#this was so difficult making up my mind over! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pucksandpower · 1 hour

Text

Say My Name

Oscar Piastri x streamer!Reader

Summary: when fans mistake Oscar for your ex while he is hanging around in the background of your stream, you get introduced to a side of Oscar that you’ve never seen before

Warnings: 18+ content

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you narrate the intense battle unfolding on your stream. “Oh damn, that was close! I almost got sniped there.” You lean in, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Gotta be more careful or this round is over.”

The chat explodes with messages cheering you on. Being one of the top female gaming streamers has its perks, like an incredibly loyal fanbase that hangs on your every word.

You glance at the viewer count — over 50,000 watching live. Not too shabby.

“Okay team, let’s rush B, I’ll try to draw their fire.” You move your character into position, heart pounding with anticipation.

Suddenly, a quiet thump comes from the living room behind you. You start, whipping your head around, but see nothing amiss through the open doorway. Must have been your imagination.

You refocus on the game, calling out tactics to your teammates. Another muffled sound, like something soft hitting the floor, catches your attention. You turn off your video and hit mute on your mic. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No response. You’re just about to unmute when a very familiar face pops into view from the hallway. It’s your boyfriend of nearly two years.

Your face splits into a huge grin as you take in his messy hair and the rumpled clothes he slept in on the flight. “Oscar! You’re back early!”

He crosses to you, bending to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Missed you,” he mumbles against your hair.

You tilt your face up for a proper kiss, “I missed you too, ba-”

But you’re cut off as his lips crash into yours, insistent and heated. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the sudden, passionate embrace. Far too soon, Oscar pulls away, leaving you flustered and breathless.

“Sorry,” he says with a smirk that suggests he’s anything but. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You shake your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous. I’m working, you know.”

“So I noticed.” Oscar settles onto the couch just off-camera, casual as can be. “Don’t mind me, keep going.”

“You sure?” You eye him skeptically. The stream has been on a short period without your commentary and the chat is getting restless. “I can take a break if you want.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m just going to hang out here for a bit. Go ahead.”

Hesitating only a moment, you turn your video back on and unmute your mic. “Alright folks, sorry about that little pause. I, uh, got a surprise visitor.” You gesture vaguely toward where Oscar lounges behind you.

The chat instantly lights up with questions about who was there. Smiling to yourself, you ignore them for now, re-focusing on the game.

Over the next hour, it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. Oscar keeps distracting you, making silly faces and gestures whenever you glance his way. More than once you have to stifle a laugh after catching sight of him. Your fans seem to find your giggly mood delightful, though they remain oblivious to the cause.

Finally, in a rare break between matches, you swivel in your chair to face him. “You’re being so disruptive,” you stage-whisper. “Don’t you have better things to do than pester me?”

Oscar feigns innocence. “Who, me? I’m just sitting here, love.”

Rolling your eyes, you stretch your arms overhead with a groan, back popping from sitting so long. Oscar’s gaze shamelessly rakes over you, darkening.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, fighting a smile.

“Like what?” His eyes glint with mischief.

You open your mouth to respond, but a new donation notification pops up on your stream, cutting you off. “Oh, wow, thanks for the ten thousand bits, Legend27!” The expensive donation isn’t that unusual, but the comment attached gives you pause.

I’m so happy you and Eric made up! You two are couple goals for real.

Frowning, you scan the new barrage of messages flooding the chat … and find dozens echoing similar sentiments.

Your stomach drops as you finally realize what your viewers think is happening. They assume Oscar is actually your ex, the one you briefly dated and had an awful breakup with over two years ago. Apparently his surprise appearance has led them to believe you two have reconciled.

Heat floods your face at the misunderstanding. Objecting seems pointless though — you’ve learned it’s better not to discuss your private romantic life on stream. “Ah, thanks guys, you’re too kind,” you finally say, aiming for a neutral tone.

Beside you, Oscar stiffens, catching the implications of the messages. His jaw clenches and you watch as his face cycles through a series of micro-expressions — first surprise, then confusion, quickly followed by displeasure and … jealousy?

Uh oh. This could get messy fast if he gets worked up. You try to subtly shake your head at him in a silent plea to ignore the chat.

No such luck. His brow furrows deeper and you can practically see the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders.

Suddenly, Oscar surges to his feet with a muttered curse. Before you can react, he’s stalking around the side of your chair until he’s directly in view of the camera’s frame.

“Oscar, what are you-”

But he cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and kissing you hard. Your startled squeak is smothered by his fierce, possessive mouth moving over yours.

Powerless to resist the onslaught of sensations, you melt bonelessly against him as the kiss stretches on and on. Only the escalating number of notifications showing the shock and exclamations from your viewers finally breaks through the heady fog.

With extreme reluctance, Oscar ends the kiss, both of you panting. He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your flushed skin as he growls, “She’s mine.”

Then, before you can respond, he reaches past you and slams his palm into the power button of your streaming setup, shutting everything down.

The simultaneous howl of outrage from tens of thousands of confused fans cuts off abruptly as the screen goes black. Only the two of you are left in the ringing silence that follows.

“Oscar!” You finally manage. “What was that?”

He pulls away enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his brown eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I got … jealous,” he admits, seeming almost surprised at his own vehement reaction. “When they thought I was your ex. I didn’t like that at all.”

Your expression softens at his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Reaching out, you trace his sharp cheekbone with gentle fingers. “You have no reason to be jealous, silly man. It’s only ever been you.”

Some of the blazing heat in his stare banks into smoldering embers at your reassurance. “Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Good.”

He leans in again until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yours. “Because you’re mine, okay? And I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, dizzy with wanting him. “I’m all yours, Oscar.”

The possessive words seem to flip a switch in him. With a low, rumbling sound of approval, his mouth slants over yours once more in a searing, demanding kiss that makes your toes curl.

The abrupt ending to your stream is already causing a social media firestorm of epic proportions. But surrounded by the circle of Oscar’s arms, his familiar warmth and love, you can’t find it in yourself to care even a little bit.

After all, you think dizzily as he deepens the kiss, your fans should have recognized that you two were a couple from the very start — because Oscar Piastri is most definitely not your ex.

He’s your everything.

***

Oscar’s hands are everywhere, seemingly unable to get enough of you as his kisses grow more and more fervent. Your back hits the wall with a gentle thump as he crowds closer, caging you in with the solid warmth of his body.

“Missed you so much, love,” he rasps against the heated skin of your neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A whimper escapes your lips at the scorching path his mouth blazes over your pulse point. “I m-missed you too, Oscar.”

His name falls from your lips like a prayer and he rewards you by sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. Pleasure zings along your nerves at the hint of delicious possession in the act.

When he finally pulls back to gaze at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips are reddened from enthusiastic use. The sight sends a molten flare of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Say it again,” he commands roughly, voice gone low and gritty in that way that never fails to make you melt.

You blink up at him, momentarily lost in a lust-fueled haze. “W-What?”

“My name.” His large hands skim over the curve of your waist, bunching the fabric of your shirt. “Say my name again.”

“Oscar,” you breathe without hesitation, watching raptly as his pupils blow wider at the sound. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...”

Each breathy iteration seems to stoke his hunger hotter. His fingers flex against your sides like he’s holding himself back from something.

On a daring whim, you slant your mouth near his ear, letting your lips brush the shell with every word. “Oscar Piastri,” you practically purr. “My Oscar.”

A broken groan is your only warning before he’s on you again, mouths crashing together in a heated crash of lips, teeth, and tangling tongues. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck, angling your face for deeper exploration.

When you finally manage to tear your lips away, you’re both panting harshly, chests heaving. “What’s … gotten into you?” You pant.

Rather than answer, Oscar just shakes his head and dives back in for more fervent kisses, like a man dying of thirst and you’re the most delicious drink he’s ever tasted.

It’s not until he suddenly grips your waist and spins the two of you around, depositing you on the desk with a surprising lack of finesse, that you realize just how wildly affected he is.

Oscar licks into the seam of your lips like he’s staking a claim and something within you shatters at the stark, naked wanting in his eyes when he pulls back the tiniest bit.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, gaze roving hungrily over your features like he’s memorizing you all over again. His pupils are blown wide, just thin rings of molten brown remaining around the black.

When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly in a way that vibrates through you. “Say. My. Name.”

“Oscar,” you respond immediately, not even having to think. His hungry gaze burns over you and you feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the weight of it.

But rather than make you want to cover up, it has the opposite effect — you’re reeling him in, hands fisted in his shirt to pull him closer. You never want this delirious, frantic sense of possession and desire to end.

“Again,” he grinds out, sounding utterly wrecked already.

“Oscar.” You bare your neck for him as you say it, like presenting an offering. He groans low and deep, instantly ducking to mouth along the column of your throat.

His hands are everywhere, pushing up the hem of your top, kneading along your sides and ribs as he nips and sucks bruising paths across your collarbones and chest.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he orders, more plea than demand.

So you let his name become a breathless prayer falling from your lips, over and over between gasps and keening whimpers. You lose yourself in a heady feedback loop — the more you speak his name with naked wanting, the wilder it seems to drive him until his touch grows scattered and devouring.

At some point his hands finally succeed in tugging your shirt up and off. Your name doesn’t even register when his scorching mouth closes over one peaked bud, your back bowing at the shuddering bolt of sensation that lances through you.

All you can seem to process is the feel of his calloused palms mapping every inch of newly-exposed skin and the desperate mumble of “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...” spilling shameless and endless from your lips.

Eventually, the heated exploration of his mouth and hands becomes too much to simply lay there and take. With a low, guttural sound you haul Oscar upright and swing your legs around his hips, relishing his full body shudder.

“Not enough,” you accuse roughly, rolling your core against his in clear invitation. “Need you closer, Oscar.”

His heated groan at your wanton demand is music to your ears. Strong hands grasp your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist as he surges against you.

“So impatient, my darling girl,” he teases. This close, you can make out the faintest brush of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones that you’ve mapped and memorized with lips and fingertips a hundred times before.

You can’t help but reach out to graze them with your thumb, gazing up at him with naked adoration. “My Oscar,” you murmur reverently.

His eyes slip shut for a beat, jaw ticking as if your words have an unexpectedly profound effect on him. When he opens them again, his gaze is fierce and intent.

“Yours,” he vows simply, leaning in to seal the promise against the plush of your lips.

The kiss is somehow softer and headier than before. You get lost in the lush glide of his mouth, every sliding brush of lip and tongue shorting out whatever rational thoughts remain until all you know is his name — the shape and taste and weight of it against your own.

It’s the only thing that seems real, vital, until at some point Oscar’s mouth leaves yours to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down your chest and stomach and lower still.

Your back bows as you squirm incoherently against the press of his lips and tongue. His restraint seems to have finally snapped, movements growing hungry and rough as he works you steadily higher.

“Oscar,” you sob out his name like you’re breaking apart, pleading for something you can’t quite name. He answers with a rumbling sound of satisfaction that vibrates hotly against your sensitized flesh.

More, is all you can think as he redoubles his efforts.

At some point, you must have arched helplessly off the desk because suddenly his hands are at the small of your back, fingertips digging in hard as he holds you arched for his questing mouth.

The intimate angle of his positioning has your jaw dropping open on a silent scream of overwhelmed pleasure. All that escapes is a strangled gasp of, “Oscar!”

He growls something incoherent against you that might be praise, might be reassurance, might just be your name groaned out roughly in shared bliss. But you honestly can’t tell anymore — you’ve transcended far past coherent speech and rational thought.

Everything has devolved into just sensation and feeling and the endless loop of his name spilling over and over from your lips like a benediction.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...

Just when you think you might actually shatter into pieces from the intensity he’s wringing out of you, strong hands are abruptly hauling you up and off the desk in one smooth motion.

You cling to him with heavy limbs, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he staggers the few steps to your shared bedroom. At some point his shirt has vanished, allowing your hands free rein to roam over flexing muscle and heated skin.

When the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses to claim your mouth in another searing, shattering kiss. He whispers something fervent and intense against your lips, your name perhaps intertwined with endearments or promises.

You can’t be sure. All you know is the shape of his name against your tongue, the only word your mind seems capable of holding onto as he lowers you reverently to the sheets and stretches out over you.

When he finally sinks into you with a harsh groan of relief, your back bows and you let out a broken, high keen — his name once more torn from your lips in breathless ecstasy.

“There you are, that’s it love,” he growls hoarsely as he begins to move, words interspersed between drugging, thorough thrusts. “Let me hear you, let me hear my name on those pretty lips.”

So you do, shamelessly loud and incoherent now as he gradually unravels you from the inside out. His name and gasped pleas and frantic praise all blur together in a continuous stream of blissful delirium.

At some point, his own control seems to splinter apart, hips snapping hard and deep as his pace turns utterly unrestrained. Still, you chase that shattering edge, crying out for Oscar as your whole world narrows to the merciless intensity of his driving thrusts and demanding hands kneading your flesh with staking ownership.

When you finally go soaring over that dizzying peak with his name torn hoarse from your throat, he follows you over almost violently with a ragged shout. Oscar’s arms shake dangerously as he holds his weight off of you, pupils swallowing up the copper of his eyes entirely in onyx pools of spent lust.

As you slowly float back down from that searing high, limbs heavy and sated, you reach up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. He turns his face into your palm with a shuddering exhale as if grounding himself.

For several long breaths, all that can be heard is your shaky inhales mingling together while your racing heartbeats gradually return to normal.

Finally, Oscar presses a warm, lingering kiss to the center of your palm before shifting to stretch out beside you, his weight dipping the mattress.

You immediately curl into the reassuring heat of him, despite the sweat still cooling along your skin. One of his arms bands around your waist, holding you flush against his side while his other hand comes up to card soothingly through your hair.

Nestling your face into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, you press a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat and whisper, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” he murmurs back, low and slightly scratchy in the aftermath. You can hear the smile in his voice as his fingers keep carding idly through your hair.

Silence falls again, comfortable and peaceful in the aftermath of your frantic passion, both of you simply basking in the warmth of shared nearness.

Eventually though, the question you’ve been avoiding asking slips out in a hazy murmur. “What brought all … that … on, Oscar?”

He’s quiet for so long, you begin to wonder if he fell asleep. Just when you’re about to shift to look at him though, he speaks up.

“When your fans assumed I was your ex … the way they were celebrating that the two of you got back together ...” His fingers stroke almost absentmindedly through your hair as he pauses. “I dunno, something in me just .. .snapped a little. Seeing them say over and over how perfect he was for you ...”

He trails off with a low chuckle, and you can’t resist craning your neck to glance up at him curiously. When your eyes meet his, his expression is rueful.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of any other name on your lips, love. Even your own.” His fingertips trace the line of your jaw with unbearable tenderness. “All I wanted was for you to say my name like that — like it’s the only word that matters in the entire world.”

Just like that, a fresh ember of want rekindles low in your belly at the slightly awed honesty in his voice. You exhale a shaky breath, searching his stormy gaze for … what? Evidence of how crazily affected you are by such a simple revelation?

Whatever he finds reflected in your stare seems to give him pause as well because his eyes almost immediately darken with renewed hunger.

“Say it again then,” he husks, rolling until he’s leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head. There’s no demand in the words, just low, thrumming need thrilling between you both.

So you reach up to cup his face in your palms, rubbing your thumbs over the sandpapery stubble along his strong jawline as you gaze adoringly up at him.

“Oscar ...” you breathe out his name like a sacred invocation. “My Oscar.”

His eyes slip shut and he makes a low, ragged sound of pure satisfaction on an exhale that ghosts across your lips.

“Yeah,” he rasps, bending lower until his forehead rests against yours. “That’s it, love … that’s all I ever want to hear.”

You pull him back down to you then, unable and unwilling to resist sealing the promise of those words against his lips with your own.

And as everything inevitably dissolves into heat and need and formless ecstasy once more, you lose yourself to the endless chant of his name on your lips — your entire world whittled down to just that one exalted word, over and over and over.

Because really, what other name could ever matter when Oscar Piastri is the only name you’ll ever need?

165 notes · View notes

milkteahood · 2 days

Text

a ghost for a knight

medieval au, chapter 2

chapter 1

Simon Riley x fem!reader

Summary: an ambush, or an organized crime almost gets you kidnapped

Slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s/ Simon is in his late 30s/ early 40s)

Weeks turned into months and Simon became your shadow. Always there. As cold and dark as ever.

The loud thunderstorm is what awoke you in the middle of the night. Your face scrunched up at the noise, your eyes slowly opening. You blinked a few times before raising yourself up on your elbows.

“Can’t sleep?”

His voice almost made you jump.

“Holy— you scared me” you paused, fist clutched over your chest “I’m still not used to this”

“You will be eventually”

“Or you could get out of my room”

“No”

“Are you even comfortable in that chair?”

“No”

An exasperated sigh left your lips as you allowed yourself to fall on your back. Simon started sleeping in your room ever since your little try to get away moment. If you could even call what he was doing sleep. He was always awake before you and if you woke up for any reason throughout the night, he seemed to always be awake for that too.

***

As the morning sun broke through the window, so did the smell of rain. Your maids were in the room, preparing your clothing, opening your windows and making sure everything was in check before waking you up. Simon was just outside the door. The only times he really left you alone was when you needed to change or bathe.

“Goodmorning” you said to him as you stepped out of your room.

“Goodmorning, your highness” he responded “what do you have in plan for the day?”

“Literature and music classes”

The conversation slowly faded as you were walking down the hallway. You got more used to Simon, as he did to you. The only thing that worried you was the quality of sleep he was getting, so while changing you mentioned to the maids that you wish for a second bed be prepared in your room, in the place of the chair Simon used.

***

After your classes, you found yourself in the library, enjoying a book while Simon was reading one too. He was hesitant at first but you mentioned how creepy it would be to just have him stare at you the whole time.

“Say Simon”

“Yes?”

“How was your life before all this?”

“Before becoming a knight of your guard?”

“Both”

“It was difficult” he said, raising his nose from his book. His brown eyes pierced through yours, almost as if he was begging you to stop asking questions. He couldn’t say no to you, so just please. Shut up. You got the hint.

It was very difficult without your daily activities. You were dying to sneak back into the catacombs of the castle. That was one place you could be alone, and one place no one would ever judge you. But you were scared. You didn’t want Simon to tell your dad about it.

It wouldn’t even matter you thought to yourself. This man is my prison as is.

Simon wasn’t very talkative and you really felt like your whole existence was a pain to him. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same. Still, growing fond of him wasn’t something you thought you’d experience. You also knew your feelings were misplaced. He wasn’t here because he wanted to. He was here because he was told to. His protective nature over you was nothing more than his need to stay alive. But still, you wondered. How can a man be so caring and not feel anything? You frowned at your own thoughts. Better said, how could you develop feelings for one of your guards. Did you really care about him? Or did you just love the attention. The attention your father never gave you, for he was always too busy running a kingdom.

“Your highness? Are you alright?”

His voice brought you back to reality. You didn’t know how long you have been out of it.

“Yes. Just lost in my thoughts”

He didn’t respond. Of course he didn’t. Your feelings weren’t exactly a priority. As long as your body was safe, your heart didn’t matter.

The rest of the day you didn’t really speak much. But Simon didn’t really seem to mind. On the contrary, he found a break from all your rambling quite refreshing. On the other hand, you were fuming. Mostly with yourself for allowing such thoughts to plague your mind. But could you really help it? Simon was always there. And he was the first person to not take your shit. Everyone else would jump off the castle if you ordered it so. But he would look straight into your eyes and tell you to quit being a brat.

A soft knock brought you back to reality. One of your servants walked in, bowed and began to speak.

“Your highness, the king is summoning you in the throne room” he spoke facing the floor.

“I see” you said and stood up. You didn’t look at the servant. Maybe if you did you would’ve seen he was not a man you recognized. He was not your servant at all.

Simon accompanied you to the throne room, but he stood outside, waiting for you. He wondered what it was all about but did not care too much.

Then, from inside the room, your scream pierced through his head.

“NO NO! WHO ARE YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME”

Simon burst into the room just in time to see these strange men trying to take you away. The king was no where in sight.

“You’re going to be very valuable to an enemy kingdom” one man burst into laughter “who would’ve thought infiltrating this castle would be so damn easy” another snorted.

They didn’t see Simon, they were too busy celebrating their victory. So they also didn’t see when he took his sword and cleaved a man’s head off. Time stood still, you were covered in the blood that spilled everywhere and the men’s eyes were wide. Quickly, they tried to compose themselves. They were many and he was just one man. So they thought it would be easy to take him down. But oh, just how wrong they were. One by one, they all fell, they blood and guts spilling everywhere. Yet Simon stood calm, breathing heavily, he looked at the dead bodies, eyes as cold and dark as ever. Just like a ghost.

When he finally turned to look at you, Simon saw just how scared you were. You were hyperventilating and covered in blood.

“It’s alright now, your highness. Let’s take you back to your room” he spoke, picking you up.

You clung onto him, face buried into the crook of his neck, shaking uncontrollably. He felt almost amused at your reaction, but there was also something else. Something he didn’t really feel before. Something he quickly pushed aside. No, it was improper to even allow such thoughts.

The only people Simon trusted at this moment were his men. And he gave them clear orders to find and execute every single intruder and the rat.

Once back in your room, Simon barely managed to peel you off of him.

“Your highness. I have to secure the door”

You let go and sat on your bed. Simon locked the door and made sure no one saw you enter.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. But somehow criminals managed to enter the palace”

“Do you think my father is ok?” you asked, hugging your knees to your chest

“I hope so. But you are my main priority for now, you highness” he responded, making your heart skip a beat.

“You should however change. We will be safe here” he said, and pointed to the room connected to your main chamber. It was a bathroom “do you.. know how to do it yourself? I apologize, even your maids are a risk for now”

“I’m not dumb, Simon. Yes I can bathe myself” you responded with a soft chuckle.

That was good, Simon thought to himself. At least you were starting to relax.

You emerged from the bathroom with wet hair and a more comfortable gown, but most importantly, you weren’t covered in blood anymore.

“You should rest up” he said to you “me and my men will figure it out in the meantime”

“I don’t want to be alone”

“You won’t be. I will stay here. I have my men to check the perimeters”

He helped you get in bed and just as he was about to turn away, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

“Yes?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Y/N”

He was waiting for you to continue.

“You can call me Y/N”

“I cannot”

“Yes. When it’s just us. You can”

If you wouldn't have paid attention, you would’ve missed the way his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“Alright then, get some rest then… Y/N” he said and gently stroked your hair after you let go of his hand.

tag list: @sushiumex

153 notes · View notes

grimm-writings · 2 days

Note

can i request chil eavesdropping on reader telling marcille about their crush, and getting jealous because he doesn’t realise that it’s him?

distant

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, miscommunication, marcille being a gossip and izutsumi being petty

…wc! 613

…notes! making this short and sweet. hope you enjoy!!

Even with Chilchuck’s enhanced hearing, it’s difficult to miss Marcille’s loud gasps of shock whenever she hears anything that strikes her very core. You and the elf like to take the chance to gossip with one another when the day comes to a close. Chilchuck personally doesn’t get it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tune in occasionally to something that catches his attention.

With a lowered voice, “actually,” you say, “I have something to admit…”

“Yes?” Marcille matches your volume. Anyone else probably wouldn’t be able to listen in easily, all except Chilchuck. What could even be so interesting that you can only discuss it this way Marcille?

“I think… No, I know for certain I caught feelings for him,” you whisper with a dejected sigh.

Chilchuck freezes in place as he was helping clean plates from the past meal. Izutsumi, who was joining him, spared him a glance. Noticing this, Chilchuck quietly apologises and continues the routine.

…Izutsumi’s foul stare doesn’t stop him from listening in on the conversation more.

“Really?” Marcille whispers, though with her excitement in tow it makes her voice sound shrill, which makes Chilchuck flinch slightly. “You figured it out?”

“Yeah,” you respond with a sigh. “Don’t think he likes me back– it’s like he’s giving me the cold shoulder.”

What? Someone would be stupid enough to be cruel to you? But you’re so sweet! Even observing from a distance, Chilchuck has formed a bit of a soft spot for you. He doesn’t get too close, out of his own rule of not forming interpersonal relationships.

He’d have to give that guy a piece of his mind…

“Ah, but he’s actually really sweet once you peel back the layers, you know?” You continue, confusing Chilchuck further. “He can be so soft, so gentle… But once he realises what he’s doing, he withdraws. He’s so distant.”

“So he’s sending mixed signals?” Marcille confirms.

“Mhm…”

A nasty twinge of jealousy twists in Chilchuck’s chest. Not like he isn’t used to it when it comes to you before. You really care for this guy? And he’s not even being clear with what he wants? Ugh, if only he could see him face to face!

Wait… Could it be someone like Laios? Or Senshi? Laios can be a little out of the loop when it comes to communication… and he wouldn’t doubt anyone would be somewhat enamoured with Senshi’s ability to care for someone.

Fixating on relationships is not what Chilchuck tends to do, but if it’s you, he wants the best for you. He really does, but…

“Oh my God, are you stupid?”

Izutsumi’s voice breaks Chilchuck out of his thoughts, looking up at the younger girl. Her own ear twitches, indicating she also heard the conversation. “They’re obviously talking about you.”

Chilchuck flushes. “What–”

“And you mock me for not being self-aware.”

“I’m not even that–!”

“Gentle?” Izutsumi scoffs. “Says the guy who tenderly carved a woodwork ornament for them. Get real.”

Embarrassment fills Chilchuck up and out of his ears, opening his mouth and closing it cluelessly. “...I’m not doing anything about it.”

“And let them believe you don’t like them at all? Sure, go for it.”

Chilchuck purses his lips hesitantly, putting the plate away. “If they want to confess, they will… I won’t leave them distant.”

Izutsumi only stares with little amusement. Relationships are her bane, but not in the way Chilchuck holds disdain for them. They make people stupid, like how Chilchuck and you are. She sighs wearily, finishing up the chore and returning to where she was relaxing.

You two better get over yourselves fast, if not for your own sakes, then for hers.

#✮ grimm's fics!#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon x reader #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck imagines

133 notes · View notes

cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 2 days

Text

We Must Know, How Did it End?

“It was tricky, really. Writing songs that come from a place of pain isn’t usually my thing,” Sirius says, plastering a polite smile onto his face. “It’s difficult to describe a feeling that’s so… overwhelming.”

Peter smiles back, and Sirius can see the empathy etched across his face.

“Okay, I think we have time for some audience questions,” Pete says, turning to the audience. Sirius follows his gaze to a crew member handing a mic over to a young woman.

“Hi, uh, hi. I was just wondering if your album is based on your recent breakup? With Remus?”

His name alone makes the blood freeze in Sirius’ veins. The fan isn’t wrong, his album is essentially all about Remus. It doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering at the mention of Remus. It brings memories that he’s been trying to write out of his system back to the front of his mind. They bring a lump into his throat, and he has to blink harshly to fight back any semblance of a visceral reaction.

Thankfully, Peter steps in.

“You know what? Let’s move on. Anyone else?”

In spite of a few grumblings, the microphone travels further, landing with another fan.

“Hey. I was just wondering if you ever think that Remus dated you for the fame? I mean, his follower count has doubled since you two-”

“No, I don’t think that,” Sirius cuts in sharply. Apparently, his need to defend Remus is stronger than his hurt at their breakup. Peter is opening his mouth to speak, probably to move on again, but Sirius isn’t ready to move on. “Of course I don’t think that. Remus’ talent speaks for itself. He doesn’t need me to be his way to break out in the dance world. We might not be together anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is still one of the most genuine people I have ever met. Honestly, his kindness is indescribable. Everything I said while we were together was true. That relationship was the realest thing I’ve ever had, okay? Us breaking up doesn’t diminish that.”

The whole studio has lapsed into silence, and Sirius is really regretting the way he went about that now. Even Peter’s watching him in shock. Eventually, he seems to remember his own job, clearing his throat and breaking out into a smile.

“Okay! It’s about time for us to move on…”

Sirius is pretty sure that he’s been in a trance for the past hour. He doesn’t even remember the trip back to his house. All he knows is that he’s been scrolling through his tagged posts as his manager, Benjy, shouts at him over the phone.

“This is, without a doubt, the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done!”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sirius grumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Benjy has the ears of a fucking hawk.

“If you weren’t a public figure, and I wasn’t your fucking PR Manager, I would think it was sweet, Sirius! However, calling your relationship with Remus the realest thing you’ve ever had?! That gives tabloids every opportunity under the sun to call you obsessive!”

“Yeah, well, it needed to be said,” Sirius says decisively. He’s not wrong. In what world could anyone ever see Remus as anything less than kind? Yeah, they haven’t seen the way Remus would hold Sirius through his panic attacks, say the dumbest things just to watch him smile, or the dance. The one Remus dedicated to him. The one Sirius really should delete from his camera roll.

“God, Sirius, you’re so lucky that I actually like you.” Benjy interrupts his train of thought, thankfully, letting out a groan as Sirius refreshes Instagram for the fifteenth time. “However, now you need to lay low until people forget that this happened.”

“What? That I defended him? Just because he’s my ex doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to say anything nice about him!”

“Yes it does. You can’t say anything too bad, or anything too nice. You have to be neutral. Peter was about to gloss past the question, anyway!” Sirius rolls his eyes, grateful that Benjy can’t see him as he goes scrolling again. He’s being called obsessive in countless different ways by news outlets, people who hate him, and people who have decided that his and Remus’ breakup means that it’s time to take sides. As he looks through them, he’s barely even pausing.

Until he reaches a post with Remus’ face at the front of it.

As much as he knows that he shouldn’t, he wants to watch it. He’s spent a lot of time watching the videos he promised James that he’d deleted and crying, but those were videos Sirius had filmed himself. They were personal. He hasn’t interacted with anything that Remus has posted publicly. He doesn’t actually want to be a stalker.

This feels… different. Mostly because this one has his name on it.

‘REMUS LUPIN BREAKS SILENCE ABOUT EX BOYFRIEND SIRIUS BLACK:’

“Yeah, okay, Benjy, I’ll stay silent,” Sirius says quickly, zoning out.

“Oh, really? Thanks. That was easy-”

“Okay, bye.” He hangs up before Benjy can say anything else, immediately playing the video.

It’s from one of Remus’ livestreams. His face is flushed a slight red, like it usually is after rehearsal, sitting on the floor in his studio. Sirius hates how endearing he finds it. He’s just talking, comments rolling in and the radio playing, when Sirius catches the message. It’s just another one calling him a stalker, but it stops Remus in his tracks.

“Right, you all need to leave Sirius alone,” Remus says decisively. The way his name sits in Sirius’ mouth brings a lump into his throat all over again. He really needs to stop crying over Remus, it’s getting a little sad. Maybe he is obsessive. “He isn’t stalking me. I actually haven’t spoken to him at all. Listen, the- the breakup was amicable, okay? We don’t hate each other, and we really don’t need people taking sides. All he did was defend me, which he didn’t have to do. It was nice of him, yeah, but it doesn’t make him obsessive. He’s just being a good person, he can’t help that.” Sirius smiles to himself, face warming at the compliment.

Okay, he is obsessed.

Still, it’s so unbelievably Remus to be so willing to defend him. To immediately assume the best about Sirius.

Just when Sirius expects the clip to end, a different song starts playing. He recognises it straight away. It’s one from his new album.

‘ I told the moon about you… ’

Remus’ eyes widen at the words. At Sirius ’ words. He never has been any good at hiding the first thought that flits across his face.

“Sorry, I’m, er… I’ve got to go. Thanks for- for watching, yeah,” Remus says hurriedly.

That’s when the clip ends.

For what feels like the thousandth time, Sirius wants to be in the same room as Remus, to have the privilege of finding out exactly what is going on in his head. He wants to press his thumb against the furrow in Remus’ brow and watch his face relax. Christ, he just wants to touch him, really. His forehead, his hand, his shoulders, his waist, anywhere . With a groan, he drops his head into his hands. He’s actually pathetic. James is the only one who’s allowed to hear about this, and Sirius is pretty sure he needs a stern talking to from him right about now.

There’s a knock at his front door, which Sirius assumes is James. It’s like the man can read his mind. The knocking is a little… frantic, but James is bouncy, it’s not exactly out of the ordinary.

He walks slowly over to the door, reaching out and pulling it open.

The moment he catches a glimpse of the familiar amber eyes, every muscle in Sirius’ body freezes.

Remus.

He hasn’t seen him in three months. Not since he left Sirius’ house, got on a plane, and didn’t come back. Sirius has spent a countless number of minutes trying to recall every single detail about Remus, looking at photos of the two of them, wishing that he had spent more time etching every line, every freckle, into his brain. He thought he had, really, but he was right in his interview. Remus is indescribable.

For a moment, they just look at each other, Remus’ mouth slightly ajar as though he hadn’t expected Sirius to open the door. He almost seems like he doesn’t know how he got there.

Well, until Sirius speaks.

“M- Remus? What- what are you…?” He trails off, watching the way Remus’ features set to something much more sure.

“Sirius, I love you,” he says suddenly. They’re words Sirius never expected to hear coming from Remus again. “I’m still in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending that I haven’t regretted every single step that I’ve taken since I left here. I- God, Sirius, I think we made a mistake. I- I know what we said, what we agreed on. It was too difficult with our schedules, we were both being too distant, fighting over little things,” he lists everything like it’s pointless, as Sirius tries to get his brain to fucking wake up and work. “And I get it, Sirius. I really do get it, I understand, but I’d take thousands of fights over- over dishes, or hogging blankets, instead of having to do these months all over again. This is going to sound really sad, and really bloody pathetic, but I’ve watched the videos of you writing songs in my flat more time than I can fucking count since we broke up! You told the moon about me? I know that line. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the one right before I turned the camera off and kissed you. It just made me- I don’t know, I didn’t think hearing it like that would hurt so much.” He seems to be hit with a completely different emotion, some sense of regret, and it’s probably Sirius’ fault, since he doesn’t seem to be able to get his voice to work. He can sing night after night, go on countless talk shows, but apparently this is what it takes to render Sirius speechless. “I know I’m probably overstepping a boundary, and this is really fucking stupid of me, but I- I want to try again.”

Yeah, the words really aren’t going to come out. He’s going to have to find some other way to tell Remus exactly how he feels.

“If I didn’t say something I just know that I’d regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to leave and I will. I’ll turn around and- and I’ll move country. You’ll never have to see me again-”

He can’t say anything else, because Sirius is kissing him.

He isn’t even sure when he made the decision to do it. It’s almost like a reflex, the first thing to come naturally to him.

There’s not a second of regret that comes with it, though.

Before he can even figure out where he got the idea to do that, Remus’ arms are around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer and holding him secure, warm, safe . His lips are soft, so familiar that Sirius wants to cry.

Actually, he is crying.

Tears start rolling down his face as he pulls away to look at Remus. Thankfully, Remus is crying himself, and somehow also grinning like an idiot, which Sirius can genuinely say is the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege to behold.

“Oh, my god, I love you, Remus. Moony, I love you so much,” he says quickly, hands reaching to cup Remus’ face.

“So- you- do you want-?”

“To start again? Pick up from where we left off? Anything, darling. Anything. I’ll take whatever you can give me, if it means I don’t have to try to move on. You’re not someone I can get over. I’ve tried, and I’m convinced that it’s fucking impossible,” Sirius says, making Remus laugh breathlessly and drag him back into a kiss. Not that Sirius is complaining. He would let Remus drag him anywhere. Remus is his everything. His world.

Oh, my darling, how could I ever have let you go?

#it's been a WHILE since i've written a oneshot #and I'm also not sure what this is #but I lowkey love it #they're so silly #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

115 notes · View notes

ridiasfangirlings · 2 days

Text

How to buy K merch in the Year 2024

I got several asks about this so rather than do each individually, I’ve decided to just make one big How to Buy K Merch in the Year 2024 post. I’m going to skip over the more obvious western sites like eBay and focus more on Japanese sites here. Because there hasn’t been much new K merch in some time keep in mind that most of what you will be looking for is secondhand, which means availability will vary.

Shopping Services

For some of these sites you will need a shopping service, so we’ll start there. This is by no means a comprehensive list of available shopping services, just ones I’ve used and liked.

FromJapan - This one is very straightforward — copy and paste the url of the item you want into their search bar. For anything in certain sites like Rakuten this will pull up a page that will give you the item and its price in your currency and you can just click add to cart. For other sites you may need to request a price quote, there’s a small form to fill out and they’ll get back to you on if they can order it. Timing depends on when you make the request. The nice thing about FromJapan is they will hold items for you for 45 days, so you can collect multiple purchases from multiple sites over time and have them all shipped at once. The bad side is that after 45 days they will discard your items, so keep an eye on when your oldest item arrived (you can see how long it’s been at their warehouse on your account page, and they will email you as the deadline gets close too).

Treasure Japan - Treasure Japan is a much smaller service than the others on this list but also the one I’ve used the longest. Being a smaller service means they tend to be more able to purchase items that might have seller restrictions, particularly from places like Mercari. Some listings when pasted into other shopping service sites will have a ‘cannot purchase from this seller’ warning, because some sellers don’t want to deal with shopping services. I haven’t had much trouble with this merchandise-wise, but when I’ve run into it with j-fashion Treasure Japan has been able to order when the bigger services couldn’t. Their site is set up so you will input different sites in different sections, there’s one for auction, one for ‘flea market’ (this will be places like Mercari) and one for shopping sites.

Buyee/Tenso - Buyee is a shopping service, Tenso is a forwarding service. They’re owned by the same parent company but are separate sites and you’ll need a separate account for each. Buyee is directly integrated with some sites like Mercari and Yahoo Japan, you can put in the url into their search bar and get a listing that you can buy immediately. Like FromJapan, any sites outside of the ones they’re integrated into will require you to request a quote (I found this more difficult with Buyee than FromJapan, personally) and they will sometimes be unable to purchase items. They will hold your items for 30 days at no charge, and you can request to consolidate packages for shipping.

Tenso, as I said above, is a forwarding service and somewhat more complicated. Basically when you sign up they will give you a Japanese address (presumably one of their warehouses) and you can then buy directly from Japanese websites, inputting the address you were given in the address field and paying with your own credit card. The items will be shipped to Tenso and from there you can have them sent to you. Obviously this is more complicated than a shopping service. I’ve used it mainly for things that didn’t involve an item being shipped (this is how I signed up for Fan Clan back in the day, for example, though my lottery goods were sent via Tenso too) or sites that require you to sign up to purchase from. I wouldn’t recommend it for any marketplace type site unless you’re fluent in Japanese, since sellers on those sites may try to communicate with you.

Stores

AmiAmi (no shopping service needed) - AmiAmi is mainly for new goods but I’ll mention it here anyway, in case K ever gets more merch. AmiAmi usually sells out on preorders, you place your order and they will let you know when the item arrives. You pay at that time. They do sometimes get used merch though so you can keep an eye out there, sometimes there will be decent deals on items that only have small flaws like the box being damaged.

Amazon Japan (may or may not need a shopping service) - Did you know overseas people can buy from Amazon Japan? You do now! You will need to make a new account, even if you have an Amazon account in your country. Whether you need a shopping service or not depends on the item. Anything sold directly by the company will likely not need a shopping service — the majority of my K manga and the stage plays were all bought directly from here, and when I was supplying raws for Countdown and LSW I was buying the magazines from here as well (I’ve also used it for Pokémon plushies and sewing books). If the item is being sold by a third party seller though you will likely need a shopping service. The site will tell you when you try to check out.

Surugaya EN (no shopping service required)/ Surugaya JP (shopping service required) - This is a secondhand shop and a great place to find merch. The main difference between the English site and the Japanese one is that the Japanese site has a larger selection (particularly doujinshi, and even more particularly spicy doujinshi). The English site periodically has free shipping sales so keep an eye out. Surugaya also has physical stores and will sometimes share merch between the store and the site so keep that in mind too, I have had items canceled before because they sold out in store and the listing hadn’t been updated yet.

Mandarake (no shopping service needed) - Another secondhand shop similar to Surugaya. I have not actually purchased from them myself and am not fond of their interface but I know people who have bought things from here. Like Surugaya they share stock with physical stores so something you want can sell out even after you’ve purchased.

Lashinbang (shoppng service required) - More secondhand shops. Lashinbang is rather small though so they don't always have much stuff, at least not for K.

CDJapan (no shopping service needed) - This is also better for new merch than secondhand but still worth a mention. I’ve found their prices tend to be worse than a lot of other stores though, this is more of a last resort for me.

Otaku Republic/Goods Republic (no shopping service needed) - Otaku sells doujinshi, Goods sells merch. The main draw is that these two are easy to search if you’re uncomfortable dealing with Japanese sites. I haven’t used them in quite a while but when I was buying from them they would send me free gifts with every purchase (my S4 cup came from them, as well as a bunch of clear file folders that I didn’t take pictures of because they’re being used as sewing pattern storage right now). The main downside is that while shipping is free over $50 they massively mark up the base prices to make up for it. I eventually stopped using this site because the shopping service was cheaper even with shipping and fees, you are paying for convenience. A lot of their ‘inventory’ is just listings from other sites including Surugaya, so check there first.

GoraShop (shopping service required) - This is Gora’s direct bookshop! They only have the season novelizations and Idol K books right now, as well as some Ayaka stuff.

Kinkurido (shopping service required) - This is the King Amusement Creative shop. All Memories was sold through this shop but is currently sold out, if they ever restock Gora will likely announce it on their Twitter. They do have some other small K goods available, including some CDs and artbooks (and Sarumi body pillows).

Marketplaces

Mercari Japan (Shopping service needed) - If you’ve ever used the English version of Mercari, here it is again but Japanese edition. You can find a lot of good used pieces here but prices are set by the individual seller so be wary of overpaying the first thing you find. Be sure to use a translator to look at the description in case you're buying a damaged item. Sometimes shopping services can try to negotiate the prices if you ask.

Yahoo Japan Auctions (shopping service needed) - Similarly as above, if you’re familiar with eBay this is fundamentally the same thing. Some shopping services will allow you to place last minute ‘sniper’ bids, and most will let you set a maximum bid and keep bidding on your behalf until that max is reached.

Shopping tips and things to know

The good news about buying from Japan right now: the yen is weak, so you can get deals! In the US, anyway. This may depend on your country so if you’re unsure on the exchange rate you can google “[your country’s currency] to yen exchange rate” and it should give you an approximate.

The bad news: shipping is killer. Keep that in mind, especially if you’re buying heavy items like bags or shoes (yes, K has those, there are several SuperGroupies collabs. If you want a S4 purse or Yata Misaki shoes keep in mind you will probably be paying through the nose for shipping). For the European types, you may have additional taxes too so be aware of your country’s import laws. Ditto when it comes to customs. For my fellow Americans, I have never had a customs issue even when buying fairly pricey dresses so you’re probably okay on that end but I can’t speak for other countries.

Character tax is real. Basically, more popular characters will likely have more expensive merch because there’s more demand — for example, Fushimi and Yata merch tends to be more expensive than, say, Silvers merch. Keychains and pins are usually cheaper than larger items like figures and standees either way though.

Most of the Japanese sites will need to be searched in Japanese. For character names, I suggest going to the K wiki and grabbing your favorite character’s name in kanji and using that to search. For pairings, while marketplace sites like Mercari may have listings under the pairing name sites like Suruga will use the two individual character names so you’ll want to search under that. If your browser doesn’t have an add on to translate that’s very helpful to grab in order to make your experience easier. For K itself, in general this is really the downside of having a favorite series with a one letter title. However, using ‘Missing Kings,’ ‘Return of Kings’ or ‘Seven Stories’ can be helpful here but will likely mostly turn up merch made for that specific season/movie.

If you want to look up something specific like a plush but don't know the Japanese word for it, Jisho can be helpful. Look up the kanji for the word you want and then copy-paste into your search. The downside is sometimes there are multiple words for the same thing or a word may be in kanji but people use the hiragana more often and you won't know, but it should get you on the right path to start.

On buying spicier goods: most shopping services have it in their terms that they will not buy adult items. In practice, however, this depends. I've had FromJapan refuse to buy perfectly tame G-rated doujinshi. Treasure Japan has in their terms that they won't ship adult items but like 70% of my doujinshi collection was purchased through them, with an R18 Sarumi book purchased as recently as last year. I've heard Buyee also states that they won't ship adult items but it's hit or miss if they turn down your order, and if you buy directly using Tenso they likely won't even open your package. Keep your country's laws regarding importing in mind, especially if you think customs might be likely to poke around in your package. Don't get in legal trouble just for spicy drawings.

Buying secondhand is a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes it takes a while for what you want to show up, so just keep looking! When I was collecting my nui set I literally bookmarked the search for “K ぬい” (nui) on Mercari and checked every day or so, which may be more obsessive than you want but it does get the job done (I was molded in the merch search mines of trying to find lolita dresses that haven’t been sold for 10 years, so I’m used to this kind of thing). If you keep looking you may even find things you didn't know you needed, like this Sarumi bedsheet I forgot to add into my collection post.

Happy hunting!

#k project #Talking K #helpful guides #there are other stores I may have forgotten but this is most of what I use #if anyone has alternate sites feel free to put those in the comments #the good news is since K is less popular now the merch tends to be cheaper but the bad news is it's harder to find #you just have to keep looking #I can't believe I forgot my Sarumi bedsheet #it's because this is an older picture I'm not using it right now

72 notes · View notes

occamstfs · 12 hours

Text

Actually, They're Called Tetrominoes

Been holding out on some kinda Video Game trigger, here's a bit of an odd Russian cultural/racial TF, enjoy! -Occam

Michael could stand to be a more pleasant person. Day to day he is a pretty run of the mill head-down kinda guy, amicable but never really goes out his way to chat or make friends. Instead he finds his free time often used to prowl the internet looking for people to torment online in whatever way he finds funny at the moment. Born too late to be a goon on SomethingAwful he typically pages through Reddit threads and communities looking for someone sensitive or cartoonishly argumentative.

This is precisely where he finds himself tonight, being a pedant on some video game thread that he doesn’t truly care about. Some presumably Russian user, u/ZandrIvnov, seems to be quite proud of Tetris which Michael finds incredibly amusing. As an American he too takes pride in many of the cultural exports and ideas that his nation has sent into the world, including many of the deeply entrenched ideas about the Russian and Soviet people taught in world history. It takes especially little for him to decide to start taunting and baiting this man sitting at his keyboard a world away.

Michael launches petty taunts at the Russian, poking fun at his nationality and Eastern Europe at large, stopping short at making fun of the man’s less than perfect English, for now at least. Michael switches between accounts to upvote his responses and even add additional dunks on the Tetris-fan as needed. Try as he might though to get the conversation away from the ancient game and get some more personal and profane digs in there he finds it difficult to find any truly satisfying or clever insults.

Getting tired of hearing this man assert Russian superiority he prepares to pull the ripcord and move on before he sees the Russian misstep talking about the game he’s so invested in, as probably the only fun fact he has on deck comes to mind. After the Russian so eloquently compares Michael’s head to a Tetris piece Michael immediately replies, “okay lol big fan huh they’re actually called tetrominoes” and then moves on to find some other doofus to bully on the internet.

On the other side of the screen Sasha seethes at the man, so juvenile in his mockery “Проклятые американцы. (Fucking Americans.)” He takes to his own keyboard messaging Michael directly as his arrogant messages dry up in the thread proper, Sasha was going to have him put his money where his mouth was. He offers a challenge, “u americans are so proud da? how about we see whos country rly is the best”

Michael felt his pulse rise in excitement at how much he has truly bothered this man. Smug smile on his face as he types his response, “what did u have in mind, Zander?”

“Саша(Sasha) is my name. since u are so smart about tetris, why not see who is actual master of game da?” Sasha offers, knowing already that the troll is sure to accept out of pride alone. Michael wasn’t all that much of a gamer but surely he could show this dweeb what’s what yeah? He starts looking up tips to win Tetris as he replies “sure whatever dude, what are u thinkin”

Sasha smirks as he has Michael right where he wants him, “loser agrees with winner about national superiority? should not be problem if you americans are so good at every thing” Michael was already eager to give it a go and Sasha’s taunt only makes him all the more raring to go. Before he can even pause his meager attempt to study strategy, Sasha sends over a link to the game and Michael clicks over to play, leaving the cheat sheet open on a second monitor.

Michael types his name into the game and finds himself looking at a familiar screen. He’s never played the game competitively but it’s a pretty simple game right? He just needs to keep his cool once the pieces start flying in. He gets the cheeky idea to check the cheat sheet in between pieces. That’s that good-old red white and blue ingenuity, Michael thinks. Unaware that these are of course also of the Russian flag. There’s a ping from the board as Sasha uses the in game chat to ask “u understand the rules da”

Michael sends back a thumbs up and Sasha sets the game going. It is predictably uneventful at the beginning, neither man making any particularly interesting plays. Michael continues to skim how to best cheat the game while Sasha waits for the perfect moment to fuck him over. Michael finds himself enjoying the game more than he thought he would as he hears the familiar tune, it is awfully catchy isn’t it? He’s gotta hand it to the soviets for that. His gameplay slows down as he tries to speedread the page on his other monitor. Instead of forcing pieces quickly he instead lets them drift slowly while his board is relatively clear. Sasha sees this and decides to go in for the kill.

Suddenly as Michael’s eyes wander away from the game for just a second too long there is an unfamiliar sound. He darts his attention back only to see the floor of his Tetris board rocket up in response to Sasha doing an impossibly well timed combo of lines. Michael’s heartbeat increases at a shocking rate in response as losing becomes a very real possibility. Why is he so upset? His face grows red as he realizes just how outclassed he is. Obviously this is no big deal right? Just a game. But Michael cannot help but feel physically uncomfortable as the tides start to turn so swiftly.

There is suddenly a crick in his neck that he stretches to avail but only exacerbates as a soreness begins to spread further across his body. Man is he tensing up too much? It’s just, it’s just a game right? Trying to calm down he is hit with the thought as if it were a shot of adrenaline that he absolutely cannot lose this game. His eyebrows furrow as they begin to square and thicken, casting dark shadows over his rage-filled eyes. His limbs take turns cramping as he clenches his neck and jaw to distract from the pane, not noticing as the structure of his face begins to change.

His chest grows to join the chorus of muscle spasms as Michael struggles to keep up with even Sasha’s slower gameplay. Across the seas Sasha takes his time, knowing victory is in the bag, and savoring what he knows must be happening to his little troll Michael right now. He smirks as he imagines the discomfort in Michael’s changing body as he feels warmth grow in his own chest, and crotch, as he decides just how much he wants to play with his food.

Back in the states Michael finds the heat, the sweat, the tightness of his clothes increasingly unbearable. As he continues to mash buttons on his remote he is too intent on the game to notice as hair begins to darken around his forearms and begin to snake its way towards his hands. He rubs them each down to placate the tickle on his growing arms. This is absolutely nothing to the creeping itch that is starting to encompass the entirety of his rapidly expansive legs. He shifts his heavier thighs trying to soothe the discomfort, making a loud sound as they pull away from the sweat sticking them to the chair but not allaying the soreness or itch in the slightest.

He grunts and notices not how his voice has grown both deeper and gruffer in his throat. Michael struggles to keep the remote from slipping out of his hands as sweat trickles down from his hairy arms and into his palms. Before it becomes a problem however Michael takes advantage of the lull in Sasha’s gameplay and tries to quickly remove his far too strained shirt. It should be a simple task after all, just put the remote down for a second, slide it off, and then back to the game. He does a brief check in to ensure he has even that and after believing he does Michael starts to try and remove the shirt strained and sticking to his skin.

He has precious little time as the pieces continue to fall at their set pace in game. He gets one hand under the hem of his shirt and tries to wrench it while keeping his other hand on the controller, this lets in a breeze of cold air sending quivers of pleasure across his pulsating muscle, as well as igniting a burning ache in his chest and torso. His upper body grows even further, finally overfilling his shirt as the sound of tears ring out in his bedroom alongside the same repetitive folk song he knows well. The idea that this shirt was loose fitting when he threw it on this morning or that he just identified the Tetris theme as a folk song rather than an 8-bit annoyance don’t have a chance to come to mind as he struggles to remain focused on not losing the game.

He pulls the shirt up to his chest before it gets uncomfortably stuck “Ach, bog uh- god damnit.” He scratches at his chest as the soreness and growing muscle makes way for a fiery prickling as the few chest hairs he has been a tad ashamed of begin to thicken and darken on his chest. Swirling out from his nipples and inching higher on his chest with each breath, he continues to struggle to remove himself mindlessly. Finding his shirt caught on his expansive pecs he rubs his hand underneath it across his sweaty chest, and finding it pleasurably drag through more hair on his pecs than he would’ve sworn he had in his pubes, he resolves to remove the shirt however he can.

As soon as he finishes a line Michael tosses the remote down and goes to raise his shirt above his head, his thicker arms struggling as they adjust to their new range of motion. He wrests the tight shirt above his head, his chest bursting large once more, freed from the garment as the breeze tickles the sweat covered chest hair and forces his enlarged nipples to harden. Having overcome his suddenly massive pecs the neckline is now caught on his chin, his arms raised high above his head expose his pits to the cold open air. He feels the air con blow against his recently shaved pits as the hair begins to grow back. It starts to catch as the hair begins to grow thicker and longer than it had ever done before, curling together as new hairs begin to push out and form a bush thick enough to never see the skin beneath again.

This also brings his attention to new development in his body, with his face shoved into his shirt it would be impossible not to notice the unbecoming amount of sweat soaking it. Arms raised though he finally notices that he has an altogether far more powerful scent, on par with a macro-obsessed body builder or hygiene-phobic wild man. Michael feels a beard start to push out into the shirt still hugging his face. Shaving once a month was more than enough to keep him clean shaven but now he knew deep in his mind that he would never have a day again where his face would be smooth. It’s that Ru- That American blood in him, right?

He begins to feel himself lost in the scent as his mind begins to grow distracted, attention fading from the game despite the looping tune filling his mind. He turns his head to smell his pits through his shirt which is when he hears the dreaded sound of Sasha making a combo once more, “Gah! Nyo, I can’t lose” he shouts, not noticing as his rough tone begins to develop a slight accent. Ending the long-standing struggle against his shirt he simply rips it off and jumps for the controller, ashamed at how foolish and lustful he has suddenly found himself in the middle of this all-important competition.

He needs to make his people proud! He cannot let Amerika down, ya? His focus and vision return to the game as he stumbles through one more line before all the pieces fall from view and the game declares Sasha the winner. Mikael reflexively pounds his table shouting, “Ny- no! I, this!” struggling to find any words to make his loss okay. Unable to notice just how bizarre this game has affected him, though sure that something grave has occurred. He scrambles to the chat box where he sees Sasha has yet again beaten him to the punch, “gg Брат(brother) yes?”

Mikael’s eyes don’t even notice the language switch in the message as he quickly races to demand a rematch. Punching keys slower than the career-cyberbully is accustomed to, almost as if he would be more comfortable with a different keyboard format, slowly he punches his response “one more best dva out of tri ya?” Sasha laughs out loud seeing Mikael suddenly typing out anglicized Russian. He smirks and squeezes his crotch in excitement at just how far this American brat has fallen into his hands. Sasha responds in full Russian knowing that Mikael may as well already be his countryman. “конечно, почему бы и нет, брат (sure why not, brother)”

Mikael smiles as he prepares for yet another go against Sasha, he’s eager to learn from his, uh? Suddenly he can’t quite remember how he knows Sasha exactly as his memories of his persistent pathetic history of being a troll begins to fade from his mind. As the Tetris theme starts once more with the game Mikael finds himself singing along as the words to the folk song it is based on, blushing at the vulgarity therein.

The race is on once more and though he was sure this was a competition against his friend, no, his брат(brother), Sasha, He can’t help but feel a giddiness as the game progresses. He feels a warmth in his chest just from playing a game of his childhood, of his country? No he’s a born and bred statesman da? He’s from, uh Moscow is a city in one of the states too da? Though he finds himself distracted his body continues to expertly control the game subconsciously.

He blushes as he struggles to remember where he grew up, it was a smaller town for sure. Somewhere very far North for sure, after all why else would he grow so hairy! He launches into a hearty laugh as body hair continues to push out from every pore in his body, sure to be peaking out from every shirt collar on both sides. He scratches at his pubes as it becomes clear that even besides his massive package there will evermore be a bulge in his pants from this unkept jungle as well.

His eyes continue to follow the pieces up and down as they slowly begin to lighten and bleach themselves an icy blue. The itchiness that has made itself at home through the whole of its body is replaced with a burning pleasure as he thinks oh his home. Full days where there is only sun, long treks into the city to visit St. Basil’s, helping his mother fry pirozhki. The hair atop his head bleaches itself a sandy blonde while still thickening and pulling itself short as a lightbulb goes off in his head his voice rumbles in his chest as he reflexively speaks in what must be his mother tongue, “Конечно! я спрошу у Саши (Of course! I’ll just ask Sasha).”

He goes to pause the game as he now knows he can do and types to Sasha in chat, “hey брат, wher am i от again?” Sasha smirks at just how easy this was stopping short from fully masturbating as he thinks of his new massive countryman living a world away as he replies, “недалеко от Москвы, Миша (just outside of Moscow, Misha).”

Misha’s eyes glaze over as he reads this, the room around him changes, American flags familiar patterns shift into the Russian tricolor. Any writing within the room shifts from English to the cyrillic alphabet and Misha sits there with a smile as he recalls his home. Long winters working alongside his best friend Sasha. His neck thickens and his waist expands as he thinks of long nights drinking alongside his friends to abate the cold. The game of Tetris continues on and he again feels a warmth in his chest at the chance to play with his dearest Друг(friend) Sasha.

For the life of him he can’t quite remember why he has moved to Америки though he is sure that Sasha will know. Sasha always knows the right thing to do. One thing is for sure though, he is going to do his Motherland proud.

#male tf #cultural change #hair growth #muscle tf #masculinization #racial change #mental change

142 notes · View notes

lunaroserites · 3 days

Text

Does Heaven Even Know You’re Missing

Paring: Established Bucky X Fem!Reader (Sugar)

Summery: Just a snippet Sugar and Bucky. Steve is alive. Part of the Sugar AU. Inspired by a song of the same name by Nickelback

Warnings: Nightmares, comfort, fluff, no use of Y/N, Not beta'd all mistakes are my own

Word Count: ~1005

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Read Too Sweet here

Whimpering, you heard whimpering as you stirred awake which caused you to jolt upright and look around. Looking at your phone after you snatched it from the bedside table it read 4:03am. You felt him thrashing a little next to you and the whimpering got louder. Quickly you turned and leaned over him, he was squirming, there was a very evident sheen of sweat over his entire body.

He had been working on staying in bed for the whole night, it was proving to be a difficult task these last couple weeks. A difficult mission seemed to have rocked him in some way he refused to discuss with you. He didn’t want to scare you, but he was scaring you more by hiding it. He was a stubborn man, proud and terrified you would look at him differently if you knew everything going on in his tangled web of a mind.

He had told you once that the first time he stayed in bed all night was the first time you stayed over, he didn’t start in bed and end up on the floor in the living room like always. You brought peace to his soul, calmed his racing thoughts and soothed his worries. With you in his arms, he felt safe.

You quickly pulled the blanket down and off him so he wouldn’t feel confined, you touched the lamp stand, casting a dim amber light over you two. His eyelids were fluttering as his eyes moved frantically under them. You touched his cheek softly and stroked it gently.

The first time he had a nightmare in bed with you, was scary. You had to call Steve to help. Now you have a routine, you didn’t leave. His grip on your waist wouldn’t allow you to anyway.

“Bucky,” you cooed softly, “Bucky,” you stroked his cheek gently again and you felt his grip tighten momentarily on your waist. His fingers flexed and gripped the soft fabric of your night dress. He moved and turned over you, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling deeply.

One, two, three, four, five deep breaths later he collapsed on top of you. His weight was comforting and his intangible murmurs as he came too were almost relaxing. You gently stroked his hair and rubbed his shoulder.

“Just say you’ll stay and never go,” he mumbled into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your neck. “Never leave me here alone,” your heart broke at the desperation in his hoarse voice.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured softly into his ear as you kissed his temple. “I’m here forever,” you hugged him tightly. He whimpered into your neck and shifted so you were tucked safely next to his large body, cradled into his chest.

“The day I finally felt alive,” he said, his voice trembling as he gripped your mid section tightly, holding you tightly to his chest. “Was the day you fell into my life,” he whispered into your hair, his hot breath fanning over your scalp.

“Bucky,” you said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he snuggled closer.

Sleep didn’t come easy again, every twitch of him against you made you wake up. Every deep breath made your breath hitch. You were afraid he was slipping again, back into his mind. You feared he was caging himself into his mind, screaming for help he wouldn’t dare ask for.

You felt hot tears well up in your eyes and your breath stuttered out as you tried to calm yourself. He was the one who was having nightmares, he was the one scared and here you were crying because of how it made you feel. You felt selfish. You cared so deeply about him, you fought so hard to make him realize you were there, forever. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Sugar,” his voice was coarse and thick with sleep. “Honey,” he cupped your tear streaked cheek and turned your face toward him adjusting so he was propped up on his arm. He peered down at you, his eyes swimming with so many emotions you couldn’t place just one. “What’s the matter?” He asked softly.

You brought your hand up and stroked his stubble covered cheek and let the tears come freely. “I’m worried about you,” you whimpered out. You hated how emotional you were, you were so quick to cry when emotions got high.

“Ssssh,” he pressed a firm kiss on your forehead. “I’m fine sweetheart, it was just a nightmare.” You took a few deep breaths and tried to compose yourself.

“It’s more than just a nightmare,” your voice was small, fragile. “You’re slipping again,” you didn’t want to sound like you were accusing him of anything. Something in his eyes broke, you were prepared for him to do what he would usually do, put a wall up and ignore it until it exploded out of the seams. His shuddering breath caught you off guard.

“I am. I’m sorry I tried to hide it,” he said softly, he was half lying on top of you, his big hands holding your head and stroking your face, his hot breath fanned over your face as he stared into your eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll leave. If you knew about the things I’ve had to do. The things I’ve done.” You went to speak, he shushed you again. “Not before. Now. The things I do on missions. I’m not sure I’m a soul you can save my sweet angel.”

“Bucky,” you placed your hand over his and slipped your fingers between his. “I’m not leaving. I promised you.”

“Heaven is going to come for you one day. When they realize you’re missing,” he murmured and rubbed his nose against yours.

“I traded an eternity to come and hide away with you,” you whispered back, relaxing under his weight as he settled.

“I’m never gonna give you back,” his voice was soft, and he pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. You were his sugar, his sweet angel, his everything.

Feel free to send me a message if you have a request or would like more, or would like to be added to the tag list ❤️

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #fluff #marvel #bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x Sugar #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine

63 notes · View notes

zarvasace · 2 days

Text

The last, and probably my current favorites of the bunch: Prince and Mirage, dark Warriors and dark Legend! I keep trying to put the images side-by-side so they don't take up as much room but Tumblr HATES that. Sorry.

My document with all these boys' descriptions on it is over 7k words. Holy heck. Hope you like them. XD Masterpost

More information and art beneath the cut yayyy

Prince

Prince is dark Warriors.

Cia gave Warriors a lot of unwanted attention, which he spurned. Prince, on the other hand, wouldn't just accept the attention, but would have welcomed it. He wasn't entirely autonomous when he was summoned, but he remembers everything. He knows that he never wants to not be in control of himself ever again.

Instead of championing freedom, however, Prince makes a point of controlling others. If he controls them, they can't control him. Shackle is similar, but they have different methods. While Shackle prefers physical subjugation to be sure they're in his power, Prince uses manipulation. He pretends to be your friend, all the while gaining your trust. His job is made all the easier by his own special talent: Charm.

Prince’s Charm is a supernatural ability to influence people. Where Madness takes over bodies, Prince sways the mind. His Charm is something he can turn on and off at will, at different intensities. It doesn't work well on any being with too much light, but it does work on criminals or people with guilt and secrets. The other Darks are susceptible to it, though after… an incident… Prince doesn't do it to them. Usually.

It works like this: Prince identifies his target, which can be an individual or an entire crowd. He turns his Charm on intentionally, and depending on how hard he pushes, his target’s attention is drawn to his face. Because he does not look human, he then has to quickly begin talking, to pour even more Charm on. If he does it right (it does require skill and charisma), the target forgets his appearance is anything out of the ordinary. He needs a minute or two of conversation and rakish smiles to dig his claws deep enough that they don't remember anything unusual once they stop looking right at him. Prince uses his Charm to get information, favors, and generally spread his anti-Link agenda. The riskier or weirder his request is, the more Charm he has to layer on, and some people just straight up won't do some things. The Charm wears off after a while, depending on the target and how long they were exposed to it, which takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few weeks, averaging out at a day or two.

Prince has to choose his targets wisely, which can be difficult to do because he does not look human and does not have any kind of magical disguise. That last point is a sore spot. He doesn't want a disguise, he just wants people to stop looking at him like he's going to burn their house down, thank you very much. He only has their best interests at heart. Prince is bitter and extremely envious about Warriors winning hearts so easily thanks to his good looks and natural charisma, so Prince does his best to do the same without them. His Charm is better anyway.

…It's a good thing he hasn't actually been let loose on a population yet.

(Warriors is a bit of a flirt, but not too badly. Prince makes a game out of trying to make people fall in romantic love with him as fast as he can. (Author’s note: I'm not touching sex. That is not the sort of story I want to tell here.))

Prince doesn't need food, and he doesn't need to breathe, but he does need to use his Charm. Because he magically learns a bit of information about his targets when he's focused on them, his theory is that he leeches from their emotions, or their identities, or something of that sort. He hasn't shared the theory with anyone, but the Dark Chain does know that Prince needs to use his Charm or he starts to get very, very hangry. It's a physical need for him. Of course, pushing too hard or trying to Charm too many people at once gives him migraines.

Prince considers himself a leader, and it rankles him a bit that Depth is the one in charge. He contents himself with sitting back and letting Depth do all the hard things, though he has Charmed Depth several times into going along with what Prince wants to do. Prince sees Shackle as a sort of protege in the ways of manipulation, and occasionally provides pointers about how to subtly get under people’s skin. Prince and Madness end up working together a lot, since Prince can Charm Madness’s thralls into forgetting they ever lost time, or he can make up memories for them. Sometimes the two of them get migraines at the same time, which spells out lots of “fun” for everyone else. He fights a lot with Mirage and is always trying to catch Agony off-guard to give him a good scrubbing. He's the only reason that Nothing or Dire get baths, too.

Prince is arrogant and ambitious, yes. He's proud of his appearance and does his best to stay clean and orderly—he doesn't mind the memories of military training that he gets from Warriors, since those routines help him to be efficient. He wears a copy of Warriors’s outfit, but fancier, with a fluffy shirt and a corset on top, and his tunic is purple because (1) it's opposite green on some color wheels and (2) it's the color of royalty. His silvery hair is a little longer than Warriors’s is, and he wears a luxurious red cape.

Sometimes he puts a little too much flair into his moves, but he's proficient with as many weapons as Warriors is, if less practiced. He talks a lot, boasts a lot, and casually jabs where it hurts. He holds a lot of jealousy and hate in his heart, and if he gets a little drunk, he'll go on and on about how much he dislikes Warriors, specifically.

Prince’s ultimate ambition is to rule his Hyrule as undisputed, beloved emperor. He wants to do that by winning the hearts of every soldier, every servant, every noble. He wants to steal Warriors’s relationships right out from under him without him noticing. Prince knows that he can't rely on his temporary Charm to do that, though, so his plan is to ally with the organizations of traitors throughout Hyrule and add his persuasive charm and Charm to their efforts, eventually rising to become their leader.

Prince’s best dreams involve him standing over a defeated Warriors on the balcony of the castle, a crown on his head and a queen on his arm (or king. He just thinks stealing Artemis or Impa would make it all the sweeter), with crowds below cheering for him. He has plans to keep the aging Warriors as an honored “guest” in the castle for as long as he lives, doomed to watch his beloved, darkened kingdom flourish under Prince’s ruby eyes. Someday, Prince will change his name to Link, stealing that from Warriors, too.

Prince Link. Wait, no. King Link. No, even better… Emperor Link.

Actually, he doesn't like the sound of Emperor. He’ll workshop that title.

Mirage

Mirage is dark Legend, patterned after the Nightmares that Legend fought on Koholint. He knows Legend will know that immediately.

Mirage is truly shape-fluid. His form is extremely malleable, though he can't keep up looking perfectly like a human for more than half an hour or so—he starts to melt and revert back to his most comfortable state, which is a close copy of Legend, his matter constantly shifting and dripping and melting. (Most comfortable state, not his true form. Does he have a true form? He doesn't know what it is if he does.) He is best at mimicking nonspecific human forms and small reptiles. He pretended to be a bush once, but wasn't very convincing.

Mirage’s gooey flesh doesn't have many pain or touch receptors, and he doesn't need any kind of structure beneath the goo to stand up. He's very good at energy dispersion, so punching him means that you're either punching a brick wall or that your fist is getting absorbed. His goo is as warm as flesh and very slightly acidic, so touching him for too long can burn. He doesn't need to breathe, but he does digest organic material or minerals to build on his mass. He's weak against energy-type attacks, like acid or fire or ice, but it doesn't hurt him in the traditional sense and he can always build himself back up. He can drop entirely flat and easily squeezes through small gaps.

Most traditional dungeon traps do absolutely nothing to Mirage: spike traps don't hurt him, as holes in his form mean nothing; he doesn't really take fall damage, just splatters a bit until he can pull himself together; giant axes that cleave him in two don't actually hurt him, either. There is one small part of Mirage’s matter that is his core. If he gets cut into pieces, the rest of him will shrivel up and evaporate in an hour or two, but his core stays alive and can regrow in a matter of days. If he gets to any cut-off piece before it evaporates, he can reassimilate it. He often messes with his form to take on any physical challenge: looking around corners with an eye on a hand; growing taller to see over a wall; spreading out his feet and legs to float on water; squeezing into cracks in an ice block and expanding in the right spot to make it all shatter.

Mirage doesn't speak often, preferring to keep quiet. His voice is soft and slithering, with hissing Ss and a pitch that ranges from whispery to shrill. It's the worst voice in the group after Depth’s. He isn't the smartest of the Darks, but he is quite observant and if he does speak up, there's something important to pay attention to. Mirage often just goes with the group decisions, performing whatever role they require, though privately he absolutely resents having to work with anyone else, because Mirage works alone. He doesn't need companions, friends, shopkeepers, or family; he doesn't need vehicles, mounts, money, magic items, or even weapons. When he means alone, he means Very Alone.

The thing about Legend—despite the masks and attitude he puts on—is that he cares, so so much. He cares about people being happy and safe, he bonds with everyone nice he meets whether he knows it or not, he is self-sacrificing and always working for a better world, even when people don't ask for it. Mirage does not care about much of anything except himself. He would be most content wandering around a mountain, causing a bit of chaos in a nearby town, and using his abilities to traverse impossible paths, especially through caves, just because he can. He doesn't care about the other Darks (that's a bit more of a lie than he thinks it is), he doesn't care about Legend, he doesn't care about covering the world in darkness. He’s just dragged around and knows that they have to finish this stupid mission thing before he can be left in peace.

Mirage is somewhat fascinated with the way humans work. He's closer to an octopus or other eldritch sea creature himself, and mimics reptilian forms, but the more he learns about humans, the better he can mimic them. He might not care much about many things, but he's curious. He likes to investigate corpses (especially if he can eat them—the Dark Chain’s favorite way of “disappearing” people) and find out new things about their anatomy and chemical compositions, things he knows about and can memorize to reproduce in his own gooey flesh later. As such, he sometimes annoys the other Darks by poking at them or “testing” their senses or limits.

He gets along best with Lost, who doesn't care much, either, and doesn't get mad at his questions or testing. Mirage responds by taking Lost babysitting duty more than his fair share. (His apathy means he's really patient with Lost and Nothing and Madness.) He makes a good team with Agony, who he sees as very similar to himself, except Agony is clearly more driven. Agony is the quick and sharp counterpart to Mirage’s slow and inevitable destruction. (And it doesn't hurt that Agony is the electricity wielder among them, so if Agony sort of likes Mirage, then all the better.)

In a normal fight, Mirage is all but indestructible, walking through battle without problems. He doesn't bother attacking until someone hurts him, usually with fire or something similar. Then Mirage will focus to get rid of the threat—and he’s aware that the others expect him to target and take out Legend, so he does that if he has to. He's all but impossible to fight without elemental aid, and while he isn't too quick, he hits HARD and has a lot of tricks up his metaphorical sleeves.

Still, the fact remains that if you manage to hurt him, you hurt him a lot. Mirage isn't complicated, but he's very flexible and can do things nobody is prepared for.

(sorry for the low contrast. But hey, my goo-drawing skills are finally relevant! Look at that hat! And the foot!)

#my art #linked universe #lu z darks au

70 notes · View notes

rosepinksky · 2 days

Text

Pay For My Time (pt. 7)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: cunnilingus, PIV sex (all consensual!)

word count: 2.5k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

Despite my penchant for drunken late nights, I had always been one to wake with the sun. It had been my undoing in university; never able to sleep past 6am in the summer despite all the money I’d poured into heavy-duty blackout curtains. Countless days spent nursing coffee after coffee just to clear the thick fog of exhaustion in my brain, but sleep still never coming despite hours spent curled up trying to nap in the afternoon.

So it was foreign, the sensation of utter comfort this morning, my muscles so relaxed as I curled up under the duvet and into the chest of this man. He was just barely stirring too, gaze softened without the burden of cognisance hitting him yet.

I offered him a small smile, nudging my cheek against his shoulder. It was returned, and a slow, lingering kiss pressed to my forehead through the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t until Simon pulled back that he let out a soft chuckle, my smile falling as a frown pulled at my brows.

“What?”

He dragged the pad of his thumb over the corner of my lips, and I could see the skin stained with a faded red.

“Your makeup, sweet thing. Didn’t take it off last night.”

I groaned, rolling onto my back to grab blindly at the pack of cheap makeup wipes on the bedside table. I dragged one across my cheek, stubborn particles of glitter scraping at my skin.

“Here, let me.” He murmured, taking the wipe and swiping at across my lips far more gently than I had. His expression turned serious with concentration, and I really couldn’t help but smile at his dedication to the mundane task. There was something domestic about it, something so bizarrely intimate yet it didn’t make me want to bolt out of the room away from it quite yet.

Seemingly satisfied, he let the wipe drop onto the sheets, but kept his hand brushing against my skin. His hand drifted lower, thumb dipping beneath the neckline of the soft cotton tee. His other arm shifted from underneath the pillow, squeezing lightly at my waist.

I inhaled, gaze dropping to his lips, the mask still tucked up over the bridge of his nose. He smirked, almost imperceptibly, as his hands curled tighter around my middle, pulling me in against his body.

“Now, pet…I do remember you being fucking difficult last night.” His voice was gentle, almost eerily so. “I’m almost in two minds about making you feel good right now.”

I bit the inside of my lip, my willingness to sass back at him almost zero right now.

“I was…drunk. And pissed off about being left high and dry. I’m sorry.”

That seemed to do the trick, because almost immediately he was tugging me into the centre of the mattress underneath him, knocking my legs apart with his knees.

“At least you’ve some humility.” He chuckled, leaning down to nip at the exposed skin of my stomach where the shirt had ridden up. “…God, ‘s not like I could turn you down right now anyway. Look too fucking tempting.”

I gasped, back arching up off of the mattress as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin once more.

“Mmph, don’t tease, I- I can’t-“

My weak attempt at pleading was swiftly cut off by another low chuckle.

“It’s okay, princess. Not gonna make you wait, not this time.” He murmured as his lips dipped lower, fingers abandoning my waist in favour of crushing the flesh of my thighs in his grip. He took in a long, greedy exhale of my bare core, lips slick with saliva as he pressed them against the tender skin.

“God, can’t wait to taste you again…you smell fucking divine.”

He wasted no time in diving in, lapping at the slick of my pussy like he’d gone without water for days. A strangled moan was torn from my throat, my fingers clutching tightly at the short curls on his scalp. I felt him twitch a little as my nails bit into his skin, but it seemed to only spur him on further as he pushed his tongue inside of me.

“Fuck, Simon, don’t stop, that feels good-“ I gasped, my breath starting to visibly pick up. I pressed my hips further down towards him, legs twitching and begging to clamp down over his ears. He kept me still, though, those strong hands rubbing small circles into the space behind my knees as he pushed them down into the mattress.

The vibration of his moan against my clit had me almost folding over in half, a sharp breath filling my lungs with ice as my eyes flew open. I met his gaze- his dark, starving gaze- and wanted to cum on the spot. He never let up on his ministrations as he held eye contact with me, just slipping a hand under my ass to grope at it as his tongue worked me closer and closer to oblivion.

I tried to speak, but all that escaped my lips was a pitiful whine, the shocks from my pussy down my legs forcing me to curl up my toes and scrunch my eyes shut. I tried to beg him to keep going, to not break his rhythm, but I found myself utterly unable to speak. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because he didn’t falter, just licking and sucking and drooling over my pussy like he needed it to survive.

I felt my arms moving up of their own accord, tweaking and tugging at my nipples, and I could just barely feel his lips quirk up in an approving smile as the added stimulation drove me closer to the edge.

When I came, it wasn’t with a dignified muffled moan as it often was when I worked myself alone. It was with a breathless, almost pained cry, the sharp end of my nails pressing so hard into my tits I swore the skin almost broke. Simon didn’t pull away immediately; in fact, it felt like he pushed himself closer, lapping up the wetness from between my thighs like a sinner kneeling before the communion cup.

I collapsed back down against the mattress. I couldn’t do anything except stare at the ceiling, vision hazy as I listened to both of our laboured breaths in the quiet room.

It took a few moments for him to drag himself back up over me, into my field of view. His lips held a lazy smirk as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, the flush just faintly visible over his jaw making my own cheeks warm even further.

“…Please fuck me.” I whispered.

Silence hung between us for a second, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

Hesitance? Guilt? Reluctance?

I got my answer when his smirk widened into a grin, and he crashed his lips against mine.

Ghost and I had kissed before. I’d tasted the faint residue of tobacco on his lips, the spearmint toothpaste he used, as his tongue pressed into mine with an urgency akin to an addict pushing down the first hit of their drug.

But not Simon. No, in this moment, I realised I’d never kissed Simon. His lips felt different, the way he cupped my jaw and pressed his weight into me. It felt new, and genuine, and vulnerable.

I realised at the same moment, that this was his first time kissing Lucy, too.

No more Violet. No more calculated persona, no rehearsed responses to his touch. Just a man and a woman indulging sinfully and religiously in each other.

I didn’t notice that he’d pulled his boxers off. I felt him press his cock against me, and moaned against his lips, brows creasing together in desperate anticipation.

He kissed me harder as he pushed himself into me, the sharp sting of the stretch mollified by his sweet tongue. He paused, drawing back to gaze down at me, eyes asking the silent question.

I nodded without a second of hesitation.

He groaned at his first rock into me, fisting the bedsheets beside my head.

“Shit, Luce, you feel better than fucking heroin.”

If I’d been anywhere other than my current state of bliss, I would’ve made a snarky remark about neither of us knowing what the hell heroin felt like. Hopefully.

“More.” I rasped, pulling him closer to me by the nape of his neck. “Please, Si, give me more.”

He growled in response, bullying his cock into me faster and harder. I cried out, nipples pressed into his chest and sending delicious little flutters through my core at the sensation. I pushed my hips up, trying to meet his thrusts, and his breath stuttered at the action.

“Fuck, god, need to have you on top of me. Need to see your face.”

I nodded, even though I was mostly incoherent. Not entirely aware of what I’d agreed to, I let him flip us over so that I was settled above him as he lay with his head sinking into the pillow. I steadied myself with a hand splayed on his chest, panting as I stared down at him.

I began to move with a tentative rock of my hips. The response was immediate, Simon biting his lip as his head pressed further back into the soft material behind him. I grew in confidence as I found my angle, bouncing up and down on him and letting my head loll back as the mind-numbing pleasure took over my senses once again.

He groaned, the sound deep and rough and intoxicating, his hands flying up to my hips to help support my weight as I rode him within an inch of my life.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, sweet girl. Make yourself cum. Make me cum. Ride that fucking dick.” He panted, his grip tightening as he started to manoeuvre me up and down himself, setting a pace I couldn’t quite keep up with.

I let my head fall forward, meeting his eyes with a wordless plea on my lips. He let out a moan at my expression, hips snapping upwards into mine at such a rate I could feel my diaphragm catching.

“Gonna fucking cum. Gonna fucking cum inside you, come on girl, cum around me. Need to see that face.”

I had no defences left. I broke like a dam around him, every muscle in my body contracting as I let myself climax around his cock. He groaned, the sound strained and utterly animal, and I swore my orgasm doubled the second I felt his cum spurt in fucking ropes against my insides.

Neither of us moved for a long moment, aside from his hand sliding up along my back to support me. I drew in deep, rapid breaths, just staring down at him as he lay underneath me.

He seemed to do the same. Neither of us spoke, just a silent understanding that that was different.

Not fucking. Not hooking up. Making love.

I jumped to my feet, knees buckling the second I put weight on them. His arms immediately shot out to steady me, but I brushed him away as I found balance with my hand against the wall.

“You, uh…you want some coffee?” I asked, cringing internally at how stupid it sounded.

He stared at me for a long moment.

“…You should probably shower. I can handle breakfast.”

Too cock-dumb to argue and too sleep-deprived to know better, I nodded, the thought of warm water over my already pliant muscles a prospect too tempting to resist.

I grabbed a towel and a fresh pair of pyjamas without another word, waiting until I heard the click of the bathroom door to let out a breath.

I stared at one crack in the porcelain tiles as I showered.

Don’t do this, Lucy. You’ve been here before.

…But Simon wasn’t him. Simon wasn’t basking me in adoration and gifts and dates. He was accepting of the fuck-buddy relationship, maybe pushing the boundary a smidge with the morning-after sex, but this wasn’t commitment. This was pure, primal sexual attraction, and it’s not as if he would even want a relationship given the nature of his job.

Oh, dear god, his job.

There was no way he didn’t see my reaction to the reveal last night. The thought, the thought of him absolutely decimating some band of criminals without so much as a crack in his demeanour had set every nerve inside of me ablaze.

Would he be soaked in blood? I thought. Would he come home to me, still in his dirty uniform, and take out all of that pent-up aggression on my pussy?

…Jesus, I needed to go back to therapy.

I shut off the water, towel drying my hair and tugging on a random top and pair of joggers. I padded through towards the kitchen, pausing only when I heard that familiar baritone echo through the hallway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m aware, MacTavish. No, she’s not interfering. She’s a fucking stripper, it’s not as if I’m ring shopping.”

I would’ve been lying if I’d said I hated to eavesdrop.

“…Yeah, she’s hot. She’s also not a serious thing, so back off.”

I chose that moment to step into the kitchen, tugging at the knots in my wet hair as he stood in the corner on his phone. I smirked.

“You gonna let me say hi to your friend?”

Simon’s expression dropped. I could vaguely hear a voice shouting down the other end of the phone, but he hung up the call almost immediately after seeing me appear.

“…Stupid friend. Ignore him.”

I chuckled, brushing past him to pop a pod into the coffee maker.

“Seems like he was pretty clued in about me. Feels a little unfair that I don’t get to know about him.”

Simon bristled.

“Don’t wanna share you.”

Ah. Now that piqued my interest.

“Jealous boy, hmm? Don’t want MacTavish touching what’s yours?”

In an instant, his hands were on me, caging me against the countertop.

“I know you’re a whore.” He breathed, his tone dangerous. “I can’t stop you from sleeping with every sleaze that ticks your boxes at the club. But you will not sleep with my teammates.”

I tipped my chin up, meeting his gaze defiantly. “So rude of you to call me a whore.”

He smirked, fingers trailing along my jaw. “Didn’t seem to mind it when I was making you cum.”

I held eye contact for a long moment, a mixture of amusement and annoyance swimming in my expression. “I like your cheek a whole lot less when I’m level-headed.”

He chuckles, dipping down to press a kiss to my lips. “And I like you a lot more when you’re sober.”

tag list! <3 @simpxinnie

#simon riley x ofc #ghost smut #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #ghost x oc #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #cod #141 #soap call of duty #soap cod

49 notes · View notes

morganski-19 · 1 day

Text

part 1, part 2

Dustin visits the next day, sitting next to Wayne with the same book he’s had for the past few days. Turning to the page that was dog-eared, reading. Voices and all. Just like Eddie does when he’s practicing for one of those campaigns. Claiming that it’s better to get it down with someone else’s words so he can improvise. So he doesn’t have to memorize some script and can be in the moment. Let his mind do the workings along with the players.

It’s one of the many parts of Eddie that Wayne sees in this kid. The dramatics, the drive. The snobbiness about certain things that don’t really matter to the rest of the world. But it matters to them, so it matters to the people who care about them too.

If Eddie were awake, he might yell at the kid for turning the corner of a page instead of using a bookmark. Even though all the books he gets are second-hand and already torn and bent in all sorts of ways. But it’s about keeping the art pristine. The author put their heart and soul into this work, it’s not meant to be sullied. Wayne saw Eddie bend the corner of a page a million times over though, he just likes making a big stink about nothing. Just to get a rise out of people, make them laugh. Wayne can imagine that Eddie liked to make Dustin laugh a lot.

“Have the doctors said anything new?” Dustin asks after finishing the chapter.

Wayne shakes his head. “Same old, same old. Don’t worry about it too much though, he wouldn’t want you to.”

“He wouldn’t want a lot of the things that happened over the past week. So he’ll have to deal with it.” After a pause, he asks, “How are you doing?”

That makes Wayne laugh. “You don’t have to go worryin’ about me either. You’re just a kid.”

“And you’re just a man waiting for your kid to wake up. The same way I’m waiting for my friend to wake up. At the end of the day, we’re all still people. That sometimes need a break. So, how are you doing?”

It’s scary how much Wayne sees Eddie in this kid. “It’s hard comin’ here to hear the same thing every day.” That’s all Wayne’s willing to say to a kid.

Hard is definitely a word most people would use to describe his situation. Difficult, disheartening. Maybe even hopeless. But there’s still some hope in this old heart that keeps Wayne coming back day in and day out. Keeps him moving while only getting a few hours of sleep a day. Cause as soon as the night comes around, it’s right back to the plant. Making the money to pay for the care his boy needs to keep living. To pay for the roof over his own head enough so he’ll live to see it happen.

Truth is, Wayne’s dying here. From the fatigue. From the endless waiting. From the slowly draining pool of hope. Nothing seems to change. Nothing gets better. Six days in a medically induced coma with no hopes of ever waking up. Wayne’s not dumb enough to think that the chances increase the more days pass without him showing any signs of improvement.

Part of him says that this is the state Eddie will be in for the rest of his life. Wonders if it’s worth all of this just to keep him alive. If he’s really suffering in there and would be better off resting forever. But then the heart monitor keeps beeping and his brain is still active. Wayne’s boy is still in there, he’ll come back soon.

“Yeah, I bet that’s hard. I still have hope though, I was there when he came in. He looks a lot better now.”

There’s a knock on the door that keeps Wayne from responding. It’s the Harrington boy, in normal clothes this time. Discharged.

“Sorry to interrupt but your mom said it’s time to go home.”

Dustin dramatically rolls his eyes. “Which one, my actual mother or you?”

“Your actual mother, but I happen to agree with her. Come on, you got school in the morning.” Harrington crosses his arms, looking like he’s ready to start a standoff.

But instead of fighting Dustin stands. “Have a good night Mr. Munson. I’ll still try to visit as much as I can even though school’s starting back up again.”

“Thanks, kid, I’ll try.”

Harrington ruffles Dustin’s hair as he walks out the doorway. Standing there for a beat before turning back to Wayne. “We’ve never officially met, I’m Steve.”

Steve holds out his hand, waiting for Wayne to shake it. Wayne debates whether that’s a good idea or not. Apparently, it takes too long as Steve returns his hand to his side.

“I wanted to apologize for the scene I made the other day, you didn’t deserve that. I was just so shocked that they actually cuffed him to the bed. Still have him cuffed to the bed.” Steve looks at Eddie with a guilt that Wayne doesn’t understand. Like he’s the reason Eddie’s strapped to the bed.

Wayne continues to say nothing, not quite sure what would be appropriate. Tell him that it’s ok, that it didn’t bother him. Or thank him for believing that Wayne knew was true. That his boy was innocent.

There was more to this story than he knew. Something to do with the kid being there and the rich boy standing in the doorway looking like this is all his fault. When Wayne knows the same scars mark Steve just as much as they do Eddie. Steve made sure that everyone knew that. Using it as proof that Steve was there, and that Eddie was innocent.

Steve was ready to offer himself up as a witness for a man that the town hates. Wayne should be grateful for that, but it doesn’t seem right. They were part of different worlds. Different status, interests. It didn’t make sense for them to be in the same place at all. Yet here they are supposedly having gone through the same vicious attack.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Steve continues when Wayne stays silent. “I’m more than happy to help out. Eddie was kind of a new friend and I hate seeing him like this as much as you do.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Wayne snaps. He hates charity, especially from this kid. For some reason he doesn’t really understand why.

Steve is taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but you did. I know my boy and I know how my boy thinks about people like you. So don’t go ‘round gaining sympathy points from the real people who are suffering.”

“I, I wasn’t,” Steve stammers. “I would never.”

“Steve,” Dustin yells. “Get your ass moving, we’re your ride too.”

Steve sighs. “Coming, Jesus. I’m sorry for offending you. I won’t bother you again.”

Wayne shakes his head when Steve leaves, letting out a deep sigh. Maybe he was too harsh, maybe he wasn’t harsh enough. He’s not sure.

He’s not sure about a lot of things anymore.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs,

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #post season 4 #wayne munson #dustin henderson #steve harrington #pre steddie #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #fanfic #wayne pov

46 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 2 days

Text

✮ tags ; gn!reader, sock(?) fetish...? it's like foot fetish adjacent i guess and but she is wearing frilly socks, dirty talk, established relationship, implicit nsfw but nothing happens, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.4k (WTF LOL)

✮ a/n ; don't mind me. going through something. this is miserably self-indulgent but it's ochako so i figured you've guessed that

Ochako would never applaud your subtlety.

If she's playing devils advocate, she'd say that you're not usually trying to be very subtle anyway. Between the two of you, she's the shy one. Most of your firsts have been as a result of your personality - sufficiently anti-social but smug and forthcoming when you need to be.

She was the one to coax you into actually asking her out, since you weren't sure she'd be happy with someone like you. But the confessing and kissing and having sex are all a result of your brusque honesty and inability to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Usually, if there's something you want, you'll just ask her. She'll get on your case out of embarrassment often enough - but she loves you and she loves being praised. If there's some particularly perverted fantasy you want to act out with her, well... she can do it with a little bribing.

You're not much for hints, but you are good at hiding things. Usually. You managed to plan an anniversary trip completely in advance even with her hectic hero schedule which is something to be commended.

But it's rare, in any case, to see you be uncertain about something. It's not like you just stare at her and not say anything. She'll challenge you about that tendency often and you always smirk so sly and say what you think.

She's never really seen you act like this. She doesn't know what to make of it.

She thinks she would've known by now if you had some kind of foot fetish at least.

You've been staring at her legs all day to start with, but she noticed about an hour ago that your eyes kept drifting to her feet. You've had sex enough times for her to know what you like and you've never really shown any special appreciation towards them other than a kiss or rub. It's tender and intimate, but it doesn't feel rooted in the lust of a fetish.

It's the fifth or sixth time in the last hour you've looked over the edge of your laptop screen and traced her legs. It's hard to notice when you've been doing it so often.

"What are you staring so hard at?"

You startle at the confrontation, even though you weren't engrossed in your work. It's subtle, your eyes widening just a touch before going back to the screen unfocused.

"Uh," You sound...awkward. And a little nervous. It's a little unusual for her, since you're a difficult person to truly embarrass. "Nothing really."

She pouts at you. "You're a bad liar. You've looked at me so many times today. At my feet," She says, leaning back on the couch with her legs completely spread. You do it again and look away just as quickly. "Did you gain a foot fetish over night?"

When you don't respond right way, her eyes open wide. She looks at you as you turn your head - suddenly sheepish. "...Did you really?"

You shake your head, trying to find the words to explain. You open your mouth only to close it again, rubbing your temple as if finding the words is stressing you out.

Now she's really confused.

"It's not a foot fetish, necessarily? It has to do with," You swallow something in the back of your throat. "...with what you're wearing. I guess?"

"What I'm wearing?" She looks down her legs and looks at the socks she's wearing - brand new and frilly. All white lace bunched at the cuff and white cotton down to the toes with a little pink bow on the back, She lifts her legs up and points her foot out. "These?"

Your face flushes like a deer caught in headlights and Ochako feels herself jolt in surprise before a smile breaks out on her face. It's hard to hold in her laughter, though she's not laughing at you as much as she is your reaction.

"Don't laugh at me,"

"I'm not, I'm not," She assures, giggling to herself. "It's just... of all the perverted stuff you ask me to do, this is what gets you?"

You cover your face partially with your hand, forcing yourself not to look down or around. "It's a little weird even for me."

She hums. "I don't think it's weird," Slowly, she pulls her knees up close to her chest, arms hugging her legs glancing down at her feet "I'm just not sure what you like about it."

You stare again, at her legs then at her feet. You're a distance away but you scoot in a little closer - your hands reaching out just far enough to touch the frill around the cuff. Your eyes go lidded, pressing the lacy material between your fingers.

"It's pretty." You say first. There's a shift in the air that makes her breath hitch though you haven't said or implied anything lewd at all. Really haven't touched her either, which makes her blush. You have the effect on her, or something. "It's girly and cute and looks nice on you. Plus you have toned legs so it suits you. I like the way they match with your pajamas, too."

The sudden wave of praise makes Ochako shiver. She buries her face in her arms, frowning - skin prickling with heat. "Jeez. You're so simple."

She moves herself. Instead of her seat opposite the couch, she crawls down to where you sit on the floor and pushes the coffee table away from you. Barely glancing at your laptop, she shuts it and sits in front of you instead - occupying the space between you suddenly. You glance at her, surprised, before laugh again.

She leans back on her palms, pulling her legs up and placing both of her socked feet on your chest. Her back is supported only by the sturdy chestnut table she moved out of the way to sit. Your hand rests on her calves - right where her ankle extends. Your thumb rubs the bare skin. Her face grows hotter, air thick with tension.

"You have more to say, right?" A bid for attention. You nod your head. "Then say it,"

"It's kind of dirty," You hum. Ochako can feel her heart rate start to tick up as your hand slides down to be over the tops of her feet. You look down at where she's placed them on your chest so affectionately she can already feel the dull pulse start between her legs. "But I always think about what they look like when they're the last things left on you."

She makes a face at you. You crook your neck to kiss just the outside, right at the toe of her socks. It makes her blush more than she expects and that makes you laugh. Your voice is thick, genuine desire making her want to keen a little. She wants you spoil her, but you already know that.

"Like," You pretend to think, locking eyes with her. She doesn't know if she could get more red, but she feels she does. "If I were to strip you down to everything but these, that'd look really lewd right? It's like that."

"Is that what you want to do?"

You nod at her easily. "Seeing you bent over the side of the couch , on the tips of your toes. Or maybe laying on your stomach with your legs up so I can fuck you more properly. It's a nice image, I thought."

She pouts at you, almost perpetually - shoving a foot against your cheek as she does. You laugh at her as she does.

"You're such a pervert."

"Sorry." Your voice is warm and tender but not really all that apologetic. She huffs, turning your head to one side.

"It can't be helped, then." She says, one eyes closed and cheeky. You laugh at her good-naturedly.

"What a good girl you are, Ochako-chan,"

She feels her heart flutter, positioning herself to sit on her knees so she can kiss you. Her hands support her in front, arms wrapped around your neck as she flutters her lashes. "The best?"

You hum, pressing a hot kiss to her jaw. "The best. Let me see more of you, okay?"

"Okay," She huffs, a little annoyed by how easy she is. "I don't mind keeping the socks on."

"Good girl." You praise again, throaty and just barely thick. "My very good girl."

Ochako doesn't mind your lack of subtlety, she thinks. The throbbing between her legs is enough to prove she likes when you're very, very forward.

#ochako x reader #bnha x reader #this isn't smut really but its nt fluff either fdbfjskd #writing tag #feet cw #i feel insane and this was inevitable

34 notes · View notes

hldailyupdate · 3 days

Text

Mere days after winning “Artist of the Year” at the inaugural Northern Music Awards, Louis Tomlinson is celebrating the only way he knows how – by giving back. Tomlinson just dropped a surprise album, which includes a curated list of live performances over the past years. It’s a risky move, as live albums are notoriously difficult to make worthwhile. But there’s no doubt about it: Tomlinson is deserving of that award, and the recordings on Louis Tomlinson: LIVE deserve to live forever.

After an initial stop-start to his solo career, Tomlinson has certainly flourished since finally getting to hit the stage. He’s been touring extensively over the past few years, performing a mix of tracks from his first two albums. Both were solid records that heavily referenced anthemic, rich sonic soundscapes. In fact, Tomlinson previously admitted that he wrote certain tracks with a live show in mind. Indeed, songs like “Face The Music,” “Out Of My System” and “The Greatest,” from his No. 1 selling album Faith in the Future, absolutely benefit from the live instrumentals compared to their studio versions.

It isn’t often that live performances consistently seem to not only live up to but objectively improve the perfectly engineered studio recordings. Perhaps it’s the love that the album so clearly captures for live music that does it. The singer-songwriter is an avid fan of his own fans and gets to share a collective experience of joy with them. Just listen to the crowds serenading Tomlinson in return during “Chicago,” recorded live in – you guessed it, Chicago. From Tomlinson’s perspective, audiences across the world have always been part of breathing life into these live recordings. Now, people get to live that same experience with him by listening to this record that is woven together with impeccably mixed joyful screaming in the background.

Tomlinson’s storytelling isn’t hindered by the crowd’s reaction. Rather, it is bolstered by it. In both power ballads like “Common People” as well as raucous tracks like “Silver Tongues.” The live setting seems to function almost akin to a prism – each song shining brighter, richer, fuller. Perhaps the only track that is tighter in the original version, is the seductive “Written All Over Your Face.” Nonetheless, the instrumental break and palpable, wild excitement make for an enjoyable listen.

Similarly, right in the middle of the highly addictive “All This Time/We Are Beauty” mash-up, a fan can be heard screaming “I love you” if you listen closely. The sheer adulation of the crowd is decidedly earned. Tomlinson has worked hard to prove himself, despite never having lacked the talent. Perhaps merely the confidence that he could do it, would do it, has done it. Nevertheless, he’s been open about the tension between his own love for music, and his at times debilitating need for perfection. As he’s settled into his career, a quiet undertone of determination and grit, of relief and fulfillment – of gratitude remains in every single show.

On “Saturdays,” you can actually hear Tomlinson mumble that the view’s never been better from where he’s stood on stage. It’s a high-maintenance track with all the right ingredients for a Tomlinson classic. There’s confessional lyricism, emotive delivery, and a gradual yet powerful crescendo in musical arrangement. It needs to be sung with conviction, and it’s clear that Tomlinson pulls power from the audience to deliver.

Notably, none of the covers that Tomlinson frequently incorporates in his concerts made it onto this live album. With that in mind, perhaps this release signals that Tomlinson has finally embraced his own artistry. Because if anything, Louis Tomlinson: LIVE is a reckless celebration record. An ode to joy, the synergy between artist and audience, and the impact of well-timed, flawlessly executed live guitar solos.

#louis tomlinson #louis update #louis tomlinson live #euphoria #article #april 2024

33 notes · View notes

aurumacadicus · 1 day

Note

i'm not sure if tumblr is lying to me or not about when you responded to my ask but i only just got the notification for it, so. if you're still doing the 1-161 stony ficlet challenge, can i request 123 if that one hasn't also been taken? ps i'm really loving the ones you've posted so far, they're great! <3

Thanks! It's been a lot of fun!

Steve grit his teeth as Tony carefully, casually prodded his thigh with the toe of his left foot again. They were fighting, and he couldn't tell if this was an olive branch or a deliberate attempt to make him lose his cool.

They didn't fight often. They argued a lot, of course. He and Tony both had very strong personalities, and they also had very strong opinions. More difficult still, Steve was from a different time, and while he'd made great strides in acclimating himself to the time (and while Tony had been very patient as he learned) some things he said and believed still had them butting heads sometimes.

Tony prodded his thigh again, and Steve sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He would not give Tony the satisfaction of reacting.

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention," Tony finally declared, prodding him again.

"We are fighting and I'm still mad at you," Steve answered curtly, looking back down at his book. He figured that was attention enough, with the mood he was in and their fight still hovering at the edges of their conversations.

The ball of Tony's foot stayed pressed to his thigh a moment longer before he slowly drew it back. "Oh. Sorry."

Steve slanted his gaze over at that, brows furrowing together at the tone of Tony's voice. It was the one he used when he knew he'd misstepped but didn't understand why. He looked genuinely upset before his emotional shutters came back down as he returned his gaze to his tablet. He pulled his feet in closer, tucking himself tighter into the corner of the couch.

Steve watched him, considering, then carefully asked, "We... are still fighting, aren't we?"

"Of course. Obviously," Tony scoffed, prodding at his screen a little harder than he usually might.

Steve waited a beat, but Tony didn't plow on like he usually did when he was angry. He'd had no problem shouting for hours yesterday, but Steve had no doubt he'd come up with new things to shout if he was still very upset. He cast around his mind for what Tony's sudden change in heart and remembered, frowning, that Colonel Rhodes had huffed out a frustrated, 'well, his parents never apologized to each other, at least not in front of him, so he thinks fights just stop eventually and you carry on as usual.'

Tony must have just been... ready for things to carry on as usual. Steve set his book in his lap and sighed again, tipping his head against the back of the couch. He'd been the second one to sit down on the couch. Tony must have thought that was an olive branch. And maybe it had been, he realized, turning to look at Tony again. Maybe, unconsciously, he'd been ready to end the fight, too. But not like Tony wanted, where they simply stopped talking about it and returned to life as normal.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, because he was. His ma always said it took two people to fight, after all.

Tony prodded at his tablet a couple more times, then turned his head a little, peering at him out of the corner of his eye. "...For what?" he finally asked, skeptical.

"For fighting," Steve answered simply. He'd learned early on that if he said too much, Tony would have more to read into.

Tony turned his head away, then looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "...I'm... sorry... too," he finally said, slowly, like he was waiting for Steve to spring some sort of trap after each word.

It hurt a little, Steve could admit to himself. But luckily, he'd learned that it wasn't his own shortcomings as a boyfriend that caused Tony to be suspicious of something he thought was a good thing; the lists of people who had hurt Tony in the past were all available online, after all. Not necessarily under that label, but Steve was pretty good at reading between the lines.

And it was a step in the right direction, Steve figured. Acknowledging their wrongs to each other was certainly better than just letting them go unsaid. They could have a discussion about it later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh and they had time to decompress.

Until then, Steve reached out to grab Tony's ankle and drag his leg back out, and Tony squawked as he was pulled across the cushions. "C'mere."

"Brute!" Tony howled, trying to claw his way back across the couch, but Steve's grip on his leg was immovable. "Stop fucking dragging me everywhere you want me, you neanderthal, I--"

"You what?" Steve asked, flipping him easily, and immediately dug his thumbs into Tony's arch, exactly where he knew Tony got sorest. Tony let out a moan, and Steve knew he had won, at least for the moment.

#aurumacadicus answers #daeshikoba #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony

51 notes · View notes

caffedrine · 6 hours

Text

Matias Asbrink - GW Happy Bag 2024 - Summary

Still not good at my reading comprehension, much less my Japanese language skill. So, I'm going for gold and attempting a straight translation this time. If you depend on this to be accurate, you have made a major mistake in your life and should rethink the path of events that brought you here.

(Just your everyday innocent daydreamer who the Geneva Conventions want a word with)

One day while staying in Achroite, Emma was invited to the castle’s dance hall by Matais.

Unlike Rhodolite’s dance hall, the polished wood floor had geometric patterns that created a warm space and made Emma’s heart flutter. Her breath was misty white, but she was in such awe that she didn’t even notice the cold.

Matias reminds Emma that during one of their conversations, she had mentioned reading about the dance hall in a book and had wanted to see it for herself. Emma is impressed that Matias remembered that casual remark, and thanks him for thinking about her.

Matias is looking at Emma, before remarking that her ballgown suits her. Emma is confused, she’s not wearing a ball gown. Just in case, she glances down and, yes, she’s still wearing her normal work skirt and blouse, with the addition of a coat.

Matias apologizes and agrees that he doesn’t think her workwear is a ballgown. He asks if Emma can dance, and she tells him that she has gone back in Rhodolite. Privately, she fondly recalls Sariel’s harsh lessons.

Since she can dance, Matias offers to bring her to the next dinner party hosted here. Emma reminds him that she’s just a commoner and a bookstore clerk at that, but Matias hurries to reassure her. Achroite is progressive enough that even those without peerage can join balls at the palace.

Besides, Emma is his friend. That gives her some privileges in his home.

(We wouldn't take advantage of him . . . right?)

Emma is surprised at being called Matias’ ‘friend’ and he grows concerned. Aren’t they friends? Was he wrong?

Emma quickly reassures him that she’s happy and honored to be considered his friend. Matias smiles in relief, the attractiveness of it making her dizzy.

Well, then, since they’re confirmed friends, Matias would like to give her a dress to memorialize the event. Emma starts to refuse, but Matias insists. It would be difficult for a commoner bookstore clerk to prepare the dress herself, so he will gift one to her, as to not overburden his new friend. Besides, he’s already made some plans.

He’s currently deciding between a pure white dress as lovely as a snow spirit, or a red dress as passionate and bewitching as a rose. Oh, but don’t worry, it will be neat and modest while still enhancing her beautiful waistline. And, like any dress, it will be one that she’ll have to gently hold up to avoid tripping and falling over the hemline . . .

Emma tries to get Matias’ attention, and he comes back to himself. He assures her that she won’t have to worry about her dress in any way, and tells her to leave the arrangements to him. His determination radiates with a sensual sexiness, and Emma gives in before her heart fails her.

Emma tells Matias that she now owes him and needs to make up the cost of this dress. Matias is confused at this, but then leaps on the chance, he asks if she wouldn’t mind practicing dancing with him. He wants to dance perfectly for the upcoming ball, but unfortunately cannot find a dance partner.

Emma is confused, Matias and his sexy, sexy self should be able to find a partner without any problems. Matias explains that he has asked several women to be his partner in the past, but the practice failed. For some reason, they would just stare at him and not dance properly, or act like a predator who has just captured their prey. Unlike his other female acquaintances, Emma can speak to him normally.

Emma begins to wonder what kind of experiences Matias has had with other women.

Matias concludes his thought by adding that having Emma as a friend is very precious, and worth the cost of a dress.

(Just a friendship date)

If that’s what he thinks, then Emma would be happy to comply. Besides, its been a little while since she last danced and she could use the practice. Matias is pleased and suggests they start immediately. As in right now. When Emma balks, Matias reminds her that it is quite cold and moving would warm them up.

Accepting Matias’ hand, Emma is led to the center of the dance floor, and the warmth of his hand spreads through her body. Matias’ steps were precise and perfect, to the point that Emma doubted he really needed to practice. Even though she was rusty, thanks to Matias’ lead, her steps were smooth. She was having a lot of fun dancing with him.

Matias notes that it’s fun to dance with friends, and Emma agrees. The hand on Emma’s waist holds her close, the distance between them taking her breath away.

Matias asks if Emma will accompany him during the ball as his partner, as he has no intention of letting another man dance with her. Emma considers it, thinking that Matias’ voice is even sexier up close, making her imagine wicked things.

Emma had been cold at the start, but before she knew it, her body was boiling hot.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #matias asbrink

39 notes · View notes