#I can't fucking do smooth transitions

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part V — Read on AO3

Minthara's eyes snapped open, the silence in the room pressing down upon her like a suffocating weight. The usual sounds of life from the village – the laughter of children, the bustle of activity – had been replaced by an eerie, oppressive quiet. Immediately, the drow's senses went on high alert, her gaze darting around the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of intrusion or danger. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the unsettling sensation of being watched setting her nerves on edge. Minthara strained to listen, but the silence was absolute, save for the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath her.

Gritting her teeth, she pushes herself upright, trying to look outside, only to find the window stubbornly shut, as if barring her escape. Turning her attention to the door, she watched in mounting dread as the old wood groaned and creaked, slowly swinging open of its own accord. And then she saw them coming inside – a procession of lifeless forms of her fallen comrades and subordinates, their eyes hollow and accusing, their blood-stained armor clinking with each agonizing step. Minthara's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she realized she was utterly defenseless, her weapons nowhere to be found.

"You failed us, Minthara," they whispered, their voices laced with bitter recrimination. "Your arrogance, your recklessness - it cost us everything."

She tried to protest, to defend her actions, but the words caught in her throat, strangled by the weight of their condemnation. Around her, the bodies of her soldiers piled higher, their blood-soaked forms a damning indictment of her leadership.

"You led us to our deaths," the spectral voices hissed. "You swore to destroy our enemies, to lead us to victory, and yet you betrayed that trust."

The spectral figures advanced, their rotten fingers reaching towards her, and Minthara braced herself for the onslaught, her mind reeling with the sickening realization that her nightmares had become a terrifying reality.

“You swore to free us, yet you doomed us.”

Minthara thrashed against the phantoms, but they clung to her, their fingers clawing at her flesh. The drow's cries echoed through the silent night, tinged with anguish and self-loathing. In the end, she could do nothing but submit to the relentless torment, her pride and resolve crumbling under the weight of her failure.

“You only bring death in your way.”

Minthara's eyes flew open, her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she was yanked from the clutches of her haunting dreams. Confusion clouded her senses as she blinked rapidly, taking in the now familiar surroundings with a sense of disorientation. How had she drifted off again? The memory of breakfast lingered faintly in her mind... She leapt from the bed, hastening to inspect the now-empty tray on the table, scrutinizing the cup and cautiously running her fingers over the crumbs in a search for any trace of poison. Finding no evidence of foul play, she sank back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, her body tense with lingering apprehension.

Minthara's fingers gripped the bedsheets tightly, the fabric bunching under the strain as she fought to regain her composure. Her heart pounded in her chest, a remnant of the visceral terror that had gripped her in that shadowed realm of her subconscious. Slowly, she forced herself to take deeper breaths, willing her racing pulse to calm as she repeated to herself that it was nothing but a bad dream.

The door creaked open, and Minthara tensed, her heart racing as she steeled herself to face the approaching horde of undead. But to her unexpected relief, it was not the grasping hands of her fallen comrades that appeared, but rather the familiar form of Halsin, the scent of medicinal herbs and salves wafting in with him.

Minthara fought to maintain her composure, her jaw tightening as she willed her trembling hands to still. She refused to show any sign of the fear that had gripped her, her features settling into a mask of cool detachment, even as the lingering remnants of her nightmare threatened to unravel her carefully cultivated façade.

"I spoke to the fishermen who found you," Halsin began, his voice gentle and measured. "They told me that they didn't see any sign of a boat or anything else unusual. Apparently, they just noticed you because your armor had become entangled in one of their fishing nets." 

Minthara felt a flicker of surprise at the druid's thoughtfulness, a reluctant sense of gratitude stirring within her. She had been meaning to question the fishermen herself, but the persistent exhaustion that clung to her like a heavy shroud had stilled her in this room. Now, to have Halsin take that initiative on her behalf… A small part of her wanted to express her appreciation, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her mouth set in a tight, dissatisfied line. The mystery of her arrival here, the gap in her memory, it all gnawed at her relentlessly, and this new information - or rather, lack thereof - only served to deepen the growing sense of frustration.

"I know you must be yearning for answers, Minthara," he murmured, his weathered hands moving with a practiced grace as he tended to her bandages. "Believe me, I wish I had more to tell you. But all we know for certain is that the fishermen stumbled upon you by chance, with no signs of how you came to be in the water." Halsin paused, his gaze searching her face, no doubt noting the tension in her features. “If you're feeling up to it, perhaps you can tell me what you do remember. It may help jog your memory and shed some light on how you ended up here."

Minthara's jaw tightened, but she knew Halsin had a point. If she wanted to uncover the truth of what had happened, she would need to work with him, at least for the time being. Steeling herself, she began to recount the last details she could recall from her fateful clash in the Underdark, hoping that speaking them aloud might help unlock the missing pieces of her fragmented memory.

The drow’s attempt to recount the details of her last memories proved far more challenging than she had anticipated. A sudden surge of panic gripped her as she realized the extent of the gaping void in her recollection, the past year reduced to a frustrating blank, except for scraps of disturbing details. Among them, the searing image of an eight-pointed metal star, its points connected by an intricate webbing, burned itself into her mind. Lolth's unholy symbol. The mere thought of the Spider Queen's sigil caused a lancing pain to shoot through Minthara's skull, a visceral reaction that filled her with a growing sense of dread.

She knew, with a sickening certainty, that somehow the Spider Queen's loyalists had infiltrated her own forces, a treacherous betrayal that had allowed them to catch her unawares. Minthara's brow furrowed, a mixture of shame and self-loathing welling up within her. After a lifetime spent navigating the treacherous politics of Menzoberranzan, how could she have been so easily deceived? Her own pride and overconfidence had blinded her to the danger. No. She had it all under control. If she didn’t let her guard down… She was a fool for putting her trust in others, and now she had paid a devastating price for her foolishness.

The realization was a brutal blow to Minthara's sense of self-worth, her carefully constructed facade of strength and superiority crumbling in the face of this humiliating defeat. Lolth's loyalists had emerged victorious, and she ended dead, drifting to Halsin’s shore. Minthara's lips curled down in pain, her brow furrowed in deep contemplation. 

Minthara's gaze flickered to Halsin's face as she recounted some of the fragmented details of her memory, and she was struck by the genuine concern and attentiveness reflected in his expression. It was a foreign sensation, this palpable feeling of someone truly listening, of someone who cared about her plight beyond mere obligation or self-interest.

Halsin's weathered hands moved with a practiced grace as he tended to her wounds, his movements unhurried and his words soft, but laced with an unwavering resolve. "Don't push yourself. The priority is that you heal, both in body and in spirit. For that, you may take all the time you need, Minthara," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with an understanding that she found both unsettling and strangely comforting. “Meanwhile, I can see if someone can scout a wider area, or find a traveler from the Underdark. Perhaps even putting up a sign looking for adventurers at the tavern could do it…”

Minthara eyed Halsin warily, her gaze narrowing as she searched for any hint of condescension or pity in his expression. The druid's words were laced with a gentle concern, his manner almost infuriatingly tender, and she found herself bristling at the implication. Was this true compassion, or merely the hollow sympathy of one who believed her broken and in need of saving? The fury bubbled within her, a bitter resentment towards his presumed superiority, his willingness to coddle her in her perceived weakness. But Minthara held her tongue, her jaw clenching as she forced herself to swallow the venomous retort that threatened to spill forth. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her perturbed. 

Minthara eyed Halsin warily, her gaze narrowing as she searched for any hint of condescension or pity in his expression. The druid's words were laced with a gentle concern, his manner almost infuriatingly tender, and she found herself bristling at the implication. Was this true compassion, or merely the hollow sympathy of one who believed her broken and in need of saving? The fury bubbled within her, a bitter resentment towards his presumed superiority, his willingness to coddle her in her perceived weakness. But Minthara held her tongue, her jaw clenching as she forced herself to swallow the venomous retort that threatened to spill forth. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her perturbed.

"I… appreciate your concern," she murmured, the words coming out stilted and unfamiliar on her tongue. "My fractured memories offered some insight into how I found myself in this predicament, and although there are many questions left unanswered, I have at least a lead to follow.”

Halsin nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course. I will be here, should you need any assistance. For now, focus on your recovery. The answers may come in time."

< Part IV || Part VI >

[drlavenderpepper]

people say "oh how are you gonna be hyperfixated on a 4 dollar cube game" WELL listen it's not my fault that a game with a level editor that looks like this

has players talented enough to build stuff like this using that abomination of an editor!!!!

like how are you NOT gonna be obsessed with this????

[mysteria157]

Equinox

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black!Fem Reader

Summary: As Fall whispers its approach, you find yourself tangled in Toji's sheets and the remnants of a summer that was never meant to last.

CW: mild intoxication, explicit sexual content, slight angst, mentions of oral (f! receiving), missionary, vaginal sex, fluff and comfort. As always, reader is a black fem.

WC: 4.8K

Author notes: I had an idea for an 'end of summer' fic with Toji that I really needed to write. and I can't focus on anything else until this leaves my mind lol. Inspired by @absoluteindulgence 💕

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Happy reading!

Header: myself | Divider: @saradika @cafekitsune | @pixelcafe-network💕

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The end of summer carries a unique weight, a bittersweet finality that hits everyone differently. For children, it’s the last wind of freedom—of the final days of sunkissed adventures with each other and nights that never seem to end, before the school bell calls them back to structure and routine. 

For the workforce, it’s a time of transition marked by the ticking clock of fiscal calendars. The not-so-busy days of August give way to a rush of activity—reports to file, budgets to review and close, plans to make for the coming year. Pencil skirts and a turned eye to open-toed shoes slowly shift back to crisp shirts and ironed slacks, polished and prepared for the productivity of fall.

For you, the shift is more powerful. It’s a sign of change that you’ve rehearsed but now find yourself forgetting the lines. It’s of saying goodbye to dalliances and an easy fling, of turning the page and embracing a new part of yourself. A new job. A new relationship status (single). A new outlook on life.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself it would be.

That’s what you tell yourself when you say ‘fuck it’ to monotony on your 30th birthday and decide to let your friends drag you around town. ‘Just try it,’ they giggle as you eye the horse races with a raised eyebrow, the announcer blaring in your ears over the roar of the crowd around you. It’s a place you would never imagine finding yourself. But you say ‘fuck it’ and go along for the ride. Tipsy and smiling from ear to ear as you yell to the wind when the #1 Happy Days crosses the finish line and puts three grand in your pocket.

‘Fuck it’ is what you tell yourself when nonchalant emerald eyes met yours, a scarred pair of lips smirking down as you slide your ticket to the attendee to collect your winnings. Nonchalant but mysterious emerald eyes that trace over your form without grace, eyeing the block sandals and too-tight shimmery silver dress that hugs your curves and shows the smooth brown skin of your thighs.

“Who gave you a heads up about Lucky Days? No way you won on your first try.” His voice is smooth, like fine velvet that ghosts over you.

“The disbelief in your voice tells me you lose often.”

Don’t encourage this.

That’s what you tell yourself when a heavily muscled arm drapes across the collections counter, a whiff of outdoors and mint and man wafting up your nose as his smirk deepens. “I don’t lose.”

The attendant mutters you a kind ‘Happy Birthday’ and slides a modest stack across the counter; your winnings twinkling up at you in crispy green. The large man next to you hasn’t moved, and unfortunately, you are tipsy enough to linger. Tipsy enough to drag your gaze over him with equal disgrace, catching the pale collarbone, angular jaw, and midnight hair that kisses his cheeks.

“Birthday magic then?” he inquires to keep your attention, taking a step closer with a confidence that makes your thighs clench. To you, he’s a tall man…a rugged, tall, and handsome man who lives in an untouched part of your mind. The kind of man that you always fantasize about doing the nastiest things with.

“I don’t know what that means.” You tuck your winnings against your chest, the deep cut of your dress pressing your breasts up against your arms, and his heavy gaze that falls upon them only makes something tingle in your core. “Now, go away before you ruin the rest of my day.” 

Go away before I make a bad decision.

He chuckles, a sound from deep in his chest, rattling the thick fabric of his black sweater. He gestures to your friends who are definitely drunk, downing another shot at the makeshift bar a few yards away. “You’ve got time.” 

“Not for you, I don’t,” you lie through your teeth, trying and failing to hold your breath when he takes another step. 

“You wanna bet, baby?”

Your reply catches in the back of your throat. Words that you know you should say right now. Words that you’ve had to speak to men countless times whenever you decide to go out and have fun and show any sort of skin past your ankle. Your bodies brush together, and you can’t tell if he wants you or the nice stack of cash resting on your tits.

But you don’t care.

“Something tells me, you’re not very good at gambling,” is what you retort, eyes locked on his, intention and desire radiating from you both as the little voice inside your head drowns in your arousal.

He’s bad news. This is a bad idea.

That’s what you tell yourself when you spend half your winnings with him on Takoyaki and a lost race. That’s what you tell yourself when you straddle his thick waist later that night, the frazzled ends of your dress pushed up over your ribs, panties shoved to the side with little fanfare. Taking a cock thicker than what you were used to, oozing an attachment you know won’t be good for you, finally asking for his name an hour later after he has you panting on your stomach from another orgasm.

“Toji Fushiguro,” he chuckles against the nape of your neck, nipping at the thin skin with sharp teeth that trail down your back, hiking your hips up before you gasp at the feel of his tongue between your sensitive folds as he eats you out from the back.

This is a bad idea.

That’s what you tell yourself when you wake up the next morning, sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains, your body pleasantly sore, your dress on the floor across the room, and your mind hazy with memories of the night before. You slip out before he wakes up, phone already pressed to your ear and prepared to get an earful from your friends for disappearing, now more determined than ever to make sure this was a one-time thing.

But summer has other plans.

Your plan to pick up fresh fruit from the farmer’s market is ruined when you run into his broad shoulders and easy grin, a stark contrast to the colorful produce around him. Your plan to enjoy the beach is gone with the salty wind when you see him again days later, droplets of seawater clinging to his muscled skin, making him glisten in the sunlight. Each encounter leads to another night of passion, another afternoon of embracing a sexual side of yourself you never knew was there, another morning of promises to yourself that this will be the last time.

Until eventually, something has to give. 

Just for the summer. No strings. No awkward conversations. Just sex. Because once the summer is over, you’ll be in a new office across town, too busy to entertain a relationship, let alone anything else in your life.

Just for the summer.

But as the weeks pass, something shifts. Stolen mornings of Toji’s head between your thighs because he was ‘in the neighborhood’ begin to stretch into lazy afternoons, you teaching him to cook fried green tomatoes and showing him the steps of your hair care routine. Hurried encounters in bathroom stalls with your legs wrapped around his waist and his filthy words in your ear give way to lingering touches and shared laughter at the absurdity of it all.

You find yourself opening up to him, sharing parts of yourself over ice cream cones he swears he can’t stand but eats anyway, the edges of his favorite—but won’t admit—Rocky Road melting too quickly in the summer heat over his pale hands. He starts to let his guard down, revealing glimpses of vulnerability behind those forest-green eyes. Of a harsh past, a complicated present, and a son overseas whom he hopes to see soon.

Maybe it was the Sunday afternoon when a sudden thunderstorm trapped you both in his apartment, leading to hours of conversation punctuated by rumbling thunder. Maybe it was the early evening you found him at the pier, silhouetted against a spectacular sunset, a tension in his shoulders and a quietness you had never seen or felt before.

You try so hard to ignore the changes in Toji’s behavior. The way his hand lingers on the small of your back when you are in public. The sight of your favorite snacks appearing in his kitchen because he is ‘tired of hearing you complain about him not having any food.’ The soft look in his eyes that you catch at odd moments while you both watch movies. 

‘Just for the summer’ has become an agreement that you both have not read the guidelines for in quite some time.

Now, as the first hints of autumn whisper through the trees outside, you find yourself exactly where you swore you wouldn’t be—tangled in Toji’s sheets that always smell too good and his warm body a solid presence behind you that always feels too safe. The room is covered in the gentle glow of dawn, a midnight blue breaking open for soft auburn, and you’re acutely aware of his arm draped over your waist, a muscled leg lodged between yours, his breath a steady rhythm against the nape of your neck.

You need to get up. Tomorrow is your first day at a new firm and you’ve let Toji keep you distracted from preparing. From shopping for new outfits and getting your hair done. From the inevitable of whatever the hell this is.

Instead, you turn carefully in his arms, the movement doing nothing to rouse him. You study his face in the gentle morning light that’s now gotten a little brighter. The scar at the corner of his mouth, once a symbol of a mysterious allure, is now as familiar as your reflection.

Hair the color of ink splays across his face, disheveled and frizzy, a few strings of silver at the roots above his ear. Before, you could get a good look at him while he slept and smirk to yourself that this would be your ride for so many weeks of summer. A fleeting but appreciative glance before you ducked away and left before he could open his eyes. Now as you look at him, your heart tightens with an emotion you’ve been trying to ignore for just as long.

This was a bad idea.

As if sensing your gaze, Toji’s eyes flutter open. For a heartbeat, two, he simply stares at you. The green in his eyes is deep, mesmerizing in the early morning light, still hazy with sleep but quickly sharpening as he focuses on your face. You can finally see the openness there, a susceptibility you occasionally find when he’s fully awake. You can never maintain eye contact in moments like this. It makes your breath catch in your throat because he’s too close, too intense, too much.

Wordlessly, Toji tightens his hold, pulling you flush against him. Your naked bodies mold together, the warmth of his skin seeps into yours, and you have to bite back a content sigh. There’s so much you’ve had to hold back lately to acclimate yourself to the eventual change. Then, with a gentleness that still surprises you, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. 

“What time is it?” he mumbles, unfortunate soft lips trailing up to the sensitive spot behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You struggle to focus, his touch already making your heady fuzzy and jumbled. You glance at the nightstand, where the clock face peeks out from behind a summer’s worth of memories. Sun-bleached seashells from lazy beach days rest against crumpled ticket stubs, reminders of nights when you belted out lyrics while Toji pretended not to enjoy himself. 

“Just past seven,” you manage to whisper, somehow getting the words out as Toji’s touch scatters your thoughts further like the trinkets on the nightstand.

Toji hums in response, his chest vibrating against yours. “Too early,” he says, a low rumble that you feel between your thighs, awakening a hunger that only he knows how to satiate. “Stay a bit longer.”

He smells faintly of bonfire smoke from last night—an impromptu farewell to summer party thrown by your friends that ended with you both stumbling back to his apartment, tearing at each other’s clothes, his hands pulling an orgasm from you before your back could even hit the mattress. Last night was different—more intense, more passionate. A mess of sweaty limbs and heavy breathing as you panted against him, trying to wave your own white flag of surrender that never quite made it past your lips each time he gave you more, more, more, unwilling to let the night end.

As Toji shifts to hover above you, you’re struck by the familiar weight of him, how it feels a little too close to home. It’s comfortable when his waist rests against yours, his cock slowly hardening against your thigh. His kisses, once desperate and searing, have softened. They still ignite a fire in you, but it’s a steady burn now, deep and enduring in the core of your stomach.

“I should really get going,” you implore, but your voice wavers, free of the conviction you desperately need right now. “New job tomorrow, remember?”

“Hmm,” he hums again to the column of your throat. He lifts his head, his gaze fierce and penetrating. Outside, the birds begin their morning call, warming their wings to prepare for their journey south. “You’ve got time,” he says softly, echoing words from that first night at the horse track. He goes back into the crook of your neck, chapped lips pressing to your skin with promise. “Stay.” It sounds too much like a demand, punctuated by a thorough roll of his hips. Your own cant towards him without thinking. “I’ll make breakfast.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, remembering the last time he tried to sway you longer in his bed a few weeks ago. You realized when you choked on a too-wet pancake that Toji’s culinary skills were limited at best. “You? Cook?”

A punishing nip to your neck makes you gasp, your fingers sliding up his back to dig into muscled meat. “I can manage eggs. Probably. Might even use those tomatoes we grew.”

The ‘we’ doesn’t escape your notice. The small vegetable patch was your idea, a whim that blurted from your mouth on a sweltering day, eyes bulging and lips ready to backtrack before he agreed and it became a shared project. Like so many things between you, it grew into something more when you weren’t paying attention. 

Toji’s hand traces random patterns on your skin, soft between your breasts and over your navel before brushing folds that are already wet. You shouldn’t widen your legs more, but you do. Shouldn’t bite your lip in that telling sign that you’re wanting, but you do that too. “Got that job site inspection next week,” he says, aiming for casual. “Not far from where you’ll be.”

You swallow a deep-seated mewl that gurgles in the back of your throat when his fingers circle your clit, calloused pads the right amount of rough to ignite that fire in your stomach. Next week is beyond the boundary you both had set, beyond the promise of ‘just this summer.’ Hope, so unwanted in this very moment but also so overwhelming and bright as the early September sun, flares in your chest.

“T-toji,” you choke out to the feel of a thick finger collecting the slick that leaks from you before sliding inside. The heel of his palm brushes against your clit with every thrust of his hand, and your body responds to him quickly. 

You walked into this thinking you would be able to wipe your hands of him and say goodbye when the leaves began to fall. But it didn’t take long for Toji to learn how to take you apart, to open you up and see how you ticked before sewing you back together with a skill that still surprises you. 

Your fingernails press into his back, a practiced demand for more and he rewards you with a stern but satisfied gaze and another finger in your wet cunt. The hand not working your core cards through your curls, twisting at your nape before tilting your head back, exposing more of your neck with a wet gasp from your lips. His tongue glides along your skin, tasting bonfire smoke and ocean salt, a rumble in his chest, and a curl of his wet fingers to show how much he enjoys it. How much he enjoys the taste of you.

“Stay,” he demands again, nipping your earlobe, a third finger sliding into your cunt and you moan sharply at the stretch. You’re a little sore from last night, but your body welcomes the ache and rejoices in the brush against the spongy spot inside of you that he hits with precision. That fire in your belly roils quicker than what you want, bubbling to the surface and ready to burst with an orgasm that’s pressing at your skin. You’re already gasping, already moaning, already fighting the urge to beg him for the thing that’s thicker and heavier between his legs.

“Did you hear me?” he asks, purring low in your ear. You can only nod as you savor the clench of muscles in your stomach from his ministrations below, the sound of his hand sopping wet as he plays with you. “Then answer me.”

You can’t. Even though you’ve rehearsed this exact conversation for the past week. Even though you’ve prepared the right words if he tried to make you sing for him one last time. You can’t speak. Because the realization that Toji is doing what he can to keep you here makes your breath hitch and the fire in your belly finally erupts as a moan falls from your mouth as if you’ve been gutted, your orgasm locking your muscles around him. You turn your head into the pillow beneath you, panting and body trembling, your nape tingling from his grip, the clock on his nightstand blurry because you have to keep your eyes on something besides his steely gaze that spears your skin.

As your orgasm fades into the chilly air around you, you know you’ve given too much, and you can’t let this go on. Reluctantly, you turn your head back to face him, ready to retreat. His crumbling, guarded gaze now holds a mix of desire and something deeper, more vulnerable and raw that’s too much for you right now. Toji’s jaw clenches as if he’s holding back more words. As if he’s frustrated with your unwillingness to give him what he wants.

Instead of speaking, Toji presses his forehead against yours, an intimate gesture that makes you wish he would have used his words instead. But this speaks more than words ever could. His breathing, usually calm and controlled even in the throes of sex, comes in short, ragged bursts, betraying whatever he’s trying to hide. 

It’s a rare sight. You’ve seen it on the nights he convinces you to stay over and he shoots up from his sleep, panting like he’s run a mile, the silver of moonlight kissing the scars on his back and telling you a story without having to ask. You saw it weeks ago when you both screamed at each other for the first time, a joke of you going on a date turned sour, his shoulders heaving in anger and eyes trying and failing to hold his true thoughts back.

It’s the same right now. Black hair swaying over his forehead as he hovers over you, the hand from between your legs now digging into the flesh of your hip with wet fingers. You notice the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips part as if he wants to say something. They twitch for a fraction of a second, opening and closing just once before he leans in to kiss you, as if he’s suddenly unsure of his welcome.

And you hate how quickly you show just how welcome he is, sighing into his body and wrapping your arms around his neck. You hate how quickly your body reignites, hips arching up to brush against his pulsing cock, the touch producing a low groan from him into your mouth. He ruts against you, rubbing your dripping cunt in rough but practiced circles that make you whine against him. 

The summer is ending, you remind yourself. This has to end, you beg yourself even as you pull away from him, panting against wet lips that somehow always taste of the peppermint candy he refuses to go without. You reach down to wrap your hand around him, swallowing the hiss that shoots from him as you guide him to where you need him most. Toji enters you slowly, deliberately, cataloging the way you arch into him, your bodies fitting together like the last two pieces of a puzzle you’ve been working on all season.

Through the cracked window that Toji refuses to close every night, you hear the world slowly wake up—school buses and more bird calls mixing with your ragged breaths as he moves within you. Deep and with purpose, wanting but with a tinge of frustration. Your fingers dig into his back, leaving crescent moons that some part of you hopes never fade after you’re long gone. 

Each thrust feels like falling—falling into him, falling into feelings you weren’t prepared for, falling like the leaves outside that signal the end of one season and the beginning of another. The pleasure courses through you, building slowly, steadily.

You relax your nails on his back, roaming instead, feeling the flex and ripple of muscles beneath your fingertips. The landscape feels different now, charged with electricity that makes your skin tingle and your heart race.

The pressure builds within you, a warmth spreading from your core outwards, hot and pulsing with every brush of his pubic bone against your clit. It squeezes the sides of your neck, making it harder to breathe, to think, to act. Your breath comes in short, sharp pants, mingling with the crisp morning air.

Toji’s hands leave your hips, reaching up to grab your wrists. He presses them into the pillow, one on each side of your head, opening you up and leaving you exposed while he takes you apart with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck, Toji,” you whine, gasping into the air as you arch into him. “Don’t—”

“You’ve gotta answer me, sweetheart,” Toji’s voice resonates low and insistent as he kisses up your neck, groaning in satisfaction when you clench around him in reflex. “I know you can,” he urges, his rhythm never faltering and his voice strained, “Tell me you’ll stay.”

You want to tell him to shut up. To stop it and give you one last mind-blowing orgasm and leave this alone like you both agreed. But you can’t. Each of Toji’s movements pulls moan after moan from deep within you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head before you squeeze your lids shut so you don’t have to look at him.

Suddenly, one of Toji’s hands releases a wrist, and before you can react, his palm cups the side of your face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, a tender gesture that contrasts with the intensity of his thrusts. With careful pressure, he turns your face towards him.

You shouldn’t look at him, but your eyes flutter open to meet his anyway, sharp and powerful. His hand on your face is warm, almost cradling, yet insistent in its silent plea for your attention. You feel exposed under his scrutiny. Your body is bare along with your emotions, raw and unfiltered. “Stay,” he breathes once again, softer this time even though the heavy meaning pounds against you, unrelenting and harsh.

The hand on your cheek slides between your bodies before you feel his fingers on your clit, pleasure rocking through you like lightning, and you tighten around him. 

“Squeeze around me just like that,” he hisses at the feel of you, his breath hot against your skin, and you obey immediately, savoring the sharp grunt from his chest. “So fucking beautiful.” He’s said it so many times before but now it feels different. Dangerous. 

The fingers of your free hand dig into Toji’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, your body sliding up and down on the sheets.

“Oh,” you gasp, “Oh fuck Toji—I can’t—” Your body shakes against him, hips rolling with his fingers on your clit. You’re painfully aware of every sensation: the slide of skin on skin, slick with sweat; the subtle creak of the mattress beneath you and the thump of the headboard against the wall; the rustle of the sheets tangled around your legs. 

“Give it all to me, baby,” he encourages and you want to shake your head ‘no’ because you feel like he’s asking you for something else. “Let go for me.”

“I can’t,” you plead against his lips again, shaking your head even as your body speaks differently. Trying to finally tell him without actually telling him. You can’t let him in and get hurt. You can’t be brave enough to take a chance.

But like every challenge Toji has ever been given, he faces it directly, taking in your meaning immediately. The hand on your wrist slides up to your palm, his calloused fingers intertwining with yours. The pleasure intensifies, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. It’s almost too much, this feeling of fullness, of completeness.

“Look at me,” he demands softly. As your eyes meet his, he whispers, “I need you here. With me.”

It’s the raw emotion in his gaze, the sharp shift from his usual gruff words, the sudden feel of his lips against yours as he kisses you, and the terrifying realization that this man wants more than just your body that pushes you over the edge. Your release crashes over you like a chilling wave, powerful and all-consuming. You cry out, breaking from his lips as your back arches, body shuddering, as intense pleasure radiates through every nerve.

Not even a moment later, the tightening of your body from your release is enough to take Toji with you. He slides a hand beneath you, crushing you up against him, hard muscles against soft brown skin as he tenses and groans low and deep into the air, painting your insides warm with his cum. You both collapse, breathing erratically, his weight a welcome suffocation.

In this moment of ecstasy, suspended between summer and fall, between what was and what could be, you finally acknowledge that something fundamental has shifted. Like the turning of the seasons, there’s no going back. And as you cling to Toji, riding out the aftershocks of your shared passion, you find that the word he’s asking for remains lodged in your throat, your mind a battleground between desire and fear, between staying and leaving. But you know you need to say something.

“Toji,” you start after a few minutes when your breathing has calmed down, uncertainty heavy in your voice. “We said—”

“I know what we said,” he interrupts, rough and frustrated and something else. He lifts his head, jade-green eyes meeting yours, his want clear in their depths. “Just—fuck. Maybe we…can say something different now.”

Toji may be guarded in the things he says, but he has never lied. Not to you. And there’s no lie in his features now. There’s no morning haziness to show you his vision and thoughts are clouded. There’s no sinful smirk that hides true intentions. It’s pure honesty.

And as you search his face, a gust of wind rattles the wind chimes outside that you hung together, carrying with it the scent of sun-warmed grass through his cracked window. You can’t help but think of all the moments that led to this—moments you tried to ignore—the laughter, the lust that burned into something deeper, the quiet understanding that grew between you as the summer days stretched long and golden.

His hand intertwined with yours gives you a firm squeeze, pulling you from your thoughts. “Stay,” Toji says one final time, and the finality of it means more than just this morning. More than just this summer.

The sunlight breaks through the brisk air to hit your cooling skin, warming you from the inside along with him atop you. You want to finally say ‘okay,’ but you’re still too afraid to speak, too afraid to ruin this moment with your words in case you back down at the last minute.

So instead, you give his intertwined fingers a firm squeeze as well, hoping that tells him what he needs to know. Hoping that tells him you have the courage to stay…right now.

Or at least just for the Fall.

Thanks for reading!

[were--ralph]

Hey i saw you ranting about trans men on a post, and i was just wondering a few things. This is a genuine question, as a stelth trans man, i really cant find anything about a pre op transitioning body attractive. Especially a pre op Chest. Now i do take testosterone, and i think that the parts that i find gross (ex: tits mixed with chest hair) are a perfectly acceptable thing to deal with so i can look the way i want to look. I love my body hair and my muscle growth, i just dont love the obviously not cis parts of me. What do you find attractive about this? I truely cannot for the life of me understand why people find trans men attractive but i would really like to understand.

I think spicy food is disgusting generally. it's like. hot and not fun and to me it adds nothing good to the food experience. Genuinely I don't understand why people enjoy hot foods it makes like. literally no sense.

and yet, people do. it's weird. I've tried on multiple occasions to get into spicy food and it just. suks. every single time it sucks. But everyone else in my family lives by it. And I've asked why for years literally unable to understand it until I realized.

sometimes people just. like things. things I certainly don't like and cannot enjoy whatsoever. But at the same time, this is true for me and not for them. I fucking love coffee to the point I drink it more than water most days, but no one else in my family likes it. BUT other people outside my family enjoy it too.

Life is weird and what I'm getting at is something that took me a lifetime to understand and I still can't wrap my head around it all the time.

People just like things. People love things and hate things. What things mean to one person can mean the world to another and death to the third. There's not always a reason for it, but what you have to do is accept that there are things in life that you just might not like much right now. but as time goes on you'll find value in it the same way your partner will find value in you and all the minuscule things you do and become and like and dislike.

And to build on that point, there are things I hated as a kid that I'm fine with and even love now. Each day changes you more than you'll ever know and with those changes, the acceptance that comes with them may be easier or harder.

So, to answer your question, I don't know! I just love men. Men with tits or pecs, men with vaginas or dicks. maybe both at the same time or neither at all! I just think men are generally attractive no matter the design or what's different about them. and not just men but people who present as masc in general. If you're masc nb there's a chance I'm looking at you through the window of a bar as much as if you were cis-male or trans-male.

I do know for some men, the allure of masculinity displaced with the typically-feminine concept of a vagina intrigues them. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of them together, maybe they just want something unique and new to them. Maybe they just really like vaginas and it doesn't matter who it's attached to, or maybe they just like trans men. Same thing with boobs, some guys just like boobs. Some men have boobs. the overlap doesn't mean net-negative results, it could be double positive.

And I don't expect you to love everything about yourself, god knows I don't love everything about myself, and despite people telling me what's good about me I can still find flaws within it whenever I choose. I think men with chest hair are hot as fuck, but also I've seen some smooth men that are just as if not hotter. I love me a fat man or a man with muscles, but i've seen twinks i'd demolish in one sitting as well. I've seen men with dicks and boobs and scars and and hair pretty much everything under the sun and sometimes I want them to sit on me and forget I'm there and smother me.

What you do have to do though is accept that you have those things, and you are those things, and even though you may not like those things you have to accept that they're a part of you and find value in that. And it's not an easy task at all to love yourself, but you have to try because even if you don't right now, there's a partner who will be waiting for you somewhere. there's a future version of you who loves you as you are. there are friends who love your flaws, pets who don't judge, and there are a lot of things that accept you as you are.

So just say you have boobs and chest hair. even if you don't love it about yourself right now know that there are and will always be people who do, and personally I've said before, but I wish i had boobs and chest hair it's just a perfect look to me. I'm fine with whatever my gender is, i just think its a good look. If I had money for top and bottom surgery I'd get it and never look back. You just have to find the value in yourself we all know is there, and if you can't just know that we know it's there and let that carry you through the day!

[blueywrites]

Imagine asking Eddie hitting it from behind and you surprise him by begging to put it in your ass for the first time. Man barely makes it without immediately busting.

a little twist to your prompt! I had a sudden vision 😌

When you arrive on set, your stomach's a little twisted up with nerves - quite outside the norm for you, as you've been performing in these productions for a while now, and the thought of getting naked and fucking in front of a room full of personnel no longer phases you. But you've agreed to do an anal scene for the first time, and now you're a bit nervous for it. At least, you're nervous until you get close enough to see your costar - with his robe hanging low off one pale tatted shoulder, dark hair left to fall wild around his shoulders, his brown eyes cocoa-warm when they meet yours and he offers you a little wave in greeting.

Eddie.

You're glad it's him. He's funny and charismatic, and he never takes himself too seriously, which is refreshing compared to most actors in this industry. During scenes, he's flexible and responsive, always adapting quickly if you deviate off script a bit, and he seems to even enjoy it when you do. Likes it unpredictable, he says. Plus, he's vocal - and you like that. It genuinely turns you on, which makes the whole thing easier. Less of a performance that way.

After greeting Eddie with a bright smile, you're whisked away by your team. They get you prepped with makeup and hair and lube to ease your way later, and your nerves only come back just a smidge once you follow Eddie onto set and you both drop your robes, leaving you with nothing else to do but get in position and let the cameras start rolling.

"Hey." You turn at the sound of Eddie's gentle voice, pausing when you feel his fingertips clasp your elbow in a light hold. You thought you'd been masking you feelings well, but when you look up at him, his pouty lips are pulled into a soft, crooked smile. "Don't stress it, alright? I'll take care of you."

It's kind of him to offer reassurance, but that look in his eyes and that touch at your elbow and those words... It hits you more than just 'kind' should. I'll take care of you, and there's a flutter behind your ribcage, an omen of sweet, seductive danger, because he's your co-worker and that's why he's fucking you and you can't afford to feel some type of way about it.

But when he has you on all fours, folded up with your ass arched out, bouncing on the recoil as he hits it from the back... Shit. You know the transition is coming soon cause you've hit all the beats leading up to it already, and with how fuckin' wet he's made sure to get you, you're more than ready for him. You peek back at Eddie with your cheek pressed to the couch cushion, your breath huffing in little high-pitched whines as his hips clap against your cheeks and your pussy sucks him in on every thrust.

"Fuck, baby, feels so good," you simper, not entirely acting. And Eddie's supposed to reply with something like, 'Yeah, you like that? What if I put it in your ass?' But you don't give him the chance. Sweet and needy, breathily begging, you look up at him and continue, "Please, oh, please fuck my ass--"

"Fuuuuuuck," Eddie groans, and it sounds somehow both surprised and rehearsed at the same time, like maybe it started as a genuine reaction and he'd made a conscious effort to temper it back. But you've performed with him enough to know that new pinch in his brow means something's different this time. You can see it in his eyes too when you double down, whining out how much you need his big cock in your tight little asshole...

I'll take care of you. When Eddie pulls out, sinking into you in one smooth stroke, stretching you so abruptly full, making your eyes roll back at how fucking good it feels -- well, you fall just a little bit in love with him.

[kyonix-sparkles]

Pairing: scaramouche x ftm!reader

Word count: 1,3k+

Warnings:| overstimulation(?), ftm!reader (not transitioned), dom!scara -> sub!scara -> soft!scara, (rough) fingering, degradation (a bit of praise at the end), daddy kink(both ways), clit stimulation(the reader is being eaten out(?)) a bit of nipple play, choking (doesn't last long and not too rough). |

//Clit and boob(s)/nipple(s) and g-spot is mentioned but ‘hole’ is used to replace the word cunt or any word like it. Reader is embarrassed to moan at the beginning. For this the reader feels safe and comfortable to be nakey and have the smexy time despite not transitioning yet. Reader is referred to as ‘good boy’, ‘little dove’ or just ‘dove’ and ‘daddy’//

Summary: Reader and Scaramouche have the color system and the reader uses that when scara does something they don't like during the smexy time.

You always complimented Scaramouche on his porcelain skin, always soft and smooth, even when rubbing and touching your more exotic parts, despite his mean demeanor, can be very sweet.. well when he wants to at least. Due to your job you walk around a lot, like a lot, a lot. So sometimes he'll massage your feet while you're asleep. (He's too embarrassed to do it while you're awake) When your stressed he'll fuck the living daylights out of you. You just got home from work already walking like your feet hurt, you've been working all day and standing on your feet for half of it. Scaramouche picked you up bridal style and started carrying you to the room you two share. "Scara-" "shut up" "but-" "are you feeling stressed?" he looked at you as he tilted his head before lifting his eyebrow at you. "Well yea a little but-" he cut you off with a scoff. "Then we're doing this.. It's not like it's our first time" "I know but still". He kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth, as if it's never been there before. "Baby" "hm?" "your cumming five times.. in the next.. I'll give you.. about twenty minutes fair?" well at least he thought about it. "yea, but-" he cut you off again. "I know, I know.. I just want you to cum at least once without me” you whined. "Tik.. tok, I'd suggest you get started, little dove”. You started working on pleasuring yourself. "..dove, I didn't say to hide those moans". You moaned once and hated it so you just stuck to whining.

“Dove" you whined again "are you serious?" "I sound disgusting" "stop whining, you sound disgusting when you do." You sighed defeatedly "you know how I don't moan when I please myself". "Fine" you continued and it took you about six minutes to cum "oh so you can please yourself good boy~" "scara~" "I'm coming he walked over to you and started to gently rub three fingers on your clit while he leaned in to kiss you. You huffed in the kiss due to him starting off very fast. Once y'all parted for air you were able to say "wait not to~" he pressed your lips together to make you shut up, you started moaning into the kiss before he dragged his hand down your clit to enter your hole. Y'all's lips parted once more "not so sudden-" he kissed you once more as he pounded his finger into you instantly teasing your g-spot making you squirt. "Ah~" "ew.." he didn't, not like when you squirted, he loved it, he just knows you like to be degrading to some extent, so he never goes too far. "So fucking disgusting.. can't keep it inside of you? Like how you do my cum?" He pulled out his fingers due to you squirting and rammed now three fingers instead of two inside you without any warning. Your back arched but before I could even think of moaning he cupped his hand over your mouth. A handful of minutes go by, he moved his hand from your mouth and now he wants to suck on your erect nipples so he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. "Fuck~" you dragged out the word as you moaned. Somehow he fingered you faster and pulled himself off your nipple. "Come on cum for me" "ah!~" you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer to you, making y'all's chest touch.

You had came twice. He let you calm down but before you really got a chance to, he laid down and went to your clit and started eating you out. He tasted you on his tongue and moaned, sending a wave of electronic pleasure throughout your body "shit~.." he moaned around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he suckled on it, started to suck harder as he licked lighter. "Shit~.. shit~, please finger me.." he smiled on your clit as he slid three fingers inside your greedy hole and thrusted as hard and fast as he could in this position. You sighed moan after moan as he abused your hole. "Fuck..~ cumming.. I'm cumming.." He went faster and kept the speed even after you came, making you come six times instead of five. He licked his lips.

"Take me" he told you as he walked over and to your mouth, indicating he didn't want you to move. He face fucked you and afterwards he gently eased it inside you. He lowered his chest so you could hold onto his shirt. You gently squeaked as he pulled you up into a sitting position on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you, whispering praises into your ear as he patted your back. "Good boy, you took me all the way in with no struggle, such a good whore you are". Soon he moved his hands to hold your ass as he started bouncing you on his cock. He started to hit your g-spot. And you held him closer not once pulling your head away from where his shoulder met his neck. You moaned into his neck. "Dove imma put you on your back and pound into you okay?" "..yea~.. okay~.." he gently laid you on the bed to spread your legs and play with your abused clit. "Ah!~" he pounded into you not once missing your g-spot. "Daddy~ daddy~ just like that" you squirted again. "Your gonna squirt all over my fucking shirt.. you're such a slut" he pounded into you harder while gently choking you, not too much to cut off your oxygen but you did struggle to breathe a bit. "Wait Scara.. scara.." you whimpered. He kept going, seeming to not hear you. "..Red!" He stopped and breathed himself "sorry too rough?" ".." you nodded trying to calm down "a.. a little too rough" "sorry dove" "i..it's fine" you got up and then he noticed the nail marks that were leaking blood. ".." "what, oh you haven't came yet.. I can blow you again" "thats not what-" you got down and sucked him into your mouth, and you gave him a blow job, just as he liked. "Shit.." he started to gently fuck into your mouth. He threw his head back as he closed his legs around your head, locking you in place. This was a habit due to you tending to squirm away. He cums a lot so you've learned to hold your breath and open your throat and just let it go down as you continue to suck him. He moaned as he placed his hand on your head in an attempt to stop you from trying to milk him dry. But you kept going. Scara can go from dom to sub real fast, he switched to sub mode when you started sucking on him a second time. You stuck your tongue out and licked in between his balls.

In your mission of sucking him dry yall were on the third orgasm and he calmed. "Fuck.. daddy~ I can't" you were in the middle of giving him a hand job "yes you can, if I can cum six times in a row.. you can cum four" "daddy~" "its okay" he started helplessly bucking into your hands. "Good boy" his whole body tensed up as he came for the fourth and final time. Letting him calm down you pulled his shirt off him and laid on his chest. “Scara.. can we go over okay's and not okay's during sex..” “of course, what was okay and what wasn't?” “..so making me please myself.. that's okay playing with my..” you cleared your throat “..the way you did was okay.. making me give you a blowjob.. okay.. when you're fucking me rough like that.. I mean I liked it but sometimes you go too rough.. but when you choked me..” “That wasn't okay?” “..well I mean do you like choking-” “little dove, yes or no..” “..” “It's not about me, it's about if you're comfortable.. now.. yes or no..” “..no..” “Okay then I wont do the choking thing anymore.. good job little dove..” “why?” “You weren't comfortable and you used your colors and we talked about it and now I know what's okay and what's not..” he kissed your head “good boy”.

[atopvisenyashill]

Had some fun thoughts about Aegon’s sons while I was re-reading. This is the passage:

At the feast afterward, King Aenys compounded his misjudgment by granting the title Prince of Dragonstone to his presumptive heir, Prince Aegon. A hush fell over the hall at those words, for all present knew that title had hitherto belonged to Prince Maegor. At the high table, Queen Visenya rose and stalked from the hall without the king’s leave. That night she mounted Vhagar and returned to Dragonstone, and it is written that when her dragon passed before the moon, that orb turned as red as blood.

It’s kind of funny to me because Aenys is doing something normal - he’s just naming his oldest son as his heir (and also pointedly bypassing Rhaena as heir but that’s also incredibly normal behavior bc Westeros and Earth are a patriarchal hellscape).

But he always does shit like this. Every major decision Aenys makes is the one he’s “supposed” to make, almost like he’s following a script. The patriarch must have heirs, must make proper dynastic matches for his heirs, must support and defend his heir’s claim so the transition between their rules is smooth. He wants to live up to the legacies of both Aegon and Rhaenys, be decisive and strong but kind and charming as well, and he freezes right in the middle of the two into something obnoxious and indecisive.

So he takes the title “prince of dragonstone” a title created for Maegor by the lords and people and hands it to his son for funsies. He wants the titles and signals of legitimacy to belong to only him because he’s the first born so of course it belongs to him; that’s not just arrogance, that’s law. At the same time, “prince of dragonstone” was not an official title that Aegon gave Maegor as a sign of legitimacy, the way he tried to give Aenys blackfyre. See here:

Prince Maegor remained with his mother, sitting by her side when she held court. Queen Visenya and King Aegon were oft apart in those years. When he was not on a royal progress, Aegon would return to King’s Landing and the Aegonfort, whilst Visenya and her son remained on Dragonstone. For this reason, lords and commons alike began to refer to Maegor as the Prince of Dragonstone.

They call him that because he grows up there at his mother’s side instead of at his father’s with Aenys. And then not only does Aegon back down from fighting the Faith by betrothing Maegor to a Hightower, he is essentially rejecting this sign of legitimacy for Maegor by refusing to go to bat for an incestuous marriage that would make Maegor and Rhaena his heirs together. Maegor may have some symbols of legitimacy but they are not given to him by Aegon - he doesn't get Blackfyre or Balerion until after Aegon dies. He barely sees his father. He can't even give his father grandchildren. But he has this one thing, this title given to him by the lords and commoners of Dragonstone, the seat that once belonged to his father. And then Aenys takes that away. It’s his right! He’s the oldest son! Why is Visenya turning the moon weird colors when she knows her son is the younger!

But of course, her son is the younger because Visenya and Aegon couldn’t stand each other, and by the time they got around to really attempting to fuck, Visenya was already a bit old. And Visenya is the oldest, maybe the least loved wife, but the original, the first wife. It doesn’t matter; Rhaenys had a baby first, Rhaenys is the one the line now descends from. And her son can’t even leave Visenya’s son a silly little title given as a nickname, a nickname he earned for being Visenya’s son, always on Dragonstone with his mother and never at King’s Landing. But Aenys stubbornly ignores this because this is how he operates. They’re the ones not following the script!

It’s exactly what he does when it comes to Rhaena and Aegon marrying; it never occurs to him that people will be angry because he has the right. Never mind the High Septon making it clear he wouldn’t approve. Never mind it’ll piss off Visenya and Maegor, the only competent generals with dragons that he has bc his kids aren’t grown.

The storm that greeted the king’s announcement took them all by surprise, though the warning signs had been plain enough for those with the wit to read them. The Faith had condoned, or at the very least ignored, the marriage of the Conqueror and his sisters, but it was not willing to do the same for their grandchildren.

There’s soooo much going on here in why Aenys acts like this. It’s not just the general royal/noble “i have the castle and the swords i do what i want” but a very specific Targaryen “i have the dragons i do what i want” and an even more specific “i have the divine right i do what i want.”

He is Aegon the Conquerer’s first born son and he can do what he wants. It’s in the script his father followed when Aegon used The Divine Right Of Dragons to subjugate most of Westeros. He completely convinced himself that he is allowed to run roughshod over social norms, politics, religion, his own family’s feelings, because he is Aegon’s son.

And Maegor takes the exact opposite approach. He is Aegon the Conqueror’s second born son of his least favorite wife and he will always have to conquer like his father to prove he is worthy of doing what he wants.

It is in effect the same problem basically every Targaryen past Aegon has had. They see him (and Rhaenys and Visenya) just as godly as the people of Westeros do. They are all demi gods aspiring to the immortality of the Conqueror while refusing to see the bigger picture surrounding him which is that Aegon didn’t do whatever he wanted and he was miserable for large portions of his life which is why he was so effective as King! He’s an annoying bitch but he’s an annoying bitch who realized that the throne was not there to make him happy!! It is only when Aenys and Alyssa give him Rhaena, and a new family to love, that Aegon lives happily again.

Basically every Targaryen ruler misses some aspect of this. They focus on how he conquered with dragons so they use extreme force and forget how often he conceded, how smartly he chose to sort his spoils of war, and put their yes men in powerful positions only to watch those dudes get eaten alive by their post. Or they focus on the concessions, on the miracle of his negotiations, the myth making around Aegon the Dragon, and do reckless, foolish shit without a thought for consequence because They Are The Blood Of The Dragon.

The Dragon was a man and not a god! He died of a stroke! Not of dragon fire or a thunderbolt sent from the gods themselves. Ultimately, what was special was his ability to know when to fight and when to negotiate and even that wasn’t always easy for him, see: the dragon’s wroth. But every Targaryen after him believes in The Dragon, The God, and makes a claim at his godhood, even his own sons. And all of them fall short because of their belief in his godhood, even his own sons.

[ticklishthoughts1]

Hyperfocus: Tummy

I smirk down at the little lee, straddling their waist with my knees, digging them in gently, but firmly, and sitting on my own legs, the weight effectively pinning them there. We lock eyes, and I can't help but let out a little giggle at the flustered whine they let out. God, they're just so CUTE when they're like this! Smiling at them in a silly, playful way, I begin wiggling my fingers, over their stomach, and slooooowly lowering them. They giggle softly, Whimpering out "Nooohohohooo" and sucking in the sensitive spot as much as they can. I let my fingers fall as they suck their tummy in, and juuuuuust when it's about to touch, I pull away, grinning slightly evilly. They pout, extremely giggly already, and whine out "Dohohohon't teeheaseee". Playfully pouting back at them, and mimmicking their expression, I say "Don't tease? I'm not teasing! You said no, and I listened! I love you, and no means no!~" Then, as if I had undergone a transformation, I lean in, grabbing their wrist, my voice becoming deeper, huskier, a bit smoother. "Now, If you ask me for tickles like a good little lee, ask me to provide the torturous, delightful sensation you crave so much, that would be an ENTIRELY different story~" My voice becomes softer still, and I giggle a bit more, before saying "So what'll it be Darling? Should I get off right now, and allow your adorable little lee mood to remain, or will you ask for what you want, so I can fufill that particular daydream?~". I tilt my head at them, watching with a satisfied smile as they squirm under me without me even doing anything....yet. I'm one to pay attention to things I like, and I certainly like their face, along with the rest of them, so much so I'm able to witness the battle between their brat side and their submissive side display across their face in a flurry of emotions, and I can tell what their answer will be before they even give it. Bingo. They Nod softly, and in a soft, vulnerable almost voice, they let out "P-please..." I nod happily, and lower my fingers once more. This time, the little guided missiles reach their target. I start off slow, as I always do, lazily tracing patterns along their belly, as if I was bored, and drawing doodles in math class. This is already enough to send them into light giggling, which is so fucking precious that I need to hear more, I need to hear more. I speed up, my hands becoming like claw machines trying in futility to grab at a prize, closing and opening and closing again. I place one "Claw" on each side of their tummy, steadily increasing speed, and going in the same, smooth voice as earlier "Tickle tickle tic-kle~ Kitchy kitchy coo!~ awwwwww, someone has a ticklish tummyyyyyy~". I add more pressure, digging in a bit with the claw machines now, and I can tell immedeately how much more it TICKLES them. They place their hands on top of mine, pushing down gently, but I ignore the resistance for now, and get an idea. I start to say "Squish!" in a baby voice, squeezing their belly every time I do. This is really fun, and they squeak the first couple times I do it, so I do it again...and again..and again. "Squish! Squish! Squish Squish Squish! Tickle tickle! Squish! Tickle tickle tickle! Squish! Tickletickletickletickletickletickle~ Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish!" Their laughter gets even louder at the combination of the tickles and the silly game, and they push on my hands a little harder. I decide to let them push my hands, stopping the grip, and spidering all over the lower tummy instead, scritch-scratching along the waistline and just under the navel. This Transition is both so flawlessly smooth and so unexpected that their laughter begins anew, as does my relentless teasing " What's wrong?~ Does it Tickle Here? Does it tickle right here? Right here? Riiiiighhhhhhtttt hereeeeee?~" (Cont in comments because it's too long T^T)

[suguru-getos]

patience | gojo satoru x f!reader | part 1 |

a/n: here i go with another chapterwise fic :3 but this is mostly self-indulgent because i just need to vent it out ya'll. summary: you've just resigned from your job, life seems hectic and you're on the verge of drowning from all the mental stress. a certain stranger you meet after office at an ice-cream shop, has distracted you from wallowing in your own mess however.

a parted sigh escaped your lips, after thinking long and hard. you decide this was worth it. yes, this must be. this has to be… you have no other choice. would you rather let the stress claw you up inside out? eat you and make you hollow? speaking of hollow, frankly, you don't remember when was the last time you had felt fulfilled. or had felt an ounce of happiness coursing through your veins. there is nothing remotely similar to that in your cut-throat world. someone would say, y/n that's just being a tad too dramatic, you earn a lot of money. you have such a lavish lifestyle, you can afford what you want… then why does your chest tighten every time you wake up? why do you have to remind yourself to breathe… why is that your showers have been extravagantly longer? why is that you end up in your head for days.

you swallow a lump in your throat while you think about all this, the red bottomed heels that you wear are aching, they feel like you'd pass out from the restriction of being so prim and proper all the time. you want to wear soft, fluffy slides, you want to perish, you want to live.

you had been disassociating in your desk for what feels like ages, before sending your manager that pre-prepared email.

hi manager_name,

"as of today (date) I am formally resigning. let me know how I can help with the smooth handover process"

regards,

yes, this helps, this really does help. your stomach lunges down when you hit send though. a pit of bubbling what if's searing through your abdomen.

your watch vibrates just in time, stupid fucking apple watch - "log in about how you feel today", you laugh in disbelief. shit… you feel like absolute shit. what else is one supposed to feel? or maybe, when you think back, you don't know what it is that makes you feel numb. why can't you just be fucking happy. the world surely isn't ending. definitely isn't.

the rest of the day passes by in a haze, you are pulled in back to back meetings where you have to constantly remind yourself to put a smile on your face, to have the tone with which you speak polite, to tell about your reason being you need a break from it all. over and over and over. some of them believe you, some of them don't really. not your problem, not your circus, not your monkeys.

"I'd just like to remind that you can't take any leaves during the notice period. especially for the smooth transition of your roles and responsibilities." your manager hums, eyes carrying foul judgement. "of course, have read the policy." you retort, the thing is, you don't want to sound so judgemental and so snappy… but somehow your brain doesn't function well with all the cumulative stress you've been carrying.

once the hellish meetings get over, you get up from the cabin, plastering the 'I don't give a fuck' face on and walking back to your place. your throat feels dry with all the talking you have done, hands reflexively reaching for your tumbler. you find out it's empty. of course. when the little-est things are capable of pissing you off, then, and only then does this happen.

you get up, walking towards the common water purifier cooler to fill it up, one of your colleagues walking over to you and smiling. "hi y/n" you hate her, she is a condescending bitch if nothing else, amongst one of those people who are highly insecure themselves, and would paint the same insecurity all over others to normalize their feelings. there have been several instances, she's looped you into things she does, which you hate and don't want to be associated with. for example: last week, she says, "oh y/n, we both are so similar and don't tolerate bullshit, I think you can still be fake around the others but jeez, I can't pretend." then don't pretend? and how can she decide what you feel? and what you think? sometimes it's nasty comments about where did you get your clothes from, where is the glittery eye-shadow that you’re wearing from, and then she goes ahead and tells you where it's from… man, you're realizing you're starting to dislike everything and everyone. does overstimulation make someone so snappy you wonder? if that's the case, how can you really get over it? do you need a trip to the mountains? a trip to the beach? what the fuck is it that you fucking need! "oye- y/n" the snap of her finger brings you back to reality. you plaster another smile, "hello, sorry, I was just thinking about something." "have you lost some weight? I don't understand how you get time to do all that with us working full time." there she goes again, you look at your body, if anything, you've gained a few pounds within the last few weeks. "no, I don't think so." "come on, you don't have to lie about your workout routine, be a girl's girl." you want to be a violence's girl and hit her in the fucking head with a chair. "I think maybe the outfit is giving you the illusion that I've lost a few pounds." you hummed, happy to walk away or you'll lose your grip.

after you resigned, the behaviours change. suddenly everyone thinks you're a traitor, someone who can't stay with the group and has to walk away. it's evident with the way they look at you. your eyes glance at the clock, and a wave of relief washes over you. just 30 more minutes, and you'll be off from work. another minute of relief. maybe you should go outside and take a smoke… you sigh and lean back against your chair, gnawing at your lip.

what does it mean to be truly happy? you wonder really… were you truly happy when all your friends/colleagues who have resigned now, were there with you? nope. you'd hate to admit to yourself, and the idea stings your eyes with tears… but you don't remember how it feels to be truly happy. it's pathetic to be in a state of equilibrium or sadness always. 2-3 years ago, you had reached a state of despair and had taken anti-depressants and therapy. they just make you robotic, what even could help… nothing does… nothing NOTHING NOTHING!

after spiralling, while looking completely put together, you get up and leave the work premises. stress-eating, you've been doing that a lot these days. maybe a sugar rush would help, yes, it should help. your feet walk towards the ice-cream shop close to your work, and you mumble, "madagascar chocolate ice cream please." the vendor knows you already, you visit frequently. which is why you know the exact price of the cone and transfer the money to him. "I'll have what she's having" you hear an unfamiliar voice from beside you, you've been stuck in your head so much, you totally ignored that there is a looming, tall man standing next to you. your head tilts up, and up, and up. jesus christ he's tall. his hair are white, and he's wearing glasses. it's evening… why is he wearing those glasses. you'd admit your thoughts evaporated the second you laid your eyes on him. ethereal, handsome, angelic, godly. he looked like an angel. wearing a loose fitted black tee shirt that accentuated his prodding collar bone. he looked rich, you knew he was. the cologne was unmistakable. you are not sure whether you'd like to talk any further, because it didn't feel like he's very much interested, his eyes are still dead set on the menu.

the vendor gives your ice-cream to you first, and then gives him the same scoop. you turn to walk away, when the man mumbles, "I trusted you, and this is bitter." you blink, you…? is he talking to you? you turned around and looked at him. "well, are you talking to me?" satoru's smile turns bigger, you looked so small compared to him, just holding your silly little ice-cream. the work bag and the outfit is a stark contrast to your face though. the little eye bags in your eyes as well. you seem, tired, overwhelmed and exhausted. still, you look beautiful. frankly, satoru is approached by so many ladies, he was intrigued what got you living in your head so much that you don't even notice him standing next to you. women slither around him to get his number, he's had a few… distractions to keep himself sane with his line of work. peculiar. you seemed quite peculiar.

"yes, I am talking to you." he walks closer to you, watching how your face tilts up again to make eye contact. "what’s your name?" he hums, taking another lick of the ice-cream. "well, since you talked to me first, I suppose you should be the one to introduce yourself first?" oh she bites… satoru's grin only turns wider. "satoru gojo. jesus." he laughs, "you know one of my colleagues remind me of you, always snappy and yelling and just… a little weak. it's cute. not her, I mean- she is just a plain nuisance." was this dude being condescending to you? your eye twitches, jaw flexing. "well, I didn't know you were so eager to make opinions about others just from a single sentence." his smile fades a little, "not really, maybe you're just too competitive, miss still hasn't told me her name." you hummed, "my name is y/n" your eyes circle back to him what a handsome fucking twink! "and not my problem you decided to trust a complete stranger and ordered the same ice-cream as mine, only to not like it. I'm not paying for it." satoru chuckles, "of course, I'm not asking you to pay for it, I have more than enough to buy this entire ice-cream chain and seize control of it all over the world, and then, ban your silly little flavour for good." joking… he's joking, but his smile drops when he sees the joke only offended you further. you don't look happy, you only look pissed at him. and perhaps disappointed. "not like I'd do that, over you not telling me your name directly." he waves his hand, dismissing that proposal. "I hope you enjoy having more than enough to buy entire ice-cream companies." you retort, "I have to go home, good bye." of course you have to go home, you are dancing between your two feet in those cramping heels. "those heels are expensive too." satoru comments, looking down at your feet. you look at him, what was even this dude's deal? "okay? yes? I don't know what you mean?" "I mean, the flavour of the ice-cream was expensive, the one you ate, and I hated it. the heels you're wearing, expensive, and you hate it… except you're not saying that you hate it?" those heels were new, and true, they scathed your heel. "hmm, whatever, I like them, which is why I bought them. I didn't trust some random stranger to buy red-bottoms. and I'm happy with them, they're just new. new things take time to adapt. they have to adapt to my feet, I have to adapt to them. if you had been careful enough to adapt to the ice-cream and not giving up on it, you'd have liked madagascar chocolate flavour too." you cross your arms and look at him with a pout. serene, you look serene for once. it’s a different emotion than what satoru saw when he came inside the ice-cream parlour. maybe, you're right. he shrugs, "if I don't like anything first time, first glance, it's not my thing." he responded, and you nodded. "makes sense, I liked these heels, and I will bear the consequences." you squinted. what were you even conversing about with a bloody stranger?

"ah, you don't have to you know?" WHAT IS IT WITH HIM… "I WANT TO!" you're already overstimulated, jesus fucking christ! heels heels heels, ice cream ice cream ice cream YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE! a second or two later, you realize you had lost it on a complete stranger, tears brimming in your eyes, you have been keeping it in for so long even the slightest of nudge would have caused you to collapse. that was the sole reason you came here to have ice-cream in the first place. and now, you've lost it.

satoru's eyes widen a little when he sees your eyes glossy, a stray tear falling from them. "sorry, little girl. uh- I like your ice-cream flavour, it's strong- and it's- chocolatey- and it's- creamy- I like the heels- they really-" oh he's unsure what to say. he did have an inkling that you were someone who didn't seem at her best, he is perceptive enough for that, but he just didn't know that you were so easy to break right now. part of him feels a little guilty, another part of him feels numb, he's seen people killed, he's killed people. what would a stranger's tears be worth?

"that's fine. sorry I've just been having a shitty day." you mumbled, evading eye contact and looking at your feet. "I understand" satoru is quick to comment, smiling again. "y/n, you're too pretty to cry." the next sentence betrays all logic whatsoever in satoru's mind. you blink, attention diverted from the way you had made things awkward to the bubbling compliment. "thanks?" you snort, wiping your tears. satoru smiles, he doesn't know why he said that, but hey, that's the truth. "I usually don't tear up over petty things, it's just these past few weeks have been a mess and I've just resigned from my job so… don't worry I'm fine." your explanation makes satoru grin wider, so protective of yourself. "good, now you don't have to wear those shitty heels anymore, you can wear those comfy and nice side ons? you know? the ones with fur? and wear jammies maybe." you look at him and your eyes soften. YES, YES THAT'S EXACTLY IT!

you nodded, "yeah, and then eventually, I'll be a happy girl." you say this with such doubt it's pathetic.

satoru's heart does something to him when you say it like that, like what do you mean? "you don't sound sure y/n" he pouts, both your ice-creams melting by now. "well, I am half sure, I am fine otherwise anyways.." you look up at him again, god he's pretty, and why were you talking to a stranger! "well, maybe if I can have your number and check for myself?" bold, satoru can be bold when he wants something. "what would you do about it even if I am not happy?" "something different than you…" "why?" "see this is why you're not happy, just relax y/n chan!" he chuckles, because he doesn’t know either. he just, said it in a whim… and he means it, he likes you… the realization of all these feelings is happening so fast for him, he doesn't want you to take him like a fluke. "fine." you mumble, exchanging contacts with him. "I have to go home, I am tired." you mumble, finally walking away. he just nods, waving bye and observing you walk away from him, standing still, just watching like you're the main character in a movie. silly girl, now he's replaying this conversation in his head over and over and over with a silly lovesick grin.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Heroes and Their Reputations

Pairing: As of right now there isn't one- trying to decide if this is going to be more than this silly one shot lol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none really?

Genre: kinda fluff mostly... comedy I guess is accurate

Summary: The Avengers may be Earth's mightiest heroes but there's plenty of room for improvement especially in the public opinion category, so what happens when the team is given a PR manager?

***

"Listen, I can tell you right now, this transition will not be smooth." Fury warns you as you walk down the hall.

"Oh come on Fury how bad can they be?" You scoff.

"Most of them are- fine, I'm sure the reception will be overall positive but at least one of them will try to run you off and you need to prepared."

"I've got pretty thick skin so I think I'll manage. Plus I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to deal with that sort of thing believe it or not." You say.

"Alright. I'll call you in in a moment." Fury says. He enters the meeting room while you wait in the hall. It takes a while for his head to pop out to call you.

"You ready?" He asks.

"Sure." You say kicking off the wall and entering the room.

"Avengers. Meet your new manager." Fury announces to the room.

"Hey everyone, my name is y/n. Like Fury said I'll be your manager moving forward." You say.

"Sorry, what does having a manager entail exactly?" Bruce asks, adjusting his glasses.

"All of your missions, any official public appearances, interactions with civilians online or in person, that'll all go through me now. I'll also deal with government officials on your behalf and any legal situations you may end up in."

"So you're a lawyer?" Clint asks.

"No, we have lawyers. She's just here to oversee you all so that you can be held to a standard." Fury says.

"We don't need a manager." Tony scoffs.

"Oh yes, you do." Fury says.

"It can't hurt." Thor shrugs.

"Don't be ridiculous Thor. Look, sweetheart, we've managed just fine on our own so far so I see what they're trying to do here but it's pointless and I will not be answering to some random figurehead they've brought in to play babysitter." Tony says.

"Okay, let me make one thing clear, Anthony, sweetheart, we're playing my game now, so you play by my rules or you don't play at all." You say.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He narrows his eyes.

"How do I explain this? If I'm a coach, I'm not going to put players in the game that I know are just going to continually rack up penalties, that's a poor game plan. The public doesn't trust you, it's my job to change that. So if you make my job harder you will no longer go on missions or even leave the tower. It's pretty simple. Fall in line or Iron Man will effectively be out of commission until you can be trusted to behave."

"Nice try but you can't do that." He scoffs. You cock an eyebrow at him and snap. His body tenses to a halt for a moment before you unfreeze him.

"My game. Understood?" You ask.

"W-w-what t-th-the f-f-f-f-fuck w-w-was th-th-that?" Tony wraps his arms around himself, shivering in his seat.

"What did you just do to him?" Steve's eyes widen.

"You have powers?!" Wanda asks excitedly.

"Nothing deadly." You wink at Steve. "Yes." You smile at Wanda. Bruce's hand hesitantly raises as he speaks,

"When you say nothing deadly-"

"Mr. Stark's body temperature was briefly at 28.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Low enough to freeze his blood but not for long enough to kill him." Vision informs the group.

"You frozehis blood?!" Sam gasps.

"What the fuck kind of power is that?" Clint asks.

"Are you some sort of demigod?" Thor asks.

"Technically I control water. Vision darling can you get him a blanket or something? The shivering is... excessive." You say.

"Of course." Vision says with a nod.

"F-F-F-F-Fury d-did y-you know a-a-ab-b-bout th-th-this?"

"It's got nothing to do with my job so it's not like it's on my resume, but if anybody would do the extra research on me it'd be Fury." You say. Vision returns then and drapes a blanket over Tony who pulls it tight around himself.

"Just want to make it clear that I did not know you could do that. Why the fuck you ain't mention that before now?" Fury looks at you.

"I did say I had some tricks up my sleeve." You shrug.

"We'll discuss that later." He tells you.

"Am I the only one not understanding how water manipulation lets you freeze blood?" Sam asks.

"Blood is made up of mostly water. I can control the water within blood. Goes for other things too, clouds, mud- anything really."

"So you froze his blood?" Bruce asks with wide eyes.

"Just to prove my point. I wasn't gonna kill him." You reiterate.

"I like our manager." Natasha smirks.

"Thank you." You say. Fury pulls out his phone and sighs.

"Imma leave y'all to get acquainted. Don't turn anyone into an iceblock in the meantime." He warns.

"She's already done that." Clint says.

"Fine, don't turn anybody else into an iceblock. If you insist I get technical." Fury rolls his eyes.

"You aren't seriously going to leave us with her Fury." Tony says breathily, his body finally warming up enough to talk normally.

"Don't push her buttons and you should be fine Tony you're an adult."

"Only in theory." Steve mutters and you let out a small laugh at his dig.

"I've told her not to freeze anybody, don't piss her off and you'll be safe." Fury reiterates before leaving the room.

"So-" you take a seat at the table with everyone and rest your chin in one of your hands propped up at the elbow. "Questions?"

"So are you like our boss?" Natasha asks.

"When you say monitor our interactions online what does that mean?" Steve asks.

"You mentioned public appearances. Will we be doing press conferences? Because I don't really like the idea of having to sit and answer a bunch of questions on a panel." Bruce asks.

"Since when do we have a team of lawyers?" Clint scoffs.

"Also what do you mean when you say missions go through you?" Sam asks.

"So when I said questions I didn't mean everybody throw them all at once. Natasha, technically speaking kind of since you guys do have to answer to me. Steve, you all are an interesting bunch, I assume none of you do but if any of you had a social media presence at all I would be monitoring that to make sure the things you're engaging with don't make you look any worse. Bruce, you probably won't be doing press conferences exactly because I can't say I trust you all to answer questions live like that but we do need to do damage control on your image as a team so you'll be making strategic appearances over the next few months at events and such so that the public sees you in a better light. Clint, the first thing I told them when I was hired was that a group of superheroes needs a legal team especially if the government is poking their noses around here so I put one together. Sam, Fury will send your missions to me, and I'll decide who goes on which ones based on your skill set as individuals and cooperatively."

"How did you remember all of those questions?" Steve binks.

"Do you know our skill sets?" Clint asks.

"I've seen some of your- combat, clips go pretty viral of the big ones, so I have an idea but I'll be scheduling targeted trainings with each of you to observe more directly over the next two weeks." You say.

"So, what happens in the meantime? Until you know our strengths if there are missions then what?" Natasha asks.

"Steve seems the closest to a leader here. I'll take his suggestions regarding assignments and go from there." You say.

"Cap is not our leader." Tony scoffs.

"Well, it's certainly not you." You roll your eyes. "Does anyone else take issue with me consulting Steve for your mission assignments?" You ask, a hand up to stop Tony from whining more.

"Nope." Bruce says.

"No." Natasha says.

"I'd rather Steve than Tony." Clint says.

"I trust Steve more than Tony." Wanda says.

"I'm here because of Steve- so, only makes sense." Sam shrugs.

"Vision? Thoughts?" You ask.

"My vote sways nothing as everyone else has unanimously chosen Captain Steve Rogers."

"No Vision this isn't about statistics, I asked because you're part of the team and your opinion is as valuable as everyone else's." You tell him.

"In that case, I think the most reasonable choice for who you should consult would be Captain Rogers."

"All of you have betrayed me today." Tony says.

"Cut the drama Stark you are far too impulsive to be calling any shots here." You roll your eyes.

"Oh what do you know?" He scoffs.

"I know you're reckless and make decisions without considering those around you, I know you've created more problems than you've solved, I know that you need serious lessons in collaboration because you are by far the worst team player I've ever come across, and this is just from reading your file and studying public records, you struggle with addictive behaviors, you have narcissistic tendencies, abandonment issues, self-destructive habits and an overall lack of basic social awareness, you consider yourself generally above reproach, and things like empathy are often lost on you and it makes you nothing short of insufferable to be around. And that is putting it very lightly. Shall I continue?"

"Yes please!" Natasha laughs.

"I get the point." Tony grits out.

"Good! Glad we're on the same page! Now you can stop questioning me because as I'm sure you've realized by now in a game of who can be the bigger asshole, Tony, for once in your life, you will lose. I've dealt with egos 10 times the size of yours and if they couldn't break me neither will you. So fall in line, or say buh bye to the iron suit."

"Oh shit. Fury's a genius." Natasha chuckles.

"What, Nat?" Steve frowns.

"She's here to fix our reputation. I dunno about the rest of y'all but based on today I trust her to do the job gotta be honest." She shrugs.

"Good. Makes my job much easier if you trust me." You say. "Any more questions Avengers?" You ask the group.

"Will you be living here?" Wanda asks.

"No. I don't see a reason to, so I don't plan on it." You shrug.

"What if we need you when you're not here?" She asks.

"Honestly a lot of my job can be done remotely. Since PR has nothing to do with your day to day activities emergencies are unlikely. I'll only be here a few times a week and that's mostly because I don't trust some of you to pick up if I call."

"Uh- when does this observational training start?" Bruce asks.

"We'll start Monday. I'll send out a full schedule later but I'll be starting with you, Tony. 9 am."

"Oh come on! Why me?!" Tony groans.

"Because I know you'll give me the most trouble and everyone else will feel like a cakewalk after." You smile. "If there are no further questions, watch your phones, I'll be reaching out to each of you over the weekend, see you Monday. Try not to do any more damage before then." You say standing and leaving the room. Yeah, you're going to have one hell of a time with this team.

Monday morning you reach the tower early. You told Tony to meet you in the training room at 9 o'clock, so at 8:45 you find a meeting room and have your coffee.

"Friday?" You call out.

"Good morning y/n."

"Good morning. I want a view of the cameras in the training room, and please make sure nobody knows that I've arrived at the tower yet." You say.

"Aren't you meant to be meeting Mr. Stark shortly?"

"Mr. Stark will be experiencing a series of trials today. The first of which will be a test of patience. Which means he cannot know I'm already here. Okay?"

"Understood."

"Thank you." You settle in at the round table sipping your coffee and kicking your feet up as you prepare to hang out here for a while. You watch Tony enter the training room at 9 on the dot. For the first 10 minutes, he seems to just be idly waiting. He checks his watch a few times, paces the room, lets out the occasional impatient huff. After the twenty minute mark, he calls you, which you promptly ignore. He starts to do minor training stuff, jumping jax, hitting a punching bag, messing around with weights. He calls again at forty minutes. You still don't answer. You watch him for a full hour before you leave the meeting room and finally make your way to where he's surprisingly still waiting.

"Good morning Anthony." You say casually when you walk in.

"Good mor- where have you been? You told me we were meeting at 9 am it's not 10:07. I've been waiting for over an hour."

"Well technically I told you to be here at 9 am. Never said anything about me being here at 9 too. But I have been in the tower. I was in a meeting room. Watching you. Planning the rest of the morning."

"So- you've been here since 9 am and you just- what? Decided I could wait?"

"I've been here since 8:45 actually. I wanted to see if first of all you'd be punctual and secondly could you wait indefinitely without direction simply because I told you to be here at 9." You say.

"You're telling me I just wasted an hour of my time in here for your amusement?" He crosses his arms.

"You lack patience and discipline, so I'm testing you."

"By wasting my time?"

"By challenging your equanimity."

"Challenging my equanimity? Really? That's you're justification for wasting an hour of my day?"

"Friday please prepare Ironman's training simulation." You say rolling your eyes at Tony's complaints.

"Simulation loading, please wait." Friday responds.

"We're not done with this conversation." Tony says.

"Oh yes we are. I think you're still struggling to understand how this works, I don't answer to you Tony. Now if you at any point want to go on missions, I suggest you suit up and run the training simulation I've prepared for you." You say.

"You prepared?"

"Simulation complete. Ready to begin." Friday announces.

"It's what I've been up to since I got here an hour ago. Everyone's getting personalized simulations to assess their skills. Yours begins- now." You say stepping back.

"Beginning simulation round one." Friday says and that's the only warning Tony gets before it starts. The training begins with a set of drills, a combination of shooting still targets and dodging projectiles. It takes him most of the hour to finish the first round of tests, and the final sequence ends with him on the the floor.

"I fight in a suit. Why the hell am I running target practice without it?!" He huffs.

"You wanna be a hero you're gonna need more than your rich kid toys to qualify. If it powers down or is rendered useless somehow in the middle of a mission you can't simply become a liability to the team and if you are- I need to know that too."

"Friday." He grits out.

"Yes Mr. Stark?" The computerized voice fills the room.

"Tell Pepper I'll be later than expected coming in today."

"Friday, tell Pepper not to expect him until after lunch." You say checking your watch.

"Yes Miss y/n."

"After lunch?!" His eyes widen.

"Oh relax, I won't be keeping you here that long, it's only 11, but by the time we're done you'll probably want to get something to eat or at the very least change your clothes before going to work." You shrug. "Friday please load the second round of the Stark Training Simulation."

"Simulation loading. Please wait."

"S-second round?" He groans.

"I had four planned, but that first one took you forever so we'll have to consolidate. Put on your suit before she's finished loading, you won't have time to once it starts." You tell him.

"How were you even able to get Friday to do this?" He asks as he forces himself to his feet.

"Fury gave me access to everything on the grounds." You shrug.

"Loading complete. Ready to begin." Friday announces.

"Great. Please begin round two at an increase of five percent Friday."

"Beginning simulation round two at a five percent increase."

"Woah hang on a five percent increase what the hell does that me-" Tony is cut off by a projectile launching across the room. Round two is more combat based using mechanical dummies Friday was able to activate for you. With the speed increase Tony struggles to keep up with the attacks but at least it won't take him over an hour to do them. It takes 47 minutes for him to complete round two.

"Right, I think I've got enough information. I'm going to let you go. I'll save rounds 3 and 4 for another day. Friday please send me the footage from today's simulation runs." You say.

"Understood."

"You plan on being a tyrant your entire time here?" Tony asks.

"What's the matter Stark? Can't handle the heat?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.

"That wasn't just heat that was being thrown into a volcano."

"You know what they say, pressure makes diamonds. I'll be in touch." You say walking out of the training room, already preparing the simulations for your next session, you're thinking Steve.

"Take your time!" Tony shouts after you and you roll your eyes. Maybe Fury was onto something when he warned you it would not be easy with these guys.

***

A/N: should I continue this story? Do we add a love interest? If so who?

[gamermaxy]

orange like me

max tries courting daniel for the first time

or, how daniel got his lion, lian (from i gave you all my best me's).

it comes inconspicuously in a plastic bag to max's hotel room. the porter drops it off with a knock on his door and max rushes to open it, knowing exactly what it is.

after a night of partying and celebrating his and daniel's first ever podium, he went back, drunker than he's ever been and scrolled instagram. the ad was one of the first things max sees when he opens the app but it's perfect. the orange lion plush. he orders it immediately, not caring if it's a scam or not.

he pays extra for next day delivery, knowing that they're not scheduled to leave until tuesday morning, anyway.

max carefully opens the package, it's a little weighty and max knows that it probably has beans in them - his sister always said those were better quality.

inspecting the lion's mane, his fingers brushing out the little knots it got in transit. the fur is soft beneath his touch and he wants to scent it. wants to rub the big lion across his scent gland but it would be weird. what if daniel doesn't want to smell him?

with a sigh, he sets the lion on his stomach and messages daniel. he's got no idea if the australian is awake yet but it doesn't matter, max will keep his buddy company until he is to be gifted to his potential mate.

three dots pop up instantly and max smiles, absentmindedly petting the lion's back. daniel promises to be over in a few minutes and max looks around his room, chucking last night's clothes into his suitcase in an attempt to make it look a little tidier.

he considers spraying some cologne into the air but he also wants daniel to smell him. to smell how alpha he is. fuck, courting is hard. eventually, max cracks open the window a little, trying to get rid of the smell of the stale alcohol that clung to his clothes.

three raps on the door lets him know that daniel is outside and max chucks one last red bull polo into his suitcase before tripping over it to reach the door. smoothing out his shirt and taking a deep breath, he opens the door to a cheerful daniel.

large bags hang under the omega's eyes but his smile is ever so bright. max lets him in and quickly struts over to the bed as the door slams, forcing a wince from them both. at least he's not the only one who's hungover.

'i uh, i got you this,' max says, picking up the lion, and thrusting it towards daniel. 'you will like it, i think.'

'aww, maxy,' daniel laughs, taking the weighted lion from his hands. 'he's so cute! imma call him something gangster like lion.'

'that is, of course, very stupid, daniel,' max laughs back. 'you can't just tell him what he is. he, of course, knows he's a lion, daniel.'

'hmm, okay, what if i call him goose or something?' daniel smiles as max continues to laugh, shaking his head.

'no, daniel, he is a reindeer,' max watches as daniel's face lights up before he takes his place, painful laughs wracking through his body. his stomach hurts and tears well in the corner of his eyes.

'what about lian?'

'do you mean liam, daniel?' max takes a few steadying breaths as the omega shakes his head.

'noooo, maxy, lian for emilian and lion,' daniel's smile has fallen, his eyes sincere and max feels how earnest he's being. 'he's a gift from you, and he's orange, too.'

[writememysticfalls]

Thirsty | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah is cold and distant around you... until one night, you break down in front of him. Even Originals get thirsty.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x vampire!reader

Genre: Suggestive, angsty, hot

Word Count: <1k

You were rummaging through the industrial freezer in the basement of the Mikaelson home.

You were elbow deep in ice chips, desperately searching for the only thing your body craved now you'd been turned into a vampire.

Blood.

"Where do they keep the fucking blood bags?" You kicked the freezer door so hard the metal crumpled under your boot.

"Need a hand?"

You spun around at the familiar voice.

Elijah was leaning against the door frame, watching you. He wore a pale cream shirt that was rolled up, exposing brown forearms.

Elijah always looked so put together, even when he had the blood of his enemies dripping down his chin, and congealed between his fingers.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your arm. Elijah yanked you back, using his full vampire force to turn you towards him.

You smoothed your unruly brown locks, feeling suddenly self conscious.

Elijah lifted up the lid of the freezer with one finger, peering inside.

"I'll have to make sure the maid restocks this more often."

He walked up to a portrait hanging on the wall. Pushing the frame to the side, he revealed a hidden safe. His fingers slid over the keys at vampire speed. The safe door clicked open and Elijah reached inside to pull out a heavy crystal bottle.

He poured a glass and handed it to you.

"Here, this should suffice."

You looked at the dark red liquid in the glass. The idea of drinking blood made you feel literally sick, but the gnawing at the base of your throat could only be eased by one thing. You knocked back the entire contents of the glass in one gulp.

"Thanks," you said, wiping your mouth.

Elijah gave you a tight smile.

"I've never seen you drink blood, Elijah. Hell, I've never even seen you eat." You crossed your arms. "Meanwhile I can't even go thirty minutes without thinking about where I'm going to get my next fix."

"You are a new vampire," Elijah said, sliding the portrait back in place. "Restraint takes time to master."

You tugged at your sallow cheeks. "I feel so... unnatural. I feel like my insides are rotting. It's all wrong. I'm all wrong!"

Elijah pressed his lips into a tight line.

You sank to your knees. You buried your head in your hands and started to sob.

"I should have died. What have I become?" you said, between sobs.

Elijah stood, awkwardly, watching you cry on the floor. His arms itched to hold you, but it no longer felt like his place to do so.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. Your eyes were glistening, and your nose was red. You stood up, face to face with Elijah.

"There was a time, once..." you said, sniffing. "That you would have held me, maybe even kissed me. Now you don't even talk to me, Elijah."

Your hard exterior had melted, leaving soft, brown skin and watery eyes. You suddenly looked so young.

Elijah sighed.

"Y/n, I..." but the words died on his lips. He moved forwards, silently, till he was inches away from you.

He leant his forehead against yours, eyes slipping shut. Your arms hung limply at your sides, fingers almost touching.

Suddenly, the sound of glass splattering echoed through the room. Both your and Elijah's heads shot up.

"Elijah!" Niklaus roared from upstairs. "The love of my life is at the bottom of this bottle, brother. Come and help me find her!"

Niklaus was drunk. Something which was becoming a daily occurrence.

You stepped away from Elijah.

"Go, run after your little brother like you always do," you snapped. The prickly expression had once again masked your beautiful features.

Elijah rolled down his shirtsleeves, and did up his cufflinks.

"Do not concern yourself with matters of my family," he said, sternly. "You should focus on your transition."

You scoffed. "You don't get to tell me what to do." You turned away and stormed towards the door.

You gasped. Elijah's eyes were red, and black veins pulsed under his eyes. He snarled.

You thought he was going to attack you. Your breath caught in your throat.

Suddenly, Elijah leant down and kissed you, hard, on the mouth.

Elijah wound one hand around your waist and pulled you to his chest as he continued to kiss you. You could hear his pulse racing in your ears, you could feel his eagerness for you against your thigh.

You kissed him back with equal force. This was an Elijah you didn't know well, the man behind the façade of elegance and nobility.

—

You reached up to stroke his soft hair. But suddenly, Elijah pulled away from you.

There was a soft woosh. Elijah was gone.

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! ���

[elliesfavbae]

Are you nervous, flower? - First kiss with Ellie, pt. 2

part one part three

synopsis: Your more experienced at kissing best friend helps you out but it starts to get out of control.

Pairing: Ellie Williams x unexperienced!reader

warnings: js a short fluff, intense kissing, eventual smut

smut incoming in the next part😋

wc: ab 800

I can't believe what has just transpired. Yes, it may look like a simple kiss, but it was your very first kiss. Your first kiss is with your best friend.

You speak again. Your voice fades into a whisper. "So..." "Can you kiss me again?"

"Ooh, someone is eager." She grins, but you can tell she's enjoying it as well. "Now, I want you to try it. Kiss me, y/n.

You feel hot again, losing all of your confidence. You don't know where to begin, and Ellie appears to notice it. "Come on, just bring me closer to you and kiss me," she adds softly.

Her speech soothes you; you take a deep breath as you lay your hands on her smooth cheeks.

You gently bring her towards you, just like she has done before. You do it slowly, watching for her reaction, but you don't see any, so you go ahead and connect your lips to hers. This time the kiss is firmer; Ellie allows herself to suck harder on your lips, and so do you. You taste her lips on your own. They’re surprisingly sweet.

You adjust your position so that your knees and thighs are touching. Ellie tugs at her lips and smirks as she breaks away from the kiss.

"Better" is all she says about the kiss. "You have to use your hands as well; it's not just about the lips." Ellie takes your hands from her face and places one on her hip and the other behind her neck. Her skin is so warm.

She then wraps her hands over your hair, occasionally tugging on hair strands and massaging your scalp.

"Feels nice, hm?" She whispers, and you kiss again, your confidence rising with each breath.

Your hands begin to feel around her hips, passing through her thighs and stomach. You automatically split your lips to let the warm muscle explore her tongue as it brushes over your bottom lip. As soon as you insert your own tongue inside her mouth, the kiss becomes even more intense. You have no idea what to do or whether she enjoys it, but you soon hear a hum of approval. Breaking off the kiss to take a breath, you glance up at Ellie's face. Its hue transitioned to pink all over her cheeks.

“Was it good, or at least... acceptable?” After a while of staring at each other, you inquire.

"Does it mean you want to finish?" Not even trying to hide her dismay, she asks, but you didn't say you were going to stop.

"I mean, do you want me to stop? You choose to give her a little teasing; you bite your lip.

"Do I look like I want to stop?" That's all it takes to give her another kiss. Without a doubt, this kiss is the hungriest of them all. Ellie senses it too, so she tosses you onto the mattress and precisely tugs at your hair strands with her hands. It almost feels too good to be true. You don't even notice that you're letting out a slight groan.

"Someone's enjoying this a bit too much." She whispers against your lips between the kisses, and you understand what just happened.

“Fuck, sorry, did I make it weird?” You stop making out, feeling embarrassed.

"Flower, no, it's okay." She comes up right away to console you. Once more, she calls you by name, which causes your stomach to race with butterflies. "Actually, I liked it." The flying bugs inside of you are actually erupting right now. You're so desperate to kiss her again that you're not even able to think clearly. So you act. She presses you up against the bed. She slides her knee between your thighs, intensifying the kiss. A soft groan leaves your lips as the kiss becomes incredibly sloppy. 

She suddenly reaches for your hand and places it on her lower abdomen, and you know what she means by this. Your fingers follow her skin all the way to her chest. Playing with the hem of her sports bra, you fold her breast through the material. She has such a soft chest, but you're not sure how much you can allow yourself to do with it. However, it no longer feels like a best friend helping another friend out. You hear muffled groans, but they aren't coming from you this time.

“Do you want to go further?” She asks, her cheeks covered in a red blush, a challenging smile tugging her lips.

[mayiwritesomething]

Echoplex (One-Shot)

This is a oneshot from LIAUN Series (Masterlist here)

Wordcount: 2,3k

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Warnings: +18 MDNI, SMUT, teasing, sex (p in v, no protection), oral sex, cursing words, etc.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago while writing the chapters of love is an unfamiliar name (still 2 more chapters to go), i didn’t like it at first but anyway i decided to give it a chance haha. Considering the upcoming chapter 8 will be quite sad, let smooth things with a smut one 😜

Btw it fits somewhere between chapters 6 and 7 but can be read as a one shot on it’s own.

You jetted off to LA on Monday night. Since you and Pedro hadn't met before your departure, you kept exchanging messages. Back at home in your satin sleep dress, feeling gorgeous, you decided to send him a selfie lounging on your sofa with the caption: Movie night. Wish you were here 💔

Almost immediately, you heard the notification sound. It was Pedro. His response was, "Don't you tease me like that baby." Smiling and feeling a rush of heat, you replied with a picture in front of the mirror, the dress slipping from your arms, revealing the curves of your breasts, and the caption, "Or what? Gonna make me pay? 😇"

Forgetting that Pedro preferred calling over texting, you were surprised when he video-called as you returned to the sofa. He was eager to see you, and you wanted him right then and there.

"Oh my god... this looks perfect on you," he said mischievously, then added, "It makes me wonder so much about what's underneath it—why the fuck do you do this?"

"Well, I can show you if you want," you replied with a naughty smile.

"I do, baby... I really do want to see—fuck," his smile faded. "Baby, I have to answer this; it's my manager. I'll be right back."

"Okay," you muttered, frustration taking over as you sank back onto the sofa, scrolling through your Mubi main screen.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, but there was still no call from Pedro. You decided to watch Bowie's Labyrinth, a movie that always made you feel at home.

Nearly two hours later, Pedro finally called, his excitement palpable through the phone. "I've got a fantastic project opportunity," he exclaimed while you listened, intrigued and staring at the screen. "Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, baby. I had to sort a few things out."

"It's alright," you replied, feeling drowsy. "I understand we can't ignore a manager's call."

"Well, the good news is I can make it up to you in person," he teased, causing you to melt a little inside. "Are you free on Thursday?"

"I'll be working on some mixes in my studio, but you're welcome to stop by. I’ve seen you working much more than I’d like; now you can watch me do my thing," you said with a smile.

"I'd love to," he responded eagerly. His enthusiasm was endearing, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip in anticipation; you couldn’t wait to see him in person.

On Thursday morning, anxiety enveloped you as you meticulously organized your home, ensuring everything was precisely in place. Seeking distraction, you headed to the studio on the other side of your yard to begin mixing a song you were producing. A few hours later, Pedro arrived, bringing your favorite coffee in a thermal cup along with a pack of peanut butter M&Ms.

Engrossed in conversation throughout your mixing session, you were captivated by Pedro's curiosity and respect for your work. You knew that for someone not directly involved in music production, watching someone tinker with synthesizers and create sounds could be quite boring.

"You're like some kind of witch with this whole hocus pocus thing," he marveled, seated in front of you.

Walking over to him, clad in a tank top and sweatpants, your inner music nerd emerged as you explained, "It's not that complicated; I just piece things together and tweak transitions. I'm not sure if it's good yet; I'll have Tim take a look tomorrow."

Pedro rose, drawing nearer to you, his hands gently tracing your face. "Sometimes, a simple 'thank you' is enough when receiving a compliment babe," he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead, leaving you feeling a bit sheepish.

"I'm sorry, thank you," you murmured.

"No need to apologize, mami," he reassured, cupping your face to kiss you tenderly. Chuckling at the new nickname, you kissed him slowly, feeling the desire building as he lifted you onto the wooden part of the mixing table. Craving his touch, you pulled him closer, kissing his neck and sensing his longing for you as well. While trying to position you on the table and removing his shirt, his hands accidentally slipped, nudging some buttons.

"Careful, man! This is some expensive shit," you cautioned between kisses as your hands fumbled.

"Sorry," he responded, stepping back. "Don't be mad at me, but I'd love to fuck you right here on this table, like right now." You felt a surge of conflicting desires—a battle between primal urges and rational thoughts raging in your mind. Drawing nearer to kiss you again, you reciprocated, feeling his intensity.

"I want you to fuck me now," you confessed, beginning to remove your top.

"Leave it," he instructed, laying you back on the table, as your primal instincts won this round. "Let's not rush," he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck, as you moaned softly, feeling him between your legs, yearning to shed your clothes.

In a frenzy, you attempted to reach for his pants, but he firmly grasped your hands and gently guided them back to the table.

"Come on," you pleaded in exasperation between kisses as he began to trail kisses along your collarbone, slipping a hand under your top to caress the softness of your breast. Sitting before him, his warm touch in the air-conditioned room momentarily stole your breath, causing you to gasp silently.

"We have no neighbors now, baby. I want to hear you; I know I haven't seen everything yet," he murmured, locking eyes with you as his hand continued to tease beneath your top. Your attempts to remove it were thwarted once more. "I told you to leave it," he gently reminded you, guiding your hands back to the table, leaving you burning with frustration inside.

"Seriously? This isn't some master and servant kinda shit," you snapped, annoyed.

"You can have your revenge next time," he whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he gently removed his hand from under the top and adjusted it on you, the fabric showing how stimulated you were. "These are your words, not mine." He said it ironically.

Frustrated and conceding defeat, you seethed, "I fuckin hate you," while he chuckled, slipping a hand inside your pants and teasing you slowly. Involuntarily, you parted your legs, moaning softly and closing your eyes as he continued to explore.

"Are you sure of that?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on you. "Cause your body is telling me otherwise... Or are you wet like this all the time?" You could see how he was enjoying his little torture session.

"Stop—ah—stop fucking teasing me," you protested, feeling a mix of pleasure and anger.

"One word is missing, baby. Where are your manners?" His voice dripped with lust as his touch alternated between pleasure and torment.

"Please," you mumbled, trying to resist the urge to give in completely.

"I know you can do it a bit louder; I almost didn't catch that," he taunted, quickening his movements before abruptly stopping, holding your jaw with his other hand. You couldn’t think straight anymore.

"Please... PLEASE… PLEASE DON'T STOP," you cried out of sudden, your hand gripping his arm as you bit your lower lip, urging him to continue. "Please, Pedro—please, baby, don't stop," you pleaded, a mixture of desperation and desire in your voice.

“I didn’t see that coming this fast,” he said, still holding your jaw with one hand, then kissing you as you moaned, grinding on him. Surprised and aroused by your response, he resumed his ministrations, and as the pleasure intensified, you could only whisper, "It feels so good... it feels so good—please," your plea trailing off. "Just like that—please keep going like that, baby," you urged, locking eyes with him as you kept moaning adrift in the moment.

"It's so beautiful to see you swallowing this pride of yours and begging like that," he remarked, cupping your face tenderly. "I'd do anything for you—fuck, you’re so wet—I want to hear you scream for me," he whispered in your ear, his words causing you to melt in his arms.

"You could start by letting me do what I want," you protested, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “What about that?”

"Today there's no negotiation," he laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Really?" This time, you drew him closer and whispered, "Not even if I ask you nicely…”Taking his hand from inside your pants and gently sucking his fingers. “Please?”

Once again, he maintained control better than you. "Not today, baby," he reassured, planting kisses along your neck and holding your face tenderly. "Just lay down," he instructed, gently guiding you onto the table and slowly taking your pants off, though you felt a pang of worry as your knee knocked against something. As you settled into a comfortable position, a sudden intrusive thought crossed your mind: There goes a $10,000 synth.

Letting the tought aside, you longed for his touch as he focused on taking you to new heights, his attention focused between your tights. Gripping his hair, you let go of any concerns about the noise of your pleasure filling the room as you were fully immersed in the moment with him. It was just the two of you, lost in pleasure, clearly enjoying the experience.

As you finally screamed his name and struggled to maintain your balance, he crawled closer, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss so you could taste yourself. He was so caught up in his own pleasure in between your legs that he didn't even notice you slipping off your top, the last piece of clothing remaining.

Drawing you closer, he whispered, "You're so perfect," his words a mix of adoration and desire as he gazed upon your exposed body, then kissing it as you tried to hold him closer. You wanted to feel him inside.

"Tell me something I don't know," you chuckled playfully.

"Your humility brings tears to my eyes," he teased, planting kisses on your breasts. Your hands roamed freely over his body, eliciting goosebumps from feeling him as he teased you before giving you what you wanted. Returning to kiss you, the sensation of him finally being inside you was fenomenal. Suddenly, your hand accidentally hit a button, causing a burst of bass sound that startled both of you, leading to shared laughter.

"I'm pretty sure I broke something this time," you fretted, concerned about the unexpected noise.

"Wanna go down?" he suggested, worried, ensuring he kept you close. You nodded in agreement, indicating the armchair where he had been seated.

Taking a seat, he maintained eye contact with you, holding you close. The desire burning in his eyes was a sight to behold as you gently pushed him back and cupped his face, a smile playing on your lips. "I want you inside again," you whispered almost inaudibly, your words filled with longing.

"Babe, please," he murmured in response as you trailed your fingers over his lips, settling on top of him to ensure you could move and fully feel him.

The way he gripped your hips left you with no control over your own movements; he was once again in charge after the brief moment of stillness you both shared. Your hands clung tightly to his back as one of his hands guided your hair gently, not forcefully, exposing your neck as you ground against him, feeling every inch filling you. Even the fact that he was controlling your movements didn’t bother you this time.

You wouldn’t let him know this easily, but he knew what he was doing. You loved to feel how harder he would grip you each time you moaned. His laughter ringing out, asking, "Does it feel good?" at every curse word that escaped your lips. How lovely he kissed your body, muttering “es tan rica” while hitting you firm but slowly. The way he touched you. How In those moments of almost silent, heavy breathing, your eyes locked in a wordless understanding as you both discovered the perfect rhythm.

The pleasure building within brought you to tears as you reached your climax. Right after hearing his voice calling out your name as he held you close tightly in his own moment of release, which felt so warm inside of you, a mix of cries, laughter, and trembling filled the room. Struggling to kiss him back, you felt his heavy breathing and sensed his shaking body as he rested his head against your chest, muttering words you couldn't quite make out.

Seeing his smile, you returned it, both of you trying to catch your breath in the aftermath. He tenderly kissed your chin as you held him close, both of you sweaty despite the air conditioner running. Without a word, you simply gazed into each other's eyes for a while, sharing smiles and kisses.

"If we keep this up, we could compete in Iron Man," you remarked with a chuckle.

"Sure," he agreed, clearly out of breath.

"You should quit smoking, old man," you teased, laughing. He shot you a playful yet judgmental look in response. "Don't give me that look; I’m aware of my glass ceiling," you defended yourself, a playful glint in your eyes.

“You destroyed me,” he laughed while kissing your breast, his beard tickling you and causing you to chuckle.

“Want to take a shower?” You asked shyly.

“Yes, we made a mess.” He adjusted your hair and kissed you, pulling you as close as he could.

“Consider yourself lucky because I’ve never had sex here,” you laughed.

“I’ll help you tidy things up,” he said, trying to be useful, “and we can check if everything is working because if it’s not, I—” You sensed his anxiety.

“Well, it’s nothing I can’t afford,” you said, kissing him. He just gave you a surprised look. “All I want is to have a shower and another round, if you’re up to it,” you teased.

“I think I can handle another one,” he smiled back at you.

"So, what are we waiting for?”

I can't believe that life's so complex

When I just want to sit here and watch you undress

This is love, this is love

That I'm feeling

[m1ssunderstanding]

What about the Paul is dead (no he's not!) wip?

Thanks for asking, guys!!

This one is based on a prompt I submitted to the Beatles kink meme forever ago -- like before I started working on TCIS forever ago -- that no one took up (sad but I can't blame them it's a long one)

1965: John hires a Paul look-alike prostitute named Billy. They actually hit it off and fuck somewhat regularly albeit in secret. John feels weird about it, but can't help it. Plus, Billy is actually cool in all the ways Paul isn't. So although John will always be unfortunately obsessed with Paul, Billy is a great stand-in to do things Paul won't -- like LSD and cock sucking and laying around watching TV.

1966: Paul dies in a car crash. Billy comforts a grief-stricken John and gets him to agree to have him replace Paul in the Beatles. John convinces everyone and is shocked at how smooth the transition turns out to be. But try as he might, and cool as he is, Billy is not Paul. He's Billy. And it's just not quite right.

1967: Crazy artist Yoko Ono keeps showing up at John's house with conspiracy theories about the car crash Paul was in being orchestrated. John's gut tells him to look into it, and before long, John and Yoko uncover disturbing truths that lead them to more questions.

Is Billy Shears really just the luckiest nobody in rock and roll history? Or did Billy have Paul killed so he could take his place? Is it possible Paul's actually alive, kept hidden where Billy can force him to write for him? Or is John just unable to believe anyone else could have his best friend's talent? And who is Yoko really? Why does she know so much, and why is she so interested in helping John?

It would take a lot of work but I think it's a really fun idea and I've played with it off and on ever since I posted the prompt. It's so weird though that this one and the prompt I ended up taking on into like a 100k fic both have to do with John paying Paul for sex and hurt!paul. Do I have a problem? Yeah. Definitely. Will I get help? Yeah. Coming on Tumblr and making my issues everyone else's issues is very helpful :)

Thanks for being supportive anons ilyg!

[like-if-a-bad-idea-was-a-girl]

So I wrote, I guess fanfiction(?) about @puppygirllaika 's story Transition Diary of a Sex Doll, she had no hand in writing this it's just my interpretation and I'm posting it here with her consent.

It takes the form of a journal update from the pov of Andie several years later explaining in detail how she goes about looking after her doll.

Obviously everything you read here is fantasy and for entertainment only. The only TW I'd add to the list on the original story is I talk about calories at one point very briefly.

Hi all, this is Andie. I've had a ton of requests to let or make Jane update this. First if all 'Jane' is a dead name now, my doll doesn't have a name anymore. Second I have given it the opportunity to do so and it has declined. So here I am several years later to give you an idea of what its existence is like now and how I go about looking after it. I'm doing this, finally, because I feel like if I can help others either look after their new doll or figure out their feelings then I should. So here goes I guess

Bedsores: I can't have my doll getting infected, it'd be less useful for me. But this is a two birds one stone situation because I always need something to do with my hands and touching flesh is especially rewarding, so whenever I'm watching TV I have it on my lap and kneed the flesh where it tends to lay

Voice: originally it wanted full vocal chord removal so it'd be silent but I changed the surgery to suit me better, it now has only partial use of its voice, just enough so my doll moans when I fuck it and screams when I cut or hit it

Mind: if my doll lost touch with reality it'd start reacting to things that aren't real and I need it to be quiet when not in use so I have to keep it sane. So every day I prop it on the couch surrounded by stuffed toys and put the TV on for it. Sometimes I put on horror movies so it can practice screaming and looking scared, sometimes porn so it can practice moaning and crying out, or sometimes just nature documentaries. And I make sure I take it out of the house at least once a month, sometimes to a hookup so we can both use it, or camping or on a road trip.

Muscles: I need my doll to be able to clench around me and move its neck enough to give me head so I can't let its muscles atrophy. So i bought a tens unit and i put it on once or twice a week for a few hours to keep the muscles moving properly Skin: I like its skin to be smooth and well looked after because it's a better tactile experience for me and also because bruises look better on nice skin. So I sponge bath it often, scrubbing its skin thoroughly and cleaning all the tricky bits to keep them fresh. Whenever I cut it for the pure pleasure of parting living flesh with a sharp blade, or whenever I bite it so hard I come away with a chunk of flesh, or even when I dig my nails in so deep I carve deep gouges, then I need the first aid kit. I've got rather good at suturing wounds closed and carefully bandaging them, and then once they have healed enough I rub oils and moisturizers into the healing skin to minimize scars. And of course I keep up with its estrogen gell so its skin stays smooth.

Hair: mostly not a big job, the hair on its face it had lasered back when it was pretending to be human, the skin around its pussy was removed by electrolysis prior to the bottom surgery, and the hair on its head I keep just long enough to be useful for gripping so it has a convenient handle

Food/ water: it needs much less of both now, about half a cup of water a day and one meal every second day, it took me a long time to figure out the optimal calorie intake so its boobs would stay nice and full and its belly chub was enough that I can use it as a hold to fuck it. I make it a special all-in-one food so its bones and skin and everything else stays strong and healthy, and I make it in all the flavors it used to love because nutrients are absorbed better when the senses are properly stimulated. And then of course I brush its teeth.

I also bought one of those fancy neural link headsets, mostly for emergency use, because only it can tell me if something feels wrong in its body. But once a year I put the headset on her and force her to be a person for a couple of hours, I know she hates it and it exhausts her but I've told her it's like routine system maintenance and that seems to help. I make her reaffirm her consent for everything that I do to her. I ask her if she has any requests or anything I can do to help her be a better toy. We talk again about the possibility of a lobotomy or something more serious. I ask her if she has anything else she'd like to say. And then I take off the headset and I watch it sigh and relax as the mask falls off, as it stops pretending to be a person.

Between all that, yeah it's a big job looking after my doll properly. But it's mine and I'm careful with what belongs to me, and if I didn't feel like it was worth the effort I would have given it away or sold it by now. There's the obvious sexual uses, but there are lots more. Human bodies have sympathetic nervous systems so it really helps with my anxiety and panic attacks to cuddle it really tight to my chest. Its slow steady heartbeat and measured breathing soothe me, sometimes it hums softly which helps too. And it makes a great therapist, it listens and never talks back and looks at me with those deep loving eyes. Ohhh and of course as a hot water bottle, my feet get so cold at night it's nice having something soft and warm to put them on whilst I sleep, making sure the blanket isn't covering its face.

Thanks for reading, I hope this has helped anyone considering becoming a sex doll or taking on the responsibility of one of their own.