#get the fuck off of my page i literally hate that i even have to say it oh my god đ
can I ask what bridgerton books youâve read and if theyâre worth it
i read âthe viscount who loved meâ yeeeeears ago. and it is still probably my fav regency romance novel. itâs not even perfect. i just loooved the characterizations. (theyâll NEVER make me hate you book kate) and i think the banter and slow burn in the first half of the book was SOOO good. and literally what so many romance novels LACK. bc insta-lust/love just doesnât pack the same punch. iâm sorry
also i litchrally claimed kate as a women of color in my own delusions back when i was literally reading a standard White Ass Regency Romance Novel (BEFORE there was ever any show) bc i just loved kate that much. and was like WHOS gonna beat my assâď¸ (this was after still star crossed lol) she was a woman of color. TO ME.
plus they described kate as âdarkâ and edwina as âfairâ in the book a lot which i know just meant hair/eyes but i was like. slay! no take backs! LDMLSJSKSJ
(so despite everything about the way the show did kate i did absolutely WIN in that aspect)
next. the second book i read was âromancing mister bridgertonâ. (again. this is before there was ever a show) bc i liked the little of penelope i saw in kanthonys book. but then. well. reading that book is when i realized âthe viscount who loved meâ might have been a fluke bc WHAT in the world. âromancing mister bridgertonâ was just 350 pages of penelope getting dogged by the boringest MOST bitchless man on earth. the way she PINED for colin from literally page 1. PAGE ONE. but the book doesnât spend a SINGLE second making him compelling in ANY way, shape or form was MIND boggling. AND THEN gave him the audacity to treat HER like shitâď¸
and the WHOLE TIME the book is like theyâre friends to lovers btw!!! hehe <333. NO THEY WERENT! DONT piss me off rn. that man was NOT her friend. he was nice to her ONLY when he deemed her below him. and as soon as he found out she had success in something he didnât, it was immediate disdain and disrespect for her. thatâs not a friend?!
ALL WHILE! she falls all over herself bc of how bad she wants him. i wanted to get her the fuck out of her OWN romance when i was reading that book. i could not believe what it was selling as real true love. garbage
next. i was debating if i should check out another book after that mess. bc i didnât know if the other were also bad. and eventually just decided to start from the beginning (moment of silence đ) and pulled up âthe duke and iâ and then as im reading the synopsis i stumble on a review detailing the plot and that describes the actual sexual assault in that book that gets played off as romance.
aaand i have NOT touched another bridgerton book since
i Have heard eloiseâs book and romance is awful by mutuals who have read them all. and benedictâs is not very great either. francescaâs book may be the only worthy follow up to tvwlm. those 2 are generally considered the better ones of the series.
iâm still recovering from the ones i have read though so wont be able to confirm any time soon
in conclusion:
the viscount who loved me (my best friend still idc. not perfect but very gorgeous to me)
romancing mister bridgerton (hot garbage. argue with your mother)
the duke and i (burning books is not always bad. it would be fine here)
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ok iâm just gonna say this once but this blog is 18+ !!! minors donât interact !!!
itâs ridiculous that minors are straight up commenting and liking my 18+ shit. donât be fucking weird iâm so annoyed
if you are a minor, please DO NOT interact with my blog or any of my work
and on that topic, if you are a blank blog or ageless blog, please put your age in your bio. 18+ or 20s or 80s baby is literally fine if you donât want to put your specific age
if you interact with my stuff and donât have an age in your bio, if your blog is blank, or if you are a minor i will block you. fr.
!!!
( iâll give you guys about 24 hours to put an age in your blog or unfollow me before i go on one hell of a blocking purge LMAO )
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Genuinely so fucking mad right now I think I could kill someone Jesus fuck.
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Attitude Adjustment (Chris Sturniolo)
matt version?
contains: angst, bickering, relationship arguing, smut, softdom chris, hair pulling, fluff, kissing, protected sex, female receiving, 1.7k word count
a/n: based on this idea i had. sorry it took so long i couldn't figure out how to end it. i still kinda hate the ending but fuck it we ball.
âItâll only be for like an hour and a half-â
âChris-â
âBaby. Weâre out of video-â
âSo you basically invited me over to fucking abandon me here?â I ask, unable to hide the irritation I feel bubbling up. I sigh deeply, rolling out of Chrisâ arms and grabbing my phone. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch him rub his hand over his face and sit up.
âBabe, weâve been together all day. Just give me an hour." He gets out of bed and stretches before heading into his bathroom. I know Iâm being a bit of a bitch to him but I canât help it. Our schedules have been so crazy lately that every hour I get matters these days. Seems like I never get him to myself anymore and itâs starting to grate on my nerves.
Chris comes out of the bathroom and heads to his closet, stopping to scoop his favorite sweatpants off the floor. I roll my eyes and grab my Airpods, popping them in my ears and turning my music on full volume.
After a couple of minutes, Chris comes over and leans down to kiss me but I dodge it, not ready to stop being petty yet. He rolls his eyes and reaches to pull my headphones out. âCan we please not do this? This is my literal job.â
I kiss my teeth and Chris takes a deep breath and steps away. Nick calls his name from the top of the stairs and he yells back that heâs coming before grabbing his wallet.
âAlright. I love you, baby. We can talk about it when I get back.â He says over his shoulder as he reaches for his door handle.
âWhatever, Chris. Just leave me the fuck alone. I donât even care anymore.â I snap. Chris pauses his movements and gives me a look that has me squirming. He walks over to the bed and squats down in front of me, the intensity of his eye contact making me lean back.
âStop talking to me like youâre crazy, bro. Am I speaking to you like that?â
âNo,â I mumble, crossing my arms and refusing to meet his eyes.
âAlright so watch your fucking mouth.â
I nod, struck silent, and he leans in to press a quick kiss on my temple before he stands, finally heading out the door.
I sit there for a minute staring at the wall contemplating my sanity. Because thereâs no reason why that was the hottest Chris has ever been to me.
*******
Itâs quite possible Iâve never been this bored in my life. Iâve started three different TV shows on Netflix, started doing handstands, and scrolled until my for you page started getting weird. Iâm half lying on the bed, half hanging off, when I hear the boys come back. I spring up and turn off the light, throwing myself into bed and pretending to be asleep.
A few minutes later the door opens and Chris comes in, hesitating for a second when he sees itâs dark. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to him move quietly through the room. When he gets in the bed, I feel him lean over me and run a knuckle over my cheek.
âYou know youâre a terrible actress right?â He laughs, reaching over to pull me into his arms. I smack my lips and yank away, sticking to my plan of being a brat. He sighs, dropping his head back on his pillow.
âHow do you still have an attitude after two whole hours?â
âThought it was only going to be an hour and a half?â I mock, turning over on my stomach to face the wall.
âOkay.â Chris sits up and turns on his lamp before flipping me over to face him. I blink at him rapidly, startled by the sudden movement.
âThis is what weâre not gonna do.â He says, gesturing between us. âEither talk to me or let it go. Those are your only two options.â His tone is harsh but with his thumb smoothing over my arm, it doesnât feel as mean.
I sit up and face him, crossing my legs. âI just want a day or two where I donât have to fight for your attention,â I say quietly. Chris nods slowly, tilting his head like heâs thinking.
âOkay.â He says, pulling me into his lap. âI hear you. Iâll try not to film on nights when you're here. At least until I can see you more.â
I look up at him and smile, placing a kiss on his collarbone. âThank you.â
âThat was easy, huh? Talking and shit like weâre adults-â
âDonât ruin it,â I say, reaching up to pull his face down to mine.
I kiss the corner of his mouth and it pulls up in a lopsided smile. I keep going, kissing the other corner before both his top and bottom lip. His eyes trail my face, darkening as he waits for me to kiss him fully. But instead, I slip off his lap, rolling back to my side of the bed.
âWhat are you doing?â He asks with a frown, leaning so heâs hovering over me. I smile and wrap my arms around his neck.
âJust wanted to see how much you want to kiss me,â I say casually, tangling my fingers into his hair.
Chris leans down and presses his lips to mine roughly, pushing my head into the pillow and anchoring a hand on my hip. His other hand dips under my shirt, sliding higher as we deepen the kiss. He pulls away to start lining kisses down my neck, driving me crazy.
âI always want to kiss you. Even when you're really fucking annoying." He says as he slides down my body, stopping to place a kiss above my belly button. He runs his tongue back up the trail of my body before he stops to yank off my shirt and bra. The light from the lamp makes me a little shy and I reach to turn it off but Chris stops me. âLeave it on, I want to see you.â
He slides back up to kiss me again, sweeter this time and full of love. I smile against his lips and mumble low, âYouâre such a softie.â
Chris breaks the kiss and raises his eyebrows, giving me a challenging smirk. âOh yeah?â Before I can respond, he sits up and grabs my panties, ripping them off in one motion and tossing them over his shoulder.
âI always wanted to do that.â He says, sliding down to run his tongue over my hip.
âIâm going to kill you.â I breathe out as he moves closer to my core.
âIâll buy you some more.â
âIt better be Victor-â I cut off my complaining with a moan as he swirls his tongue over my clit. He pushes open my legs and leaves one hand running up and down my thigh gently.
I lace my fingers back into his hair and he looks up at me as he slides a finger inside of me. He picks up his pace, thrusting inside of me roughs and adding another finger while matching his tongue motions to his fingers.
I tighten my grip on his hair and moan out his name, squirming up until my head hits the headboard. Chris moves his arm to spread across my stomach and pins me in place, never pausing his movements.
I throw my head back and rock my hips up as I call out his name and tell him Iâm close. He only stretches me out more, curling his finger up to hit the spot that always takes me out.
I turn my head and moan into the pillow as I ride out my orgasm, still calling out Chrisâ name. He presses a final kiss to my clit and then pushes himself up my body. He kisses me hungrily before he leans over to his nightstand.
âStill got an attitude or what? Let me know.â He teases as he stands to take his clothes off and slip the condom on.
âShut up, Chris,â I say, rubbing my hand over my eyes.
âAlright, so weâre still working on it. Got it.â
He flips me over onto my stomach and hops on the bed behind me, pulling me up until Iâm arched where he wants me. I look over my shoulder at him as he lines himself up to enter me, his tip rubbing against my folds, and he meets my eyes as he pushes in.
He gives me barely any time to adjust before heâs hammering into me, both hands gripping my hips and pulling me to meet his thrusts. I grip the sheets, whimpering, but Chris doesnât slow his strokes for a second.
âWow, youâre quiet.â He says ruggedly. âWhereâs all that fucking mouth you got?â
I open my mouth to talk shit back but he readjusts, pressing his hand into my back and pushing me into the mattress. Somehow he picks up his speed, digging deeper into me than I thought possible. I try to say his name but all that comes out is a series of unintelligible sounds and he laughs roughly.
I reach a hand back against his hip but he grabs it and pins it behind my back, using it as leverage to pull back and slam into me again. âYou feel so fucking insane.â
The breathy candace of his voice makes me moan out louder and Chris gathers all my hair into one hand and uses it to pull me up against his chest. The new angle has me seeing stars and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he places sloppy kisses on my neck. He reaches down to rub his thumb over my clit and I buck against him, my body shuttering from the intensity.
Iâm so close now and he can tell, gripping my face and tilting my head so he can meet my eyes. âGo ahead, baby. Give it to me.â
I do exactly as he says, maintaining eye contact, as I fall again. He throws his head back at the feeling, muttering a low, âfuck,â and moaning out my name as he comes.
He drops his head against my shoulder for a second, breathing heavily, before he pulls out slowly. I fall back onto the bed while he heads to the bathroom to clean up. Iâm still lying motionless when Chris comes back out and sits on the edge of the bed. âCome on. Take a bath with me.â
I smile over at him and slide out the bed, following him into the bathroom. I sit on the counter as he runs the water and pours in my bubble soap.
He comes back over to me and stands in between my legs staring at me. âYou didnât say you loved me back when I left.â
âI just let you break my back. I think weâre good.â I say as I wrap my arms around his neck.
âNot the same.â He states matter of factly, leaning closer and brushing his lips against mine. I smile and then pull back, giving him a mock-serious face. âChristopher Sturniolo, I love you so much.â
He grins and kisses me again, deeper this time. âOne more time?â
âI love you,â I whisper, chasing his lips but he pulls back.
âAgain?â
âAlright, fuck off.â
He laughs and steps back so I can slide off the counter and head over to the tub. I get in after turning the water off and Chris follows, sliding in behind me.
I sigh contentedly, letting my head lay against his chest as he tells me about how filming went. I laugh at his stories and chime in softly, wondering how the hell I could ever be mad at a boy this sweet.
Well, at least until tomorrow.
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Taunt
obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!
summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.
pairing: michael gavey x reader
warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 10.5k (dear lord)
a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)
PRAISE | Taunt Part 2
MAKING AMENDS | Bonus
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
đadd yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!đ
âRight, so,â Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, âSince weâve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought Iâd go easy on you today.âÂ
A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks youâve been in Professor Daviesâs class, heâs never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.Â
âDâyou think youâll go to the party this weekend?â Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, âI heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.â
âLike any of Felixâs parties arenât insane?â You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, âOf course Iâll be there,â you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, âI could really use a break, anywayâŚIâve been so stressed recently.â
âChristâŚâ A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didnât really know him, this being your only class with him, but youâd seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when youâre on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.Â
He didnât run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name â Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks youâd been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.Â
You, on the other hand, couldnât be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.Â
It was annoying, you wouldnât deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes â blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.Â
His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, youâd admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if heâd just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.
You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michaelâs head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.Â
âNow, then,â Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, âA bit of review before we really dive inâŚâ He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.Â
âWhat do you think youâll wear?â Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, âI was thinking Iâd do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?â
âMight still be too cold for strappy,â you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, âI was just thinking Iâd do a jumper, probably a skirt and tightsââ
Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, âSince you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,â He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, âWould you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?â He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.Â
âIâ uhm, well,â you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, âDonât you need to solve for G first?â
âAnd how would you go about doing that?â
âWell, you wouldâŚâ You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons youâd had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, âIâŚI donât recall, professor. Iâm sorry.â You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.Â
âPerhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.â Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile.
âYes, Professor.â You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.Â
Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You canât help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.Â
âWould anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?â Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michaelâs hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.
Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, âI have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,â He says pointedly, âCould benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.â
Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.Â
âMr. Gavey,â he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, âOnce more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.âÂ
âThank you, Professor,â you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? Itâs not like you were exactly an academic threat.Â
âMs. Bickerstaff,â Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, âNot bad, a bit more effort next time and youâre sure to be on track,â he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.Â
Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you canât help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didnât come from piles and piles of money and status â your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.Â
As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, âSorry, yes, Professor?âÂ
âAs I was saying,â Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, âI would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.â
âYes, sir.â you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.Â
âIâll see you later, babes,â Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, âGood luck!â She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.
âThanks!â you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.Â
You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, âYou wanted to see me, Professor?â
âAh, yes!â He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, âI know this class has been quite the challenge,â he begins, leaning against the desk, âBut, I think Iâve found a solution for you.âÂ
âYou have?â You ask, tilting your head in confusion.
âI think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,â he continues, âAnd I have just the student in mind.â Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, âMr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.â
You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.Â
Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, âMr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,â you canât help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, âIâve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.â You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. âIâve given it some thought,â the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, âAnd Iâm willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.â
âOh, thank you so much, profââ
âHowever,â he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, âThis will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.â
âOf course, professor. Thank you again.â You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.Â
âRight, well, now thatâs sorted,â Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, âI trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. Iâll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.â He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.Â
The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.Â
âSo,â you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, âUh, what time works for you? I really canât do Saturdaysââ you begin, only to be cut off.
âShame,â Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, âSaturday is the only day that works for me.âÂ
The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, âOkay, well Saturdayâs are the only day I have off,â you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that heâs being a nuisance, âBesides, I super canât tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends Iâd come with them to this party thaââ
âOh, I know about your little party,â Michael scoffs, âTrust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,â he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, âOooooh, itâs so cold, canât wear the fuckinâ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.â He finishes with a final huff of laughter.Â
âWhat is your deal with me?!â You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, âYouâve been a dick all semester and I havenât done anything to you! Iâve never even talked to you!â Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no oneâs in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.
âI might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,â he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.
âWhat does that even mean?â You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.Â
His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you canât help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, âCome on,â he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, âFelix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?â
You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, âYeah,â you say slowly, drawing out the word, âBut, what does he have to do with anything?â
Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, âSee, we went to school together, him and I â some of primary, all of secondary,â he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, âAnd I just donât fucking like the guy. Canât stand him, never couldâve.âÂ
Youâre silent for a second, and now itâs your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. âBut, what does that have to do with me?â You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.
âDonât trust the people around him either,â he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, âWeirdos, the whole lot. Thereâs somethingâŚoff about the guy. Canât put my finger on it, but thereâs something dark there, all around him. Like heâs putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.â
The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you â an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly youâre wondering if he can hear it â hell, youâre wondering why youâre reacting this way at all, why youâre so shy and skittish around him.Â
âMânot like that,â you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.
He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, âYouâre not like that, are you?â He asks, his voice low and raspy.Â
You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard youâre blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.Â
But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, itâs broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, âMeet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. Thereâs hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.â He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.
âBut Iâm busââ
âDâyou want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?â He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, âSâyour call, love.â He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.Â
âBodleian at five it is,â you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.Â
Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxfordâs libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere â from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.Â
Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone â 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie youâd decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.
âBoo!â Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.Â
You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.
âShh! Hey, relax!â Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michaelâs face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. âItâs only me.â He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.Â
âHi.â Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didnât hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.Â
âHi.â He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.Â
Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. âShould weââ He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, âItâll be quieter up there.â
âSure!â You chirp, giving him a curt nod, âLead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.â
âWell,â he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, âSâwhat happens when you donât spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.âÂ
You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.Â
âSorry.â He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.Â
âWhat?â You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.Â
âFor earlier,â he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, âScaring you, I mean. Didnât mean to.â
Youâre quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. Itâs calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.
Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. âItâs alright,â you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, âI donât know why Iâm so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.â You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.
Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like heâs laughing at a joke you canât hear, âMaybe itâs all that tension.â
âWhâ tension?â You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesnât pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.Â
âThe stress? That you were meant to be working out at Cattonâs?â He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, âCouldnât help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.â
âOhâŚâ You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.Â
The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, âYou canât keep one thought in that head, can you, love?â
You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, AndâŚGod, why do I like it?
âWhy donât you like me?â You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.Â
He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, âYou donât take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you donât fucking listen.â He sits back up, frowning, âI work hard every fucking day in there, for fuckâs sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Daviesâs teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.â He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.Â
âTold you, Iâm not like that,â you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, âIâm here on scholarship, same as you.âÂ
His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, âHow did you know abââ
âLike Iâm not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?â
âFair enough.â He concedes after a minute.Â
Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, âCan we just get this done? I donât want to be here any more than you do.â
âAh, of course,â he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, âCattonâs big important party. And youâre stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?âÂ
You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felixâs parties. You wanted to tell him that youâd hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.Â
Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, âI donât think youâre a loser, Michael,â you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, âCan we just focus on this now, please?âÂ
Heâs quiet for a moment, frozen like youâd said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like heâd come to a decision you werenât privy to, âSure,â he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, âSânot like Iâm the one failing.â He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something heâd regret saying even as the words left his mouth.Â
See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.
Itâs barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see youâre only just now halfway done correcting the ones youâd gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping â problems that youâd hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesnât make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.Â
âCan we take a break?â You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.Â
âWhat?â He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, âItâs hardly been an hour and youâre ready to give up?âÂ
ââM not giving up,â you mumble, âI just think we could use a little breakâŚâ You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesnât break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, âJust, like, ten minutes, please?âÂ
You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, âSay please again.â He commands, his voice low.Â
âHuh?â You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.Â
âSay please again,â he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, âBeg.âÂ
âW-why?â You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.Â
He shrugs dismissively, âMakes you squirm,â he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, âI like that.â
âWhy?â Your voice is so small you doubt heâd even know you spoke if his eyes werenât fixed on you.Â
He hums, a satisfied noise, like youâve finally managed to meander into a trap heâd set ages ago, âSâfucking cute,â he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, âMakes you blush and act all dumb.âÂ
You know you should be offended, but you canât find it within yourself to care, âYou think Iâm cute?âÂ
He chuckles, sighing, âThatâs what you choose to focus on?âÂ
âDo you?âÂ
âFine, yes.âÂ
âPlease, Michael,â you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, âPlease, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?â You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you donât see anyone else sitting at the study tables.Â
You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he canât believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, âTen minutes.â He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.Â
You donât move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.Â
A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party â a lie, though you canât find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.Â
âI meant what I said.â You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.Â
âHm?â Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.Â
âI donât think youâre a loser,â you answer, fidgeting, âI never have. I think youâreâŚintriguing.â
âIntriguing?â He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, âHow so?âÂ
You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, âYouâre smartâŚyou know youâre smart,â you start, voice small and shaky, âI like that.â
âYou like that or you like me?â Heâs looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows heâs already won a game you donât even know the two of you are playing.Â
âYou.â It comes out as a breath.Â
He doesnât answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.Â
Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, âThank you,â you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, âFor helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things youâd rather do on a Saturday.âÂ
He stays quiet for a few seconds, âI didnât really have anything better to do,â he smirks, âNo parties.âÂ
âNone?âÂ
âNever,â he shakes his head, shrugging, âDonât get invited.âÂ
âOh,â you answer simply, âWell, still, either way, thank you.â You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.Â
âI know a way you could repay me, love,â he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, âOnly if you want to, of course.â He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.Â
Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, âH-how do you want me to repay you?â You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.Â
He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, âI can think,â he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, âOf one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.âÂ
You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.Â
âYeah?â He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, ââYâwanna?â
âYes.â You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.Â
âBeg.â He commands again, eyes twinkling.Â
You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing â missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, âPlease, Michael.â You practically whine.Â
âOoh,â he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, âI think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.âÂ
You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, âPlease, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.â The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.Â
âHowâre you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?â He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but itâs enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, âAsk for what you want, beg properly.â His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.Â
âPlease, God, Michael,â you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard youâre surprised they havenât fused together, âP-please let me suck your cock â to thank you, thank you for helping me.â You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.Â
He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isnât anyone around, âAlright, alright, love,â he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, âNot God, but Iâll give you what you want.â He teases.
Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, âYes, sir.â You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.Â
âGoddammit,â you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, âKeep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.âÂ
You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you canât help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.
You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, âCan IâŚ?â You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.Â
âDonât be shy now, princess,â he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, âGet on with it.â
You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even â long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.Â
You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.Â
âFuck, thatâs it,â he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, âKnew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.â He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.Â
You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.Â
âJesus!â He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, âFuck, thatâs it,â he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, âLook at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.â
You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.Â
âOh, fuck, thatâs it,â he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, âGod, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.â He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.Â
His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.Â
Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, âNot a thought in that pretty head, is there?â He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.Â
You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as youâd suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.Â
Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. âDid I say you could touch your cunt?âÂ
âN-no,â you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, âIâm sorry, I wasnât thinkââ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.Â
âThatâs a pattern with you, isnât it?â He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, âYou were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?â He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.Â
You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. âIâŚgot distracted.â You answer finally.Â
âI got distractedâŚ.who?â He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.Â
âI got distracted, sir,â you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, âIâm sorry.â
âThatâs much better, love,â he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, âNow, what couldâve been so fucking distracting, huh?â He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. âCould it be this, I wonder?â He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much youâve soaked the fabric,Â
âOh,â you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, âOh my God, fuck.â
âChrist,â he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, âSo fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?â
âYeah,â you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, âPlease, sir!â
âOh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?â He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, âNeed your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?â
You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, âW-what?â You question, eyes blinking open, âI was so close!â You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.Â
âTold you,â Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, âYouâre so fun to tease, love, canât help myself.â
You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. âP-please, sir, please touch me!â You finally gasp out, knowing he wonât give in until you do.
âNow thereâs a good girl,â he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, âSince you asked so nicelyâŚâ He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.Â
You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, âYouâre so fucking wet,â he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, âFucking dripping on my fingers.â He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.Â
You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. âGotta be quiet, love,â he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, âWouldnât want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?âÂ
You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. âFuck!â You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.Â
âSâfucking tight,â he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, âGod, youâre tight.â He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, âThat the spot?â He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.Â
âYou gonna come?â He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. âOpen your eyes,â he commands, not stopping his movements, âWant you to watch what Iâm doing to you when you fucking cum.â
At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. âMichael, please!â You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.Â
He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly heâs been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. âFucking come,â he commands, doubling his efforts, âSoak my fucking hand, love.â
The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesnât let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants â both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you canât think enough to care at the moment.Â
âGoddammit,â he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, heâs lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. Youâre practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, âGonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?âÂ
You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesnât make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.Â
Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.Â
âFuck,â he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, âGod, knew youâd feel good.âÂ
Somehow, that remark works itâs way through the fog in your brain, âHm?â you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, âYou thought about me?â You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.Â
He sighs, as if just now realizing what heâd said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, ââCourse I did,â he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. âLooked so damn pretty in class,â he continues, âSo cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.âÂ
His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what heâd said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and itâs like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.Â
âFuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,â he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, âYâgonna come?âÂ
âYes!â You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.Â
âHold it,â he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. âWant us to come together,â he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, âFuck, Iâm close just hold on.â The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.Â
âF-fuck, Michael,â you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, âPlease! Please I canât hold it, please!â You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you donât draw attention, not this close to your release.Â
âWhere, fuck,â he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, âTell me where.â He pants, his voice urgent.
âInside me!â You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.
He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, âAre you sââ
âYes!â You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, ââM on the pill.â You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, âMichael, oh, fuck!â
âFuck,â he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, âCome for daddy, fuck, be good and come.â He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.
Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.Â
The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. âGetting shy on me now?â He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.Â
You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, âShit,â you whisper, hopping up off his lap, âI cannot believe we just did that!â You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still donât see anyone.
âWasnât in my plan,â Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, âBut Iâm certainly not complaining.â He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesnât miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. âSorry,â he apologizes, gesturing to them, âI shouldâveâŚcontrolled myself better with that one.â He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.Â
You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although youâre dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, âGetting home is gonna be fun.â You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.Â
Youâve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, âHere,â he says softly, waving the sweater at you, âYou need it more than I do and itâs my fucking fault anyway.â
You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, âOh, you didnât have to do that!â You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.
He huffs out a laugh, âYou sucked my cock on the floor of a library,â he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, âSâthe least I could do.âÂ
You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sunâs gone down.Â
âI really like them, that band,â you say, nodding to his shirt, âTheir last albumâs really good.â
âOh!â He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, âYou know them?â He asks, smiling when you nod again, âTheir new album is probably my favorite too, actually.â The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. âDâyou live close to campus?â
âHalf hour on the train,â you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, âI should probably go soon if Iâm gonna catch the next oneâŚâ
âYou could come to mine?â He asks, his voice hopeful, âItâs only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?â
Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, âIf youâre sure,â he nods, âThen, yeah! That would be great.â You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.Â
âWould you maybe want to get lunch sometime?â He asks, glancing down at you.
âI would love that,â you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, âI think I might need more tutoring, tooâŚâ
His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, âWill you suck my cock every time?â He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.Â
Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michaelâs shoulder.
tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
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We need to talk about Sending Rocks.
You probably don't understand what that means. That's fine. It's a weird little example I made up, and I'll explain.
I'm the creator of the near-future cyberpunk podcast SINKHOLE. SINKHOLE is weird, short-form, nearly impossible to explain to people, and utterly unmonetizable. It's also got a very healthy listenership for something so esoteric. (I promise season three is coming; life just keeps happening, constantly.)
Because of that, I have a reputation as a weird little indie creator. And if I were to run a crowdfund, I could set up a donation tier that was literally just
"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."
and most people would find that funny and charming. I think, at worst, people might find it puzzling, but they'd still opt in out of curiosity.
A lot of you would let me send you rocks.
Now we need to talk about the re: Dracula crowdfund- about the zines. A handful of people got very upset about the perceived lack of quality present in the zines.
That caught me off-guard. To me, a zine should always be kind of janky. You should be able to tell exactly how far down the pile your specific zine was based purely on how committed to hitting the fold lines the person folding it was. Zines are handmade and should feel handmade.
So it seemed like people were complaining about the zines being zines, and I didn't get it.
And then I realized something: it's not about the zines. It's about the fact that they were coming from Tal Minear.
If Tal Minear ran a crowdfund and set up a donation tier that was just
"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."
I would give it about a day before someone found a way to turn that specifically into a talking point about how Tal doesn't respect the audio drama community.
Tal Minear cannot send rocks. The zine was never the problem. The way people think about Tal is the problem.
We need to talk about how this community keeps trying to reinvent classism based on nothing but vibes and follower numbers.
I'm going to tell you something you already know but probably don't want to admit: the independent audio drama scene is to the independent film scene what a fish tank in a dentist's office is to the ocean.
The biggest names in this community are just a step up from being nobodies.
If you went outside right now and spoke to the first person you saw on the street, the only non-BBC fiction podcasts you would have any realistic hope of them knowing are Welcome to Night Vale or Archive 81- and the latter only because it got turned into a Netflix show, which means that they might not even realize it was a podcast first. There's also a chance they'll have heard of The Magnus Archives, but it's not a guarantee by any means.
Now, this last one I've mentioned to a few people, and was surprised to get a lot of pushback. There seems to be this thought that no, of course everyone has heard of The Magnus Archives.
No. No, man.
You're doing the Homestuck thing. I hate to hurt you like this, but you're doing that thing people did where they assumed everyone had at least heard of Homestuck.
There are people in your life that have never heard of Homestuck.
The Magnus Archives was a mini-zeitgeist in which the fandom engaged in wild speculating, plentiful shipping, and lots and lots of aligning yourself with a specific Fear.
And it was never as big as Homestuck.
I'm sorry. Jonny Sims is not a household name. That's simply the truth.
He is also in this fish tank with us. As far as I am aware, he has not escaped to begin acting in feature films or begun voicing characters in massive video game franchises. Slay the Princess was pretty cool. It's not exactly fucking Assassin's Creed, though.
He doesn't even have a Wikipedia page.
And notice how my metric for breakout success involved going to other, better-known mediums? That's because a breakout success in this community involves getting a blurb on Buzzfeed or in Cosmo. There is no audio fiction podcasting elite. The idea is hilarious.
Even Markiplier doesn't count, because he's YouTube royalty. He's not famous because of The Edge of Sleep. The same is true of any celebrity. They're visitors. They didn't get their break here.
Tal Minear is not your landlord. They're a slightly bigger fish in the same tank as you that likes to poke around in the muck a bit more than you personally enjoy. And, well, you cannot argue that Tal's position as showrunner of re: Dracula justifies framing them that way.
Because the thing is, I'm not just the creator of SINKHOLE. I'm also the showrunner and head writer of Mayfair Watchers Society as of season two. Showrunning and writing is most of my income these days. Tal and I are very comparable in terms of the material power we wield. This isn't a secret.
And yet, a lot of you would still let me send you rocks.
Now the actually important thing.
We need to talk about how this exact illusion, this fanciful idea that there are real industry goliaths in this fishbowl, has already been used to justify the mistreatment of marginalized people.
When Tonia Ransom brought up the issues she had with how the AnonymousAD tumblr had characterized her crowdfunding campaign, this is the reason why people felt they could dismiss and ignore her. Because yes, she's a black woman speaking out about having been wronged, but she's also a "Big Creator," and therefore it evens out.
It doesn't even out.
A lot of the most successful creators you know in this space still have day jobs. I spent yesterday and today doing inventory at my retail job. I spent hours poring over shitty little badly printed tags and biting back swear words because our owner will not let us close, so there were still customers in the store, actively buying the things we were trying to count.
This Us vs Them shit has got to stop. It's nothing. It's a parody and a sham. If you tried to explain it to your grandmother, she'd give you the exact same reaction as if you had tried to tell her about drama in the Homestuck fandom.
Because it's the same.
And you don't get to use it to justify being shitty to someone who you know perfectly well would deserve your humility and understanding if you weren't pretending they were your boss.
Who can send rocks is not and has never been a reflection of real power or privilege. Deciding someone cannot send rocks is just a convenient excuse to disregard their perspective when it makes you angry or uncomfortable.
At best, it's tilting at windmills. At worst, it is punishing your peers for daring to defend themselves or speak out against injustice while being marginally more successful than you.
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If Fire Emblem Had Tumblr
đŞchild-of-elimine Follow
This is a reminder that practicing dark magic will always be dangerous, evil, and very problematic!
đpurplegaymagic Follow
Oh fuck off,, NOT ALL DARK MAGIC IS INHERENTLY EVIL!!!
Yes certain types of dark magic can be dangerous but ITS NOT EVILL!!
đ¤the-elder-mage Follow
First of all op, you're from elibe so you should know that the preferred name for dark magic here is elder magic.
Second, op is a dragonphobe and supports the g*nocide of all dragons.
(4,322 notes)
â¤ď¸ď¸crimsonrider Follow
henlo,,,
đźtalyspeggy Follow
henlo!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(25,434 notes)
đŞsidecharater121 Follow
Me watching my friend getting warped to Zenith for the 5th time in different clothes cause they were popular
(1,547 notes)
đŞwimdymagey Follow
wdym you dont need a tome to summon magic in fodlan and valentia??????
đŞwimdymagey Follow
Im over here flipping thru the pages of my book for my life hoping my head doesnt get caved in by a hand axe!!
(3,957 notes)
đnohrian-cum Follow
Wait... weapons can break????
âď¸myrmigone Follow
YOUR WEAPONS CANT BREAK!?!?!?!?
(122 notes)
đŞľchopinheads Follow
Hey guys! I'm a fighter about to promote!
Should I promote to warrior or hero?
(23 notes)
đżthe-real-axe-man Follow
Godssssss
pegasuses are such misandrists. wtf did i do to you flying pony??
Pegasuses arent even usful, they litterally get one shotted by an archer with 5 strength.
đźtalyspeggy Follow
Literally not every pegasi breed "hates" men.
Go to Hoshido if you wanna see men riding pegasi.
I'm so sorry that certain pegasi were born not wanting a man to ride them.
(344 notes)
đˇhelpfulheals Follow
Hey guys @/begnionianloverss is a laguzphobe and supports the s*renes m*ssacre saying that "they deserved it"
đşran-the-catboy Follow
Oof,, thanks for informing us, I have friends who follow that account, gonna tell them that info immediately!
(99 notes)
đ°armored-general Follow
Can myrmidons shut up abt their crit rates???
Yall cant even do 1 damage against me, how tf that crit rate gonna help you???
âď¸myrmigone Follow
Flame Sword
Levin Sword
Wind Sword
Runesword
Sonic Sword
đ°armored-general Follow
with YOUR 3 MAGIC???????? LMAO!!!! stop coping and admit that myrmidon is a shit class
(649 notes)
đšno1-archer Follow
Heard that @flameempire was hosting a bbq at belhalla, very excited!
đšno1-archer Follow
THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ--
đdivinedragonfanclub Follow
wtf is happening in jugdral
(2,038 notes)
đŤanti-crest-revolution Follow
Gods I hate people with crests
Privileged mfs
âĄď¸zapanddash Follow
Brooooo my crest literally randomly summons a thunder storm whenever im around.
I was in khadein (a literal desert nation) a while ago and in the middle of THE HOT DESERT DAY A FUCKING TORENTIAL RAIN STORM APPEARS!!!
That is not a privilege
đpurplegaymagic Follow
OP you literally have a crest! how can you say you hate crests when YOU HAVE ONE YOURSELF!!!! SMH
(34,667 notes)
đ§ââď¸gotohs-big-naturals Follow
I can fix him
đeirika-erica Follow
No you fucking can't
đexpthiefseth Follow
No you fucking can't
đ˛frenofdragon Follow
No you fucking can't
đިthe-obsidianrock Follow
No you fucking can't
đąlancemaster22 Follow
No you fucking can't
(2,331 notes)
đĽˇninja-paint Follow
pets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets you
đşran-the-catboy Follow
gets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets pet
(776 notes)
đŞannablr-staff
This website was a waste of money
(933,720 notes)
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âââ
Hadesâ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.
He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.
âCould you suffer quieter? Iâm trying to study.â
âShut up, Percy.â
âIâm not the one groaning in misery.â
âShut up, Percy.â
Percy sighs heavily. Thereâs a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.
âYouâre so fuckinâ irritating, you know that?â
âComing from you,â Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. âI am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you ââ
âOh my gods.â
ââ like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship ââ
âI wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, Iâm not picky.â
ââ and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!â
âI am doing this to pass my classes,â Percy snips. âSomeone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.â
âExperienced hell already, thanks. Donât need a redo.â
âTartarus references donât shut me up, Zombie Boy. Iâve been there too.â
âUgh.â
Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his â friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.
Heâs moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.
âAre you okay?â Nico asks quietly.
Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. âFine.â
âI mean. You flooded half the camp. So.â
âJust drop it, Nico. If youâre going to stay in here, be quiet.â
Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Donât tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!
A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percyâs face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.
âWoah,â he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.
âIâm fine. Leave me alone.â
Nico hesitates. Of all people, heâŚnobody wants Nico around, when theyâre âwhatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.
But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.
âYou can ââ He clears his throat. âUm. Did something happen?â
Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.
âCause you can tell me, you know. I wonât â tell anyone. Or anything.â
Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.
âI donât ââ the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percyâs grip â âitâs fucking stupid, is what it is.â
Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options â sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesnât think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesnât want to crowd. He doesnât want to seem too distant.
Slowly, carefully gauging Percyâs reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.
âWhyâs it stupid?â
Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? Heâs not Jason. Heâs not Annabeth. Hell, heâs not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesnât seem right. Would he â touch Percyâs wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?
Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.
Heâs never seen him cry.
Percyâs voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. âI made Annabeth cry this morning.â
The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is â volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume heâd tried to kill her â he says I made her cry like he doesnât deserve to live for it. Like heâs hoping to be punished.
âThat happens,â Nico says. He swallows. âWhen you â love people.â
He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never â stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.
Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. âPeople who love you donât make you cry. Thatâs just â hurting. Thatâs people who hurt everyone around them.â
Nico frowns. âThatâs not true.â
âIt is,â he says venomously. âIâm supposed to be â Iâm supposed to protect her. Iâm supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.â
âPeople like you?â
Percy nods.
Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.
âPeople who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.â
The pages of Percyâs textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.
âYou donât understand what I ââ He pauses, swallowing. âDid, down there.â
âDâyou hurt her?â
ââŚI scared her.â
âOh, well â Christ, Percy! Is that really what this â brooding is about?â He scoffs. âNo shit you scared her!â
ââŚWhat?â
Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.
âAw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?â
âI ââ
âOf course you did, dumbass! Of course you ââ he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain â âof course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it â affected you. Gods. Of course youâre struggling.â He flicks Percyâs knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. âUse your brain, why donât you.â
A small smile quirks the corners of Percyâs mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.
âShe didnât scare me, though.â
âNot even once?â
âNot in the same way,â Percy admits. âI was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasnât â her, you know? She could never scare me.â
âI mean,â Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, âI think thatâs kind of abnormal?â
Percy tilts his head.
âI just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. ForâŚwhat youâll tolerate from people you care about.â
âEveryone has that.â
âNot in the same way you do.â He taps his knuckles, considering. âTell me the truth â if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?â
âYes,â he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. âOh.â
Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. âItâs not necessarily a bad thing. I donât think. Itâs just ââ He shrugs. âIâm used to scaring people, too. I donât mean to. I donât understand it. I donât understand what I â do, itâs not intentional.â
Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.
âBut youâre not â a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks youâre a monster. Especially not Annabeth.â
Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesnât say anything.
âYouâre not, either.â
Nico blinks. âHuh?â
âA monster,â he explains. âYouâre not, either.â
âOh.â Nico shrugs. âThanks, I guess.â
âNo, I mean it, dude, I â look. Listen.â Percy sighs. âYou got baggage. I put some of it on you. Iâm sorry.â
Hands around his â throat â angry, angry eyes â harder â bruising â you promised! you promised! you promised!
âItâs fine.â A pause. âI did shit to you, too.â
âItâs not fine. And I know you did. We can still ââ
He doesnât finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.
âOne day youâll forgive yourself,â Nico murmurs. âOne day Iâll â me too, I guess. Me and you.â
Percy smiles tiredly. âAnd weâll be okay?â
âNo. Youâll still be annoying.â
He snorts. âWhatever. Drama queen.â
âOh, Iâm the drama queen, Mr. I Donât Deserve To Be Loved.â
Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they â
Gods, theyâre bad at this.
But suddenly Percy canât choke back his laughter, and itâs wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percyâs red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nicoâs sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percyâs melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and itâs fine.
âYou should talk to Annabeth,â Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.
Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. âProbably.â
âAre you going to?â
âWhy were you lying on the floor?â Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. Itâs not his business, anyway. Theyâll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think sheâll let it fester, at least.
âOh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.â
âOh my gods. Iâm sorry I asked.â
âWell, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.â
Percy snorts. âWhat, I cry all over you and now itâs your turn to vent?â
âIâm pretty sure thatâs exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.â
âYouâre not nearly as funny as you think you are,â Percy says, but he canât tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.
Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. âSo.â
âSo.â
Nico squirms. Suddenly heâs not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didnât have to be in Percyâs cabin.
(He blames Father for this. Heâs horribly nosy. No doubt heâs passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He canât think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadnât shown his face.)
âDude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that Iâm giving you the attention you begged for you donât want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.â
âThereâs nothing to spill about,â Nico protests, âgods, canât a man just complain in peace ââ
âHa! Not sure you can call yourself a âmanâ if youâre voice is still cracking, squirt.â
âI literally hate you. Not joking.â
âUh-huh. Okay.â Percy raises an eyebrow. âWell, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor ââ
âDisgusting.â
ââso itâs your turn, now.â He pokes Nicoâs bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesnât follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. âYou can tell me, you know.â Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. âI wonât â tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.â
âYouâre so annoying.â Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.
Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadnât said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When heâd pressed about it, pestering him until heâd given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, donât you worry about it answer, heâd gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that âsold less jean for more fuckinâ moneyâ that made him laugh until he cried.
He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.
âOh my gods, youâre actually whipped. Is that what this is?â
Nico flushes. âShut up.â
âIt is!â Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. âYou are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You ââ
âShut up, Percy, gods.â
âIâve never seen you so red,â he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. âYou must really like him.â
Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. Iâve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people arenât Will.
âHeâs not scared of me.â No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. âOr. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks Iâm ââ
He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but â Nico! Hey! You think I couldnât stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking â here, feel.
âGorgeous?â The smile on Percyâs face is teasing, but much softer than before. âI heard he â said.â
Maybe itâs the redness of Percyâs nose that hasnât quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.
âYes.â
ââŚReally? He just up and told you, that he had a ââ
Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. âYeah. Heâs a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe heâs just shameless.â
âHe was always really intense about being your friend.â Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. âI didnât understand what that meant, at first. I didnât getâŚthe reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.â
âYou forgot about gay people,â Nico says drily. âI know.â
âThis is true,â Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. âThatâs an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you heâd somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now itâs likeâŚdamn.â
Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.
âYouâd think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.â
âIt hasnât been?â
Nico throws his hands up. âNo! He doesnât â I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when weâre sitting together and offer him a hand. I donât know what else I can â do, gods.â He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. âIâm being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckinâ â tattoo his name on my forehead?â
Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico canât help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.
âThere is a chance,â he says slowly, âthat heâŚknows.â
Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, I â well.â He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. âI. Knew,â he says haltingly. âThat Annabeth liked me. I ââ
Nico watches him carefully. This isâŚnews, to him. He didnât keep up much on camp drama about the two of them â for obvious reasons â but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.
âYouâŚknew? And you didnât do anything?â
Percy winces. âShe got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just ââ He shrugs. âI couldnât believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.â
Itâs impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.
âI think Will is like me,â Percy continues softly. âThat â insecurity.â He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. âI think he thinks very highly of you. And I think itâs hard for him to believe that you want to â to lower yourself, to be with him.â
âThatâs inane,â Nico argues. âHeâs â bright and kind and smart and â heâs fucking everything, what is he â!â
âHe grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,â Percy murmurs. âWhen youâre surrounded by people who know what theyâre doing, itâs easy to feel like a loser.â
Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesnât agree with Percy. It doesnât make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as heâs been here â as long as heâs been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?
Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. Iâm just a healer.
âHeâs not a loser,â Nico says eventually. âI donât think heâs a â loser.â
Nico thinks heâs quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, âloserâ is probably the least apt to describe him.
âHow do I make him realise? Make him ââ
Percy shrugs. âTook Annabeth several years and I still think Iâm â well. I still struggle. Youâll have to be patient.â He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. âOr, you know, you could just tell him that you think heâs bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and ââ
Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.
âI did not â I did not say beautiful,â Nico says hotly, âthat was not on the list, you total jackass ââ
Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.
âââ
next
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Scaramouche with Sensitive Nipples - Drabble
Scaramouche x Fem! Reader
TW: Smut, nipple play, unprotected sex, literally just porn with no plot
AN: My bad!! I got horny!!
The first time you touched him there, you remembered how pretty his face got.
Scaramouche always had rather rosy cheeks, and that didn't change while he was pounding your insides. With your thick, plush thighs up on his shoulders, he fucked his cock into, making sure to try and hit the deepest part of you every time.
âYou love it, don't you,â he'd moan in your face. His words sounded breathy, his face was contorted in one of pure pleasure. With his eyes clenched shut, you couldn't see where he was focusing.
While you gasped and moans as he fucked you, you couldn't help, but to look at his soft chest. Those cute cherry pink nipples of his always tempted you, begging to be covered in the sheen of your spit.
You knew he'd get angry, but you could need help, you reached a hand up and pinched the little pink bud in your hand. The reaction was immediate.
His eyes shot open and quickly rolled back, little tears forming in the corners. You could see a small amount of drool dripping from his lips, and his rosy red cheeks go even redder.
âWait- no⌠please! Hnng-â He moaned as his hips fell into a rather sloppy pace, followed by the familiar feeling of his dick twitching inside you and filling you up with warm cum.
You were obviously surprised by this, your mouth open in pure shock. You chuckled a bit. It was insane to think that someone as tough and menacing as Scara could cum from getting his nipples pinched.
He fell on top of you panting, but after catching his breath for a moment, he pretended that nothing happened.
âI'll help you finish,â he muttered like it was a chore, but still going down to spread your legs.
Days passed without him bringing the situation up, much to your dismay. But you did notice other little differences with him.
When you bathed with him, he'd ask you to wash his front as well, something he'd never done before. When you asked him about it, he just said that your touch was better. He began sleeping shirtless at night and he'd eye you the entire time you got into bed, only rolling over and getting comfortable when you'd dozed off to sleep.
And then there was the way he'd lounge around the house. Scaramouche was always partial to kimono, it was what primarily filled his closet. But in recent days, he'd stop wearing them in their normal proper way, instead he'd leave his obi loose and have his chest exposed.
You caught him like this one day with his chest exposed and you stifled a giggle. There he was, sitting in his favorite chair, relaxed back and reading a book, with those pink nipples out and touching the air. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he wanted you to play with them more.
You sat on the floor next to him and rested your head on his lap.
âWhat is it?â He muttered in his usual rude tone, while turning the page to his book.
âOh nothing. Just this,â you followed your words up by taking that soft nipple into your fingers and tugging at it lightly.
His eyes shot open and the book fell to the floor, followed by a few docile mewls from his moist lips, âWhat-what do you think you're doingâŚ?â He could barely manage to struggle words out.
His cock had already begun hardening in his hakama pants. You could see the way it was starting to twitch to life.
You gave him a devilish smirk and you leaned forward and sucked the little bud into your mouth. The way his back arched and his struggled out a moan made it all worth it. He could pretend he hated it all he wanted, but the whimpers and moans told you more than enough.
âHahâŚhah~ fuck-â he strained to get words out as you tongue lapped at his chest, your other hand reach up to tug at the other pink bud that was begging for your attention.
âDon't fucking stopâŚdon't you dare stop!â He ordered. His pants were pulled down his hips and his cock sprung free. Precum has beaded at the tip and he was already using it as lube while jerking himself off.
The sight was heavenly. The way his chest was heaving while you pleasured his nipples, how his body was writhing in pure bliss. His moans were rich and loud, the most vocal you'd ever heard him.
His hand had gripped the back of your head, pulling your hair but keeping you from moving.
â âm cumming,â he gasped, almost in disbelief, â âm fucking gonna cum!â
Scara let out a deliciously long moan as his dick twitched and cum shot from his tip. He laid there stiff, but trembling while many ropes of his cum leaked from it, falling on his chest and stomach.
After a few moments he released his cock and laid back, letting go of your head in the process. You pulled away from his nipple, a bit of pride on your face as you saw the way it shone with your spit, looking a little bit redder and more swollen.
He was still panting as he reached up to pat your head a gesture he only did for you when he felt necessary, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips, âDo that for me again tonight.â
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why Aurora's art is genius
It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.
And⌠y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.
I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. âŚand then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details⌠aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.
SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so⌠I get to be a nerd about pretty things�??
All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3
---
I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly gracefulâit is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!
Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.
Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages getâI love watching that improvement over timeâbut with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hairâwhich, hello, yesâand thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.
THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)
Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are manyâif I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:
Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere elseâgranted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enoughâand it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:
Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs outâa balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd thinkâand the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.
I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.
If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!
Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that⌠unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:
Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.
A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the cavesâtheir colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):
(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)
The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing soâDainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panelâ
âwhere we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.
(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)
Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!
One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like⌠outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!
And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like thisâ
âwhere we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantageâlovely use of visual storytelling.)
Additionally, the misting here:
We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.
A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).
Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):
First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:
The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.
The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.
The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.
A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:
The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentallyâalmost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)
The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart
The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand
The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)
I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.
Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:
Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.
Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)
And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.
Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.
Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):
It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:
Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.
And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.
One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.
A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.
Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?
Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):
The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across charactersâsee also Life's typical lines and how they curl:
What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life'sâbut they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P
Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around likeâof courseâsparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):
They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be doneâthe colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.
Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, tooâVash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is⌠probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.
And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3
...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.
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I feel like we need to talk about this and this is partially me ranting but oh my LORD do I need to get this out.
Alastor is probably the biggest asshole there is, aside from Valentino who I absolutely dislike with my whole being because heâs just a whole separate type of problem, but back to Alastor.
WARNING: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 5 OF HAZBIN HOTEL YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
Alastor intentionally, in his duet with Lucifer, played the âfather figureâ on Charlie when heâs NEVER done that before, hell that shit didnât even fucking cross MY mind but plot twists are cute so I like it. But Lucifer literally feels like a shit dad and Alastor KNOWS this, and thus ACTED ON THAT FACT for lord knows why. I have so many questions too, like why do they not like each other? More importantly, whatâs Alastorâs problem with HIM, because clearly Lucifer doesnât know who he is, but it seems like Alastor is the one with the problem and because of that now Lucifer has one too.
I was listening to the duet and the amount of times my jaw dropped it basically went to the center of the earth because I was shook to my CORE. He literally said Charlie was like the daughter he spawned, and did it to fuck with him. He showed Lucifer how he was basically there for his daughter when Lucifer wasnât but was supposed to be, and he honestly did it in the most cunt way possible every time Alastor gets on that mic he EATS THE FUCK DOWN YALL.
Donât even get me started with his whole Vox duet, I WAS ASCENDING, it was so good I loved these episodes so much.
Alastor seems like the type of guy to be better just to piss another person off. Like oh, hate your husband? Well now every time your husbands around Alastorâs gonna make him feel like SHIT just by doing husbandly stuff for you and making it seem like nothing to him. Heâs the type of fucker to be there when the husband isnt home and the husband comes in like âHey who cleaned up the lawn?â Or some shit like that and thereâs Alastor with a jolly old smile like :) me bitch.
Heâd be loved by you but hated by your husband but whatever team Alastor forever on this page <3
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⸺ đđđđđđ đđđ đđđđ
đđđđđđđđ â POV: youâre dating the giant, brutish himbo nobody can stand. || OR aoi todo brainrot.
đđđđđđđđ â 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. SMUT: size kink, rough sex, penetrative sex, spanking, oral (F receiving). mentions of canonical violence
ę° Íͥ⸠đđ
đđđ đđđđđđđ đđđđ đđđđđ, đđđđđđ đđđđ đđ đ đđđđđđ! đđđđđđđ đđđ đđđđđđđâ đđđđđ & đđđđđđ! âĄ
I NEED to start this off by stating that Aoi is a libra man.
Libra men are incredibly hard to impress, which is clear in the way that he presents his notorious âwhatâs your type?â question and beats the literal shit out of anyone with an unsatisfactory answer.
Itâs not that he immediately hates that your type doesnât align with his, itâs that if you cannot state with conviction what you loveâwhat it is that youâre attracted toâhe finds that you have a weak judge of character and is immediately unimpressed.
But when you DO impress himâŚâŚhoney.
Absolutely OBSSESSED with you.
Worships you, adores you to no end.
You could do no wrong in his eyes.
You could deadass kill someone and he'd be like:
Crying "That's my girl right there, mhm."
Always staring at you with lovesick eyes.
At any given moment you just have a giant man following you like a puppy, staring at you like you hung the moon and stars.
He's always cooing at you, complimenting your...well, everything really. He has no qualms about listing literally everything he adores about you.
His obsession with Takada, a woman he never met? Yea, thatâs how heâs going to be with you but on CRACK because holy shit! Youâre actually his! Not some fantasy, your relationship and love are tangible.
Libra men are picky with their partners, but when they do choose you, their hopeless romantic side is yours and yours aloneâAoi is no exception to this.
His Instagram page turns from pictures of him working out and at Takada events to justâŚyou.
Selfies you send him upon request because he wants to see your pretty little face every second of the day, candid photos he takes of you, pictures of the two of you together, you name it.
Mai had opted to refer to his Instagram page as a fan page for you.
Aoi doesnât even deny it.
âOf course my page is her fan page, LOOK AT HER!â
 Just so intense with the way he loves you and adores you and not in a way thatâs concerning because heâs just a naturally intense guy.
Itâs a no brainer that the way he loves you is reflective of that.
Gym dates are definitely a thing.
Aoi puts a lot of effort into his appearance and finds genuine joy in working out, so why not combine something that brings him joy with someone who brings him joy!
âBABE! GYM DAY! We gotta take care of that gorgeous ass of yours!â
Will not take no for an answer. Heâll pick you up, throw you over his shoulders, and get you both to the gym that way.
If youâre a fitness/gym newbie, heâs so, so patient and encouraging with you it almost makes you cry.
He appreciates you deeply for coming to the gym with him just so he can be around you.
He also doesnât mind seeing you in activewear and cute matching sets because he thinks you look sexy as fuck in them.
Expect quickies in the car after leaving the gym. He wonât even be able to wait until you both get home.
Heâs still pumped up from his workout and following with testosterone, so these quickies are usually rough and consist of him yanking your leggings down, pulling your panties to the side, and bouncing you up and down on his lap like a fucking doll.
Because no matter what size you are, youâre lightwork for the great Aoi Todo.
âFuck baby,â He grunts, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly. The car rocks back and forth from the sheer force of his movements. He pulls you off his cock and lands a firm spank on your rear. âGet your ass in that backseat.â
Heâs definitely a giver in all aspects of your relationship. He prides himself on being able to cater to you.
Hungry? Heâll find out exactly what youâre craving and order it or cook it himself.
Tired? You have a big burly man to use as a giant teddy bear.
Sad? Stressed? Having a bad day? Heâs there for you to listen, rant with you, cry to, baby you, and offer you advice which contrary to popular belief heâs quite good at.
Beneath is himbo-y, brutish, meathead exterior Aoi is actually very intelligent and insightful.
Itâs one of the reasons why you love him so much. Thereâs so much more to him than meets the eye.
Heâll still beat the shit out of anyone who even looks at you wrong though.
When it comes to sex, you always come firstâliterally and figuratively.
Heâll have you coming around 3 times before even fucking you. He just wants to be able to indulge you, but selfishly a part of him gets off of making you feel good and being the only one to do so.
When heâs eating you out, you have to practically shove him away between your legs.
He basically turns into a shark when it gets its first whiff of blood in the ocean when it comes to your pussyâfrenzied, greedy, and primal.
âBaby,â You whimper as his tongue continues to flick your clit. Youâve already came twice on his mouth, but heâs not slowing down whatsoever. He chuckles deeply as he feels your thighs tremble in his hands.
âYouâre so cute.â Aoi coos condescendingly, sucking your pearl in between his lips. âAll shaky and whiney for me.â
You cry out loudly when his tongue flicks your clit once more, instinctively jerking away from him. His dark, predacious eyes snap up, staring up at you.
âDonât try and take my pussy away from me.â He warns, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. âThatâs my pussy.â
All in all, you are absolutely taken care of in that relationship.
For someone whose biggest fear is boredom, Aoi is surprised to learn that he actually cherishes the more quiet, domestic moments he experiences with you.
Grocery shopping for dinner, cooking together, bandaging each other up after exorcising curses, napping togetherâheâll take all of those things over whatever cheap thrills he once longed for any day.
The life of a sorcerer was dangerous.
Sure, he was unwaveringly confident in his strength and abilities, but the truth of the matter was that his life was always on the line.
Itâs a heavy fate to have constantly looming over you, but in a swarm of darknessâŚis you. You.
Youâre his home, his person, his solstice, his fucking girl.
Youâre everything. Â
Š all rights reserved to honeystevie â do not translate, repost, or plagiarize.
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unhinged dreamling modern au #409430950
the bachelor
dream is bribed, threatened, and/or physically dragged by his ankle into being on a dating show by death and desire (for very different reasons, death just wants him to be happy and is very very desperate at this point, desire's just fucking with him again), and needless to say dream is not the target candidate for this. at all. sure he's pretty and rich but he's also a complete asshole. this is destined to go poorly.
(unless you're the show's producers who just want an unhinged television trainwreck that keeps people in their seats, in which case it's fucking fantastic)
hob is also there as a contestant because he's bored, single, and always willing to do something stupid. everybody on the show is taking it seriously except for dream, who'd rather jump off a cliff than be here right now, and hob, who's just entertaining himself.
dream: this is stupid (hateful)
hob: this is stupid (having the time of his life)
needless to say this whole thing is a disaster. normally contestants are clamoring for the 'bachelor's' attention but dream just keeps being an utter jerk to everyone, making them cry, and causing them to actually drop out of the show. contestants: "i'd rather die than be with you." dream: "glad we're finally on the same page." like. dream doesn't even have to actively eliminate people. they just eliminate themselves because he's so insufferable.
hob isn't put off, though, this whole thing is hilarious to him. dream tries scaring him off and hob just laughs like "oh you're so cute, this is great"
dream: i hope you die
hob: you want me so bad it makes you look stupid
the more people drop out of the show the more time dream and hob end up spending together, by necessity. unfortunately for dream's sanity hob is actually very charming and fun and inexplicably good at getting dream to smile. they have at least one proper heart-to-heart and hob is so kind to him, and dream hates him soooo much for it.
(of course he actually likes him, and it's the worst thing that's happened to him, maybe ever. he's in agony. he wants off this ride, please. maybe he wants on a different ride ahem.)
so now hob's properly invested in this stupid game, he's like oh that wretched stick of a man is mine (literally nobody is challenging him but he's being super competitive about it anyway). all it really results in is dream being MORE of an asshole both to hob and to everybody else. (dream: one time i had a crush on this guy and i didn't know how to handle it so i just wrote him a letter saying get out of my tv show). and yet every week dream could eliminate hob from the show but he never does...
anyway soon enough literally every other contestant has dropped out of the show and it's JUST hob remaining and he basically wins by default. dream absolutely will not be beaten or outdone and is like fine hob i'll call your bluff. marry me if you're so committed to winning. hob's like, bet :) (see: always willing to do something stupid).
they do in fact get married because they're both incapable of conceding defeat. then they're like well. what do we do now...
dream: going to divorce me now and take half of my money? run with your spoils?
hob: idk, are you going to divorce me and finally 'free yourself from the torment of my presence'?
dream: *sniff* then you would win
hob: then i bet i can stay in this relationship longer than you :)
dream, gritting his teeth: bet
anyway they manage about two months before dream, perpetually in agony over how aggressively he's into hob, is like fine, i concede, i can't take it anymore. leave me if you want, take my money, i do not care, only free me from this pain.
hob: so... i win? i get to choose the prize?
dream, utterly defeated: whatever you want
hob: okay!
and he kisses him
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Okay youâve been doing a lot of hard hours hard thoughts etc and I just want your opinion on Minho with a soft tummy instead of abs. Like. I feel like Iâm the minority on this because 𼲠the few times we got a glimpse of his tummy it was soft and cute and 𼺠I like to think he doesnât have abs but a soft baby tummy where you can lay your head and maybe poke it and place little kisses on it.
And maybe heâd be a little insecure about it the first time you have sex because most people just assume he has hard rock abs for some reason so heâs worried youâre going to be disappointed đĽş
Feel free to insert hard thoughts about this if youâd like because this just makes me too soft to think about anything other than fluff.
In other words SOFT TUMMY MINHO SUPREMACY
~đˇ~
SOFT TUMMY MINHO SUPREMACY đŁď¸âźď¸âźď¸đŚ
Itâs so funny you say this bc this specific photo:
Literally lives on my Pinterest home page RENT FREE and every time I see it Iâm like yeah ofc he looks mouth watering and sexy as fuck but his tummy def looks SOOOO CUUUUTE under that tank top :( I feel like exactly the way he gets insecure about his scar heâd get insecure about his tummy and he would constantly be making jokes about how he really needs to start bench pressing more or doing sit ups bc his abs are nonexistent. And of course heâs still super toned but heâs not six pack, you know? And the first time you guys have sex heâs probably more insecure than you are bc he hates that he canât flaunt some sculpted six pack for you and he plays it off by laughing a ton (his cute ass lil melodic giggle) and being all âstop, youâre gonna laugh at me!â When he removes his shirt and covers his torso. And itâs literally nothing to laugh at in the slightest, like itâs just a normal torso leaning toward muscular but heâs still so soft, all his delicate little curves and the way his chest rises and falls when he laughs and his stomach frames his collar bones sooo beautifully and he just looks SO ETHEREAL. And obviously the sex is fucking amazing and itâs always amazing but itâs particularly sexy when his stomach contracts while youâre on your knees sucking him off before he cums. Or the way his abs clench when youâre riding him and heâs desperately trying not to cum just yet and you make it even harder when you sprawl your fingers out over his stomach and glide your fingertips along his skin. It just becomes such a central part of your fucking sessions together like running your hands all over his stomach and paying attention to the way his stomach sucks in a little before he cums and itâs so sexy. Not to mention cute bc when you guys arenât fucking youâre definitely showering him with kisses and tracing little hearts on his skin there. And sometimes cuddle sessions are exclusively your head on his stomach with his shirt rolled up so that you can lay on his bare flesh and press little kisses while he talks about his day :( and he doesnât love his body but he acknowledges that itâs quickly become one of your favorite parts about him so he stops insulting himself so much bc why would he insult something you love :( soft tummy Minho cuddle sessions could heal me I just know it
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needy
MDNI - fem!reader x coriolanus snow, 1k words, angst, swearing, non-descript masturbation, needy coryo, intentional lowercase, lmfao i hope its not obvious but i need to reread the book
an: this is literally AWFUL but i needed to post and i didn't want my first post in a while to be smut. i'm taking asks for coryo and sejanus! if u want me to write anything just ask me!
he's into you. he hates to admit it, but its true. when you're assigned as partners for a project, coryo doesn't know how to act.
coriolanus snow had a problem: he was too observant. whenever you were around, he couldn't stop himself from watching your every move. he disgusted himself, honestly. how perverted he was, being obsessed with a girl he hardly knew. how even more perverted he felt as he rushed home from the academy, straight to his bedroom, needing to fuck himself to the thought of your face. you were too pretty not to think about, he had to rationalize with himself whilst cumming on his sheets.
the professors at the academy were being tough on their students, as the end of term was drawing near. coriolanus constantly found himself buried in projects, textbook readings, and presentations. he wasn't worried though, his grades were perfect, he had exemplary attendance, and had never turned in a late assignment. all he had to do was get past his exams, and then it was all over.
history class was no exception. professor demigloss assigned an 8-page essay analyzing cassius heath, the winner of the first hunger games, and it was to be done with a partner.
demigloss was notorious for not letting students pick whom they wanted to work with, so it was no surprise as he began to read out the pairings for the essay.
coriolanus was bored. he knew all about the first games, and certainly didn't give a damn about cassius heath. he was 8 when the games happened, his father had just been killed, and he understood they were made to punish the districts.
what finally got his attention was hearing your name, along with, ironically, his. he looked up quickly, turning his head toward where you were seated. you stared back at him, flashing him a smile. fuck, coryo thought. just his luck.
the essay was to be done outside of class, so coriolanus gathered all his courage to stop you in the hall after history.
when the bell rang, he ran straight for the door, and stood outside it to wait for you. he clutched the strap of his satchel, palms sweating and knuckles turning white.
you exited the classroom, and coryo's breath hitched. he'd never been this close to you before, even if it was just 10 feet. he cleared his throat and you looked up. "y/n." he greeted, sounding colder than he had intentioned.
you approached him and smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. coryo quickly wiped his palm on his jacket and took your hand in his, shaking it. "i'm afraid we've never actually spoken before." you noted, taking your hand back. "you seem to be right." you answered his agreement with a nod. this was awkward.
"so, y/n, when should we plan to do this essay?" coriolanus queried, running a hand through his unruly hair. you cocked your head. "tonight? my place?" you proposed, opening your satchel to retrieve paper and pen to write your address.
coryo nodded, feeling his neck begin to sweat. "great," you affirmed, handing him the paper. "just come over after class lets out." with that, you walked away, leaving coryo dumbfounded.
he had been quiet, cold, and he was disgustingly clammy. stupid, nervous, guilty, girl-crazy coriolanus.
when school let out, it felt to coriolanus like it had been days since he'd seen you. he took out the paper with your address, admiring your handwriting. your hand had been small and soft... he wished he could touch you again.
covering the growing bulge in his pants with his satchel, coryo made his way to your apartment.
coriolanus deeply regretted all those times he'd jerked off to the thought of you. he never thought he would actually have to talk to you, and yet here he was. how could he look you in the eye? he hardly knew you, and you hardly knew him.
you lived in a nice building, and your apartment was close to the top floor, with a fantastic view of the city (which wasn't really much to look at). coriolanus knocked at your door, pushing his hair out of his face.
you opened the door after a moment, out of the academy uniform and wearing an adorable floral sundress. "coriolanus!" you smiled, opening the door further for him to enter. he walked into your apartment, admiring the interior.
"you have a very lovely home, y/n." he complimented, placing his satchel on a bench next to the door. you blushed at his remark. "it is lovely, isn't it, but it's quite far from the academy. speaking of which, you didn't walk all the way here, did you?"
coriolanus paused. neither him nor tigris had a car, so there was no way for him to be driven somewhere, and he hated asking for favors. "i like walking," he lied. "i get to see the city." you smiled, guiding him to the study. "there really isn't much to see." you joked.
the two of you sat close to each other at the desk, legs brushing against together every few minutes. you both read your textbooks, compared your finds, and drafted the essay.
you found yourself admiring coriolanus. everything you'd heard about him seemed to be true. he was a genius, sickeningly handsome, and one hell of a writer. every time you made eye contact with him, you could feel your heart pounding in your throat.
there was definitely tension between the two of you, your bodies grazing each other, feeling the other jump every time you touched. coriolanus struggled to focus on the task at hand, resisting the urge to kiss you. you noticed this change in him.
"coriolanus, do you like me or something?" you joked, eyes skimming your textbook. coriolanus paused. "i tolerate you." he deflected, face burning. "well you hardly know me!" you giggled, eyes bearing into his.
"that's why it's easy to tolerate you, y/n." he smirked, blue eyes glistening. you rested your head on your hand, studying his features. coryo pretended not to notice, his heart beating rapidly as he acted like he was reading.
you smiled at him, and bit slightly down on your lip. you hardly knew this guy, so why were you trying so hard to get his attention?
coriolanus met your gaze, looking from your eyes to your lips. "i want to kiss you, y/n." he ventured, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "oh do you?" you giggled. "yes, i do." coryo sat up straight, turning his body towards yours. you looked up at him longingly, mouth slightly ajar.
he gently cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "i need to kiss you." coryo clarified, his cock straining against his pants. "then do it." you purred.
so he did.
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