#anyway. hope this scratched that itch a bit!

[tofixtheshadows]

hi!! so there are a lot of improbabilities that make this hypothetical unlikely but: if kabru had met toshiro first & recruited him (toshiro being so passive + not with a clear goal would have helped there & kabru is ptsd-driven but very noble in his goals which can be explained) AND they got all the way down to the bottom (idk if i believe in them...but hypothetically!) would the winged lion find either of them to be a good target for next dungeon lord? one over the other? im thinking kabru has the intensity and complexity of desire necessary but i can't imagine what it would look like if he became lord of the dungeon. do you have any thoughts?

Good morning. This is a very fun thought experiment!

(side note: I got a second anon this morning with a very similar request? not sure if related. I'm gonna let this answer speak for both of them)

Toshiro sure would have had a different time of it if Kabru had gotten to him first, huh? On the one hand, Toshiro seems to like Kabru; I think it's sweet that Kabru seems to gravitate towards hanging out with him when he isn't with the rest of the main cast. So they probably would've been good in a party together.

On the other hand, Toshiro never would have met Falin and fallen in love with her. Even if she didn't reciprocate in the end, I don't think he regrets anything that happened. Even his difficult friendship with Laios was ultimately positive (for both of them!).

They definitely would not have made it to the deeper floors, I think Senshi is crucial to achieving that ... but this is a hypothetical.

I'm puzzling over the question of Toshiro, because he is a secondary character and there's only so much we know about his motivations. His big one in canon is to save Falin, even if it means all he can do is put her to rest. Without that, without her, what sort of desires does he have?

Toshiro originally came to the Island because of a demand from his father: for one of his three sons to find "something interesting" enough on their travels to bring back home that would convince their capricious bastard father to make them his heir over the others. So they're all off on their separate training journeys with their respective retainers with the added caveat that they can't return without something to impress their father. It's implied that after falling in love with Falin, Toshiro had wanted to bring back home a wife.

Since he's said to inherit the family after he returns home without her anyway, I've been assuming that the "thing" Toshiro ended up bringing to Toshitsugu Nakamoto was the story of the dungeon, the demon, and his friend Laios, king of a risen country and Devourer of All Things Horrible.

Anyway, the things we know about Toshiro's home life are kind of fucked. It's amazing he turned out to be so nice. He's always been a shy, sensitive person, and he was sickly as a child; Maizuru cared for him despite her spymaster duties and ended up filling a motherly role for him, even though Toshiro's mother is still alive. Historically, it wasn't uncommon for noble children to be raised more closely by their governesses/household retainers than their parents, so perhaps something similar was happening here (disclaimer that I don't know much about feudal Japan specifically).

We know that Maizuru loves Toshiro and dotes on him, but she's also very strict and frankly terrifying; she used the same Hag summon that she was monitoring Izutsumi with on Toshiro as a child just to keep him from wandering off. We also know that when he found out that Maizuru was having an affair with his father, it put a distance between them. Whether this is because he felt betrayed on his mother's behalf or because he dislikes his father that much, or something else, is unclear.

Toshiro was childhood friends with Hien, but as they got older, she had to take his place as one of his retainers, which seems to have severed that closeness. Canonically, he isn't close to his two younger brothers either. Toshitsugu literally bought Inutade and Izustumi (the latter as a drunken "gift" for Maizuru!). We see that Toshiro is uncomfortable with this, but doesn't know how to approach the issue. He lets Izutsumi go the second she's out of sight for five minutes, which implies to me that he really wanted the excuse to do so. Inutade is harder, because she loves being with the Nakamoto family and hero-worships Toshiro's father.

...all this to say, Toshiro has complicated relationships with his family and household. There's love there, but also a lot of coldness enforced by the upper-class need for propriety. Toshiro falls in line and acts as the proper stoic samurai, but he chafes at this; he envies Laios's gift for feeling and expressing things openly and readily. I think that's what the Winged Lion would prey on, given the chance.

I don't think he would be prime dungeon lord material, but if it came to that, I could see the Lion tempting Toshiro with a kinder vision of his life, one where he and his little brothers weren't pitted against one another, where his family was warmer, where there weren't barriers of class between him and his retainers, where he was allowed to be more himself.

Now ... Kabru.

Kabru is interesting because, since his ultimate goal is to seal the dungeon and eradicate monsters, I imagine that meeting a demon would be like a guy who's given a genie and wants to wish for no more genies. And if said genie is trying to take over the world via wishes, the genie is a bit screwed. I really think that Kabru is the character who would stump the demon(s) the most, despite his complex desires, because they are antithetical to the demon. Laios also had complex desires, but the Winged Lion lured him and set him up as the hero of a fake prophecy because a lot of Laios's desires revolved around monsters, so his wants aligned perfectly with the demon's methods. Oh you want monsters? That's great, they're the things I use to solve most of my problems anyway.

Even in the absence of prior knowledge of demons, I think Kabru's back would be up as soon as the Winged Lion tried speaking to him. Kabru's insight is almost preternatural, and he's well-versed in persuasive speaking thanks to his own silver tongue. He would mistrust the Lion immediately, especially considering its monster-like form.

Giving the demons bestial appearances is an artistic choice on Kui's part, so I don't think there's any indication that the Winged Lion & co can't look human, but the Lion might have been constrained both by Thistle's seals on it and the need to maintain the lie that it's just the innocent guardian deity of the Golden Country. If it could, I think it would try to look less monstrous, with Kabru.

Still, the point of the demons, I see, is that anyone can be tempted, anyone can be manipulated, because we are all full of buried desires that can be unearthed, and wanting things and having to defend them make you susceptible to manipulation.

Consider what Mithrun told Kabru: they keep the knowledge of demons secret because knowing the truth would not stop people from trying to have their wishes granted. After all, Mithrun was a Canary, but he fell for its temptation anyway. I've seen people characterize this as a sort of rock bottom decision, and maybe that's true, but I also pin it on his toxic inferiority/superiority complex. That's exactly the kind of thing that makes you think you're built different.

Would Marcille have stopped before unsealing the Winged Lion if Mithrun(/Kabru) had actually gotten to sit down with her for five minutes and explain why becoming dungeon lord would be a very bad idea? Maybe. Or maybe her desperation, and her own pride, would have made her decide that she knew better, that she'd be careful, that she'd go in with a plan and definitely get what she wanted with no dire consequences.

I think Kabru could be desperate enough to make a similar decision, even if his desires were antithetical to the demon. And the demons have an advantage over the aforementioned genie simile: their ability to eat desires.

If the Winged Lion were smart, it wouldn't let Kabru seal it away like Thistle. Given the opportunity, its best chance for dealing with Kabru would have been to immediately eat his desire to stop another Utaya.

I'm gonna plug this wonderful and tragic little one-shot someone wrote recently about the dungeon lord Kabru hypothetical: This place is not a place of honor.

#oh my god someone fucking shoot me with a tranq dart PLEASE #Dungeon Meshi spoilers #dungeonposting #musings with Dea #I hope someone writes a hypothetical party comp switch AU fic one day #like Laios's own AU of getting eaten in Falin's stead #and Falin going in to rescue him ... but what if Marcille came with her? and Toshiro? and they met Senshi? #or an idea I've mentioned before: Laios and Kabru would be an excellent tank/DPS combo #Kabru's party is really cohesive and good at fighting! they just don't have monster knowledge #if Laios were there to point Kabru's blades in the right direction he'd be absolutely lethal #anyway. hope this scratched that itch a bit! #sorry I didn't include more visual aids here I'm struggling today #Dea answers #Dea's anonymous friends

[finxwrites]

demon au

"You're late," Peter grumped.

"I'm early," Neal corrected. "It's five minutes to eight."

Peter narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why are you early?"

Neal snorted. He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder at the still-spooked gate guards. "You think your buddies there would have let me in on my own?"

"They would," Peter said, exasperated, "if you gave them your name like a normal person, instead of…" He waved his hand around in a way that was presumably meant to indicate the whole rising-out-of-shadow thing.

Neal smirked. "But Peter, I've already given my name to you."

#white collar #wc demon au #I just finished a chapter of the pirate au fic and I am trying REALLY hard not to post it at once #it needs editing! I know this! I do! #but I want to show everyone right away #I crave the joy of Post #so! instead I post this and hope it will scratch that same itch #the next bit (chapter? fic in a series? who knows) of the demon au is 4 pages already! #a full 2k! #nothing happens bc there is no plot we are just hanging out #but if I throw enough vibes and worldbuilding at the page maybe a plot will arise #and maybe not #maybe we will just be hanging out forever #but honestly that's fine with me I am in this au for the vibes anyway #a plot would just be a convenient scaffolding on which to attach them

[todayisafridaynight]

Sorry to keep throwing Miscellaneous Asks your way, but I finally had a moment to get my thoughts in order on one of the points on your Venn diagram I wanted to talk about! I always kind of debate whether or not to send other, semi-unrelated long asks like this when we've already got a chain going, but oh well. I'll try and address anything brought up in response here in the main one and hopefully it doesn't get confusing lol.

So I was thinking about the extent of Jo and Arakawa's relationship. It is completely true there's not much you can say that's concrete, especially since most of what we see is from Jo's perspective. Although his perspective is crucial to forming an understanding of their relationship, it's not sufficient. This is particularly the case because, coming back to giri-ninjo for a moment, Jo is largely bound by giri; it's clear his loyalty runs deep, but it's not a choice for him.

Arakawa, on the other hand, can choose who he places his trust in, especially early on. And I think it's incredibly important that, despite having men who've already been with him from day 1, men who've already been helping him with his son, Arakawa chooses to "place every confidence" in Jo (per an old Famitsu profile, one of the first official ones) and chooses to make Jo his captain.

Similarly, he kind of chooses Jo "over" Ichi in sending Ichi to prison "instead of" Jo. Perhaps the family really would collapse without Jo's talents, but… does it have to collapse entirely? Didn't Arakawa make it pretty far on his own? I guess it's neither here nor there, but I've always wondered if things would've really played out as feared if Jo went to prison instead. Not to understate Jo's role in the family, of course.

Anyway, I think that trust shows not only in overt gestures such as entrusting Masato and the family's finances to Jo, but also in more subtle behind-the-scenes ways, such as what we were talking about before with regard to New Year's 2001. There's also the fact that leaking information to Aoki was Jo's idea; for that to be the case, Arakawa would have to discuss Aoki's threats at length with Jo. (Unrelated, but come to think of it, "complying with him [to] make him see value in keeping us around" is very often the strategy of victims of abuse and neglect…)

And this one's an underrated detail many people miss, but after Arakawa shot Ichi, while he was able to come up to Ichi to tell him he's counting on him and sneak in the fake bill, if the goal was to not arouse suspicion, I don't think he would exactly have been able to excuse himself from the dinner to drive Ichi to Yokohama. Time was of the essence in terms of Ichi's survival, so that leaves Jo, who was conveniently already at the scene and who was certainly in on the "secret rule" that constitutes part of the Arakawa Family's agreement with the homeless camp. Overall, there is a pattern of Arakawa approaching Jo before anyone else, isn't there?

Sort of branching off of that, I would personally feel comfortable saying that Jo knows Arakawa better than anyone else. He seems to know details about Akane and New Year's 1976 no one else does, details Arakawa would have had to volunteer himself, and that plus his own experiences are what allow him alone to have the most complete picture of that night.

I also get the impression Jo understands Arakawa better as a person than anyone else--certainly better than Aoki, but perhaps even better than Ichi in some cases. There are multiple instances where he defends Arakawa and challenges their perceptions of him--that he's "betrayed" the Tojo Clan, that he's betrayed Aoki, that he's the type to scheme and make power-plays behind Aoki's back. He hasn't. And, despite how little Jo's "allowed" to say, he turns out to be right every time. Also worth noting Arakawa does something similar in asking Ichi to try and understand Jo's frustrations, though he's more or less enabling Jo's abuse in doing so.

Lastly, The Smallest Detail that drives me kind of insane. Them arriving at the office in the back seat of the same car in one of Ichi's flashbacks. I wouldn't think too much of it if it were any other time of day, but the first-thing-in-the-morning quality and the fact Jo isn't driving (thus it's not as an act of service but as an equal) is like… Okay. You're carpooling to work. And if you're not carpooling, you're honest-to-god living together. What the hell.

So a lot of it is this web of inferences--it has to be, at least currently--but I really do think there's a lot to chew on. More than meets the eye, anyway. I've also been stewing in all of this for years, especially since drafting Jo's relationships section, so I might just have inhaled the fumes for too long lol

Thank you for coming to me about the nature of their relationship! Although I did put it down as being more-or-less 'uncertain' on my chart, I do agree that their relationship isn't as cut-and-dry as other relationships might be (it's going back to appreciating the complexities of RGG relationships, especially in the case of the Arakawa's where for every party involved it really IS complicated)

I wanted to exclude making any definitive statements on things that couldn't be verified without making a detour on the original post (I know I already mentioned frequently that Arakawa is able to joke about Jo being 'softer' on Masato, but I do think about their relationship often and the implied depth of Jo's loyalty if- as you said- he was able to climb through the ranks of the Arakawa family much quicker than preexisting members), but there are clear points in the game that due allude to a great trust between the two (and I also note that carpooling detail during Ichi's flashback- or at the very least I know I'd find myself noticing Jo sitting in the back opposed to the front/driving). It's definitely not hard to assert that Jo knows Arakawa well either, it's hard not to come to that conclusion when we have evidence from the game to infer that.

#long post #fave #i should prob come up with an actual tag for these asks so i can easily find them and not sift through my other fave'd posts #ill do it in the morning im right about to go to bed but i just saw this pop up on my notifications #and well. we know me i've been presented an itch i have to scratch LMAO #snap chats #i feel a bit silly now- i know that their relationship isn't exactly. 'uncertain' but i didnt want to put that so i didn't appear #hmm.. i dont know the word for it. #i guess because it's not AS blatant as daigo and mine's relationship was #i didnt want to make it appear as though i was saying theres more when there isnt?? tho there definitely is.. #its a little evident i Am interested in the depths of their relationship so i promise ive thought about it #maybe i just wasnt sure how to exactly word it.. though in review the way i worded it on my chart #wasn't HORRIBLE. to most standards anyway i think however it definitely undermines the bond they have and for that #'ashamed' is hyperbolic i feel like someone would say so we'll go with 'embarrassed' to meet in the middle #but thats the benefit of peer review isnt it- just to help catch your mistakes or to help reaffirm ideas so im grateful! #but x2 again in review im a silly coward for doubting my gut on that #tho i sort of do want to torch that post- i wont tho. it's not supposed to be SUPER deep just very quick notes #so i guess i'll save the Deep Dive on jo and masumi's relationship for a future post. is what ill tell myself to keep myself sane #thank you for compiling- i suppose i'll call- their moments together ! #it's a great way to keep track of every important note on their relationship that i hope people will take note of if they havent

[hekateinhell]

Could you talk about Daniel? Like please :( Whatever you want (headcanons, what you like and don't like, him as a character, the impression he gave you first time reading it, opinions in general, if he works well as a character, whatever you like. Give me some crumbs people. Just, like, discuss anything. I'm unwell, I am obssesed, I love his masochist ass. I need something, *anything*. Devil's Minion, or whatever you would like to talk about! (If you do want, that is). Thanks in advance :(

Oh, what an ask! I'll do my best for you. <3

I feel like I talk about Daniel a lot actually, if you haven't already peeked my Daniel Molloy and Armand/Daniel tags! Still working on perfecting my tagging system though, bear with me.

When it comes to Daniel, it's interesting because AR didn't give us much on him, so it can feel very fanon/headcanon territory sometimes as opposed to cold hard facts. But she gave us enough.

Likes/Dislikes

I honestly don't think I dislike anything about him! Maybe if he'd gotten more screen-time I'd have had a chance to come up with something.

I think my favorite Daniel quotes sum up (at least partially) why I enjoy him so much. He's inquisitive, daring, sharp as hell. And still so painfully innocent. It hurts. He was just a kid!

First Impressions

Can't lie, baby me wasn't too impressed with Daniel right off the bat. I started the series out of order with TVA (which explains a lot about me tbh I think), and being introduced to Daniel as a character via Armand's traumatized, depressive, disassociating perspective isn't great.

Then I read B&G because I had to know what happened with Marius and Armand (fucked myself over there), but hey Daniel's also here! And it's not... great. But then, I went back to the library, got the first three books, and binged them through in order and met Daniel the way Anne had intended us to.

I was way too young (12-13?) to appreciate themes that weren't spelled out for me, i.e. the S&M and D/s dynamics. I just thought "Oh, this is dark and sad and also hilarious... shame he goes crazy and we never see him again, I guess." Older teenage me had her come-to-Jesus moment with Devil's Minion now that I knew what I was looking at... and I just- still to this day- I can't believe Anne did that in 28 pages. Just doesn't make sense. Objectively, I think it's the best 28 pages she ever wrote. It competes with a few other VC passages for my all-time favorite, but I wholeheartedly think it is the overall best.

The older I get and the more I experience life, the more I understand Devil's Minion, and VC in general. It's such a brutal and exquisitely beautiful story. And Daniel is such a fucking great character. AR was so incredibly skilled at intertwining the human experience into her work even in the most ridiculous of scenarios (i.e. rockstar vampires), and it absolutely shines through with Daniel Molloy and Devil's Minion.

Re: headcanons, I have several already but feel free to let me know if there's any particular ones you'd like to see!

#anyway i rambled #hope i scratched your daniel itch just a bit babe #you ask and hekate answers #daniel molloy #devil's minion #vc

[loaksky]

i don’t celebrate thanksgiving, but could you guys imagine college!ellie taking roommate!reader home to jackson because she’d be alone for the holiday? short lil oneshot to get back into the groove of writing. do i hate this? yes.

recommended songs: alabama haint — penny and sparrow + what once was — her’s

warnings: language, a few brief mentions of family issues, suggestive content (kissing among other things) + mild sexual content, a lil misunderstanding and angst bc who am i if i don’t ??, CONFESSIONS because i’m a sloot for them. i think that’s it? not proofread ofc heh

it’s the weekend before thanksgiving, sunday to be exact, and ellie’s packing her backpack for joel’s. the energy in the the room’s a little off despite the fact that you’re normally reserved, and even though the two of you have only met this year, ellie’s learned to read you pretty well.

“you goin’ home for thanksgiving?” ellie asks absently, trying to make small talk as she rolls a sleep shirt and some pajamas haphazardly to stuff at the top of her bag.

there’s a pause that makes her brain itch before she sees the way you shake your head from where you’re hunched over a textbook at your desk.

“my family’s all over the place right now,” you answer honestly.

and ellie doesn’t know if you mean that figuratively or literally, but the lack of emotion in your voice tells her that maybe she shouldn’t pry. she can’t help it, though. because you’re her sweet and quiet roommate who’d been serious (and maybe a little scary) at first, but turned out to be a goofball with a little bit of prodding.

so seeing you like this, checked out and maybe a little stressed, ellie treads cautiously.

“so you’re gonna stay here?” she asks.

you don’t even spare her a glance.

“yeah.” your shoulders shrug. “no point in dropping so much money for a plane ticket if i’m going to be sitting home alone anyways.”

ellie makes a noise in the back of her throat and you throw look over your shoulder.

“sorry,” you offer softly, smile sheepish. “that was a little depressing.”

ellie shakes her head.

“no, i get it,” she assures you. “my family’s not really...”

you blink at her as she trails off.

“conventional? i guess?”

another quiet blankets the two of you and ellie’s speaking before she can even filter through the repercussions of her next words.

“you’re always welcome to...y’know...come with,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “it’s not even a two hour drive.”

you hope ellie can’t tell that your cheeks are burning.

“you don’t have to, of course,” ellie blabbers. “but joel’s cool, so’s my uncle and his wife. it’d be nice, i think. and jackson’s pretty fun around this time of year...”

“i don’t wanna imp—”

ellie breathes a laugh.

“don’t,” she warns you, tips of her ears burning. “you’re more than welcome, seriously.”

it’s how you end up in the passenger seat of ellie’s old 4runner, heater on blast while sublime plays on the radio.

the car ride had consisted of ellie munching on cold fries the two of you had picked up from mcdonald’s before the interstate and you finally opening up about how your parents are divorced and how the holidays are a lot more stressful than they are pleasant.

ellie really feels for you, definitely knows the feeling losing her mom at a pretty young age and being adopted in middle school by a single, bereaved father. she tells you that they’d found each other when they needed the other the most.

and you don’t particularly know why you’re so nervous when ellie finally takes the exit off the interstate and you guys make your way through the suburbs. perhaps it’s the domesticity of meeting her family, or that you’re over a hundred miles away from familiarity, but your fingers are trembling when she turns into the neighbourhood and cozy brick homes line the frost-laden streets.

she’s pulling up and parking on the curb in front of a warm two-story that has a blue pickup truck and a gold SUV in the driveway when she notices.

“hey, hey,” she whispers, noticing the way you’re wringing your hands to stop the shaking. “you okay?”

her hands are warm when they close over yours and her thumbs is brushing over your skin soothingly.

“i’m being dumb,” you admit.

ellie’s eyes are crystal clear under the setting sun.

“don’t say that,” she says softly. “you wanna take a second?”

you swallow and shake your head.

“no, we can go,” you assure her.

she’s searching your face for any tell, but when you offer her a soft smile, she’s leaning back in her seat and nodding. before she completely pulls away, you’re stopping her.

“thanks, ellie,” you say gently. “this was really kind of you.”

she flashes you an easy smile, squeezes your hand a final time before climbing out of the car and rounding the front to help you out.

and truthfully, you realize you were nervous for nothing. because when the door swings open to reveal an older man aged with smile lines and greying hair, ellie seemingly softens infinitely.

“hey, kiddo,” he greets, crushing her in a hug so tight, she’s spluttering out a laugh.

“joel, i can’t breathe,” she wheezes.

you’re standing there awkwardly, backpack slung over your shoulder when joel finally loosens his hold on ellie and glances over her head.

“who’s this?” he asks, but the smile he wears is knowing.

“________, my roommate,” she introduces quickly, cheeks warming an awful shade of red as she begs every force above that joel won’t blow her cover.

because, okay, maybe ellie’s talked about you on the phone way more times than she’d care to admit out loud. talked about how intimidating you were at first, then graduated to talking about how you were actually so cool. and maybe she’d brought up the fact that she thought you were pretty. like...super pretty. and that maybe she was crushing a teensy bit.

“nice to meet you,” joel replies simply, sparing ellie this time around.

you let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding onto, offering a smile that makes ellie wonder if she’ll survive the week with you in such a new proximity.

“nice to meet you, too,” you almost whisper, relaxing as he reaches for the backpack slung over your shoulder.

“here, let me take this for you,” he says.

and it doesn’t take you long to realize where ellie gets it from. her kind spirit and fierce yet gentle heart. joel is soft-spoken, a little rough around the edges, but a warm energy that radiates through the home he’s made for himself and ellie.

it makes infinitely more sense enter tommy and maria, her uncle and aunt who tell you the silliest stories about the starry-eyed girl in her youth over dinner. who bring out her boisterous laughter when they sing old 80’s music over dishes and evening TV.

“your family’s so cool,” you say in awe, wrapped in one of her coats she’d dug out of the closet under the stairs.

you’re nursing a mug of hot chocolate that steams in the icy air of jackson on her back porch.

ellie breathes out a little laugh.

“they’re something,” she jokes, watching you over the rim of her mug.

you make her heart thud hard in her chest as she takes you in, bundled in pieces of her that make her think that she wouldn’t mind making you hers.

“i miss times like these,” you whisper.

ellie shifts closer, catching you by surprise when her thumb swipes over the curve of your top lip.

“sorry,” she hums quietly. “you had...uh...”

you let out a hollow laugh and shake your head, tell her that it’s fine as a silence blankets the two of you.

“i’m glad you like them,” ellie admits softly. “sometimes i get a little self-conscious because, y’know, everyone expects a nuclear family and...”

“i’d take this any day,” you assure her, and the true implication of your words is latent, but something hopeful pricks her tummy.

i’d take this any day...with you.

and locking eyes with you usually scares her, usually makes her queasy with nerves because there’s always something searing in your gaze, but it’s like you see each other for the first time, no barriers.

ellie’s so close she can feel the warmth of your body coiling and drawing her in. her breath’s caught in her throat as she chances a glance at your mouth and her own lips begin to tingle.

she’s on the brink of asking if she can kiss you, but the back door is sliding open and two familiar faces are surfacing.

“williams!”

ellie’s daze melts away as she shifts to put distance between the two of you at the arrival of her friends.

“jess!” she calls. “dina!”

the moment clings heavy, but ellie writes it off. maybe she’s jumping the gun, reading too much into tender moments. it’s colored on your face, though, as she stands to meet her friends halfway, that the two of you are tethered and you feel it too.

ellie’s friends are another reflection of her character. they take you under their wings in the days leading up to the holiday with jesse teaching you to ride his minibike and dina telling you stories of their childhood while excitedly painting your nails pretty shades of autumnal colors because both jesse and ellie vehemently decline.

joel graciously relinquishes his kitchen to the four of you the day before thanksgiving. lets you guys gather around and bake an array of different desserts for tomorrow’s dinner over a few beers and winecoolers.

perhaps ellie’s a lightweight, you come to find, when she’s a lot more giggly and rosy-cheeked than she’d ever let anyone see. she’s feeling a little bubbly and you definitely don’t help the fact when you gaze upon her so fondly as you smear away the streaks of flour across her cheek.

jesse and dina are merely observers, watching with knowing grins as ellie practically melts against your touch.

and as the desserts cool on the kitchen island and the two of see jesse and dina out, ellie can’t keep her hazy eyes off of you. the two of you vote on a movie and she’s taking her usual seat in the right corner of the couch. it starts out with the two of you on opposite ends, but as the film plays, the space between you and ellie diminishes and she swears you can hear the way her heart’s pounding behind her ribcage with your ear pressed to her chest.

it’s uncharted territory considering ellie’s never been big on physical touch and she can’t even be sure that there's anything there, but you have to know. ellie’d mentioned past girlfriends, wasn’t really subtle when it came to wandering eyes on campus, hell, she’d even���

suddenly your arm’s tightening around the narrow of her waist and you’re nestling impossibly closer and christ, ellie can’t help herself when the coarse pads of her fingertips brush your jaw to catch your attention.

your gaze is illuminated by pixels and there’s a hitch in your breathing as you search her features for any hesitation. it’s long gone, you find, when ellie’s mouth is slotting yours, lips warm and tongue still flavored with sparkling wine.

ellie kisses like you’re air and she needs you to breathe. it’s almost embarrassing, way her body reacts to your proximity, how hot she us under the collar and achey as you move to straddle her. her fingertips are skimming down your spine, past the small of your back to take a—

your teeth sinking in the plump of her bottom lip and the way your soft palms find purchase against the rigid expanse of her tattooed abdomen is sobering. has her bony fingers cupping the flesh of your jaw.

“wait, wait,” she whispers, chest heaving and breaths shallow as she looks up at you.

the dust is starting to settle and you take in ellie’s kiss-bitten lips, swollen and slick. her pupils are blown wide, sweater riding up to reveal reddened flesh like you’ve branded her. you lean back.

“fuck,” you whisper. “fuck, i’m so sorry.”

ellie’s mouth is drying.

“why are you sorry?” she whispers.

you seem to chew on your words, eyes teary and expression scared.

“why are you sorry?” ellie repeats, not caring enough to mask the hitch in her voice as she pries.

“you’re always so fucking good to me, ellie,” you whimper. “you’re a great roommate and an even better friend and—”

ellie blows out a deep sigh, falls slack against the cushions as she levels you with an indiscernible look in her eye.

“don’t do that,” she breathes.

“ellie.”

“c’mon, you know me better than that,” she says, tone tinged with annoyance. “you don’t have to let me down easy. you can be honest.”

and color you confused because how couldn’t she fathom that you’ve fallen and head first at that? she’s reading it all wrong, you realize, when defeat shutters over her pretty face.

“i—”

the floorboards outside the den creak and ellie’s pushing you off just as the door squeaks open to reveal joel’s aging face.

he reads the room a moment, decides to blow by the sheen in your eyes and ellie’s rigid posture.

“tommy and maria are leaving, kiddo,” he says. “if you wanna say bye.”

ellie nods, stands and leaves you in the television-illuminated room.

you realize she won’t come back for you when the telltale sound of the front door closes and the stairs seem to groan under her weight.

it’s half past two in the morning when you slip from the den, glass of water condensating on a coaster as you try to collect yourself on the screened-in deck out back.

the icy chill stings your lungs, makes you gulp in breath after breath. the night’s starting to dawn you, the gravity of the situation overwhelming you enough to choke.

“fuck,” you whisper, that familiar feeling of dread squeezing your chest.

meanwhile, ellie can’t sleep. has been staring at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom for the past two and a half hours. you’re all she can think of. pliant curves of your body settling over hers to fit like you two were made for each other, the smell of your subtle perfume, the taste of your mouth.

and she wants to be annoyed, angry at the fact, but she’d brought you all the way here, extricated you from your comfort zone and showed you parts of her she wouldn’t dream of revealing to anyone else.

she recalls the resignation in your tone on the drive up, how you’d divulged the dysfunction of your family and the troubles you carried with you as a result. it’d be your first holiday with someone other than yourself for a while and she’d be damned if it soured because she couldn’t push her feelings aside.

the tv’s off and the blanket’s folded when she musters up enough courage to enter the den again, heart sinking to her ass when she slides back into the kitchen and finds that the sliding door to the back deck is cracked ever so slightly.

she’s seen you in a lot of ways these past eleven-odd months she’s known you, but she’s never seen you like this, hands over your heart and chest heaving like you’re trying to ground yourself.

when your watery gaze swings to her, ellie’s melting, cushion sinking as she settles next to you.

“sorry,” you whisper shakily. “i don’t—”

ellie’s shifting to face you, arms winding around your shoulders as one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“let’s talk about it later,” ellie offers softly. “we can just go to bed for now and—”

“i really, really like you, ellie,” you say in one breath, and it has her body locking up, the audible catch of her inhale sounding near your ear.

“but?”

“no buts,” you admit. “just that i don’t want you to think that i kissed you because you’re being nice to me. well, i guess you’re always nice to me. it’s one of the reasons why i…”

and ellie doesn’t mean to tune you out, but you’re so fucking cute and so sweet and she shouldn’t have doubted you or herself because you’re hiccuping and shivering and—

you taste better the second time around. now ellie’s a little less unsure, still a little nervous because you’re the first girl to make her feel like this and she doesn’t want the bubble she’s built around the two of you in this corner of her little world to burst, but kissing you feels so right.

she’s dragging you back inside, past the den and up the stairs, and maybe the two of you do things you shouldn’t in her twin size bed in her childhood room when her dad’s only a few walls away, but she can’t help herself. not when you’ve always been an arm’s length away and she can finally have you.

it isn’t until the two of you lay under the dim glimmer of the glow-in-the dark stars pasted to her ceiling, her face pressed in your neck, that she says it.

“i really, really like you, too,” she whispers. “i realized i didn’t say it back.”

but it’s not like she needs to. you knew that already.

neng ©️2023

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou2

[soapisahimbo]

NSFW ABC - Simon 'Ghost' Riley Edition

Here he is, finally! The man, the myth, the legend! I'll be honest, I actually had a bit of a hard time on this one, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Contains heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

warnings: senseless smut, detailed descriptions, ghost is a dirty lad but secretly a softie, hinted at female anatomy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Methodical, but not without warmth. He asks you genuinely if you're ok, if anything hurts, if you want to get in the shower or if you want him to go get a towel to clean you off so that you can lay down to rest, depending on how intense the session was - a little bit like damage control. He might take you to the shower anyways if he thinks it's the best option for you, but he'll do most of the work. He can be quite rough even when he tries to tone it down, so he wants to make sure he hasn't caused you any actual harm in the heat of the moment and he does that best by actually looking after you. He does love it if you wash him off as well, scrubbing over his chest and arms, but he won't really say much. He'll just let out a low, rumbling sigh and lean his cheek against the top of your head and honestly that alone tells you all you need to know. He lets you cup his face and plants all the kisses you want on his face and mouth, simply holding you in his arms and relishing in the moment.

Once you've started cleaning up and checking in on each other in this fashion, any extra rounds is pretty much out of the question. This is to wind down, to relax, to clean off, put on some comfortable clothes, settle back down into bed and hold each other close. Not that Simon can't go on for what feels like forever, but he greatly appreciates the peace and quiet he gets with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

As far as Simon's concerned, his body serves its' purpose well. He doesn't exactly lack confidence, but he's by no means vain, and rarely looks at himself in the mirror unless it's to get a better angle to check on wounds or to clean himself. He's found a certain pride in his arms though, mainly because he can wrap them around you like some sort of boa constrictor and there's little you can do to escape it. He finds a sort of hidden, perhaps slightly sadistic, glee in that you can't do much else but take what he gives you (he's not an asshole, though - should you give even the slightest hint that you were uncomfortable or didn't want it, he'd let you go in an instant and make sure you're ok).

As for you, he is quietly obsessed your hands and your hips. Feeling your hands roam over his body is addicting, because he's not quite used to being touched in the way that you touch him, and your hips fit perfectly in his own hands (and his own hips fit perfectly there, too). But all in all, no matter how much he loses himself in the crooks and curves of your body, it's your eyes that do him in every time. He doesn't want to admit it, but it's why he mostly buries his face in your neck or takes you from behind. Your eyes make him weak. If you look into his eyes and beg him for whatever (to slow down, to speed up, to let you come) or even worse, say his name, you'll send shivers through his entire body. He tries not to let it get to his head, but the effect that you have on him, the way something in him falls apart when your eyes meet... it almost scares him. If you get a chance to take control, even for a second, grab him by the hair and demand that he looks you in the eye when he fucks you. You'll render him not only speechless, but also absolutely feral.

He wants to be methodical about this too, but he loses himself far too easily in you, and cumming all over your lower stomach and hole scratches some sort of itch in him that he didn't quite know he had. He will keep your thighs spread just so he can watch it drip down between them, and will most likely push it into you either with his fingers or his cock, fucking you a bit more until you cum again. If he has it in him, he'll cum in you once more and spread your hole just so he can watch as it leaks back out (before fingering it back into you yet again). Won't say a word during it, but you'll feel his eyes practically burning into your skin.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

He will absolutely cum down your throat if you let him and you can take it, keeping a close eye on you so that you're not actually uncomfortable or struggling. Wants you to show him that you've swallowed it all down though, or spit it back out on his cock so that he can fuck it into you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Before the two of you actually got together, you had a fling with another soldier at the base. Simon never commented on it, but he kept an eye on you in case he turned out to be an asshole or something. He tried not to give it too much thought; he just wanted to make sure you were all right. Totally not because he was jealous or anything, obviously.

He was actually looking for you when it happened, he just hadn't expected to find you in this... condition. Peering around the corner, he froze when found you pinned up against the wall in an empty hallway, with this fucker's tongue down your throat and his hand down your pants, panting and moaning into the kiss. He was suddenly struck by a strong urge to grab that dickhead and throw him out a helicopter at full speed and show you that he could give you something much better than whatever this was. He clenched his fists, thinking to himself that if he had you against the wall like this, he'd make sure you couldn't stay quiet. He'd have you crying out his name, shaking and quivering, gushing all over his fingers. That pipsqueak had nothing on him.

He considered stepping in and interrupting you, some dark voice in his mind telling him to take over, but he settled on simply slipping away quietly, not being able to stop the images in his head of pinning you against the wall, or against his bed and taking you the way you deserved to be taken.

He never told you about how he saw you with that dipshit, or how it made him jealous, or how he's fantasized about you since even before that. But once he'd simmered on it for too long and he got the chance to talk to you, he told you enough for you to know that he wanted you, that he'd wanted you for a while now, and that if you gave him the go, he'd take you then and there.

Safe to say, you gave it to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He does have a good amount of experience from when he was younger, but he hasn't really engaged in it in a good while. He has men and women offer themselves up to him at regular intervals, he just 1. never trusts a stranger enough to put himself in a vulnerable position like that and 2. isn't really into one-night-stands, even if it were with a close friend. Before you, he took it upon himself to find relief if he ever felt the need to. Now that he has you, he doesn't need anything else.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

He greatly enjoys holding you down in a mating press, caging you in and leaning in close to your face to kiss you or to growl something into your ears. But as mentioned before, he's a bit weaker to your eyes than he'd like to admit, so more often than not, he takes you from behind in some way, like if you're standing or you're on your knees and he keeps you upright by grabbing your arms and pulling you back into him. He prefers pressing his entire body into you though, deep and close, giving you that sense of not being able to escape him. Doesn't let you close your legs, doesn't let you shy away, doesn't let you touch yourself.

If you want to take control, and happen to get the chance, take it. As hardheaded as he is and dominant as he might seem, he molds himself by your hands like the softest clay you could ever imagine, and he wants you to use him even if he's "in charge". If you wrap your hand around his throat, it puts him almost in a daze; you can see his pupils dilate as you straddle him and grind him into you, you can hear a soft rumble in his chest as you pull his head back by his hair and trail kisses and bites along his neck. If you tell him to keep his hands off or you tie them to the headboard or behind his back, you'll see his muscles tense as he struggles against his restraints, be they physical or just in his mind.

He's also a surprisingly big fan of 69 - he likes the combination of the taste and heat of you on his face and your moans on his dick.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

He's no stranger to getting a chuckle out of you; you'll tease each other every now and then and he might huff out a breath in amusement at some point or other, but for the most part he's very serious. He's focused on you, how you feel, how you sound and regardless of if this is a session to rid tension and frustration, or if it's a warmer, more tender round, he doesn't want to waste any energy on anything other than fucking you.

He might chuckle when he sees your eyes roll back or when you can't quite form coherent words, and he'll grin when he fucks the living daylight out of you after you've laughed just a little too hard at him for any reason. Some sort of semi-sadistic humour is ever-present, but you'll never hear him laugh outright, and you'll be too far out of it to focus on anything anyway.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

He's not a very hairy man, but the hair that he has is mainly light and surprisingly soft, fairly thick and curly-ish. He might give it a trim every now and then for the sake of comfort, usually before heading out for deployment, but other than that he doesn't give it too much thought. He couldn't really care less about the presence or lack of body hair, be it on himself or on you. If you were to ask him nicely to trim it down because maybe you don't like the way it feels, then sure. But if you were to find it yucky for any reason, he'd tell you to grow up. There's nothing to be grossed out about - he's very clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He might not seem like it, and he surely doesn't say anything about it, but he greatly cherishes the moments where he gets to lay down with you and relax. There's no need to say anything, no need to do anything; you can just lay in his arms and listen to his steady heartbeat. As rough as he can be, he genuinely loves cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. He's not very vocal about his emotions, but he makes sure to show them to you in your most private moments.

He wants to hold you when he gets the chance to and having you lay on top of him helps ground him. He once told you that he enjoys the weight of you on him and you offered to get him a weighted blanket, but the only weighted blanket he wants is you (also he doesn't want one with him to base or to missions - it sends him into a far too deep of a sleep than what might be safe in a time where he needs to be ready spring to action at any moment).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He has convinced himself that he doesn't need to. Not that he doesn't get the urge to, because when time away from you has dragged on, he gets... restless. He's usually way more irritable in the last week or so on a mission, and the ever so observant Soap might joke that the lieutenant needs to "blow off some steam" before he blows off one of their heads - "if you need to sneak off for a minute or so, I won't tell the captain." ("Fuckin' shut up, Johnny.")

It's like he's come to the conclusion that he can hold out. He usually doesn't jack off on missions anyway, but it's gotten a bit more challenging now that he knows that you're waiting for him back home. He kind of scolds himself, tells himself that it was never a problem before, so why would it be a problem now? But he remembers you, he thinks of you and he misses you and so it adds a variable that wasn't there before. He tries to keep his thoughts at bay, but the longer he's away from you, the more salacious the thoughts become. He might get off once while back at base and in the privacy of his own room, depending on how much longer the mission is going to last, but if it's just a week or so left, he'll hold off and his teammates will just have to deal with his bad mood. Just be prepared for when he gets back to you, because he will definitely not use his own hand now that he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

He's not a fullblown sadist, but he does have a little vein of it running through him. Tying you down, blindfolding you and just generally forcing you to be at the mercy of him scratches some sort of itch in him. He's not doing it as a form of punishment though, and it's not meant to be just for his own pleasure; it's more like he needs to prove something to you almost. It's like he wants to give you everything he thinks you deserve, even if it's more than you can handle. If you listen closely (if you even have the ability to still hear him), you might hear him whispering for you to keep going, to keep cumming, to give him more. You will need to establish some safewords with him right out of the gate, because he overstimulates you like it's his only purpose in life.

Because of the great satisfaction he gets from feeling your weight on top of him though, having you ride him in pretty much anyway you can is greatly appreciated. Sitting on his face, on his dick, on his thigh - just any way that he can have you draped over him is top notch. He might actually have more of a masochistic side to him, because he likes it when you scratch him and pull his hair, and he loves feeling like he's practically drowning in you. Overstimulating him might not be an incredibly regular occurrence, but if you get the chance to, do it, and do it well.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Bed. He'll have you anywhere within the confines of your home if that's what you want, but he prefers the bed. That's where he can completely unravel you and it's where he feels it's safest. That's not to say he hasn't fucked you in the shower or on the dinner table, or that you haven't had your moments where you've barely made it in through the front door. You rile him up easily; almost too easily. If you were to undress right out on the street, he'd probably fuck you right there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

For anyone who doesn't know him, it's easy to think that he just never experiences emotions. The deadpan stare, the monotone voice, the way that he just seems generally disinterested in pretty much everything. But you know better. The way he tilts his head towards you, the way he discreetly takes a deep breath when you say or do something suggestive, the way his eyes follow your every move with a hooded gaze, or the way he reaches out to you but waits for you to close the last bit of distance between you. You know it well.

As established before, he has a weak spot for your eyes; when you look at him and tell him what you want or just that you love him, he feels something in him melt. Fluttering touches over his shoulders or chest, nuzzling your body in close to his and wrapping your arms around him are all ways to warm up that supposedly "cold" heart of his.

Keep in mind though, he's a man of action. If you tease him, make sure you're ready to face the consequences - especially if you're in an environment where he can't just have you right away.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

As rough as he might be, whether he has a sadistic hint to him or not, he would never want to do anything that would leave scars on you. Bruises, hickeys, scratches, sure. But never anything that would actually leave any sort of permanent mark. Also doesn't want to cause you any actual physical pain; he can overwhelm you, he can leave you feeling sore, he can make you feel like you've been run through a cycle in the washing machine, but he'll never hurt you.

If you tell him that something doesn't feel good or hurts or that there's something that you just don't like, rest assured he'll back off in an instant.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Sit. On. His. Face. Fucking sit on it and do it now. He will give you no chance to escape his grip or tongue, and he will keep you there until you're just shy of passing out. He loves rendering you nothing but a quivering mess, but he also finds it strangely grounding - the weight of you, your taste, your heat; it's like it heals something in him. He'll tell you to get on him whenever he's in a bad mood or stressed out, and you can never quite predict how long he'll go on for, but you often get to see a part of him that you think no one else has ever seen. He practically suffocates himself in you and you'd be more worried if you weren't so lost in your own pleasure. It's almost something masochistic in him that has him drive himself towards blacking out, because if you can manage to look at him the few times that he actually breaks away to breathe, you'll see his eyes roll and his eyelids flutter. He'll take a huge gulp of air and slur out something about how he wants, no, needs more before he dives back in with a rough moan. Doesn't let you pull away when you cum, because he wants you to cum right down his throat.

When you suck him off, he leans back and watches you, breathing deeply and heavily, and lets you take as much of him as you can in whatever pace you can. If you're struggling, he'll tell you that you're doing good and that he's proud of however much you can fit in your mouth. If you're not struggling at all, he'll chuckle and maybe call you a "dirty little one", but he loves it. As mentioned before, he wants to see you either swallow his cum down, or spit it back out on his cock to keep going, but he also loves shoving his tongue into your mouth, letting any residue of him left dribble out onto your chin.

He might not go for 69 every time, but he takes great enjoyment in knowing that you're trying your hardest not to stop sucking him off even if you're losing your mind at the whim of his tongue. Crosses off multiple things on his list, and so when you do indulge in it, he makes sure neither of you are rushing it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

He goes at very steady pace; it's not slow, but it's not fast either. He can speed up to drive you to the edge faster or slow down to draw it out, but no matter what the pace is, you can bet that it'll be deep and heavy. Somehow, it never gets predictable. You joked with him that not only is Simon 'Ghost' Riley an expert at sneaking up on enemies on the battlefield, but also at making you cum when you least expect it. It got a little chuckle out of him (and about four orgasms out of you), but it's true. You don't know how he does it, but somehow he brings you to climax even when you don't feel like you're that close to it. It's like he knows exactly where all your little buttons are - even the ones you didn't even know you had.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's disciplined and he's headstrong, but he doesn't have the patience or fortitude for quickies - once he's started, he'll be going for a good fucking while. Besides, you need a proper warmup before you can actually take him - he's far too thick otherwise. If you're feeling impatient and like you really can't wait, he'll give you his fingers, but just know that it is taking every single microscopic little grain of him to not just rip your clothes off and fuck you good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He won't do anything outright sexual in public - at least not that anyone sees or notices. He'll whisper into your ear and sneak a few touches here and there, he'll give you a heated gaze that is gone as quickly as it appeared, and for a while you'll think you're going insane; it's like he's using his tactics against you, to tease you.

Other than that, he wants to keep that stuff inside the safety of your own home for the most part. As far as experimenting goes, he'll give most things a whirl if you really want him to, as long as it's within some realm of reality.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He will practically never be the first to tap out, just so you know. While he might not be able to cum time and time again, he makes sure that when he does cum, he makes it count. You could swear that you've had like 5 rounds back to back, but honestly, it's usually 1-2 rounds that just feel like they last an eternity because he uses practically all of him to make you cum as many times as he can.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

Not for him, no. As for you though? More tools to make you cum, pretty much.

He doesn't think he needs them, and he doesn't actually care all that much for them; but every now and then, when he's feeling like a little shit, or he thinks you've had it coming, he'll have you close to passing out if given the chance.

He's not threatened by them. He knows that he can make you feel so much better than whatever toys you have. You're free to use them as much as you want when he's away, but if you use them while he's there, he'll either take over to "show you how it's done", or he'll take a seat and tell you to give him a good show.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

It's probably safe to say that Simon is not a very fair man. He'll drive you up the wall when he feels like it, acting like everything is right as rain while you feel like he's already fucked you just from looking at you.

He'll deliberately slow down or pause when he can tell that you're close and grin lazily at you when you complain, he'll whisper the absolute filthiest things to you while passing by before moving on like nothing happened, he'll sneak up on you just to snatch you up and kiss the breath out of you before he just walks away.

So if you can, give him a taste of his own medicine, will you? He deserves it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

Very quiet other than maybe a few sighs, grunts and whispers. Every now and then you might get a moan out of him, but he tends to hold them back. Not because he's ashamed or anything, but because he'd much rather hear you. He'll whisper endless praise and dirty nothings to you, but that's the most you'll get out of him, sound-wise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

This was actually insane, and very unlike him. Well, having you up against the wall and hanging in his arms by the crook of your knees wasn't entirely unlike him - but fucking you in someone else's bathroom definitely was. You had been invited to a little dinner party over at Mactavish's place, and the whole team and some of their older colleagues were there. You were having a good time, and you were sure that Simon was, too, but at one point during the evening, he told you he needed your help with something. You were none the wiser to his plans - he had some stitches on the back of his shoulder and you thought that maybe he just needed you to check on them.

He took you into the bathroom, closed and locked the door and before you could get a word out, he turned to you, unbuckled your belt and pressed you up against the wall as he shoved his hand down your underwear. He covered your mouth with his own, making sure to keep any suspicious sounds confined to this room.

You completely lost your sense of time, but at some point, after fingering you into oblivion, he'd tugged your pants halfway down your legs, hoisted you up and there you were; trying your absolute hardest to stay quiet while you hung helplessly in his arms as he fucked you without even a moment's pause. He didn't say a word, didn't utter the slightest sound, he just stared intently at you and rammed into you with a determination that you'd never seen in any other man before. You didn't know how you were going to explain the weakness in your legs and the sweat and flush of your face once the two of you went back out to the party, but at the moment, you were far from capable of forming any sort of coherent thought anyways, so you'd just give that job to Simon once he was done.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Sits somewhere between 6-6.5 inches, and he's quite a bit thicker than most others that would have the same length. As mentioned before, you need a proper and thorough warmup before you can take him and he's generous with it, so even though you always feel the stretch when he pushes into you, it's never a painful one. It just leaves you speechless, that's all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

While he always wants you near, it's not always sexual. He needs the calm and domestic moments just as much as he needs the more intimate and sexual ones. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen often though; it might not be an "every single day"-thing, but it's not far from it. He's clear to let you know when he wants you, but he likes it more when you initiate.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

He actually stays awake for a good while after that, taking the time to simply listen to you breathe and feel your heartbeat against his chest. He usually doesn't like complete and utter silence because his ears are most likely ringing from chronic tinnitus, but the sounds of your sleep are just enough to keep him distracted from it. He also takes this time to commit everything about you to memory (as if he hasn't already). He oh so carefully caresses your cheek, strokes your hair and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but you never notice, and he'll never tell you. Once he's satisfied and once he's finally convinced himself that you're not going anywhere, he'll finally settle and close his eyes to sleep.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut

[campingwiththecharmings]

Can't Hold Back

AN: Hey y'all! This is kind of an unofficial sequel to Down Time, in the sense that I was thinking of while writing but made no actual references to it lol. ANYWAY. This was written for @triplefrontier-anniversary! Hope y’all enjoy 🥰

(Un-beta’d)

You can’t go on like this, having him but not having him. You want more, you deserve more…

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,554 Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: Very light on the plot here lol, friends (who are secretly in love with each other) with benefits, p in v, a smidge of angst then cliche fluffy fluff (please let me know if i missed anything). AO3

——————

Santiago fucks into you, his thrusts slow and deep, his body draped over yours as you cling to him, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to stifle your moans. He buries his face in your neck, muffling his groan as he loses himself in your warmth. He mouths at you, his tongue dragging over your sweat-slicked skin before coming to rest just below your ear. 

“Feel so good, cariño,” he slurs, his voice low and raspy. “Feels like heaven when I’m inside you.” 

Your cunt clenches at his words and he grunts, his movements stuttering slightly. Your chest heaves in an effort to stay quiet, knowing your friends are sleeping just on the other side of the thin walls of your shared vacation rental. They didn’t know about you and Santi, didn’t know that you’d been secretly fucking for months, didn’t know that you were head-over-heels in love with him. 

To be fair though, Santi didn’t know that last bit either. 

Your arrangement had been fun when it started, had scratched the proverbial itch, but as time had gone on, you’d started to want more. The sex was great, but you hated when it ended. Not just because it was over, but because one of you always left. That had been part of the arrangement: no staying the night. So you didn’t, he didn’t, and you ignore that ache you feel in your chest every time he rolls off your bed and starts putting on his clothes, ignore the queasiness that roils in your belly when he leans in and kisses the side of your head gently in goodbye, ignore the way your heart cracks as the door to your apartment clicks shut and you’re left in silence, alone. 

You’d been planning to tell him, tell him that you couldn’t do this anymore, that you wanted (needed) more, more with him…but then he’d started kissing you and every other thought had flown right out the window. So here you were, writhing in pleasure beneath him as he played your body like a well-loved instrument, willing yourself to stay quiet so as to not alert the rest of your friend group. You shiver, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers the filthiest things. The sound of his voice, coupled with his words, pushes you higher and higher, and you whimper softly as you near the edge, your cunt fluttering around his cock.  

Santi shushes you gently, pulling back a little to watch you, his dark eyes heavy and blown wide with lust. Your gaze locks with his, and you swallow hard to keep your moans at bay, your lips parting and releasing a soft, strangled sound. He pulls his lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring as he breathes hard through his nose, his body moving steadily over you. 

As you watch him, the moonlight illuminating him from behind like an angel, you’re struck with the urge to cry. No, not just cry, full on sob. You can’t go on like this, having him but not having him. You want more, you deserve more…but you’re worried. Worried about how ending this will affect your friendship, that you’ll have to put up with seeing him date other women (or worse, that he won’t care when you start dating). You want to be present, be in the moment, want to enjoy yourself if this really is to be the last time. Even so, you can’t stop the tears as they slide down your cheeks, can’t stop the weight pressing on your chest, can’t stop the fracturing of your heart. A strange combination of euphoria and sorrow war within you, and you can’t do much more than ride it out, can’t do much more than cling to him like it’s the last time you’ll ever hold him (because it likely is). 

He must notice your crying because he suddenly leans in, whispering comforting words that don’t really register in your brain as he kisses away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours, pushing you closer and closer to your peak, grinding his hips into yours and making you see stars. 

You whimper softly as you come, your body shaking, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure washes over you. Santiago leans in, smothering his moans in your neck as you squeeze him, pulling him closer to the edge until his body stiffens, his sticky warmth coating your inner walls. The urge to wrap yourself around him, to keep him with you, keep him inside you, is so strong, but you resist, knowing it won’t make a difference.  

Santi pulls back, smiling softly as he gazes down at you. You try to smile back, thankful for the darkness of the room as it means he can’t see the tears that are still leaking from the corners of your eyes. He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks and pauses, his lips twitching down when he feels the wetness there. 

“Estás bien, cariño?” he whispers, his eyes quickly darting over your face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

You shake your head, willing your tears to stop falling. 

“I’m okay,” you say, forcing a smile, “Just emotional, I guess.” 

He grunts, and you can tell he’s not buying it. You never were very good at lying. 

You do your best not to look at him for too long, knowing the longer he looks, the more likely it is that he’ll see, see it all, everything you’re trying to hide, trying to bury. Just when you think he’s going to let it go, you feel his hand cup your cheek. 

“Look at me,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your cheek. 

You try not to, really you do but, when it comes to Santi, you just can’t help yourself. 

Your resolve crumbles the moment your eyes meet his, the words you’ve held back all these months spilling from between your lips like water from a broken dam. Tears blur your vision so much that you can’t really tell what effect your words are having on him, but you suppose that it doesn’t really matter in the end. You can feel yourself spiraling, your chest heaving with barely suppressed sobs, when Santi’s finger presses against your lips halts your descent. 

“Did…you just say you loved me?” he asks softly, his voice and face unreadable. 

Icy dread slices through you at the question. Had you said that? That you loved him? You don’t remember, but you must’ve, right? You panic, stuttering as you try to explain, your brain racing a million miles per hour as you search for the right words…but it turns out you don’t need them. 

Santiago stops your lips again, this time with his own. 

You’ve kissed him a thousand times before now but, somehow this time it’s different, this time it feels different. He takes his time, his kiss somehow both gentle and deep, like he’s pouring everything he has into it. He pulls away before you can kiss him back, a faint glimmer of something unfamiliar shining in his eyes when he meets yours again. 

“I love you too,” he rasps, smiling down at you softly. 

Your eyes widen a little, searching for the truth of his words in the darkness. “You do?” 

He chuckles, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I do.”

You exhale sharply, a relieved laugh slipping from between your lips before you can stop it. You clap your hand over your mouth in surprise as Santiago’s smile widens, his eyes shining. You spend the next few hours wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing, content to just be.  

You wake hours later to the sun streaming in through the windows and Santiago’s warmth at your back, your still-naked bodies tangled in the sheets and blankets. His arms are wrapped loosely around you, his face pressed into the back of your neck, and you can’t help the mix of relief and giddiness you feel knowing it wasn’t all some crazy fever dream. Your eye lashes flutter as sleep tries to call you back, the warm tendrils reaching for you, pulling gently— 

Until the sound of someone clearing their throat drags you back to full consciousness. 

Your head snaps toward the sound, your widened eyes meeting amused blue ones. 

Santi stirs behind you, sighing softly as he presses a kiss against the base of your neck and rasps, “Morning.”

“Mornin’,” Benny responds, a smug smile on his lips as he takes in the sight of the two of you tangled in each other. 

You feel Santi pause briefly before turning to meet his gaze.  

“Breakfast is gettin’ cold,” Benny continues, suggestively pumping his eyebrows as he backs out of the room, leaving the door wide open. 

Benny walks back to the kitchen, his footsteps thunking loudly against the wooden floor of the house as he calls out something about the other guys owing him a hundred dollars.  

Santi snorts behind you, pushing his face against your shoulder as he dissolves into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit. 

“Guess we should go deal with that,” you chuckle, looking over your shoulder at him. 

He smiles, his eyes shining with laughter as he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Guess we should, cariño.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

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#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #santiago garcia smut #santiago pope garcia smut #triple frontier write-a-thon #triple frontier anniversary #my fic

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

thoughts on fanfiction, perfectionism, and being enough

I'm pretty sure I'm ill and half-asleep and the Good Omens fandom has destroyed my last tenuous grasp on reality, but I am making a post anyway not knowing what I'm going to say. Because that's what this site is for, is it not?

*holds out hand* *waits for you to take it* Hey, you know, you're never going to be done. You're never going to look at something you made and think it's perfect. It's never going to be enough. It's okay to stop and it let it be imperfect. The earth didn't just birth life into just the right conditions, it made creatures which evolved and went extinct, ice ages which ended, volcanos that destroyed life and volcanos that preserved cities for millennia. It made jagged rocks that would be smoothened by rivers and stomachs that would hunger, rivers that would flood and rivers that would run dry.

Create imperfect things and give them to the world. Let the world create from it in turn in an endless cycle. Like Milton on the Bible, like BBC with Sherlock Holmes, like anyone writing fanfiction of their favourite show... Let your creation be imperfect, so you can see all the million ways in which people try to perfect it. All the million ways in which perfection can exist. That's the beauty of fandoms and fanworks. It keeps the creation evolving, keeps it breathing and alive. It becomes the work of a million people, and carries their stories with it in a little back pocket.

And maybe we were made to be imperfect too. Our hair tangles just to be brushed, our arm itches just to be scratches, our hand clenches just to be held and unclenched. There are odd shapes that make us up but they fit in with everyone else's, in handshakes, in bridal carries, in a parent lifting a child, a rescue worker lifting a victim, a girl kissing her wife, a child hugging his toy, a person holding their hands in prayer or in pain.

I'm trying to remind myself of that, because it's so easy to keep wanting more, to believe that there will be a point at which I will be satisfied with what I have done. Even in this fandom, I look at my ridiculous summaries I accidentally wound up making, and look at someone's beautiful meta blog and I feel like shrinking a little bit. But in real life, I'm a designer and an artist, a reader and poet and songwriter, and someone who has been a writer the past eight years, if not all my life. Have I done enough to qualify for any of these roles? Who knows? It shouldn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you, whatever you love doing or are doing.

It will never be enough, you will never be enough for yourself. Can we try to make peace with that little gap in ourselves that acts like a vacuum to keep sucking in more and more effort and things? It'll never be filled. That's okay.

*squeezes your hand before letting go* Isn't it amazing how imperfect and fucked up we all are? Isn't it beautiful that we don't have to sit and stare at statues we cannot touch, but we get stone that we can keep carving all we like? That creation starts with imperfection? I don't know if I'm making sense anymore, the medications are kicking in and my eyes are closing. But I love all of you, everyone who is a maggot and everyone reading this post, too.

Take this *holds out a seashell* it's pretty and it's broken and the animal that made it his home changed it, the sea changed it, and I hope you change it, too. That's all.

#good omens mascot #thoughts #feeling #late night thoughts #emotions #perfectionism #mental health #people pleasing #fanfiction #fandoms #i am enough #you are enough #or are we #we don't have to be enough #creativity #creation #create #imperfection #beauty #stream of consciousness

[starstruckkittensweets]

puppy love

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

My latest fixation, Chuuya with puppies! My precious boy deserves to be happy with a doggy of his own, so I decided to play into this little fantasy of mine (and his, probably). I'm planning on writing more parts to this lil series, I think it's helping me get out of my writing slump. Also parts of this fic are inspired by Shiloh, one of my all-time favorite books (so much nostalgia...) and a bit of a reference to that one puppy episode from Wan. And the panel I used for the banner is from the BSD manga (I think it's ch. 24) I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of stray animals, Reader cries but it's in relief, mostly fluff, pet names (mostly "doll" but used only once in this part), the start of a slow burn perhaps? || words: 2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

He’s halfway through his usual trek home, muscles burning and head pounding from another successful night’s mission, when he realizes he has a shadow.

Chuuya doesn’t let up his pace; stay calm, don’t give anything away—but he has to wonder, who could be this stupid to try to follow a mafia executive? And they’re not being subtle about it either. Making no effort to conceal their breaths or their footsteps—

Wait a minute…that sounds too light to be footsteps…

He sucks in a breath and turns around to face the culprit. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, preparing for a fight—

“Woof!”

Staring up at him is perhaps one of the cutest fucking dogs he’s ever laid eyes on. (Not that he’s seen many dogs, but the point still stands.) Pointy ears, fuzzy orange fur, white paws and a belly that definitely looks too plump for a street dog.

He stares at it. The dog stares back, pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

“…Woof!”

It takes every ounce of strength he can muster not to melt right then and there on the sidewalk. A thousand squeals on the tip of his tongue, gloved hands itching to scratch under that fuzzy little chin of his.

Never mind any dog hair, fuck that. Who’s gonna try to turn their nose up at this little cutie?

Chuuya briefly scans the area—not a soul in sight, just him and his companion beneath the lamplights—before dropping to his knees. The dog paws at the ground, his curly tail swishing madly in the air.

“C’mere boy,” he keeps his voice soft, holding out a hand. But the dog doesn’t budge. He just stares at him with that big dumb smile of his.

That really adorable dumb smile.

He tries again. The dog tilts his head and refuses to move. So Chuuya tries another tactic: “C’mere, girl?”

Still doesn’t move a muscle. Although now the dog looks amused as he paces from side to side, just out of Chuuya’s reach.

Yeah, gotta be a boy with that kind of attitude.

Chuuya sighs before pushing himself off the ground. Ah well, guess he’s too nervous to approach humans. Can’t really blame him for that; this city’s got its fair share of unpleasant people. He deals with them all the time, so he can kinda relate.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets (try not to think about how soft the dog’s fur must be) and turns on his heel to head home. It’s getting late anyway, and he’s got to get an early start tomorrow morning. He can’t be spending all night moping around some stray puppy following him around.

Even if he is the cutest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

But he only gets a few steps in before hearing the unmistakable click-click of the dog’s nails against the pavement. He stops, the dog stops too. He glances over his shoulder, biting back a smile at the dog’s happy face.

“What do you want, huh? I don’t have any food, so if that’s what you’re looking for…”

Not that he looks like he needs any treats to begin with. He’s seen a few of the dogs roaming around Yokohama, all skin and bones as they pick through tipped-over trash cans. And the stray cats are no better, ears flat against their skulls as they hiss and claw at everything in sight.

So why does this dog look so fucking proud of himself?

Chuuya sighs and whistles to himself—and suddenly the dog comes running.

Two dirty paws plant themselves on his dress pants, that’ll surely be hard to get out, but how can he get angry when the dog’s trying so hard to reach his face? He chuckles under his breath as he kneels down to his level, as the dog plants kiss after kiss on his face with his slobbery tongue.

“Who knew all it took was a whistle?” he says more to himself than to the pup. The dog’s tail is wagging so hard he thinks it’ll fall off, the tiny little thing that it is.

He slides one of his gloves off, letting the dog sniff his hand before scratching him behind the ears. He was right, his fur is so soft… And his smile only gets bigger when the dog licks him again, not even minding all the drool.

But then he stiffens, slipping his fingers through the dog’s fur, noticing a red band of leather fastened around his neck. A collar? No way he’s someone’s pet. Then again, he does look a little too spoiled to be wandering the streets for food.

He curls his finger around the golden tag dangling from the buckle. No name, only an address he thinks he recognizes. Right on the edge of Yokohama, where the scent of sea salt is the strongest. Is it someone’s house? Apartment? Maybe a  shelter of some kind?

Chuuya steals another look at the dog, at those sweet brown eyes and twitching wet nose, trying his best to ignore the icy clench of his stomach. Maybe it’s for the best, just to bring him back. What’s he gonna do with a dog, anyway? Not like his job allows for much time raising a puppy, anyway.

Even one so cute as this little guy.

“Alright,” he sighs, scooping the pup in his arms, “let’s get you home.” He tries not to dwell on how warm the puppy is, or how softly he nestles his face in the crook of his shoulder.

And definitely not the way he can feel the pup drifting off to sleep as he starts down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Gentle puffs against his skin, his curly tail twitching against his wrist.

“Kotaro! There you are!”

The engraving on the pup’s collar has led him to a tiny little shop a few minutes from the port. A bit shabby with a torn sign on the top and windows that have definitely seen better days, and he’s about to turn tail (no pun intended) until he sees someone nearly fly out through the set of double doors.

“Kotaro!” Your voice is strained, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sweep the puppy into your arms. Clutching him as tight as you can, smoothing down the fur on his head as he stirs awake from his little nap. “I was worried sick… How did you escape again?! I could’ve sworn I locked the doors… You’re just lucky I came back downstairs when I did—or else you would’ve been out there all night long!”

The puppy only wags his tail, staring up at you with those silly eyes and sweet little “smile.” He knows it’s your weakness, how could you be angry at a face like that?

Oh, well. As long as he’s safe, you can’t really hold a grudge against him. Not when he’s back in your arms, safe and sound, and it’s just the two of you, just as it always should be.

It’s only when you hear someone clear their throat that you realize you’re actually not alone. You hastily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand—it’s a little difficult with a nearly-twenty-pound dog in your arms—and stare up at the man before you. Kotaro’s savior, your savior. And suddenly you feel a fresh wave of tears surge forth.

“Thank you for bringing him back! I’m so sorry if he’s caused you any trouble, I know he has a habit of bothering people when he sneaks out—I thought I’d kept him inside this time! He just has a thing for running away like the little troublemaker he is. He’s still young, hopefully he’ll grow out of it when he’s older, maybe he’ll mellow out and settle down, and then…”

You bite your tongue and avert your eyes. No need to scare off the stranger with your incessant rambling, especially after he was so nice to bring Kotaro back to you. But he only shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he tips his hat over his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, he didn’t cause too much trouble.” He lifts a hand, allowing Kotaro to sniff him before scratching the fur beneath his chin. “Keep an eye on him, though. You don’t want him getting lost out there, especially this time of night.”

“I know… I swear, he’s gonna give me gray hairs before the end of the year. The other dogs aren’t even this mischievous, I don’t know where he got it from!”

Wait, other dogs?

He glances over your shoulder, towards the dingy windows of the shop. Pet supplies and part-time shelter, the sign plastered on the glass says. And sure enough, the closer he looks at your outfit, he can see little bits of dog fur clinging to the fabric—some gray, some brown, some white, and then a hint of orange thanks to Kotaro.

Just how many dogs do you have in there?

“Anyway, I just wanna say I really appreciate you bringing him back here. You didn’t have to, I know you’re probably busy. Let me just run inside and get my wallet, I think I have some left over if you want—”

But he’s quick to shut you down with a shake of his head, even a wave of his hands for emphasis. No money, he’s already got plenty of that to spare. And besides, it doesn’t sit right with him, paying him for something that should come naturally to any decent person.

And he doesn’t want to sound mean, but judging from the shape of that little shop of yours, you look like you can use every last cent you have.

“Oh, if you say so… But still, why don’t I make it up to you sometime?”

An uneasy silence settles in the air between you; Chuuya blinks as he watches you shift your weight, partially hiding your face in Kotaro’s fur.

“…I mean, you don’t have to—I just wanna pay you back some way! Maybe I can treat you to lunch one of these days? I don’t have many days off, but I can make it work! Or maybe…do you have a dog of your own? I can give you a discount on anything in the shop!” You throw an arm out to the double doors behind you, still holding Kotaro to your chest. “Name it and it’s yours! I really don’t mind, it’s just me here anyway. Well, me and the dogs, all nine of us.”

Wait, nine, including yourself…

“You have eight of them?!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat at the look on Chuuya’s face. He reminds you of a child on Christmas morning, staring at the presents strewn around the glowing tree. He doesn’t seem one to enjoy the company of dogs, given his fancy attire and confident aura.

And yet, he still brought Kotaro back home, when he could’ve easily turned and walked the other way. You’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover, after all.

“Eight dogs, and hopefully more by the end of the year.” Your cheeks grow warm beneath his startling blue gaze. (His eyes are really pretty up close, aren’t they?) “…I can tell you all about them on our lunch date, if you’re interested.”

He blinks, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the dog in your arms. You’ve got guts, he’ll give you that; he can see it in the way you talk to him, the way you hold the puppy in your arms. Gentle as ever, but a fire brimming in your eyes. You love this dog, no doubt about it.

And you’ve got seven more inside? Do you love them all the same amount?

What breeds are they? How did you come to adopt so many dogs at once? Or did you adopt them at once, or sporadically over the years?

So many questions, and yet the night is crawling by. He shakes his head again, giving Kotaro one last scratch behind the ears, before meeting your gaze once more.

“Lunch sounds perfect, doll.”

Your lips pull up in a smile, and he can’t help but notice how it nearly matches the one on Kotaro’s face. Bright and eager, melting under the attention of the ones around you.

And yet your smile is infinitely prettier, and he finds himself thinking about it as he starts the familiar journey back home, as the night hours slowly tick by.

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd fics #puppy love

[pedgito]

hey, im a big fan of your writing. I am also a big fan of Javier Peña, Joel and Din lmao. So can I request a story about either one of those (mostly sfw mainly because im in my feelings) that is more of a hurt/comfort angst? Maybe bottled feelings are freed, a near death experience occurs after a heated confession that didn't go well...? idk I leave it up to you if you want to write it of course. Anyways, again, love love your stories, especially the way your portray Javier. Have a nice week <3

pairing | javier pena x fem!reader

content warning | mostly sfw, arguments over commitment/relationships, mention of violence (bombing), descriptions of minor injuries and emotional distress, just lots and lots of angst [2.6k]

author’s note | this screamed javi so hard so i couldn't pass up the opportunity to write some angst for him

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

You’ve been at it for months now, waiting for Javier to finally give in and confess to you what he’s been holding back for so long—he’s so closed off it’s impossible, his back turned to you as he grips the chair shoved into the small dining table tucked in the corner of his apartment.

This was supposed to be a one off job, spend a couple months down in Bogotá with Steve—play alongside him in the hopes of catching Escobar, settling into a mix between the three of you, realizing fairly quickly that Peña wasn’t the type of nice guy you were used to.

He was brazen, straight-forward and a little bit—scratch that, a lot of an asshole, so full of himself that it oozed out. Still, that didn’t stop you from climbing into his bed a week into your stay, breaking the one rule you had.

Never fucking sleep with your co-workers.

Look where it got you; fighting an emotionless wall of stone.

He wants you, but he can’t have you. He doesn’t want to see you with other people, but he can’t stake his claim and call you his—but god forbid you so much as consider eyeing another person, someone interested in showing you the attention you wanted, that you deserved. His jealousy is unmatched, the curl in his lip when he sees you across the room around them, the short and fleeting touches they gave to your arm in passing—from your perspective, a simple gesture between friends, but to Javier, it's a threat.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t try to show you attention—Javier was more than that, all-consuming in a way, passionate to a fault. But, he was not a lover type guy.

Still, you were naive enough to think you could change that.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” You spoke strongly, watching the tilt of his head as looks down, burning a cigarette held between his fingers, “whatever this is—we can forget about it.”

“Yeah—I’m sure the others will have a fuckin’ field day when they catch wind,” Murphy let it slip once and it’s been the constant topic of conversation, playful teasing toward you but torture on Peña who likes to keep things private, always, “always eye fucking you across the room.”

“Who cares, Javi?” You ask, feeling like you were talking to a ghost as he refused to look at you. “You don’t give a shit what’s going on here, why should I?”

And it hurts because you do.

It was innocent at first, one hookup that should’ve ended that night. But, one turned into several and eventually you were spending most night at Javier’s apartment to the extent of grabbing dinner on the way there—or, for fucks sake, cooking for the man. You knew that he loved breakfast in the mornings despite his constant refusal to eat it, how he couldn’t focus without his first cup of coffee and why he kept his gun at his bedside and the spare under the mattress.

He’s got scars, faint but visible when you lay against his chest at night—some from childhood, some not, but you wouldn’t know had you not spent the time with him and watched the vulnerability he showed when it was just you, just him after a long, stressful day trying to catch a terrifying monster and the both of you itching to burn off steam.

“You can’t ask me on a date, can’t—jesus—you can’t even look at me, Javier.” He hears the break in your voice, how hard you’re struggling to keep things together.

And you’re fuming, furious, aiming to hit him where it really hurts. You want him to feel. Feel anything.

“You like to play house and let me cook you meals, act like I’m yours when it’s convenient for you.” He twitches at that, slamming the burnt end of the cigarette into the ashtray. It’s the only real sign of emotion he’s shown all morning. “That’s all you care about. Egoísta.” (Selfish)

He slams the ashtray down roughly, ashes flying over the table. You don’t jump or flinch, not at all fazed by his outburst. You saw it too often during work when things fucked up or didn’t go his way. When he did show emotion it was intense and full body.

“I told you,” He says slowly, turning toward you now, “I don’t do this,” He punctuates slowly, fingering wagging between the both of you, “I can’t do—this.”

Clearly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

The difference is staggering, truly. You wanted an answer.

“You tell me you never want me to leave your bed, your apartment, that you want to keep me here forever because there’s nothing that makes you feel this close to home—and you can’t do this?”

He speaks it against your lips almost every night when he’s pulling you into his chest, pressing those soft lips of his against your forehead and kissing you with a tenderness reserved only for you.

Javier never answers, gaze growing more intense by the second, bound to retreat from the situation before emotions boil over—but you beat him to it, grabbing your bag and storming out without a word.

He’s never had to beg you to stay and he doesn’t realize how desperately he’d wished to ask you until a few hours later, a phone call from Steve that has his heart dropping into his stomach, the equal worry in Murphy’s voice as he relays the information.

Steve mumbles your name—hurt, bomb, Escobar written all over it, dead, so many dead.

You’re lucky to still be standing—or rather alive, forced onto a gurney lined in the aisle of some rundown Bogota hospital where the workers were running rampant, clearly on edge and scrambling to save lives.

It was minor compared to what could have been. A small concussion, some lacerations to your face and a nasty gash on your side that required some stitching. It wasn’t anything some pain medication and bandages couldn’t fix, but in that commotion you had lost all of your belongings, undoubtedly damaged beyond repair. You had been in the shopping center ten minutes prior to the explosion and you were shaken, admittedly, wondering why your life had been spared over so many others.

And you always hear about your life flashing before your eyes during a near death experience, never really believing it until it happens—and selfishly, you couldn’t think about anything but Javi.

He was a nasty parasite, the kind that sucked the life and energy out of you, took everything and gave nothing in return. You knew how he was going into things, knew he wouldn’t budge or change his ways.

But still, there was a hope that maybe he would change.

The first thing you manage to do when you find a phone is call the embassy—anyone who would answer and let them know what happened, but they were miles ahead and already fifty feet deep into investigating.

Carillo is the first to ask if you’re okay, not that it matters—but then Murphy is scrambling for the phone, a soft commotion in the background as he argues with the man until he finally lets up and hands it over.

“God, we thought you were dead. Please tell me you’re alright?” Murphy pleads, sounding just as strained and worried as you’d expect, “All your limbs, nothing missing?”

You laugh softly into the phone, the first breath of life back into after what has been a terrible day. It’s already evening, the day has come and gone and the sun is setting without a trace of anyone coming to help.

Not that you expected it—Javier wasn’t the type to get over things easily.

“Yep. Head’s still attached and everything.” And Steve can appreciate your way of coping, adding a bit of lightheartedness to a dark situation. You release a shaky breath, squeezing the plastic tighter until cracks under your grip, “Is there—I mean, they just discharged me, but I don’t have a ride.”

“Javier didn’t pick you up?” Murphy asks, sounding confused. “I told him—he should’ve…”

He trails off, cursing away from the phone as he speaks to someone distantly, “Which hospital are you at?”

You look around for any indication, reading off an unfamiliar name to Steve as he repeats it, scribbling it down on a piece of paper.

“Shit—Javi’s probably clear on the other side of town from you.” Murphy runs a tired hand through his hair, over his face. “They told us they sent everyone to the one here close by the embassy.”

Everyone.

Families searching for their missing—you couldn’t even imagine it.

“He—does Javi think I’m—“

“Shit, I don’t know. He’s been on edge since he got here this morning, we’ve been trying to figure something out, anything—he left a few hours ago when we weren’t getting answers and I just—did something happen?”

“I think I pushed him too far this morning,” You say softly, huddling closer to the wall as the halls become more crowded, louder and suffocating in a way that has your curling around yourself slightly, mindful of the pain in your side, “fuck, maybe this is karma, Steve.”

“Hey, no—don’t say that shit,” He stops you in your tracks, “Javi is…Javi, you can’t predict anything he’s gonna do. Dude’s a fuckin’ brick wall half the time.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Steve, I don’t have my phone.” You tell him, “Can you just—call him? Let him know. I need to find a cab or someone willing to drive me back to Bogota if that’s even fucking possible. I don’t even have my wallet or badge with me.”

It’s almost like a divine intervention that you hear Javier on the other end, cutting through the flurry of other voices and busy telephones ringing. He’s wrenching the phone out of Steve’s hand before he can get a word in.

“Querida,” He says soft, voice quivering slightly, “Querida, is that you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will yourself to remember how badly things ended earlier in the day, even if they didn’t feel as important now, they were still important to you.

Emotions were high now, but the fallout could be devastating.

“Yes, I’m—Javi, I’m okay. A little banged up and stuff but I’ll survive,” The silence grows as he absorbs the information, “Look, I need to go. I have to find a ride back to town.”

“Don’t move,” He says briskly, suddenly, “Fuck—I mean stay there, no te vayas. I’m coming for you.” (Do not go)

The line cuts before you have a chance to reply.

You love how well he sticks out in a crowd despite how he likes to blend in and not draw attention to himself, but he’s all tanned skin and shiny with a layer of sweat that tells you he probably ran a few blocks to get here.

You did wait, even if it was closer to a half hour before there was any sign of him, despite how upset you still were, you waited.

Of course you did.

His eyes dart around nervously before they land on you, tucked away in a corner as you cradle your side and he’s barreling toward you, scooping you up before you can protest. The small squeak you release has him pulling back like someone stabbed him with a hot brand, brows furrowed with worry.

“My side,” You mumble, shifting his hand away from the wound, watching as it falls helpless to his side again, his gaze lingering over your body, face, seeing the amount of damage you took, “hey—I’m fine, all things considered.”

Javier blinks slowly, rubbing around the side of your jaw, careful of the small bandage covering a nasty cut, that familiar pout growing on his lips. You saw it earlier, but the implication was different.

This wasn’t anger. It was worry.

“Mi amor,” He murmurs, oblivious to the commotion around you both as he looks at you, almost straight through you, “fuck—I’m so sorry.”

You breathe through your nose deeply, shaking your head as you grip his wrist for leverage, pulling him alongside you until you’re outside, away from the crowd of people and alone.

“No, I’m sorry.”

And for once, Javier is surprised.

He knows you always have a comeback poised on your tongue, the will to fight and work through any argument that surfaces, but this is defeat. It’s clear as day on your face in the way it falls, eyes softened to the point of near tears and your cheek covered in a dark bruise that makes his chest hurt.

“I don’t know why I’m forcing you to answer to something you don’t want,” That something in question was you, but it didn’t matter, “maybe we let things drag on too long. I was just—happy, I liked it. I shouldn’t have expected anything from you since you were clear from the beginning.”

Even with Javier being the first to cross the lines he drew himself, asking you to stay that one night and never going back, making mistake after mistake until it stopped feeling wrong and started to seem, well, normal. But, here you were, taking the blame like he had no wrongdoing in any of this.

“Bebita, no.” His voice is low, thumb rubbing a tender spot in the side of your neck, a soft touch that massages the ache in your muscles, head tilting into the touch as you look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Oh, the irony.

“Now look at you,” He says, scanning over your face briefly, “consumes mi mente, nena.” (You consume my mind, baby)

“I can’t do halfway anymore, Javi.” It’s pure honesty, fingers finding his wrist as they wrap around delicate, using his touch as an anchor. “I need all of you.”

“Then have it,” Javier says mindlessly, without thinking and speaking instinct—it’s real, you can see it in the way his eyes widen and soften in the same instance, that pleasing look that entraps you, “tómalo.” (Take it)

The tears that sting your eyes don’t fall, but they rise, blinking rapidly to will them away and force yourself to keep composed despite hearing those words, knowing how deeply he meant them.

“Fuck, I’ll marry you if that proves anything to you, querida.” He’s being over-dramatic, but it has your insides fluttering like wildfire, “I should’ve never let you leave this morning.”

But, he was scared. Terrified of how deeply he felt for you.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” Javier explains, “so much I need to tell you but I don’t want to scare you away.”

As if he could.

“Javi, I’m with you.” You tell him steadily, “I always have been.”

Javier laughs through a sigh, breathing through his nose as he smiles for the first time that day.

“We can talk. We will.” Javier nods assuredly, “But, I want to get you home first.”

Home. He means his apartment, but it comes out that way without realizing.

He’s tender when he helps you shower, cleans your wounds up with what little first aid he has, but he manages, helping you dress in what has to be the most vulnerable moment you’ve had since meeting him.

Javier holds you for a long while after that, curled up in his lap on the sofa as he smokes away with his head leaned against the back of the cushion, rubbing a hand over your thigh softly.

“Hermosa?”

You’re nearly asleep by then, rousing with a small hum.

“After all of this,” He trails on, “when we put Escobar away and this shit is done,” He pauses, taking a short drag from the cigarette and blowing it out into the air, “I want you to come back with me.”

“To Texas?”

He nods, squeezing your leg for reassurance.

“I'm terrified of losing you here, but home—I would never let you out of my sight, I could keep you close.”

His trepidation will always be his downfall, but he knows he can’t let you go anymore. He needs you here, he’ll need you after.

“Anywhere you want, Javi. I’ll follow.”

He doesn’t have any reason not to believe you.

“Buena.” (Good.)

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #narcos x reader #narcos #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pas #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #my writing

[flightfoot]

Hi, since you're the ML fanfic authority around these parts, can you rec any fics based on the paris special? Even if its not finished or is abandoned it doesn't matter, i'm in desperate need of more paris special content. thank you!

Oooh, yes I can! Of course there aren't a ton of them as of yet, but there's still enough to scratch your itch, I hope! Luckily most of these I already have recs written out for, for the large rec lists I'm gonna publish at the end of the year (or well, the beginning of next year, actually). I'll tag everyone whose tumblr handles I know, but feel free to tag anyone I didn't get!

First, I'll start off with the complete fics.

If We Run, We Run Together by @heartfulselkie

The mockery of his laugh had always made her want to punch Griffe in the face, but now the thought wasn't even crossing her mind. The teasing tone in his voice and smugness of his grin had faded, his cocky attitude dissolving into something more genuine. Was that what his real laugh sounded like? Was that what his real smile looked like?

I loved seeing Toxinelle and Griffe Noir awkwardly start relearning how to be around each other, without hiding behind uncaring facades. They've got a long way to go, but they're getting there!

---

Back to Life (Back to Reality) by @2manyfandoms2count

Toxinelle and Griffe Noire return to their world after their night in the canon timeline.

I loved seeing these two talking a bit more amiably, especially with Toxinelle commenting on how silent Adrien is as a civilian. That doesn’t appear to be something he really wants to dwell on.

---

Here’s Hopes For Moving Forward... by allthingsasian

Gabriel finds out his son is Claw Noir.

Set just after the Paris Special...

I loved seeing Gabriel’s perspective here, finding Claw Noir broken down, crying on his son’s bedroom floor, and realizing what that means. How badly Adrien must have been hurting, how he’d been lashing out and hurting everyone he could reach, including himself, with the self-cataclysm. 

But now, Adrien and Gabriel are ready to talk, with Adrien getting the hug he’s sorely needed for a long time.

---

The Supreme Movers by PearlO_O

Continuation of Tales of Shadybug and Claw Noir.

Adrien and Marinette battle with the emotional aftermath of meeting their alternate selves.

This was an excellent follow-up to the Paris Special! To be clear, the Adrien and Marinette here are Claw Noir and Shady Bug, not the ones from the show we’ve been following all this time. I really liked Adrien and Marinette reflecting and recontextualizing how their parents have been acting in more positive ways, and getting more positive responses in turn, along with them reassessing how they’ve been acting and reaching out to Alya and Nino. There’s this theme of “it doesn’t matter who we were or what mistakes we made, but who we want to be and that we keep moving forward”.

---

Keep Me Safe Inside by RoFair

Adrien Agreste, formally known as Claw Noir attempts to get to know the girl he admires behind the mask of the reformed Shadybug. He has a plan, but it is derailed by a blonde bully.

I love how smitten Adrien is with Marinette! He might have a lot of bravado as Claw Noir, but he’s kinda shy as a civilian. Of course, that all goes out the window when Marinette needs help - like when she’s being bullied and is nearing a breakdown.

---

Eat, Pray, Duck by @trishacollins

Gabriel Agreste split his twin sons apart when his wife died, keeping one with him and sending one to London with his sister. Unfortunately, the Supreme was not willing to let this be.

He wanted a matched set.

Felix is a weapon, a servant of the Supreme. On a mission to retrieve the stolen Miraculous.

In a world that has outlawed kindness, sometimes the most dangerous person is the one who chooses it anyway.

I love this glimpse at what might have been going on with Felix back in Shadybug and Claw Noir’s world, I did wonder what might have been going on with him. Poor kid, he managed to have it even worse than he did in canon. I really loved seeing his interactions with Luka, the Couffaines rebel through kindness it seems!

---

Friends who kiss by @kuromori4

It’s been about a week since Shadybug and Claw Noir’s goody-two shoes alternate universe counterparts convinced them to betray the Supreme and join the Resistance. And while they are determined to be better… It hasn’t been easy. While both Shadybug and Claw Noir have a lifetime of problems to untangle if they want to be good people, they realize a new look doesn’t magically make you a nice person. As if that weren’t hard enough to deal with, the two ex-Villains struggle with defining what their new relationship might be.

I love the two of them talking things out, and struggling. Shadybug in particular is still very prickly and prone to making snide comments about Adrien, even though she doesn’t really know him, and she still hasn’t totally come to terms with her own true feelings about Claw Noir. Though by the end they um. Figure that out, I guess you could say XD.

---

These next two are WIPS, I've really been enjoying them so far!

Cracked White Porcelain by between

The basement is a wreck by the time they return and it takes her a moment to remember where their last fight in their world had really led them. "Remind me, please," Noir says, voice still but a fragile tingle against her ear. "To think about it, later." "You'll have to," she agrees with a nod. His hand is shaking in hers. "I know." They both pretend they aren't holding onto each other as they blindly, foolishly, follow their enemy, their ally, through the shadows of their city. (An act of treason against the Supreme doesn't leave you with a lot of places to go. Giving up on your goals is a lot easier when the consequences of your actions haven't caught up to you yet.)

This fic mostly covers what happens immediately after they return to Hesperia's HQ, with Marinette and Adrien freeing their kwamis of their gags, for starters. Marinette and Adrien apparently figured out that Hesperia is Gabriel before the events of the Paris Special here (since well, his HQ is beneath the Agreste Mansion, so that makes it pretty obvious) while Gabriel still has no clue, which leads to an interesting dynamic, especially since Gabriel's worried about his son while having no clue that he's right in front of him.

---

One step forward, no steps back by @theerurishipper

Wanting to move on, wanting to choose to be part of the world, meant looking at it. And it also meant he had to look at all the fear, the heartache, the terror and rage and anger that he had caused. And he’s not sure how to come back from it all. It all feels so hopeless, like there’s nothing he can do anymore. But he can’t go back either. Not to that life. Not after everything, not knowing that something better is possible. For better or worse, that optimistic, hopeful part of him that he’d thought long lost has awakened once more, and holding onto it feels much better than the consuming despair that had plagued him for months. But it all feels like it could fall apart any second. And he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to bear losing himself a second time.

This fic's from Adrien's perspective, dealing with the new changes in his life. You get a good look into the mindset that led him to becoming Claw Noir to begin with, how he was breaking down and lashing out at everyone around him, and had little concern for even his own survival.

Things are getting better though, slowly. Nino's willing to hear him out, and he and Marinette are really talking, in ways they didn't before, when they were villains. Even his relationship with Plagg's on the mend, and Hesperia's acting like a father to him (which well, considering what we readers know of their relationship... XD).

But the Supreme isn't willing to just let Adrien skip off to a happier future...

#ask #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic rec #ml paris special #toxigriffe #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #toxinelle #griffe noir #shady bug #claw noir #shadyclaw #tales of shadybug and claw noir

[macabr3-barbi3]

I'd like to request a reader stumbling upon Alastor and a deer having a squeaking contest in the woods. I don't know why I need it but I need it because squeaking contest. Thank you

Hello! I hope this scratches the itch for you, it was super cute and fun to write ❤️🦌

You were perhaps a bit early for your meeting with Alastor, but you didn’t think he would mind as you eased open the door to his hotel room and let yourself in. You had been regularly spending time together for a few months now since you had started staying at the hotel, and normally you shared an evening cup of tea about an hour later than you currently were. 

Alastor wasn’t in his room when you stepped inside though, the fire going but no sign of the Radio Demon. You set the new tea you had brought along for the two of you to try on the table near his armchairs and wander further into the room.

He might be in his bayou dimension, you figure. It wasn’t like him to be outside the hotel at this time of the night, so unless he was down at the bar or something he had to be out in the swamp. You had been itching to take a closer look at the ecosystem anyway, so you hoped he wouldn’t mind if you took a look around.

Stepping over the threshold from bedroom to bayou, the difference was immediately noticeable- the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer, more tangible. You follow the path that’s been eroded into the earth through the trees, marveling at the world that Alastor has created here. It was beautiful, the stars shining through the canopy of trees above you, green-tinted moon casting a faint glow on the flora and little creatures you could see skittering about. Maybe he wouldn’t be too averse to having your tea out here sometimes- iced, since it was a bit hotter, but you didn’t think he would mind.

A faint squeaking noise draws your attention, feet halting as you try to pinpoint the direction it had come from. A moment of silence, and then you hear it again coming from your left. You slip your shoes off to muffle the sound of your feet in the grass and creep towards the sound.

You’ve found Alastor, at least- he’s bent at the waist and face to face with a baby deer, ears flattened against his head and his smile thin. Your eyebrows scrunch at the sight, and then the fawn makes the noise that you had followed; high pitched and cute, it makes you smile, grin widening when Alastor glares at the tiny creature and imitates the sound.

They go back and forth several times, the squeaking increasing in volume and length and Alastor getting progressively more frustrated. You hadn’t even known that he could make a noise like that, so sweet and soft and genuinely deerlike that it finally makes you giggle, the fawn taking off into the darkness of the woods and Alastor standing to his normal height, ears pointing skyward as his eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“What,” he inquires, “are you doing out here?” 

“What am I doing out here? You were in some kind of squeaking contest with a baby deer- so cute by the way-”

“My actions are none of your concern.” He turns his head away from you, but even in the dim lighting you can see the faint blush to his complexion.

“Come on, Al,” you tease lightly, not wanting to actually anger him. “You can tell me- did the fawn offer you its soul if you could out-adorable it? You were doing a great job from what I could see.”

“If you must know, it was a riveting argument about the state of my bayou- whatever level of ‘cuteness’ you apply to it is merely a byproduct of the conversation. Since you’ve scared the damned thing off, I shall have to resume the conversation another time.” His smile is tense, leaning into your personal space. “You will speak of this to no one,” he says, brushing his hands off on his suit jacket. “Know that it is only the faintest sliver of platonic affection keeping your afterlife uninterrupted.”

“Gotcha,” you agree. “Big scary Radio Demon? Not cute in the slightest; I have no evidence to the contrary if anyone asks. You have my word.” You place a hand over your heart in mock-seriousness, and know that you’ve won him over when he scoffs and his smile softens. “Now come on, I brought a new tea for us to try- back to society!” You’re already contemplating how to make him make that squeaking noise again; maybe if you asked nicely he would do it for you, or perhaps you’d have to startle him into it-

“It’s not even a mile back to the room, and this is hardly the wilderness,” he complains, but he follows you anyway, your nefarious plot unnoticed.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor fluff #this was fuckin precious #hazbin alastor #simp shit <3

[blue-slxt]

Kinktober 15

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: This was one of the first prompts that I wrote. Size kink is going to do it for me every time. Especially as a tiny girly (a whopping 5'2), my brain immediately went to big, beefy daddy Wari. Also, I kinda forgot about the masks for this prompt, so let's just pretend they don't exist for this one lol! I hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Tonowari x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: Size Difference, Handjob

Something about you made Tonowari feel…strange. He had seen sky people before, but something was different about you. Captivating, he might even say if he were being perfectly honest. Despite being a fully grown adult, you were no taller than the average Na’vi child. You were just barely eye level with his navel when you had first greeted him. Something in the way you had to crane your neck to look up at him made this itch appear in the back of his head that he just couldn’t quite scratch. You would be so easy to just pick up and throw over his shoulder. So easy to handle and hold down and bend into whatever position he wanted. Out of respect, you wore traditional Metkayina garments and it showed off your alien body that looked so…squishy. The plush of your thighs, the jiggle of your ass when you walked, the bounce of your breasts, there was almost nothing left to the imagination. It shouldn’t be a big deal to him, but something about it made his cock twitch with want in his tewng.

It almost knocked him off his feet when your small hand took ahold of his. Your fingers were just barely big enough to wrap around one of his fingers when you dragged him off to a secluded area on the beach to talk. Your tiny frame perched on top of a large rock and you still only reached to his collarbone. His mind can’t even focus on what you’re saying because his eyes are too busy watching the way your soft lips move against each other when you talk and he can’t stop himself from imagining how much of his cock he could fit between them.

“Anyways, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really appreciate you making me feel so welcome here.” You say placing your tiny hand on his broad chest. It feels like your touch is searing his skin.

He uses one finger to tilt your chin upwards so that he can press his lips against yours. You are more than happy to give in to his advance and press up on your tip toes to lessen the strain on your neck. It’s nothing less of adorable to him and he can’t keep his composure any longer. His large hands cover the entirety of your back as he pulls you closer to him. He kisses down your jaw and neck while one of his hands cups your breast and Eywa, you were just as soft as he thought you’d be. You try to regain the breath he had knocked out of you. His hands roam over your whole body squeezing and massaging your soft, pliable flesh. His touch makes goosebumps appear all over your body.

He cups your ass and revels in how one of his hands is almost big enough to hold it in its entirety. He hooks one of his fingers into your loincloth and pulls it to the side giving him access to drag his huge finger through your soaked folds. It makes the pressure in your core grow feeling his hands all over you. You can’t help but think that if his fingers are this big, how big his cock must be. You just had to know. You pull back out of his hold just a bit and he looks at you surprised. But his surprise shifts to unadulterated lust when you get on your knees and pull his dick from his tewng. Good God, it was practically the size of your forearm. But you won’t be so easily deterred.

You gather some spit in your mouth and let it dribble onto the head to mix with his stream of precum and use it as lubrication to stroke his length. You quickly find that one hand is not going to fit around him completely so you use both hands to massage him in tandem. He sucks in a sharp breath and releases it in a stutter feeling your hands do their best to wrap around him. But he starts to moan lowly when you place little kisses and kitten licks up and down his dick. You tease at the slit licking away the new beads of precum forming and you swear you saw his legs shake. Oh, to bring this man who was easily 3 or 4 times your size to his knees was delicious.

"Tonowari, please...have me..." you beg looking up at him. You can practically see the way his pupils dilate looking at you through half lidded eyes. You can see how badly he wants to. You can literally feel it in your hands.

"But I could break you" his voice is low, but breathy and God did it make you feel like you were just dripping.

You smirk up at him, cock still in your hands and you drag the flat of your tongue up its entire length, "Good."

Kinktober Taglist: @pandoraslxna @ashlatano7567 @sincerelykaib @jamies-wh0re @quaritchsluts @jakescumdump @delacruzyari @onlyloaksgf @skywonder @taintedlovesworld @myloveforyouisforever @angie-1306 @moodays @childofgod-05 @hadesbabygurl @daddysmurfslefttoenail @loaksulluyswife @y4sm1nsstuff @thewhiltedpeony @lovefrommeelise @neteyamssyulang @rosyjn @imintoomanyfandomscuzihaveadhd @anaclaudiasugar @xxwelshqueenxx @hania11 @xylianasblog @idkanymoregirl @eyrina-avatar @biscuitsaredelish @quinn-sadilla @the_mourning_moon @eyweveng @puddleswimmingnerd-blog @xaxsir @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @navilover24 @sulieykte @iameatingmyhair @leaveitbythewave @ntymavtr @fifilynn16 @kiri-tuk @mstocky78 @neteyamyawne @randumfanfics @sliqeramx @bluewonder @the-morning-moon @nerdfacesposts @vip-btxch @neteyamsyawntu @teyamsatan @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

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#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #awow #avatar smut #tonowari #tonowari smut #tonowari x you #tonowari x reader #awow smut #Avatar #lunaskinktober2023

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter four

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 3,3k

❱ summary: a ride home

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: could he be any more perfect? y'all, tell me if you have some guesses how this will go on🤭

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER FOUR: STARS

"Come on, I'll give you a ride."

You whirled around to Thranduil, ready to argue that it was far too late considering he had to work the next morning. You'd imposed on him too much already, the kitchen was in a state that would need a deep cleaning and the boys would certainly sleep in.

"You don't have to," you tried as he passed you and grabbed his coat from the counter. "In fact, you shouldn't–"

Pushing his arms through the coat, Thranduil flipped the collar up and sorted his long hair over his shoulder. He seemed unbothered by your protests and continued to slip into his boots. "I forgot something at work that can't wait anyway, so grab your shoes."

Pursing your lips but swallowing the pouty reply you wanted to throw at him for ordering you around, you slipped into your sneakers, glaring at him while hugging Legolas and Gimli, and then Aragorn Goodbye.

Gimli even dared to wink at you, shoving his elbow into your side with a rumbled: "Fun ride"

Naturally, you punched his arm for that.

Your bag shouldered and the phone that continued to light up with messages shoved deep into it, you followed Thranduil out into the surprisingly cold night.

The gravel path leading to the, well, almost mansion, crunched under your footsteps, filling the silence that you yourself didn't know how to break.

Your last conversation didn't offer much transition to normal small talk, and you didn't want it to.

You wanted to be wrapped up in the warm flirt in his voice, in that heated look that he had thrown you as you'd left him in the hallway.

The nerves of the skin he'd touched still fizzled and ached for him to return his hands onto you, an itch that only he could scratch, a burn for him to sooth.

That though, was most definitely not what you would say right now.

But you didn't want to spend the rest of the way in awkward silence, so you resorted to the manners Thranduil valued. Not only because he worked as a lawyer with a very important –rich, conceited, snobbish– clientele, but because he still held onto the hope that some manners would rub off on Legolas.

"Thank you for offering to drive me." You bit your bottom lip through a smile that has him cracking one as well, soft lips breaking up the stern expression his dark eyebrows sometimes gave him.

"Don't," Thranduil shook his head, the movement sending some of the shorter strands framing his face back over his shoulder, "knowing you're home safe gives me a peace of mind. I wouldn't have been able to sleep if you were waiting on some bus right now."

"Well," your cheeks grew hot, "thank you anyway"

Turning to the road you watched your shadows move in sync, the lights of the house falling through the trees lining the way and flittering on the gravel like scattered fireflies.

You saw how his shadow stepped closer, your hands dangling close enough that one small movement would've led to them brushing against each other. The space was small, easily crossed yet it stayed that way for the rest of the walk.

It wasn't the time.

Not right now; nevertheless how fucking close you had been to kissing him in the hallway.

Arriving at his car, he opened the door of the passenger side, your place, as Legolas had once joked.

He had a point because after Thranduil had first picked you up from the bar, he'd come to your rescue many times, and he helped you to the passenger side first each time, as if he wouldn't allow anything else.

You didn't complain.

Sitting next to him allowed you a perfect view of those sharp cheekbones and cutting jawline that your hands itched to cup and draw your fingers along of. Not only that but whenever the whole group was being driven around, you could enjoy the drive without a shoulder nudging yours or a hand reaching over to open a window.

As you sat down, you took notice of the seat setting, namely how it was perfectly adjusted to you.

If Legolas had ever ridden with his father, you always had to pull forward, because Legolas, in addition to his looks, did, of course, inherited Thranduil's incredibly long and enviable legs to tower over everyone else. A gift he constantly misused to kick you, or to rest his arm on your shoulder.

Once seated in the car, you pressed deeper into the fabric of the seat. Even the headrest was perfectly at your height, so you didn't have to do more than place your bag in the foot well.

As Thranduil's door swung open a gust of chilly air rushed into the already cold car, prompting you to roll your shoulders and hug your torso.

Apart from your shirt, you hadn't brought a jacket, considering it had been warm earlier when you stashed your backpack in the dorm after class.

Thranduil folded himself into his seat, his long legs first, and shamelessly you stared at him as he elegantly lowered himself and tossed his hair over his shoulders before pulling the door shut.

Another flood of cold air.

This time Thranduil noticed how your arms wrapped tighter around yourself and without saying much, he turned slightly and reached behind his seat.

"Here," in the silence of his car, his voice sounded even deeper and the warmth in it was almost enough for you when he'd already put something in your lap. "And don't you dare tell me it's not necessary. Not giving you a choice!" he ordered, a teasing smile taking out all the sterness of his tone.

"Thank you," you breathed, unfolding a navy blue sweater, one that had a white deer stitched over the breastbone, and as soon as you pulled it over your head, the world flimmered at its edges, reducing to just the inside of this car.

"It's not washed, but I promise you it's clean."

Which you couldn't care less about, not even a flying fuck was given toward this precious item of clothing that rocked your world and completely spun it out of its axis.

This was his sweater, his clothing that he gave up for you. This happened in dreams, in books and stories and wishes and hopes– not in the real life.

Maybe this was another thing that separated Thranduil from those Fratboys and overmasculine guys that thought the most romantic thing they could do was pop a mint-gum before smashing their mouths onto yours in slobby kisses.

He has years of experience against their lousy teenager moments.

The sweater smelled so much like him and his house, only much stronger. His scent, rich, full of his perfume and him, took over all your senses. The fabric was so damn soft, so warm, so cozy; you were ready to sink into it and never leave.

Literally, because even sitting down, the waistband bunched up in your lap and you would have had to push the sleeves back, but you made yourself comfortable in the way too big sweater.

Thranduil –most likely unintentionally but who knew– seemed to have decided on torturing you in the cruelest way possible, and maneuvred the car one heel of the palm on the steering wheel, and the other conveniently placed behind your headrest, his head angled so that he could watch through the back window instead of the mirror.

That position, arm outstretched, muscles subtly flexing and his prominent jawline close enough that it could cut your held breath in two, did unexplainable things to you.

If anyone asked you would deny that this movement alone had you blushing and your stomach curling, heat rushing through your body over something so simply yet breathtakingly beautiful and assertive.

He caught your gaze quicker than you could have fixed the blown-wide look on your face, the corners of his mouth twitching.

So he did know.

You laughed softly, "Show off."

His grin became sly. "No idea what you're talking about," he murmured, low and deep and very much a lie.

"Besides, there could've been something behind the car, who knows," he said nonchalantly as he steered the car toward the front gate, the black, tall halves that opened for you at the push of a button.

My ass, something behind the car, you thought and coughed to cover up a laugh.

The mansion grew smaller in the rearview mirror, hedges and tall trees framing the white brick facade and gray shingles until the last of the lit up windows was nothing more than a small dot that disappeared after blinking.

There was something special about driving around at night. The lots in the area where Legolas and Thranduil lived were large, as were the houses and the distance between them, and unlike the city, you were the only ones on the streets.

The night was dark, the sky black, like ink and endlessly stained with countless stars that you couldn't see from your dorm room due to the many skyscrapers and their ever-shining lights. At your place, it was loud and bright, and you leaned back in your seat to watch the sky through the window in front of you.

There was no one else on the road, not this time of night, not in a neighborhood where most didn't even need to work much: no headlights, no cars, no one else but Thranduil and you.

Where that awareness would've brought a subtle panic and anxiety with it a while ago, there was tranquility instead.

All worries about the crush you harbored for Thranduil and how he could find out were replaced, softened up by the memory of his hands on your body, that damn painting burying itself into your back and the sharp edges reminding you that this had been very much real.

This was very much real.

"You're thinking very loudly."

You turned your head, furrowing your brows at Thranduil, "Am not."

He scoffed. "No, darling, you most definitely are. I have never met anyone who is that bad at keeping a straight face." Thranduil switched the lanes, this time checking the mirror and meeting your gaze in it, "Next time we play poker, please remind me to bet on your cards."

Huffing and rolling your eyes you did what any other adult in your position would do, and stuck your tongue out at him. "Maybe I won't play poker with you anymore, how 'bout that?"

"What's your other option? Legolas is good but honestly- the boy would throw his cards away for Aragorn," Thranduil mused and when you laughed he raised his thick eyebrows once, "It's me or Gimli, sweetheart."

You didn't even need to think back to the last poker game you'd played with Gimli, that was too far away and this evening's endless round of Monopoly sufficed generous arguments against him as well. Why you've ever thought it was a great idea to play any competitive game against the most thick-headed people was a mystery on its own.

Another shudder ran through you then, but not because of the cold– the sweater provided so much warmth and your cheeks burned from smiling so much, but rather because your mind did in fact remind you of the faithful poker night. The most chaotic one in the history of poker games.

"Oh," you exhaled a deep breath.

Thranduil's head turned and you made a point of looking thoroughly distressed.

"I don't think I'll ever recover from the awful talk I had with Professor Gandalf." Your whole body shudders just like then, transporting you back to the awkward shuffling around, the stuttering and the many, many, many excuses you'd babbled.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Thranduil said and then, tilting his head as you slowly shook your head, he added an unsure: "Right?"

"Thranduil," you stared at him, barely noticing how the corner of his eyes crinkled at his name out of your mouth, "Thranduil– I was piss-drunk and sent my 70.. or hell, 80-something Professor an E-Mail…at three in the morning. With just a winky smiley!" Your voice had taken on a desperate edge at the end, cutting it close to such a high pitch that you fell breathless into the seat.

All the while Thranduils laughter grew and grew until he gasped for air, his one hand swatting dramatically in front of him. "Mhm.. oh yes, I'll never get tired of hearing it," he giggled, a sound that did not fit the first impression most people got of him.

"Yeah you can laugh all you want," you tried to come across as stern though failed miserably at the sight and sound of Thranduil chuckling. He made it impossible to do anything else but smile. "Jeez, thank god the old man found it funny as well. I think I would've died if I'd sent it to Professor Sauron instead. He hates me."

Thranduil opened his mouth, then closed it again.

A bit quieter than you expected he started again after a while: "This may be delusional since my line of work shows me the worst of people, sides you wouldn't think exist, but I think that you are the loveliest woman I've ever met. That Professor must be out of his mind to hate someone as clever, beautiful, and magnificent as you."

Those words, coming out of his mouth shot you straight into the heart, hollowing out that pit in your stomach and filling it endlessly with messy butterflies and fireworks in such an overtaking force you couldn't find it in you to answer.

You knew he liked you, or at least appreciated your presence.

You had felt it earlier, had seen in his eyes that he was interested and oh– that this picture-perfect specimen of a man would look at you like that was more than you could want.

It had been such a far-fetched wish that there would be anything else except this lust that hearing him compliment you, raising you to a pedestal you never dared to dream about, was astounding and unfathomable.

Thankfully, Thranduil put you out of the misery of searching for something equally important to retort.

He reached over to rest his hand on your thigh, calming the slight bouncing you'd fallen into. "I know it's nothing like Legolas poetic words."

The heavy air that had taken hold of you lifted as you let out a breathy laugh. "He's an idiot. Took after you, am I right?" you teased and slightly flicked a finger against the soft skin of his hand.

You didn't know what led to that sudden contact, one he mostly initiated wherelse you didn't dare to act upon more than friendly handshakes or brushing his fingers while passing the butter or salatbowl.

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly, "When they grew him in the lab I made sure to tell them to crank the dumbass level high enough as to not let an identical version of myself get loose on the world."

You pretended to frown, sizing him up and down, "Surely they should have added less then."

The disgruntled snort coincided precisely with a playful tap against your thigh, a swift movement you couldn't have defended against. The moment his hand made contact with the outer part of your leg, you heard the smack, felt the entirely harmless and certainly not painful pull, and your jaw dropped as you stared at Thranduil.

"You didn't just do that!"

"What?" Thranduil blinked innocently at you.

"Ohh, how dare you pull off the eyebrow thing."

"What eyebrow thing?"

"You know," you raised a hand and gestured towards his entire face, which now turned back to the street with a far too sly grin. "That thing you do. You raise those thick eyebrows and open your eyes wider like you're patronizing me and act all virtuous at the same time."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said and did exactly what you'd just explained.

You simply glared at him and flicked his thigh as well.

The car turned, departing from the serene country road to navigate through the sparse traffic of the city streets.

Instead of stars, blinkers and billboards now raced past the window, casting their bright lights on you and immersing you in a cascade of brightness that prompted you to blink a few times.

Previously, where it had been just you, Thranduil, and the hum of the engine, you hadn't realized how comforting those few sounds were. As Thranduil drove along the main street, more focused and enveloped in the watercolor hues of the city, you almost asked him to turn around again.

A yawn overtook you just as you wanted to reply to his compliment from before, feeling slightly dazed by the atmosphere, cutting you off just as you said his name.

"Oh god," you mumbled and checked the display for the time, "How can it be two already?" Unconsciously you cuddled the sweater, burring your nose in the seam while fighting another yawn.

Thranduil turned his head and a soft smile played his lips. "Nearly there, sweetheart. When do you have to be up again?"

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "Eight? I think… maybe eight thirty if I skip breakfast and rush straight to uni." He tilted his head and you shrugged, "Eight fifteen and a small breakfast?"

Satisfied he nodded. "Better."

It was such a small thing that he cared about, though the heat rushed into your cheeks all the same.

He parked the car right in front of the dorm complex and after peeling yourself out of the comfortable warmth he led you to the main entrance.

Not wanting this night to end, you took your time searching inside your purse for the keys, fumbling around and pushing some mints and loose papers back and forth until you couldn't drag it out any longer, and then some more finding the right one.

Thranduil waited patiently, leaning against the brick wall, the headlights of cars washing his ivory skin silver.

"So," you said as you couldn't drag the goodbye out any longer.

"So," he repeated.

Standing together in the small alcove of the entrance felt more confined with the tension between you, drawing you closer to him.

Tilting your chin towards the ground, you looked up at him through half-closed, weary lids. "Thank you again. For driving... and thank you for what you said. It.. that whole speech, y'know? That means a lot to hear it and like especially from you."

Thranduil smiled. "Anything for you," he whispered.

Then, he withdrew his hand from his coat pocket. Your eyes followed as he approached your face, his fingertips gliding over your temple, following the curve of your eyebrow until he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and cupped the back of your neck.

Yielding to the gentle pressure, you let yourself fall into the embrace he pulled you into. His coat cascaded down your sides, brushing against your knees pressed against his, and as he rested his chin on your head, you couldn't help but sigh contentedly.

Even though you stood there, fully clothed in street attire and the entrance of your home, it was as close as you could imagine to falling asleep with him. And you nearly did.

"Goodnight, darling." His words were nothing more than a whisper, rough and muttered into your hairline, but you still beamed, your face pressed against his chest.

"Goodnight, Thranduil."

"Oh, wait–" you stepped back, realizing your still wearing that sweater, hands already on the hem, "here"

Large hands covered yours before you get to pull it off, stopping you with a gently push.

"Keep it. You wear it better than me."

He paused, breathing in and out as if to assure himself that whatever he thought was what he wanted to say. "Keep you thinking of me while you get some sleep."

You're nothing but a blushing mess as you quickly hurried up the staircase to find your roommate on the stairs, typing on her phone and sparing you one lousy "Thanks" that you ignore to rush into the silent apartment.

You didn't even turn on the light in your room but went straight to your window, facing the street. What usually bothered you turned out to be incredibly practical because you could wave to Thranduil one last time.

As always, he had been waiting next to his car, his gaze directed up to your window, and only when he saw you behind the glass did he get in.

However, he didn't continue straight to his firm; his car turned on the street, taking the same direction you came from. Towards his home.

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru , @solartoge @12134z03 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @finallyforgotten @lady-of-imladris @123forgottherest

#📁files: passenger princess #thranduil x reader #lotr x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings x reader #lotr fanfiction #Thranduil #modern au

[teddybeartoji]

mickeyyyyy *smiles too wide* i would love to hear ur thoughts about snow leopard hybrid!gojo if ur up for it,,,the words themselves just itched something in my brain

MOSS<333333333 i love ur smile btw I AM KINDA NEW TO HYBRIDS OKAY BUT THIS ONE IS JUST SOOOOOOO MMMMMMM also wait here is the twt art that made me lose it (everybody say thank u logan we love u logan for showing it to me) AAAAAAAAAAA IT'S SOOO FUCKING GOOOOOD HE LOOKS SOSO PERFCECT it suits him so well my brain is all mushy already

geto locking him out bc he purred too loudly fuuuuuuuuckkkkkkk he's so cute i want him. like he'd be sooooo clingy right?????? always trying to settle down in your lap always trying to get you to pet him to scratch his ears and he ALWAYSSS PURRS SOOOO LOUDLYY although i would never lock him out sugu is weak for that smh... i think he'd kind of like it when you played with his tail too?? usually felines don't like that too much but since it's you - he loves that shit. he likes to twirl it around your arm and his eyes go so big whenever that makes you laugh GOOD GODDDDDDDD look this is a full on ramble i hope something makes sense too i'm sorry for that i just🥴🥴🥴

oh my god he probably waits for you by the door when you come home, biting down on his tail just like in the picture?????? i'm kinda torn between whether he'd be good while you're gone or would he act up bc i mean it's satoru. the ultimate brat. so maybe he does scratch the couch a little or something? to show how upset he is over you leaving him at home:(((( you can't stay mad either bc c'mon look at him:((((((((((((((((((((((( god i wanna pet him sm

he probably likes to take care of you in his own way too right? like groom you? is that the word? he'd want to lick you, clean you, make sure you're all relaxed and feeling good after a long day. he's such a good boy:(((( he loves you:((((((((

oh and obviously he's super fucking clingy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i mean that's canon for him anyway but now even more. he always wants to drape himself in your lap, his tail curling around you like i said before too. please scratch his ears please please please:((( when you're trying to cook he's glued to your side, nuzzling into your skin - whether it's into your neck or just your back, he just wants to be close to you:(((

he also likes to nip at your skin!!!! there have been a few times where he bites down just a tad bit too hard and it drew blood but it was an accident!!!! he never wants to hurt you he felt so bad after that:(( went at sat in the corner with his tail between his legs:(((((( but you of course forgive him and coax him back to you with some belly rubs

after that he learned how to be more gentle, though. so now he often just fakes biting you just to hear you laugh or playfully scold him. when he does sink his teeth in - maybe your arm or your thigh; he always keeps eye-contact.

when you're just lazing around - reading a book, playing a video game - he's always next to you. always. maybe every once in a while he decides to take a nap, belly up, paws kind of folded and oh, he looks adorable like that. he's just a big kitty okay. btw he's always touching you. clingyclingyclingy. even when he's sleeping, he has to be touching you in some way.

SUGGESTIVE! gets upset when you come home and you have other smells on you. especially other mens' smells. maybe your co-worker hugged you goodbye or something and now his cologne sticks to your skin and satoru can't have that. he's just immediately pawing at you - begging for your attention and when you grant him that, he's jumping on you, pushing you down and licking over whereever the stench is. after he deems you clean, he just rubs himself against you - his way of marking you. you don't know that though... you just think he really missed you...... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

can hybrids go into heat............................? LOOK I'M NEW HERE OKAY I NEED TO LEARN. if they do.............. if he does............ oh boy... you need to get something to surpress those bc he will lose it. he's humping your bed, he's humping your pillow, he's sniffing your clothes. your underwear. sometimes he's pawing at your dresser, looking for more clothes but mostly his target is the dirty laundry basket....................................... everything goes when you're out....... he's gonna make a big big mess..............................................🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 ok i think i need to stop myself here otherwise i'll really lose it........................

moss i need to hear your thoughts on this. NEEEED TO HEAR THEM. DESPERATELY NEED TO. if u know about hybrids u can teach me. i'm..... in it now......................... heheheheheh this was so fun i'm sorry it took a min love but yeah i can't wait to hear your ideas aaaaaaaaaa I LOVE YOIUUUU I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD DAY MY BELOVED<3333

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #SNOW LEOPARD!GOJO LIVES IN MY HEADDDDDDDDDDD #HE'S CRAZY #HE'S SOOOOOOOOOOOOO CUTE #I NEED TO PET HIM I NEED TO SCRATCH HIS EARS I NEED TO PLAY WITH HIS TAIL #RUB HIS TUMMY?????????????????????? #yeah he's gonna make me spiral #moss thank u for indulging me on this hehehhehehehe #love u #moss <3 #friends!! #angel boy #mickey can't stop thinking #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru #snow leopard!gojo

[beamtori]

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢)

nonidol!eric sohn x rem!reader

2.3k words, smut (minors dni), p in v sex, reader is on birth control for convenience of hitting it raw, swearing, kissing, fingering, creampie (such an interesting word...), my weird ver of aftercare cuz how tf do u do aftercare post-getting railed at a party 😭, pet names (baby, sweetheart, hon, pretty boy), he's sweet, i think i got it all skfnksndkd

a/n: this is a second part to this fic occupied on my main writing blog! reading part one is not mandatory at all !! for @mosviqu <3 i hope it's not cringy skdnksjd also special thanks to @ethereal-engene and @winterchimez (i feel like there's always a thank u section to these 💀)

You were wearing his cap—a muted red with a rip in the fabric on the side. It was nearly impossible to miss as you clinked your plastic cup against Han Jisung's and toasted to a night of whatever was to come. (Hopefully you.)

Just about an hour ago, you'd come to find your best friend at this party after departing ways with your university baseball team's shortstop, Eric Sohn. He had obligations and an emergency to attend to, so you were biding your time around the place in case he ever wanted to pick up where you two left off. Along the way, you'd found the red cap he was wearing somewhere on the floor and put it on. Maybe it could be a beacon or some shit.

"—that's crazy, man," Jisung chuckled, shaking his head from over the rim of his cup. "I know I said I didn't wanna cockblock you, but I really didn't cockblock you this time."

You rolled your eyes. The liquid in your cup was a bit of tequila watered down with orange juice for a makeshift margarita. It was a little liquid courage in case you needed it. "Yeah, yeah. It was important, so I don't blame him." Though, you could hardly hide the disappointment behind your words.

Your friend gave you a sideways grin. "Well, the night is still young, my friend. Plenty of hot people around to scratch your itch."

"Well, I hope out of all of them, you still choose me."

Startled, you swiveled on your heel and came face to face with one sheepish-looking Eric. He had his hand clasping the back of his neck, brown hair a little more mussed from whatever emergency had arisen. His white shirt was still clinging to only a couple buttons—you had both been in a bit of a rush earlier.

"Felix? What's that? You need to tell me something—?" Jisung made a very swift exit, shooting a pair of finger guns at you.

You arched your brows as Eric came closer. "I think I'm scoping out my options," you teased, lifting your cup to your lips and draining the last bit of the spiked orange juice. You placed your empty cup on the table behind you, watching his eyes trace the path your tongue took along your lower lip.

The corner of his lips curled upward and he set his hand on the table. "Any way I can sway your judgment?" He asked. "I'm getting a bit of déjà vu."

"You have previous references," you shrugged. "I think I can trust that you're the man for the job." Despite your nonchalance, your heart was throwing itself against your ribcage like it was ready for a prison break.

Eric's other hand caged you in, his low chuckle sending a zap down your spine. "Well since my previous references check out, I'll just make sure you like what you saw."

He leaned in closer to you, and you met him in the middle. Your kiss tasted like oranges now, with the slight sharpness of the alcohol. His brows creased as he cupped your jaw and massaged his tongue with yours, trying to figure it out.

You pulled away, and he lifted the brim of his red cap to see your eyes better. "This looks familiar," he grinned.

"Does it now? Well, I'm sorry to say, but finders keepers," you said, switching the cap from front-facing to backward.

His eyes gleamed in the low lighting, and there was a smug sort of curl to his smile. "You're way hotter in it anyways."

Heat rushed to your neck. "If you keep complimenting me…"

"Then what?" He asked, voice dropping. He was in your space, front pressed to yours, lips a teasing hairsbreadth away. The back of his knuckles found your cheek in a gentle caress, a lover's purr. "If I keep complimenting you, then what?"

This was the second time you both lost the hat. You couldn't remember if this was the same room or not—you didn't really care—but you were fumbling for the lock behind you with your brain turning to mush by the way Eric was kissing you. Clearly, you couldn't multitask. His hand slipped down where yours was to twist the lock and entangle his fingers with yours.

His shirt came off a lot faster this time, your fingers used to the slim buttons, but also because he literally only had two of them to undo. The shirt went missing, and Eric's hands roamed from your waist over your backside and to the backs of your thighs. Waiting for something.

"There's a bed," he said between breaths, kisses, laps of his tongue—

"Good to know," you mused.

He scooped you up, your ankles locked behind his back. Your back hit the cool sheets and you found yourself peering up at one beautiful man. Eric Sohn was a marvel in himself to look upon, but this was a nice angle.

He kissed you again, enough to drive you up toward the headboard, his body following after yours like a shadow. His arm dented the mattress beside your head to brace himself over you, the other tucking itself beneath the hem of your shirt to grab your side.

You gasped something sharp. His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, suckling the hot skin there until you were seeing stars. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair until they were messy, messy, messy—

"Eric," you exhaled, the sound like a whimper.

He hummed against you. "Yeah baby?"

Your fingers tapped against the nape of his neck. "Let me get my shirt off."

"Good idea." He unattached himself from you for the split second it took to rip your shirt over your head.

For good measure, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, tossing it over the side of the bed. Eric's eyes glued themselves to your chest, rising and falling with the breaths you were trying to regain. He licked his lips, and you found yourself smiling.

"What?" You asked, a nervous laugh bubbling up from your throat.

He swallowed and shook his head. His hand smoothed over the back of your head in a soothing manner. "You're just so pretty. Can I…?"

You might as well have gone into cardiac arrest. "Yeah," you nodded.

The last thing you saw was the glint of his grin. He ducked beneath your chin and you lost your breath at the feeling of his lips wrapping around your perked nipple. You clutched at his hair—swore something colorful when his hand came up to squeeze your other breast. It was the rough pads of his fingers against your skin, the nip of his teeth, the bite of the cold rings on his fingers.

He lifted his lips off your chest, your boobs glistening in spit. He gave them an affectionate squeeze and pressed his lips against yours. "You can say no," he murmured against you, "whenever you want. This train stops whenever you want it to."

"Okay," you said. You appreciated that from him. "I want you to keep going."

"Mmmh, atta girl." You could feel his smile against your lips.

His body pressed down against you, the weight present but comforting in a way. You moaned as his hips grinded into yours and you raised yours in a desperate attempt to gain friction. Both of your movements were frantic now as you fumbled for buttons and zippers and kicked away pants—out of the way.

You reached your hand between your bodies and cupped the outline of his cock through his boxers, drawing a sharp inhale from Eric's lips. He pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, rutting his hips into your palm. "Ugh, baby."

"I'm on the pill," you said and squeezed him.

His eyes screwed shut, and his fingers found the wet spot on the underside of your panties. "You're—you're on the pill? Fuck, you're so wet."

He pressed a hurried kiss to your lips, yanking the hem of your underwear down. Cool air hit the wetness clinging to your pussy, and you shivered. He lost the boxers, your underwear following suit.

"Spread wide for me," his voice rumbled. "There you go, baby." He swiped the pad of his finger down the middle, drawing a shuddering breath from you. "Sounds pretty, looks pretty—mmh, tastes pretty." His finger popped out from his mouth, and he used that same one to draw enchanting infinity signs over your clit.

"Fuck," you swore, your hand digging into his shoulder.

Eric ground his hardened cock into the mattress as he watched you fall apart. He bit his lip, replacing his index with his thumb and dipping a finger into your hole.

"Oh god—"

He curled his finger inside you. "C'mon, pretty girl," he drawled, lazily pumping his finger in and out of you. The ring adorning his finger bumped against your lower lips in greeting. "Say my name."

"Eric, please," you said and pushed your hips toward him, wanting and wanting and wanting more—needing more.

His kiss was softer this time. When he leaned over, you felt the heaviness of his hardened cock over your thigh, the precome beading at the tip dripping onto you. "Yeah, baby. I got you."

He pushed another finger into your weeping folds and dug his thumb down into your puffy nub. You felt the tension mounting in your stomach, the knot winding up.

Before you could reach a precipice, he withdrew his hand clean from you.

Your eyes shot open. "Eric."

"Yn," he teased. He adjusted himself slightly, then took the hand he'd been fingering you with to slicken up his cock with a couple pumps. The sight made your tongue dry. A muscle in his jaw feathered and he braced himself over you to line his cock up with your entrance.

His tip rubbed against your pussy lips and collected the juices dripping out—you held your breath, wrestling yourself onto your forearms to watch him sink into you, inch by inch.

Eric swallowed your moans with his mouth, your fingers digging into his bicep to anchor yourself. Your brain was melting and you grasped the back of his neck as his length filled you up, a muscle feathering so attractively in his jaw.

Once he was seated to the hilt, he guided you to lay flat on the bed again, his arms braced on either side of your head. "You good, baby?" He asked you, breathing shallow.

You nodded for him.

He buried his face in your neck and his sweat-matted hair tickled your chin, his hot breath against your skin. You fucking mewled when he started moving in you—at first, a gentle rocking of his hips to test the waters, his cock pulling out halfway before thrusting back in again. His breathing was heavy in your ear, the sound turning into grunts as his strokes lengthened.

"Let me hear you, sweetheart." His hand found purchase with the soft flesh of your ass, hiking your leg up and around his back. "Feel so good around me—squeezing me just right."

His knees angled his hips upward, and you swore you saw stars when his tip curved up slightly and hit a sensitive spot inside you. You cried out, "Shit—holy fuck."

"Is that the spot, baby?"

You clenched down on him and a sluice of curses engraved themselves into your skin. "Eric, that's the spot. That's the spot. Pleasepleaseplease—" Your nails dug into the muscles of his back as you held on for dear life. The headboard of the bed knocked against the wall in tandem with how he drove into you.

Pressure mounted in your lower belly like molten fire, begging to be fanned and fueled to erupt, goddamn it. You were begging to be pushed over the edge and you could taste it with the salty sweat on your tongue.

"Can you come for me, hon? You're close aren't you?" He grunted.

You nodded, head bobbing vigorously, arching further into him. "Close, Eric. So fucking close."

Eric reached down between your bodies and kneaded the pad of his thumb down over your clit. Your breath hitched as the stimuli crested over and you were crying out for him. He coaxed you through it, his strokes becoming more desperate as he fucked his way to his own high.

You squirmed from sensitivity and whimpered. "Eric, Eric, Eric—"

"Fuck, baby, where do you want me?" He rasped.

"Inside," you said while gasping for air.

His head hung until he came, swears tumbling out of his mouth as fast as his cum flooded into you. Your thighs trembled from the sensation, and he braced his forearms on either side of your head to thank you in a sloppy kiss.

Your bodies were slick and sticky with sweat and cum. His cock softened inside you, and you winced as he pulled out. Eric smoothed a hand over your hair, nose nuzzling against yours.

"You did good, baby," he murmured. He wrapped his arms around your body and rolled over onto your sides, holding you against him.

You gave a little laugh and shoved your face between his pecs. "Thanks, pretty boy," you said. "You too."

He chuckled, biting his lip. "Cute… say, Yn?"

"Hmm?"

"I know we've got it backwards, but can I take you out sometime?"

You smiled to yourself and your heart kicked up. "Sure, I'd uh—I'd like that."

Eric's expression lit up, and you got to see that beautiful smile of his. "Thank god," he said. He brushed the hair from the divot in your shoulder, ringed knuckles running down the lines on the side of your neck and over your clavicle. "Hey, you tired?"

Your eyelashes fluttered at the question. "Not super."

"Round two?"

"Round—" Your words cut off with a shriek as he yanked you back under him. And though you started off giggling, he had those sounds melting into moans again just as swiftly.

This room was going to be occupied for a while.

a/n: the amount of times i yelled while writing this... how do people write smut all the time, i need to know ur secrets 😭

tbz m.list

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