes.

The worst part is that you can't even accuse him of anything. He's been all gracious and welcoming after all, albeit in his own awkward manner. Letting you stay in his home, eating his food, sleeping in his extra room, warming up next to his fireplace. His. You're indebted to him and yet you still don't trust him. He who's protecting you from what's out there; the snow of course.

The weather so terrifying that could drive you off-course and injure you so badly that you'll bleed to death in the numbing cold. The freezing temperature, something your fragile body isn't accustomed to. Still it's hard to trust him, especially when his gaze lingers in places you know he shouldn't be staring at. When his hands brush yours just a little too long and when his breath hits the back of your nape as you shudder at the looming stranger behind you. But then again, you're judging him based off how he comes off - how shallow of you. It's not his fault that he isn't used to social cues and that he's a little shy. No, you're just being unappreciative. Maybe he doesn't know what he's doing. But he does, he’s a grown fucking man.

And if you dislike it so much then you should just leave. Why haven't you? You tried, really you did. Run away and discard yourself off this place and go as far as you could.

The first day he came in, knocking on his own door and dressed in black. The snow gear that obscured your vision alongside the way his eyes kept you in place. You didn't know him and nor did you want to. Not wanting to be indebt to him, and you should have done so in the beginning, you were about to leave. Stupid of you to come back inside on the first day, listening to his ragged words that persuaded you to come back into the warmth of his home when you got inside your car. "It's dangerous...you won't survive a minute" You stepped back inside, shivering. Easy. You shouldn't have. You should've drove off in your car, no matter the weather, when you had the chance. Now you can't even do that. The snow's piled up so high that you can't even see your car and you're damn sure the battery life had deteriorated by a mile. You're stuck with him, right where he wants you.

It's silly how he doesn't even have to actively entrap you, no, the climate does it for him. Not that he's completely clean, he'd do exactly that if he had to. Thankfully for him, the weather itself It cages you with him, trapping you like he does those rabbits in spring. Though he really doesn't want to scare you, unfortunately he doesn't know how to act. Not when you sit there so pretty and quiet, saccharine and sweet, skittish and scampering. He can't help but fumble his words then come off as deadpan to shut off any thoughts you may have about him as a creep. No, he doesn't care at all, let's keep you thinking that.

And then there you are, only seeing him as a threat when his mask slips, not even in the manner you should. The worst you think he'll do is poison you like some crazy lunatic or kill you, no he'd never. Not when he's so entranced with you. Not when the worse he can do is so much more revolting. Disgusting.

The necklace a reminder that you're in his domain. It's a beautiful delicate thing. Carved thinly with wood that would splinter at the slightest pressure. A small rabbit tied to a leather chain. But then again, it's more similar to a leash than a necklace. It's a collar really. Makes you feel domesticated. It feels wrong. Yet the shy smile he had as he tied it to your neck, the blush on his cheeks. He was just so lovable and the gift around your neck so thoughtful. You should just stop being so pessimistic.

.

.

. You're going crazy aren't you? First the beast in your dreams, calling out to you and demanding you present yourself on an altar, and now icy eyes? No, he's a good person, Jim is the host who kindly took you in. He could've kicked you out - for all he knew, you were the threat as you showed up in his home with who knows what in mind. Or he could've been pure evil, letting you freeze to death. Yet he didn't. He gave you a warm bed and food too and everything else, merely asking for a little company in return.

Then why does it make you so uneasy? The fear that he's the one peeking through that door at night, heavy breathing as he watches you toss and turn in bed. No, you're going crazy. Insane. You must've left the door ajar, and those eyes must be a trick of the light. Then what about the hot breath on your collar? It's those dreams. The beast appearing again and again, making you believe that there's someone in your bed. Someone on top of you, pinning you down like a butterfly as they take you in with their eyes. If only you knew that the beast wasn't an illusion but the reality of Jim.

He's a monster, a motherfucking monster.

Note: I just had to write more about this GORGEOUS AMAZING BEAUTIFUL MAN RAHHHH. Ugh he's been on my mind 24/7 and I'm literally working on like 3 more fics about him. He deserves so much love and I love the complexity he has ughghghghgh. Again THANK YOU to the WONDERFUL author/creator @hereisremina of this game for giving us THIS MASTERPIECE to leech off (I'M SORRY I'M WRITING SO MUCH ABOUT HIM I JUST HAVE TOOOOOOOOO).

Note 2: So like I said before, I definitely am moving on from my usual content into more darker(?) content. And even if it's not "darker" it's certainly has heavy implications and is much different to what I usually write.

Note 3: Inspo from the song "Monster" by Dev.

Note 4: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

[brownblob]

Odette

Twisted Wonderland: Swan Lake x Snow White AU

Starring: Pomefiore, Fem!Reader/feminine words used to describe reader (Reader's referred to as a maiden mainly for the plot of being "Odette")

CW: Metaphors, heavy descriptions, mentions of captivity, obsessive behavior, yandere themes, the whole story/chapter is basically a metaphor, written like an old fairytale

Moonlight illuminates everything with an ethereal sheen of silver – pearlescent. Fragile tears fall from doe eyes, adding to the crystal waters shining in serenity. The dance continues, a curse – from the fluff of feathers to the silk of skin, human flesh. A transformation occurs every night when the sun bids farewell to all, only to reveal the celestial pearl – the glistening moon in all her glory.

A nymph is said to appear at the lake when the skies darken and ravens squawk. She dances till dawn, as commanded by her captor, and wails in the melancholy of a sweet song. The chains she is bound by are far too tight thus she can never escape – since at dawn, she turns into a swan. Wearing pristine white she cries as her captor asks for more, prefecting her till she is fit for the title of his love. Her captor is a man of beauty and grace, yet envious of what he cannot acquire: a kind heart. Thus he keeps a maiden who has what he doesn't possess, cursing her to live as his sweet bird so he can relish in the helpless sight. Her captor is Vil Schoenheit.

His beauty was vivid – ivory skin and golden locks that kissed lavender. Lips so red, one would forget the sweetest of cherries and eyes a striking violet that could see through one's soul.

"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" Vil would ask every eve,

"Thou, O Queen, art the fairest in the land," The mirror of magic would state loud and clear, earning praise form the Queen he held so dear. Yet, the mirror too was cursed by the queen, to only speak the truth so he could not deceive.

Hence, this eve too did Vil speak to his mirror, seated atop his throne in unmatchable elegance.

"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" Vil spoke with usual flare as his hunter, Rook Hunt on one knee, admired the beauty of winter and the queen of snow; for Vil was akin to the fabled queen, his heart having been made of but ice.

Rook was man with eyes so keen, observing before anyone knew of it to be. His hair sandy in color and smooth to the touch, lips curved into a grin very deep. His hands were calloused to the touch, and on his waist was a dagger fit for a brute.

"Famed is thy beauty, Majesty. But halt, a lovely maid I see. Rags cannot hide her gentle grace." The mirror spoke once more, yet the words he spewed were different. A silent pause filled the room – everyone shook. Vil in all his glory raised an eyebrow, as if he misheard the mirror. Out of the blue, laughter filled the room; cold, insincere laughs spilled from Vil's burgundy lips.

"My dearest mirror has committed quite the knavery – I never thought he'd jest with me. Merriment set aside; Who is the fairest one of all?" Asked Vil, his tone grave though his words were light. He wasn't one for jesting, not at all. Nevertheless, with the mirror he adored, he'd forgive this trespass.

"Majesty, the words I utter are only but the truth – the aftermath of the curse your glorious hands have bestowed upon me. Forgive me my liege, but a maid in rags is far fairer than thou in silks." The mirror spoke in its monotone voice, trembling in fear for though he spoke the truth – his words were everything but what Vil wanted to hear.

Rage overtook the queen, eyes widening with envy as he stood up from his throne and waltzed to the magic mirror. Composing his rage, he bit his tongue before speaking once more.

"Who is this maid? Show me her visage." Vil commanded his mirror in the sweetest voice one could dream, a sugary smile on his lips. The mirror of truth obeyed and manifested an image of the maiden – you.

Immediately at your sight, Rook couldn't help but squeal in delight as a sigh of amour left his lips. Emerald eyes glistened with admiration as he announced his thoughts.

"Odette! My dear Odette, such beauty you possess. One could only dream of what you harbor." Rook voiced his new byname for you, frolicking around the mirror which displayed you in but rags. You were shown in various forms; aiding woodland creatures and caring for children – how sweet you were. Vil scorned at the sight, disgust in his eyes.

"What do you see in that dirty wench?" Vil spat, confronting Rook with rage. Rook kneeling once more, took Vil's hand in his as he sang your praises. He truly must've had a death –wish.

"My liege, she may wear rags and thou may wear silk. She may have skin that is dirtied by ash and thou may have skin like glass. Her locks may be rough to the touch and thine forever soft. She may be the ugliest maid ever to be seen and thou the fairest in the land. Nonetheless, she possesses what thou could never attain – a heart of gold." Vil enraged shunned Rook away, who was amidst his monologue, a scowl on his face.

"Out of my sight." Vil ordered Rook, who simply obeyed with a bow of his hat. Inching closer to the mirror, Vil scrutinized your features with judgemental eyes. You had your own charm, yes, but were you fairest one of all? Not at all – he wouldn't let you be.

Queen of beauty and curses, that was his byname – he would live up to it, certainly.

That night the maid was scouted by all the soldiers in the kingdom, brought to her knees by none other than the hunter to present to his queen whom he'd angered. Vil sat atop his throne, eyeing your unkempt appearance, a blissful sigh left his lips at the sight.

"Magic mirror on the wall, is this maid the fairest one of all?" Vil asked with a tut of his head, eyeing you with disdain. The mirror somberly replied, eyeing you with pity.

"Yes my Liege, this maid is the fairest one of all."

At the mirror's words Vil couldn't help but spur. His features twisted to express his distaste. You were affrighted, eyes scattering around the large opulent halls and then to Vil himself. He was utterly beautiful, so much so that you couldn't speak – a throbbing ache in your heart as you beheld him who was akin to a god.

"Rook, my hunter, bring her here." Vil commanded his hunter who'd been sneaking glances at you since you entered the palace. A strong set of hands help you arise with a tenderness that confuses you so. He led you up a set of stairs to Vil's throne, his hand on the small of your back as he hummed a song sweetly.

"My queen, I bring to you the fairest one of all.."

That night a lad with hair the color of periwinkle and eyes a crystalline blue watched his one true love fall to the envious hands of the evil queen. With cheeks tinted like the apples he carved, he swore to bring his beloved out of this gehenna and into his arms. No matter if she knew of his love or not, he would be her knight. No matter how lovely he looked, he would prove to be the man he knew himself to be.

Unbeknownst to all, a tragic tale was written that night – one that curated the fate of dear Odette.

Note 1: banners from @uzmacchiato

Note 2: I had this lying in my drafts for like EIGHT MONTHS so I went fuck it and edited it to post. It’s honestly self indulgent and very experimental. If you'd like more of this au lmk i thought it was really pretty

Note 3: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Comments are greatly appreciated too. Thank you!

[brownblob]

Madness

Jim Walters x GN!Reader

Summary: The cycle of deviancy which leads to Jim taking you down with him. From watching you, to wanting you, then finally having you. The steps are all laid, now simply to enforce.

TW: Very suggestive, nudity, obsession/yandere, mentions of blood/slight gore, angst(ish), metaphors up for interpretation

Softened snow crunched underneath Jim's boots as he took a heavy stes, axe in hand and blood splattered on his jacket. The key turned with a jingle as he entered the haven, his home. And then there was the warmth of his home, the sheer heat wrapped in a bundle of blankets near the fire. He wondered how the intensity hadn't swallowed you up in a fever yet. The battered flooring squealed slightly as he stepped in, the one he sought not awaiting him.

Maybe it was the cold touch of his hand on your cheek that brought you back or the scent of iron - either way, it wasn't pleasant. Your wide eyes could only look up at the perpetrator of your damnation. With your serenity ruined, and even the fire crackling in protest, you got up to escape from his presence. Though, only managing to take a few steps away before stopping. His presence was the only you had in this cabin. "Has the snow stopped?" The words left your mouth in frustration, not at him but at how unlucky you'd been.

How long has it been? How much longer? No phone, no network, no nothing - did anyone even know you were alive? What about work? Your family? Your friends? What about them?

"Mm...not yet." He answered back, eyes heavy with blackened rims as he took off the layers and layers of clothes he'd accumulated. He sprung his beanie off next, letting his ashy hair free from the confine. He gently smiled up at your stilled figure - you didn't shut yourself up all day anymore, didn't hole yourself in your room. Progress was progress.

His eyes couldn't help but rake down you, not in a manner that as belittling but one that wanted to see every bit of you. You weren't sure which was worse.

"Hungry? I'll go make something." He said almost too quickly, though who were you to say no? You hadn't eaten anything yet, too scared to cook in his kitchen. It was still iffy, especially with how many cans and jars were unlabelled. One too many containers filled with red and the stench of something dying. You'd rather not know what was in them.

You took at seat the table, the rabbit carving on your neck clanking as it made contact with the edge. Why were you still wearing it? You weren't quite sure. It provided some sort of comfort, something familiar in this unknown place despite being made by a complete stranger. The times you were about to take it off, the look in Jim's eyes was enough to make you second guess and keep it tight on your throat.

Maybe it gave you closure where he didn't, where the situation itself refused to. You were staring into nothing while he stared at you, knife in hand to slice through meat.

His touch brought you back from your daydream, icy eyes dissecting you as his fingers traced down your back. His expression was quick to change into a bashful smile as if he were flustered - he truly was. His hand too whipped away from your skin as if you'd scalded him. The twinge of pink on his cheeks betrayed him, not that you bothered to look.

"It's not much.." He said, plating you a bit of everything. His hands shook gently as he added the crimson preserve, the scent still making you want to gag at times. His smile did less to quench your suspicions - and even so, who were you to question him now? Whatever he gave you was what you had been eating. It was too late to reject now, whatever it was that he fed you. Still, it made you feel sick not knowing, especially when your guesses were less than savory.

Jim had this habit of halting as he ate simply to watch you - following the curve of your throat as you swallowed each bite. The way your face reacted to different textures, flavors, tastes. You didn't notice how he'd lean closer, foot tapping frantically under the table as the red entered your mouth. Eyes widening ever so slightly in pure ecstasy. Fucking pervert.

It was only after you'd finished your meal that he'd bring tea or coffee, hot cocoa on the days you craved something sweet. Between sips he'd sneak glances at you, how you shifted when you caught him looking - the change in expression. He saw it all. He craved it.

"Jim, I feel like something's watching me." You weren't sure how many times you'd said that by now. To yourself, him, to the wall. Countless.

Days were passing by longer. Clawing at you form inside out and not once had you been out - not once had he let you.

"I'll be back soon." That's how it always went before he shut the door and locked it, axe in hand. Either that or no words exchanged at all, just silence as he came back muddled in thick maroon guts.

On the days silence stretched on - the days where the dose had been high, where your head had felt heavy, and when he'd ushered you to bed. Those were his favorite despite how wrong it felt. These days only increased - you thought you were sick.

It started with peeks through the crack of the door. His gaze lingering not on you but within you. Then he struggled closer, thinking of violet wrists and then your reddened ankles. The silent pain gnawed at him - hunger not satiated. He dared not touch until he did. It felt euphoric despite how ill it was. He only wanted more, how greedy of him.

However, he handled you so gently, palming your sides with care as he breathed down you neck. It was that irony that made it sick. Tender kisses to not leave a sign, to be here only in the moment and then disappear until you wanted him.

it's your imagination. There is no wolf. There is no predator. You are not prey. That's what he told you, what you told yourself.

It's only when it's too late does he realize how mad he is, holding himself back before rushing to his room to help himself. Ashamed of how crude he was being, of how morbid and deviant. It's not enough. He's not sure what to do and it's eating at him - piece by piece, flesh being torn apart. He'd rather be mauled than this feeling, the ache in his abdomen. The feeling of arousal and heat builds up in his sheets as he yearns, breaths muffled and groans hidden as his mind wanders. Time will hear his voice, you'll understand. And then he falls back, body drenched in sweat and mind running on overdrive, groans so deep and guttural. Feral to take and give, to receive the pleasure one seeks.

Those nights he caged you by denying, assuring, and coercing. Sweet and gentle, just detached enough so it seems like he's fine. Not a word too much, nothing more than you must know. Lies and half truths all to make you feel stupid.

Stupid, stupid stupid.

Dumb and even dumber at your own imagination. To let you feel cornered by yourself.

"Something's out to get me. That thing watches me. A monster, I don't know how to feel. That creatures lies here, it looks at me through the window..."

You're deranged. A mixture of insane and paranoid, confused about existence itself. The grasp of time is away from you and you swear phantoms speak out to you. He assures you, puzzle by puzzle and piece by piece.

"It's alright. It's okay, you're safe...here."

Something tells you that he doesn't believe it himself.

"I don't know how I should feel." The response was dry, you weren't sure if you could manage anything else.

Limbs tangled and clothes nowhere to be seen. A naked mess and a ravenous disaster all together in a pile of utter profanity. Shame. Bruised and broken with a sin that felt so good. A crime to be repeated again and again till you're deeper. Until he devours you and you consume him. Obscene.

Till you're just as lost as him. Until he steals every part of you - mind body and soul - till there's nothing but one body, one mind, one soul. A destiny forged together. Jim and you.

It was through your tears when he realized your nightmares were his dreams.

Note: THANK YOU to the WONDERFUL author/creator @hereisremina of Chilling Devotion for giving us THIS MASTERPIECE to leech off (WE LOVE AND STAN JIMMMMM)

Note 2: Inspo from the song "Monster" by Meg & Dia.

Note 3: So I've definitely moved on from my usual stuff...this is very much a big step for me...Also I had to take a break from writing because things were getting a bit too much (and writers block)!!

Note 4: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!