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#thank you for the ask anna!
dude-why-3 · 9 months
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Hiii, I'm here for Aruani writer game!
1, 2, 5, 7, 9, 14, 15
Hi Anna, thank you for the ask!! I'm sorry it took this long to answer but here we go:
Share your favorite part of your latest fic. And since the latest is chapter 11 of wpts, it would be this paragraph:
"What?" His eyes search hers for a few seconds before he says, “We’ll be alright."  Annie’s eyes narrow at his statement. “I know." Armin presses his lips together. He searches Annie's face, takes in her eyes, the black circles that seem to have gotten bigger in the past few days, the way she bites her lips and chews on the inside of her cheeks. The way she digs her nails into her palms, he's concerned she'd soon draw blood. He hesitantly reaches his hand out and brushes his little finger against hers. Annie sighs heavily, letting her shoulders slump and fist unclench. Armin’s eyes trail down to her palm, finding that she's only left a few marks. He sneaks his hand into hers, gives it a slight squeeze, interlaces his fingers with hers.  "We'll be fine," Annie repeats his words, her voice barely above a whisper.  "We will be." He gives her hand another squeeze, and this time Annie reciprocates it. She gives him a small smile before returning to her water droplets, her hand not leaving his.
2. Share your favorite part of your first ever fic
Thing is, I no longer have the original document of my first fic and I have deleted it off of the face of the internet, so I can't really do this one. But it was the scene where Armin and Annie were trying to get closer and he told her he really liked ducks and that they reminded him of her. It was written in 2020 and I think it's the thing that started the whole duck thingy lmao. I later recycled the scene in 'Who painted the sky?' so there's that.
5. Write about Armin and Annie's first meeting (in an au, i'll let you guess which one hehe):
He hears rustling from behind, and for a second thinks it’s an animal, but then the sound of shoes against dirt makes him reconsider. He gazes at his bare dirty feet as he continues his work, dreading whatever interaction might follow. He can only hope it’s just a passerby. That thought disappears when he hears a quiet, whispery voice calling his name. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s the mayor’s daughter. He keeps his head low, acknowledging her with a nod but not raising his eyes. Getting in trouble for even daring to be in her immediate proximity is not something he's willing to do today, so he keeps doing his work, raising the scythe and slamming it back onto the ground, dragging it towards him.  The girl doesn’t move one inch, her eyes burning holes in the back of his head. Suddenly, Armin is very aware of his scrawny figure, unprotected by the shirt he's abandoned by the side of the property when the sun got too unbearable. Eventually, he sighs and raises his eyes to her level. 
7. What was the inspiration behind your shortest fic?
My shortest fic is "The stars are beautiful tonight". The inspiration behind it is a winter night with a clear sky and thousands of stars. I tried putting the stars into constellations and then this idea came to me.
9. Which of your fics is your favourite? Why?
It must be Long ago, before we were born, not only because it's inspired by my favourite song from my favourite singer, but also because I wrote while being around my favourite people, so this fic is something really special to me. Also, I really love how I wrote it! Every word fits in its place so perfectly and it feels so intentional and I like the suspense I created in the beggining, when you don't really know what going on.
14. Tell us a detail you wrote that nobody commented on yet
It's a quite important plot point and I'm still hoping someone will figure it out lmao, so I can't do this one, sorry :3
15. Write a hurt/comfort/angst moment between them:
Annie storms out into the hallway. "I got no one!" she berates, her voice almost breaking, as she turns to face him. "I can literally count everyone who gives a shit about me on my fingers!" "Do it then!" Armin says. Annie holds out her hands, her palms facing him, her fingers extended outwards. Then, slowly, one by one, she lets her fingertips touch her palm, her hands forming fists. Her eyes, glassy, pierce through him, going right through his heart, breaking it in tiny little pieces. His eyes widen, and then they narrow.  "Zero," Annie says, her hands now trembling the slightest bit. "I got no one." Armin reaches out and takes her hand in his, caressing it with his fingertips before straightening one of her fingers. Her eyes narrow in confusion.  "You've got me."
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For the character opinion bingo - Li Tianxi and Roy Mustang?
OH THESE ARE GOOD. Hey, nice, we get the blue and pink.
So Li Tianxi
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Firstly. Link Click s2 spoilers.
I will be honest. I know nothing of how the fandom characterises her or anything BUT LI TIANXI MY BELOVED COMPLEX VILLAIN/VICTIM/EVERYTHING. She is SO CUTE and SO sad but I will NOT forget that she was absolutely complicit in the crimes. And that....makes me obsessed with her. She desperately just wanted to find her home and would do ANYTHING for it until....she found someone like her that she helped kill and was thrown into despair. She is guiltless and a victim of abuse. She has blood on her hands. She was used and unaware. She was complicit and so aware. AUGH SHE MAKES ME INSANE. I'M NORMAL ABOUT HER I SWEAR. Also, while I scream and protest against what happened to her in canon, so far the writers have used deaths of significantish side characters in really intriguing ways (Emma and Chen Bin and even that earthquake episode). So I'm hoping for the best?
And Roy
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Oh, Roy. OH Roy....I do like him. I like ALL FMA characters because they all drive me insane, not always to 'I'm so normal about them' levels but they DO. He really is a character of all time and he is sooooo annoying but, really, is just another complex guy. Love how the author just....hints at intricate backstories with characters like him and doesn't really go further than what's needed. My friends do love the guy, though, and they LOVE Royai, so he is a blorbo by proxy. But seriously, he is pretty amazing. Way he killed Lust? Way he fights with his teammates? Way he wants to rule Amestris? Way he's so vain and flirtatious as a cover? Icon.
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sighonaraa · 3 months
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Any thoughts about Foggy’s family reacting to Matt being back in the post-blip Daredevil fic?
HOUGH. thank you for asking this my love because i DIDN'T have any thoughts about it and now i DO. oh BOY DO I!!!!
See, what seems to be a million years ago, now, Anna's son brought home his roommate from college for Thanksgiving. He had told them all that Matt was different, whispered hushed through the phone, that he didn't come from anywhere nor have anywhere to return to, and that it had taken days of embarrassing pleading on his part to get Matt to even reluctantly agree to the visit. So Anna had said okay, honey, sounds good, and then she'd hung up the phone and worried with her husband as to what exactly it was that Foggy was bringing home with him. (What it was, was this: A kid, mop-haired and shy, mumbling please and thank you and offering to clean the dishes and jerking with surprise every time her husband clapped him on the shoulder.) (What it was, was this: Anna's third son.) She remembers Foggy telling her about Matt's--disappearance, the first time. She'd kept making an extra serving of dinner and dessert, just in case he returned, and eventually, he had. A bit quieter than before, a bit sadder, but whole. She doesn't remember Foggy telling her about Matt's second disappearance. Her own hands had been gritty with dust, or ash, or whatever it was they called it. She'd watched her husband crumble to pieces between her palms and then she had to open the front door to tell her son that his father was gone, only to find out that her other son was gone, too. And yet. And yet. Her husband is here again, and Matt is-- Matt is sitting at her kitchen table, socked feet tucked up beneath him, Foggy at one shoulder and Karen at the other, and he's saying please and thank you and offering to clean the dishes and it's like no time has passed at all, even though so much of it has. She passes her fingers through his hair as she sets their plates on the table. He doesn't flinch, not anymore. Instead, his body leans into the touch, and remains.
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imagionary · 10 months
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May I request Rainmaker interacting with Deep Diver and Gatekeeper please? I really like those three together and I absolutely love your sketches and designs for the cogs!
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This ask made me think of one of the first stories Evils and I told for our AU x3 Silly afterwork game of mini golf that High Roller had set up; good times
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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years
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Oooh for the dirty drabbles 21 for Ash (and maybe a bit of 32?)
You win. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB. PLEASE ENJOY --
heated and hollow, just how you like it [ash garver ("no exit") x fem!reader]
Summary: Here’s hoping your neighbor from down the hall with the sinfully dark eyes and the glimmering, shark-tooth smile is all smooth talk, and no action (he isn’t). I hope you don’t mind the bitterness of dark chocolate in your teeth, and that you have the chance to catch your breath – baby, you’re gonna need it. Based on the prompts “bite me,” “if you insist;” and “you wanna have sex with me” (the latter is slightly modified for flow, sorry.)
Pairing: Ash Garver [“No Exit”] x fem!reader
Word Count: 3.6k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB) of an encounter as heady as perfume and bitter as black coffee, of viper venom in your veins, dragging your bones beneath the bounds of trouble .
Warnings: smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, unprotected sex, dubious/fearful sex (it’s dark, okay? He’s not a nice man), allusions to oral sex (fem!receiving), biting, mild choking, some degradation, coming inside (and f*cking it back in – WHO AM I). IM SO SORRY.
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--
It’s like this: Your neighbor Anita is perfectly pleasant. She holds the door for you when she sees you coming with arms laden with grocery bags. She brings you cookies she’s baked for your floor every holiday season. Sure, she can be a little noisy for your taste – you could do without the pulsing of your shared wall on nights she throws parties – but what neighbor was perfect?
And, speaking of her parties, she always, always invites you, no matter how many times you’ve refused in the past. Yeah, Anita is goddamned neighborly. And, honestly, you felt bad for turning her down so many times when she was just trying to be nice. You concede. 
So, here you are, on a Friday night – one you would typically spend curled up on your couch with a glass of red wine and your favorite soft, stretchy joggers. Swapped out in favor of a high-waisted, front-buttoned leather skirt that your friend had insisted on you buying, and you insisted you’d never have occasion to wear. Standing in one corner of Anita’s too-hot apartment, the dimmed overhead ambience cut through with strung-up little twinkling party lights. A red Solo cup of Anita’s “famous” (she had assured you, as she pressed the cup into your hands with her mildly sticky fingers) punch, sipping every so often so as to appear busy. 
What was the appropriate time to stay at these things before you left? 
You’d had a day. The coffee shop near your office was closed, relegating you to the unsatisfactory bitterness of pre-prepared office coffee. You had missed lunch. You had been on the receiving end of a few choice passive-aggressive emails today. A guy had leered at you on the bus home (and no matter how much you’d wanted to snap at the creep, you didn’t have a death wish.) And to top it all off, you arrived home just in time to remember that you had agreed days before to be at this party, when you’d much rather relax in silence in your bathtub, in your home – you know, where your stuff was and where other people weren’t. 
And as you glanced around the room of packed-in partygoers (most of whom you assumed were friends of Anita’s), you made eye contact with him. 
Him.
Your neighbor from the opposite end of the hall. You were quick to glance away out of self-preservation, lest he think you were staring, while you tried to place a name to an admittedly devastating face.
What was his name? Andy? Adam? Something with an A…
“Hi,” a tanned hand entered your periphery, interrupting your musings and shaking you from your reverie. If you hadn’t been so busy worrying about remembering your neighbor’s name, you might have noticed that he made his way over to you, now standing before you with a hand waiting expectantly for you to shake. “I’m Ash.” 
Ash. That was it. 
You gave him your hand and your name, trying not to belay any of the molten gold rushing through you at the way your hand felt so warm in his (was that just the heat of the room, or was it him?), or at the way your name sounded from his lips as he repeated it back to you, before sidling to your side and taking a drink from his own cup, dark, glimmering eyes taking you in over the rim, never leaving you.
"I know," he admitted, leaning into your space to do it, lips just shy of your ear – and, in all honesty, probably too familiar for someone who had just introduced himself to you. Even if you saw him most every day.
"Know what?" You query. And really, you'd only been here for a bit, but the combination of the dim lights, the music, the punch, and now the man in front of you was doing a bit of a number on your better senses, heated and hazy.
"Your name," he smiled. Although, smile would imply congeniality, grace. The show of teeth was flattering, charming, brilliant, even on his angular face. But it wasn't… friendly.
 A Cheshire's grin, sinful and smirking. Potentially predatory, pernicious and pithy. Almost… pornographic, really, if you associated sexual attraction with flashing warning lights. 
And, you supposed, you had seen him seeing you, week after week, by the mailboxes. Out of the corner of your eye, like a shadow looming, before you slip back into your apartment. Unsettling. As if he was hoping to catch something of your correspondence, what packages you received from week to week. Something about you.
"And what else do you know?" You breezed, taking another sip of the sickly-sweet concoction, appraising the man before you – his inky dark curls shining in the low light, the flirtation of a solitary curl teasing and tempting along his forehead.
“I know that you wanna get out of here,” Ash’s voice was a little too smooth, a little too easy, still crowding you in the dark corner you were occupying. He paid you the courtesy of the swooping up-and-down of obsidian, oilslick eyes roving your form, biting his lip in brief pause before continuing. “You put on that skirt, but you keep eyeing the door like you can’t wait to make a break for it.” 
“Parties aren’t really my thing,” you conceded, turning to place your now-empty cup down on any available surface, when Ash’s arm met the wall beside your head, boxing you in and invading your senses with the woodsy smell of his aftershave. 
“So you do wanna get out of here,” his eyes flicked from yours down to your lips. “How about it? With me?” 
So, now, what did you know? You knew that he was smooth. He eased his way through conversations with your neighbors, through the building’s common spaces, with a facile air hat urges the edge of something, something like “charm, but practiced,” as though he had studied how to smile. How to seem just-so. And, like you said,  always, always on the edge of your peripheral vision. 
And maybe… maybe … maybe if you weren’t a drink-on-an-empty-stomach deep, and if your gut wasn’t already in knots at the heat coursing through you, you might have been more wary of him. Had overheard him once telling the old lady across from him that he was “originally from San Fran,” when you knew that no self-respecting California native ever referred to it that way  – it was always “SF,” or “The City.” 
But Ash’s lips on the shell of your ear were causing your skin to tingle to your toes – you nevertheless clung to your better senses by the very tips of your fingers when you replied with a snort, 
“Oh, bite me,” you rejoined, a playful roll of your eyes so as not to too-deeply offend. 
His responding grin was fully-predatory now, glimmering and shining teeth … waiting to devour. 
“If you insist,” he purred. 
And Ash does not just devour. (At least not yet.) Ash overwhelms, like a capsizing wave, the way he ushers you through your neighboring apartment door – crowding you in with strong arms and a solid frame in your interior hallway, pulling at your lips with his own, nipping your lower lip between those hunter’s teeth, groaning at the feel of you as he pressed a warm thigh between yours, parting your legs. 
His hands are warm on the peaks of your cheeks as they trail down to the hollow of your throat, tugging at the loose collar of your oversized sweater, taking in the flash of your crimson bra adorning your bare shoulder. 
“Aw, Cherry,” he breathed, the new moniker spilling from him as his full lips pressed to your neck. “That’s a pretty little piece of red.” 
He shucks the sweater from you, exposing your chest encased in the red lace to his narrowed, glittering gaze, drawing a heated hand down to your thigh and beneath your skirt, up, up, up to meet the clothed heat of your center, taking in the gasping part of your lips at his touch, your response garnering a smirk from him before devouring your lips with his own.
Ash maneuvered you through your living space to your bedroom as though he’d been there before – and how was that possible? What should have unsettled you tipped out of your head as Ash’s mouth fused to yours, his fingers roving purposefully along your clothed slit before he guides you back onto your bed. Thoroughly melted, despite not even having really touched you. 
“C’mon, Cherry,” Ash goaded, withdrawing his hand from your center, looking down his nose at you, and smirking at your resulting whimper, “I’ll touch you if you tell me you really want it.” 
And in the low light of your bedroom, you could swear his inkwell eyes, though heated, were empty – as though he was seeing you without really seeing you, taking in every inch of you with jet-black gaze and sinful touch alike as he roved covetous fingers over your form, drawing whimpers from your throat. 
And, if you were keeping track, this would be well-past strike three. But who could keep track when he was touching you like that? – Still … 
“I – I don’t even know you,” you sighed as his hands cupped your tits through the lace of your red bra, heated thumbs tweaking your nipples. 
“No,” Ash hummed his agreement as he swarmed over you again, drawing the bridge of his nose across your throat, lips following to trail the fine line of your neck, feeling the hum of your pulse beneath his lips. “But you still wanna fuck me. I see you, pretty girl,” his lips press again to the column of your throat. 
His hands are beneath your skirt again, shucking it up to expose your panties, half-hard already at the sight of you, in what is now clearly a matching set – all wrapped up like a gift for him. And maybe, just maybe, if he’d had his way, he would tie you up with a bow. And the thought of tying you up, the sweet, quiet little thing from down the hall – all gasping breaths from full lips, all wide, doe eyes – was sinful. And Ash was no stranger to sin. 
“Y-yeah?” you sighed, rolling your hips to place yourself more fully in Ash’s greedy hands, encouraging him to guide your panties down your legs.
“I see you down the hall,” a kiss to your throat.
“I see you in the elevator with your head down,” a kiss to your chest, a little tease of tongue behind it, as though he were tasting the beat of your heart, the pulse of you. 
“I see you waiting,” And he’s maneuvered down your body, between your legs, pressing full-mouthed kisses to the skin behind your knees. "Waiting for someone to come along and give it to you how you like it… how you need it."
And when had he lost his sweatshirt? His shirt? You take him in, now, eyes blown at his words, as he kisses his way up your legs, toward your aching center, his fingers following the blazing trail of his lips.
Ash’s fingers slide along your glistening slit, a perpetual tease, as he continues to press full kisses to the insides of your thighs, the firm line of his jaw sharp against your skin like a heated blade. 
And you’re basking in it, reveling at the feel of his thick fingers teasing your center, gathering your wetness and playing you like a game he knows so well. (And how would that be??) When –
You yelp at the jolt of pain, as the softness of his lips against your inner thigh is abruptly gone, replaced with a painful scrape of teeth. 
He had bitten you?!
You reach down to jerk Ash’s head from between your legs, moving your hips back and withdrawing at the hard bite he had rendered to your inner thigh. You glance down to see an imprint of teeth marks on the tender skin there.
“Wh-what the hell?” you demanded, “Too hard!”
“Sorry,” Ash bit, sounding not one ounce of sorry, cooly shrugging one bare, sculpted shoulder at your angry face. “You said to bite you, Cherry.” He smirked again, his face a puzzle of mismatched emotions as his bourbon eyes swirled with what looked like penitence, urging your forgiveness in their sincerity. While his mouth continued to play you with its soulless smirk. 
Red flag number… what was it now?? Just who was this guy?
And dd his mouth only know how to quirk in that one sinful, maddening way? 
He rocked forward on his knees, and you felt him then, fully hard in his jeans against your naked center, crowding you once more as he cupped the base of your jaw, fingers spidering back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, eyes finding yours once more before kissing you.
Now his lips were penitent. Kissing your lips raw, like the scrape of crystallized honey – once smooth. 
Breathless, your heart stuttering, Ash pulls away, admiring your lips swollen from the nip-and-tug of his teeth, admiring your starry, lust-blown eyes with the heavy lids, the whole of you undone by his lips and his fingers, and he demands. Demands more. Wants you to need him as much as he desires to control you, the ache in him twisting like a knife between his ribs. The ache in you, fluttering and flush. He wants you to want it, to need it.
“Do it again?" He asks, busying himself with undoing his jeans and sliding them down his own legs, along with his boxer briefs. exposing more and more of his golden skin to your gaze before turning those obsidian-smoke eyes back to your piteous form, heated and wet for him. 
You quirked a brow, "Do what?"
"Pull my hair, Cherry," Ash replied leaning back over you once more to envelop you, a rolling shadow. A facile and firm wave, content to drown you in him. "Hard as you want."
And you're only too happy to oblige, moaning at the roll of Ash's hips into yours, his length sliding along your slit, weaving hour fingers through his curls and tugging – your reward a deep, desirous groan into your mouth as Ash slides his lips along yours, open-mouthed and wanting.
And he’s got you tied up in knots – figuratively, that is. Though you had the sneaking suspicion that if you’d vocalized any iteration of this, he’d only be too happy to do just that. And the thought of your shady neighbor tying your wrists to your own headboard shouldn’t make you wet. Shouldn’t make you groan while he’s kissing you, his tongue plunging into your mouth to taste your reciprocal moans. 
With a decided roll of his hips, he's inside of you, the drag of him heavy as he begins to thrust. He skates his palms along your legs, wrapping his hands around your thighs to hoist them up around his waist, satisfied when you lock your ankles around him.
He rewards you with a decidedly brutal thrust, pleased at the gasp it tears from your lungs.
He allows his hands to travel further upwards, to grip the leather skirt still bunched around your hips, using it as leverage to lift your hips and guide you, fucking you back onto his own cock at the frenzied pace he's set. 
It's almost overwhelming how just everywhere he feels, the drag of him inside of you heavy. The strange astrology of him, of your pairing, as he fucks you like you're a stranger to yourself.
Your headboard, you note faintly, is thumping against your wall in time with Ash's ministrations, but you're too out-of-body to care, the sound falling hollowly on your ears as the rest of your skin tingles and warms with in tandem with the building pleasure inside of you. You've never been more grateful for one of Anita's parties. Certain that no one on the other side of the shared wall could hear the headboard through the pulsing bass, could hear the hiccuping moans slipping from your lips.
And Ash must've had the same thought, his lips twisting as he rolls his hips, tearing his eyes from the sight of your now-heaving tits, to appreciate the headboard snapping against your lavender-painted bedroom wall.
Cute.
"D'ya think they can hear you, babe?" He croons mockingly, rolling forward and planting his hands on either side of your head, a heated roll of his hips causing a brush against your clit at this new angle. "Do you want them to?"
You shook your head mildly, the pleasure-pain at Ash's rough, repeated thrusts causing a blur in your eyes.
He's pleased at this, you note, whether it was your honesty or a blushing stroke to his own ego, Ash smiles again. All resplendent radiance that seemed so right on such a wrong face.
He's brushing your clit with a circling thumb, you note absently, and when had he shifted again?
"That's right," he murmurs to you, leaning forward to lick a line down your neck while he continues to rub your clit. "Only I get to hear you scream. No one else."
With a renewed vigor, his thrusts continue, his attention on your clit almost punishing now, punching the air from your lungs in a strangled moan that did, indeed, sound like a shuttered scream. Music to Ash's ears, like breaking glass, jagged and desperate. 
You were a wreck now, your arousal dripping down Ash's cock. The skin of your thigh burning where he had bitten you was now rubbing repeatedly against the taut skin of his waist. 
“Look at that,” Ash cooed, his voice a whiskey murmur of smoky haze into your ear, cupping your cheek as he used his thumb to drag the tears that had pricked in the corners of your eyes along your lower lash-line and beneath your eye, causing your eye makeup to smear and smudge. “Did you know how fucking pretty you are when you cry? When I make a mess of you?” 
He pressed his lips to your other cheek, dragging them along your heated skin and down to your mouth.
“No,” he murmured into your lips, catching your lower one between his full ones, chasing with teeth enough to lightly pull the plush of your bottom lip, “nonono… of course you don’t. You’re only pretty like this for me.” 
And, maybe you were addicted, now, to losing your senses. To throwing caution to the wind. To jagged little shards of danger. To pretty men with pretty curls whose words spilled like oil, thick and dark, from chapped lips. And you think you may be losing a bit of yourself at the feeling of him overwhelming you – what other reason would you be fucking your neighbor who always gave you the mild heebs? Fucking you dumb into your own mattress.
You snap at a particularly clever roll of his hips, coming on Ash's cock, the wet squeeze of your walls around him has a groan spilling from his lips like snake’s venom, blazing its way from his mouth through your veins – the whites of his eyes behind fluttering lids as they roll back at the feel of you around him, spurring his own orgasm as he came inside of you.
His mouth was covetous and prideful as he kissed you again, forceful, before withdrawing himself and guiding you onto your stomach.
You were too blissed out to care, too numb, dumb, and warm from your own release that you allowed Ash to shape your bones, running a palm down the curve of your spine as he guided your hips up. Allowing those glimmering, empty eyes to take in your swollen, abused pussy – to admire the way his own release leaked from between your lips.
He gathered a bit of himself on his thumb, causing you to shiver at the touch on your sensitive skin, before bringing it to your mouth. Wordlessly, you wrapped your lips around his thumb, hollowing your cheeks and allowing your tongue to run along the length of his digit, tasting himself on his own skin. A rare thing, as you realized, distantly, he hadn't really offered you to touch him during this entire encounter.
Ash groaned again at the sight and feel of your mouth on him as he took himself, still hard, and thrust back into your pussy, fucking his own come back into you with a few lazy thrusts, met with your mewls and squirming hips.
Content that you were full of him, he withdrew again, extricating his thumb from your lips before bringing it to his own, tasting your saliva before pulling it from his lips with a pop, smiling at you again. 
"Aren't you just a dream, Cherry?" 
You offer a wan half-smile in return, still hazy from the feel of him smattered in tingles across your skin, like fallen stars at the end of the world, eyeing him as he begins to bustle around your room, smoothing hands over his curls and making himself presentable. Seemingly uncaring for your boneless state, legs at an odd angle, like a fucked-out doll.
“See ya ‘round, alba,” he bids, tucking himself back into his pants and starting toward your door. Leaving you with the feeling of bad, wrong, want – in his destructive wake. 
“I truly hope not,” you murmur, unsure whether your words will reach Ash’s ears as he clicks open your door and begins to stride in the hallway. The ambiguity resolved for you, as you see him turn around to reward you with a blinding grin, a wall of white teeth. On a less pretty face, it likely would have served as intended – a warning. But then again, you clearly weren’t so good at heeding those when they were wrapped in handsome packages. 
Oh, you were so screwed… 
--
Tagging: @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain  @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @gingerbreadandpaper @the-navistar-carol  @alexxavicry @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid   @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @melinacalhounxo @marvelousmermaid @callmemana @spencer-is-amazing @mxgyver ​ @n3ssm0nique ​@mothdruid  @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood @themarcusmoreno @the-purity-pen
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raulfernandez · 2 months
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Your AU idea for Luca keeping his connection to Vale hidden is brilliant. One question, does Alex know or does he find out via the media?
This went down real fast but uhm yeah have my opinion on this 🤠
I feel like he would know. Luca doesn't know how to tell him. He wants to, he really does, but he is probably the only person to have seen both sides of the thing. Marc doesn't mind him, Alex loves him, life is good with them, when it doesn't involve Vale. But one time when Luca was drunk it just slipped out. He was annoyed with Vale, and Alex was there to listen to him complain about how annoying his older brother can be. Luca doesn't remember ever having told Alex, but Alex knows. But he can't bring himself to care too much, and Luca never brings it up, so he never brings it up either. He's not aware that Luca doesn't remember that he told him.
Marc tries not to talk about Vale and tries not to think about him too much, but sometimes he has his little outbursts when something happened and Luca will sit in Marc & Alex's shared motorhome with them while Marc rants about how much he hates Vale and Luca listens to him and wonders to himself what happened between them because no way was it just the on track things.
But he can't bring himself to really care. He doesn't mind how Marc talks of Vale. It's not like Luca adores him in the way every other young rider seems to do.
That's what Marc likes about Luca.
So no, he's probably never going to tell them.
But then the media knows. And in an instant, of course, Marc finds out. He knows before Luca or Alex do (Alex has known for a while lol), and he's furious. It probably happens on a race weekend, so he goes looking for Luca, and where does he find him? On this nice, warm, Italian evening? On the sofa in his own motorhome, cuddling Alex. He starts screaming at Luca, accusing him of only using Alex to get into Marc's head and help Vale out. Luca starts yelling back at him because he would never ever use Alex or hurt him in any way. Why would Marc even think that??
Meanwhile, Alex is sitting on the couch, watching them scream at eachother (Luca has stood up at this point), just taking in how their fight gets louder and bigger. And then he gets up and stands between the two, holds Luca behind himself, and starts yelling back at Marc. This isn't about him. Not everything is always about him. Luca loves him, that's why they're together. Not because Luca wants to use him, especially not to help Vale. If Marc has such a problem with it, he's free to leave and don't talk to Luca anymore, but that also means that Alex won't talk to him until he atleast apologises.
Then Alex decides that they need to be separated, so he pulls Luca outside, and they just make a run for it. Doesn't matter where, just away from Marc. Away from everything they know will be coming Luca's way after that.
They end up on a little hill overlooking the circuit and just flop down on the floor. Luca apologises. Alex doesn't want to hear any of it. Luca is not at fault for who was born related to. That's not Luca meant. He's asking Alex's forgiveness for not having told him that he's related to the Valentino Rossi. Alex looks at him, confusion written across his face. He has told him, does he not remember? Now they just stare at each other, both confused. Then Alex starts laughing. "No way you don't remember!" Luca is perplexed. What should he remember? So Alex tells him about how Luca had told him this before, but it wasn't a big deal so it never came up again. Luca admits that he doesn't remember any of that, was too drunk. They have a good laugh about it.
They're both somewhat scared of going back and facing Marc again, but atleast they have eachother. Like they always will.
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anna-scribbles · 11 months
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i love the way you draw adrien. like you really capture his essence of "just a lil guy facing the horrors"
okay real. to me adrien is the littlest guy facing the biggest horrors. i’m glad that’s coming through
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thevulturesquadron · 15 days
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Hey remember that post you made a time ago about E9?
I agree with it all, but I wanted to talk especially about the rushed part, i.e Roberto and Rogue immediately going into the "villain guards" roles. It is missing a moment between them joining Magneto and the following fight against X-Men
What would you put as this moment? A dialogue? I've been thinking about this and I even want to write a fic, but my brain can't chose. (I've been leaning on Rogue reassuring Roberto somehow) So?
Many thanks! I love your blog bestie <33
– @unfortunately-obsessed
Hey sweet thing! 🌺 (your tumblr posts always put a smile on my face) Oh! I love this! If you write something I would kill to read it! For E9 I would have loved to see a moment on Asteroid M between the two, either when they set foot inside for the first time or before preparing for the ‘meet and greet’ with the X-Men. I feel like once in space, after the adrenaline wears off Roberto would worry about the choice he made. I like to think Rogue would sense it and maybe look for him. What if she finds him in front of one of the wide panels looking down towards Earth? She would probably start the conversation by saying something like ‘quite a sight from up here, ain’t it sugah?’ Having a moment between the two with a look over the ‘dying’ earth would put things into a certain perspective. I imagine Rogue being reassuring, as much as she could, but there is a fire under her skin as well that she needs to tame - when he shows doubt she’d tell him she’s been following Xavier’s ways for years and that his heart may be in the right place but he’s living in a past version of the fight. Things have changed in his absence and she’s done with putting the idea of peace ahead of mutant lives. She’d tell him that there is no right or wrong way of doing this, that if there’s one thing he can count on is that he’s never going to have to face anything alone. I like to think she’d ask him if he’s scared and when he’d ask her back she would answer honestly - ‘ yes’. She’d admit that after Remy died she was so lost in her anger, thinking she had nothing left to lose, but has since realized that that was not true. She’d look down the hall that leads to Magneto’s ‘throne room’ and she’d tell Roberto that being a mutant is not just about his powers, it’s about something more. And any mutants that are still out there are worth fighting for. Maybe Roberto would confess that the look in Magneto’s eyes scares him even if he stands by his choice. And her face would darken in worry. ‘That’s the other reason why I chose to be here. Erik’s a good man, sugah. But he’s been through a lot. And I refuse to lose him too - not to his pain, not to his anger.’ In Genosha he asked her for help, to be the balancing force that would keep him in check. She was angry with him back then, but seeing him now, seeing how the world treated all of them, she understood how vulnerable he actually allowed himself to be. If she was ready to be by his side at his best - she wasn’t going to abandoned him at his worst. And I would have liked to see one last exchange between them as they are making their way towards the Blackbirld. Maybe Rogue would sense Roberto’s internal conflict and that would strengthen her conviction. ‘They need us. The X-men, Magneto. Things will get nasty, so we need to be strong. Sometimes you gotta punch a fella you love to get them to sit down and listen. A blackened eye heals faster than a broken arm.’ She’d wink and punch in the door key to the hangar. Or something like that! I am terrible with dialogue but I would have loved a tiny moment that shows both the internal conflict they were going through and what stood behind their choices. Even a short reassuring hand on his shoulder and a voiceless exchange before stepping in would have been enough. Taking the mantle of the ‘bad guy’ so that others can fight their good fight with lessened consequences is often times an unsung tale.
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hello! for the fic asks, this part from "like a wolf in the doorway":
 Percy takes a breath, looking at the inked veins and the scribbled notes in the margins, thinking of blood flow. “Oliver liked to climb trees.���
   Just saying it leaves him breathless. He can summon up the image clearly now, untainted by the dark cloud he now thinks was the demon, and it somehow hurts all the more to picture Ollie and Whitney running across the castle grounds, play-fighting in the spring air. There is no rage to catch him and put him back into motion; only a deep, aching emptiness remains.
   He drags in air, but he’s drowning.
   Pike isn’t in armor today. She moves carefully into his space—she does everything carefully—and catches his good hand in hers. Her skin is warm. When did he get so cold?
   “Thank you for telling me,” is all she says, and then she starts a long story about Grog, her great-great-grandfather, and a herd of perilously stubborn goats. By the time she reaches the punchline, he’s well enough to laugh.
   “We can do this today,” he says, looking at the parts and looking at her, a wild rush buoying him. “It’ll work, I know it.”
   And Pike, probably realizing that he’ll do it alone if she refuses, says yes.
    He comes to on the floor of the workshop with the soft golden veil of the Everlight’s power over his mind, dulling the memory—the length of soiled bandages peeled back, Pike holding his wrist down with furious strength as he tried to fit everything together, nothing to numb him and it was so, so bad, he’d shouted—it’s all fading quickly, and he doesn’t want to drag it back up. He can leave this pain here in this room. 
   His throat aches and Pike is inspecting his left hand, bending the fingers one by one to touch the smooth metal that sits where his palm used to be. There’s an empty socket there, but she doesn’t ask what he’s going to put in it.
   Percy smiles, a bright flash of teeth.
hi!!!!!!! thank you so much!!! i love talking about my fic and the tlovm oneshots project as a whole was a really fun experiment to do. i wanted to be a little more involved in the fandom as the show was coming out, and i set the ‘just try to write 1k about each episode’ bar intentionally low so that it couldn’t intimidate me. this was a pretty big success - i didn’t really manage to keep current with the release of the show, but it did keep me writing all through 2023 :) now about this passage specifically!!
“Oliver liked to climb trees.”
the older i get the sadder i get about the de rolo children. genuinely it is so so so sad.
There is no rage to catch him and put him back into motion; only a deep, aching emptiness remains.
i wanted this moment of really abrupt and painful vulnerability for percy - i feel like tlovm!percy is even worse at dealing with his emotions than campaign!percy, mostly due to the compressed nature of the adaptation - and what i want most with this character is to turn the rock over and see all of his metaphorical bugs wriggling around underneath. a huge part of this fic was me wanting to address the demon as a coping mechanism; i wanted it to feel worse to remember the good times once he could remember them clearly, because it comes with the pain of knowing he’ll never have those days again. sometimes smiling because it happened brings no comfort at all.
Pike isn’t in armor today. She moves carefully into his space—she does everything carefully—and catches his good hand in hers.
it was also a big priority for me that the characters sometimes get things wrong about each other in these oneshots! pike does not do everything carefully - but percy needs to think she does. it’s not that she’s being dishonest or anything, but he’s encountering her in an extremely specific context in this scene and he’s choosing to read that as a blanket statement about her personality. we’re pre-sunken tomb in this scene, but he’s already looking to put people on pedestals around himself; if he’s looking up, he doesn’t have to face the huge pit of grief inside. wow this fic is a downer!
“We can do this today,” he says, looking at the parts and looking at her, a wild rush buoying him.
THAT’S MY KING OF MOOD SWINGS!!!!! YOU CAN INVENT YOUR WAY OUT OF ANY TRAUMA IF YOU JUST INVENT HARD ENOUGH!
He comes to on the floor ... He can leave this pain here in this room.
it’s genuinely a minor miracle from pike that allowed this surgery to happen - a fun bit of irony, since percy really doesn’t put much stock in the divine. and i’m not being subtle in this paragraph; he can leave this pain here, but he’s carrying the rest of it with him forever. this whole pike scene is kind of... the relief of ripping off the scab if that makes sense? it might not be a good move in the long run, but at least you’ve done something with all of it in the moment.
Percy smiles, a bright flash of teeth.
this is a triumphant moment for him. i wanted to turn Diplomacy into a collaborative piece, to reflect the combo-move it was with vax later on in the show & because i love putting pike and percy in a room together. i wish it had happened more during the campaign, and i’m desperate for it in tlovm (though i don’t really expect to get it, there’s just not time). so he’s smiling, and he won, but he’s also always picking at scabs and becoming the architect of his own destruction. that’s the secret sauce for percy imo. he should always be building the next thing that ruins him, especially if that thing is himself.
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allieisacrybaby · 2 days
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he would
🫦
hey siri play “what’s your fantasy?”
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whatthebodygraspsnot · 2 months
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Hi Ray, sometimes I will be having a bad day but then I read something you wrote and Mickey calls Ian “darlin” and it’s like capitalism no longer exists and everyone has housing and food.
Anyway, hope you are very well and having a great day!
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take this and call me in the morning
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gallawitchxx · 1 year
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Not to distract you from packing or anything, but what do you think Ian did today for Mickey to call him soft?
please distract me. i've packed absolutely nothing today! i've simply spoken on the phone with 1950935 customer service agents, gathering shipping quotes 💀 spoiler alert: everything's expensive. so this is very much welcomed.
ook, what ian did today for mickey to call him soft:
mickey's super grumbly when he gets out of bed this morning. like, immediately griping about work and asking ian pressing questions before he's even opened his eyes. stomping off to the bathroom, yelling something about coffee and co-workers. when mickey finally does come back to the bedroom–a steaming mug in hand for ian because he's not a totally shit husband–he rolls his eyes to see him still in bed. "get up, sleepyhead. time to get this day over with." "can't, mick." "why not? (worried)" "can't get out of bed without my kiss." "fuckin' dumbass (fond)." *kiss kiss kiss* "thank you." "sure thing, softie."
OR
ian takes a potential new client to lunch today. without mickey. he's better with the initial conversations: the schmoozing, the wooing. mickey's a great closer. he comes in towards the end with the logistics and the numbers, you know, the business shit. they're a good team. plus, mickey's fine to skip the whole fine dining experience, the fuck is even on the menu half the time? but he sure is hungry by the time ian comes strolling back into the office... so it's a good thing that his sap of a husband has a to-go bag for him: a steak sandwich, fries, and an appetizer he doesn't recognize. "what's this?" "that fried oyster thing. last time i dragged you there, you mentioned it looked good, but didn't get it." "oh." "thought you could try it out." "oysters... tryin' to start somethin' here, gallagher?" "don't think i need help getting into your pants, mickey." "whatever... thanks for the food. you're a soft bitch rememberin' that." *kiss kiss kiss*
OR
they've always been shit at keeping their hands to themselves, so things get a little heated when they get home. but instead of fast and furious, it's a bit lazy, languid, ian taking his time opening mickey up, watching his perfect mouth drop open as ian crooks his finger and finds his favorite spot, eyes locked together when ian finally sinks into mickey's blistering heat. it's fucking hot, honestly, and mickey knows that ian's gonna come with love on his lips. praise and adoration spilling from his mouth. sure enough, "fuck, mickey, i'm--god, you're so fucking perfect. gonna come in you, shit, i-i love you--" he runs a soothing hand up ian's back, coaxing him through it, feeling ian spill, hot and wet, inside of him. "that's it, big guy. i got you." *kiss kiss kiss* "i love you." "love you, too... now cut the soft shit and make me see god."
maybe all of the above? xx
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renegadeknight · 1 month
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ooooo so interested in Treacherous!!
Okay this one is still very much an outline/mess of notes so I don't have any snips to share and it's probably the one I'm most shy about, idk why exactly, just feels like it would be less interesting to other people, so I'm just vibing by myself lol.
Anyway! It is an Anna!Lives AU where she ends up as a FEDRA lab rat for ~10 years and escapes right after Marlene finds and sends Ellie off with the fireflies. So then Joel and Tess take Anna to try to catch up at the state house but they miss them. Tess still gets bit (sorry) and then it follows Joel and Anna across the country to try to track down Ellie and as they spend more time together Anna keeps telling him more and more about little Ellie from when they were together a few years before they got separated. By the time they catch up to Ellie, Joel's ready to level the hospital for a kid he hasn't even met, and her mother.
Fun fact, I actually mentioned this one in an earlier chapter of Stubborn Love. It's one of the books Ellie gets at the library 😁
Thank you for the ask!
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annaraebananawriter · 2 months
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Boop!
:0 I have been booped...
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anna-scribbles · 1 year
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this is really weird and sort of awkward BUT i'm writing this ml fic (adrien-centered obviously, love him) and i'm including an original character who was sort of integral to his childhood (ex-piano teacher) AND i was wondering if i could name her anna? after you? because i love your art and your love for adrien is honestly... inspiring. either way it's fine! and i'll of course send you the fic once it's done haha
THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER please yes I would be honored to be adrien's ex piano teacher's namesake 😭🤍
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jewishcissiekj · 2 months
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First, hope you are doing good
Second, did you watched the episode? If yes is it just me or does Asajj looks like Elsa in the scene with the vrathean?
I did watch the episode I just really don't want to spoil it to people that don't want that but yeah. it's not just you. I was wondering what it reminded me of and I'm not sure if it's good or bad but I, 100%, see it. (the wet hair was very much Elsa on that beach in Frozen 2 lol)
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