#filtering certain words only helps so much

[chloemew]

What does Chargeman think of Chargeman Ken?

#megaman #chargeman #megaman 5 #megaman classic #doodles #something that always used to come up when I'd try to look for art of Charge >:( #I have the same problem with Turbo.... #filtering certain words only helps so much

[kingkatsuki]

Everyone leaving a business course in Japan knows that Dynamight PR is THE job to get. Everyone strives and works for it without really knowing what they’re getting into. They just know it’s the highest paying job you can get and you’ll either never need to go job hunting again, or you’ll have an amazing job on your CV. That is until they work there and realise that Dynamight is a dog that cannot be contained by his PR team and the reason you get hired on the spot if you go looking for other jobs is ‘well if you can work for Dynamight, you can work for anyone’

I could write about this trope for hours I’m so obsessed with it— he’d make your job so insufferable whilst simultaneously being the best part of it😫

On paper, a job at Dynamight’s agency is the dream for anyone in business— never mind a student fresh out of school with no experience. Strict NDA’s meant there was little information about what a job working for Dynamight’s PR team was really like, but the fact that his current manager was signed off sick for stress should’ve been an indication of what the job would be like for you.

You didn’t meet Dynamight during your interview, even though it was held at his agency. A fact you found a little peculiar, thinking a Hero climbing the rankings would be invested in who he’d have as his PR assistant— especially as it could help further his career, but it didn’t surprise you. Dynamight was one of the most in-demand heroes, with the media, fans and public desperate for his attention. Of course he wouldn’t have the time to interview everyone that applied for the job.

But you didn’t even meet Dynamight when you got the job. The three weeks since had been surprisingly calm, surprisingly easy. You’d spend your days filtering through emails, most of them from fans who’d beg for a chance of meeting the Pro, or autographs or merch. Not unlike a lot of the emails from the media, trying to arrange interviews or publicity stunts while trying to offer their fees.

The only complaint you’d received was from a young photographer that hadn’t known any better when he shoved his camera directly under Bakugou’s nose during a rescue mission, the hulking Pro carrying an injured civilian over one of his broad shoulders as he grabbed the camera with his palm. The heat of his quirk no match for the intricate technology as it melted beneath his touch, effectively destroying the memory card as he let it drop to the ground. The only evidence a blurry, charred JPEG of Bakugou’s angry face as he reached out for the device. The complaint quickly settled with a new photography set as compensation, as well as a well scripted apology from the Pro. An apology, which you soon realised, was carefully scripted by yourself and signed by the Pro-Hero himself.

“What do you want?” You hadn’t expected these to be the first words your new boss would say to you, and yet here you were.

“Oh, I’m your new PR assistant,” You understood now why people felt intimidated in his presence. Crimson eyes shot you a glare from across the room before he quickly went back to the laptop on his desk, even though thick-rimmed glasses he still felt as intimidating as ever. Even if he did look much cuter like this— “I just need you to sign this apology to the photographer from last week—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ signing that shit,” He scoffed, “Tell that prick he’s lucky it wasn’t his head.”

Now you understood why there were always vacancies available for this job.

You were certain Dynamight wasn’t trying to make your job difficult on purpose, he always seemed to answer your calls when he was inside his office— even if it was usually with an abrupt “what?”. And he even agreed to tone down his aggressive views online, “Fine, sweetheart. I’ll cut the fuckin’ politics. But you know those fuckers need tellin’ how dumb they are”. The peace could only ever be short lived, because no matter how hard you tried, things just seemed to get worse.

If the hero commission weren’t a bunch of pussies Deku wouldn’t be number one for another year in a row.

“Oh my god,” Your eyes squinted as you read the tweet at six in the morning, before you’d even had a chance to wake up and get ready for the day.

The likes and retweets continued to grow as you began to get messages from your team at the agency, and the media as you contemplated just never coming back.

Usually someone in the IT department would lock his account just in time, or intercept the tweets but it wasn’t always quick enough. You really were in the trenches as you decided to take matters into your own hands. Scrolling to your contacts as you called your boss immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and calm the migraine you knew was coming on.

“You’re callin’ a bit late for a bootycall, sweetheart—” He grunted, his breathing laboured on the other side of the phone so you assumed he was at the gym. Or so you hoped, not wanting to imagine him on top of another woman whilst talking to you, “Don’t you start work in an hour?”

“Cut the crap, Bakugou,” You snapped, irritated by the offensive tweet mere hours after he’d promised to tone it down, “You said no more ridiculous tweets.”

“You said no more ridiculous tweets,” He mimicked your tone, “I’m just posting pure fuckin’ facts and you know it. If the commission weren’t so far up Deku’s ass I’d be number one by now.”

“No,” You growled, “If you weren’t such an insufferable asshole all the fucking time and actually tried to show up to some of the events that were organised for you, you might actually have a chance of changing public perception of you. Nevermind the simple fact that Deku had better numbers than you this month. Deku’s number one because he deserves to be, but you deserve it too. So maybe if you fixed up we could get you there, but instead you choose to be a jerk.”

You couldn’t believe the words had left your mouth. Every single ounce of annoyance and irritation you’d felt working under Dynamight for the past month had spewed out in under thirty seconds. The emotions you’d kept bottled up every time you received a new complaint or read a new interview or post from Bakugou, now released from your system.

And even though you were certain that you’d lost your job now, at least you could say that you’d given your notice in style.

“Well shit,” You heard the running stop on the other side of the phone as you assumed he paused his treadmill, panting into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, sir,” You sighed, “Maybe it’s better if you get someone else for the job—”

“I like it when you’re pissed, sweetheart.” He cut you off completely, catching you off guard, “I’ll see you in an hour. You can tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

#YOU KNOW HE’S HIDING HIS CHUB ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PHONE #bakugou x reader

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Lesson 3: Human Reproduction | Extra Credit 01: Communication Skills

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Continue studying with Lesson 2: Male anatomy

A/N 2: I’ve been having thoughts about making this a miniseries, so please let me know if you’d like to see a second “lesson” 😉

Thanks so much for reading!

Likes are great, but please also consider supporting writers with comments and reblogs - they help fics get seen, and it genuinely means the world! 🌍 ❤️

Taglist is open!

My masterlist

#virgin!eddie munson #virgin!eddie munson x tutor!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x you #biology smut #the biology tutor #female anatomy lesson #Eddie munson x fem!tutor!reader #stranger things fanfic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smutty fanfic #smutty fanfic

[happysparklingshadows]

𝙱𝙶𝟹 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝙿𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 ✿

Note: I am still writing A Certain Hunger but I have been very scared about publish it because it has taken so long to write because of some personal issues with my family and work! I hope you like my headcannons about Bg3 woman. They have infested my brain 😵‍💫

Lae’zel 

-Not one to really give or receive praise in a context outside of battle.

-She would compliment you in her husky tone occasionally if you did impressive work against an enemy. But praise for being around? No. 

-Lae’zel grew up in a culture that refuses kindness or praise. “It only makes us slower. We think of our greatness more than being great; I will not fall for that. I know my greatness in the screams of my enemies.” 

-However, over time, and after being introduced to Faeyan culture, she slowly learned that praise was judged as encouragement or care for others. Especially after staying with you to choose her future, she learns the importance of praise but uses it very sparingly. 

-“You did well.” She would say after you kill some goblins. Or the time she mentioned that she liked the “strength” you showed when you got beaten to your last hit point. 

-She was never good at taking praise. She didn’t like being called a good girl; it implied you were superior to her somehow, and she didn’t like being called anything other than Lae’zel. 

-“Champion, You were so strong tonight. It made me shiver.” You told her once as she was sharpening her sword. She stops abruptly and stares ahead of her momentarily, and she starts sharpening again. She got flustered very easily with those words.

-She does say in sex, though, “You take me so well, my scent still on you from last time. Screaming you are mine.” To you in sex. She likes to praise your good behavior as her mate, but she doesn’t think it is praise. She is stating a fact. You were good at taking her????

-She isn’t the best at giving or taking praise, but nothing is better for her when it is earned. She loves to hear your approval of her, and she tries her best to do the same for you because beneath the coldness was someone who couldn’t imagine a world without you. Didn’t want to. 

-I believe after the end of Act 3 in the game, she would call you “good girl” if you told her you liked it and explained how it made you feel. She won’t develop it independently, even with how well she knows you, but she wants to make you feel good. She isn’t above proving herself to you or changing small things, like what to call you in bed.

Karlach

-Fucking loves it and loves giving it both. 

-She calls you baby (girl or boy) whenever she is pleased with your behavior, and she kisses you whenever the urge comes over her, which is a lot. 

-Karlach has no shame or embarrassment to praise her beautiful Girlfriend. 

-Karlach had helped you once with her strength; you had asked them to hold you up as you wanted to grab a honeycomb. Her solid and big hands grabbed your waist gently and lifted you up like you were nothing; it made you feel flustered and turned on.

-“Gods, I don’t think I have ever met anyone as strong as you, Karlach! That was amazing!” You said without a filter when your feet met the ground again. You looked up to the now-flustered barbarian. “Seriously,” you say as you touch her bicep innocently to investigate your girlfriend's muscle, “What were you fed as a child? Rocks and nails?” 

-Which ended up with you pushed against that tree and fucked beyond belief. 

-The night came over you that night under the tree. You lay naked in the grass with Karlach. You hear the turning of mechanical parts in her chest as you look up at her, resting your chin on her breast, “You are so beautiful. It is just a privilege to love you, Karlach. Truly, I can’t believe we haven’t known each other longer for how much you have taken from my heart.”

-Karlach is a soft girl sometimes, and saying something like that to her would make her stare at you with tears in her eyes. She softly cries, not believing what you are saying. She chuckles at her own tears at such a nice thing. She sniffles and says, “Thank you, baby, I can’t- ah, I can’t find the words to tell you how much that makes me feel. I love you. You are the best love I have ever known.” 

-You kiss her skin softly as you cuddle closer to the tearful tiefling, “I love you too. So greatly… it’s good to know it is mutual.”

-“It is, baby, it really is. Tonight is such a beautiful night.”

Shadowheart 

-Shadowheart doesn’t admit it, but she has such a big praise kink. 

-It started when you two met when you noticed how she would look away when you thanked her for saving you, or she would blush when you told her how great she was beside you in a fight. 

-But she was slow with her love and couldn’t be won over with some simple praise. It takes time to win her trust, let alone her heart.

-She finds her need for your praise as something she needs to hide. It was a vulnerability to exploit if she let it show. It is how she is used to being. She tries to hide her happiness with praise, but it is hard. 

-But, when you two start seeing each other seriously, she takes that shit to the heart every time. 

-“Good girl.” You said in passing when she healed you without being asked. It caused her to blush and feel a heat wave through her.

-She was happy to make things easier for you when she was in love with you and away from Shar. She doesn’t need anyone's approval anymore, no more sacrifices to be enough. She was enough to you. It made her feel comfortable. 

-Shadow wasn’t scared to praise you back. She is similar to Karlach in that way. She has no shame when she is happy with you to tell you that or give you a look that communicates that she will treat you to something more. 

-One night after she had abandoned Shar, she was still very lost and felt not herself. Even her hair isn’t the same as what she remembered. She didn’t remember much. It killed her, and you came to your shared tent. 

-“Shadow, I want you to know I haven’t met someone with so much bravery before.” You say to her as she sits across from you, saddened and quiet, and you come closer to her. “You were scared and did what you thought was right, and it was right, without knowing how it would end up. You dared to do something that terrified you. It inspires me, my love.” You finish as you touch her hand, you move a hair out of her face that still looks at the ground. She had red cheeks, and her breath was hitched. She needed to hear that. But she couldn’t find words to speak. “My brave cleric.” You say as you touch her cheek tenderly with a finger, rubbing it up and down and moving it away. “I think you will find your nerve again. Give it some time.”

-She, of course, finds it again and is her typically goofy brooding self again. And she remembers those words when she is afraid. She reminds herself that you find her brave, so she must act bravely. 

-The praise you give her keeps her sane even if she will never admit it. 

Minthara 

-Praise is not something to take or give lightly to Minthara. 

-Minthara is 230 years old (45ish in human years), and you are way younger than her by a hundred(s) of years. She sees you as someone who has yet to mold into a fully well-rounded person, and she likes to see herself as some kind of mentor and lover. 

-Minthara smirked at you when you did something she liked in the company of your party; she would back you up on almost any decision you made. If you kill or attack someone without asking questions, she will give you a nod and a “Good kill.” 

-Minthara doesn’t hate when she is praised by you. It gave her a reasonable confidence boost that she needed right now. But she scoffs at it and doesn’t like overly affectional praise or one that doesn’t feel earned. 

-She thinks the best praise is in sex with your moans and begs to her. She worships you, eyes devouring you as much as her mouth did to your clit. Her fingers toying and occasionally pinching your nipples, she moans into your body as she tastes your essence. She loves hearing how good she is doing and how great you feel; she keeps her path of getting your cum on her lips. 

-Minthara kisses up your body when she is done. She links her hips with yours with firm thrusts against you, and she says down to you, “Good girl, that’s right, move with me.” 

#bg3 #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #minthara x reader #Shadowheart x reader #Lae'zel x reader #Karlach x reader #Shadowheart #Shadowheart x tav #minthara x durge #shadowheart x durge #lae'zel x tav #Lae'zel #Lae'zel x durge #Minthara x tav #karlach cliffgate #karlach #Karlach x tav #Karlach x durge #minthara baenre #lae'zel of k'liir

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!! dealer’s choice <3

Steve is going to die again just a few short years after waking up in this new world and his death is going to be significantly less glorious the second time around.

“You don’t think he’s going to come,” Duke Rhodes says, tied up next to him and in even worse shape than he is. An unfortunate side effect of not being a sorcerer’s experiment and being nearly a decade older than him, he assumes.

“You do?” he asks, too exhausted to filter himself like he tries to do around him.

Rhodes raises an eyebrow. “I think his champion and his general are tempting enough bait, yes. Listening to their demands and showing up alone is also the most foolish choice he could possibly make, so I’m confident the king won’t be able to help himself.”

Those words would be treason from anyone else, but Rhodes has long been King Anthony’s personal confidant, and the one managing this war for the king from the beginning. Steve supposes that grants the man a certain level of leeway.

Steve is, now and always, exactly what he was enchanted to be. The King’s Champion. From the moment he woke up in a land at once so familiar and so different from his own, he renewed the vow he took seventy years ago. To serve his king and uphold the dignity of the realm so long as a Stark sat on the throne.

King Howard, however, had been an easier man to serve. He’d at least taken the time to meet with Steve, for one, had taken an active interest in the war he fought rather than delegating it and holing himself up in his castle. He’d been cold, and detached in many way from the realities of the war he’d started, but he was a king, and his attention, however brief, had always rallied the troops in a way that Steve admired.

King Anthony at least delegates well, he’ll give the man that. Rhodes does not come from noble blood, something they share, but by the time Steve woke up here it was long past something others were willing to hold against Rhodes. His title of Duke had been a gift from the king. His title of General had been one he earned.

“Steve?” Rhodes frowns, eyeing him like he’s looking for injuries that he hasn’t noticed.

Perhaps Steve is more injured than he thinks, because he doesn’t have the good sense to stop himself from saying, “He did not come for his alchemist.”

He tenses, but Rhodes just sighs, shifting in his bonds as if trying to find a more comfortable position even though if that existed, they would have found it by now. “You hold a grudge for something that happened not only before your time, but for something that Edward does not.”

“Edward is too forgiving,” he says stiffly and doesn’t say the same of Rhodes even though he thinks it often.

He sees the warmth and tenderness and affection between Rhodes and Edward clearly and it galls him that Rhodes has so easily forgiven his king leaving the man Rhodes loves to die. Edward is often trying to coax Steve and Rhodes into a more affectionate relationship, but it’s a hurdle Steve can’t quite overcome.

When he’d first awoken there had been nothing but mourning and determination and another war and then there was Edward. Infuriating and funny and warm and completely irreverent, the only person who seemed to treat him as more than cursed and made his terrible circumstances feel like home. Alchemist, armorer, blacksmith – he seemed to do everything and anything required by the crown and with a speed and skill that left Steve breathless. Rhodes may be directing and managing the war but without Edward’s tinctures and potions and weapons and armor, the war would have been lost long ago.

And when he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, their enemy demanding the king’s presence to free him, the king had stayed safe in his castle.

Steve understood it logically. He’d had no queen or heir at the time and was the last legitimate Stark. Even if he’d been the type of king who cared about his people, he could not risk himself for a subject, no matter how valuable, no matter how much that subject sacrificed or gave or how valuable he was.

But that was just as true for him and Rhodes as it was for Edward and the king had left Edward to be tortured. They had tried to force him to make weapons, to betray his king, and Edward had refused. Steve saw some of the marks of that torture even now, years later, and he could not bring himself to love a king who did not care for that devotion, who hid away in his castle and let better men fight for his kingdom.

He was not required to love his king, only obey and serve him, and that Steve had always done.

He’d earned his title too. Both under King Howard and King Anthony. Being the King’s Champion did not mean being his friend. Not that was something he could claim to be, when he’d never even met the man.

“The Iron Mage saved him and the Iron Mage serves the king,” Rhodes points out, as if Steve doesn’t know that. “Isn’t that enough?”

The Iron Mage is his battle brother and his friend and yet another pillar keeping the kingdom steady while King Anthony can’t seem to be bothered. He holds the light of a star in the center of his chest and uses magic like a blunt weapon, the elements of the star sliding over his body, shifting and changing metals as he brutalizes the battlefield. Those that had captured Edward had found their base reduced to rubble and the Iron Mage appeared wielding a power that not even Sorcerer Strange could explain.

They said he was Goddess blessed, sent from the heavens as a shooting star to aid the king in his war, to ensure victory for the Starks who ruled by divine right of the Goddess Herself. Steve wasn’t sure of all that. The Iron Mage seemed man enough, for all he was constantly covered in his strange shifting, shimmering metal. His voice came out raspy and too low, as if he was in pain, and Steve often wondered if holding the core of a star was worth the consequences, but he was the last one to ask questions like that, considering what he’d allowed Sorcerer Erskine to do to him. The Iron Mage’s humor was wry and ever present despite that, and Steve often thought that he and Edward would get along, if the Iron Mage could ever be coaxed into spending time off the battlefield with the man he saved all those years ago.

But he couldn’t quite lay that victory at King Anthony’s feet. If anything, it seemed like the Iron Mage had used saving Edward as a way to secure his place at the king’s side, rather than that he’d been sent by the king in the first place. No one had heard of such a mage before that, after all.

“Perhaps the Iron Mage will come for us,” he says instead of answering. It’s possible. But the Iron Mage is supposed to be on the other end of the battlefield by now and by the time he hears of his and Rhodes’s capture, it may be too late.

Rhodes shakes his head. “You need to have a little more faith in your king.”

“Why should I?” he snaps, knowing starting an argument when they’re literally tied together is a dumb decision, but like most of his dumb decisions, he can’t help himself. “When King Howard dragged us to war, he at least let us see his face, he made an effort. I hardly expect a king to take to the battlefield, but King Anthony stays in his castle, with his drink and his women if the rumors are to be believed. Queen Virginia has introduced herself to the soldiers several times but the king has not. What sort of man is he to ask faith from me?”

“Well, I said faith, not trust,” Rhodes says tiredly. “Tony didn’t start this war and he’s doing his best to end it.” It’s rare that Rhodes will slip into the familiar name for the king, but it startles Steve every time, the reminder of just how close the general and the king are, and how little that closeness had mattered when Edward was captured. “Although I’ll grant you that you’re right about one thing.”

Steve is exhausted suddenly, in a way that has little to do with his lack of sleep or his injuries, but he’s too grateful for Rhodes keeping his temper while he can’t to ignore him now. “What’s that?”

“Tony is nothing like his father.”

#god i love identity shenanigans #prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #avengers

[sipsteainanxiety]

katsuki's schedule, over the last few weeks, had been packed.

he was out of the apartment before the sun could even poke its sleepy light past the horizon. you grew accustomed to waking up to cool sheets and parted curtains, the smell of tea wafting gently from the kitchen from when he'd made a cup to help him get ready for the day. and he, more often than not, returned just as you were about to slip into bed, fatigue heavy on his battle-worn muscles. there wouldn't be much conversation held, just chaste kisses as he'd quickly eat something and shower so he could finally collapse next to you, out cold before his head even hit his pillow.

you didn't think much of it at first. the life of a pro-hero was bound to be crammed with patrol after patrol, each precious minute dedicated to saving the lives of those who needed help. you did your best to simply support him where you could—there were times where it felt like it was all you could do, really, silly little you. but you knew he appreciated your attempts all the same.

it wasn't until you caught a glimpse of his schedule on his open laptop—that he'd fallen asleep in front of on the living room couch—that you realized just how busy he was.

his entire schedule—from monday to sunday—was packed with patrols, meetings, and more patrols. there was hardly any free space for him to have any sort of free time. if he wasn't on patrol, he was training. if he wasn't training, he was in a meeting. seeing it all lain out before you made you pause.

you didn't get to see what he did once he stepped foot out of your apartment—didn't get to go to his agency to keep an eye on him at all times of the day. so you weren't privy to what exactly he did. but this... seeing his days, his weeks, so filled to the brim... it wasn't healthy. it couldn't be. and it was just for this month in particular too.

you decided to confront him about it one evening as you both rested lazily in bed.

"baby," you whispered as you propped your head up on your hand, your elbow resting on your pillow, "why has your schedule been so crowded lately, hm?"

katsuki gave you a tired hum, his carmine eyes moving from where they'd been blinking heavily up at the ceiling to your gentle face. you took the moment to look at him—really look at him. the bags that lined the bottom of his eyes, the pallor to his skin. and his words, when he spoke, were slightly slurred—intertwining with his weariness. "s'just all part of th' job, y'know."

"i thought you were supposed to have more free time now," you told him with a frown, "the higher you ranked."

he only grunted and gave the smallest of shrugs with his shoulders. you pursed your lips, but didn't say anything else—just lifted a hand and ran it through his spiky hair. across his forehead, down the curve of his cheek. he hummed again—low, broken—and closed his eyes.

it was then that you realized he was doing it on purpose.

he was running from something—purposely filling his schedule with so many things so that he wouldn't have a moment to rest. to let his thoughts filter in. to let himself be alone. he exhausted himself down to the bone so he could collapse at night on your shared bed and dream a dreamless dream.

for all the nitpicking katsuki did at his own regimens—making sure he exercised, ate healthily, got enough calories every day—it seemed like he couldn't control certain things from his own mind. the things he went through—things you were not knowledgeable of, not really—caught up to him sometimes. caught him off guard. made him go through phases where he was just the slightest bit out of control.

you worried for him, of course you did. it just... it was something he needed to deal with on his own. something he didn't want you caught up in—all the shit he kept locked down in his head. he kept you at an arm's length—it was why he never told you just how much he was weighing himself down. he loved you too much to let you be swept away in the hurricane going on inside him.

but you'd be there for him—willing and waiting—ready to finally catch him once it all faded away.

#some fruit for thought on adult bkg affected by the shit teen bkg went thru #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou drabble #hadnt written a drabble in so long LOL feels nice stretching my fingers out

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia (Part Two)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

You're a new recruit to the spider society, and you've just been sent on your first mission on one condition: Do not contact Miguel's variant in this universe. When your mission goes wrong you break that rule very quickly, desperate for help, only to find that Miguel's variant here is not what you expected. He's stoic but kind, awkward but sincere, and he's also an enormous human-spider hybrid: a drider, both human and arachnid. You decide to continue seeing Miguel in secret, with the rest of the society unaware. You really want to stay friends after all. That is, until Miguel suddenly goes into a rut. Word count: 4410

The moment you entered those woods you regretted your decision.

The trees here were ancient and old, so tall that they blocked out nearly all light from filtering through. As a result the forest floor was lifeless and cold, dark and foreboding. No grass or saplings could thrive here. It felt like you’d entered an eternal twilight.

You crept across the floor and tried your best not to make too much noise. ‘Just- follow the watch’ you whispered to yourself. ‘Follow the watch. You’re fine.’

Your watch let out a little beep as you delved deeper, indicating that you were getting closer to the variant. You could see his marker on the map was just a short walk away now.

The further in you went, the more you felt the hair on your neck stand up. Something here felt horribly wrong, but, what? It was on the tip of your tongue but just out of reach, leaving just a deep sense of foreboding. Something here was wrong. Something, something--

Then you felt it. It clicked, in your mind, and you knew instantly what was wrong.

There was no normal sounds here. No birdsong, no chirps, no scuttling squirrels or bugs flying past. This forest felt empty, almost dead, like a graveyard.

Your steps began to get shorter and shorter.

Was it just you, or did the beeping seem to be getting further and further away? You kept walking and yet it never seemed to get any closer. It didn’t help that the trees all looked the same, making it impossible to tell if you were actually making progress or just walking in the circle. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been here for.

At a certain point you broke. You came to a stop in a small glade and sank down against one of the trees for support, struggling to calm your nerves.

‘Fuck.’ You cursed beneath your breath and watched it condense in the air. It was cold here, almost too cold. It was supposed to be summer in this universe.

You ran both hands down your face as the boiling feelings of inadequacy and anxiety in your gut began to spill over. You’d made a mistake. You were sure of it now. You’d make a mistake and you’d got yourself lost, and you’d have to portal out of here and go home in disgrace.

‘Shit… I’m sorry’ you mumbled to no one in particular. Your words echoed even when whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then you heard it.

Snap.

A single, heavy snap of a twig, one that echoed through the pines. You froze up like a deer in headlights.

That had to be an animal, right? Right? It was a forest after all.

But, you hadn’t heard or seen a single other animal until now, and that snap had been pretty loud. Could a deer make a snap that loud?

You spun a full circle in the glade. The ground was uneven here and seemed to rise up around you, almost like a natural bowl. You couldn’t see high enough over the ridges to see any threat beyond their line, and the trees were too thick to make out any obvious shapes that were moving.

Another crack rang out, this one closely followed by a sound that was much more unnerving. Something low, deep, groaning and old. Was that a tree creaking?

Another crack rang out. A thud, almost like a log hitting the floor, filled the air and caused a flock of crows to flee from the canopy. You jumped at their incessant cawing. Wait, had they been hiding up there? But from what?

‘Shit—shit—’

You tried to take a defensive stance but tripped, almost falling completely onto your back. Your senses were still burned out.

‘Shit! Shit, shit—’

You staggered backwards. You needed higher ground. You went to spin a web but your mechanism was still jammed from your fight with the vulture, leaving you with no way to easily scale the trees. You tried instead to crawl up them by hand but they were slippery with morning dew. You slid right back down with each frantic attempt.

‘Shit—’

Another thud rang out, and with it an enormous shadow appeared over the ridge to your left. Whatever had been making that noise was coming right for you.

‘SHIT!’

In a panic you scrabbled to hide, opting for the enormous roots of the nearest pine.

‘I need to- portal, shit—’

You scurried and fell into the roots of the tree like a mouse, scrambled to hide behind the wood. You heard the scraping above getting louder.

‘GET AWAY! I'M WARNING YOU!’

A shadow fell across the roots, blocking out the light above. All you could see was red. With a scream you covered your face with your hands.

‘NO—’

‘Hey, hey! Cálmate- ah- calm down, it’s okay. ¿Estas herido? Are you hurt?’

You froze. That voice, it sounded familiar. You shakily began to lower your hands, though you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

No blow came. You weren’t dragged out by your ankles, nor bitten by some unnatural demon. Instead, you heard that voice again.

‘Are you hurt?’

You blinked, once, then opened your eyes fully.

There he was. That gorgeous face, with that thick brown hair and brown skin and big red eyes. A face you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Miguel’ you whispered.

He was holding the roots aside with his gigantic shoulders, and his eyes were keenly fixed on you. You could only see him from the waist up but he appeared to be shirtless, showing off his rounded chest and bulging abs all coated in thick, dark hair. You noticed that the skin of his arms was decorated in red stripes.

It was Miguel all right, but not your Miguel.

‘Ay, que chula’ he murmured to himself. You didn’t catch his words but you saw well enough his eyes roaming your figure in the dimly lit hole, not to mention the subtle slip of his tongue across his fangs.

‘You… oh, you- you’re Miguel, right?’ you called up. He seemed taken aback that you knew his name.

‘Ah… yes. Who- who are you? How did you find me?’

You squinted a little as you watched him. He looked like Miguel, uncannily so, but something was different. His face wasn’t as cold and drawn. His lips were parted, his brows downturned and his eyes wide. He looked worried. He looked, shy perhaps? Or maybe curious?

You shuffled upward and held out your wrist. You saw him take a glance at your watch.

‘I was um… I’m from a different universe, I was sent by Miguel O’Hara. Another, Miguel O’Hara, that is. I-I know you are one as well. Uh- I’m from the Spider Society, if that helps?’

Luckily this Miguel seemed to recognise what you were talking about. He didn’t seem confused about the idea of multiverse travelling, in fact you saw him give a clear indication of recognition at the word ‘Miguel’. His brows knotted and his lip curled, turning his softness to overt disappointment.

‘My variant. Yes. Of course.’

With a soft grunt Miguel held out his hand. You noted the sharp claws on the tips of his fingers and froze, but just as quickly he retracted them.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.’

You allowed him to pull you out of the roots and up into the light. On impulse you let out a nervous laugh. ‘Ah- man, I’m- so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so—’ You froze midsentence as you finally looked up.

The upper torso of Miguel was staring down at you, but beneath that was something new entirely. The enormous, fluffy abdomen of a tarantula spider, it’s hide a mixture of black and red. The red tints created a pattern on his back which resembled your boss’s suit, one which matched the red stripes on his arms.

Instinctively you fell backwards again. It wasn’t his body that scared you so much as the sheer size of it.

‘W-Woah, woah—Holy shit, you’re— a-aha, you’re uh- you’re, a--’

‘Wait, don’t- don’t, panic, okay? Stay calm’ he stammered. You could sense he was getting defensive at having been seen, like he expected you to start a fight. You just gaped in surprise.

‘I’m not here to fight’ he barked. ‘I don’t, want to fight you.’ He was trying to sound intimidating but his voice had cracked, which felt strange when his body was already so intimidating on its own.

You slowly raised both hands as a show of good peace. ‘I- I, sorry, I’m not—I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.’

His eyes narrowed a little. You watched his spider legs shuffle as he paced.  

‘Then- why are you here?’

You kept your hands raised as you peered up at his face. ‘You… Have, other people come here to hurt you?’ you asked gently.

His eyes widened. Was he surprised at your question, or surprised that you weren’t afraid?

‘Why are you here?’ he repeated. His tone was sharp, like he was trying to be cold, but it just didn’t work. He had none of that ingrained anger your Miguel expressed. He seemed lonely, for lack of a better word.

With hands still raised you shuffled to your feet. ‘I- I fucked up’ you blurted. ‘I’m sorry, I- I was sent here to deal with a bad guy, ah- not you! Not you, you’re not the bad guy, it’s a um- a vulture, I was sent to deal with a vulture but it’s my first job and I got my ass handed to me and… and no one was available to help, so, I thought… Miguel said you were here, and, he- sorry, he said not to trust you, but I just… I thought, I should, see for myself. I thought, maybe you could help.’

As you rambled on about your situation, that cold exterior around him seemed to shift. He seemed to believe your story.

‘I see. So you’re another one of us, I suppose? One of us… broken, half-way creatures?’

You nodded awkwardly. ‘Ah- a new one, yeah. You- know about all of us, spider people then?’

Miguel grunted. ‘I do. Yes. Some of us… certainly come out, better than others, no?’

You looked up and caught his eye. You had to lean to see him, as his shadow eclipsed your body, but strangely he didn’t make you feel small. At least, he didn’t make you feel small in a way that felt bad.

‘Well, that’s up for debate, isn’t it’ you said. ‘We’re… we’re both, strange on the inside, right?’

Miguel grunted again, though this time it sounded more like a faint chuckle.

‘Yes. I suppose you’re right, little spider.’

He took a tentative step closer and you stayed where you were, allowing him to approach. He noted your bruised arm and slightly torn suit, signs of a fight, along with the wince you kept giving as you stood.

‘You’re hurt, little spider’ he noted. You tensed a little as one of his soft forelegs crept out to touch your ribs. It was definitely fluffy up close, like a soft paw with two hooked claws on the end. You felt the black and red fluff brush your skin and shyly stroked it with your finger.

He made no move to jump or hurt you. He was unnerving, yes, but his mannerisms were soft. He gently prodded at your ribs until you winced.

‘You’re definitely hurt.’

Miguel darted his eyes across your face as he took a step back. You could see him shifting two of his spider legs together, but he wasn’t acting on anything yet. He was searching you for consent.

‘I can help’ he murmured. ‘If you- want.’

‘Help?’

‘With the pain.’ Without any further explanation Miguel bent and began to spin a small spool of silk, twisting it tight into a thin sheet. He then raised the spool to his mouth and, to your shock, began to leak a thick green venomous fluid from his fangs. He allowed it to seep in and saturate the thread.

Once the sheet was sufficiently moist, he licked the extra venom away and bluntly handed it out.

‘Here. Press this to your ribs.’

You stared at him, mouth agape. You stared at each other until it became unbearably awkward, until his eyes began to flit from side to side as if confused why you weren’t acting.

‘What… is it?’ you asked to finally break the silence.

He seemed utterly unaware of why this would be strange. ‘It- it’s my venom’ he said, matter-of-factly.

You darted your eyes to the side then back. He realized you needed a bit more information.

‘It- my venom had paralyzing qualities, but in small doses on the skin it can just numb. It’ll numb the pain so you can get home.’

He held it out again, insistently, so insistent in fact that he nudged your chest with his big spider paws. You blanched a little but did instinctively take it.

‘Okay! Ah- alright, I’ll... try it. Just, to be clear if I start feeling lightheaded I will call for back up.’

Miguel tilted his head, perfectly highlighting the muscular curve of his neck. His red eyes glowered. ‘Didn’t you say there was no one available for back up?’

For a moment you paused. Was that a threat? Or was he just so awkward he thought that was normal? You took another glance at the sheet and then at him, and decided, on a whim, to trust him.

You shyly took the sheet and pressed it over your suit, carefully smoothing it out. At first it didn’t do anything, but after a minute or so you began to feel a warmth spreading. Within two minutes you could feel the pain starting to ease. It was numb for sure, as when you touched the spot it just felt spongey with no sensation, but the pain was gone. After four minutes you were painless but still standing.

‘Is it working?’ he asked. You gave a quick nod.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah! Yeah, it- it’s working. Thank you.’

Miguel bobbed his head. He was so strangely polite, so stilted. ‘Good’ he mumbled. ‘Good. Good.’

‘I… shit, well, I guess I’ll have to head back. I still don’t know what to do though, my- web shooters are jammed.’ You turned and paced a little as you fiddled with your wrist contraptions, something Miguel quickly picked up on.

With your back turned he abruptly approached from behind, leaning in over your shoulder without a word. You froze up at the unexpected touch, as his size set off all of your flight or fight responses. He didn’t seem to notice though.

‘Mm.’

Without asking Miguel raised your wrist to his face. He was scanning the mechanism, his claws prepped to fiddle with the screws and bolts, all while remaining oblivious to your fear.

‘Mm.’ He let out a second grunt before withdrawing, leaving you frozen on the spot. He was too busy working out something in his head to notice.

‘I can help you with this. I can’t leave this spot, I’m afraid, as I will scare too many civilians, but I can help you here.’

You finally shook yourself back to your senses as he spoke. ‘What- what kind of help?’ you asked.

He tilted his head a little, his long legs shifting. ‘I can fix your web shooter, and re-fill it. My webs are… stronger.’

‘I have weak webs?’ you replied drolly.

‘Yes’ he said, blunt and unashamed. He gestured again to your wrists. ‘Almost all of you have web spinnerets too small to produce anything substantial. Yours are held in the wrists, they could never be large enough to produce truly saturated silk.’

‘I… oh. Huh.’

Miguel seemed to finally pick up that your body language was less than ideal as you awkwardly glanced at your wrists.

‘It’s okay’ he said, ‘we’re not all meant to be adapted to the same thing. You have other strengths, I’m sure.’

You awkwardly shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Miguel decided to drop it before he dug himself a deeper hole.

‘Would you- like me to fix it?’ he asked, hand outstretched. You darted your eyes around his body, from his clawed fingers to his face. He seemed trustworthy so far. He certainly couldn’t do anything with your shooter, right? You could still leave, it’d just be awkward. You decided to remove your shooters and place them in his waiting palm.

‘Sure. If that’s okay, I’d appreciate it.’

Miguel nodded.

You followed him through the glade to another tree, one that appeared to have had a desk carved into its side. You sat down on the roots to rest while Miguel sank his abdomen to the floor. You watched as he put on a pair of makeshift glasses and began fiddling with the shooter, carefully prying it open and tweaking it with his claws.

In the ensuing silence you had time to admire this strange man. He looked oddly cute when focused, as he kept licking his fangs or pressing his tongue to his cheek, and he kept leaning forward too far until his glasses slid down his nose. It made you smile.

As time passed, you began to feel your inhibitions lower. You became curious.

‘Do you live out here?’ you asked. Mig grunted, seemingly startled by your interruption of his work.

‘Ah- yes, yes I do.’

‘Do you have a house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it- ah, sorry, am I annoying you?’

Miguel glanced over again. His face was unreadable. ‘No’ he said, just as blunt as the others. ‘It’s nice to have company.’

‘Oh, ah- good. I um- I was gonna ask—’

‘You were going to ask where I live? You were- curious, whether I sleep on the floor like an animal, or in a home?’

You were taken aback by how accurately he’d read your mind. You saw the ghost of a smile on his face at your shock.

‘Uh… yeah. I was’ you murmured.

‘Even basal spiders have homes’ he noted. ‘I am no different. I live in a nest I wove myself, close by to here. It’s quiet out here. I get left alone, which is… I suppose, my fate.’

‘Huh. Were you transformed by the same Alchemax incident? With the, splicing?’

‘Yes.’

After his blunt response you gave up on the questions for a bit. You felt a little awkward here still, but Miguel seemed just fine. He seemed much less tense in fact.

‘You’ he said, suddenly turning to glance at you directly. You met his gaze. ‘You. Little spider. Where did you come from then?’

‘Me? Ah… I’m, incredibly generic. Bitten by a radio-active spider, became my universes spider, then- got the call from Miguel, indoctrinated into the wider society a few months ago, and… I, haven’t done much since.’

You felt Miguel’s eyes raking you. ‘You, sound like this displeases you’ he noted.

‘What, being useless? Yeah, a little.’

He slowly turned back to his work as you huffed, lowering your head to your upturned knees. ‘I wouldn’t say useless’ he murmured. ‘Just, not needed.’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

‘No. I’d be glad that you’re not in danger. I’d be glad that you’re safe.’

Miguel paused the conversation briefly to focus on your shooter. You saw sparks flying as he bit his tongue, utterly focused on soldering something down. When he pulled back you were waiting with more questions.

‘So… why, aren’t you—’

‘Why am I not in the society?’

‘Aha, yeah. You- cut right too it, again.’

Miguel gently stretched his neck as he thought of a response. You couldn’t help eyeing up the way he arched his powerful back muscles, the gorgeous sight of his sculpted shoulders as they rolled.

‘Spiders are territorial. Especially males. I met the Miguel you referred too a long time ago, and he was- combative, to say the least. I don’t think our DNA could handle having two of us in the same place. We talked, civilly enough, but- in the end he retracted his offer and left.’

‘Huh. That seems- unfair.’

Miguel scoffed. ‘I’m also not, fit for this life though, really. I am- unwieldy.’

‘We have a T-Rex and a horse on staff, we could make accommodations for you’ you insisted.

‘Mm. What about the people?’

‘The people? Again, T-Rex and horse. We have a damn werewolf on site. People could handle a half-spider.’

‘Mm. No. I- scare people.’

‘You don’t scare me.’

Miguel glanced at you from beneath the long strands of hair now hanging across his forehead. His almond eyes were narrowed, his brown skin dancing with reflections from his red eyes.

‘I don’t?’

Out here in the empty woods your senses had recovered enough for you to feel his body shifting. You sensed everything; the rustling of hair on his spider half, the little scrape of his claws on the dirt, the wiggle his lower abdomen did as he stared you down. His size, his claws, the little white flash of a fang behind his full lips.

You just smiled at him. ‘Nah. You seem nice.’

He stared at you blankly. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he could possibly do next.

‘Hmm. Thank you.’

You fell into another silence as he began to feed in new web to the shooter. He’d built an adapter so it could connect to your webs when you fired them, effectively making them stronger. You sighed and watched your breath condense on the air as he worked.

‘You seem- lonely.’

You blanched a little at such a blunt statement, especially with no prior context. You turned and found Miguel staring at you again. ‘I’m- I look lonely?’ you repeated back.

‘Yes.’

It still surprised you, just how blunt he was. He leaned back so you could get a good look at his torso. God, he was pretty. Perhaps prettier than the other Miguel. He was tougher from having to maintain such a large body, covered in rugged scars.

‘What- do you mean by that?’

Miguel blinked. His face remained unreadable. ‘I find it- odd. You seem so- amicable, and you come from a society of thousands. But you look lonely.’

‘Ah. Ahuh.’ You scoffed and shrugged one shoulder, trying to play off what a scathing realization it was. ‘In a society of thousands, how do you get noticed? It’s like being a grain of sand.’

Miguel grunted. He seemed to be thinking something over in his head as he rolled your half-finished shooter.

‘I see you.’

You flitted your eyes back to his face. His expression had changed, just a little. He looked sympathetic. He looked soft.

He didn’t say anything else after that. He returned to your shooter and continued putting it back together with the new webbing inside. You, meanwhile, lulled on the roots and pondered this whole experience.

What a strange man, you thought.

‘Alright. It’s done.’

Miguel blew away the little specks of dirt covering your wrist mechanism before handing it back.

‘Thank you’ you rasped. As you grasped the shooter you noticed how small your hand was against his, with your frail fingers barely reaching the edge of his palm. You tenderly brushed his calloused skin before shyly yanking it away.

‘Thank you, so much.’

Miguel gave you a ghost of a smile. ‘I hope you get home safely, little spider.’

‘Aha, yeah, little. That’s me.’ As you spoke you turned and stood, shifting on the spot. You knew that realistically you needed to leave, but something kept you here. You twisted your neck to see Miguel still watching you, unmoving in the gloom.

‘I, um… Hey, just a thought, but- I could always put in a word for you, at the society. I don’t think people would be scared of you, or- at least not everyone would be. You can’t please everyone but… I’d be there, you know. It, might be nice, having a slightly less angry Miguel around.’

Miguel’s soft smile dipped. He ran a hand across his jaw, his spider abdomen twitching. ‘I told you, little spider. O’Hara’s are… territorial’ he noted coldly.

Your heart sank. You knew what that meant. It meant he couldn’t enter the HQ, and in turn that meant you likely wouldn’t see him again.

He looked so lonely as he gazed off into the distance. His jaw was tense as if to maintain a neutral expression. Was he sad you were leaving? Or was he just sad in general? Whatever it was, you hated the idea of leaving him here alone.

As you procrastinated leaving, you remembered him pointing out how lonely you looked. You were part of a society of thousands, and yet he was right. You were lonely. Perhaps you were just projecting onto him now, and that’s why you didn’t want to leave.  

‘It was- nice to meet you, little spider’ Miguel said. It was a solemn farewell. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been standing in silence.

As you craned your head back to see his face you saw fully the sadness in his eyes. No, you thought. You weren’t projecting at all. You were both lonely.

‘Hey… That whole, territorial thing. It means, you can’t cross paths with him, right?’ you asked. Miguel nodded and turned to the side.

‘But… that doesn’t mean I can’t cross paths with you again.’

It made you jump the way his head snapped towards you. His eyes were wide, his pupils physically dilated.

‘You- what do you mean? You- do you mean, you intend to return? Here? To me?’

He stammered as he spoke, his legs instinctively creeping towards you. You felt your smile widen at his insistent hope. How strangely adorable. Whatever, you thought, consequences be damned. You knew your answer now.

With a final wave you clicked your web shooter into place and began to walk away, though you turned your head halfway to call back five simple words.

‘I’ll see you around, Mig.’

For the first time, Miguel smiled fully. It looked good on his rugged face.

‘Yes. I’ll- I’ll see you around, little spider.’

Link to part three!

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #smut fanfiction #read on ao3 #drider #smut with plot #smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #monster human relationship

[d34dlysinner]

hello, I hope you're well, I really loved your writing, but as I'm still not sure about certain blogs, I apologize if you don't write or I'm asking in the wrong way. Anyway, I would like to know what the kings' reaction would be to seeing MC sleeping on the couch after a heated argument? Feel free if you want to decline the request, and I apologize if there are any errors in English, thank you ✨

No worries, I do write 😭

I just take my time answering asks at the moment.

Your English is good btw! Thanks for liking my content!!

Satan and argument is probably the worst you'll experience. He wouldn't lay hands on you. He never would want to think of laying hands on you, but there will be screaming and running off to cool off. If he's very angry he'll take some time to cool off. It can even take a few days. Sometimes he would hear advice of others which can help him cool down. He at the end couldn't be very angry with you specifically. And after thinking how cute, and at the same time hot, you were he just needed to see you.

He returns to see you sleeping on the couch. He did sense that you were angry and he knew its because of the amount of time he took while cooling down, not even because of the argument anymore.

He likes it when your angry in general. Even now when it's directed at him. He doesn't feel the same anger anymore and just wanted to take you in his arms at that moment.

He joins you on the couch and shakes you awake. When you complained to him he just had to take a chance and ask.

"You want to vent your anger in a different way?"

You knew exactly what he was asking for and knew exactly that you being angry was arousing him too much.

But you felt some relief that he wasn't angry at you anymore as the problem of before was long forgotten.

Mammon would look at your tiny form on the couch. Asking himself why you would lie there of all places. It's very rare to fight with Mammon and when you do you both usually fix the problem and argument before sleeping.

The arguments most of the time would be you both disagreeing on something. Where you were more heated about the argument than he was. He had this demeanor where it seemed as if he wasn't taking you serious which makes things worse at times.

Seeing you sleep on the couch kind of was like a reality check for him. He would sigh before taking you to the bedroom so you can sleep on a actual comfortable bed instead of a couch.

In the morning he would apologise for acting nonchalantly about the problem and he'll cuddle a lot with you.

Leviathan would be by his own to cool himself after the argument. After a while of thinking he would walk around to search for where you were staying only to see you on the couch.

An argument with him could get very heated. It would be both of you trying to prove a point without seeing the other person's point of view. Or it would be something where you're very emotional and you both need some time to cool off because you don't want it to turn into a "screaming match".

After thinking about how wrong you were or how annoying you were Leviathan still had to admit that he should've listened to your reasoning before cutting you off multiple times.

When he saw you on the couch he sighed and woke you up so you both can try and listen to each other. After the talk he would embrace you and allows you to sleep peacefully in his bed coffin.

Beelzebub would look at you sleeping on fhe couch with a look of amusement pasted on his face.

An argument with him can start with just the way he says stuff. He can be nice, but he also can be very rude if he wants to. Normally he would do it in a joking matter, but at times he does forget to use a filter when he's being serious. He would either apologise later on or brush it off. At times he's happy that you don't take all his words to heart. He doesn't mean to scare you away after all.

When he returns to see you on the couch, still angry with him, he just snickered and joined you on the couch. He would hug you closely and kiss your forehead before apologising for his words.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad? #whb asks #whb satan #whb beel #whb mammon #whb leviathan #whb thoughts #whb fanfic

[the-dixon-effect]

Lover, you should've come over

A/N: i had this idea a while ago just never got around to writing it. it's v fluffy, a little angsty and just the right amount of trauma, and the title from jeff buckley ofc. hope you enjoy lovelies :')

era: season 6, pre-Negan Alexandria

prompt: "Ya don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me."

summary: Y/N is feeling particularly affected by her past trauma sometime during the group's transition to the suburban atmosphere of Alexandria.

words: 1.5k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: self-harm, anxiety, suggestive

9pm The garage; dark, gloomy, the perfect hiding spot.

The rest of the group was having dinner, courteously cooked by Carol, in the dining area of your shared house. Rick was right, it was going to take some considerable time before everyone properly adjusted to the strange atmosphere of the unaffected suburban paradise that was Alexandria. It seemed, however, that despite the incredible amount of time your people, your family, had spent surviving outside these walls, everybody was fitting in just fine.

The houses were strange, untouched, and the people even stranger. It was like this tiny pocket of the new world was a time capsule, a preserved artefact of an ancient time, all but forgotten to most. It felt like if you were to get too close, immerse yourself too much, the time would come when this place would come crashing down, and bring you down with it. Not only did this place feel like a fever dream about the old world, it also brought back certain memories from the past that you'd tried so desperately to leave behind.

So here you were, an empty seat at the dining room table. You pressed your back against the wall and hugged your legs to your chest. You wondered if they would even notice you weren't there.

Almost-silent sniffles were the only sounds that filled the dim room. The last of the daylight filtered through the tiny gap between the garage door and the ground. You rolled up the sleeves of your flannel shirt to reveal a checkerboard of familiar scratches and cuts, only half visible due to the distinct lack of light in the room. Your head rolled backwards, almost on its own, and hit the wall with a thud. Your eyes swelled with tears just as quick as the memories had come flooding back.

Maybe it wasn't this place. Or the people. Maybe it was just you. No point running now, you thought. You can escape from everything and everyone you love, but you'll never escape yourself, a part of you tried to tell yourself. No matter how far you run, your past, your scars, they will always remain.

9:30pm Despite Y/N's assumption that her absence at dinner would go unnoticed, she was wrong. A certain archer's eyes searched for yours but failed to meet them across the table. "Where's Y/N?" he asked, filling the silence. When all he received was a fleeting glance around the room from members of the group, he swiftly returned to his former position of silence.

"She's probably over at Aaron and Eric's. I heard they were having a couple people over for dinner tonight," said Michonne, a little dismissively.

Daryl shared your feelings about this strange community, and he too understood your lack of trust. Even before adjusting to the end of the world, he certainly would have felt uneasy in a place like this. People like him, like you, they're not supposed to be living in a place like this, pretending to forget about the world outside the walls. Paradise is no place for us, he thought.

Once dinner was finished and the chatter had died down, Daryl slipped off in an effort to find you, and he couldn't help but worry.

9:45pm After searching the whole damn neighbourhood and finding no one who knew where you were, he started to assume the worst. What if she left, ran away somehow? What if she went on a run and got hurt? No, no, he couldn't lose you, not when the both of you had just got here.

Suddenly he remembered the conversation he had with you last night, out on the porch. The stars were out, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you could look up and admire them in somewhat safety. And they were beautiful. And the two of you sat and talked and talked and just watched those stars. He loved to just listen to you, in truth, he wanted to hear all your stories. Even the bad ones, the regretful ones, perhaps he just needed to hear your voice. He thought back to something you'd said, and his mind suddenly went overdrive with worry. A particular memory you'd recalled, and said that you'd never told anybody this before, alluding to an especially bad habit you'd broken. Could that be... self-harm? He was pretty sure he'd seen those marks on your arm, or he saw something, at least, that wasn't caused by walkers.

He started to go over every single place in his mind where you might be hiding, doing more harm to yourself than good by not speaking up. Your bedroom, the attic, the basement, the yard, the garage. The one place the rest of the group wouldn't think to look for you, if they even came looking at all, you thought. Except for Daryl, who had been working in there on his bike all day.

You could even sense it now, the oil, the tools, and the summer heat, even in the nighttime. As you thought of him, the whole place started to feel like him. You weren't even sure if you liked it or not, the familiar fondness you'd developed for him, but despite your loveable manner, you were so determined to be alone. To not appear as some anxious little presence going about the place.

The door swung open and the first thing you noticed was the light that streamed in, illuminating your tear-stained face.

"Y/N! Y/N, are ya' in here?" You buried your face in your hands as you approached the archer, weakly.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on?" he drawled. Daryl placed his torch down and stepped a little closer to you, not in a threatening, fearsome way, but in an intimate way, a way that felt like you could be safe with him.

"Can- Do you think you could shut the door?" you said, sniffling a little as you spoke. He followed your request and returned to where he stood before, deep blue eyes locked on your pitiful face.

10pm It felt like there was nothing to be said, no way to express your feelings in a way that somebody could understand. It would be just perfect if, in this moment, he was able to read your mind somehow. Hesitantly, you rolled up your sleeves as you had done before and looked straight up at him with those wide eyes. It was a sight to behold, that was for sure, and if he could put aside every ounce of sorrow he felt just looking at the scars, he was grateful to be the one who you came to.

"This place, it's like- it's like a well," you were struggling to speak. The tears were flowing now, and you felt embarrassed to have this much emotion on display. "Couple days after we got here, I just started to remember, you know. The stuff you don't wanna remember. Just feel trapped, you know," your voice seemed to trail away as your closed your eyes. Nothing to be done now, you supposed.

When you looked up at Daryl again, you were suddenly overcome by a rush of guilt. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Daryl..."

He pulled you into a tight hug at once and whispered into your soft hair that he held so gently. "No, no darlin'..." he spoke. "Ya' don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me." Perhaps if you were thinking straight you would've tried a little harder to appreciate the moment. His distinct scent, the notes of sweet cigarettes, pinewood and thunderstorms. Instead, you cried into his shoulder as his other hand rubbed gentle lines up and down your back.

You pulled away from the embrace, keeping your arms draped around his neck. He was captured by those pretty eyes of yours, though glassed over completely, and held the silent eye contact. He lifted his right hand and softly held your arm, tracing your goosebumps with his calloused fingertips. And you just stared up at him, looking for the reassurance in his eyes that you knew you would always find.

Sensing your pain, Daryl brought your forearm to his lips and pressed sweet kisses on those same self-inflicted scars. You gazed up at him and mustered the best smile you could, as a sign to continue. You slipped off your flannel shirt revealing the little white t-shirt that you wore underneath. Moving further up the length of your arm, he planted soft kisses on your shoulder, and then your neck. The intimacy brought more overstimulated tears to your straining eyes. The only thing you knew how to do in this moment was simply grip him tighter. "Never let me go," you whispered.

Perhaps you didn't need to be alone after all.

#brandy writes #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon fluff #twd angst #the walking dead #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader

[flowerandblood]

Robbed and gifted (1/6)

[ arranged marriage • modern!Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, violence ]

[description: (Anon Request) She and Aemond are faced with a situation, where they must form a fictitious marriage. They are complete strangers to each other, who cannot find themselves in a new reality. When his wife stands up for him at a family dinner, something changes between them. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She had only signed a few sheets of paper, but she felt as if she had sold herself to a slave market. She despised herself and her uncle. His proposal. She despised her husband and his father. That they made a deal with each other over their heads, making their artificial marriage a route to easy cash flow and money laundering.

She was surprised when her uncle, Arthur, her mother's brother, called her with the proposal. When he offered to pay for her college and financially support her parents, who were in debt because of her father's gambling addiction, she thought he must be crazy.

Then he began to mention a family with whom he had close ties. About the young man who was their son. About how she could help him a lot, and with this favor ensure her future and safety.

“We would need this marriage for about a year, maximum two, so that our money would be filtered through your bank accounts in several tranches. Your community of property will make things easier for us - and then you can divorce." He said as they sat in a small restaurant where he had invited her.

She was about to take a piece of spaghetti in her mouth but she put the cutlery on the plate, staring at him with her mouth open. She didn't believe what she just heard.

"You want to sell me?" She asked, feeling her whole body tense, cold sweat running down her neck. Her uncle laughed, taking a sip of wine from his glass.

"Of course not. You are only to make appearances. Of course, we wouldn't want the rest of the family to know about this deal, so you'd have to live in the same apartment in case someone came to visit you, and show up at family events once in a while. What you do privately is up to you. It is as if you have been given an assignment and a mission for a certain period of time for which you will both be handsomely paid.” He said with a calmness and serenity that terrified her. She wondered how he could talk about such things so lightly.

"Are you proposing me a sham marriage to a stranger for money?" She asked, pale, her eyes wide, her hands trembling slightly. Her uncle smiled warmly at her.

“I offer to take care of your future, for your small favor and sacrifice. Think about this." He said, putting some bills on the table, definitely more than their dinner was worth and left, leaving her with disbelief written on her face.

She came home angry and distraught. She felt that her uncle treated her like garbage, like a bargaining chip, an item that he could put up for auction. She felt an unpleasant lump in her pit as she saw that her father was gone again.

She walked over to her mom who was just lying on the couch watching TV, bored. She stood for a moment in the doorway of the room, pursed her lips.

"Where is dad?" She asked quietly. Her mother shrugged.

"Probably where he always is." She murmured, taking a sip of tea from a large mug. She felt a tightness in her pit at her words. She went to her room without asking for anything else.

In the night, she heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a loud thud and a scream. She saw the hallway light was on and peeked through the door, opening it slightly. Her mother was standing over her father who lay slumped against the wall, drunk, his vision completely blurred.

"How do you look? How much have you lost on those fucking slot machines again today?" She asked low, angry.

She saw her mother kick her father in the stomach. She cringed, as if she felt the pain too. Her father was only moaning, what she might call gibberish. Her mother began to sob and continued to yell at him. She slipped into her room, closing the door, feeling her whole hands tremble.

The next day she called her uncle, saying that she agreed to his proposal.

She just wanted him to take her away.

Then everything went fast. She had to appear at the Registry Office to sign the documents, together with her fictitious husband. She saw him for the first time and this was not how she had imagined him.

The fact that he was dressed all in black made him look very pale. His blindfold made her think that he was some kind of character in a movie, not a real person. As if it was all some kind of theater in which she played one of the main roles. She thought, looking down at her short, flowing black dress that they were both dressed as if they were going to a funeral.

When everything was settled, Aemond, as it turned out was her current husband's name, simply left the room without saying even a polite farewell. She looked down at her feet, pursed her lips, and decided that he owed her nothing. Neither she to him.

She wasn't going to take her frustrations out on him.

Her parents were privy to the whole thing. They were furious at first, but when her uncle gave them the exact numbers that they would get for it and the payment of their father's debts, they both calmed down and decided that two years wasn't that long after all.

She stared blankly at them, wondering who these people were at all. They seemed alien and distant to her as never before.

In accordance with her uncle's demands, she had to move into her husband's apartment. She had wanted to vomit just thinking about it for most of the morning. She felt like a puppet controlled by someone else. As if she sold her life for a few bills. She thought that maybe she wasn't so different from her parents after all, and the thought hit her hard.

She came with a moving team. Aemond showed them a room to set up her bookshelf, desk, and any other furniture she wanted to take. It was obvious to her that they would sleep separately, almost as if they were roommates. Aemond didn't say a word to her as the men brought in everything and she paced the apartment, looking around.

The apartment was large and had huge windows, the walls were white, so it seemed very bright and pleasant inside. She saw a lot of old oak furniture and plants.

She thought she liked it here.

That whoever her husband was, he had good taste.

She heard the door close suddenly and then there was silence. She felt her heart start pounding.

She turned towards him. He stood in the corridor and looked at her dispassionately, as if she were an intruder, a whore greedy for money, someone empty and worthless. She felt it in every cell of her body, but she couldn't be mad at him.

Part of her wanted him to treat her that way.

"I have someone." He spoke calmly, coolly, empty. "So I don't want you asking me who and where I'm going out with. I hope that's clear."

He said it in such a way that she felt, as if he had slapped her in the face. She swallowed hard, looking away. For some reason she wanted to cry, her hands were shaking. After a moment she forced herself to choke something out.

"I wouldn't dare to expect that. I'm sorry." She said, although she did not know for what.

She saw something change in his eyesight, his pupil narrowed, his mouth tightened. She thought his expression looked almost sympathetic for a moment. He nodded.

"Make yourself comfortable." He finally said a little softer and turned away, opening one of the rooms and locking himself in. Only then did she allow tears to run down her face.

For the next few days he wasn't in the apartment. It didn't bother her, she felt more at ease then, she wasn't afraid to go to the kitchen or the living room. She didn't go into his office or bedroom, thinking it was impolite.

She spent her days filling out college papers and buying books. The thought that she would actually go to medical school cheered her up.

One night, lying in bed, she heard a soft turn of the lock, and then saw that someone had turned on the light in the corridor. Her heart pounded at the thought that he was back.

She thought that he must have forgotten something or had come for some clean clothes and was about to leave again, but he hadn't. She heard him turn off the light in the hall and lock himself in his office. Her throat tightened.

She spent the rest of the night spinning around, unable to sleep a wink. She got up at dawn, unable to bear it any longer, and went to the kitchen. There was practically nothing in the fridge.

She thought then that they might live apart, but that didn't mean that they had to dislike each other. She decided to go shopping and make them breakfast.

Lighten up the atmosphere somehow.

She quickly went to the store for fresh rolls and vegetables, eggs, cheese and ham. When she returned, she decided to make sandwiches with fresh lettuce, radish, tomato and chives with a delicious sauce, and casseroles, which she put in the oven in the meantime.

She flinched as she heard the sound of the door opening. She heard Aemond enter the bathroom. She felt her hands tremble.

After a while he left the room and went into the kitchen. He measured the large plate on the table where she had placed her sandwiches. He headed for the coffee machine and she plucked up the courage to say something.

"I made us breakfast." She said and cut him off quickly, seeing that he wanted to tell her to give up her efforts because it wouldn't work anyway.

“It will be hard for two years to pretend we don't see each other. Can't we just be roommates like in college? Who sometimes meet in between and talk?" She asked quietly with a warm smile. She felt him tense as he stared at her, his face set to stone.

"You mean college like the one that you're going to, that was paid for with my money?" He asked suddenly, and she looked at him, shocked. She opened her mouth, feeling her entire stomach clench, shaking her head.

"I…my uncle told me…" She stammered, but he didn't let her finish.

“Your uncle is just a venal pig. Just like your whole family, apparently." He said it so calmly and dispassionately, that she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She stared at the bun that she had just sliced and put the knife aside, her lips pressed together.

"I didn't know." She whispered. He chuckled at her words, but it was ironic, aloof, incredulous laugh.

"Right. You women never know. Everything around you happens by itself.” He hissed as he took his coffee mug and left the kitchen, locking himself in his office.

She took several sandwitches in her hand, breathing raggedly, wiping her tears and nose, as she wrapped them in cling film for him. She knew that he'd be leaving for work soon, so she wanted to at least give them to him for lunch.

When she got home after going to the college she saw, that what she had left at his door, wrapped in a cardboard box, he had thrown into the bin.

She gave up trying to make contact with him. It made her cry often, feeling like an intruder and knowing what he thought of her. She started classes but she wasn't proud of it at all. She was convinced that she was like a parasite that clung to him. She wasn't surprised that he couldn't look at her.

He tried to pretend that she didn't exist.

One day, he surprised her by knocking on her bedroom door. Since their exchange she ate alone, not in the dining room. She opened the door. He didn't even look at her when he was talking to her.

"Get ready. We're going to my parents' house in an hour. My family wants to meet you." He said indifferently and turned away, disappearing back into the living room. She felt as if someone had poured ice cubes into her body.

She felt like she was about to die.

She put on a pretty, blue, girlish dress with tiny flowers and let her hair down. She decided that she couldn't embarrass him and had to present herself as best as she could.

She left the room and told him that she was ready. She saw him look her up and down as if to see, if she looked acceptable, then nodded and they both left the apartment.

They rode in complete silence, listening to the radio. She flinched when she heard his voice.

“We met by chance at one of the business events. You were there with your uncle. We fell in love right away. We kept our relationship a secret for a year. Do you understand?” He asked with emphasis on the last words, his voice as cold as ice. She swallowed loudly.

"Yes."

As they entered his house, she smiled widely. She decided to play her role as best as she could. His mother, Alicent, hugged her tightly. It seemed to her, that she knew nothing about what was really going on between them.

Their house was huge, modern, terrifyingly opulent. She felt uncomfortable there, as if something was missing. She sat down at the table in the indicated place and she was immediately bombarded with questions.

Aemond sat next to her, crossing his legs and placing his hand on her thigh. She looked at him in surprise, and he didn't even glance at her. She thought that he was trying to pretend, just like she was.

At the table were his father, mother, and siblings, but also his sister from his father's second marriage, Rhaenyra, with her children and now-husband, Daemon. From what she understood, they were all in the big family banking business.

They talked to her about things that she didn't understand at all, but she nodded and talked to them about nothing. If there was one thing she was good at it was simple, warm chatting. People opened up to her easily because she created a comfortable field for them to discuss.

Wine was poured with dinner. So many dishes were placed before them, that she did not know where to look. She saw a lot of cutlery in front of her and thought that she felt like in that movie, where they sit some worker at the table with the nobility and make him guess which fork is for what. She shuddered, snapped out of her thoughts when she heard her husband's voice in her ear.

"I don't advise you to take soup or roast, because everyone will be looking at you." He said indifferently, serving himself the soup. Apparently, what he meant was that his family for some reason cared a lot about how someone ate. She asked what he could offer her.

"Everything but roasts and soups." He said dryly and she rolled her eyes, impatient with his behavior. She saw him purse his lips at the sight, displeased, his hand tightening on the skin of her thigh.

"Don't make faces like that." He whispered through clenched teeth, looking at her sharply. She looked at him expectantly.

"Decide for me, husband. Let your will be done." She whispered, leaning over him, her moist lips slightly parted.

She saw his gaze flit from her eyes to her lips, then back to her eyes. He tapped his finger against her knee, as if he was thinking hard about something.

"Careful." He said low and she shivered.

After a moment he looked away, leaning over the table, reaching for a salad. Pretending, that nothing had happened she poured some of it on her plate and began to eat. She hasn't had anything in her mouth since morning.

Suddenly, Viserys and Daemon went from light subjects and stories to business topics. Although Alicent tried to add a funny anecdote, Daemon interrupted her, continuing his thought.

"I mean, if you don't have anyone to give it all to, what's the point of all this?" He asked, spreading his hands.

"I think Jace would be a better fit." He said, several people moved uneasily on their seats.

She saw Aemond reach for the glass of wine in front of him and take a swig from it, taut as a string, in his eye a fury and madness that she had never seen in another human being. After a while his father spoke up.

"Well, that's a bit of an unfair assessment on your part. However, I agree that Aemond is not as dedicated to the company as I would like.” He said. Her husband put his glass down loudly on the table, so that everyone turned their eyes to him.

"Are you fucking serious? I am not sacrificing enough for the company?” He hissed, she could feel him boiling. His hand on her thigh was clenched into a fist.

She swallowed hard, looking from him to his father. His father shifted uneasily in his seat, knowing what he was implying.

“What can I say, math is absolute. Your results could be better." He said, spreading his hands, speaking lightly as if it didn't really matter. "But of course everyone can have a bad time, it's natural."

Aemond leaned back against the back of the chair, his mouth slightly parted, his chest heaving and restless. She had seen, going to the bathroom at night, that the light was on in his office late into the night. That if he wasn't with his woman, he was still working. For some reason her heart clenched tight.

“My husband works from morning to night. Even when I'm asleep he's still doing reports. Are the results he is supposed to strive for even achievable?” She blurted out suddenly, frowning, causing silence at the table.

Feeling a cold sweat on her back, she glanced quickly at Aemond, fearing that he would kill her for the outburst. But he just stared at her, his gaze expressing disbelief, his mouth slightly parted.

He cleared his throat, taking a glass in his hand and taking another sip of wine, several people at the table looked at each other. His father smiled knowingly at her.

"It's nice to see such a loving and devoted married couple." He spoke calmly and she felt a lump in her throat.

She knew that he was the only one in the party who understood what their marriage really was, and he was mocking her. She flinched as Aemond abruptly got up from the table, throwing his napkin on it.

"We're leaving." He said dryly to her as he headed for the hallway. She stood up quickly, following him, terrified. His mother tried to stop them, but he didn't even look at her.

"He humiliated me and you didn't fucking say anything, as usual." He said coldly to his mother, slamming the car door behind him.

She humbly sat in the passenger side, fastening her seatbelts and closing the door behind her. He took off with a squeal of tires, causing her to be pinned to the seat for a moment.

He didn't even turn on the radio, lost in his thoughts, running his free hand over his chin and mouth. She thought, looking at him closely, that he was a really handsome man.

She smiled slightly at the thought and he looked at her suddenly. She swallowed hard and looked away.

They entered the apartment without a word. She thought that he was going to lock himself in his office as usual, but he didn't. He went to the living room and started rummaging in the bar. She stood in the corridor, not knowing what to do. She wanted to go to her bedroom, but his voice stopped her.

"Would you like a drink?" He asked indifferently, looking at her from a distance. She swallowed hard, feeling her whole body tremble. She thought that maybe this was the moment.

That maybe they will get closer to each other.

She nodded, and he took the other glass from his bar without a word. She entered the living room hesitantly, watching as he poured himself a drink. He looked at her expectantly.

"What are you drinking? Wine?" He asked, but she shook her head.

"Vodka. Vodka with orange juice." She said softly, the corner of her mouth turning up into a slight smile.

She saw the surprise in his eye, and then something like amusement flashed across his face. He made the drink she asked for and gave it to her.

He walked around the couch and sat on it, sighing heavily, covering his face with his hand. She sat down next to him at a safe distance, pulling her legs under her buttocks, making herself comfortable. For a while they just drank their drinks in silence, not even looking at each other.

“My mother in twenty-eight years of my life never stood up for me, and a strange girl did. Funny, don't you think?" He chuckled lowly, but he didn't sound like he was enjoying it at all. She dropped her gaze, sighing softly.

"I'm sorry. All my life I watched my mother humiliate my father. I tried to defend him, but one day he told me not to do it." She said, pressing her lips together, inhaling loudly.

She realized that she had never said that out loud to anyone. She was afraid to look at his reaction. After a moment, she turned to face him. He looked at her thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.

"Your father is a gambler." He said low, more stating than asking. She nodded, embarrassed, looking down, taking a swig of her drink, fiddling with the glass in her hand.

"Did your mother ever hit you?" He asked suddenly, and she looked at him in surprise.

She didn't want to tell him about it, in fact, she'd rather forget about it altogether. She looked away, pursed her lips, her body trembling. For a moment she was unable to utter a word.

“When she was angry with me, she pretended I didn't exist. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week. She didn't anserw me when I spoke to her, she didn't look at me, she didn't make me breakfast for school or lunch, she didn't drive me to school. As if she didn't have a child." She said and pursed her lips, feeling tears welling up.

"That's why I can't stand it, when you pretend I don't live here." She said with a shrug, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

"I have no intention of imposing on you and I swear, I didn't know my uncle would take my college money from you." She spoke honestly, truthfully. She was having a little trouble breathing normally, her body shaking slightly.

A strong, violent shudder went through her, as she felt his large hand on her thigh. She wasn't able to move as he rode her higher, to her hips, then lower again, to her knee. She thought it was the alcohol, that they both didn't know what they were doing, but she felt wetness between her thighs.

"Look at me." He said softly, almost mildly for the way he usually spoke. She was unable to comply with his request, her body froze completely, trembling slightly.

Her lips parted slightly as she felt his hand slowly move to her hips again, but this time it slipped between her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat.

She shifted and twisted as she felt him massage her there with slow, gentle strokes. She felt her nipples harden and thought it must have showed through the thin fabric of her dress.

She thought that she needed this. She desperately needed someone's closeness, relaxation, pleasure, acceptance. Everything at once.

She didn't flinch as his thumb pushed the fabric of her panties aside and his fingers ran over her wet, throbbing, hot entrance. She heard him draw in a whistling breath, her hand set her glass lightly on the table next to her, her breathing ragged and quick.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked so quietly and uncertainly that she shivered.

She parted her shiny, swollen lips slightly, his fingers pressing steadily against her, teasing her clit. She couldn't stop her hips from moving towards his hand, a wonderful warmth spreading over her lower abdomen every time he rubbed her.

“No.” She whispered and he jumped up suddenly.

In one swift motion, he placed her on her side, laying down behind her back. She heard the sound of her belt being unfastened and shivered all over, her wetness running down her thighs. She didn't look at him, her chest heaving fast. She wondered what they were doing.

She squealed softly as he pulled her against him, feeling the material of his shirt against her back, his hot breath, his mouth against her ear, his nose teasing her cheek.

"How about we get to know each other better now? For the sake of our common, platonic acquaintance." He hummed, she heard him undo his pants, his throbbing, hard manhood hitting her buttocks hidden under her dress. She felt a tickling heat run through her body at the sensation.

"Y-yes, I guess, that's a good idea" She mumbled softly, it seemed to her that everything around her was hazy, her head was spinning with lust and desire. She thought it was pathetic, but all she wanted was to feel him inside her.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt him slide her panties off her thighs in one, swift motion, his large hands pulling up the fabric of her dress so that she could feel him now, hard and swollen.

She involuntarily lifted her thigh, allowing him to slip in, rubbing against her hot juices. She heard him inhale loudly at the sensation, snuggling her closer to his chest. They both sobbed as the tip of his cock began to press against her, pushing a little into her throbbing, fleshy inside.

"I'll just slide him in for a moment." He whispered, panting with her, their bodies shivering as he thrust deeper into her, pushing her hot walls to the limit.

"Mhm" It was all she could muster.

She moaned sweetly as he slid all the way into her, then began to move inside her suddenly, imposing an intense, fast pace, his thighs slapping wetly against her buttocks, soaked in her juices. They both gasped loudly and groaned alternately, her hand tightening on his arm which wrapped around her waist.

"Jesus Christ" He panted, feeling how tight she was, clenching around him, all hot and wet.

He sped up even more, thrusting into her more aggressively, his cock digging in with a loud slap, stretching her throbbing, swollen muscles, they both felt surprisingly close to fullfilment. He tightened his hand on her thigh which he held slightly up, allowing himself to thrust even deeper.

She sobbed loudly, as she felt his cock rubbing her exactly where she needed to, building up unbearable tension in her. She could feel his hot, quick breath on her cheek, she knew he needed it as much as she did.

If she could think coldly at that moment, she would wonder why he didn't go to his woman, but right now all she wanted was to be fulfilled.

"I'll stop soon, I promise" He whispered in her ear, and she felt such a strong shiver at his words, that she just came. She sobbed loudly, her eyebrows twisted in pain, her mouth parted in a silent moan. She heard him groan low, feeling her walls begin to tighten on him, his thrusts quick, brutal and sure.

"Oh, fuck, yes" He gasped loudly and came hard, moving for a moment longer, his cum flowing in waves inside her. They were both panting, trembling in disbelief, his terrified voice rousing her.

"You're taking pills, right?" He asked as if the pleasure had taken away his common sense. She just nodded, not having the strength to say anything.

She heard his loud exhale of relief, then his nose buried in her hair. They lay there, trying to calm down, she felt his chest rise and fall steadily, his soft cock still throbbing inside her.

She felt that both of them realized what they had done. He slid out of her suddenly, and she covered her buttocks with the dress, swallowing loudly.

She could feel his cum flowing out of her straight onto the couch. He saw it as he got up, zipping up his pants. He swallowed hard, looking at her with black eye. He got up from the couch, obviously not knowing what to say for a moment. In the end he managed only two words as he headed towards his bedroom.

"Good night."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond x you #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x original female character #ewan mitchell smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond smut #modern aemond smut #dark aemond angst #modern aemond angst #aemond targeryen angst #hotd angst #aemond angst #modern aemond x reader #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond #modern!aemond #ewan mitchell x reader #dark aemond targaryen

[prodbymaui]

Breaking The Norm

just come into my arms, destroy me if you want

PAIRING: jeong jaehyun x reader

GENRE: the bad boy's good girl

WORD COUNT: 1.9k+ words

WARNINGS: brief deep throat, brief overstimulation, dirty talks, pet names, mentioned illegal racing

SYNOPSIS: Who would've thought a man so tough like Jaehyun has a thing for girls who's fond of cringy and cliché dramas?

A/N: Cross is mentioned but this one's more of domestic than Cross' fic, no gores and can be a stand-alone fic. With that being said, please enjoy Uno's fic!

A scowl leaves a print on your face. ''What the– she's walking out just like that?! They haven't even talked about it yet! She should've waited for his reason!''

Yoojin, the main character, refuses to listen as to why Haeso left her in the midst of her early pregnancy and only coming back 5 years later. Believing that he abandoned her, the pent up anger and grudge will probably cause them another 3-4 more episodes before straightening the curve and reconciling. What'll happen to their daughter along the way, that you're curious about.

Frustrated by how things ended in this episode, you turn off the tv and stomps your way out of the room, heading towards the kitchen where your boyfriend's in the middle of cooking a dish, probably your dinner.

''Learn to clean up your own mess.'' Jaehyun shakes his head before clicking his tongue and placing his phone on the counter beside the stove in a decent gap. It seems like he was on a call prior to your arrival. Wrapping your arms around him, you plant a kiss on his cheek, eliciting a chuckle.

''So you're out of your den, huh? Got sick of watching that cliché drama?'' He earns a smack. His arm is so full of muscles that it didn't do much than make him laugh again. Those tattoos covering the vastness of his skin are hard to ignore.

Jaehyun's right though, it is cliché. That doesn't change the fact that he watches it with you in spite of hating the plot and the actors' acting. You love that about him.

 ''Who was that earlier?''

''Hmm?'' Jaehyun glances where you're looking. ''Ah, Cross. He wanted me to help Jungwon.''

Cross, a friend of his that you're familiar with yet haven't gotten the chance to actually meet him properly. Jaehyun says he's a busy man.

''About what?''

''Just a mess he made.'' You remember his last line when you arrived at the kitchen. ''That fucker won't stop bothering the youngsters, really.''

Giggling, you pepper his shoulder with kisses. ''Why are you so mad? I'm sure Jungwon can do it with just a few instructions from you.''

Finding nothing right to respond to you, Jaehyun smiles and focuses on cooking. The food looks and smells delicious, but you crave for something else. Something that involves a certain tattooed man who has his hair tied in a man bun.

Jaehyun sighs. ''You know I can ruin our food if you're distracting me, right?''

''Don't care. I'll just eat you instead.''

Jaehyun smirks, lowering the heat before facing you. ''You've got a dirt mouth on you, sweetheart.''

''Uh-huh, wonder where I got it from.'' Your arms circle his neck.

''Right, I wonder..''

Lips curving upwards, you are filled with a giddy feeling as Jaehyun connects with yours, caressing your waist while his other hand settles on the back of your neck to press into you deeper.

Sooner than later, it escalates to more, courtesy of Jaehyun's failed resistance over your body covered merely by his wrinkled dress shirt. A squeak escapes you, tightening your hold on him as he carries you without struggles and transfers you to the countertop usually used for eating breakfast. Your legs welcome him in between like an old friend.

Palm coming in contact with your inner thighs, Jaehyun hums. ''Of course, prancing around this apartment with no panties. What else can be expected from you? Always so eager to have my cock inside that tight little pussy of yours.''

You mewls. God, that deep fucking voice and the lack of filters on Jaehyun's words are enough to cause a pool on your core. ''T-touch me, please.''

And touch, he did. Two fingers plunge inside you, indifferent if you're unprepared for the sudden stretch. Jaehyun curls them, mouth sucking the area where your collarbone lies, groaning as his clothed crotch brushes against your knees. His arm that is on your waist grips you, closer to him and keeps you still.

''Ah, ah.'' Your head lolls to the back, hands placed behind you to support your weight. ''Your fingers feels so good– fuck– more. I want more please. Haah, so good!''

Two becomes three, pads prodding at your spot. The electrifying feeling is too much, you lose control of your own body. Your hips start to buck, meeting the vigorous thrusts of Jaehyun's hands as your own flies to hold onto Jaehyun's arm, gripping and moaning as you feel the muscle flex underneath your palm.

With the signs of your climax showing themselves to Jaehyun, he immediately pulls out his fingers, leaving you feeling empty and whining at the loss of pleasure. Grinding your pussy against the cold marble countertop to make up for the digits that left you unattended, you watch through your hazy vision how Jaehyun licks and sucks the said digits as if it's some sweet candy.

When your slick on his fingers runs out, Jaehyun nudges your legs wider, feet planted on the same marble top. Your eyes lowered to his boxers, his tip peeking out of the hem.

''Fuck.. you're too big a boxer couldn't even accomodate your size?''

Jaehyun kisses your throat, licking your nipples through the shirt. ''That's why you're here, darling. None of these clothes can keep my cock warm. My pretty cocksleeve.. you'll do that instead, don't you?''

Nodding, you press your body against him, hands feeling Jaehyun's abs and chest. Your eyes shoot wide and a gasp resonates around the kitchen when Jaehyun's tip breaches past your pussy lips, invading your hole as his veins rub the velvet and warm walls. When he's buried deep inside, Jaehyun starts thrusting with an unforgiving pace. There's not even a build up.

''Oooh– yes, yes, yes! Fuck my pussy! You reach so deep– oh, God– you reach so deep inside me, I can feel you in my belly. Jaehyun, you're so big! Too big!''

You feel so full. The impressive girth of your boyfriend might be monstrous but somehow your walls willingly stretches to its limit to accommodate it. As if your pussy was made exclusively for Jaehyun's dick.

''Motherfu–... You're fucking chocking me, sweetheart. I feel like I might come soon,'' Jaehyun chuckles. ''You're the only one who can make me cum in a span of minutes. You're the only one who can take my fucking cock like a fucking champ.''

''Yes! I'll make you feel– ah!-- feel good. You should fuck me everyday– haah– every morning and every night– Oh so good! Don't go to work just– fuuuck!-- just fuck me the whole day. Don't care if I tear apart.''

Even though his bar can function without physically being there, Jaehyun knows he won't do that. He won't get rich. But Jaehyun gets harder nonetheless.

''Or– or if not, you can bring me there and fuck me on the counter too while mixing and making drinks for your customers. I'm sure– ah shit– I'm sure they'll like the show. It's like hitting two birds with– oooh– one stone, right?''

Jaehyun growls at your ear. ''Fucking..''

You yelp as you get manhandled, your back now facing Jaehyun's chest as you stand before Jaehyun. A high-pitched moan rings across the apartment when Jaehyun thrusts into you faster, deeper, and harder. Your legs buckle and your arms fly out everywhere, desperate for something to hold on. 

Tears streaming down your face, Jaehyun decides to help his poor girlfriend by grabbing each of your arms on the area of your elbow, steadying you so he could plow and jab at your prostate without you moving much.

''You fucking slut. And here I thought I house an innocent one. Although maybe you were once like that– I made you like this. God, I made a monster, didn't I? A fucking vixen.''

Your knees face each other, folding a bit. They would've given up on you if not for Jaehyun. Head bowing down, you meet the view of your belly and the bump appearing with every snap of Jaehyun's hips. You are reduced to a whimpering mess.

Jaehyun laughs when he notices where you are looking at. ''See that? If you're not on pills, your belly would be round and plump. You will be carrying my child, showing everyone who fucking owns you.''

The words seem to be stuck on your throat, clogging the passage where you can get air as breathing through your nose isn't enough. Eyelids flickering, you could barely get the words out.

''What was that, darling?'' Jaehyun presses his cheek against yours, sucking the skin of your shoulder.

''Come– come..''

''Come?'' Jaehyun smiles, an arm caging you in his embrace as the other encloses on your throat again. ''Go on. You're my good girl, right? Come for Jaehyun, darling.''

You thrashes, legs shaking violently, tears rolling down your cheeks. Finally finding your voice, you scream as your release takes over your body, sending you into a bliss of pleasure.

''Beautiful.'' Jaehyun groans.

It's too much– the overstimulation, the drag of his thick cock along your walls. Instead of slowing down, Jaehyun quickens his pace, pinching your nipple between his middle and forefinger.

''Too much– I can't! Jaehyun, it's too much, please! Slow– fuck– slow down please!''

''No. You're gonna fucking take all of me. Isn't this what you want, sweetheart?''

''Just–...''

As his cock starts to twitch inside you, Jaehyun pulls out, pushing you down to your knees and as soon as your mouth is open for him, Jaehyun wastes no time in burying his cock deep in your throat. All it takes him is a few thrusts and he's coming, hot cum spilling past your tongue and straight to your throat, forcing you to gulp everything and not miss even a drop.

''Yeah, that's right.'' He rubs his tip on your tongue before pulling out.

''Uno, are you not really coming? I heard the prize is big tonight.''

Jaehyun casts a brief glance at your sleeping figure beside him, your arm hugging his waist. He ponders a bit. Aside from handling his own bar, Jaehyun also does illegal racing. Earning him the name of Uno as he always placed first in every rave he participates in.

Jaehyun doesn't want to miss the opportunity of earning a large amount of money in an easy way. But as you snuggle up on his side, scooting closer to him as you mumble incoherently about something– Jaehyun sighs.

''Nah, boyfriend duties.''

Red's– or by his real name, Eunwoo's– sound of disgust penetrates his ears. ''You're so fucking whipped it's disgusting.''

Just then, a rustle is heard and Cross' voice replaces Red's. ''Get your ass over here, I don't fucking want to see TY winning that race.''

''Guess what?'' Jaehyun says.

''What?''

''I don't care about what you want.''

Jaehyun chuckles as he ends the call, interrupting Cross' rants abruptly. He tosses the phone to the bedside and wraps his arms around you as well.

TY and his gang can fucking win that game for all they want. Jaehyun doesn't give a flying fuck. He can win that money back in a single raise, the prizes get higher whenever he races anyway. For now, Jaehyun will uncharacteristically enjoy the domestic atmosphere surrounding your shared bedroom and vask in the warmth of your love.

How cringy. But just like how he watched that drama with you– Jaehyun couldn't care less as long as it's with you.

Read Cross' fic here! Share your thoughts?

#nct #nct smut #jaehyun smut #jung yoonoh #jung jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct x reader #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun hard hours #jaehyun hard thoughts #prodbymaui

[strbry-shortcakes]

taking some extra anatomy classes this year, here are some of my notes in case they could help someone. should be updated every weekend (aside from october 28th and november 4th which are free days) with the following lesson's notes. (further explanations at the end)

anyway. here goes:

SCENE 0-1: LEARNING HOW TO LOOK/OBSERVE

when drawing, we each more or less have our own methods when approaching certain subjects, with multiple tools at our disposal in order to achieve the desired results. 

but generally, when drawing a model (or most things from life, actually) we can in some sort of way define a general order as to when to draw what: 

Looking / Observing

Blocking In

Correcting

Details

for today i’ll focus on the first one of the list, looking / observing.

the existing nuance between “seeing” and “looking” exists in the sense that “seeing” is more passive than “looking”. when you say “i can see a cat”, you aren’t paying too much attention to the cat. but when you say “i am looking at a cat’, you are actively paying attention to the cat and what they’re doing. 

(given the class is in French, the nuance was similar, using the words “voir” and “regarder”. but due to French not having a close equivalent to “watch” i cannot make more parallels about this, as my knowledge of English and French-to-English translation is still fairly limited)

when looking at a subject, the primary objective should be to understand what you’re looking at. you can look at a subject (or the world as a whole) under multiple filters: values, hues, proportions, in 2D or 3D, and so on. you need to define how you want to look at a subject following these filters of vision. what do you want to look at first? what do you want the viewer to look at first? this is important to define before you put your tool to your support. 

generally when drawing from life, it’s a bit reckless to rush to draw the model without actually observing them a minimum. you should take the time to observe, you are allowed to take your time to observe. no amount of limited time should paralyze you from examining the model the best you can before you put your tool to use. 

getting this more precise vision of your model can give you a better vision of their body, which is often hidden under detail. when drawing them, you should ask yourself “how is the model posing?” 

why look/observe? (probably like the most given piece of advice by pros and art youtubers who aren’t pros but still get called pros cause they have 1 million subscribers on youtube) 

this question is very easily asked but also very easily answered: 

to know how and what you’re going to draw 

to time yourself correctly and have a good time management (drawing a pose in 2 minutes is completely different to drawing a 10 minutes one), thus,

to avoid rushing to draw the subject. as said previously, take your time. start slow, but stay accurate to the model. (teacher compared it to a musician rehearsing a piece, first slowly, then speeding it up progressively as he gets to know the piece itself better and better. unfortunately as someone who is as farthest from a musician as can be, i cannot honestly attest to if this is accurate). 

but really, there is actually no such thing as a “finished” drawing. a graphite drawing could always have color added afterwards, a painting could always get more and more detailed. a piece is “finished” only when you deem it is finished. the French Académie des Beaux Arts didn’t like the Impressionists because to them, what the impressionists were doing were half assed jobs, since the idea of “transmitting a vague feeling, or an emotion through a specific style of very visible strokes” was absolute fuckery to them. speaking of, 

to transmit an emotion, or a feeling through the posing of the model. the more technical and controlled the strokes will be, the finer the wanted sensation will be felt by the viewer. this also ties in the physical aspect of the model. ideally, in order to achieve this, you can try posing the same way the model does. it may be a bit awkward but it works (depending on your learning type, of course.) 

to understand how the whole “body system” works. “i know the rules of the human body, therefore i make little to no mistakes.” 

adding a whole context to the pose helps: adding a situation in which the pose could work in gives some meaning to your drawing, as well as helping you remember it better. it also adds a narrative element to your drawing(s), which are absolutely always a plus. (memorization is also an important tool!)

now let me play devil’s advocate and ask: why not look/observe?

well, uh, there are two reasons my teach told us: 

to let your instinct and imagination go wild and free, trust your gut and have fun!! 

and, tying back, 

to let yourself be surprised by what you’ve done.

form synthesis (or just different types of approaches to draw form)

when drawing a model, there’s a few things that can be mentioned: 

multiple types of lines exist with different purposes within the drawing: the action line(s), structural lines, and contour lines. 

action lines define the overall movement of the pose. the principal one is the one you see when giving a better look at how dynamic the pose is. the secondary ones are the ones you can find in secondary rhythms when examining the pose a little longer. 

(here's a better example, actually:)

structural lines are pretty much the “stickman skeleton” you sometimes see in certain how to draw books (specifically the more advanced manga themed ones).

contour lines surround the form in a way as to draw all of the outer body without using inside shapes or lines. (it is also the basis for the Bargue method which will be slightly discussed below. there unfortunately won’t be any talk about cross-contour lines, as it hasn’t been talked about in class (yet?)) 

generally, lines take either an I shape, a C shape or an S shape. (teach said it’s preferable to mostly use I and C type lines when drawing live models. probably due to the fact that S shapes are much trickier to use “effectively” within a piece (effectively not meaning much in this context, if nothing at all. again, have fun.)). using these lines tell a lot about the model and the pose, telling a sort of dynamic storytelling which varies depending on what type of line you choose to represent your model. 

we can mostly talk about 2D shapes when three or more points have been linked by lines. sometimes, lines can skip articulations for the sake of dynamism. shapes should be thought about in their entirety, the difficulty that can be encountered usually being remaining vague but accurate with your form. 

now, a quick word about: 

the Bargue method (or, the fuck do you mean the Americans used it in art schools before us, Bargue was literally born in Paris, i fucking hate the Académie des Beaux-Arts)

the Bargue method is probably fairly well known among certain art schools or artistic communities. if i do recall correctly; it originated with Bargue noticing the low level of the students of the Académie des Beaux-Arts de Paris (or some other place basing itself solely on academic style art and paintings located in the city of Paris in the country of France on the continent of Europe) and devising a simple way to learn how to draw accurately from life (or plaster casts, depending on what you prefer). it solely based itself on straight, contour lines, forming a base around which to slowly add details to. apparently, a lot of art schools in america base their teaching of life drawing on this method, but given i do not feel like getting over $200k in debt without even mentioning living and travel costs, i cannot say if that is actually true. 

here's an example of it:

it’s pretty much basing yourself on simplifications of the form to attain absolute accuracy. no curves here to distract you, only straights. somehow, when pulled off correctly, it gives a very neat impression of realism.

anyway, that’s all i wrote down. hope teach won’t see this anytime soon, and hope this kinda helped a little bit. next week’s notes should be about blocking in shapes, so we’re starting to be a little more concrete with the actual drawing process. 

these classes were taught by Mr Francis Buchet at a class given at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière, so most of the things i’m saying here are taken from him and his class. if you live in/close to Paris and are interested in learning artistic anatomy, i suggest you look up where he is giving public classes, since they’re infinitely more engaging than these notes. his instagram is be linked below. (hoping he doesn’t get mad at me for sharing these notes… in any case i will use my own example sheets to avoid getting in any more trouble.)

and, may i remind you: these notes are only here to showcase one approach among many others, so they don’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. i myself am in absolutely no way a professional, so please, take all of this with a grain of salt (or a spoonful, even). draw how you enjoy drawing, and find happiness in the way you want to draw. 

Francis Buchet's instagram: x

so, seeyou next weekend! (or earlier, if i draw something i want to show here.)

#artist tips #art tutorial #art tips #art help #drawing tips #literally no one asked but why not #that was something i've wanted to do for a while tbh #god i hope that doesn't sound pretentious #next time i'll try to show more examples since this one seems a little bit bare #first four classes will be about drawing theory so it might take a little while before we get to actual anatomy :( #so it's gonna be a little bit boring for the first while :(( #really sorry about this #next ones should be a little more concrete so. yea #i apologize if this sounds abit confusing; it's the first time i try to make a “tutorial” or anything like that for art #will also try to find a spot to put my own drawings i did while attending the class to show the stuff we do there #in any case #hope this helps someone!

[magenta-embers]

Fetus Jimin's Blatant Crush on Jungkook

Today I wanted to travel back in time and put a spotlight on a period of utmost importance when it comes to understanding the full picture of Jikook and part of what makes it such a legitimate possibility.

Believing that they could truly be a couple now is made as easy as breathing when you observe their history. You need the whole context to take Jikook from just another ship to something potentially very real. It's a context that the other pairings in the group just don't have.

The Jimin and Jungkook we know now are settled and comfortable with themselves and with each other. You could call them domestic. But back in the day, say 2013-2015, it was a different story.

To put it simply: Jimin and Jungkook had a massive mutual crush on each other and it wasn't even remotely subtle.

Most Jikookers know what I'm talking about, but if you haven't had a chance to look deeper into the context of these two together, here's a teensy intro.

I'm gonna share a select few of my personal highlight moments exhibiting Jimin's crush + his confusion/acceptance regarding it. There are hours of moments to choose from and an image/gif limit, so we'll keep it to a minimum.

We're going to focus on the Jimin side of things today. Jungkook will probably get his own post as these two expressed their feelings quite differently.

Present-day Jimin is very good at compartmentalizing what thoughts or parts of thoughts he shares with us. He's vague in all the right areas, chooses his words carefully, omits certain details, and is overall pretty masterful at the parasocial aspect of being an idol. Back then though?

Holy sweet mother of pearl, he just said and did anything.

He was honest (embarrassingly so) and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Because of this fumbling period with no brain-to-mouth filter, there exists some incredible retrospective insight into how Jimin feels about Jungkook at his core, without all the masking and nonchalance we get nowadays.

(Let's be real though, he still slips up)

"JK is coming."

Boy 💀

Let's get into it.

~

Exhibit A

This first section is going to look at a very young Jimin's struggle with these new, unfamiliar feelings he's been having lately (not necessarily in exact chronological order but some highlights within the "budding crush" stage).

A.1

While affectionately petting the maknae's hair and nape, Jimin wonders aloud why he likes Jungkook so much, as if he likes him an abnormal amount or differently than the five other friends he has in the group. If anything, Jimin should have liked Tae the most at this point since they were friends from school. Yet, Jimin openly questions what makes Jungkook different.

It's an introspective question disguised as a rhetorical one. Obviously, Jimin doesn't want JK to answer and JK, shy as he is, doesn't know how to answer a loaded question like that so he tries to redirect Jimin's attention to actual matters. It doesn't quite work.

Jimin then says, "These days, Jungkook..." and trails off while scratching his head with lighthearted frustration as if to say, "These days, Jungkook... plagues my mind," or something to that sentiment. JK's on his mind a lot and it confuses him. He doesn't finish the sentence but instead brushes it off with a laugh.

He holds back because it'll look weird to people if he gets into how much he thinks about JK or unpacks why. Still, he can't help but start to talk about it, because it's something that's actively bothering him.

A.2

Like I said, not only does Jimin think about JK too much, but he's also thinking about how people will judge him for how he perceives Jungkook. People might think he's strange.

Why?

JK's the timid maknae with big, curious eyes. Of course, he's cute. Everyone will agree. Everyone does agree. So why is Jimin concerned with what he can say about Jungkook that's okay to others? He even pouts sadly for a moment at the end. The maknae's cute and he's kind of glum over it? He's definitely been overthinking it.

Also, the way Jimin cartoonishly moves his head and eyes while talking about how bewildered JK always is and how adorable he is for it is a hilarious attempt at being nonchalant, but to me, it just looks like a schoolboy trying not to seem gushy about his secret crush.

A.3

Jungkook's so cute and so charming that Jimin can't function like he wants to. Can't live properly because Jungkook's on his mind constantly. He's super distracting. Is this a normal friendship thing? No. You don't see Hobi or Joon saying this about him. It's a problem exclusive to Jimin. And exclusive for Jungkook.

Jimin knows it's weird too. He's acting lighthearted about it, but to randomly say, "I can't live because of you" and keep bumping into JK is his frustration bleeding through. All the while he can't take his eyes off him as if he's trying to solve his dilemma right then and there.

Overall, It seems like Jimin doesn't understand what it is he's feeling, just that it's a lot, which makes me think that up until the Jungkook point, he hadn't really considered his sexuality on a meaningful level. We know that Jimin was the least experienced romantically, so it wouldn't surprise me if that's the case.

It's okay, Jiminie. You'll figure out a lot of things about yourself sooner rather than later.

Exhibit B

This section is about a period of time when Jimin accepted his crush and became unbelievably annoying vocal about it. You could also do an essay on why he was so in everyone's face about it.

B.1

Man, he just outright said it, huh?

Jimin wants to be with Jungkook and go on a date with him and hold hands.

Okay, pack it up everyone, we're done here. He like likes him, oooooooh!

Look at him clinging to JK's clothes and merrily skipping forward holding his wrist. Bless his heart. As Jimin once mentioned, "My heart that thinks of Jungkook is quite big."

Peep everyone else's reactions. JK has no objections and is just basically making his "Yeeeeeaaaah" face. Namjoon and Yoongi are a mix of confused and exasperated, both going, "What?" at the inappropriate(?) answer. Hobi attempts a poker face.

They shove Jimin away and attempt to move on...

And Jimin comes right back, practically leaps on Jungkook to plead with him to "live happily together." Okay.

When I tell you he's embarrassing.

Now Namjoon is straight-up irritated because Jimin didn't get the hint and is ruining the interview. He rolls his eyes and shoves them both back this time like he knows he's gotta get rid of the whole equation.

Hobi's glare poker face fails and he attempts to redirect focus to the topic with his own answer, complete with a pointed hand gesture.

Yoongi has a genuine scrunch of judgy confusion as if he just doesn't get wtf Jimin is trying to do because he should know better or why he's acting so clingy right now.

Jungkook quietly preens under Jimin's attention, but it's also awkward because he can read the room, so he doesn't quite know how to react other than remain pliable. He does reach for Jimin's hand subconsciously though.

I don't think it's even necessary to keep going, but oh ho ho, we're gonna keep going.

B.2

Tae: "I think he kind of likes men."

Now, I don't love the way Tae blurts this out, putting Jimin on the spot and nearly outing him. But also, it's meant to be a joke and he likely doesn't know yet just how on the nose he really is. Tae has grown and matured a lot over the years, so forgive him for this blip.

I imagine Tae has had to sit through a lot of sus rants from Jimin about Jungkook at this point. Because it's interesting that the statement came out of him so readily as if he's considered this about Jimin more than once. He's one of the closest people to Jimin, so if he's been pondering this about his friend then it's a pretty significant observation.

Now how does Jimin react to this out-of-pocket accusation? Is it:

a) "Haha, noooo!"

b) "What are you saying?"

c) "Not like that!"

d) "Come on now."

e) He doesn't deny it whatsoever.

If you answered e, you get a sun and moon sticker. It would've been so easy and expected for Jimin to deny this claim, but he doesn't. Because he can't. Because he'd be lying. Because he does kind of like men. Especially one in particular. And Jimin is just too honest.

He does very gracefully tiptoe around a confirmation (and a shutdown of the topic) by telling Tae he doesn't like him specifically. His reflex was to be defensive of himself and how much he likes Jungkook. It also further confirms that how Jimin likes Tae (his best friend) is different from how he likes Jungkook. It's all truly very telling.

(JK's reactions are very cute, but we won't get into that here.)

B.3

Host: "You're free to go anywhere in the world with anyone you want to do anything you wish. Where are you, what are you doing, and who are you with?"

Jimin:

Really? He had this romantic-ass answer ready to go. The other members gave normal answers about family and such. Jimin could've easily. But no. He then smiles sweetly over at Jungkook. The host is actually flustered by his answer and translates what he says, but conveniently leaves out the holding hands part.

But this is a fluke, right? He just said Jungkook as a silly answer, right?

Oh, look! Another instance when he can answer with anything and still ends up being honest.

"I think Jungkook is very cute." It's his go-to answer when people ask him why he likes JK so much. People keep mentioning it because his liking for Jungkook is noticeably and abnormally loud. Yet, Jimin's usual answer isn't really a complete answer, is it? "Cute" can be part of a reason, but not the whole reason. Cute is the safe detail he can share.

Lmao at Tae's side-eye at Jimin fawning over Jungkook shamelessly. You can tell he's thinking, "...this mf likes men" again. He hasn't perfected that Tae poker face just yet.

So Jimin really wants that private trip with Jungkook, hey? Why not with Tae, his bestie? His soulmate? Tae's also very cute, no?

Because he doesn't mean a friend trip.

(Don't fret, Jiminie. You'll get your private trip with Jungkook and it'll be beyond your expectations.)

B.4

A couple of examples of Jungkook being aggressively on Jimin's mind even when he's just answering basic questions.

No one: So, what do-

Jimin: Jungkookie <3

Literally, who asked? No one's twisting his arm here to make him answer "Jungkook" with romantic implications under these totally general questions. He could've answered with literally anything else.

Some thoughts:

If he was being speedy and just writing/saying the first things that popped into his head, it still means Jungkook is at the forefront of his mind. Plagues his mind, if you will.

If he was carefully considering the questions and answering honestly, it still means Jungkook is heavily weighing in his mind at a vulnerable level.

Jungkook still came before performing and receiving attention. The first thing. Not the last thing as a joke because Jimin couldn't think of anything else.

He makes sure to stake his claim over Jungkook in his description of him. "Mine." How fanfic.

His weakness is Jungkook. He can't resist him. Point blank. Why would he say that? How else am I supposed to interpret that?

Jungkook reaches every corner of Jimin's mind. Even if Jimin manages to convince himself he's just being playful and jokey, it's the repetitive nature and exclusivity of Jungkook being involved in his answers that are eyebrow-raising and give him away. He might as well doodle hearts around "JK" all over the page. It's a textbook crush. He's infatuated with this person he thinks is unattainable.

B.5

"Happy Birthday Jeon Jungkook! Please accept my love!" followed by blowing a kiss, an awkward giggle, and a glance at Jungkook.

What love? He's already accepted your platonic love; you guys are good friends, attached at the hip, and Jungkook's made it explicitly clear he likes you a lot and appreciates how well you treat him/take care of him. What more do you want him to accept, exactly, Jimin?

Again, unnecessary. No one's making him say this. No one's expecting him to say this. No one wants him to say this. And yet.

B.6

Manifest your dreams, Jiminie.

I don't even have to explain to you how common the "We look like a couple! Haha, just kidding... Unless?" thing is. We've all been there. You want to plant the seed in your crush's head. You want them to think about it, to consider the image of you two together. Jimin's planted a whole grove in JK's head with the way he's been all over him these couple of years.

Exhibit C

The kisses.

The amount of times Jimin either asks to kiss Jungkook, asks Jungkook to kiss him, or tries to kiss Jungkook is quite frankly absurd. These are just some examples. Some!

Imagine this was your friend who keeps trying to kiss you. For years. Jokes get really old really fast. You'd laugh and play along the first time. Laugh it off the second time. Force a laugh the third time.

At what point would you start wondering if your friend has legitimate feelings for you?

At what point do you think Jungkook did?

Especially considering Jimin's general behavior toward him.

(The other members don't laugh when it happens in front of them. It's always either wtf are you saying or they change the subject with visible discomfort.)

What Jimin is doing here (via "jokes") is testing Jungkook's boundaries, gauging his reactions, because he's interested in him beyond platonic limits. He really, really wants to kiss Jungkook and fantasizes about it, but he will not make a serious first move out of fear of being rejected.

Food for thought: Post-2015, Jimin doesn't ask Jungkook for kisses anymore or beg him to love him back, while coincidentally also becoming intimately touchier than ever with each other.

Perhaps Jimin finally got what he wanted? Hmm...

~

We can stop here. I think you get the point.

Everyone, say it with me now: Jimin wants Jungkook romantically.

He wants to go on dates with Jungkook.

He wants to hold hands with Jungkook.

He wants to kiss Jungkook.

He's expressed these things in every way he can:

He's acted them out.

He's said them aloud.

He's written them down.

Over and over and over again. What more do you want? I am not assuming anything. To say that he doesn't is just blatantly ignoring poor Jimin screaming it from the rooftops to fit whatever agenda you have. It's a you problem.

If you want to see more examples of everything (because there are still plenty), just watch this. In fact, watch every video on this channel. Treat yourself.

Also thanks to this heaven-sent channel for the captions on almost everything in this post (all gifs by me).

If I see a single one of you say with your whole chest that Jimin thinks of Jungkook in a brotherly way after this, I will hunt you down and beat your ass and your brother's ass.

Open your damn eyes.

I hope you enjoyed my spiel. Till next time!

E.

#jikook #jimin

[residenthughes]

once bitten, twice shy

pairing: leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

word count: 3.8k (yippee!)

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, mentions of vomit/sick and alcohol

summary: house parties can be a strange place. they can be even stranger when you're about to throw up and have to argue to use the bathroom with a certain blue eyed, blonde haired boy too.

notes: my baby! so glad to have finished this! <3 i started writing this pretty much after my last fic (which received so much love, thank you so so much 💗) and finally came together after i went out myself, hehe. have deadlines/exams coming up soon so i'm not particularly sure how much i'll be posting on here until mid june, so mayhaps consider this a gift for not posting then? 🥹 haha, love u all and hope u enjoy!

You enjoyed a good night out once in a while. Your friends and yourself dressed to the nines as you dance the night away with liquor tainted lips and all the freedom in the palm of your hand. It was a great escape from the pressures of endless coursework and constant group meetings. You enjoyed a good house party, too. However, you hadn’t had much luck with those ones. Despite the smaller crowd it drew, the handful of new faces had you anxiously gulping away at your alcohol, ultimately leading to cringe-worthy videos your friends would show you the next day. Based on this, you should have known better - should have politely declined when your friends suggested attending her classmates’ house party and spent the night maybe regretting it. In spite of the myriad of reasons, the past week had been dreadful beyond words and it was an opportunity to wear your latest going out outfit. It was near impossible to say no.

So, here you are. Having the time of your life with friends, dancing under blue flickering lights and letting the night take you away. Well - that’s what you were doing. What you are doing now is desperately trying to find the toilet - your stomach was already uneasy due to the nerves of meeting new people at the party, so you’re sure the sugary drinks added to the alcohol in your system didn’t help either. You felt queasy and an urgent need to relieve yourself, still to no avail. The downstairs bathroom was occupied, so with the sickly feeling travelling up your system, you barge through the mob of people littering the hallways, hand over your mouth in a futile attempt to keep whatever was coming up down.

At the end of the upstairs hallway, your friend’s classmate explained there was an additional bathroom. You’ve never been more relieved to see anything more in your life. Without knowing it, you’re making a mad dash for it, bumping shoulders and mumbling a thousand sorrys. You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know you are, but with the pressing urge to not have witnesses to your untimely projectile vomiting, you really couldn’t give a damn.

You’re so happy to have found the bathroom, even if it may have also been occupied that your eyes miss another figure aiming for the room too. It’s only when your hand reaches for the doorknob that it’s shielded by another hand. Large and comforting. Your eyes search for the source.

Amidst the darkness that permeates the hallways, the blue mood lights provide glimpses into the mystery of the shadowy figure with gentle hands. His face, ivory in colour, is all slopes, features sharp and striking. His cerulean blue eyes framed by the length of his long eyelashes and dirty blond hair makes your heart stutter messily in your chest. For a split second, there is nothing you can do but stare in awe, the tall tales of infatuation spinning your head dizzy.

“Shit, did you wanna go first?” His voice sounds like a siren, sweet and melodic all at once.

With the countless thoughts zooming through your brain, you’re certain any words that would filter through your lips would be nothing except incoherent mumbles. You settle for a nod.

“Uh, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I needa go too.” His hand is still over yours and if not for the terrible rumble in your stomach, it would have been swept off your feet, along with the sickeningly sweet pet name he gives you.

“Maybe try downstairs? I’m sure it’ll be free soon.” This is the first time you’ve spoken during your brief conversation. The quick raise of the handsome stranger’s eyebrows encourages sheepishness to gnaw at your skin, the pink hues of your cheeks deepening.

“Ocupado, ‘m afraid.” he grins with a sliver of teeth, facial expression moulding into the awkwardness that starts to circle itself around the two of you.

Your hand turns the doorknob faintly and you catch the desperation that flashes in his eyes at your actions. If you weren’t about to soil your new top with stomach acid, you would’ve let him go first, bashful as ever as you hoped you would find him later on in the night whilst hoping he’d spare you another glance. Nevertheless, that was not the case.

“I’m sorry but,” you gulp, trying to keep whatever was coming up back down. “I really, really, really need to go, so…”

He’s stubborn. Stubborn as an ass apparently, because his hand still remains on yours. “Of course, but equally, I need to go as well. Surely, there’s like a sink or something I can go in. I’m really desperate.”

You can’t help as you wrinkle your nose, your patience wearing thin. You literally have to be sick. Why is this not being addressed? “Can’t you just pee outside? Guys do that all the time, don’t they?”

“I’m not an animal, you know.” the handsome stranger argues, and your eye twitches.

How did you end up arguing with a good-looking guy outside a bathroom at a house party?

“I’m not being funny, but if you don’t move, I will throw up all over you.”

“I’ve been meaning to go for an hour now. Can’t we make some sort of compromise?”

You were at your wits end. “As if, you fucking masochist! I’m going first!”

And you do, barging into the blindingly white room with all your might and making a beeline for the toilet. A heavy sigh sounds behind you as you heave into the toilet, bracing yourself for the ugly sight that’ll swim before you.

You hear a zip being undone and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Surely, you’re not…?”

“I told you I needed to go.” the voice comes from the shower beside you. The world spins. House parties fucking suck.

You opt to fully exit your bitter discussion, focusing on ugly turns in your stomach. Your hair circles your face and you curse yourself for not having tied it up beforehand because obviously, it was going to–

It flows out of you. Swiftly and without much difficulty. You lunge forwards into the toilet bowl as the vomit empties out of you whilst the shower runs briefly, followed by the sink.

You just wanna go home.

“Hey,” the call for your attention is docile, the boy’s voice more sympathetic now. “You got a hair tie on ya?”

At this point, you’re on your knees, throwing up your early dinner in front of a boy you bad mouthed because you both wanted to use the bathroom at the same time. There’s no point in being shy now. You want all the help you can get.

You manage to shimmy the hair tie off your wrist and hand it towards his vague direction. For how unacquainted you two are, you move in great harmony as the boy grabs the hair tie and captures all your hair with ease whilst you busy yourself with other pressing issues.

When he’s finished, hair away from your face and in a low ponytail, the warmth of his hand settles against your back. The tears brimming in your eyes fall into the toilet bowl, body still before slow caresses have you melting into the palm of his hand.

“I…I know one of the guys that lives here,” he volunteers, tone unsure. “I’m sure he won’t mind you using one of his spare toothbrushes underneath the sink.”

You only manage back a groan, the icky feeling of humiliation creeping up on you as you continue to exhale into the toilet bowl.

“I’ll be back.”

And the man who peed in the shower leaves. Ok, that was rude of you, he did just help you when you were vomiting in spite of not knowing you. You should have more compassion for him, instead of lashing out at him out of embarrassment. When he gets back, you should thank him for all his help and hope to never see him again. You didn’t think you could live comfortably with yourself if you ever saw him again.

The faint thumps of typical party hits hammer beyond the bathroom, pouring in briefly when the man comes back into the room. By this point, your stomach has settled and you’ve flushed the toilet, yet your head still remains somewhat in the toilet because you couldn’t bear to come face-to-face with the guilt wrapped up in the form of a handsome, kind stranger.

“He said it’s cool, just open the new pack in the grey caddy.” You hear joints crack besides you before there’s a pat on your back. The comfort it brings is enough for you to swallow your pride. “Also, there’s some water next to you. Figured you wouldn’t want to go looking for it.”

Regardless of the ever growing shame that wants to drown you into a sad shell of yourself, your heart swells. The unprompted kindness offered from the stranger is refreshing, you wish you could tell him how grateful you are for him without your shame keeping your head in the toilet bowl.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, wincing at the cringing sensations that course through your body. “Sorry for calling you a masochist earlier.”

He huffs out a bout of laughter and your heart feels lighter. “In all fairness, I was pretty crazy for holding it for that long, so I don’t blame you.”

You hated how you’d have to avoid this man after you two left this room. He was sweet, polite and made you laugh. Why did you have to meet under such ugly conditions?

“Thank you,” you exhale, feeling your heart bloom with the warmth he radiates. “Really.”

“No prob,” he lifts his hand off your back and suddenly, you’re cold again. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. If not, probably fucking it up on the dancefloor.”

You mumble another thank you after the laughter that leaves your lips, the blue-eyed stranger exiting and leaving you to clean yourself up as ponder on his kindness for a little longer than necessary.

-

You manage to sneak past the kitchen without bumping into the kind stranger. If you weren’t embarrassed before, the embarrassment catches up with you now. Outside, where the cool October wind blows, you’re perched on a step of the back porch, curled into yourself as you breathe in and breathe out. Things could have been a lot worse. You could have thrown up all yourself, delirious and none the wiser as nasty spirited individuals videoed the spectacle, not intervening even once. You could have been in a worse state in front of the stranger, vomit embedded in your hair as you wailed to call your friends or to go home. It could have been so much worse, yet here you are, rocking away as you will yourself not to cry.

You blame it on the emotional turmoil that’s plagued your week. Your academic and interpersonal affairs bore a burden like never before, pushing you beyond your means countless times this week and eventually, as you self soothe in solitude, you succumb to their will. Your friends are worried sick, searching every inch of the unfathomably large house to find you. You shoot them a text, notifying them of your safety and the privacy you seek. With dozens of texts that express reassurance, you let out a sigh before the music playing inside is too good for you to ignore.

Call it foolish, but it’s the nostalgic sounds of 00s’ dance that help you pick up the pieces. Assist in the carefree attitude you adopt that leads you right back inside, finding your friends and changing the course of the night.

If only you knew your carefree attitude would have you right where you once were. Face to face with the handsome stranger, the ends of an empty beer bottle pointed towards you two as bystanders ooh and ahh.

“Get in there, Leon!” a friend - you assume - hollers, slurring his words as he lazily drapes against Leon’s rigid frame.

You two exchange a look, eyes seeking any kind of communication that would hint at what the future held.

Your hand is given a squeeze and suddenly one of your friend’s whispers into your ear. “He’s cute, go for it.”

You crimson. At her words and at the fact that your next encounter with Leon has come so soon. Relentless is the sensation of dread and cringe as it sinks into your bones and buries you into the ground. All eyes are on you and you want nothing more but cringe? Disappear? Run away? There’s so much going on in your head right now.

A hand is outreached. It’s as if a lifeforce beyond yours comes down to save you, extending their hand to sail you away to safety. Alias, it is nothing but a figment of your imagination as you peer up, eyes sparkling as Leon’s tall figure towers over yours. For a second, you can’t read his facial expression, can’t comprehend the logistics of your predicament. However, when the edge of his lips curl upwards, pleasant and mellow in nature, there’s a sense of relief that starts to wash over you.

“Ready if you are.”

He has a way with words. He must have. Otherwise you wouldn’t have felt so comforted on that bathroom floor, otherwise you wouldn’t be in some confined closet, little to no light with the same person you threw up in front of.

“Well,” he starts off after a minute or two of silence. “This is…”

“Awkward.”

A cough is followed by silence. Then laughter.

Out of all the people at this party, the universe had to fabricate yet another meeting with Leon. The guy who you basically cussed out in order to use the bathroom. The same man that after washing his hands, held your hair up for you and soothed your sickness with a gentle back rub. There is nothing more you want to do right now than crawl out of your skin.

“You feeling a bit better now?” Leon’s voice is hushed when he talks to you, gentle and filled with unexpected care.

Despite the awkwardness of your situation, you can’t help disregarding such lame state of feeling as you lean into his kindness. “Yeah, I had a bit more water and was outside for a bit, so I’m pretty much sober now.”

Your fingernails dig into the flesh of your palm. A nervous tic. “Thank you. And, sorry.”

Leon appears to relax into the flow of conversation, moving his body to lean against the wall of the compact closet you find yourselves in. As he shuffles, notes of smoky vanilla waft in the air, Leon’s cologne finding its way to you. The smile you hide behind a closed fist is all kinds of bashful, body drawn to the intoxicating nature of the fragrance.

“I wasn’t terribly nice to you either, so think of it as making amends,” his hand extends forwards, bridging the gap between the two of you. “Truce?”

Amusement tugs at the ends of your lips, humoured by the hints of unseriousness that seems to be a recurring theme in your story. Going from badmouthing one another to being shoved into a tiny closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven and forced to call truce. It’s the kind of bizarre story that hangs in the air after a night out, disgustingly hungover in bed as your friends jam into someone’s room and recall the night’s events.

“Truce.”

You shake on it, pulling away when the flutter of your heart tickles your chest.

Through the dim sliver of marmalade orange light that peeks through the bottom gap of the door, you catch glimpses of Leon. The sharp slants of his jaw, the heavy flutter of his eyelashes, the sheepishness of his smile - all lopsided and accompanied the hues of strawberry jam red. He’s trying his best and it’s endearing. As is he. Charming and caring, a little silly yet undeniably sweet. Perhaps your perspective on him is a bit skewed due to the remnants of alcohol that float in your system, but if you happened across the same dirty blond, blue eyed boy on campus, you know your heart would still beat the same.

“Three minutes!” Someone yells beyond the door, prompting an uptake in your breath.

Never too forward, Leon draws closer to you, hands to himself as he suggests, “We could just head back out, if you’d like. I’m sure they’re not gonna be too up their asses about it.”

You don’t miss a beat. “I don’t want to.”

You’re both caught off guard. Your eyes widened and Leon’s eyebrow raised. It’s as if you’ve been exposed, barenaked for all the world to see your secrets. In itself, your response isn’t the strangest. Anyone would assume after calling truce, your allocated time meant to be spent together could foster the beginnings of a friendship, a friendly conversation. Even so, Leon and yourself were getting ahead of yourselves - reading in between the lines, sifting for something that was there.

“I mean,” the wardrobe is suddenly indescribably small, the surface of your cheeks warming as your eyes dart all over the place. What is going on here? “We could always just talk or…”

“Or what?”

Leon’s being mean. He knows he is. But, he can’t help himself. Jumping the gun, clawing at any and every opportunity to be close to you. Leon spotted your figure earlier during the course of the night, eyes capturing the shimmer in your eyes and bounce of your hair as you happily twirled your friends around on the dancefloor. You were simply magnetic, doused in dazzle and delight as your glittery makeup highlighted your timeless beauty. Leon would’ve approached you, winning you over with his charm and foolish dance moves - but he needed a drink. A drink which became two, two which became three and ultimately he broke the seal, landing him on a collision course with you outside the bathroom.

This isn’t how he imagined meeting you.

Nevertheless, you were together and despite the not-so-great circumstances presented, Leon made the best of it. Helping you and being the gentleman he is. And even if you never saw each other again, he would still remember you for all the shimmer in your eyes and just how infectious your smile was.

Now, under more favourable conditions, he doesn’t want his time with you to end. You’re just as captivating up close, if not more. Timid yet so sweet. Leon gets lost in you - lost in the details of your hair, your voice, your eyes. He wonders if the longer he prolongs your conversation, the sooner you’ll see his attraction towards you. Hopes you’ll reciprocate, hopes you’ll see it too.

“I don’t know.” You settle for, casting your eyes away from Leon as you twiddle your thumbs.

You want to be close with Leon, maybe kiss him if you could. But, you just don’t know. He’s seen you at your worst, sick in the toilet without a thought behind your eyes. You’re still embarrassed - even if Leon makes good work of fending that off. And perhaps because of that, along with other complexities, you want to be close with him.

If only he’d let you.

There’s a huff of frustration before something knocks your shoe. You look, examining Leon’s tired Converse shoe that nestles against your own pair of shoes. Your heart stills.

“I saw you earlier,” he starts, standing tall as he inches closer towards you. His pools of blue know only the sight of your lips, pink in hue and supple with lipgloss. He briefly looks away for his own good. “You looked really good on the dance floor.”

The gravity of your current reality settles in quick. Leon’s with you. Initiating everything and bringing this whole charade to a close. Your instinct is to wrestle with the reasons why, question his intentions and ultimately, take a step back. But, you’re exhausted. You’ve done enough mental gymnastics to last you a lifetime. You know you want this, so why can’t you have it? The answer is clear now. You take the plunge, hands grasping onto his backarm as you test the waters. “You think so?”

You’re gazing into each other’s eyes now, nowhere to run or hide. Leon hums in response yet still searches for something in your eyes - a glimmer of hope, confirmation to proceed and gets it in the form of you leaning into him with the bat of your eyelashes. His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first but solid in their place on the small of your back. You’re already seeing stars.

“Leon?” your voice is barely above a whisper, forehead pressed against Leon’s as you grow impatient.

He hums in reply. “Can we? Can we-”

“Can we kiss?” he says this, lips brushing up against yours. You grip his broad shoulder extra hard incase you buckle at the knees.

“Please,” you only manage to get out before your lips connect.

Leon shows you just how much he wants this, how much he wants you in his kisses. Gentle yet firm in his desire, his lips envelope yours in a way that sets your heart ablaze. Your brain short circuits, the sparks soaring between the two of you insatiable as you melt into each other. Your hand falls to brace yourself against Leon’s chest, the accelerated patter of his heart vibrating against your palm. You can’t help the smile that blends into your kiss, opening an invitation for Leon’s tongue that glides against the flesh of your bottom lip.

“Time’s up!”

His teeth plunge into your bottom lip lightly. You separate with a whine.

There’s a moment before the door opens, time where your eyes scan over Leon to gather all your thoughts and take him in. His pupils are full blown, his arctic blue irises submerged in the dilation of his pupils, lips plump with need and breath laboured. He looks far away, as if he is immersed in a dream that’s too good to be true and judging by the smile that graces his face, you’re sure you look the same.

“Need a mint?” Leon’s all jokes, smile giddy and besotted.

You roll your eyes in response, playfully jabbing his hard bicep with a closed fist. “Says the one who stuck his tongue down my throat.”

“Guilty as charged,” he holds his hands up in surrender, eyes giving you their undivided attention. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again though.”

He punctuates his point with circling his arm around your waist, drawing you in close before placing a delicate kiss against the flushed skin of your cheeks. It’s shameful how much you like this guy already.

“You’re disgusting.”

The door opens and you leave the closet happier than you ever were before.

#resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #re4r #re2 remake #re2 leon #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy imagine #my fics

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hiii can i make a request for an imagine for daemon smutty??

Hiii. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Smut, slight somnophilia, orgasm denial, spanking, degrading name calling. Word count: ~1k

She sighs and turns heavily in the bed yet again. Daemon remains undisturbed, deeply asleep, brow slightly furrowed even in slumber.

Gods, why won’t he wake up?!

The morning sunlight filters through the window in a blaze of pinks and reds, heralding the arrival of dawn. She knows he will sleep for a while longer, he usually does, but she needs him now.

Sleep has evaded her the last few hours and she is plagued by a throbbing ache between her legs that she knows only he can satisfy.

Her hand creeps beneath the blankets, tracing a path down the soft flesh of his abdomen, pushing through the thick patch of dark hair situated at the root of him, before it curls around his flaccid member.

Even when soft he still feels weighty and imposing against her palm. She begins to stroke him gently, smiling to herself as she feels him start to harden beneath her touch.

Daemon shifts in his sleep, grousing as he is roused into involuntary wakefulness.

“Pack that in.” He mumbles, voice thick with sleep, before closing his eyes again.

“Aōha ābrenka ao ajorrāelza!” She protests, giving him a slight squeeze that causes him to grunt. Your woman needs you!

“Kelītīs. You can give the sun a chance to rise and need me then, you spoiled little madam.” Stop it.

He keeps his eyes closed, but she delights in feeling that she now has the part of him she needs most standing to full attention.

“Please.” She whines, draping herself over him.

He cracks open a single eye, peeking at her derisively. “You think that wet little cunt of yours is more important than a Targaryen Prince’s need to rest?”

She pouts. “No! But…I could do all the work? Let me ride you.”

He elicits a withering sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face before looking at her properly. “You’ve never managed that without my help. You’ll whine that you’re tired and I’ll have to take over, lazy girl that you are.”

“I won’t!” She pleads. “I can do it myself, I don’t need your help.”

“Very well.” He says with a roll of his eyes. He slings his arms behind his head and regards her with a cocky smirk. “You’ll have no help from me. Hop on.”

She giggles excitedly, moving to straddle him. Grasping his erection, she positions the head of it at her entrance and sinks down slowly. The anticipation of having spent hours wanting Daemon has left her slick with arousal, and her cunny envelops him with little resistance.

Pride blooms in her chest as she sees his lips part slightly as he draws in a sharper intake of breath than usual. It pleases her to know that she affects him every bit as much as he affects her. She stays as she is for a moment, enjoying the fullness of him inside of her.

“Worn out already, jorrāeliarzus?” He teases, raising an eyebrow. Dearest.

“Daor!” She snaps back, beginning to roll her hips against his. No!

She sighs in relief, delighting in the way that Daemon’s eyes darken as he gazes up at her. She quickly finds a rhythm that she knows will bring her release. She has been so pent up she is certain it will not take long, especially with the tip of his cock repeatedly grazing at the spongy spot deep inside of her.

True to his word, Daemon lays still, watching her carefully, though the rise and fall of his chest has become more rapid. She can feel her peak cresting, as the tension in her lower belly coils tightly to a breaking point. As she is about to tip over the edge, the sensation is gone and she is robbed of her climax as Daemon jerks his hips backwards.

She lets out an anguished cry of frustration, her release ruined. “I was so close! Why did you do that?!”

“Usōvegon yno bēvilza.” He says with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I was getting a cramp. Carry on.” I must apologise.

She stares at him, a mixture of suspicion and annoyance pinching her features, but she is still utterly desperate for relief, so she resumes her movements, quickly working herself to the apex of her pleasure once more. He pulls his hips away again. She wails pitifully as the sensation leaves her void of satisfaction.

“Daemon! You are doing it on purpose!”

He chuckles. “If you want it that badly, riña litse, you will earn it.” Pretty girl

“Ñuhor līr gūrēnna.” She huffs at him. I will take what is mine.

“Go right ahead.”

By the fifth time Daemon denies her climax, her thighs are burning from the exertion and tears of vexation are welling up in her eyes. She feels so tightly wound she fears she may snap.

“Kostilus!” She whines. “This isn’t fair!” Please!

“Oh come now, I thought you were capable of riding me all by yourself?”

“I’m…” Her cheeks burn with humiliation, not wanting to finish her sentence.

“You’re what? Say it for me, riña litse, and it all goes away.” Pretty girl.

She whimpers, irritated by the sight of him still reclining lazily with his arms folded behind his head. She craves nothing more than for him to grab her hips and take charge, just as he always has. Her pride is eclipsed by her utter desperation as she relents and tells him what he wants to hear.

“I’m tired.” She whispers.

“Hmmm.” He muses. “Skoros vestri?” He takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. What do we say?

“I need your help…please.”

“Jaehossas sȳris sātās.” He says cruelly. “She finally admits it.” Gods be good.

She squeals as he surges forward, grabbing her and manhandling her onto all fours beneath him. The crack of his palm across the meat of her rear is loud and sharp, leaving behind a hot, painful sting to her flesh in its wake that causes her to gasp.

“Ilībītsos.” He snarls. “If you wish to peak, I shall see to it that you do, repeatedly. You will take it, and you’ll think on the feeling the next time you entertain the idea of behaving like an insolent fucking brat.” Little slut.

She shivers, knowing she is about to be taught a lesson she won’t soon forget.

#daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #daemon #the rogue prince #pro daemon targaryen #daemon stannies #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fan fic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen fan fiction

[diana-fortyseven]

I think it's time to share a secret with you: you don't have to see things you don't want to see on the internet.

Shocking, I know.

Most sites give you fairly decent tools to avoid concepts, topics, or people you don't like, and you should totally use them.

The smutty fanfic that makes you uncomfortable because it contradicts your headcanon for your favourite character? It's rated "explicit". If you click on it anyway and get angry? That's on you.

The AO3 author who keeps publishing smutty fanfics that make you uncomfortable because you don't even want to see the summaries of fics that have this one character fucking? Adjust your filters to only show you works that are rated "for general audiences" or "teen and up".

The AO3 author makes you angry now because they published so many fics you don't want to see? Mute the author. You'll never have to see any of their works ever again.

You also don't want them to interact with your fics? Block them too.

The Tumblr user who wants to see their favourite characters fuck? You can block them. It's fine. You don't need to see their posts.

Many Tumblr users want to see their favourite characters fuck? You can just filter the tags they use for talking about wanting to see their favourite characters fuck. You don't need to go into these fandoms' tags to complain about people enjoying themselves in a way you don't enjoy. The way they do fandom isn't about you. If you don't like what you see, don't go there.

I know that the tools these sites give you aren't perfect.

Tumblr for example still shows you that posts with tags you filtered exist, and you still have to scroll past them. Sometimes you don't want to block a user, you just don't want to see this one specific post or fic all the time. If you filter out a lot of things on AO3, it can be annoying to enter these filters every single time you want to browse your fandoms.

Good thing that using the internet on desktop opens a whole new world of browser extensions and user scripts for you!

Make Tumblr posts with certain tags or even words in the body of the post disappear completely? Possible with this script here. Make just this one post you hate so much disappear? Possible with this script here. Make just this one fic you hate so much disappear? Possible with this script here. Save AO3 filters? Possible with this script here.

I have this extensive collection of my favourite browser extensions and user scripts for fanfic sites on my Dreamwidth.

They're sorted by site, which makes it easier to find what you're looking for. All of them are free. Most of them can just be installed as is. If you need help with one of them you need to edit a little, let me know. I'll happily walk you through or give you the snippet of code you need to make it do what you want it to do.

Curate your own online experience. Other people on the internet aren't responsible for your decision to keep walking into spaces you don't want to be in. You can't demand that others censor themselves because you don't understand the concept of Just Not Reading Something.

(And honestly, even if you already knew that other people on the internet aren't your babysitters, you should check out my list of scripts! They're fucking amazing! :D)

#Fandom