#He's just old enough to be Cool but not so old that he's like an authority figure or anything y'know? Teen goofiness hehe

[jqnehr]

❝ 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧'. ❞ | boothill.

boothill x fem!reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and boothill meet in a bar, and have a very nice chat (aka, you flirt like mad).

𝐜𝐰: SFW!! no use of y/n, alcohol consumption (it's a bar come on now), bar banter/flirting. (pathetic attempts at) funny haha humour, and ermm well inspired by old 1950s western films (my dad adores john wayne i cannot escape them HELP), but like in the hsr universe yk. this one was meant to be funny because i had a BALL playing around with boothill's CANONICAL censor oh my god i love him. imagine calling him a fucktard and the only thing he can clap back w is "you son of a biscuit-eating bulldog" (what the french toast?) or something idk. can he say that? or can he only say nice things—anyways enough rambling 😔

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: (continuation from above basically) this man i tell you. i can't sleep. can't eat. he plagues me. day in and day out. i do not have the funds to pull for him. how dare he look at me with that sexy smirk? ain't got no money pal sorry. anyways here's a lil thing i wrote in honour of this man making my chronic fatigue worse <3 NOT PROOF READ. it is currently 12:44am as im posting this so there will be MANY typos haha im going to sleep now.

masterlist.

"You look like you should be in a saloon."

The gun-slinging Galaxy Ranger glanced up at the woman who just took a seat beside him from beneath the brim of his hat, drawn from his thoughts. She had taken a seat that was a respectable distance from him, two bar stools down, the message clear that she wasn't here to chat him up and lead him off to somewhere secluded and have some 'fun', but was only here for small talk and a drink. Good thing she wasn't coming onto him, too. Saved him having to turn down yet another woman looking for a fleeting one night stand.

He went back to absentmindedly swirling the malt juice around in his glass. Car oil, basically. He let out a small chuckle. "Ain't the first time I heard that one."

"Yeah? Makes sense. Fit's cool, though." She nodded to his cropped jacket, his spurred boots, his pants with their sides unzipped. She didn't seem to be bothered by the sight of his belt lined with ammo and a holstered gun. "What's that your drinking? Looks like engine oil."

"Malt juice," Boothill humoured her. "Can't drink nothin' else. Perks o' bein' a machine."

"Machine?" The woman lifted a brow, taking a sip of her beer. "Ah, gotcha. You're a robot?"

"Cyborg, yeah." It didn't matter if he divulged in her what he usually wouldn't. It was just tedious small talk, a nice weight off his mind, and he wouldn't ever see her again, anyway. "Got its pros and cons."

"I see." He was starting to become rather surprised at how...nonchalant she was about this. She lifted her beer jug to her lips once more. "So, what do you do for a living? Go around cosplaying as a cowboy?"

"Heh. If ya like, sure." Boothill was getting curious. It was once in a blue moon he came across someone as relaxed as this woman. "Let's say, it's my...signature look. Across the galaxies. Helps people remember me."

"You're starting to sound like a criminal on the run," she laughed lightly, only out of politeness, really. "Considering the people I've come across around here, I wouldn't mind getting you've got a bounty on that pretty head of yours."

"Uh-huh." He swigged the last of his malt juice. "Perceptive of you, sweets. You a local? Frequent?"

"Pretty much." She shot him a glance. "And it seems I was right. Eh, don't worry. I don't care enough about ya to turn you in. How much you wanted for, anyway?"

"A lot." Boothill grinned impishly. "Those IPC cuties keep bumpin' the ‘prize money’ up, if ya like." He made air quotation marks. "Yer'd be set fo' life if ya got yer hands on that money."

"I'm sure I would be." She really didn't seem to care. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

"Boothill," he answered, inclining his head towards you. "What about you, darlin'?"

You gave him your name, downing the last of your beer, before hailing the bartender over for a refill. "Nice to meet you, Mr Boothill."

"D'aw, shucks, haven't been called 'mister' in a long time!" Boothill flashed a toothy grin, showing off his shark-like teeth. He noticed how you didn't recoil, barely even blinked, at the sight of them. "Makes me wanna buy you a drink, sugar."

"By all means." You're never one to pass such a offer up. "And you like to flirt, too, huh?"

He watched you rummage around in your purse for something. You finally pulled out a compact mirror and checked your appearance in its tiny mirror. He leaned forward, took your free hand, and placed a kiss to the top of it, winking at you from under his cowboy hat's brim. "With such a lovely lady as yourself? How could I not?"

You laughed in a rather unladylike way—you, more or less, gaffawed—before retracting your hand and tipping his hat right down over his eyes, disorienting him. Your cheeks burned. "You're a funny one, Mr Boothill. You sure know how to woo a lady."

He adjusted his hat, huffing, leaning back in his seat. "I wasn't bein' funny. I like ya. I don't just kiss any old woman's hand."

"Got a little crush now, have you?" You raised your beer jug up in his direction as a friendly salute of sorts, grinning. "Cute of you. I like you, too, but I'm not letting you take me home."

"Ain't got one to take ya to." Boothill shrugged, not noticing how your smile suddenly vanished and you were looking at him. "Sons of biscuits made sure I couldn't have one no more, 'cause I wasn't about to let 'em get away with shady things they keep nicely under wraps."

"'Sons of biscuits'...?" You echoed, puzzled. You were also suddenly feeling quite sorry for the man. He was a roamer—a nomad of sorts, never stuck in one place for very long. That, you were instantly able to tell once you first laid eyes on his broad back.

"Someone had a little play around with my Synesthesia Beacon, so now I can't say nothin' mean—I'll try to say honey, honey, ugh. I'm tryna say honey." He tsked in frustration. "See? Can't say it."

"You can't swear?"

"Yep. Very aggravatin' at times. Whenever I wanna yell the s-word in combat, I just say somethin' ridiculous like 'terrific!' or 'groovy!' I sound like a right looney tune."

You chuckled. "I can tell that if you didn't have that censor on, you'd have the mouth of a sewer."

"Heck yeah. I'm goin' to town with all 'em bad words right now in my head," Boothill scoffed. "Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em—see what I mean? Hopeless. Wanna drop the f-bomb real bad."

"Perks of being a cyborg, indeed," you laughed, patting his shoulder. "It's rather funny to see such a tough-looking guy like you run around without anything else to yell but 'unicorns! Cotton candy!' when someone jumps you."

He snorted. "That's about right. Had one cutie pie try to mug me once and I was gonna swear his ear off, but all that came out was "look at this angel!" instead of 'punk', but it's a way more colourful word than that."

"Gotcha." You leaned your elbows against the wooden top of the bar. You opened your mouth to continued, but a sudden commotion at the other side of the bar cut you off. Glancing over also, you and Boothill watched as one drunk mountainous guy versus a scrawny little weasel of a man went tooth and nail at each other.

"How's the skinny one still alive?" Boothill amusedly remarked, leaning his cheek on his fist. "Looks like a cartoon."

"Happens all the time." You watched on rather boredly, almost wincing when the small guy very narrowly missed getting his face flattened by his opponent's massive fist. "Those two baffoons are too drunk to think of anything other than settle this scrap with punches. Makes for a good show, though."

Boothill hummed, before turning back to face you. "Can you fight?"

"Me? Well, I know basic self defence, and when to tell someone's spiked my drink." You pushed the beer jug around on the bar top absentmindedly. "This environment's dangerous for a woman. Gotta look out for myself around here. I should stay away, but I like my alcohol."

He chuckled, gazing at you. "Glad to hear that. You ain't some damsel in distress. You're really somethin', you know that, sugar?"

You blushed at his stare and words. "Oh, get off it. It's something every woman's got to know in life. We shouldn't have to, but we do. It's sad."

"Sure is." He pursed his lips, suddenly grave. He may have been a vagabond in a way, but that didn't mean he didn’t have morals. And then he playfully nudged you. "Ya know, seeing an independent, badass lady like you is real attractive."

You grinned. "Boy, if you were anyone else, I would've slapped you for that. That is an instant red flag for any woman in a bar."

"Well, I'll tell ya right now, I'd never harm a woman unless I had no other choice." Boothill stared at you. "Especially not for my own gain. Hurtin' people ain't fun, even though it's my lifestyle."

You shrugged, trying to ignore his intense gaze and the way your heart rate picked up. "A sad reality, but it's nice to come across a man with manners." You finished off your beer and stood, slinging your handbag strap over your shoulder, giving him a kind smile. "Well, thanks for the talk, Mr Boothill. You're a gem."

He stood after you, the spurs on his boots jingling with the movement, before he took your hand and pressed another smooth kiss to the top of it. Then he winked once more, just as a finishing touch, and your cheeks flared. "Any day, darlin'. Say, how about I give ya my phone number? Have another drink sometime."

"You sure? Your vigilante habits wouldn't get in the way of it?"

He laughed goodnaturedly. "Oho, that's funny, sugar. Nah, I'd always make time for you. Here, hand me ya phone."

So you did, and he swiftly typed in his number, before returning your phone to you. "There ya go. Send me a message so I'll know yours." Then Boothill stooped down to eye level with you, staring at you from beneath his lashes and hat, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair affectionately. "Till we meet again, sweetheart."

With that, and a lingering stare as he strode by, the cyborg cowboy left you stunned, heart pumping, phone limp in your hold. He was gone in a blink, giving you no room to wish him farewell also, so you did it by text.

you forgot to pay the bill for your drink

so I covered it for you.

you owe me one, cowboy

His reply didn't take long, and it made your face burn hotter.

Oopsies 🤭

How about I pay you back by taking you to dinner huh?

His emoji usage made you laugh. And so you accepted his offer.

Alright then

I want steak

Can you even eat?

You liked how he always replied fast.

Nah

But that's fine

Your company's better

Suffice to say, you liked the man's suave manner and flirty compliments. It made you feel exhilarated.

Maybe it was because of his classic cowboy moves. Tipping his hat to you in respectful greeting or goodbye, a gaze much too human for a cyborg, and his smooth gestures that made you hot all over.

Yeah. Maybe it was. But, either way, you couldn't wait to see him again.

© jqnehr 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate, repost/redistribute and plagarise any of my works.

#i saw somewhere that apparently boothill was mostly illiterate?? oh well if he this then that last part was ooc ig #anyways this was so fun to write OMG #boothill honkai star rail #hsr boothill #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill #boothill x y/n #boothill hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #boothill x female reader

[chronically-ghosted]

vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for.  warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Ezra Masterlist 🤍 AO3 Link

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh. 

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan. 

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.” 

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot. 

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by. 

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off. 

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat. 

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap. 

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble. 

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you. 

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious. 

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did. 

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world. 

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move. 

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest. 

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.” 

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same. 

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again. 

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water. 

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours. 

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.” 

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched. 

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously. 

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.” 

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.” 

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.” 

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous. 

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red. 

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall. 

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour. 

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut. 

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him. 

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.” 

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while. 

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.” 

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?” 

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror. 

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.” 

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out. 

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.” 

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. 

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.” 

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.” 

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire. 

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire. 

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand. 

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence. 

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp. 

“Regret what?” 

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl. 

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour. 

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.” 

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.” 

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.” 

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence. 

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way. 

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor. 

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him. 

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.” 

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside. 

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured. 

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?” 

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways. 

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks. 

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.” 

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but. 

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops. 

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he. 

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief. 

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude. 

“You let another man besides me do this to you?” 

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you. 

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer. 

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple. 

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face. 

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,” 

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples. 

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.” 

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs. 

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes. 

“Neptune, I revolve around you.” 

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart. 

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it. 

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out. 

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release. 

You want to obey his every word. 

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit. 

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?” 

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.” 

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain. 

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.” 

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black. 

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.” 

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him. 

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder. 

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap. 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs. 

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan. 

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.” 

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth. 

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger. 

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off. 

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob. 

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him. 

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock. 

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob. 

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.” 

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,” 

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster. 

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.” 

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?” 

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb. 

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening. 

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life. 

“J-just a little harder, Ez.” 

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest. 

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.    

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!” 

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion. 

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible. 

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full. 

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe. 

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him. 

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain. 

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?” 

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.” 

He smiles, unguarded and open. 

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and  Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” 

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[clangenrising]

Month 14 - Newleaf

Lake’s paws ached. Her stomach growled and her head pounded dully behind her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt full. Still, she walked. 

Ever since her mother had disappeared, she’d been wandering. A few cats had shared a bite with her but they didn’t have much to share in the first place. Most of them were too busy training to fight and they didn’t want her around, especially not the special cats - Exalted, she remembered hazily. She’d tried following other kits home but every time she was politely sent away.

Two days ago, she’d seen a couple cats bringing back a pair of juicy looking birds and while they hadn’t shared with her, they had told her that there was plenty of prey over the far road if she could catch it, laughing between themselves. She figured that was as good an idea as any, so she’d headed out for the wild frontier! 

It was farther away than she’d thought it would be, or maybe it was just easier to get lost without roads to follow. She walked and walked and then stopped to sleep then walked some more. She was starting to wonder if there even was anything out here at all. Was she just missing it? 

The sound of running water grabbed her attention and she licked her chapped lips eagerly at the thought. The kit picked up her heavy paws and bounded towards the noise. Coming out of the grass, she suddenly found herself on the edge of a stream of cool, fresh water - fresher than she’d ever seen before at least. 

“Wowzers!” she declared because that seemed fitting. She waded into the stream and crouched down, gulping greedily until her stomach hurt. She thought about falling over and sleeping in the stream but worried she might drown. Instead, she decided to follow the water like it was a road and see where that took her. At the very least it would be fun to splash around. 

The sky was getting dark again but Lake didn’t mind. She tromped noisily against the current of the stream, humming a song as each note came to her mind. The chill of the water kept her awake, which was nice. She wondered if she would see a fish. They lived in water, right? She hoped so. She was starving and the water she drank wasn’t helping. It honestly made her feel grosser. 

Eventually the stream came upon a small hill but, instead of curving or trickling down the slope, it cut through the earth in a big metal tube. “That’s interesting,” Lake thought out loud. It was like a gutter drain but huge, big enough for a cat to walk through! She bounded up to the edge of it and sucked in a huge breath.

“Hellooooo!” she bellowed, giggling at the way it echoed off the tunnel walls. She splashed her paws in the water and listened to the magnified sound with excitement. “Blaaaaaaah! Bluh, bluh, bluh!” She snorted with laughter. This was the best fun she’d had in weeks!

“Hello?” A voice that wasn’t her own echoed back to her. She gasped. Was that possible?

“Hello?” she called back. It was hard to tell in the dark but at the end of the tunnel, she swore she saw something moving. Then a glint of eyes blinked at her, barely reflecting the moonlight in her direction.

“Wowzers!” she cried, “I didn’t think I’d see anybody! Are you hunting too?”

“Yeah,” the voice said hesitantly. “How old are you?” It sounded like a boy but there were other quieter voices outside the tunnel and they were talking very serious-like. 

“I’m three whole months!” Lake said. The eyes pulled away from the tunnel as the cat whispered with his friends. Lake decided she wanted to say hi up close and personal. She started towards the cat, sloshing through the stream up to her belly. Once the tunnel was all around her, the sound of her paw steps started to hurt her ears and she hurried towards the other end to get away from it. 

She burst out of the other end and thumped into a pair of bony legs, falling back onto her rump with an “oof!” The cat she had run into reached out a paw to steady her. He smelled like grass and dust and his breath smelled like prey blood. It made Lake’s mouth water. 

“Easy, there, kid,” the cat said. It was now that Lake looked up and got her first sight of him. 

“You’re funny looking, mister!” she said. He was a skinny white and blue tabby with big ears, like a little dog, and a very pointy face. 

“I could say the same about you,” he said. 

She laughed. “Am I funny looking?”

“The poor thing looks half starved,” whispered one of the other cats, an equally funny looking girl with brown points on her face and feet. 

“Are you out here all alone?” asked the third cat, a fluffy brown tabby boy who was much more normal looking. 

“Yessir!” said Lake. “I heard there was food here. Do you guys know where the far road is?” The cats all looked at each other for a beat. 

Then the first one spoke up, “Uh, no, but we do know where some food is.”

“Really?!” Lake grinned. “Can I have some?!” Her mouth was starting to fill with saliva. She slurped some of it down to avoid drooling.

“Yeah,” nodded the normal boy. “I’ll even carry you if you want.” 

“Nuh, uh,” Lake shook her head. “I’m a big girl now.” 

“You sure are,” said the funny looking boy. “Barleypaw, will you go grab one of the mice or something?”

“Yeah,” nodded the funny looking girl. She bounded off into the grass and Lake started after her but the funny looking boy put out a paw to stop her. 

“She’s gonna be right back with the food,” he said. “You just sit.” 

“Oh, okay,” shrugged Lake. “My name’s Lake. What’s your names?”

“I’m Floodpaw,” said the funny looking boy. 

“Sparrowpaw,” said the normal looking boy.

“And our sister is Barleypaw,” said Floodpaw. 

“Hey!” Lake gasped. “Did you know all your names rhyme?” Sparrowpaw laughed a little. Floodpaw raised one brow. 

“Yeah…” he said. “Where’s your mom, kid?”

Lake frowned. “Oh, um… I don't know.” 

“Oh,” said Floodpaw.

“That’s alright,” said Sparrowpaw. “Maybe you can come home with us, then.” 

“Yeah?” she brightened. Was she finally gonna be able to find a new place to sleep and a new person to help her get food? 

“Yeah,” said Floodpaw. “Once you’ve eaten we can go there.” 

“I can’t wait!” cried Lake. “You guys are the best!” The brothers exchanged glances again. Lake wasn’t sure what it meant but she saw the sister coming back over the hill and smelled the delicious smell of meat and all other thoughts fled her brain. She scarfed the whole thing down as quickly as she could. She ate it so fast she forgot to check what kind of animal it was. By the time she finished, she realized she felt very sick to her stomach.

“Oh…” she said. “I think I ate too fast…”

“That’s alright,” said Sparrowpaw, “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?”

She nodded, cheeks full of breath as she tried to stifle her nausea. 

“Alright, come on then,” Floodpaw said, stretching. “Why don’t we go back to camp? I bet a nice walk will help you feel better.” 

“Okay,” mumbled Lake. She didn’t feel like walking. She felt like falling over and never moving again. She didn’t like saying no to people, though, so she forced herself to take a few steps. 

Floodpaw tilted his funny looking head and said, “I dunno, maybe we should just sit for a while.” Lake sighed a little in relief. “Yeah, why don’t you guys go gather the prey and tell somebody about Lake and I’ll chill here with the kid until she feels like walking.”

“Are you sure?” asked Barleypaw. “We’re awfully close to the border.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, flopping down in the grass. “Worst comes to worse, I'll grab the kid and go.” 

“Alright…” said Sparrowpaw, looking unconvinced. He and Barleypaw started off into the grass, looking back over their shoulders and whispering to each other. Lake let out a big sigh and eased herself into the grass next to Floodpaw.

“Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes. “I don’t feel very good.” She swallowed, her sides heaving under the distress of her sick tummy. 

“No problem,” smiled Floodpaw. “Barleypaw and Sparrowpaw are always like ‘go, go, go, let’s follow the rules’ or whatever but I get just wanting to lie down.” 

“Yeah,” Lake smiled wide and wiggled into a more comfortable position. “I like laying down!” 

“Me too,” laughed Floodpaw, dropping his head onto the ground too. “So, what are you doing out here, Lake?” 

“Looking for food!” Lake purred. Her stomach gurgled loudly and she giggled a bit. “Thanks for sharing it with me.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” said Floodpaw, one ear flicking away the gnats buzzing by. “But why are you looking for food all the way out here? You’re from the city aren’t you?” 

“Oh, yeah, I am,” Lake nodded, peeking her eyes open at him. “Some cats told me there was food out here. I was really hungry. Plus it sounded fun to try.”

“Don’t other cats bring you food?” he asked, brows furrowed. 

“Nah,” she sighed. “Not since Mother went missing.”

The crease in his funny, pointy face deepened. “Still, there wasn’t anybody else who helped you out?” 

“Um…” Lake frowned too. “No. I’m sorry.” Was she answering wrong? Why was he upset?

“Oh, no, hey,” he said quickly, “It’s okay, I’m not mad, I’m just-” His skinny little tail twitched. “I just think it’s not cool that no one looked out for you.” 

“They’re busy I guess,” Lake shrugged. They were learning to fight or taking care of their own kits. She didn’t blame any of them for not having time for her. 

“Well, here we take care of kittens,” Floodpaw said firmly, “no matter who they are.” Lake smiled and hid her nose in her paws shyly. Floodpaw laughed and stretched his big, long legs out in opposite directions. “Take a little nap, kid. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Okay,” she said and yawned. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until he said something but now, with her belly full, she was eager to get some shut eye. Feeling very round and sluggish, she closed her eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep. 

~~~

When Lake woke up it was very, very dark. She yawned and stretched and looked around, realizing that she was in a totally new place. She stiffened in fright. Where was she? The not knowing was scarier than any answer she could come up with. 

She was in a large den made of dirt, it seemed, in a nest of soft green moss and feathers. It smelled faintly of other cats, cats she didn’t know. 

Carefully, she got to her paws and crept towards the scent of night air, poking her head out to see a small grassy dip with a few other burrows tucked under big, grey stones. Three cats were sitting on top of a big, flat stone and talking softly. They didn’t seem dangerous so Lake ventured a bit further out to look around in wonder. 

“Wowzers,” she breathed. Everything here smelled so fresh and green. She’d never experienced anything like it. 

One of the cats, a dark blue bengal girl, perked up at the sound and looked her way. “Oh, hey! She’s awake!” 

“Shh,” hushed a brown spotted tabby girl nervously. 

“Right, sorry,” said the first girl, lowering her volume a bit. “Hey, girlie, how you feelin’?” 

Lake realized she was supposed to answer and said, “I’m good. How did I get here?” 

“They carried you in while you were sleeping,” said the third cat, a paler spotted tabby boy. Lake frowned. She had wanted to walk.

“I bet you’re pretty confused,” said the first girl. “Why don’t you come up here and sit with us? We can answer any questions you have.”

“Um, I’m okay,” said Lake. “Where’s the guy with the funny ears?”

“Huh?” asked the first girl.

The boy brightened in realization. “Oh, you mean Floodpaw.” 

“Yeah!” Lake bounced. That was his name!

“He’s sleeping over there,” he said, pointing to one of the holes in the ground. 

“Okay, thanks!” said Lake. She started towards the hole to go see him. The second girl breathed in sharply through her teeth and the first girl laughed. 

The boy started to say, “Oh, uh, I don’t know if-” but the first girl interrupted him. 

“Shh, let her be. It’ll be funny.” 

Lake didn’t know what they were talking about but she didn’t let it bother her. She made her way into the den. Five cats were sleeping in their nests; two smaller ones were curled up together and Floodpaw and the other cats she had met were sleeping near each other but not so close that they were touching. Lake padded right up to Floodpaw and settled down against his side. He opened his eyes and lifted his head groggily, blinking at her a few times before he managed to speak.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing in here?” he mumbled hoarsely.

“Looking for you,” she whispered. “Why did you carry me? I wanted to walk.” 

“Oh,” he said with a small groan. He swiped his tongue over his whiskers and rubbed an eye with his paw. “It was getting really late and I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry, kid.” 

“Mmm, it’s okay,” she decided, purring. She wiggled down into his nest and closed her eyes again. 

“Oh, uh…” he hesitated for a moment before eventually wrapping his tail around her and laying his head back down to sleep. Lake purred even harder. She’d missed sleeping next to somebody like this. 

She hoped that wherever her mother was, she had found someone new to sleep beside too.

UPDATES: - While on patrol with Barleypaw and Sparrowpaw, Floodpaw finds an abandoned kit named Lake and takes her back to camp.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Floodpaw #Sparrowpaw #Barleypaw #Lake #Ospreymask #Branchbark #Aldertail #clangenrising

[envysparkler]

Jason might’ve mentioned a passing interest in meeting Robin—the old Robin, because he was going to be the new Robin, only judging from the low, furious conversation and the death glares, Bruce hadn’t exactly mentioned that to Nightwing—but he wasn’t expecting Bruce to leave him alone with the guy.

“Justice League emergency,” Bruce had interrupted, cutting off Dick’s half-hearted tour of the parts of the Cave Jason hadn’t explored, and disappeared through a zeta tube with a simple behave for Jason and a growled watch over him for Dick.  Leaving Jason with the guy that spent the entire visit seething in unconcealed distaste.

Alfred wasn’t home, he had left on one of his rare days off, or perhaps he was aware of the cloud of tension that formed whenever Dick and Bruce got too close to each other, and Jason understood that heroes and emergencies were a part of life, but he didn’t enjoy that that meant that Jason and Dick were left alone in the abruptly resoundingly empty Cave.

“Right,” Dick muttered, not quite under his breath, “I don’t know why I ever expect anything different.”  The bitterness was palpable.  “Two and half goddamn hours, and he leaves to space.”

Jason shrunk back slightly.  It had been clear from the start that this visit was not for him, and his desire to meeting the original Robin had fast dwindled in favor of getting out of ground zero before Bruce and Dick actually started yelling.

Dick blew out a sharp breath and turned on his heel, suddenly enough that Jason flinched.  Dick froze, staring at him like he’d forgotten that Jason existed.  Jason couldn’t read the expression on his face, and didn’t think he wanted to.

“Jason,” Dick said, carefully pronouncing his name.  His blue eyes were sharp and cold.  “So.  New Robin, huh.”  His face stretched into a smile that looked warm for all that it was plastic.

“Yup,” Jason said, inching back another step.  “Uh, it was nice to meet you.  I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Where are you going?”  Perfectly level, calm and even, but it still forced a chill down his spine.

Jason had been terrified of Batman, but terrified in the way he was of shadows and ghosts.  Abstract.  Not real.  Once Batman had proved himself to be human, all that was left was a man—large and trained and dangerous, but who got scolded by his butler and forgot to put on matching socks and bought Jason a stepstool to reach the books on the tallest shelves.

Bruce wasn’t scary.

Not the way that Richard Grayson seemed to be.  Quicksilver manipulation of his expressions, smiling when he didn’t mean it, and cold, cold eyes—Jason wasn’t reminded of monsters or demons.  He was reminded of the gang members that watched him ducking into alleys with just a little too much intent, the narrowed eyes of his mother’s dealer, the bright, fake smiles that marked the cops he had to run from.

And Jason was here with him, all alone.  Robin—Nightwing—trained and dangerous and currently looking at Jason like he wanted to leave him in pieces for Bruce to find.

Jason had read a book with facts about robins just last week.  Robins are territorial birds, and disputes can get physical.  Fights to the death often occur.

“Upstairs?”  Jason hated the way it turned into a question.  “I was reading a book, and—um, I wanted to finish it?”

“We haven’t finished our tour,” Dick said, and Jason had preferred the low-voiced hiss to the casual neutrality.  “Come on, there’s lots of cool stuff here I bet Bruce hasn’t shown you yet.”

Jason dithered in place, casting a glance at the stairs—Dick was already walking away, heading for the back of the Cave—but as much as common sense was shrieking at him to stay away, go upstairs, don’t stay down in the dimly lit cave with the guy that hates you, Jason was still the kid that looked at the Batmobile and decided to steal some tires.

“Fine,” Jason said, hurrying up to match Dick’s pace.  “But I don’t know what you can show me that Bruce hasn’t already.”

“Oh,” Dick’s expression twitched, something flashing for a second, “You’d be surprised.”

~#~

Jason, mouth agape and neck protesting as he stared up at the acrobatics equipment, was speechless.  Dick was breathless and flushed and grinning widely, and fuck, this was what Jason had wanted to see.  Not Bruce’s sulky other son, or the cold, dangerous Nightwing, but Robin.

“Bruce showed you that yet?” Dick teased, calling down to him from where he was swinging upside down from the ring.

“How do you do that?” Jason breathed out, too amazed to feign at disinterest.  Dick had moved like he was an actual fucking bird, like gravity was for lesser things.

“Practice,” Dick laughed, flipping off from the ring and flopping down on the safety net.  Even across the rope, he was all fluidity and grace, flipping once more before he reached the ground.

“Bullshit,” Jason rebutted, looking up at the silks and the ropes and the swings, the scaffolding, the way Dick flew—“Tell me the truth. You’re a meta, aren’t you.”

Dick laughed again, bright and twinkling.  He looked much happier than the sullen teenager that had met Bruce’s hesitant hope with a scowl.  “Nope, just practice.  Grew up in the circus.  I could fly before I could run.”

“That’s so cool,” Jason said, looking back up at the scaffolding.  “Can you teach me how to do that?”  Flying through the air, spinning and flipping without a care in the world, unbound by physical constraints…it sounded like the best thing in the world.  It sounded like freedom.

It took him too long to realize that Dick hadn’t responded.  He turned towards the older boy and saw Dick stock still, expression frozen in a pinched grimace.  When he saw Jason staring at him, he turned away.  “Sure,” Dick said, in a voice that wasn’t even remotely believable, and Jason flushed at the reminder that Dick didn’t want him here.  “Maybe later.  You need a lot of training first.  How about you show me what Bruce is teaching you so far?”

There was a bite to the words, and Jason had too much of Gotham in him to not respond to the challenge.  “Was that an offer to kick your ass?” Jason retorted, stalking past Dick and towards the sparring area.  Need a lot of training first.  Well, while perfect Richard Grayson had been growing up in the goddamn circus, Jason had been living on the streets.  He knew how to fight.  “I’m ready when you are, Dick.”

That cold smile was back, like Dick was trying to figure out just where he wanted to stick the knife, and Jason thrummed impatiently on the balls of his feet as Dick slowly made his way to the sparring area.

#my snippets #dick&jay #first meeting

[starfxkr]

western nights (pt. 1)

pairing: older!trailer park!jj x reader

summary: jj maybank knows he's too old to be messing around with a young girl like you, but he does it anyways

warnings: age gap, smut (fingering), that's p much it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jj was known for bein a sleaze around the trailer park. a two time felon who's doing his best to lay low by taking odd jobs around the complex so the feds don't come knocking at his door. you could catch him doing anything from mowing lawns to helping out the grandmas who's sons long stopped coming to check on them. girls came and went out of his trailer at all times of the day--clothes askew and hair messy.

but once he set his eyes on you, everyone else went out the window. he'd known of you of course, having grown up in the complex you're whole life but you were nothing more than one of many little shits running around in a little conglomerate of cheese puff fingers and sugar highs. he paid you no mind, maybe you were one of the kids he's bought crappy water pistols for, maybe not. one summer though, one summer he's on your lawn fixing your car because your mom asked, and there you were-- sitting pretty on your lawn chair reading some trashy book in what he thinks is the smallest dress he's ever seen.

the two of you lock eyes and from then on he's always finding a reason to sniff around you.

each time you pass by jj's place he lets out a whistle, sayin "wish the girls looked as good as you when i was that age." and you just roll your eyes and keep walking. he always finding something to fix around your house and your mom becomes more and more enamored with him not noticing he only has eyes for you.

it all comes to a head during a birthday party--your mom's to be exact. the whole little block is drinking, kids running around, barbecue in the air but you're sitting across from him in his too hot trailer trying to wrangle a beer out of him.

"you even old enough to drink yet? you still got one baby fat on ya." he pinches your cheek and you smack him away with a scoff, leaning over with your hands on either sides of his hips on the couch

"does it matter? you're gonna give it to me anyways." the little pout on you face makes his dick twitch in his jeans, and he makes no effort to hide his growing erection.

"nuh uh little girl, gonna need to see some i.d." you squeak when he pats your ass to 'search' for your wallet, fingers dancing at the hem of your denim skirt and sliding up you shirt to cup your breast, "feels like you're old enough to me."

your eyes flutter shut when he swipes a calloused thumb across your nipple, a tiny hmph of pleasure works it's way past your lips when he pinches the soft flesh.

the beer is quickly forgotten when he lifts your shirt off, wasting no time in getting his mouth on you--licking the sweat from the valley of your breasts and sucking on your neck as you move to sit on his lap.

"should we even be doin this? y'know my mama's realll sweet on you." you pull away from him but make no move to leave.

jj just scoffs and waves it away, running a hand through his blonde hair in irritation, "lots of women are, nothin new, been this way as long as i can remember but it never mattered to me much."

you can tell he wants this conversation to be over, his eyes raking over your body and his fingers tugging at the button to your skirt even as you cross your arms in front of you, "if she finds out we're fucked."

he shrugs, "then don't let her find out."

that's all you need to continue, letting him capture your lips with his, his rough hands travel over your soft skin, stoking the fire building steadily inside of you. despite your veneer of coolness, he can feel your pulse throbbing in your neck under his palm.

"you scared of me or somethin?" his voice is raspy when he whispers against your jaw.

you whimper in reply, "n-no?" even you notice you don't sound too sure--maybe there's a little fear despite your flirting. you wanted to be good for him, you wanted him to like you.

he looks like he doesnt believe you, but he lets it go.

"then get over here." jj yanks you back towards him until your face was tucked into his neck. he doesn't even bother taking your skirt off, just hikes it up and tugs your panties down with a smack on your ass until they're sitting right below the swell of the soft flesh.

the moan that leaves your lips when his fingers graze your clit is almost pornographic, you hadn't even realized how wet you were until you heard the slick sound of his fingers plunging into you with ease. he was obviously skillful, he found that sweet spot inside you with no problem, rubbing it in time with the thumb on your clit while you squeaked and squirmed against him, completely overwhelmed by pleasure.

you were slick and dripping down his palm, doing your best to squirm away from the assault on your pussy but he wouldn't let you, chasing after your thrashing hips and letting out a soft grunt when you sink your teeth into his neck. the way he used his fingers should be a crime--scissoring them open and slowly dragging the pads down your front wall just to hear you mewl like a kitten at the feeling. the thumb on your clit still rubbing in quick, confident circles and he could tell by the way it swelled and throbbed that you were close.

"bet those little boys never made you feel like this huh?" he laughs at you whining response, the answer is extremely apparent by the sound of your growing wetness--your high pitched keen drowned out by the sloshing of your pussy, "there you go sugar, just let it all out."

you choke out a moan and drench him, pussy locking tight around his knuckles as you pulsed, squirting your release all over his lap. there was no way he had you feeling like that just from fingering but here you were, pulse rushing in your ears as he got your clothes back right, sitting you on the couch with a kiss on the forehead as he left to go change seeing as though you soaked his jeans.

when he comes back he lets out a chuckle at the sight of you still sitting there dazed and he finally gives you that beer, "get yourself together aight?" i'll see you back out there.

it takes you almost 20 minutes to finish the beer, still trembling and pussy aching with the need to be filled. you finally step outside, eyes hazy and brain turned to mush when you notice you don't have your panties on.

#✨.txt #jj maybank prompt #trailer park!jj

[666writingcafe]

Top Secret!!!!!

A Group Chat Involving Everyone but MC and Luke

Solomon: It's nearly time for me to give MC their preliminary exam. How many stars is MC up to?

Mammon: you serious, bro????

Mammon: you haven't kept track of mc's stars????

Mammon: old man alert

Satan: Four.

Solomon: Thank you, Satan. What other three virtues have been rewarded?

Diavolo: Gratitude from me.

Simeon: Patience from me and generosity from Luke.

Solomon: So, chastity, diligence, and humility remain. I was thinking of having us play Tail Thieves.

Asmo: I love you, Solomon, but no.

Solomon: What's wrong with Tail Thieves?

Asmo: One, it's a childish game.

Lucifer: ^

Asmo: Two, do you not remember how MC behaved the last time you tested them? They were BORED OUT OF THEIR MIND, and it impacted their performance as a result.

Beel: That's true.

Asmo: Any twists you come up with are going to be too predictable.

Solomon: *glaring crow sticker*

Solomon: I'm SURE you have a better idea.

Asmo: I do, actually.

Asmo: It involves testing their chastity.

Solomon: Go on...

Asmo: We'll seduce them.

Mammon: that's a stupid idea!!!!

Levi: youre just saying that because youre jealous

Belphie: *laughing emoji*

Beel: *gif of someone doing a spit-take*

Asmo: I'm being serious.

Asmo: During their last stay in the Devildom, I managed to charm them, which gained me access to their deepest desires.

Asmo: They have fantasies involving all of us. Tempting them with those will be the ultimate test of their chastity. If they're able to resist, then they earn the star.

Lucifer: That's actually a well thought-out idea.

Barbatos: ^

Diavolo: ^^

Solomon: *glaring crow sticker*

Solomon: Fine.

Solomon: Who's participating?

Levi: mammon and i are out

Mammon: speak for yourself!!!! the fuck???

Levi: if this is meant to really test mc then everyone has to commit to the bit and you and i both know that youd tap out the minute mc looks at you sideways

Mammon: *glaring crow sticker*

Levi: while ive gained some confidence i still wouldnt be able to maintain my composure long enough to complete something like this

Asmo: I will provide the necessary information, but I myself will not be seducing MC, as much as it pains me to say.

Satan: Of course it would pain you to say that.

Asmo: *eye roll emoji*

Solomon: Do you want to judge with me?

Asmo: I mean, I kinda figured we would, so...

Barbatos: My participation will depend on what I'm meant to reenact.

Asmo: Are you afraid it would conflict with your duties?

Barbatos: Yes.

Diavolo: Well, if you're worried about me stopping you, don't. It wouldn't be fair of me to expect you to sit this out if I'm planning on participating.

Mammon: WHAT??????

Levi: bro

Levi: he literally jumped out a castle window to be with mc

Levi: he's THIRSTY

Belphie: Unfortunately.

Asmo: Not to be the bossy brother, but Lucifer, you aren't allowed to back out.

Lucifer: Wasn't planning on it. I know where I stand in MC's mind.

Satan: You know, I think I might chill with Mammon and Levi. I thought about joining in the fun, but I don't think I have it in me to see things through.

Satan: And before anyone chimes in, no, it's not because Lucifer confirmed his participation.

Belphie: We know. If it was, you'd be trying to one-up him.

Satan: Thank you, Belphie. I TOTALLY wanted that out there. *eye roll emoji*

Beel: I'm in.

Belphie: Quick question: would it be fair of me to participate?

Asmo: Actually, you'd be PERFECT for this. You can argue that you know MC more intimately than ANY of us. You'd know what buttons to push to make them really sweat.

Belphie: Okay, cool. I'll do it, then.

Simeon: Me too.

Levi: lol what

Mammon: ayo, do you even KNOW how to seduce someone, simeon?

Simeon: How do you think I'm able to write some of the scenes in TSL?

Levi: well okay then

Solomon: So, to confirm: Lucifer, Beel, Belphie, Diavolo, and Simeon are definite participants, Barbatos is a maybe, and Mammon, Levi, and Satan are sitting this out?

Nine people liked Solomon's message.

Mammon: the three of us can keep an eye on luke. we can either help him run the cafe or take him out someplace fun.

Levi: you know you seem awfully chummy towards luke lately

Mammon: we bonded during our fairy hunt.

Asmo: Then that settles it. Solomon and I will meet with the volunteers for further discussion.

#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me lord diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me mc #obey me boys #so i took a peek at what the next couple of lessons entailed #and thought that they were pretty goofy #so i'm doing something a bit different with the chastity test #something that i feel makes a lot more sense than tail thieves or not opening a fake grimoire #plus the idea of demons weaponizing someone's fantasies makes total sense with their goal of obtaining souls #in my opinion at least

[ysrjune]

ok ur one of my favorite moots that post Anakin/hayden fics so i have a request 😛

i don’t remember if you write for irl hayden but if you don’t do dilf anakin (it isn’t smut)

basically dads best friend!Hayden/Anakin x bold (kind of grunge/slutty) reader

Hayden goes with reader to get a pricing.

(if you want it to be less fluffy with kinda smutty undertones you can do nip pricing’s but you could also do stomach 🤭)

basically readers dad allows it but dosen’t fully approve so he dosen’t go with her and reader needs comfort as she loves the look of piercings, but is TERRIFIED of needles.

Hayden/Anakin holds her hand and stuff and she makes funny comments like “i just want to look hot for the summer man why does this have to hurt so bad?!” or “do you think ill look sexy with these mr. Christensen/Skywalker?” 

they like gaze into each others eyes and lowk have a cute moment as he comforts her (but if they are nip piercings it would be loving for another reason too iykwim!!!)

and if you do anakin because it would be modern maybe sam monroe (obviously not the character just the look/personality) could be him at lauren’s age so he would relate to her more and be more attracted to her. maybe even on the way to the piercer have Anakin show her his old school photos and all of his piercings and reader tell him she’d do him as a teen (she has no shame and we love that!)

sorry if this request makes you uncomfortable. I just had a daydream about this as i’m getting my stomach pierced soon and thought you were the best person to ask because I love your writing 🙏😛

“one of my fav moots” you will be receiving a big smooch 😆💋

Anakin held your hand while waiting for the piercing lady to enter the small room. “God, I wish there was a way to get his damn piercing without the needle.” A complaint fell from your lips as Anakin read something on his phone with his free hand.

“Aren't magnetic balls a thing? Or some people glue them, I hear.” He replied, still scrolling through whatever he was reading. “Duh, those are a thing, but they're so ugly and fake looking.” Anakin chuckled a little, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Guess you'll just have to deal with the needle then, sweetie.” He shrugged, finally looking at you. His gaze was soft and caring, but yet so sexy and attractive. “Do you think I'll look good with a belly piercing, Mr. Skywalker?” you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Yeah, I think so. Though, I'd think maybe an eyebrow or lip piercing would look better.” He says, looking all around your pretty face and eyes that were covered in dark makeup. “I remember when I was a teenager, I had a couple of piercings myself.”

“You're such a liar.” You rolled your eyes at him. “No, seriously. I have a couple of photos and the holes to prove it.” He pointed to the small, closed hole under his bottom lip, and then the one on his eyebrow.

“Holy shit, Ani! No way you were cool.” You laughed, still keeping your eyes on the hole in his lip. He quickly pulled up the photos for more proof, too. He showed you one with a cigarette in his hand with his eyeliner, piercings (not just on his face, but ears), and dyed hair.

“Wow, Ani. If you still looked like that, I'd definitely do you.” This made Anakin blush a little and furrow his eyebrows. “Yeah, okay, kiddo.” He says and uncomfortably shifts in his chair to hide his hardening dick.

Soon enough, the lady came in and did what was expected. Ani held your hand extra tight to comfort you. “God job, sweetie. Didn't cry like I expected you to.” He says after the lady left the room.

“Does it look good?” You look at your belly. “Looks super good, honey.” He kissed your cheek before heading to the car.

That night, he touched himself to the thought of you having your nipples pierced. How pretty they'd look bouncing up and down while you ride him. Maybe he'll day something about one of his ex girlfriends having nipple piercings and how he loved them so much.

He knew you liked him. He knew you'd do anything to make him happy even if you didn't notice how good he was at convincing you to do things.

—

WAS THIS GOOD? I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKED OMG 😭 LMK IF U WANT ANYTHING TO BE CHANGED!!

#hayden christensen #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker smut #rots anakin #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WEEKEND WIP

from my current derek pov sterek wip with the working title of 'RED RAG TO A WOLF'

.

He knew it was there the moment the sliding door to his apartment clicked shut; the moment everybody left. The pack hadn't even made it down the old service elevator when Derek sensed it, scenting the spicy-sweetness that clung to the cool air, stubborn as a fever—and far too strong considering the loft's now-empty status.

Granted, he didn't know exactly what ‘it’ was yet, only that something of the kid's had been left behind.

He spotted it as soon as he turned around.

Derek breathed in, deeply, and anger flared brightly in his gut. He was fuming at just how damn happy that warming scent made him, and how it seemed like he now had his very own aromatic keepsake just to fucking prove it.

This was bad.

Dangerous.

Rooted to the spot, Derek cautiously eyed the innocuous folds of red spilling over the top of those stupid pillows Stiles had talked him into buying, his teeth and fists clenching (along with his heart).

They'd bumped into each other a while back—quite literally—in Bed Bath & Beyond when Stiles had turned a corner wearing those stupid lime-green headphones, and slammed right into Derek.

There'd been an excessively loud exclamation of, “What the shit?” and then, “Derek?!” as Stiles removed the headphones and nestled them snugly around the base of his long, pale neck, Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths still appropriately blasting through them.

Stilinski had then cracked up and whooped like a hyena for almost a full minute straight, apparently at the mere notion of Derek's presence in the store.

“You? In a place like this? But Der, you're like, a werewolf, dude! A creature of the night!” he's said, and had punctuated the assessment by curling his bendy body into a ridiculous monster-esque mime, crossing his wide eyes and letting his tongue loll out of the side of his mouth as he’d gargled his own spit in some sort of supposed gnarly roar.

Just as Derek had been considering how Stiles sounded a bit like a traumatised washing machine, the kid had burst into yet more fits of mocking laughter, doubling over this time while wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and clutching at his side with the other.

What was so hilarious about someone needing to buy a toilet roll holder was honestly still a complete fucking mystery to Derek, but whatever.

At the time, he'd wanted to howl and snap his jaws at the kid for his sass. But Derek's general rule of thumb these days was to try his level best to not get so uptight about the more inane concepts that weaved in and out of Stiles Stilinski's baffling brain on a millisecond-to-millisecond basis, nor to give him any fuel for his ever-burning Sourwolf fire. So he'd nonchalantly raised an eyebrow and given back as good as he got by saying, “Which means what, exactly? That I'm only supposed to shop at PetSmart at three AM for my monthly supply of rabbit flavoured kibble?” and told himself not to dwell on it.

Then instead of doing the decent thing and leaving Derek the hell alone to get on with his Saturday afternoon, Stiles had proceeded to follow him around the store because the Beacon Hills Friendly-Yet-Hyperactive Neighbourhood Sheriff's Kid was just kind of excessively infuriating like that.

Stiles had disappeared for a moment, then reappeared and proceeded to thrust a shopping cart towards Derek, insisting Derek needed it for the random shit he’d started selecting from the various displays and unceremoniously dumping into the wire basket on wheels; random shit he was also insisting Derek needed. Derek proceeded to remove all unnecessary items right after Stiles dropped each of them in, the kid either not caring enough to challenge him on it or simply none the wiser amid his animated spiel about someone named, “Marie frickin Kondo, man!”

Apart from the pillows.

Apparently, Derek didn't hate the super-soft (if stupidly named) ‘Wolf-Skin’ material covering the particular pillows Stiles had picked out for him when the puzzling human had gasped and crowed, “Oh my God, Derek, can you believe they're named Wolf-Skin? They are totally perfect for you! And even more importantly: They spark joy, dude!”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

.

#sterek wip #sterek fic #pov derek #derek hale #stiles stilinki #red rag to a wolf #cassidy wips #ooh er #lol #weekend wip #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

[rocksibblingsau]

what are some of your headcannons for funk branch?

He was only just learning wiring/mechanics so he took some time to catch up to Funk science levels of advancements, but people were VERY encouraging of his progress.

He felt very out of place for a while (as much as Techno Branch) due to how Funk/Techno are visibly the most different to him.

Vibe City was very disorienting to him because there was 0 nature. Even the lowest point of the ship was still part of a ship. The escape bubbles didn't feel safe enough for him, so Essence and Quincy had a special escape pod built special for him for going off the ship/in case of an emergency.

Quincy and Essence were very horrified to learn of the Bergens, and felt some guilt as with their technology it would have been relatively easy to rescue Pop had they have known. Branch feels a little upset to learn that years of suffering could have been fixed by a device made in a single day, but accepts that it wasn't their fault. Quincy and Essence resolve to keep tabs on Pop just in case.

Branch likes Quincy's dad jokes, and getting kisses from Essence, but pretends to be Too Cool for them.

Personally I believe the gold/silver fringe is jewelry/clothing, so I like the idea Branch gets a fringe necklace like his family. Maybe at one point wore a fringe dress-like clothing that gave him a similar silhouette (minus the neck) as a bipedal Funk Troll. I also think he switches between glass like his dad and a gold hat similar to an old concept of Prince D (his appearance in some of the toy lines).

He's too short for a lot of things so when they get closer, Prince D lets Branch stand on his back for stuff.

He's worn a boa like Lownote's. It made him feel very fancy.

He likes disco music. [Further information redacted]

He goes by Prince B in the future, but some people say B for short, which ends up getting confusing when Blues is around. For many years before he accepted the 'Prince' title he was just B, so some people started saying Big B and Lil B.

R and B are called the 'Funk Sisters' and they dubbed Branch and D the 'Funk Brothers'. Branch doesn't get the title because surely there are TONS of siblings in Vibe City so why do THEY get the title?

#funk branch au #sibblings qna #trolls branch #queen essence #king quincy #prince darnell #prince d trolls #lownote jones #trolls rhythm #trolls blues

[ystrike1]

Second Time's the Crime - By Nagare Ebi (7.5/10)

This is an intense and gory horror story featuring two very different obsessive men, but it loses points because the romance isn't very believable. You know who the endgame love interest is right away, and it's the boring one. The "heroic" yandere doesn't get enough character development. The psychological pain and real violence on display makes the romance feel like background noise.

Shiki is a poor little victim in the beginning. A wealthy but abused wife. It LOOKS like her 35 year old husband pounced on her when she was 19 because he needed a convenient bride. It LOOKS like he married her to cover up his debauched lifestyle.

It's...too much?

It's suspicious from chapter two. Kaoru is a handsome older man who didn't need to get married at all. He abuses his young wife. He cheats on her. He makes her eat a raw egg in one of his first scenes, but he's loving to her before he goes to work.

It's almost like he's performing for an audience, but there's nobody there. Just him and his terrified wife.

It's almost like....torturing her is his hobby?

It was a fairytale romance. Her parents were over the moon. She didn’t have money. He's got lots. He was mature and romantic and he dated her seriously before they got hitched.

He started abusing her days after the wedding....with joy in his eyes???

Shiki doesn't bother with the details. She obviously assumes he's just a lying pervert that wanted a submissive wife.

That's what it LOOKS like.

The pain she goes through changes her. She figures out that he's a cheater. Of course he is. He owns a fashion magazine. He works with models every day.

....when he sleeps with those models he calls them by her name...

Why would she know little details like that?

All she knows is the pain, and the desire for it to end.

She wants to die, but someone else has been watching her. She goes to the movie theater alone alot, and she has an admirer there.

It's a man who thinks she should kill her husband. Saku comes from a broken family. His mother died after years of abuse, and his father was never prosecuted. He's also very in love with Shiki. He's willing to help her kill her husband, because she's beautiful and he wants to see her happy.

They actually have a pretty good relationship, because the story goes nuts.

Saku doesn't whisk Shiki away and protect her.

He can't. Shiki has to protect him too.

Kaoru is willing to kill for Shiki too. There's a tracker in her phone. He removed all of her friends from her life too, so when Saku tries to run away with her Kaoru hunts them down. He's a little too prepared. He catches her every time like he's a one man military group.

It becomes clear that this isn't some average "abusive husband" story.

Of course the main characters make it clear that Kaoru is an abuser. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven and Shiki should divorce him. She just can't, because Kaoru will kill her, her allies and possibly himself if she runs.

He's not a normal man.

He really does love her. Just not in a sane way. Shiki will never understand him, and she shouldn't. He absolutely hid his unstable side from her to lure her in, and he doesn’t deserve any pity.

Shiki soon realizes her husband is serious. He almost kills Saku more than once.....so she returns to him because she's worried for Saku. Shiki starts to develop way more than Saku. By the end of the story Saku is just a hostage. A pawn in Kaoru and Shiki's psychological battle. It was unexpected, and very cool.

Shiki isn't nobly sacrificing herself. Oh no. She protects Saku and she decides to kill her husband on her own. She doesn't want to involve the innocent man she's falling for.

Kaoru shocks her when he installs security cameras inside. He brings out a leg restraint, and he says they will be happy together...forever.

She pulls a knife on him, and it ends up in her stomach.

Kaoru is unnaturally prepared, and experienced with violence. As a reader I started to question his family business. Kaoru can't be some spoiled model agency heir. He's just too good at fighting...

Shiki doesn't stop trying, no matter how crazy the battle gets. If Kaoru won't divorce her she'll kill him. The issue is he doesn't care at all. If she doesn’t love him he'll earn her love back. Saku is just an obstacle that will fall before him, because he always gets his way. This is his love. He will spend the rest of his life showing his wife how much he loves her....through violence.

That's how his family raised him, so it has to be real love.

Right?

Shiki and Saku get dragged into Kaoru's forest mansion. The apartment he owns with Shiki is just their love nest. His real playground is huge, and it's staffed by criminals. People who accept his orders because nobody else hires criminals.

Shiki convinces the butler and the head maid.

Violent love will never be enough.

Kaoru will kill her if they don't help her.

The butler seems to believe love will prevent her death, but Shiki convinces him to see reason. Eventually, all of the wounds will catch up to her. Head trauma. Infections. His torturous love will end her eventually, after years of total agony.

The butler sees sense first. Then the maid. Even still Kaoru is ridiculously strong, smart and scary. He's not easy to beat, even with allies.

There's a second wedding, and the mansion goes up in flames AND HE STILL DOESN'T DIE!

He starts to beg for Shiki's love, after he finally notices he lost her to Saku. Somehow the violence escalates even more.

Shiki starts to pity her broken husband.

I think he might end up in a mental hospital, with pictures of Shiki and occasional visits from her or something? Then we'll see her enjoying life with Saku.

I do want Kaoru to die, but like ten chapters were dedicated to his sad backstory sooooooo....

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #Second Time's the Crime

[sweetiepoison]

Famous Baby (Blurb)

The confession

Warnings: verbal argument, angst, smut, flashbacks italicized

You were stringing every curse word you could think of in your head as your right leg shook up and down uncontrollably. Tonight was supposed to be a good night. A night of celebration and friends, but that turned south very quickly when you got to your table.

The outdoor venue that was chosen to host the drew house celebration was big. There were plenty of areas to sit or stand and seating wasn’t assigned. So it infuriated you to no end when Auston decided to sit right across from you with the beautiful blonde he brought as his date.

There was always tension between you that was predictable but the tension that was happening now was palpable and uncomfortable.

Shawn rested his hand on your leg under the table in an attempt to help you relax. You looked over at your ex and gave him a gentle smile and his hand a light squeeze of appreciation.

“So, any big plans before you guys leave LA?” Your best friend asked trying to diffuse the tension.

“Yes!” Steph picked up immediately also trying to lighten the mood, “We planned a hike to the Hollywood sign tomorrow morning.”

“That’s awesome, we’ve done that a few times and honestly the view never gets old.” Your best friends boyfriend, Ryan commented.

“Are you all going?” You asked wanting to know what Auston would be doing, especially if his plans involved his “friend”.

“Nah.” Auston shook his head, “Alexa and I are just gonna chill by the pool.” He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours, “You know what they say, nothing like the California sun.”

You hummed a response your jaw tightening. The thought of Alexa near naked next to Auston made you sick.

“Well I think we all deserve a break especially you two,” you best friend pointed between you and Auston, “(y/n), told me about all the time you put into this event.”

“Yeah, we really had to work together to make the party a success.” Auston kept his eyes on you as your chair made a screeching sound against the ground as you stood abruptly.

“You okay?” Shawn asked as all eyes at the table turned to you.

“Yeah.” You reassured, “I’m just gonna go get another drink, do you want anything?”

“No, I think I’ve had enough. Thank you though.” He smiled brightly up at you.

“Okay.” You gave his shoulder a squeeze before making your way to the bar. After you ordered you put your head down on the cool surface to try and regather yourself. You were annoyed by the emotional strain you were already feeling and the night had barely even begun.

“Almost didn’t recognize you earlier with your clothes on.” You didn’t need to turn around to know the voice whispering in your ear was Auston’s.

“Funny.” You deadpanned sitting back up, but refusing to look at him.

“Were you planning on ignoring me the whole night?”

“For as long as I could.” You admitted with a shrug.

“Don’t you think you’ve done that enough already?” Auston picked up his own drink that he ordered. “You won’t answer any of my calls, you’re ignoring all my texts.”

“Mhm” you agreed. “If you don’t see this going anywhere I don’t want to be involved.”

You both stood side by side back to the bar watching the crowd. You felt a pang of sadness in your chest watching the table you came from. As everyone interacted and laughed your eyes specifically fell on Shawn.

You could be with him if you wanted to, not him specifically but a guy like him. A sweet guy, someone who is kind and polite and treated you well. All of your ex boyfriends fit that description, they were everything you needed. Auston was the opposite. He was loud and assertive and honest, even if it hurt your feelings. He wasn’t everything you needed, but he was everything you wanted.

“That’s not what I said.”

“You told me you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh right you just left me there crying.”

“I didn’t ask you to catch feelings for me, in fact I made it abundantly clear that you shouldn’t.”

You weren’t sure if you regretted that night with Auston or not. The back and forth game between you two was finally over, but the last few weeks also left you lonely and missing him.

With it being the off season, Auston had the time to come to your concert in New York. After the show he joined you at your hotel before you left the next day for the next state.

The night went as it usually did, sex…cuddling…sex again…cuddling again…shower (sometimes sex in the shower). But you didn’t let the routine get past the first round. As you laid there in his arms you took the risk and asked where he saw things going. You tried to deny your feelings for as long as you could but after a while there was no point in ignoring how you felt.

“I’m over it, Auston.” You gulped down the rest of your drink.

“Are you over me?” You sucked in a breath as his fingers timidly touched yours, not fully holding your hand but close enough.

To say the night ended badly would be an understatement. You slammed the bathroom door shut after he rejected you and soon after your hotel room door was slammed shut following Auston’s exit. You’ve ignored him since that night, wanting to forget everything that happened and move on.

“Yes.” Placing your glass down on the bar you rejoined the crowd. You spent the next hour mingling with others and avoiding Auston.

“You okay?” You stood off to the side with Steph.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You twirled the small straw that came with your drink around your glass a few times.

“You just haven’t seemed like yourself.” She shrugged, “and I don’t want to assume but..” she trailed off avoiding eye contact.

“But, what? Steph.”

“But even your fighting with Auston isn’t like your usual fighting.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Usually it’s annoyed fighting, but tonight it feels almost…personal.”

You swallowed thickly, “What are you trying to say?”

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She finally huffed out.

“No.” You shook your head, “he’s just more irritating than usual tonight.”

You watched as she processed the information but the frown she wore didn’t leave, “If there was anything wrong, you would tell me right?”

“Of course.” It felt like a knife right through the heart as you lied to her, “you’ve become one of my best friends.”

She let out a deep breath and finally smiled, “Okay, good. I’ve just been worried about both of you.”

You wanted to ask her why she’s been worried about Auston. Has he been acting different also? Had your conversation actually had an effect on him? But before any of your questions could be answered the devil himself interrupted.

“Hey Steph, could you keep Alexa company? I forgot a gift in my car and need to go grab it.”

The blond looked over her shoulder before side stepping to allow a spot for the new company to join, “of course we were just gossiping.” She giggled.

You smiled at Alexa but your eyes really never left Auston as you watched him walk away, “excuse me, I’m going to talk to one of the sound guys.”

You backed out of the group and sped walked through the crowd careful to not trip on your own heels. You caught up to Auston right as he was getting his keys from the valet guy.

“We need to talk.” You demanded latching onto his arm.

“Okay, walk with me to my car.” You walked in silence to the parking garage and once you arrived Auston unlocked the doors getting into the drivers side. “Get in.”

You slid into the passenger side crossing your arms over your chest, “what do you think your doing?”

Auston reached into his backseat grabbing a small box, “Getting Justin’s gift.”

“Not that,” you slapped the small box out of his hand back into the backseat, “you brought one of your old hookups as your date.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yes, you.” Auston mocked your voice, “you brought your ex boyfriend, which is way worse.”

“He’s Justin’s friend too.” You defended.

“Yeah, that’s not making it better.”

You crossed your arms over your chest,“Watching you with another girl isn’t any better for me.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Auston placed his hand on your thigh letting it slowly creep under your dress.

“I told you, we aren’t doing that anymore.” You grabbed his wrist stopping his hand from moving any further.

“You say that every time and then next thing you know we’re hooking up again and the cycle repeats itself.”

“No. I was for real last time, if you don’t want anything serious I’m done. And don’t look at me like that.” You grumbled keeping you arms crossed and eyes straight ahead.

“Like what?” Auston teased a smile playing at his lips.

“Like you actually care.”

“I do.” He responded. “I care about making you feel good.” His right hand made itself comfortable on the back of your neck and began applying pressure, “And you look really tense right now.”

“Wonder who’s responsible for that.” You sarcastically responded.

“The same person who can also help you relax.” He suggested his hand back on your thigh again, but this time you let him go under your dress.

It was pathetic how easily your body responded to him. How your head fell back against the head rest and your hips shifted toward him. Your legs spread further apart and your hand came up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he pushed your panties to the side.

“You’re really wet for someone who’s done with me.” He commented as he massaged your clit, spreading your wetness around.

You ignored his comment

“If you want me to stop I will, but you have to tell me.” You could only manage to shake your head, taking deep breaths while Auston’s middle finger ran up and down your slit.

“Use your words.” Auston whispered into your ear as his fingers continued to dance around where you needed him the most.

“Don’t stop.” You chocked out almost like a plea. Auston followed your command as two of his fingers started to slowly move in and out of you. He used his right hand to unzip the back of your dress. Allowing the top of your dress to fall down, he began sucking and kissing all over your chest.

You reached over the center console to stroke the growing bulge through his dress pants. However, you suddenly felt empty as Auston’s fingers thar were once inside you were now wrapped tightly around your wrist stopping you, “no, this is about you.”

He put your hand back in your lap before bringing his fingers to your lips. He watched intently as you wrapped your lips around his fingers sucking gently. Auston gave you for a hum of approval before going back to pumping his fingers in and out of you at a pace that only someone with significant wrist strength could manage.

You should’ve been embarrassed about how easily he had you falling apart around his fingers, but the feeling was nonexistent as you moaned hiking your leg up on the seat to give him more access.

You bit down on his lip hard keeping your lips connected as you came down from your first orgasm. Auston continued to move his fingers building you up for a second and then he did it again for a third. His fingers continued to move despite your pleas for him to stop.

“You have one more in you.” He encouraged kissing on your neck.

“Auston-I can’t, please.” You whined overstimulated. Auston loved to hear you beg, it didn’t matter if it was for more or for him to stop. He loved the way your voice strained and your body pulsed and his absolute favorite part was hearing the way you said his name.

Hearing you now only motivated him to move his fingers quicker and at more of angle, “Yes you can. You’ve done it before you can do it now.”

Your hips bucked up involuntarily over and over again to meet his fingers. Your body felt like it was on fire as you reached your climax and that’s all it took before you were slumping forward gripping on to the dashboard to keep yourself steady. Your body was absolutely wrecked and you weren’t sure how you were going to stand, let alone walk back to the party.

“Good girl.” Auston kissed the side of your head, finally removing his fingers. He brought them to his own lips this time sucking them clean.

“Enjoy sitting next to your hookup with me still on your fingers.” You commented through ragged breaths.

“Enjoy singing with your ex boyfriend after I just did that to your pussy.” Austons smug remark had you moving with a sudden burst of energy. You reached for your phone looking at the time as it read 7:45. “Fuck,” you mumbled as you frantically pulled your dress back up. You pulled down the passenger side mirror fixing your makeup and hair before pushing the door open.

“Where are you going?” Auston asked as he followed your lead, also getting out of the car.

“Back to the party, I’m supposed to sing with Shawn at 8:00.” You ran your hands over your dress looking at your reflection in the car window.

“I hope Shawn doesn’t remember what you look like after you get fucked.” Auston dismissed your panicked behavior locking the car before walking around to your side.

“I hope Alexa doesn’t mind sitting in the seat where you fucked me.” You threw back as he picked up your hand leading you back to the venue.

You ran straight into Scooter’s chest as you and Auston sped walk back through the side gate that led to patio.

“Woah, slow down turbo.” He joked placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

“Sorry, we uh went to Auston’s car to get his gift for Justin that he forgot and we didn’t realize how far away it was and so we basically ran to make it back in time and they should really give his mom a price reduction because of how far away parking is.” You rambled out of breath as you fidgeted with your fingers.

“Where’s the gift?”

“Huh?” You questioned trying to play it cool.

“The gift, that you guys went to go get. Where is it?” Scooter questioned again looking back and forth between the two of you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You began panicking and searching for any plausible explanation as to why you didn’t have the gift.

“She told me it was stupid.” Auston spoke up clearing his own throat, “the gift, she didn’t like it, told me to return it. Ya know…how she usually acts.” Auston’s voice shook and you mentally rolled your eyes. You may have been a bad actor, but he was worse.

“Right.” Scooter nodded glancing between the two of you again for any real answers. “Well, Shawn’s getting mic’d up now.”

“Yeah I’ll go find him.” You nodded.

“I’ll go back to the table.” Auston said at the same time as you.

You both turned to leave but you turned to your right and he turned to his left causing you to bump into each other. You awkwardly fumbled around each other until you were out of the way.

“Oh and (y/n),” Scooters voice interrupted your awkward interaction “you have a hickey on your neck, might want to put your hair down to cover that up.”

Your cheeks instantly became warm as you kept your head down avoiding eye contact with both of them. “Thanks for letting me know.” You kept your head down as you released your hair from the claw clip it was in and sped walk to the side stage.

“I was starting to think you ditched me.” Shawn joked as he noticed your appearance.

“Sorry I was gone I got caught up in something.” You explained as you were handed a mic. You tucked it under your arm as you placed your inner ear ignoring the way your hands shook.

“You okay? you seem flustered.” He held onto your arm to keep you in place.

“Yeah, Im just nervous.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“I got you, it’s just you and me up there.” His sweet smile made you feel sick. Shawn tucked a piece of hair behind your ear which you quickly began to play with to ensure it didn’t move from your neck.

“You guys ready?” The sound guy asked.

“Yep.” Shawn answered for the both of you as the best you could manage to do was nod your head.

“Alright, you’re on.” He nodded placing headphones over his own ears.

The crowd applauded loudly as you and Shawn took the stage. You were very grateful to whoever’s idea it was to have you sit and perform as you perched yourself on one of the stools center stage. The crowd settled as you sat down and the anticipation built as the opening chords were played by the band.

—

The crowd erupted into cheers as you and Shawn harmonized on the final note. You held tightly onto his hand slowly opening your eyes.

“I’ve missed singing with you.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and then kissed your temple.

“I’ve missed it too.” You agreed, pulling him into a deep hug. Your happiness, however was short lived as you looked out into the crowd and watched a body you knew all too well leaving through the side gate.

You shoved your mic into Shawn’s chest, “I’m sorry give me five minutes and I’ll be back.” You promised leaving without a response.

You sped walk through the crowd your eyes locked on the side gate. You brushed off all the praises you received from people as you passed them, your sole focus on catching up with Auston.

“Auston.” You shouted after him as you exited the gate. He didn’t turn around but kept walking.

“Auston!” You shouted again trying to catch up with him on the sidewalk. “Please stop!” You begged tugging on his arm when you finally caught up.

“What do you want?” He turned around to face you ripping his arm out of your grip.

“I want you to talk to me.”

“Oh like you’ve been talking to me these past couple of weeks?” His voice boomed above all the cars on the street.

“You hurt me.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“I just listened to you sing love songs with your ex, so you hurt me too.”

“That’s not fair.” You crossed your arms, tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes. “You left me at that hotel, I shouldn’t be chasing after you.”

“I left because you slammed the bathroom door in my face.”

“Because I told you I had feelings for you and you said that our relationship wasn’t that serious to you.”

“Because I was scared!” Auston finally burst, “I’ve known I wanted something with you ksince that night at our home game when you got into a fight. But I could tell you didn’t want anything so I kept up the little game we had, but then you stayed the night and wrote the song and my feelings just got all confused.” He ran his hands through his hair letting out a deep sigh, “That night I came to your apartment to apologize, that’s all I should’ve done was apologize and then leave. But once we started, I couldn’t stop, you became addicting. And then you became comforting and-fuck-It’s you, you are all I want.”

“Auston-“ you tried to cut him off, but he didn’t let you.

“And that night you told me you wanted more, I panicked because it would mean we would finally be on the same page. And I started to imagine all the scenarios where it wouldn’t work out. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, but that night I did and I haven’t been able to forgive myself since.”

“I forgive you.” You tentively reached for his hand, “I was confused after that night at your apartment too, but I knew there was something there. And I was hurt after my New York show so I tried pushing you away. But, fuck, I can’t turn off how I feel and you’re all I think about. You are everything I want.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you waited for him to say something, anything. The all consuming silence reminded you of your last night together. And that silence ended in both of you slamming doors and neither of you getting what you wanted.

Up until now all of your relationships for the most part had been easy, especially at the beginning. This was the most you’ve ever had to work. Was being this vulnerable scary as hell? Absolutely. Was Auston worth it? Absolutely.

Auston smiled as a sigh of relief left his lips. He pulled you in by your waist resting his head on your own, “For real?”

You giggled nodding, “yes for real. I don’t want anyone else.” The relief you felt was incomparable. It was like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breath.

“I don’t want anyone else either.” He admitted rubbing his hands up and down your back. “I want you to be my girlfriend.” The last sentence was whispered lowly into your ear.

Your grin was enough of an answer, but still you nodded and whispered “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“I’ll be whatever you want, baby.” Auston reassured placing a kiss on your neck, followed by your cheek, and then your lips.

“Would it be totally wrong if we ditched our dates?

“Yes.” Auston confirmed, “but when have we ever been morally sound people.” He bent to pick you up causing you to squeal and giggle at the sudden change as he carried you down the street.

“That song you performed with him wasn’t even that good anyway.” You laughed at Auston’s bitter tone.

“I’ll perform some new ones for you that I’ve been working on.” You offered running your fingers through his hair.

“As long as they aren’t about another guy.”

“Nah, they’ve all been about the same guy lately” you admitted, hoping the darkness would hide your blush.

“I can’t wait to hear it then.”

#famous reader #hockey #maple leafs #nhl #nhl blurb #toronto maple leafs #celebrity reader #justin bieber #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews #party #shawn mendes #performer

[thepetesimp]

Favourite Underrated Ship? Simple answer: Every single Pete rarepair! -> PorschePete? Iconic! Brilliant! Phenomenal! Most people love "best friends who kiss", I love "secret third thing". However one enjoys them, though, they're delicious to consume😌 (You might think it's not an underrated ship, but I'd like to inform you that it has, in fact, less than 100 fics on Ao3, so it very much is in my book. I'm happy to have contributed to it by posting two of them, but I'd love it if there were more. Hopefully, I'll get inspired anew one day.) -> KinnPete? Oh please, the power dynamics make me giggle like a 10 year old girl playing with Barbie dolls. Such glorious toxicity, such perfect ways Kinn could use and abuse Pete to his benefit, either with or without knowing he's doing it. You can do so much with them, either pre, during or post canon and I get so excited thinking about it. (This one has less than 50(!) fics posted, so I'm super thankful to the few authors who have gifted me some amazing works. Sharing my personal favourite because it deserves to be cherished 🥹) -> ArmPete? Do I even need to sell this one? It can do fluff, it can do angst, it can do smut, it can do it all. My personal favourite flavour of it is Arm having unrequited feelings for Pete because it's just so deliciously angsty 😇 I love me some pain, I can't help it. (This one doesn't have any fics to its name, besides one in Chinese. I'm devastated. I did personally have an idea for a multi-chaptered fic with 3k words already written, but if I manage to focus on it properly one day, it'll end up being a simple one-shot.) -> KimPete? Oh, you mean the ship I got so obsessed over I wrote 25k words of them platonically bonding, while having Kim think to himself more than once how pretty Pete is? You mean the ship that shares so many similarities with VegasPete, while still having its own identity based on the differences between Kim and Vegas? You mean the love of my life? (Again, fics for this one are almost non-existent, which is a shame, but understandable. One day, I'll manage to enrich the tag. One day.) -> TankhunPete? Take KinnPete's fucked up power imbalance and twist it in a more peculiar direction. What you get is this ship, which makes me so uncomfortable but so, so intrigued. (Incredibly underrated with how few fics it has, but a special thanks to this one for altering my brain chemistry when I first read it.) -> BigPete? Rivals who might engage in hate sex from time to time? Pals who share the same fate and understand it and bond over it? Pick your poison and roll with it, because it's delicious either way. I'm personally team "They hate each other" because it's more fun that way 😉 (Almost nothing here again, which is a shame, but again understandable. I had forgotten they shared 2 lines of dialogue together in the show, I deadass thought they never talked to each other, which was great for me lol. Here's one fic written by the same person who wrote the KinnPete one, in case you'd like something cool to read.) -> TayPete? This one's for pure aesthetic reasons because have you seen Tay, have you seen Tay at the auction, have you imagined Pete and Tay fucking at the auction, because I surely have 🙂 It's such a gorgeous image, I lose focus for a hot minute when it comes to me. (This one's tricky, because most people write Vegas/Pete/Tay, which is a glorious choice and I support it, and my talented friend is writing a very good VPT fic, but I'd love it if there were more fics that focus on these two only. They're too powerful, I can't get enough.) I think those are all the ones I'm personally obsessed with. All I have to say is, Pete deserves all the beautiful men and what they'd like to do with him ❤️

#kpanniversary2024 #underrated ships #I have *opinions* about this #this is just a summary #give Pete all the gorgeous men pls #he deserves it #*I* deserve it #do let me know if I've forgotten any ship #it's important to remember them all #for science #pete saengtham #kinnporsche the series

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I've been obsessed with @demon-of-the-ancient-world's post about Paul bandaging his own wounds after the duel with Feyd ever since I saw it. Partially because I am pretty sure he would not be physically able to do it, but he sure would try. So have a little thing.

Eventually, he is able to stop giving orders and having them fervently obeyed long enough to limp over to the hallway leading out of the war room. With every step, he is figuring out how to better hide the limp. His side still fucking hurts.

Close to the relief of the cool dark hallway, he spots a familiar face. Mari, the medic from his old band of fedaykin. Her gaze falters as he approaches.

"Bandages," he requests. At least his voice is still coming out steady.

She fishes in her pack and pulls out a roll. Holds it out to him like an offering, her fingers retreating as soon as he takes it.

She'd once held him down with a knee on his back while she pulled a piece of shrapnel out of his shoulder. Now she is afraid to touch him.

"More," he rasps.

She produces another roll. That should be enough.

There's a little anteroom just off the main chamber. A few Fremen trail after him as he heads there.

"Guard the door," he says to no one in particular. "No one enters." He shuts them all out.

He doesn't remember what this room was used for, in the brief time that he had lived here. It's empty now, save for a stone platform that runs along one wall at waist height. He drops the rolls of bandages on the platform and sags against it.

As soon as he lets the control slip, a wave of nausea washes over him. His head is pounding, blood drying tacky and itchy on his face, and with every breath it feels like both knives are still inside him.

Focus. He hears it in his mother's voice. She taught him this, how to reach inside himself and master pain. Attention stretching inward, finding the nerve endings that are screaming and shutting them down. He'd practiced with an embroidery needle pricking his finger. This is a bit more than that.

He concentrates until everything still hurts, but not so much that he's going to pass out. Probably. Then he starts working the fastenings of his stillsuit loose.

He gets the shoulder straps released and the moisture seal broken at the main seam, but then he's stuck. Pulling the suit off his left shoulder requires raising his right arm, and that comes with a spike of pain and an abrupt tilt of the floor underneath him. He grabs the edge of the platform and has to spend some more time working on not passing out. Starting with his right shoulder proves no better; twisting his torso in that direction makes his vision gray at the edges.

He's leaning heavily against the stone platform trying to figure out what to do when there's a commotion at the door. He hauls himself into standing up straight just as a young man, wide-eyed and with blood all down the front of his stillsuit, gets shoved into the room. "Forgive me, Lisan al-Gaib," the man says. "The scarfless warmaster insists on entering."

It takes him a minute to realize who he's is talking about. "Let him in."

The man retreats, and Gurney steps into the room. "My lord." His gaze takes in the bandages, the pathetic progress he's made on removing his stillsuit. He closes the door behind him. "If I may."

Paul nods.

As soon as Gurney peels the stillsuit back from his injured shoulder, he realizes he never could've done it alone. It's a two-handed job, easing his arm out of the garment, and he needs his one free hand to bite down on to keep from making noise.

Gurney helps him slide the suit down to his waist. His torso is painted with blood but there's nothing to clean it with now. Best to focus on keeping any more from coming out.

Together they bandage his side, then his shoulder. Gurney's hands are not unkind but they are pragmatic, efficient, not flinching away from his wounds but not lingering either. There is no talking save Paul telling him to wrap the bandage tighter.

He remembers a time, long ago. Sitting on a storage chest in the staging room of the parade grounds below Castle Caladan, watching Gurney help his father put his armor on.

There had been a surrender--of whom, he can't remember. He could not have been more than five or six at the time. Generals of the army they'd just defeated coming to sign the armistice agreement, but with enough resentment about it that everyone was nervous, and his father was wearing armor to declare peace.

There had been no talking then, either. Just Gurney moving practically around his father, an extra pair of hands for pauldrons and breastplate and greaves, while his father practiced the speech he was going to give under his breath, making subtle adjustments to tone and emphasis along the way. He doesn't remember the speech, only the feeling, Gurney preparing his father's body while his father prepared himself in other ways.

That is what is happening now.

Once they get his shoulder wrapped as tight as they can, Gurney helps him ease the stillsuit back on. Gurney still needs some direction to get it laced properly, the Fremen way, but having another pair of hands to pull the straps tight over his shoulders means he only has to grit his teeth, not spend time waiting for the room for stop spinning.

He takes a few test steps across the room. The bandage around his ribs restricts his breathing a little, but it makes walking slightly less painful. That will do.

He pulls himself up to his full height, straight-backed, head held high. The posture of an emperor. Ready for battle.

#dune #dune part two #paul atreides #whump #tumblr fic

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi prime defenders spoilers #jrwi pd spoilers #jrwi pd #william wisp #vyncent sol #THIS ONE IS FUUUUCKIN OOOOOLLDD RAAAHHHHH i made it like. a year ago. but didnt finish it for so so long bc i just wasnt happy w it. #BUT LIKE A CENTURY EGG the decades of being encased in salt n lime n ash have done WELL to bring out the flavores of this piece #i sorta recently cleaned it up and posted it onto twitty. didnt tag it bc it was SO OLD AND SCUFFED(i see so many MISTAKES NOW) #that i didnt want to expose it to the open air just like that #if i show smth to my small circles then it shall only be understood in those small circles. #open air and open interpretation from minds i cannot predict are NOT something i enjoy the thought of. usually. i am brave tho #BUT EVERYONE ON TWITTY WAS SO NICEEE i was like damn... i guess it IS good enough to be enjoyed by the masses... #lets work on being nicer to our art together. THAT BEING SAID. i really love my colors here HELL YEAHHHH #FIRST TIME IN A WHILE COLORIN THESE BOYS.... i dont use proper color enough..I ALSO RLY LIKE MY BACKGROUNDS HERE #i LOVE when the bg is hyperrealistic (i frankestiened stock photos) and when the subjects are all flat colored n cartoony #recently rewatched Making Fiends and they do that similar thing!! soft shading! lotsa details! almost painted? ill paint one day #ive already rambled so much abt the art im runnin out of ROOm to ramble about WWWIILLIAM GODDAMN WWIIIISP. its been a minute since i saw- #-this episode..but i DO remember the funny smoke trick that will did to his funny brother. EVERYTIME U GIVE AN ORDER. THAT BRINGS HARM- #-INDIRECTLY OR NOT. YOU WILL HEAR THOSE SCREAMS. YOU WILL FEEL THAT PAIN. OHHH WHAT A COOL PUNISHMENT THAT IS #its still an olive branch in a sense! a final chance for big bro bell to show that hes NOT an irrideemable piece o shit. and if not #well. to the wolves of psychosis with him!!! i really think william did the best he could here. if i was in his shoes i have no doubt i- #-woulda done the same. IM ALSO GLAD THAT VYN DECIDED TO STICK AROUND N SUPPORT HIM! thas character development baybe!! #i loooove prime defenders.. its been so long since i watched any eps of it but i KNOW it still has such a grip on my heart..GOTTA rewatch i

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

#hellsing #alucard #kouta hirano #translation was found in a comment by u/lazyfoxheart on r/Kurrent #fun fact this is the highest quality version of this image that exists online #i know because i've been looking forever for a version that's clear enough to actually read what hirano wrote under '1443' #but there weren't any so i had to take matters into my own hands #the real image on the back of the guidebook is only 2 inches tall so i had to take this with my smartphone and will my hands not to shake #anyway i'm pretty sure it's supposed to say Eğrigöz (the location vlad was imprisoned) so yeah. thank you hirano very cool #if i might rant for a sec it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that out because i didn't have the guidebook at first #and in the images i could find online that part was just a blur that looked suspiciously like a person's signature and i was like. who tf #i was thinking matthias corvinus since he issued some political propaganda against vlad iirc but it didn't match his signature on wikipedia #then i thought it might be vlad II dracul's since he probably had to sign an agreement to send his sons over as hostages at some point #but that didnt seem right either so i kept skimming vlad's wiki page #and then i was like goddammit...hirano.....you just misspelled Eğrigöz didn't you.. .... #i maybe should've made a separate post dedicated to this instead of writing a novel in the tags but eh #the hellsing brainrot runs deep #also- i put it in the source link at the bottom of the post but the german inscription is copied off a real woodcut of vlad from 1491 #except instead of depicting him as an adult hirano drew him as a child which gives the inscription a very different feel imo #the one final thing that interests me about this is the fact that hirano published this calendar in 2002 #which is REALLY early in the series. like this was before volume 5 came out?? #i have no idea why he decided to do a massive spoiler drop in a random piece of japan-only merch #sandwiched between a drawing of alucard as john travolta from saturday night fever and integra as a fish no less #it makes me really curious to know what the fan response to this was back then. like did people even know who this was #maybe im just an idiot and everyone back then was like 'ah yes its alucard as a 12 year old. how very informative'

[greenerteacups]

Are there any other wizarding families that are underexplored in canon and pique your interest in a similar way to the Blacks?

This is a unique function of what food my brain worms like to eat, but no one's doing it like the Blacks. The drama? The intrigue? The Gothic horror? The prodigal sons and lost daughters and killers and sinners and martyrs and saints? The wizard Catholicism of it all? The story of the House of Black is the best book never written.

#i do think the potters could benefit from fleshing out #like harry's got no cousins or grandparents on his dad's side and that's weird to me #because his parents were... 22? so... how early did james's parents die? and how? because they're not old enough for natural causes #though to be honest. if i could add one backstory to canon it wouldn't be the potters OR the blacks #it would be peter pettigrew and the story of his betrayal #most important decision in the whole fucking series. lynchpin of the novels' decade-spanning plot #and it's like. whoops. motivation machine broke! #WHY did he do it? we have no mcfucking clue #the potters and blacks are cool to think about but ultimately just extra dressing for the plot #understanding peter pettigrew is crucial to understanding why the novels happen and we simply don't! #EDIT: just remembered the pottermore canon that the Potters have james when they're much older and that's why they're not around #that's not satisfying to me for 2 reasons 1: wizards canonically have longer-than-normal lifespans #and 2: doesn't explain how/why the Evanses disappear after Lily's death #like I'm not saying they COULDN'T die — obviously could! my grandparents were all dead before my 20s #but that was like. cancer. and in one case aggressively accelerated liver failure #just like a throwaway line or something to clear it up would've been cool #since it's not so much a plot hole as a plot pothole #we can get over it but shit's smoother without