#maybe i used too little seam allowance

[dumbkiwi]

Blehhh the sundress I'm making is gonna be so cute (PERFECT TEALORANGES FABRIC) but at the same time I'm so bad at figuring out how to make patterns that fit me so everything is too big in the shoulders and I don't wanna seam rip EVEN MORE

#sel speaks #i might gather the bottom of the bodice idk #it hangs weirdly low on me even though i thought i measured it right #maybe i used too little seam allowance #but I'm absolutely in love w the fabric #and i got so much of it since it was on sale ans the remnants so i got like four yards for a quarter of the price #Ill have to make a whole ensemble if i ever figure out the fucking rectangles #do a bandana and a purse #idk what else lol

[preeningpisces]

pleaaase could we get some more choso stuff? maybe some more nsfw headcanons if you have them or if not then some drabble of him being a Little Freak (endearing)?? anything that you'd feel like tbh <33

Omfg of course!! I actually have a lil fic I’m working on for him rn, so hopefully I won’t take too much longer. Love me some freak Choso. Thank you for taking the time to send this!

Hopefully this isn't too weird, lol

Choso being a lil freak

Content: fingering, masturbation, handjob, mild dacryphilia, ear eating, saliva, use of good boy and baby

18+ content below, mdni, afab!reader, enjoy!

The TV drones in the background as you scroll through your phone, leaning into the arm of the couch. Anxious anticipation rolls off your boyfriend. You don’t have to look to know he’s fidgeting with the blanket, trying his best to focus on the show—an episode of How It’s Made, his favorite. It’s obvious what he wants, it’s what he always wants when you’re around, but he remains bashful nonetheless. Amused, you let him stew in discomfort, wanting to see how long it takes for him to crack.

He adjusts himself and scoots closer to you, in what you think was an attempt at subtly. A smirk threatens to split your mouth, and you can feel your lips wobble from the effort of resisting. What was once fiddling with the blanket becomes a bouncing leg, drumming fingers, and more frequent glances. Laughter presses against the seam of your lips when he sighs, but you keep it at bay. You’re as focused on your phone as he is on the TV; his energy is contagious and makes your desire spark. But right now, you just want to antagonize him.

Sex is a recent development in your relationship, and ever since you gave Choso the keys to the kingdom, he wants it all the time. Not that you mind. Introducing your boyfriend to sex in all its forms has been fun, to say the least. This isn’t cruelty: you’re just building his confidence to initiate, you tell yourself. Not two minutes later, he says your name in question. Innocently, you set your phone aside, giving him your full attention.

“Do you…?”

“Do I what, Choso?” It’s clear he didn’t anticipate any pushback, because looks ready to retreat.

“Can we?” His stare is intense and imploring as he rests a hand on your knee.

“Oh, I don’t know, this article is pretty interesting” — a lie. When he deflates with puppy eyes, you feel too guilty to not throw him a bone. “But I could be persuaded.” Confusion flits over his face; he really does need everything laid out for him, doesn’t he? “I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, unless something more tempting comes along,” you say, and with no further explanation, return to your scrolling. You know this worked even though he hasn’t moved, because he’s wringing his hands and mulling over his next step.

Maybe you are cruel. Just a bit.

An unsure arm winds around your hip, and pulls you away from the armrest to sit upright. With a delicate press to your jaw, he turns your head to kiss him, but you pull back.

“Ah, ah—you can’t turn me away or block the screen.” Now understanding the game, he nods with wide eyes. “Good boy.” Excited, he sits right next to you, but doesn’t remove his hold on your hip. Hesitant kisses tickle your jaw and neck—more endearing than distracting. The complete lack of reaction prompts Choso to trail from your jaw to your chest, and cup your right breast.

A post makes you laugh, and you feel him bristle beside you. Riled up, he squeezes your breast harder than you thought he would, and goes for your nipple. Choso absolutely loves your breasts, it’s no shock he sought them out first. What is shocking is how aggressively he’s touching them. Normally, his touch is irreverent and pleading. A weak pinch makes you flinch, but you keep your focus.

“Is that okay?” 

“All I said is you can’t turn me or block the screen,” you say vaguely, allowing his imagination to fill in the rest. A sharp pinch is his reply, making you gasp. Tentative kisses are forgotten as he breathes into your ear, now more focused on the weight in his hand. Wearing no bra, there’s only a thin t-shirt between you and his fondling; rolling your nipple around and tugging it occasionally. As if just remembering he has one, he mouths at your jaw, and gently nips at your ear. The sweet attention makes you hum, your eyes hooded as you lazily continue scrolling, barely paying attention to what you see.

Suddenly, the kisses stop, and his hold on you relaxes. You fight the urge to look at him. Is this his way of playing, or is something wrong? Before you can ask, his lips rest at your ear, barely touching. Anticipation stills your shoulders, and you stare at the screen blankly as you wait for him to do something. Those lips press against your ear, and stop, gauging your reaction. When there is none, he kisses your ear fully, gently.

You expect him to move on, but one kiss becomes two, then three, then doesn’t stop at all; his head angles, and his kiss becomes more passionate, fully making out with your ear now. It tingles, and despite your bewilderment, you let out a breathy whine. Emboldened, he introduces his tongue, which licks at the planes and ridges. Cheeks hot and appalled, you shriek his name—he squeezes your hip so hard it could bruise.

Normally, he would release you and frantically make sure you’re alright, but your taunting must have affected him more than expected.The odd sensation makes you squirm, but you stubbornly grip your phone, and don’t turn to him. This only cues him to pull at your nipple with a twist, making you arch and moan.

He’s quick to move on; his hand dips under the waistband of your sweats, then your panties, and wastes no time rubbing soft circles around your clit. As if touching your pussy wasn’t enough, his tongue dips into your ear’s canal, making you nearly drop your phone. It doesn’t go far, but enough that it’s oddly sensitive. Sounds cut in and out, like you’ve dived into a pool and swam back up. Embarrassingly, you feel yourself throb.

“You’re really wet,” Choso says, and immediately returns to assaulting your ear. His bluntness only makes you more mortified, and the nerves in your neck and jaw prickle. The attentive circles are consistent, and keep a steady pace, which only drives you crazy, noises spilling from you freely. With his mouth covering your ear, you can’t tell how loud you are—every sound you make blares internally, as if you’re listening to yourself through earbuds. Your sounds arouse more of his own, overwhelming your mind. You can’t even hear the TV anymore, or the sticky sounds you know your pussy is making.

So enwrapped in pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed Choso was humping the air, his moans somehow both stifled and amplified. Unable to resist, you toss your phone and cup his bulge, letting him grind into your hand. Abandoning your hip, he helps you slide his sweats and boxers down his hips, cock twitching with need once it's exposed to the cool air. You wrap you hand around his cock and stroke him making his legs tremble. The hand previously on your hip winds back around you to continue stroking your clit, while the other slides two fingers in your needy cunt. 

“Oh, fuck–oh fuck,” you belt, grinding against his hands, helping him find your g-spot. When he grazes it, you shout his name, and he strokes it with every thrust of his fingers. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The steady pace fumbles when you spit in your palm and continue stroking him. He chokes on a gasp and sucks the shell of your ear in his mouth; it’s the most you’ve been able to hear since he began, but the leftover saliva prevents you from hearing clearly. You twist slightly as you stroke upward, squeezing near his head. Even with the lingering saliva, you’re finally blessed with the wet sounds of his cock and your pussy.

“Please—ah—please cum,” his high-pitched and needy voice doesn’t match the way he roughly fingerfucks your pussy, stretching it with spread fingers and pushing your hood back to attack your clit. Overwhelmed, you shiver as you approach your release; it isn’t until he resumes his lip lock with your ear and tongues at the canal that you come with a keen. “T-that’s it, you look so pretty when you c-cum.”

Your body locks up as your stomach twists from the convulsions, and your pussy clenches around him nonstop, but he doesn’t let up until you still. He covers your limp hand with his own, and he pumps his cock furiously, chasing his end. Gripping one of his buns, you smash your lips together. Distantly, you expected a waxy taste, but were relieved to find none. Tongues graze, drool pools, and he makes debauched sounds when you pinch his tongue between your fingers.

“Are you gonna cum?” You pull his tongue tauntingly and squeeze around his cock. When he nods instead of answering, you pinch it harder, and his cheeks go redder than you’ve ever seen them.

“Yeth, I’-I-” he lets out long, continuous whimpers as he comes. Sensitive, he removes his hand, but you grip his wrist and make him stroke himself through it, thick cum leaking over your joined hands. Tears and drool roll down his face, but you keep stroking his cock with a sickening squelch. 

It’s only when he stops leaking cum that you release him, soothing him with kisses to his wet cheek before fetching the nearby water. The two of you lay against each other, now winded.

“I’m just going to address the elephant in the room: why did you stick your tongue in my ear?”

“You wouldn’t let me kiss you,” he shrugs, as if it was obvious. “I’m glad you liked it, though.”

“I did not!”

“Okay, if saying that makes you feel be-” you smother him with a throw pillow. 

Next time, you’ll think twice before giving Choso the reins to do whatever he wants. 

#freak (endearing) got me lmfao #secret dreamer ☁︎ #dreams of choso ☁︎ #wet dreams ☽ #choso smut #choso x reader #jjk smut #it actually feels kind of nice so dont knock it til you try it folks #hope this is what you were looking for anon! #drabbles ☽ #dream interpretation ☽ #dreams ☽

[puzzled-pegasus]

On the ADHD demigods' stim habits (headcanon list)

Percy

He talks and mutters to himself a lot and he also paces around his cabin

Restless Leg(TM)

He used to chew on things a lot but adults told him that he was Not Allowed to bite pencils or shirt sleeves or paper or anything so his outlet is mostly snacks, chewy candy is the best for this

Someone get him a seashell chewy necklace please

Oh you know what they should have stim toys at the CHB gift shop for all the ADHD kiddos

He also probably cracks his knuckles and joints a lot

He hums when there's a song stuck in his head and it's really annoying but he can't really stop it cause he doesn't notice until someone gets mad at him and then hes like ??

Annabeth

Annabeth tends to chew up her pencils a lot

She also compulsively daydreams and builds designs of buildings in her head and reviews lists of stuff she wants to remember

She finds herself doing random math while she's supposed to be paying attention. Like if someone is telling her something and her brain drifts off more often than not she's looking at something around and being like "let me just calculate how many bricks are probably in that stack over there" or "hmm i wonder how many gallons of water are in the canoe lake"

She also gets distracted if there's any other social interactions of people around her and she just people watches and makes inferences about what people are feeling and whats going on in their lives

Also she chews her hair and sometimes puts little braids in it

She picks at her skin too a lot and sometimes pulls out strands of hair

Piper

Piper flaps her hands a lot especially when she's excited

She flips and braids her hair too

If she has feathers on her she will sometimes take it out if she's bored and either preen it with her fingers or use it to tickle someone to annoy them

She sings a lot but mostly to herself and sometimes she can be heard humming or softly singing without noticing

If she has any kind of paper available, like notebook paper or napkins or maybe candy or gum wrappers, sometimes she'll make little origami things

She also picks at her nails quite a bit

Leo

Leo has the most stims that he's unable to mask, as we know already.

He taps on surfaces and messes with his clothing a lot

He also whistles sometimes which can get annoying to people around him so he tries not to do that but if he's alone or really concentrating on something he will

He will also play with pretty much anything he finds on the ground like paper clips and those office clamp things and he'll take apart mechanical pencils and pens and put them back together and if he finds a tack or a safety pin or something there's a 90 percent chance he'll stab it through the skin of his finger(s)

If he's outside he'll pick up leaves and flowers and shred them or pick up sticks and break them

He was also probably one of those kids who would put glue on his hands so he could peel it off

Jason

i wasnt sure if Jason had ADHD but I looked it up and it said he did so oh well lol

Hes like. Freakily good at masking stims and it kinda creeps everyone out especially the CHB demigods

BUT he still has them

He have the restless leg

He also does like random stretching sometimes

When he's standing in one place for a while he kinda stands on one leg or bounces his heels

Sometimes he'll pick up objects from the ground or something and play with it like Leo does, especially if he's outside and there's like rocks or something

He does a similar thing to Annabeth too but instead of math he'll try to identify any animal noises or animals he sees like birds in the sky or like if he hears a dog bark he'll try to figure out what kind of dog

Hazel

Hazel's stims are the least obvious but they are definitely there.

If she has a view of outside she will gaze out of the window or look around her and figure out how many types of trees or whatever that she can see

She will also mess with the seams or edges of her clothing

If she has paper around she'll draw horses or other animals or sometimes people or she'll practice her cursive letters and make them fancy

She picks at her skin and her hair as well

Frank

Frank does not have ADHD. He sits there quietly and everyone thinks hes weird. Sometimes he gets wiggly if he's nervous but otherwise nah

#heroes of olympus headcanon #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo #hoo #the seven demigods

[vtoriacore]

✧ never the first

note: wow i can't go long without writing for vil at all. i wanted him to suffer today, can't say i'm sorry when i'm still feeling petty BECAUSE HIS BDAY CARDS DIDNT COME THIS YEAR. anyways sorry vil, love you really but also suffer <3

synopsis: he viewed you as more than a friend, and it was tearing him apart from the inside; couldn't you see him as more?

reblogs much appreciated, mwah 💞💓

Envy, not an emotion Vil was used to feeling in regards to someone else. Sure, he could begrudgingly admit that he did feel searing jealously whenever Neige was up on stage start to finish, playing roles fitting for someone of his 'cute' and 'innocent' stature (industry's words, not his own) but envy? No, never envy. He was never envious of his one-sided rival, never had been and never will be. Which is something he'd thought up until now, thinking over how you talk to Neige so casually and without a care in the world as if you'd known him your entire life. Why did Neige get to have your attention like this, spoken to like a treasure, when you were so formal with Vil, as if he were just another commodity?

Always a 'good morning, Vil.' but never a 'morning hun!', always a 'goodbye' but never a 'see ya later dear!', always a 'how are you today?' but never an 'aww what's got you so down sweetie?' and always-

"Roi du Poison!" why couldn't you dote on him like that?

"There has been a little emergency back at the dorm, you see-" why didn't you gift him any of your endearing nicknames?

"We aren't sure if the potion is dangerous yet and the freshman-" why couldn't you see the longing in his eyes every time you were together?

"Roi du Poison! By the Seven, are you listening? Undoubtedly so, your thoughts are always deeply beautiful and assuredly just as important but this is no time to be occupied in this manner!"

Ah, how vexing. Or perhaps he should feel grateful at the fact Rook, the blabbering (not that he minded) man he is, came over to distract him from his thoughts? Not that it was working very well, because even now as he's being whisked away in order to deal with the fool who potentially contaminated the Pomefiore labs with a dangerous substance, all he can think about is that sweet smile you'd direct at Neige and how it contrasts with the formal one you always direct at him. Did he really intimidate you this much? Or did you not wish to pursue anything more than aquaintanceship with him? Even thinking the word stung, and he desperately wished it didn't.

"How did this mess happen?" he asked as he observed the unsightly scene, but didn't process it. Really, how could this mess have happened? How could he have gotten so deeply involved with you when you viewed him as nothing but a friend, or maybe even less?

"I- I'm sorry housewarden! It was an honest mistake- I added too much rosemary oil and-" and he never did think that you'd be anything more than a friend initially. So why? Why did he allow his heart to tear open at its seams when you aren't the one there to mend it, when you aren't the one to stitch the fragile felt, when you aren't the one to weave every thread of his love together into something you could both admire? Why couldn't you be the one?

"Take utmost precaution in the future. Come. I'll instruct you on how to properly dispose of the potion's residue with magic. Rook, please ensure no passing students are in the vicinity," he didn't allow his voice to tremble, despite the thrashing storm of emotions passing through him in waves, eroding at his steel, or perhaps iron with how fast it was crumbling, will. But he knew this endeavour was fruitless. It isn't like he could focus on anything but the raging thoughts, sharper than ever, ringing in his head; was he not enough for you? Did he lack something fundamental you were looking for? Could you not find anything within him to build something beautiful up?

"Thank you housewarden! I'll make sure to be more careful in the future," he didn't respond, not when his underclassman waited for a response and not when Rook came back to assess the situation, not when he himself couldn't even assess what it is he was missing that made you want Neige and not him.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twst x yuu #twst x y/n #twst x reader angst #twst angst #twst vil x reader #twst vil

[cassieuncaged]

The Price of Compassion - Part 2

Part 1

Astarion x Female Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to keep you at an arm's length. However, your wit and kindness are overpowering.

TW: suggestive material, brooding, language (?), etc.

WC: 2.2K

A/N: Listen, I got carried away. The spiciness will be in the next chapter. Maybe the next two chapters actually because this story got slightly extended. Oops...

Also decided to use 'Down by the River' as an in universe lullaby because it's such a lovely composition.

Twigs snapped beneath pointed boots as Astarion wandered to a nearby clearing. Past the ruins south of camp, he thought he’d have an advantage over the naïve bard or at least the foresight to arrive at the clearing first to get rather comfortable.

Such a thought is dashed away as pointed ears are graced by elegant strings, plucked slowly and sensibly before a melodic voice accompanies the tune.

“Lace your heart with mine

Let your sleeping soul take flight

Take me through the night

Down, down, down by the river.”

Cocking his head in curiosity, Astarion soaks in the beauty of your words, contemplating his own loneliness for a second before such thoughts are swallowed. A damned bard will not be allowed to cut him to the bone, nerves and sinews be damned.

No matter how prettily a yarn can be woven into song.

“Hanging moon in fog

Mists will lead where you belong

Sweep me off my feet

Down, down, down by the river.”

“And I thought I was eager.” He coos, sidling beside the gnarled log which you’ve sought purchase upon. Clearly rattled by the intrusion, the fiddle’s bow is raised as a rather embarrassing weapon, earning and amused chuckle as it’s lowered. “What are you going to do? Strum me to death?”

“Strummed taut and keening…” you string words together smarmily, noticing how an ashen brow arches in amusement. “Muscles tight and sweat gleaming…”

“My, my,” Astarion hums, before perching himself beside you. “I may have misread my sweet little bard for a far too delicate treat.”

“We entertainers are fans of debauchery, after all.” Heat rises up your cheeks, stoking the fire that already burns brightly inside your guts. Settling your violin aside, eyes drift to find Astarion’s own glued distantly to the low hanging moon. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Maybe that’s because I arrived at a reasonable time,” he smirks, gaze never tearing from the inky canvas of sky. “It appears you couldn’t wait for such a coupling.”

“Maybe the Tieflings were gnawing at my nerves, and I needed an early escape.” Chewing the inside of your lip, the nerves become palpable like a storm of moths fluttering in your guts. You want him, badly. But it appears that such a neediness isn’t reciprocated. Quite the opposite as the vampire folds into himself, suddenly lacking the confidence he so often exudes.

“I’d be inclined to believe you if you weren’t obnoxiously performing with sweet Alfira only hours earlier.”

“Well,” you begin before clearing your throat, feeling more and more exposed the longer you sit with him like this.

“Well ‘what’?” suddenly, icy fingers are twining with your own as you chance a peek upwards. Eyes glitter like rubies, heavy lidded with wanton anticipation. It appears that confidence has returned in droves despite how guarded he is. “You’ve rather piqued my interest, darling.”

“I-I…” your words trail off as the vampire leans in, hand still knotted with your own. Your stuttered breathing rattles in his ears, blood thrumming deliciously beneath feverish skin. Cheeks are tinted with a flush of pink as your lips remain open, parted deliciously. “I think I’d like you to kiss me.”

“Oh, sweet pet,” he tuts, opposite hand snaking around to tilt your chin upwards. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It’s odd when lush lips meet yours, devoid of all warmth as his tongue swipes against the seam of a tightly sealed mouth. But you comply, grappling with the ruffles of his tunic. The laces are loosened, revealing a plane of muscled skin beneath that you deign to run your teeth across.

The coolness of his visage isn’t as strange as you’d assume, absorbing your warmth as if it were his own. Sharp cheeks would likely be flushed pink if anything other than putrid sludge pumped through his veins. Yet Astarion remains painfully rigid as you melt into his delectable touch. Restraining himself emotionally becomes a physical strain when a smooth tongue dutifully slides across your own, caressing soft gums before retreating.

You pull away, realizing that the motions are simply being glided through instead of savored out of unbridled passion. Being starved for so long leaves you craving more. A palm flattens across a solid chest as your own heaves breathlessly.

“Something wrong?” his chin tilts sideways with the confusion of a man who’s never known rejection. “Having second thoughts?”

“No,” your head shakes as lips stretch into a saccharine smile, “You’re rather talented with that silver tongue.”

“Why don’t I show you just how talented I am?” A muscular arm snakes around your waist, closing the gap between you as fangs graze across the tender flesh of your throat.

“Astarion,” you half moan, half plead. “I can’t help but think you’re having second thoughts.”

Such an accusation takes the vampire by surprise, lips frozen against hot flesh. His autonomy has been an afterthought for nearly two centuries, wants and desires swallowed whole while fresh blood was sought for such a treacherous master. Pulling back, he studies you, clearly irritated as brows furrow deeply.

“What in the hells are you talking about? I’m here aren’t I?” This is the second time you’ve seen him helpless in the moonglow. The other was the first night he’d fed on you, frightened and calculating as a creature who had known cruelty for too long, fear settled deep into aching bones.

“Physically, yes,” you ease out the words carefully, sensing the already taut tension tightening further, “But mentally…You’re restrained.”

“It’s my body needed to grant you pleasure.” He growls, eyes glowing like embers of a flame. “Is it not?”

“You seem rather skilled where sex is concerned, Astarion. Surely you know it’s not only about bodily instinct?”

“I-erm…” his voice trails off immediately as a storm brewed behind wine red irises. He doesn’t know. Not completely. His past has been a veritable parade of lovers that craved to feel his body pinned against their own. It had all been mechanical in nature, pure impulse. “Forgive me.”

“Maybe I’m rather old fashioned,” you sigh, awkwardly running your fingers through your hair, “But I always thought of sex as an excuse to truly get lost in someone, body and soul. Isn’t that why you invited me out here?”

“Precisely,” Pearly teeth are tightly clenched, fangs glinting the words tumbled in his brain with a wave of confusion. After nearly two hundred years without any questions concerning his prowess or intentions, it’s you that has to make it complicated. You who has the audacity to want more when all he’s searching for is protection. You who wants to…love him?

That’s unlikely though he figures the prospect would appeal to someone like you. So sweet and emotional. How on earth could you ever fall for a wretched beast like him?

Now he wonders when he last physically enjoyed himself. He wracks his mind for one memory, a lone night in the blur of many that he was concerned about his own ecstasy, enjoyment in the arms of another. But there’s nothing but a black abyss.

“Damn you,” he hisses, pulling away completely before cradling his face in large hands, “This was supposed to be simple! Charming you, seducing you, earning your trust and keeping the spoils for myself. Leave it to the pretty little bard to complicate it all.”

“What are you talking about?” Blinking hard, you’re baffled by what he could possibly be talking about. Was this all a farce? Some cruel prank at your expense? Did he even like you?

“No one has ever burrowed their way under my skin quite like you.” He spits with no small amount of vitriol. “What an irritating, caring being you are! Why are you always so gods damned considerate?”

“I-I-I…” you stutter, watching as Astarion bounces up onto the balls of his feet before marching off with no small amount of aggravation. “Wait!”

Plucking your nearly forgotten fiddle in one hand, booted feet are quick to weave through a sparse throng of trees, following the blur of white and silver as Astarion continues an angst driven trek further into the forest. The splash of running water against rocks and pebbles grows louder when you realize he’s stopped at a lush bank beside a sprawling river. Likely the one that spills into the lake cradling the peninsula where camp is situated.

Astarion allows himself to settle against dewy blades of grass with a huff as you silently follow in suit. The stream rushes downward, rivulets of foam gathering as it does. It’s likely one of many veins that eventually curls into Chionthar River. Eyes glisten at the thought of jumping in to see if you’ll silently drift to Baldur’s Gate. For lack of a better word, this ‘adventure’ has made you homesick. Idly plucking at the strings of your violin, you imagine the many you’ll be able to write upon your return.

“That song you were playing earlier.” Astarion’s voice is hardly a whisper when he suddenly addresses you. “Did you write it?”

“No,” You smirk wryly, “All I’m capable of writing is a rather bawdy ballad and remembering rather tragic songs from my youth, I’m afraid. My mother sang it to me when I was a wee babe.”

“You’ve quite the pretty singing voice,” he quips haughtily, easing back into his comfortable façade. “Maybe one day you’ll write an epic of a rather debonaire vampire spawn.”

“Do you mock me?” Eyes squint suspiciously as you attempt to discern his formidable cruelty.

“If I was mocking you, darling,” lush lips quirk into smarmy grin, “You’d know.”

“Maybe I’ll compose a tune about what a rotten horse’s arse you are.” This earns a genuine chuckle as Astarion stretches out, legs akimbo across the sod as he leans back on his elbows. He looks genuinely…relaxed. Has he come to trust your intentions in such a short time?

“Doubt you’d be the first. I’ve been a roguish fiend for centuries now; I’m absolutely positive I’ve pissed off a rather creative bard or two. Feisty little shits. No offense.”

“None taken,” you giggle, “It’s what keeps us alive and others on their fucking toes. Being a performer isn’t a simple task in the Faerûn. We boast flutes instead of swords, a quick wit instead of quick feet. If we weren’t feisty little shits, we’d have gone extinct long ago.”

“Excellent prey for vampiric spawn,” he sighs bitterly, lost in those dark and swirling thoughts once more, “Then again, so is anything else with a pulse.”

Silently, you ease down into the grass, dew drops prickling against your doublet. A pregnant silence lingers as your eyes drift across stars freckling the sky in sparkling pinpricks. You want to inquire about the protection Astarion seeks. Surely he doesn’t think you’d be any match for Cazador.

What do you offer other than a crude joke tossed at an enemy in hopes of distracting them during battle?

“What do you want?” you look over at the man, skin shimmering like moonstones. Silver waves of hair curl around pointed hair and the corner of lips tug downwards.

“I want to be present,” his voice is heavy with emotion, deeper than his usual timbre. Moonlight splinters through the canopy of trees, giving him a lustrous shine. His tunic billows in the heady breeze, laces undone as you chance another peek at his chest. “Though I fear that may be an impossibility.”

“I’d never push you to participate in any relations…” your voice trails off as ruby eyes shutter, a sigh wracking his body.

“Gods,” A large hand slides down the sharp angles of a statuesque face, “Stop caring. You hardly know anything about me.”

“Maybe I should leave,” you finally concede, attempting to crawl to your feet until icy fingers wrap around your wrist. It’s a silent plea, one that’s only solidified when dark eyes meet your own.

“Please,” his mask has completely dissolved, lips parted ever so slightly. “I enjoy your company. Even if you frighten me.”

“I frighten you?”

“Don’t sound shocked,” he pouts, thumb running circles around a tantalizing pulse point. “You’re more terrifying than what awaits us in the Underdark. Your words bite into my throat like a blade.”

“You would know,” his grip tightens, “Would you like me to rip your innards out with razor sharp talons? Like a fearsome harpy?”

“What lovely pillow talk,” he coos. Astarion grins wolfishly before swiftly covering your body with his own. The motions are ingrained in the folds of his brain, deeper than the wriggling tadpole. But something feels different. This doesn’t erase the past but you soften the moment with sincerity.

You crave him, a sensation that’s sensed through the illithid connection.  

“I’d sing your praises if you shower me with those lovely lips.” You croon as your thumbs rub circles into his shoulders, fingers drifting across the ruffles of his tunic. Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums. The words are a riddle that serve as another cryptic flourish about his personality.

“And I’ll sing yours if you spread those pretty little legs,” his knee hooks beneath yours, pushing it upwards as you arch against him.

Astarion wants to devour you whole and you’ll let him.

Willingly.

Hungrily.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #reader insert #bard reader #bg3 fanfiction #angst #then fluff and smut

[prophecyofwinter]

Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Prologue

Chapter 3: Lemon Scented Letters

“You know it is not good luck for one to fall asleep after morning prayer.”

You groan as thin curtains were forced apart allowing the full force of the sun to shine through. You roll over to cover your face, maybe if you hid away she’d let you sleep. The pups at the foot of your bed stretched and jumped off to go seek out the cooks for some type of meat scraps.

They get bigger and bigger every day, it’s been almost a month since you’ve received them and they have grown quickly.

“Did you know it is bad luck to wake the Lady of Light at any point?”

“I will take my chances Y/N. It’s almost midday!”

You sigh in defeat and roll over to your back, letting out a big puff of air blowing your hair out of your face. Thankfully you don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, just you, Tyanna, and a bunch of cute little sandwiches.

“Tyanna, the cooks are serving those finger sandwiches for Luncheon aren’t they? Cucumbers are in season aren’t they?”

Suddenly you hear stomping leading up to your room and the abrupt sounds of your guards berating the individuals at the doorstep of your personal chambers. You recognize the voice instantly… fuck.

“Let Priest Titus in!”

Red Priest Titus, he’s one of the oldest in the temple and came over on a pilgrimage to bear witness to you. He’s one of the few who believes in you but still gives you a hard time with your choices.

“When were you going to tell me?!”

He could be talking about any number of things, for an old wise man he fumes up far too easily. Reminds you why he doesn’t deal with the politics of the temple.

“If you wanted to join us for luncheon you could’ve just asked.”

“You know very well I am not talking about finger sandwiches!-“

“Well I only want to talk about finger sandwiches so this must wait until after…”

The old man was very clearly fuming, about to bust at the seams of his Red robes. You had no idea what he was talking about but just to see him getting mad makes your day.

“This absolutely cannot wait! When were you going to mention to- to- to anyone that you were going back to Westeros!”

“No one is going back to Westeros! Not soon at least-“

“Then explain this!”

A letter is thrown at you, but it is an open piece of paper so it just flutters to the ground a few feet in front of Titus with a more embarrassed look on his face while you lay slightly amused.

“Well. Now what.”

“Allow me to get that my Lady…”

Tyanna rushes from the other side of the room to grab the piece of parchment off of the floor and handing it over to you and backing away slowly.

You rub your tried eyes and unwrinkle the letter that had been so foolishly tossed to the floor and began to read unamused.

To the Court of the Lady of Light

The Crown of Westeros and House Targaryen humbly requests the beloved presence of the illustrious Lady of Light.

By the turn of the next moon, we wish to be gifted with her graces presence.

We hope to hold a banquet in her honor, as we understand it draws near to the Feast of the First Sun.

We would be honored to host the week of festivities in tandem with the Faith's own Summers Night Feast in Kingslanding.

Alongside her grace and her Courtesans, will be joined by his royal highness King Viserys and Queen Alicent with their children Prince Aegon Targaryen, Princess Helaena Targaryen, and Prince Aemond Targaryen. Other Houses may be in attendance at their own will.

Sincerely, the Crown of Westeros.

Your face softens as you read and a soft lemon scent wafts through your nose, clearly it was soaked into the paper somehow.

He knows… He really knows…

“Aemond…” you whisper delicately while stroking his name written on the paper.

“This is an insult! They dare try to dirty our grand feast with- with- their shit copy!” You can barely hear Titus over the blood in your ears.

“We must go, write them back immediately.”

“Forgive me for saying but have you been inhaling too much Ash my Lady?! You do not know what they have planned!”

You hop up from your bed almost immediately, you felt the need to defend Aemond. No one here knows him, and to assume he would have this sent out to harm you?

“Aemond would not allow!- The Targaryens would not allow such acts on their grounds!”

You feel the room get cold and silent even with the humid summer heat. Your outburst you’ll admit was uncalled for but, if Aemond wants to see you, you shall be seen.

Titus’s face hardens and zones in on you and the letter in your hands and lets out a strained breath admitting his own defeat.

“I see, very well. I am bound to you, I go where you go my Lady.”

“Have a Priest write a letter back confirming our attendance, and Tyanna, gather members for a procession to escort and attend to me during our stay. After luncheon of course.”

Titus’s quick defeat should worry you, clearly the mention of Aemond made him realize something. The relief and serenity of the thought of being back in Westeros, even if not the North. Is too great for you to think about much else.

Oh Aemond…

——————————

“I heard Lys is nice this time of year.”

Alicent feels her body tense up at the mention of the three lettered country, especially when it falls from Aemonds mouth. She takes a long sip of her tea to articulate her thoughts, but the worry eats at her tongue regardless. Even the gardens that surround them help none to ease her stress.

“You have no business in Lys, you’ve never been. Why the interest in Lys?”

Aemond walks closer to the table where his mother sits and pulls out his own chair to take a seat across from his mother. Hands folded neatly, no elbows on the table as his mother taught him so, deep breath in long breath out.

“I read a book in the library, about the Lord of Light and the temple in Lys. A rather new book actually, published in High Valyrian around 2 years ago. It tells about their new Deity, the Lady of Light. Few know her name but they describe her with features from the First Men-“

“Do not torture me any longer, I cannot bear it. Aegon babbled to you, didn't he?”

Aemond sits for an extra moment longer, thinking about where he wanted this to go. What he really wanted to come from this interaction.

Maybe he would make his Mother sit in it a little longer.

“Aegon talks about a lot of things Mother, which do you speak of? I just wanted to tell you of my studies, since we tell each other important information.”

Alicent knows she’s asked for this to some extent. She knew Aegon would tell Aemond but she didn’t think it would happen this soon. She knows Aemond cares about this girl and he wants her to suffer just a little.

“Gods! I’m sorry that I did not tell you but need I remind you how you reacted the last time she was mentioned! I didn’t know where you were, you disappeared for days!”

Aemond says nothing, he sits there and twiddles his thumbs. Maybe he was sitting there to think or maybe to just see if his mother kept going. It was a cloudy day, no burning sun coming down on Aemonds black leather clothes, he could sit here all day if he wanted to. Normally the hot weather makes it too hot for him to think clearly.

“What would you have me do Aemond? Invite her here? So your eyes can meet and embrace each other while crowds clap and cheer, then marry and run away into the sunset?-“

“That’s exactly what we shall do. I read in the same book that they hold the Feast of the First Sun at the same time as the Summers Night Feast.”

Aemond had thought this through delicately it seems… What he asks is a tall order, not realistic in the slightest. However, if Alicent desires to place Aegon on the throne, Aemond having the fancy of a powerful religious leader wouldn’t… not help.

How would she get the faith to approve of such an activity though? To break bread to who they believe are heretics… The North has the Old Gods, the Targaryens have the Valyrian Gods…

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

[hyunsvngs]

content warning: masochist,gymrat(kinda),bf!hannie, sub!hanjisung, cockstepping, scratching (m. rec), hair pulling (m. rec), switch!reder, foot stuff (duh), dirty talk, degradation (m. rec), aftercare/ implied aftercare, safe word mentioned but not used

———————————————————————————

“Jisung, why do you wanna get so big? Are you a masochist?” You eyed him as you both walk to your shared apartment.

“A.. a masochist?” He stops dead in his tracks, which has you turning to face him two feet away. The tips of his ears are turning the prettiest shade of pink and his boba eyes are so wide, mouth slightly agape.

“You’ve put on quite the muscle since I first met you a few years ago,” you begin, images of Jisung walking into your college mathematics class looking considerably toned, but slightly thin. A small smile finds it’s way onto your face as you finish your sentence, “and every New Year’s Day I ask you what your resolution is, but the answer is always the same.. ‘I wanna get bigger’.”

He looks down at his physique and makes a unsatisfied face. “I just don’t think my physique looks that nice,” he begins walking and grabs your hand to lead you on the sidewalk. You almost think you didn’t hear him correctly when he whispered “and maybe being sore feels really good.”

And heard him correctly you did.

A week later, Jisung asks you a question you never thought you’d hear.

“Hypothetically? Are we sure this is a hypothetical question, Hannie?” One of your eyebrows is raised out of suspension while he plays with a loose sting hanging from the bottom of his grey sweatpants shorts. You walk over to his figure on the couch from your previous position in the kitchen and sit next to him. His body sinks towards your weight, his face vulnerable.

“I thought about what you said.. and it makes sense. 1000%. I enjoy feeling pain. I like how it feels when I’m done doing a set of exercises, and I especially love being sore the next day. I just- I wanna try it. Please.” Jisung shifts his body so that he’s facing you, almost frantically. Like he can sense you pulling away, even though he knows you wouldn’t leave him because of this..maybe you would find him weird. He doesn’t want that either though.

“Are we talking barefoot? Sneakers? Boots? High heels?” Your head tilts and you even look away a little to think about what he would want as the first step.

“H-huh?” There’s no longer a pit in the bottom on his stomach, just whispers of heat beginning to stir under his waistband. He’s beginning to fall apart at the seams and nothing has even happened yet.

You had already toe-d off your house shoes before he realized what’s going on. “You can’t seriously be hard already.. we just started talking about it!” You laugh and he covers his semi with both of his hands. “I-I’m sorry baby.. sorry.”

Without a word, you slapped his hands. He knew what you wanted.. his hands away and to not return until told otherwise. He’s gripping and unclenching the couch cushion with anticipation and desperation, head already a little numb. It’s always easy to spot when he gets floaty- his ears and neck (even upper chest) become splotchy with a dusty pink hue, and his hands are restless.

“Hannie, you look so pretty like this. Can you tell me the safe word?” You stroke his cheek and wait for his answer. The word is spoken softly, almost like he is too scared to speak any louder- terrified he may ruin the mood after he built the courage to ask you such a question. “Perfect baby, sit up a little for me.”

Jisung sits up slightly, allowing you to remove his loose black shirt. His heated, splotchy chest looks like a masterpiece paired with his tanned skin; it invites you to places kisses against the muscle. Your right hand flies to his waist and dig your fingertips into him. He jerks at the feeling of your lips and hand- he wants, NO.. needs more.

“Please hurt me, pleasepleasepl- AH!” His hips lift from the cushion as he feels your teeth nip harshly at the skin next to this left nipple, your hand following to scratch at his side.

“Jisungie.. shhhh. Let me play with your body.” You whisper against him. You place your right hand on top on his clothed cock, and the most sinful and beautiful moans are coming out of his mouth. As quickly as your hand appeared, it disappeared and he makes his disappointment known. You shoot him a glare to shut him up and he listens. He knows you mean business right now- you always do when it comes to his pleasure.

At his side, next cushion over, you lean back on both hands and lift your right leg. Bent at the knee, ankle loose and foot firm, you hover it over Jisung’s hips. He’s watching your every move with scrunched eyebrows and mouth unhinged. The ball of your foot begins to press down on his erection, not stopping even though gravity has done all its work. The force starts to push into his bladder but still no mind, he’s now staring at you like you put the damn stars in the sky and you’re drenched. You can feel your panties sticking and it won’t get better from here because you know he won’t want to stop any time soon.

“Hannie, does it feel good? Or do you not want it to feel good?” Even you’re breathless.. the view you have looks straight out of some cheap porno. His red and bitten-raw lips open, his cheeks flush and his eyes heavily lidded with lust, even his labored breathing.

“Need more. More pain. Please” Voice cracking on his last word, you get up as fast as you possibly can. This newfound confidence in yourself after seeing what you can do for your boyfriend has you reeling. Jisung lets out a yelp of surprise when you grab a fist full of his hair and begin to drag him off the couch and to the center of the living room.

“Take off your shorts and lay down. Now. And I didn’t tell you to touch yourself, did I?” He had grabbed his base over his shorts when you tugged on his hair. He feels so pathetic like this, he could totally get off on this but he doesn’t want it to end soon. He stripped himself of his shorts and laid down on the carpet floor, even the navy blue underwear making for a great view against his thick thighs- threads stretched taught against the muscle.

The second his whole body made contact with the floor, you raised your right leg again. Bent at the knee but with a firm ankle and firm foot, you dug your heel into his cock. Jisung took in a sharp breath and a few moments later, released a shaky one. “Oh fuuuuuuuck!” His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You’re dripping, and you’re about to lose your mind seeing Jisung strung out on the carpet like this. You don’t even wanna blink because you’re afraid you might miss the sight like he could disappear.

“How about this, Hannie? You like this shit?” You scoff, “What a fucking painslut. Getting off to me stepping on your dick.” You moved your ankle back and forth to dig into his skin even more and you can hear the carpet being scratched at. He is trying his hardest to stay grounded so he can feel this bliss for as long as he can, but you go just deep enough and he’s done.

“I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum!” He’s breathing frantically.

“Just from this??? This is all it takes, Hannie? Just need me to step on you??” You put as much weight into your right foot as you can for a few seconds to help him reach his orgasm.

“Yes! Yesyesyesyes! I’m cumming! Gonna come so hard!” He’s babbling and you watch him break.

His fingertips are white from digging into the carpet and his body twitches as his underwear becomes soaked with fluid. His moans and gasps are so loud you don’t doubt there would be a complaint or two tomorrow. There’s so much cum, you question if that’s all it is and nothing else. His back is arched in the prettiest curve and his neck is on display as if saying ‘I still need more, please bite me’. He stopped breathing towards the back end of his orgasm as if to prolong it (asphyxiation is something you will bring up another time).

The aftershocks are still hitting him when you drop to your knees next to his head. He’s so dazed and spacey. You give him a quick kiss to his forehead and tell him you’ll be back in a second. You come back with a new pair of underwear and a towel to wipe him with. You help him change and sit him up.

“You doing okay baby? How’s your penis? Does it hurt too much?” You ask while giving him a scalp massage, trying to relieve what you caused earlier.

Jisung shakes his head and whispers “I feel so good right now. Can we lay down on the couch?” You both make it to the couch and you offer to make him some food and get beverages. Only after 10 minutes of cuddling, kissing, and ‘i love you’s ’,does he allow you to do that.

“I know the initial conversation we had about this was about a week ago, but if it wasn’t obvious… I really like your physique, Jisung.” You say as you place the plates of food on the coffee table. Your cheeks heat up at the confession, but all he can think about is your lips on his body. He shoots you a quick smirk and says “Yeah, totally wasn’t obvious.”

OMGoMG i know i said hard thot (or was it hot thot????idek) LMAOOO i got carried away sorry <3 also the end is rushed but i hope you enjoyed

-✖️

Jjesus what

THIS BROKE MY BRIAN. i meant my brain but also

MY FAVE PART WAS THIS

"The force starts to push into his bladder but still no mind, he’s now staring at you like you put the damn stars in the sky and you’re drenched." holllly HOOOOOOLY THIS WAS SO GOOD. I WAS CHEERING MAKE HIM PEE MAKE HIM PEE MAKE HIM PEE!!

NO THIS WAS SO GOOD!!!! AHJDGKDGNJK

#juno’s asks ♡ #✖️ anon 💌 #asks: jisung

[lucerocosplay]

Shohki Mask Cover

construction notes & photos under the cut

This has been a long time coming! I'm glad she's a costume I can work a mask into without it breaking the design of the character. I feel like people would be less inclined to ask that you remove it for photos this way ^^;

I went with a very thin cotton gauze fabric (#9 "coffee" if you're wondering), think a slightly thicker cheese cloth. It's very breathable as a single layer and seemed the best choice for an N95 cover. The shape was really only achievable with this fabric because of the shape of my mask underneath, and some strategically placed 1/2" wide horsehair braid tubing from the dollar tree. I usually stock up around halloween but they stock around christmas too!

Process is very straight forward, just traced my mask on the fold and made some rough adjustments for a card stock mock up. I like 90-110 lbs for this sort of thing but construction paper can work in a pinch too. Cut that out and fit to my face, tweaked the placement on the nose bridge and added a 1/4" allowance for bias tape/facing, and appropriate allowance for flat felled seams.

The ear tab was extended to cover the mask underneath, and included allowance for support fabric (denim scrap in my case) to support two eyelets intended to thread the elastic of my mask through. Then it was just patterning out the rest of the mask elements and making note of seam allowance and how to cut each piece. I trimmed the tape holding together the card stock mask apart and finally got to cutting out the fabric once that was done.

There isn't anything fancy going on, the hardest part was just the inset mesh panel over the weirdly shaped keyhole cut outs on the mouth piece. It's just black nylon mesh typically used for interfacing bras sewn on after making the keyholes.

This fabric is like if toilet paper were a textile, which is great for breatheability and weight but absolutely hell for machine work like this. It's not for a competition so for me, hiding messy stitching with weathering later was ok.

The portion of the mask running from the underside of each ear tab was finished with homemade bias tape. The same method was used for finishing the top portion that runs over the bridge of my nose. The ends were simply folded and sewn down at the ear tabs for a clean finish.

The side "filters" have an extra 1/2" long extension so I can tack in the ends of some horse hair tubing, then double fold the fabric back into itself before hand tacking with tiny stitches from the outside. That helps the light fabric balloon out into that shape, along with another layer of that same mesh interfacing.

They are really fun actually, very floppy with great movement. Though they stick out a tad too much so I did add one small french tack to the center of each to help them point downwards but retain that movement. The "filter" took the most hand finishing out of the whole thing, but that was to be expected.

Once the little side "filters" were sewn in, there was just light weathering to do. I wanted to add some shadows and potential "mold spores" to certain areas to really make the texture pop and hide some messy stitching. Light passes with a dry brush and some acrylic helped a lot, so did referencing photos of mold growth on clothes.

It was a pass of burnt sienna along all seams and large patches where high humidity would accumulate. Then another lighter pass of burnt umber to deepen up areas, and some very sparse areas of white. Finally I wanted to give it the "blue cheese special" and mixed a little viridian green and that same white and hit the white areas first then dry brushed the spaces between mold patches. I'm trying to replicate active mold colonies so reference photos came in handy here. I also used some nail polish to match the grommets to fabric.

Maybe when I am not crunched for time I will get around to digitizing the pattern, but for now I hope the photos help anyone else trying to plan out a mask. Obviously the shape will change a lot depending on the sort of fabric and mask you have on under it, not to mention face shape. I would imagine bifolds would give you more her classic feed bag profile than an origami style mask, however.

#my cosplay #cosplay wip #nausicaa #nausicaa of the valley of the wind #ghibli cosplay

[thecameronchronicles]

Diner Girl

TW: bully!Rafe. Smut. Language. 

SUMMARY: Your starcrossed existence leads to high tensions and low inhibitions. 

WORD COUNT: 1500

REQUESTED

Hi!

I have an idea that you can totally disregard or even link something similar!

College Rafe who bullies reader and they are a waitress at a restaurant and he shows up with his friends and they have to wait his table. 

Idk if that is enough to go off of, or again, if u have something similar. 

You are so talented, thank you so so much lovely!

💙💙💙

*I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE!*

Diner Girl 

The day was already too long with low tips and ill-tempered customers. If not for the break taken halfway through your shift, you may have broken through that forced smile with one more "what can I get for you". But with an hour left until you could retire out of this uniform and into the comfort of the bubble bath that allowed you to push through the day, you were counting down every single second. 

And then the bell drew your attention to the door. It was common for a peer to venture in at this particular hour for a late night cup of coffee or even to find a means to sober up from an early night's events. But when you saw him enter with his band of equally misogynistic and narcissistic friends, you didn't care to hide your annoyance. 

"And to think, I was even going to tip you real nice." Rafe teased, bending himself over the counter as his blonde friend smirked at you at his side. "Here's one...use this to get some decent clothes..." He explained while offering a small collection of folded bills.

"Rafe Cameron doesn't like my clothes?" You feigned hurt before rolling your eyes. "How will I sleep knowing I don't have the king Kook's attention? Oh please Rafe ..like me..." You bent further towards him. Enough to taste the change in his breathing. 

"Kiss me..." You had no interest to actually act on this and yet you basked in his reaction to you. The way you could alter him from vile to vulnerable in a closed proximity was enduring. All while you realized it could bring some form of entertainment in the final hour of your shift. 

"Or you could just order so I can go home." You pulled back behind the counter. 

"I'll have you bent over overeasy...at least that's how the football team describes you...over...easy..."

This brigade of insults would continue until it seemed as if nobody else existed in the space around you. As "oohs" and "ahhs" came from patrons of the establishment and your co-workers, the heat only built between you. Comments of his silver spoon upbringing and your lesser than desirable poverty had been at the crux of most verbal blows. 

"You're just jealous because the best you're ever gonna have is the fifteen seconds with some drunk sorority girl who only thinks you're good because she is imagining someone else. Maybe you," You looked at his friend, offering a wink as he blushed. 

"And ten of those seconds would be you trying to figure out how to get her undressed."

"Believe me, I know my way around undressing a girl." His eyes fell down your physique as if doing so with his eyes. 

"Lucky for me, I never have to find out "

"I wouldn't be caught dead touching you."

"But you're dying to know how I feel, aren't you? Bet you're straining in your seam for me..." You chuckled. "Want to know how I'd taste...sound ..feel..." You were pressed at his chest, palm close enough to feel his raging pulse beneath your hand as you'd rounded the counter. 

"Maybe one of the other girls are brain dead enough to entertain the idea of you. But I'd rather be fucked by a hot poker than touched by you. Even by accident. God knows the germs you have..."

"At least I can afford to clean up. You're always gonna be a dirty little pogue." He spat as your brow arched. 

"Just one you're never gonna get." You teased his lips before pulling yourself to the exit of the restaurant. Apron left on the hook as you'd clocked out, you shuffled for your keys, wearing a smile of pride wide across your face. But you weren't allowed even two steps away from the rest exit before you were taken against the back wall of the diner. 

"Have your fun?" Rafe asked, knee set between your legs as you gasped. 

"Took it a bit far tonight, don't you think?"

"Only took it like you gave."

"I could have you bent over that counter and fuck that little attitude out of you..."

"I don't know, Rafe...Just s dirty little pogue…" You teased his belt. 

"I have quite a lot of attitude...".

"Good thing I can fuck you more ways than one then..." He kissed you harshly, the familiar fire quelling your need to rival him. But just as you'd found comfort in his lips, he had retreated and descended to your chest. The basic tee set over your torso was pulled to free your breasts. The bitter bite of the night air was challenged by the fervent need of his tongue and lips at your exposed skin. 

"What would your friends think?" You asked him as he looked up to you just long enough to notice the smirk across your face. 

"I don't give a shit..."

"Then take me back and fuck me on the counter..." 

"I don't care if they know about us. I don't want them to hear you. To see those little faces you make for me. Because if they have even a fraction of the same effect, they're gonna be just as driven to make them happen...and nobody gets to do that to you but me-"

"And the football team?" He scoffed. 

"I'm more than enough for you. You prove it everytime you wince for me when I'm inside of you. The pain of being bigger than what you're used to...and you love it...you love the pain..."

"I love how you feel..." You explained with your hand fisting at his shirt. "But I hate how you treat me."

He shook his head. 

"Then why are you so fucking wet?" You were lifted above the wall, the quick swipe made of his hand having now been used to guide your panties to the side as his other hand undressed himself. 

"Gotta be quick this time...but you're still gonna come shaking for me..." Before you could object, you were forced over his cock. That wince he spoke of had been released as a complete whimper of former confidence as you arched your back to his beginning motions. 

"Rafe!"

"Wanna come for me already?" You nodded. 

"A bit desperate tonight?"

"Always..." You confessed, submitting to him as nobody felt like him. Absolutely nobody. His greedy touch, still somehow compassionate, was addictive. Not to mention the dirty words he spoke that navigated perfectly to your clit as not even a brush of his fingers were needed to make you tremble. 

"Then come for me. But you're gonna make me come twice as hard, sweetheart..." He almost growled into your neck as your body built to a quick high that he delayed gratification to. 

"Rafe!"

"I think you should apologize. What you said was hurtful you know...gotta be held accountable for what you say..."

"You can't be serious..."

"I'm as serious as my cock is hard...so apologize or you don't get to come." 

"You won't just stop midway."

"Who said?" He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. "I said YOU don't get to come. But I have your body at my disposal and there's at least half a dozen different ways I could use it to come...not to mention from behind...so be my good girl and apologize." You swallowed hard to the fire behind his eyes, well aware his threats were not empty. 

"I'm sorry...you're such a baby..." His jaw cocked as he forced you to the soles of your feet. Using this grip on the back of your neck, you were turned away from him. Skirt lifted and panties ripped clean off your hip. As you turned to face him, a smart remark on the tip of your tongue, you would feel him set the panties in this attempt. 

"Taste what I do to you and shut the fuck up while I prove it to myself." He grilled your hair harshly as he thrusted into you. Interlaced fingers stabilized him against the wall as you were both ignorant to his curious friends calling out in search for him. If either of you noticed, you didn't dnt dare even a glance,  as you were too wrapped in each other. The same way it has always been. Fingers leaving evidence in each other's arms as you came to that edge. 

"Fuck, this pussy missed me, didn't she? Already crying and now begging...You could learn a thing or two..."

"I'm not begging for you, Rafe..."

"That's okay...I just need you to scream for me." He battered you harder onto the wall as you unintentionally acquiesced. Whimpers and whines leaving you trembling as you bit your bottom lip against him. 

"I'm coming-" He took his hand around your neck from behind, guiding you to face him. 

"And you're gonna be really good for me and make me come first...then we'll see if I forgive you enough for being such a brat to let you come." You groaned before feeling him tease your clit with his thumb. 

"Pathetic." He spat as you groaned, refusing to beg, but the whimper accommodating the need anyhow. 

"So fucking tight...oh my God..." He grunted. 

"For me." He validated as you nodded. 

"For now." He clenched his jaw while kissing you to keep you quiet. His hands were at a war between your hair, hips, and breasts, until finalizing into the wall as he found his release. 

"Rafe!" You mewled as he redressed. 

"Maybe next time you should apologize..." 

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks smut #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe outer banks #drew starkey

[raifuujin]

“I just don't like Gosho's use of ideas nowadays” do you have some examples? I’ve been feeling the same but I still don’t have like articulate thoughts on it

Well, 'nowadays' has been for. About ten years, ish? The most glaring example that always sticks out in my mind is the Sun Halo MK chapters, with the complete and utter waste of the very common fanfic tropes of 'Aoko gets suspicions' and 'Kid gets injured around someone'. But it kind of matches the general problem I have with his writing that I don't think used to be this bad: He's trying to stuff too much around the strict case-by-case structure (or for MK, introducing the heist-by-heist structure) without actually giving anything focus. (And for MK it's so much worse because he writes it so rarely, that he makes everyone cameo every time but they tend to just get hand waves to whatever drama plot gets instigated by Kid having his next heist.)

For DC, it's the whole. 1) Overarching plot with the BO and suspects and 'here's the available suspects for who's involved with the BO that we introduce one at a time at the end of cases and then maybe leave more clues about them during future cases'. 2) Dangling character or relationship progress and then constantly pulling it away, usually as a joke. 3) When we do occasionally get some of the major plot, it's all at once and then maybe mentioned once in the next case, but otherwise completely dropped. (Amuro and Akai and Kudo tea party tease also lingers as a 'Gosho is just evil at this point'.) Basically rigid structure that doesn't allow for much of the subplots aside from breadcrumbs.

For the current situation, it's also tied into interview comments. Which. have no bearing on the story until he actually uses them. But instead of even that, the movie gets exciting stuff instead and puts it in a giant limbo of is it meant to be canon or not, because no one has been able to settle on that for any movie, even as some details get connected back to the manga more and more.

It's bad writing. Gosho has been a bad writer for a long time, and it's kinda just getting worse. It's my opinion that it's because he tries to have his case after case after case (because mystery manga), and then stuff little bits of everything else in the seams, whether it works well with the case he's writing or if it's a good delivery or (more usually) it's just. Kinda tacked on.

It's partially because of time investment, partially because I have low standards of entertainment, and partially because I want to see how it all ends that I stick with DC. MK is. Similar, but hurts more because I really hate how it morphed into the DC structure when old MK had more you could do with it. Gosho will never drop his rigid case-by-case structure at this point, but it really would be better if he did at this point. Things need development that they're not allowed to have. Or at least smooth out the lines between his hints. And stop with Heiji and Kazuha, just. God. Stop. Is this how people felt about Kid appearances? I feel like at least when people were mad about Kid, they knew nothing was going to happen from the get go, the romance 'tease' is just painful.

#dc thoughts #It's really just a general feeling that I know Gosho /can't/ write drama that well #The writing style he's picked really doesn't allow him to; whether he /could/ write it well or not #So I don't like him going for an idea that sounds like a fanfic idea #Because it's never going to be as fun to watch as just. A fanfic. Because fanfic writers don't have to stick to genre or anything #/They/ can take time to explore character dynamics and implications and direct continuation of the idea into multiple chapters #Gosho literally /can't/ do it. At best; it's okay. At worst; it makes all the characters look so much worse #Because the characters are smart or dumb to allow whatever situation Gosho wants to happen /right then/ #Because he can't wait too long to properly build up fun little ideas; he just smashes them in and moves on #(The Fairy Lip heist is also lingering. Most of what sticks in mind is Kid; as per usual)

[wri0thesley]

nat. question

when thoma is eating out songbird, cleaning em up from ayatos release. do u think ayato wants songbird to continue whimper and beg for him, chanting HIS name or would he allow thoma get some recognition? or maybe he thinks he can allow that but after the first moan he gets jealous and stuffs songbird's mouth full of his cock so that they cant form words properly-

"Th-Thoma--"

Your voice is a quiet, thready little thing, edged with the rasp of three or four previous orgasms when Ayato's lust had not yet abated but you'd already reached your own peak. Thoma, diligent as ever, does not respond - his tongue works over your sex, uncaring of how Ayato's release must linger on his tastebuds.

It's too much. You squirm, but Thoma simply brings big, warm palms up to keep you pressed in place by your hips. Ayato, beside you, sighs with pleasure as he wipes a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked forehead.

"Don't fret so, songbird," he murmurs, his violet eyes half-lidded, his voice thick with arousal despite the proof of his own orgasm still lingering between your folds and leaking out of you and into Thoma's mouth. "Let him clean you up, now. We can't have you making a mess of these nice silk sheets Thoma just laundered for us, can we?"

It's not enough of a deterrent; Thoma's nose brushes your clit as his tongue delves inside of you and you cry out, whimpering, your back arching, as your over-sensitive body quivers and shakes.

"Thoma--!" You repeat, sniffling through tears, your eyes wet, your lashes dripping with diamonds. "I-- it's t-too much, Thoma, I can't--"

Thoma pauses for a moment; turns his own eyes on you, green eyes warm and soft in the glow of the lamplight. Ayato clicks his tongue at the cessation of Thoma's work.

"My Lord?" Thoma asks; his mouth and tongue and chin glitter with a mix of your arousal and Ayato's come. "I-- I don't want to hurt them--"

"Don't worry about it," Ayato says, his syllables as perfectly edged as a knife. "They have to learn, after all." Fingers grasp your chin, pulling your face towards him. Thoma returns to his position, and you feel your insides all clench at the sensation, sparks of over-stimulated pleasure running all through your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as a sob escapes your mouth unbidden; you cannot think. You cannot do anything.

"Oh, songbird--" Ayato practially purrs. "Thoma, can you hear that? The poor thing's in distress. However shall we quieten them down?"

He leaves the question open-ended. You know what he wants - somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know - but he does not want to vocalise it aloud. This is Thoma's job, you know - to be a part of his own humiliation, to make the call himself. Thoma knows it too.

He pauses with his breath hot against your entrance, though you feel certain you must be clear of all of Ayato's come by now.

"Perhaps you should use your fingers, My Lord," he suggests. Ayato tips his head to the side, makes a little 'hmm' of consideration. Thoma swallows. " . . . Or perhaps your cock, My Lord."

"Thoma," Ayato chuckles. "After I've already come in them once today? My. Somebody's more of a pervert than I realised." He looks at you with that serene half-smile on his face, his thumb rubbing over the seam of your lips. "Still . . . if that's what our dear housekeeper thinks is best . . . open your mouth for me, won't you?"

#hrhrhrg #writing #drabble #dub con for ts #genshin impact posting #not sfw text #gotta go back and tag all of these with songbird reader so that they can all be found fgjnbkjnkfg

[cebwrites]

hi cev <33 since we mentionned sweet sanji, my brain is going brrr with him giving sweet affection and being super cute and such with a masc presenting reader shakes fist at sky. maybe some comfort about him loving them while them not being fem/woman but only if you're up to writing some hurt/comfort thing <33 thanks in advance, and hope you have fun with it if you write it -B☆

a/n: i think i may have lost the plot a bit help 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

comforting masc reader about his affection (Sanji)

masc reader, hurt/comfort word count: 0.6k

He spins, he twirls - you watch him fawn over the ladies every morning, noon, and night. Most days this is fine, even it's expected at this point. But sometimes you just wish he'd pay a little more of that attention to you, his actual partner.

You often tell yourself, oh well of course he does, he shows you affection in his own subtle ways; running his fingers through your hair before he leaves to make breakfast in the morning, the quiet kisses on your cheek, rubbing shoulders when you have dish duty together and it's not long before the kitchen fills with the sound of your shared laughter.

But somehow, it's...

Not enough that he whispers his love to you every night before slumber takes over, not enough that even will his constant self-appointed chores throughout the day Sanji makes a point to check in on you, not enough that you're one of the few people Sanji's allowed into the iron fortress of his heart, laid bare all his hopes, his dreams, his fears. At least, not when he breaks out every praise under the sun when the girls so much as breathe.

Would it really be so selfish to ask for a fraction of that fanfare for yourself?

You tried to keep these unfounded insecurities to yourself but in time, he noticed.

Of course he would.

Sanji approaches you one evening in the men's quarters, carefully making his presence known with heavy footsteps. You don't say anything but acknowledge him with a glance. He rests his hand on your shoulder when you don't lean into its touch against your cheek.

My love, what's wrong?

You struggle to look at him. Sanji's right here and willing to listen, yet - cotton fills your throat, frustration pools in your eyes and you turn away as he holds your hand. You're hurt from your own thoughts and guilt at not being able to come forward with your pain sooner.

Still, he's here.

He's patient. He's kind.

When you slowly manage to string together the hurt that you've sewn into the seams of your heart in silence, Sanji tempers his reaction. Although you know internally he's aghast, mortified at how something could slip his mind for so long. The both of you try to console one another, talking over the other person in attempts to mitigate damage done or reassure the other that they've done nothing wrong.

In the end you laugh through your tears, a little strained, wiping away the streaks that began falling down his as well. He responds to the joyous sound with a smile of relief, kissing the lines on your cheeks in turn. Two people in desperate need of love and just as eager to give their all to the other.

Sanji spends his night curled up to you with your arms around his waist, tracing your bicep with callous fingers. He's quiet when he hums your praise this time - words only you're meant to hear, the kind of affection from Sanji that you've gotten used to. Almost as though it's a secret.

The next morning when you step out onto the deck, however, you're blindsided by the squeal of your beloved as he comes twirling over with a vigorous, "__-CHWAAAAAAN~!" to present you with your breakfast sandwich.

Sanji ignores whatever funny looks the crew might throw his way but your balk does make him feel a bit sheepish, "Too much?"

Sanji gets all the reply he needs when you quirk a brow at him - grabbing this silly man by his suit collar to dip him low and kiss him sweet, minding the food and also ignoring your crew's teasing hollers.

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #kuroashi no sanji #op sanji #sanji x male reader #sanji x zoro #male reader #i could've been a lot meaner #but god stayed this hand #for the gays #girl the amount of stuff i cut out #just so this could still be considered hurt/COMFORT #ksfskdghdgg

[mossmurdock]

Tear Her Apart, Stitch Us Back Together (i.shoko)

𓇢𓆸 ieiri shoko x reader

𓇢𓆸 summary: Shoko watches a sorcerer hurt themselves time and time again, until one day she's the one that has to mend their wounds. Their relationship ebbs on just hardly existing until a few coincidental meet ups occur, bringing them together for something they both never knew the other wanted.

Shoko tries to live with a very simple way of thinking. It makes it easier to not take things so seriously; which, in her opinion, is something she knows might save face for her in the jujutsu world. Guts are guts. Blood is blood. Broken bones are broken bones. Grief might be something else. 

Most things aren't all that exciting, and even if they were, Ieiri still wouldn’t be up and jumping about any of it. What’s so exciting about tearing people you know apart and putting them back together?

But you’re something different. Different in the way you hold your many wreckless, stupid, gashing wounds, and the way you also manage to take them all seriously. There’s a smile on your face that reminds her too much of Satoru; the only difference being the genuine enjoyment in the aftermath of a battle, only letting all the adrenaline and thrill catch up to you when the deed is done. 

It’s thoughtful, almost philosophical in the way you stare at your mentors after one of your many missions. 

So maybe she’s more than a little stirred when she sees you first: crouched close to cement in your tattered school uniform, a drink you were definitely not allowed to have clenched tightly in a fist with barely any of the skin left on the knuckles. That smile on your face. 

“Ieiri.” You grin up at her, different from the one moments before, finally tearing your eyes away from the fancy bottle and up to hers.

“I didn’t take your spot, did I?” You ask her, swirling the bottle in your hand rigidly. It’s a wine, Shoko can’t even begin to wonder how you managed to get your hands on it without raising any eyebrows, you’re not even bothering to hide it. Then again, she was also the one plainly day smoking.

“I don’t have a spot,” she answers. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “Don’t all smokers have spots?”

“I don’t take it that seriously.”

You hum at her, and as if suddenly remembering the very large bottle of alcohol in your hand, you stare at it before looking back at her with your hands slightly up in surrender, a crooked smile replacing the one from before.

“I’m not—I don’t take this seriously either, not really a thing I do on the regular just to be clear.” It sounds like a lie, it looked too expensive for you to have chosen it by accident. 

Your free hand reaches the back of your neck, making it impossible for Ieiri not to follow it like she’s under some sort of daze. It's bright red, wet with your blood. 

You catch her staring before she’s able to avert her gaze. 

“You’re a doctor right?”

Hardly. Barely, at least not yet. Ieiri is practically conning her way through her classes just because of how boring they are, but how illegitimate that makes her future practices is strictly up to her; and as an afterthought: to her patients as well. 

“Almost.” 

“Think you could fix me up?” You extend one of your hands up to her, nearly reaching her stomach. There’s a slight shake to them and your veins are relatively easy to find. This up close she’s able to dissect you better than she’s ever been able to from afar. It’s jarring. 

“It’s fine if you don’t—” you’re beginning to retract your hand, your fingers painfully curling into your palm. Shoko almost yells at you not to do it, the skin of your knuckles are splitting at the seams. She grabs it without thinking. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Not too much work?” you ask. 

“I could use the practice." She crouches down next to you. 

The entire time she puts her technique to use, Ieiri notices your eyes never leave her face. They’re so open for her to see, wide and whole. She tries her hardest to remember every bit of it, tries her hardest to open the curtains, to unlock that window when she’s finally been given the chance. 

But the blood dries, and when she's done she lets go. You hold up your hand between them in awe, flexing your palm and stretching your fingers. 

"Wow.”

"Good as new right?" she says. 

Your eyes are obscured by your hand and it makes Ieiri think of a window painfully fogging up before she could catch a glimpse. 

Then, you separate your fingers to create four small windows of space. You smile at her through them, tilting your head along with it and letting her only see obscured glimpses of you.

Ieiri finally notices the small bleeding cut on your lips and wonders if you were doing this to her deliberately. 

"I have to repay you." Your hand falls, instead using it to bring full attention to the bottle Ieiri had honestly forgotten was there all together. You thrust it toward her almost harshly before getting up, a cold piece of glass now on her chest, warm fingers brushing up against hers briefly. She feels starved.

"Here." 

Their positions are reversed now, with Ieiri crouched and you at full height. Your school uniform skirt bunches up at one of your legs.

"I'll see you around, Ieiri. Thanks!" 

You leave her there. With tiny stones wedged into the skin of her knees, a gray scuff on one of her leg warmers, half of a promise, and a half empty wine bottle. She thinks about searching up its price but eventually abandons it once she catches something. 

Her eyes stray down to the rim of the bottle where a few things lie: the imprint of chapstick, and the tiniest amount of blood(from your lips or hands, Ieiri isn’t sure.)

Gross, she thinks, just as she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a drink.

Washed away by the wine, it still manages to taste like iron.

If anyone were to ask Shoko which jujutsu tech teacher went on the most missions, she wouldn’t really have an answer. Nor does she think she would really care to actually know. Perhaps she would say Satoru simply because he always looked busy in between his expensive plane rides, or Suguru simply because he really liked to act like it whenever someone asked him for a favor. Or maybe she would say you, only because of how you're splayed out in front of her painted in bruises.

It's nearly 7 p.m. and at about 6:30, you had taken the liberty of storming into her doctor’s office and loudly crawling yourself onto one of her autopsy tables, as if you were dying. This is the second time this has happened. 

“You look like a beat up grape.”

“Yeah?” You adjust your posture, and in turn she feels your breath in her hair. “Fix me up?”

There’s a cut on the right side of your stomach that's itching itself closer to the bone of your hip as time goes on, the cursed energy is spreading and making your wound larger, and Ieiri watches as your eyelids begin to drop like drapes over your irises because of the fatigue. It makes it seem as if you’re batting your eyelashes at her. 

“You’ll need stitches.” Shoko moves away from the table to grab her equipment and hears you hiss in pain, the notion already causing you discomfort, but you say nothing when she comes back with what she needs. Shoko catches the way your chest rises and falls, a small stutter planted so obviously in the movement. Most would have just held their breath in front of her.

She pretends not to see it. 

“Can I hold onto something?” You ask her, just as she begins truly approaching your right side with the sharp, clean, sewing needle between her fingertips. Your head is cast downward, eyes obscured by the shadows of light. 

“Anything but my hands,” she answers. 

You chuckle, “Obviously.”

But it's short lived, because Shoko has already begun cleaning your wound. You suddenly curl into yourself while one of your arms shoots out away from you, it's so fast that Ieiri hardly catches where it's headed, until she feels a sinking pressure in the meat of her left hip. Unusually flustered, she stops her task dead in its tracks. 

Your grip subsides once the pain seems to wash over you, Ieiri feels something in her stomach flip. 

“Should I have given you a warning?” she suggests sarcastically, a jab at your reaction.

The hand on her hip never fully falls, instead you settle with it simply ghosting there, making a home in her skin and haunting it. 

You smile crookedly at her, “Would’ve been nice.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

And she really does, with every stitch comes a warning, every wipe of blood, or every twist of the needle. It still doesn’t help the hold on her hip though, you keep it there nearly the entire procedure, steady. 

The fabrics of her clothes all of a sudden feel too thin, as if you can see through her with just the tips of your fingers, the scalding severity of your palm, the tormenting rub of your thumb. It should be the opposite way. She’s the one with scalpels at her disposal; yet you’re the one peering into her.

It all comes rushing back to her once she finally gets home, standing in front of her mirror with the moonlight seeping in from the open window, her nails dancing over a familiar print of violet and ultramarine.

There’s an unfamiliar knock at her door. 

“Shoko.” You say it like it's your first time meeting her and it sort of feels like it, considering how long it’s been since she’s seen you.

Her head turns away from the window, disturbing the uneven line of smoke that was streaming out of it. The image of you standing at the front of her door with papers nestled under one of your arms at first seems like something she’s imagined herself.

Your other arm is held by a generic white sling. 

“What are you doing here so late?” you ask her. Pushing your body off of its door frame and walking towards her, you abandon your papers on the surface of some miscellaneous sideboard in the corner of the room (the tall one with all the scratches on it). 

Shoko finally turns her body towards you, putting out her cigarette in the gray tray sitting on the stool of the window. 

“I got the night shift tonight.”

She offers you a cigarette, you use your good hand to politely decline. 

“Is that why I haven't seen you around?” You ask.

Shoko scoffs, turning her head away from you. It's that and a lot of other reasons.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ve just been avoiding you.”

“Ouch,” you mutter. And somehow, you’ve managed to gently brush away a few strands of hair from her eyes.

“Your hair’s gotten a lot longer,” You say distractedly, one of her locs lightly toyed with before falling back to its place.

“Can I help?” you offer, finally getting back to the original conversation. “With the work I mean.”

Shoko thinks.

“You know my signature, right?”

You raise an eyebrow. “No, but I can learn.”

“Great.”

They both sign papers for hours, with your own forgotten along with the tell-tale signs of the sun beginning to rise.

If she had been alone, the scribbling and squeak of her office chair would have driven her half mad hours ago; but she’s still here: running on three cups of coffee with too much sugar in them (she shouldn’t have trusted you on getting them) and the fading smell of your perfume. 

Abruptly, you throw your head back into the air and let out a groan, your neck eventually cranning towards the open window, red pen still hanging from your mouth. Your face reflects the colors of dawn, eyelashes like the dewy blades of grass. 

“I’m gonna have to leave,” you mumble through the pen wrapped around your lips. You use your good arm to heave yourself out of the office chair Shoko lent you, stretching and shaking the fatigue out of your body the best you can. 

Acting as if she had been looking down at her paper the entire time, she replies, “Oh no. So soon?”

“Well if you’re that heartbroken about it, I’ll see you around?”

“If it means four more hours of you doing my work for me, sure.”

“It’s a date then,” you can hardly look at her when you say it. 

The only thing you left behind was the folder of papers Ieiri had left untouched, expecting you to come back for them. And on a curious night, she takes the liberty of flipping through the pages, the warmth of the nearly month old copied paper long gone and fading. 

They’re completely blank. In a stale state of pure delirium, Ieiri bursts out laughing.

“Didn’t know you were such a fan of halloween.”

Her joke was quite literally a shot in the dark: her body stuffed between four small walls and hugged against your chest. The discomfort of the hot dust-bunny air was crawling its way to her lungs by first infecting her nostrils and Ieiri really had been trying not to show how hard it was for her to breathe. 

It was October, and the air should have be cool; but instead Shoko had strutted out of her dorm room to partake in the very short list of naivety her and the other student sorcerers were able to dabble in before their impending, and much too fast, adulthood. 

There’s laffy taffy stuck between her teeth, and the short ends of her hair were already starting to stick to her neck. 

Your breath, sweet with the starbursts you had eaten before, fanned across Shoko’s face. It reminded her of the spinning bottle that got them in here in the first place. The whoops and hollers that had followed them inside, quickly dampening to hushed whispers once the door was closed by your quick hand. 

“What?” You sounded unusually nerved.

“The eye-patch,” Shoko explained. “You’re all dressed up.”

The tease is hardly true: you were very much still in your uniform despite it being late. Having heard from Satoru, apparently you had been assigned a late night mission and had just gotten back. 

The gossip had been useless though, Shoko could simply tell where you had been based on the rip on one of your uniform sleeves, one you would be stitching closed in the morning; still half drunk on all the punch you drank, and an unsteady needle between the delicate tips of your fingers. She knew you would because she caught you doing it once while walking by the building’s windows. Your’s had been cracked open. 

Your hand landed atop your eye, picking at the fabric holding the patch together. If the joke hadn’t hit before, it was now, with the way your teeth sort of lit a light in the small dark room, sharp canines almost like the fake werewolf teeth Suguru had worn to scare people with.

“Can you guess my costume?”

Shoko thought. “A pirate. Except, without the sword, or the accent, or the boots, or…” She trailed. 

“What else am I missing?” she asked you. 

You shrugged, the gesture somewhat moving the both of them because of the proximity.

“Seems like you know way more than I do,” you said. 

“Is it permanent?” Not that it would have mattered, you still looked good. And Shoko was more than sure that a missing eye wasn’t going to get in the way, if anything, the thing suited you without any hint of abnormality to it. With her vision adjusting, she was able to spot the way your skin folded under the tightness of the thin straps, the traces of tiny red trails forming.

“Shouldn’t be,” you answered. “If it heals well enough they said my vision would only be a little blurry.”

“Sounds like great news,” Shoko replied sarcastically, as sweet as the artificially flavored strawberry laffy taffy lingering on her tongue. And you smiled at her, she could see it so clearly.

Shoko’s eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, it made it so that your next words came to her clearer than they ever would have under any source of light, natural or not. 

“You know, it still really hurts. Sorta like ghost pains?” you started. 

Shoko was nodding slowly, even though the term was used incorrectly, “Right.”

“Kiss it better?” 

“Sure,” Shoko breathed out, gentle and startled and maybe too quick.

It had meant too many things, both the request and the acceptance of it. 

Your skin was such a short travel away from hers, and really, it all made sense. She imagined brushing away the patch and finding exactly what she wanted behind it. That unlatched window, your soul only for her to see in its entirety and to study all on her own. Red and blue thread and uneven seams. 

The mix of strawberry and lemon felt right, along with just the slightest hint of alcohol to balance it out. Shoko didn’t think she could handle all of the sweetness at once. The bitterness stopped her from doing anything stupid. 

A few days later your eyepatch was taken off with only minor damage to it.

Shoko is only sad she hadn’t been the one to do it herself.

You’re leaving blood all over her coat, doubled over and head hanging between your tense arms. Ieiri doesn’t have the heart to tell you to let go, that you holding on is really only making things more difficult for the terrifying gash across your chest.

She can hear it already happening, the way your breaths are stuttering and crashing into each other like shallow ice, heaves as slow as melting ice. The thumbs digging into Shoko’s arms are your glaciers: crumbling, strong, disappearing into the sea; her cashmere turtleneck is a storm blue. 

“Just give me a minute,” you manage to huff out, “before you start.”

Her hands and arms stay holding you up, still empty of any equipment or cursed energy, but heavy with blue latex gloves. She notices that despite all the blood you leave none of it taints her skin. 

You suddenly fall back. Shoko mistakenly takes it as you passing out, until you’re dragging her down with you, your hands making their way up, leaving mismatched red trails up her arms and shoulders and neck; until eventually they rest on her cheeks and your mouth is on hers. 

It’s quick and deep, Shoko hardly has the time to close her eyes, instead she’s stuck staring at your tightly closed ones.

Then stupidly, you lean away and carress her gently before truly letting your weight fall back onto the operation surface.

Softly whispering: “I’ve barely seen you. Your hair’s gotten so much longer.”

It mixes in with the hospital blue of the room, her gloves, the bedding, the sanitational box, the plastic all around her, with the blue of her sweater, of your bruises, of her deepened under eyes.

Yet the words are red: bleeding. 

What a horrible set of last words, Shoko thinks, the prick of your lips still lingering on her own.

Shoko used to imagine you sitting at her kitchen table.

At the end of it, you would be in a loose shirt, eyes bleary with sleep, lips still puffed from hours ago, you’re covered in her bandages and her smell. She knows you beyond the distant juvenile taste of lemon and is able to shamelessly look at you intimately: between two slides of plexi glass and a scope, because through any sort of window you are divine. 

Here, even in this fantasy, she dreams of you foggily.

It smells like coffee. That’s the first thing Ieiri notices when she wakes up with half the duvet thrown off her body and an already creeping soreness in her shoulders. The scent is floating its way through the crack of the room’s door, making the room feel more like it’s morning, when it's more likely to already be midday.

The floor is too cold, reminding her of the emergency room from merely hours ago. Your body was rigid and too heavy. She would have to thank Nanami for helping her get you up to the apartment later in the day. 

She still doesn’t know why she insisted on having you in her home instead of leaving you in the recovery room. She stops herself from realizing every time she walks into the spare room to check up on you in the middle of the night, wondering if you had suddenly woken and left without her knowing. Without you seeing just how deep her eyes got in your presence, never blinking, drinking in the soul of you each chance she got. 

By the time she gets to the kitchen, it smells like hazelnut creamer, and that’s when it clicks that you might have made her coffee before leaving.

A small note is placed on the mug, a torn piece of paper and messily placed tape reading: ‘Thank you’. It looks almost too colorful against her beige countertops for the message it’s conveying: a goodbye she didn’t want. 

It's a blinding red that she eagerly wraps her hands around and downs (it's not too sweet). Its lukewarmness doesn’t go down her throat easily, taking her by surprise just as the breeze coming from her porch does. 

With the mug still tilted to her lips, she turns towards it to find the doors open and the blue curtains drawn apart: a wave riding into the room, a glimpse of the sea bed that is your skin.

The mug slips from her hands, she lets it. 

The crash has your head turning away from the view, body arching and ready to move from its seated position, Shoko’s hand wrapped bandages around your waist twisting into a blurry frost. Your eyes: alert, open, and whole. Looking at her—not the broken pieces of glass on the floor, or the cold spilt coffee—but her. 

Too overcome by everything, too overcome by your extended sojourned presence, she walks over the glass. Feeling a piece of it pierce into the strong skin of her foot, the cold of the beverage mixes in with the warmth of a droplet of her blood. 

“Shoko?” You question quietly, still half sat on the balcony floor: a concrete that feels related to another place not too far from here. 

But she hardly hears the first time you use her name, falling to her knees in front of you and nearly lunging to wrap her arms around your neck to burrow herself into you. 

It tears her apart. It crushes her back together into one piece. The way you link your arms around her waist with just as much desperation blends the red and blue around her into a purple she wishes she had seen before. 

“I thought you had left,” she murmurs, muffled enough to be able to cling to the hope that maybe you hadn’t heard her. 

Your chest rumbles against hers. “I wouldn’t have made it very far.”

But you could have. Shoko can feel it in the way you’re clinging onto her, strong enough to have made it many steps.

She stays there with you for a second.

You face her when you say, “Let me take care of your foot.”

Uneccassirly, and against Ieiri’s advice, you carry her to the bathroom and seat her there. Under the white lights, you don’t look much different.

The cut is small and the bandaging is even more insignificant, yet you take a painful amount of time, not even bothering to hide that you’re laughing at her bored and unamused expression. 

“All done.” You have the audacity to stare up at her sweetly while knelt at her knees, brushing a hand against her thigh as you’re rising from your position.

Shoko grabs your arm, to get a better remembrance of you maybe, or just to do it so that you lean into her space more. Both occur. 

“What is it?” You whisper through a taunting smile.

You want Shoko to say it the same way you have been this entire time. 

It makes her want to yell, to throw out a simple way of thinking and replace it with something just as complicated as it is carnally selfish. Stitch her back together, mold her, make her again piece by piece, whatever it takes to make her as whole as you seem to everyone else. 

Shoko forgets the word ‘it’.

“Kiss me better.”

There’s the replacement of something on your tongue, a foreignness pushed out through a breath and the lull of well placed coffee printed into you. Your lips feel like broken thread, your hooded eyes are a soft fabric.

You bleed easily for her. She has done the same.

notes: old fic i decided to bring onto here!! (the ao3 one isn't updated pls dont look at it LMAO) i thought yall could enjoy this while im trying to get my new shit done,,,it's taking me a bit longer because of school sorry about that! i hope yall enjoyed this tho :)

#shes my everything im so very serious #moss writes #shoko x reader #jjk x reader #ieiri shoko x reader #shoko ieiri x reader

[cybertron-after-dark]

ok so could i request. tfp decepticons and the onboard human pet / liaison / autobot bait / whatever. where the human is a masseuse and gives the command little messages to help with tension and stress, just to be nice... i love the tfp decepticon cast i love how much screentime they got and how the show actually FOCUSED on them sometimes so id love to see our cons get to chill out for once. how'd they react to receiving the gentleness and care from such a tiny creature? maybe we spark some empathy. ayooo (feel free to ignore ask if too complicated i love how you write the characters and look forward to seeing more of ur work!!!!)

Kissing you softly on the forehead for this ask anon, there is So Much to Work With

-Megatron is having none of this. He allows you to remain on board so the troops have something to keep them entertained and help them destress other than killing each other. Just because they're foolish enough to allow your grubby little human hands between their plating doesn't mean he'll make the same error. The day he trusts a human so close to his major fuel lines is the day Unicron devours himself.

-Starscream finds the whole affair a bit gross at first. He's expected to let this flesh creature... Touch him? Ew, no. A gross, squishy critter rubbing their greasy paws all over him sounds like the opposite of relaxing. Especially somewhere as sensitive as his shoulder seams, or, primus forbid, his wings. But... Eventually seeing everyone else get pampered except him has him feeling a bit indignant. No, this simply won't do. He deserves to be relaxed and calm way more than any of these cretins! However... The first few attempts at giving him a massage fail horribly because you can't touch him without the guy jumping and screaming like a spider just crawled across him. But, after about the second or third try, he'll start to brace himself. He is DETERMINED to have a relaxing time, dammit! And by that point, he'll actually stand still and chill out long enough for you to do your work.

-Knockout is having the time of his life. Sure it's weird having a fleshy feeling him up, but as long as he slips the massages into his routine before buffing himself, whatever freaky oils they leave behind on his plating won't matter. Knockout actually does massages himself, on occasion, and his status as a medic makes him intimately acquainted with the ins and outs of cybertronian physiology (wink wink), and he's more than happy to teach you how to best relieve the tension in a wound up frame. Especially if you apply those techniques to him.

-Breakdown loves having you around. Knockout already pampers him to no end, and then along comes this sweet little earth critter with itty bitty hands that reach all the places knockout can't. He has never been more relaxed in his life, especially if the both of you team up to spoil him. He'll be wondering how he ever got so lucky.

-Soundwave will be hesitant. He's known you're not a threat for a long time, you don't seem to be plotting anything, and by all means, your weak, stubby little flesh-hands have very little chance of dealing any real damage to his systems even if you DO get up close and personal, but... Well that's a lot more intimate contact that he's used to with anyone, except maybe Laserbeak. He wouldn't really say he's disgusted by humans, but he's pretty sure this whole affair will feel really weird. But, eventually, the stress he's under will outweigh the assumed strangeness of the touch. It ends up helping him unwind quite a bit, despite all the mental roadblocks he's built up, and he'll even start requesting them later when hes had a particularly rough day keeping the nemesis from falling apart. He'd really appreciate it if you helped straighten out the kinks in his cables, too.

-Shockwave is surprisingly okay with the offer. Lab work takes it's toll on his frame after enough time, and having someone else relieve the tension is not only enjoyable, but practical. If he takes time to relax when he's nearing his limit, the work will get done more efficiently. It's simply common sense. It also helps that you're human, honestly. Were he to ask another decepticon, he'd risk things getting... Personal. No risk of such frivolous bonds (unless... Nahhh... UNLESS 🥺😳)

#maccadam #transformers #tfp #megatron #starscream #knockout #breakdown #soundwave #shockwave

[starqueensthings]

So I’ve been really struggling with the unexpected events of the season two finale, and I know a lot of us have been. We’ve all been grieving in different ways, but I wanted to share one of the coping mechanisms I used to help me get through the first couple days. I wrote these snippets from the perspective of Wrecker, Hunter, and Echo, as a sort of prayer or message to Tech. All three are based on the concept of heaven, or a peaceful afterlife, so if that’s not your thing, please carry on. And while I’m not overly religious, the concept of peace after death is something I find cathartic. Please enjoy, and hopefully this helps you like it has been helping me.

Tech, if you can hear me.

Part One: Wrecker Part Two: Hunter

Part Three: Echo (anger)

“Tech, if you can hear me.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. I’ve been sitting on the ship staring at your chair for probably hours. I keep trying to funnel my thoughts into a place where I can actually understand them, but I can’t. I’m angry. I’m. So. Angry.

And I shouldn’t be. I should be really good at this by now. I’ve gone through this tornado of feelings more times than I can count… but I don’t know if anyone ever gets “good” at accepting a loss. Especially when it’s a brother.

I don’t have many memories of leaving Skako, but I remember waking up and seeing you right over Rex’s shoulder. I remember hearing him beg you to help me… and you did. You made it possible to get me out of there. Your uncelebrated ingenuity freed me from hell and I will never forget it.

Growing up, my batch mates always poked fun at me for reading schematics… they called me “reg manual”. I can admit, the obsession was a little unusual, but I couldn’t help it. I found comfort and stability in knowing and understanding logistics. It gave me a confidence that I wasn’t inherently born with like the rest of them were. When I joined Clone Force 99, you became a living, breathing manual beside me, and I never said it, but I found so much comfort in you. You were so effortlessly confident, aware… and I firmly believe that most missions were successful because of you.

Fuck. Why am I doing this? This is so dumb. You probably can’t hear me.

A lot of people believe there’s a peaceful place where one goes when they die, but… I just can’t imagine that sort of peace anywhere in this galaxy or in the next. How can such a wonderful place exist, when there is so much evil in the air down here? How can anyone fathom such serenity when there is so much turmoil? I can almost hear you saying ‘the notion that such a place exists is a highly illogical presumption, Echo. There is no sound data in any archive of any habitation such as one that fits those categories’.

But, if somehow it does exist… If you actually can hear me, and you’re in that place… Then I just want you to know… you deserve it, Tech. You deserve a place where your datapad battery never dies; where there’s an infinite conveyer of mechanics that need your ingenious repairs; you deserve a place where you’re allowed to write on the walls in the middle of the night when an ingenious idea hits you; a place where the lenses of your goggles never fog up, and the seams of your blacks aren’t scratchy. I hope it’s there for you.

And if you’re in that place… maybe keep an eye out for my twin? I could never bring myself to talk about him, but he was the greatest man I’ve ever known. You’ve probably already run into him up there; he’s loud, funny, animated, annoying, and he can talk his way into or out of anything. If you see him, can you tell him I miss him? His name is Fives, and you’ll probably find him hanging out around a table, playing sabacc with a sea of friends. He was always popular. I’ve heard Jesse is up there too. And Tup… Hardcase… so many brothers. Tell them I’m trying. Tell them I’ll keep trying for them.

And don’t worry about me. I promise I’ll keep my keep my hinges clean, and my scomp spinning.

Thinking of you always my brother,

Echo”.

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #tbb spoilers #tbb season 2 #the bad batch spoilers #bad batch season 2 #bad batch tech #bad batch echo

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

The Hoax by happyaspie

No Archive Warnings Apply | Rated T | Chp. 1/? | No Powers AU, OOC May Parker, Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds. Warnings for Gaslighting and Emotional Manipulation.

Summary: Even after years of no evidence, Tony Stark refused to stop looking for his kidnapped son. Some people called it false hope, others called it fatherly love. But May Parker called it an opportunity.

“You and that kid share quite a few similarities, and the case has so little evidence. With your help, I really think we could use those things to our advantage.” Peter was dubious. “How, though?” he asked, his tone teetering toward sarcasm. It was a natural impulse that he couldn’t consistently avoid. No matter how hard he tried. “What do you want me to do? Knock on Tony Stark's front door and pretend to be Arno?” May said nothing as she stared at him from across the table. Initially, he didn’t understand. But as she elevated her eyebrows and tilted her head, it clicked. That was exactly what May wanted him to do.

[Exceprt Below the Cut]

Peter sat down at the kitchen table and twirled some spaghetti around his fork. Of all the things his Aunt May attempted to cook, pasta topped with a jar of tomato sauce and some cheap parmesan cheese was his favorite. He considered not mentioning his backpack had given up on him part way through the school day. He knew she’d be disappointed and didn't want to ruin the pleasant meal. However, no amount of pleasant conversation was going to make it any easier to get around his giant high school without a bag. He sighed nervously and glanced down at his plate. “I, uh, I need a new backpack,” he mumbled under his breath.

May brought her finger up to her ear and tapped it, her face one of disbelief. “Excuse me?” she questioned. “What was that?”

Peter swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I need a new backpack?” he repeated louder and with more clarity than before.

A huff of annoyance escaped May’s lips as she dropped her fork and crossed her arms over her chest. “I bought you one right at the beginning of the school year,” she replied.

“Yeah, but one of the seams ripped,” Peter attempted to defend, then pulled his lip between his teeth. May has asked him to quit the band, Academic Decathlon, and robotics club so he could get a part-time job. He’d easily complied, eager to contribute to the household income. Although he didn’t actually know how much he was actually helping. Each week he signed his check over to May, and she deposited it into her account. He never asked where it went after that. “If you would-” he began but quickly backtracked. “I mean, If I could just use a little bit of my paycheck from Delmar’s, maybe-”

“Peter. Sweetie,” May gently interjected. “You know that money is supposed to help us pay the bills. You don’t want to be the reason we can’t afford rent next month, do you?” she asked, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “This neighborhood is expensive. Every little bit counts.”

“I don’t know. It’s a lot of books and stuff,” he unsurely replied. Even though his best friend was kind enough to allow him to use some of his locker space, Midtown was a specialized science and technology school. His schedule was rigorous and required a lot of materials. He wasn’t sure carrying everything around was all that reasonable.

“Don’t be selfish, Peter,” May mildly scolded. “There are only a few weeks of school left to go. You can get by with one of my reusable shopping bags until then.”

May was right. Peter knew she was right. There wasn't too much school left. Carrying his supplies around in a stupid cloth shopping bag wouldn’t kill him. Even if there were a handful of students who would never let him live it down. Starting with Flash Thompson. But he could handle that if it meant making things easier for his aunt. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s fine,” he swiftly agreed. He glanced at his half-eaten dinner and bit back a sigh. “May I be excused?”

[Continue Reading On AO3]

#happyaspie writing #the hoax #no powers au #ooc aunt may parker #emotional manipulation #gaslighting #peter parker #tony stark #may parker #happy hogan #ned leeds #irondad and spiderson #eventually