#I know every one of these characters jfc

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

[Holding Reservation Dogs with both hands] holy FUCK I am so sorry I put off watching you for so long.

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

There are only so many fanfics that use the entirety of DC as cardboard cutouts to prop up bat family characters that I can read before I go berserk.

I swear to god. Every character that has ever been shipped with a bat or coexists on the same team as a bat is owed an apology.

How many Young Justice fanfics that solely revolve around Tim must exist? How many Titans fanfics centered only on Dick? Why is it a herculean task to find a Justice League fanfic without Bruce as the main character?

And then even when you do find a fic that seems like it's balanced, everything still revolves around the bat. Like Kon, Cassie and Bart have nothing else going on in their lives except Tim and Tim's issues or thinking about Tim. Like Donna and Wally and Roy just cannot function if they aren't spending every waking moment thinking about Dick.

I'm... Guys. I'm at my limit. I swear to god. We need to make a Batman tag and surgically remove all these fics and quarantine them there. We'll keep the actual DC fics and they can do whatever the fuck they want in their own tag. It's getting ridiculous how hard it is to find fanfic that's actually DC related and isn't just 'The BatFam Show'.

[badolmen]

I can fix him*

*bad writing, underutilized gameplay mechanics, characters with unfulfilled potential, funded by bootlickers

[genius--built]

yknow it is the internet and all, so I can’t really say I could’ve expected better. but the last drawing I posted was not intended to be ship art. I would’ve been up front about it if that had been my intent. I’ve gone and tagged it at the request of a few people, but this is not a blog where I will be posting stuff that should result in genuinely threatening asks, so I’d appreciate some civility. I’ve been here less than 2 weeks, you don’t even know me.

[buckys-metal-arm]

Look man I'm not a fan of Peggy in What If either but the ferocity some of y'all hate her with feels feels really excessive

and before anyone goes "tHen DoN't lOoK aT iT" it's not like I go fuckin looking for it the Bucky tag and the What If tag have been clogged with it recently in light of the show and i am. So tired.

[solradguy]

GG's character designs have so much going on, but I have a lot of respect for how, in most cases, the designers thought about the logistics of making some of the belts and stuff work. Like if you jam the camera into Sol's waist in Strive's figure mode they actually have belts BEHIND the big Free belt that are keeping it attached through the same belt loops his actual pants belt go through. They didn't have to do that, because who tf was gonna look that close, but they did lol

[litt1e-prince]

living in my own home away from my dad but he still waits up for me to get home

[nancywheeeler]

it’ll drive me crazy for the rest of time that it’s daytime when nancy is describing her vecna visions so hours have passed but not even dustin, a worrying king, said “hey maybe we should change steve bandages”

[crest-of-gautier]

video editing is so fun... (specifically cutting down hours of gameplay into a highlights format)

[infiniteseriesofhalfways]

good lord, i just read some shit i wrote back in October, and it fucking hurts, like-

He doesn't hate his father. He loves him like an ant loves a magnifying glass, like ex-smokers love a new pack, like holding your hand to a fire and begging for once, for it to only warm and not burn. His father is a force beyond his control, a god who forgot the verses on mercy. On forgiveness. He doesn't pray to anyone, not since they stopped going to church. But at night he lies awake, pleading with the universe, allow his father to see the truth. His mother is a good woman. He has done his best to be a good son. They have given their entire lives to him, sacrificed nearly every bit of their own desires to try and make him happy. If, someday, his father should wake up and see all of it, maybe then he would start believing in god again. Until then, he can't see anyone looking out for him. He can't find any father in the stars who actually loves him back.

why did i say any of that at all??? could've kept every bit of that to myself.

When CA turns away from him, his heart aches. He wants so badly to reach over, to hold CA until everything bad that has ever happened to him comes tumbling out. He wants to let CA spill his secrets and leave them here in the sand, buried beside forgotten beer bottles and toy shovels. It's in the rise and fall of his chest, faster and faster as he spirals. He can't imagine where CA's thoughts have gone, what fucked up memory he's gotten lost in. He considers his own past, good experiences tainted by the way they ended. He could tell the story, be the first of them to cut himself open tonight. A bloody invitation for CA to do the same. Not a demand. Not a requirement. An open palm and a promise under moonlight.

like idk who i was thinking i was but i have in fact depressed the shit out of myself three months later

[respectthepetty]

The way Boeing just showed up in the last 3 episodes and started MASSIVE amounts of shit jfc, he's in everyone's business and I hate it that he's not in MY business 😭😭 anyways I love him and he's an unhinged god that's all I wanted to say thank you

Anon, let me honest here. I wanted Fluke Gawin to play Boeing. Half of Tumblr was rooting for Mix. Yet we got Mond, and everyone rejoiced.

And you wanna know why?

Because it's Mond.

I just don't love Boeing. I love Boeing because he is played by Mond.

When episode ten ended, I thought, "who could have played Boeing like this?" Yes, the character is written this way, but what actor would have made me *this* happy to watch Boeing do all he did in forty minutes?

Mond.

Because he is shipless. If Mix would have kissed Book's character, folks would have been in their feelings. If Fluke Gawin would have asked First's character to get back with him next week, people would have cheered for First to leave Khaotung because DANYOK! Mond ain't kissed no homies yet, so even those of us in our GramYok feels want them to kiss, but we aren't opposed to Mond stopping there.

Because we want him to kiss all the homies. Mond has always been *so* close to the homies who kiss (Waterboyy, Kiss Me Again, Not Me, P.S. I Hate You),

Yet is never really one of those homies, so there is an unreasonable amount of people invested in this man kissing a homie.

Or eight homies.

Oh, and Mond plays morally fucked up very well.

So well, in fact, that he has you feeling bad for his crazy ass.

And the reason you feel bad is because you were cheering for him knowing darn well he was choosing violence every single day, but he made you not care! *fun fact - his character's name is Badz here

So, yeah. It's Mond. Khaotung makes everyone cry around him. Gun makes everyone shippable with him. And Mond makes unhinged god work for him.

Does that power lie in his big brown eyes? His beautiful plump lips? His earth shattering abs? I have no clue, but as six people wrote in the tags for my last post - #I NEED (HIS CHARACTERS) IN A WAY THAT IS CONCERNING TO FEMINISM

This man got me all the way fucked up.

And I like it.

[vampi-fixx]

claim

genshin impact | werewolf!childe x reader

prompt: werewolf + knotting/breeding

summary: childe has been acting strange lately. clingy, possessive--not to mention, his insatiable sexual appetite. a sparring match goes wrong and it turns out your fatui lover may have more secrets up his sleeve than you had imagined... 

word count: 5.9k jfc

tw/cw: 18+ only, afab reader, knotting, breeding, impregnation kink, marking, hickeys, masturbation, talk of having children.

--author’s note: sorry this took me an ungodly amount of time to finish! i have been struggling with it for over a month. special thank you to all my friends who i forced to read this and give me feedback on teehee ahem cough y’all know who you are @honey-oak​ @universal-imagines​ @moonsickcafe​

–

The thing is, he’s different.

“Oolong, when subject to a heavy roast, produces an intense, powerful taste, balanced by light floral notes… a complex and balanced flavor. In my days, I’ve sampled many an oolong tea…”

You nod out of respect, even as your mind is wandering. Zhongli was the one who invited you to Heyu Tea House to thank you for your help in introducing several clients to his consulting services. Of course, you didn’t refuse. It seemed a lovely chance to catch up with a friend, and to distract yourself from your ginger-haired companion’s strange behavior.

Yet now instead of relaxing, your thoughts are consumed by him.

You can’t quite put your finger on how. If Tartaglia could be described with one word, it certainly would not be predictable. The man seems open, affable, but it’s all surface-level–he has enough secrets to keep you on your toes, should you get swept into his tides.

Ever since he returned to Liyue after calling off a Fatui mission, though, his behavior’s been... strange. Even for him.

“The boldest taste, however, comes from the leaves found in Jueyun Karst. They have a distinct minerality… almost like Scotch…”

His manner is still jovial, teasing… but his words are sharper now, like the jagged edge of a claw. Like he’s laughing at some kind of joke that only he knows. That same toothy grin he always sports seems more menacing than boyish. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off you. A hand on your back, around your waist–his touches have gotten more outlandish, his hands straying to your ass, your breasts, even in public. You’ve had to smack his hands away more than once.

And the sex, Archon’s above, the sex.

It’s downright animalistic. Him grunting above you, his hips snap snap snapping against yours. He’d left bruises in the shape of his fingertips from how hard he was gripping you, telling you fuck, Tsaritsa above, you’re tight, so fucking wet. And the dirty talk.

You’d never before entertained the thought of children, but the way Tartaglia could spin the most lewd fantasies from his smart mouth (“Wanna be a stay at home mom for me, hm? Want me to just fill you and fuck you till you’re practically begging me to knock you up every second?”)

“One can’t forget the oolong cultivated in Qingce village… They possess a powerful, roasted character… an entirely different flavor from the ones typically seen in Liyue…”

Not to mention, the one time he growled into your neck during sex, sounding less human and more animal,

“You’re mine.”

And the way he laughed it off when you asked him what the fuck that meant. Because even if it was one of the most explosive orgasms you’ve ever had (“Comrade, really! You don’t have to flatter me so,” he said, grinning from ear-to-ear once he noticed your legs wobble as you tried to stand. He caught you  before you fell, of course; he always did), you weren’t an object, a toy.

A possession. His possession. 

You can only assume the way he brushed it off meant he thought otherwise.

Every attempt at getting to the root cause of his behavior left you even more confused, though.

“Whatever are you talking about, comrade?” he would say. “Isn’t it normal to be excited to see my lover after such a long time apart? Aren’t you flattered that I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you?”

“I believe the tea served at Heyu Tea House is sourced directly from Mt. Tiansheng… That would explain the crisp, refreshing quality to the tea we’re tasting now.”

Like the Hydro element he was gifted with, Tartaglia could sway the tides of the convo any way he preferred. Trying to get to the truth of things would only leave you more frustrated.

Your last hope then is patience. Tartaglia after all,  is anything but good at keeping secrets. While he had many, he can’t help but drop hints every now and then, as if enticing you to guess upon the truth of them all.

Zhongli’s keen gaze captures your attention, and it’s then that you realize you’ve been blatantly zoning out in the middle of conversation. You shift, muttering out a quick apology. He clears his throat meaningfully before continuing. “But enough about my extensive knowledge of tea. Tell me, how have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been… fine. Alright.”

He stares at you pointedly. You get the sense that he is treading carefully. “And in regards to your… romantic endeavors?”

You raise a brow at the question, having hardly expected it from Zhongli of all people. “Romantic…?” Then it hits you. “Oh, do you mean Childe?”

Zhongli nods, sipping his tea.

“Wait…” Your brow furrows. “How did you know... ?”

"Ah. Well. Ahem. Word gets around.”

You glance at him suspiciously.

Zhongli glances pointedly at your neck, and that’s when you realize the hickey Tartaglia had left on you last night is visible. You flush, adjusting your collar to hide it.

“I may have been privy to certain… sounds during my last business trip to Wangsheng Inn.”

You stare at him uncomprehendingly until he clears his throat. That’s when you realize. The first night Tartaglia came back, he booked a room at the inn. Then he proceeded to bend you over in various positions on damn near every surface. The two of you ended up breaking more than a few furniture items, to which Childe flashed his not-insignificant collection of Mora to the receptionist.

"Oh... oh no. No. Zhongli, please don’t tell me you heard us.”

He takes a sip of his tea again. His silence is answer enough.

You nearly smack your head on the table. The fact that Zhongli knows you’re fucking the Harbringer… the fact that he heard you two. That others had. You can imagine no less embarrassing situation. Maybe if you fell off the top of Mt. Hulao, no one would be able to whisper behind your back about the shameless harlot traveler…

“He asked about you, as soon as he arrived in town. Childe.”

“He... asks about me?” you say, surprised.

Zhongli’s brows arch. “Yes. Often. Annoyingly so.”

Tartaglia’s mysterious way of showing up exactly where you were at the most inopportune moments is apparently because he had informants around town. “Sorry about that, Zhongli–”

“Ah, Mr. Zhongli! I see you’re getting well-acquainted with my friend here.”

Speak of the devil.

“Childe!”

“Hey there,” he says. He immediately makes his way to you, crossing his arms against your chair. Close. Extremely close. You can feel his gloved hand brush against your shoulder. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

“I told you I was seeing a friend today.”

“A friend, yes. You didn’t mention it was Mr. Zhongli,” he clarifies, and there’s a peculiar note to his voice.

You’re certainly not… imagining the hint of accusation in his words, are you?  

“Ah, Childe. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice seeing you again too, Mr. Zhongli. Hope I’m not crashing the party,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. You notice Zhongli’s gaze dart to it briefly.

“We were just having some tea. Discussing matters.”

“Really? It looks delicious,” he says good-naturedly. “I’d love to try some.”

“I’ll flag down a waiter for you,” Zhongli offers.

“Nonsense. I have the perfect solution.” Tartaglia reaches for your cup, but you grab it just in time. He frowns, and triumphant, you take a sip. But you miss the devious look in his face.

When you try to set the cup down, he leans in. Surprised, you nearly gag on the tea. But he persists, leaning until his lips are pressed firmly against yours. You gasp, and some of the tea overflows from your mouth, flowing into his. He swallows the tea greedily, until you shove him in the chest. You sit back in your seat, face flushed. Zhongli coughs.

“Too bitter for my taste! Certainly could be sweeter,” Tartaglia concludes.

“Y-You--I--” You  rub your lips furiously.

“Well,” he purses his lips. “I’m sure (Y/N) added some sweetness to it already~”

Zhongli clears his throat meaningfully. “Curious.”

“Childe, I’m going to end you–” you start, before he interrupts by dropping several Mora onto the table.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Zhongli. It’s my treat. Come now,” he says, grasping your arm. “Murderous rage is the perfect motivation for a fine battle. And I think you owe me a spar.”

–

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand once the two of you are away enough from the tea house. You made sure to duck into an alley to avoid the hoards of passerby, halting him in his tracks.

He shrugs, uncaring.

“Seriously. That was embarrassing! In front of Zhongli too.”

“It’s not like he doesn’t know. He keeps tabs on nearly everything in Liyue,” Tartaglia says airily. Unaffected.

You give him a death glare. “Oh yeah. He knows all right. Says the whole damn country heard us the other night.”

A triumphant grin tugs at his face. Pride rings in his voice. “Yeah? I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

You jab his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

He grasps your hand, curling the fingers in. His gaze intense, cocky. “But you like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“You enjoy it,” he persists, brow furrowing. “You enjoy me--”

“Debatable.”

“Hah.” He cocks a brow. “Debatable? That’s not what your screaming from last night said--”

"Ahem,” you interrupt, shushing him as someone walks by. He raises a brow, but says nothing. “Didn’t you say I owed you a spar?"

He brightens up instantly, like a child who was just delivered a gift. It’s ridiculous. You have to remind yourself that Tartaglia’s first true love after all, has always been and will always be fighting.

“You did! I’m glad you didn’t forget, comrade. I’ve been looking forward to it. I know a perfect spot in Mingyun Village--”

“Is that why you dragged me away from my date?” you ask even as you follow him.

His laughter dies down. He stops suddenly, glancing at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. I dragged you away from Mr. Zhongli because I don’t like the way he looks at you. You’re mine.”

“I’m not an object, you know that?” you say, frustrated. “Not some kind of weapon you can claim, master.”

“Of course you’re not,” Tartaglia says. “But when I say you’re mine, I mean you belong only to me.”

The certainty in his voice sends you shivers.

He brightens up suddenly though. “Now come! We’re almost there.” He grips your hand tighter, walking quicker now. You notice his hand is hot, the heat seeping through the thin material of his gloves. Almost like you’re touching a furnace. Playing with fire. 

—

Whatever ailment has afflicted Tartaglia, it certainly hasn’t dampened his fighting spirit. In fact, he’s particularly vicious today. There’s a fire in his eyes with every blow that lands against yours. With inhuman speed, he’s quick to strike, catching you by surprise with an underhanded move. One second, you’re upright, and the next you’re lying flat on your back, his knees caging both sides of your body, his Hydro-infused sword pressed against the side of your neck.

“I win.”

“N-Not fair! When did you get so fast?”

“Life isn’t fair, comrade,” he says, grinning. You blink. For a second, you were almost certain his teeth seemed sharper somehow, the tips of his canines glinting in the light.

It must be your imagination.

He helps you up after his victory, but you decide you’ll also play underhanded. You grasp his hand, taking advantage of his lack of balance. Then you’re the one pinning him to the ground, sword inches before his throat.

“Neither is love~”

Tartaglia’s eyes narrow.

You’re certain he’s going to make a move. A counterattack. He is after all, not one to quit until you two are roughed up and dirtied. Until neither of you can put a fight any longer.

You’re hardly expecting his next move.

He tugs you forward by your shirt collar with inhuman strength. You yelp. And then he’s crashing his face against yours, his lips meeting yours in a battle for dominance.

His kiss is rough, demanding. Like he wants to swallow the very fibers of you up. Like he wants to eat you up. Something sharp prods your lower lip and you recoil at the iron tang of blood.

When did his teeth get that sharp?

You frown, but he takes the chance to lap at your lower lip, sucking on it as if soothingly.

He’s fevered.  

Literally. His forehead against yours running hot.

Tartaglia feels like he’s burning up.

You push him away, gasping. His lips are stained with your blood. Despite the sight, your gaze is drawn upwards, where something orange twitches behind his hair.

What the...

Atop Tartaglia’s head are two fuzzy triangular ears. In the shape of a canine’s ears.

“What the fuck?”

--

The thing is, it makes sense.

His lust for fighting, his unruffled manner. The way he likes to bring out his teeth in the bedroom, nipping you in the neck when you said something particularly amusing. (The one time he drew blood and you got pissed.) The gleam of his canines when he grins. (Too sharp to be human.) The feral glint in his eyes that promises nothing but pain--whether in response to someone stealing away your attention, or a worthy opponent.

Tartaglia being a werewolf is the answer you would have never guessed, but in hindsight, the pieces fit together.

His features are sharper, more distinct. His canines pointed, his gaze sharp, his tail--he had a tail, dear god--ramrod straight. Hovering over you, he stares at you wide-eyed.

“You’re a--”

His ears twitch. “Well, I suppose you could call this a… hairy surprise.”

“You’re a furry? Seriously? That’s your big secret?”

“I--” He pauses. “Not… really? I’m a werewolf. You’re…” He cocks his head to the side. “Not surprised like I thought you would be.”

“You could’ve just said you were a furry,” you exclaim. “Not exactly rare around these parts. That would explain a lot!”

He blinks. “Come now, you can’t tell me you’re not even a smidge surprised?”

You raise a brow at him.

“You do act like a dog. So… not really.”

He laughs. You notice movement from the corner of your eye, and see his tail wagging. You gesture him to move off, and he does so reluctantly. Seated across from each other, you scrutinize him.

“So this is why you’re so eager to fight me?”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “When it’s that time of the month, fighting gives me a burst of energy I’m just itching to burn off.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod slowly.

Now that you think about it, you suppose that yes, there is always a certain time of the month where Tartaglia vanishes. You never stopped to question why or how, always assuming he had top secret back-to-back Fatui missions.

Never did you imagine that the cause of his absence would be a monthly transformation.

“Were you…” He perks up. “Were you always a werewolf? Did it happen recently?”

He hums. “Hmm, no. The Abyss is a strange place. You never know how it’ll affect you.”  

You nod. While you saw his Foul Legacy Transformation before, never did you think he had this other transformation as well. “What other changes do you undergo? I see you’re all… furried up.”

“Teeth, claws. I get an insatiable craving for raw meat... fighting… fucking.” You cough at the last word. He glances at you slyly, before letting out a bark of a laugh. “I’m not that different! I’m still me.”

Fucking, huh? That... that makes sense. You feel your cheeks heat up as you remember just how many amorous encounters the two of you had the past few days. He catches the movement, grinning. 

“Truthfully comrade… With you before me, all sweaty like this? I’m not sure I can hold back.”

Before you know it, Tartaglia surges forward. Your hands come out to support yourself from falling. His knees cage you, his face mere inches from yours, his hands planted onto the ground beneath you. Trapping you in place.

He gazes at you slyly, resting his chin on your chest. He inhales deeply, his ears twitching.  

He nips your collarbone, one arm coming back to grasp you, drawing you into him. Your arms are grateful for the relief, clinging to him. Then you’re in his lap, keenly aware of Tartaglia’s hungry expression staring up at you.

“But I,” He laughs. “I don’t even think you want me to hold back.”

His hands come up to cup your breasts through your shirt, squeezing roughly. He seems to grow frustrated with the material in his way though.

He rips through your shirt suddenly with a sharpened claw. You yelp, smacking his shoulder. He laughs heartily, before cupping your breasts with his bare hands.

“You’re s-so obsessed with these,” you mutter.

“Can you blame me? These are perfect. Soft and round.” He sighs. “They’d look even better, full with milk.”

He leans down, his teeth grazing a nipple. You shiver. “W-What the hell, Childe?”

He shrugs. It would be a lie to say you aren’t affected by his smart, dirty mouth. Heat simmers low in your abdomen. The thought of Childe knocking you up… of claiming you as his, of imprinting himself on you.

He laughs again. “I can smell you, you know?” He taps his nose. “Wolf senses. I think you like that idea more than you let on. I’m glad. I like it, too.”

“I…” His voice lowers. “Would love nothing more than to fuck you until you’re heavy with my child.”

The intensity of his gaze, the assurance of his promise, the gravelly quality to his tone–they all have you rubbing your thighs together, hoping vainly to get some kind of relief.

His hand trails down to the hem of your pants. He tugs at them roughly before his claw slices through the thin material of your panties.

“H-Hey! Childe, what the hell. I actually like that pair.”

“Ngh, I’ll buy you new ones later. I just wanna feel you… fuck, you’re soaked.”

Tartaglia is smart enough to not stick his claws inside you, instead using the back of his index and third fingers to rub against your clit. You shudder. While usually it wouldn’t be enough to get you off, combined with his panting against your neck, his hips rutting up into you, his hand rubbing your nipple. It’s all too much. You keel forward, a gasp of his name ripping from your throat as your walls contract around nothing.

Tartaglia continues to rub you through your orgasm, even as pinpricks of sensitivity have you shaking above him, begging him to stop. Finally, mercifully, his hand leaves you. He brings it up to his mouth, inhaling deeply before lapping at the juices smeared on his fingers.  

“Fuck, comrade, that was hot.”

You’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, pressing insistently against him. Wanting to repay him back in some way. Sitting atop his thighs, you grow more and more aware of his burgeoning need pressing up against you, and when you break the kiss, glancing down, you’re not surprised to see his heavy erection straining the front of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, breathless.

Tartaglia cracks a wicked grin. “You minx. Of course we can–”

He stills suddenly. Glancing to his right, the both of you catch sight of an unsuspecting villager, who immediately drops his basket of grains after catching sight of the two of you. You are sure you pose more of an indecent sight, your shirt and pants torn, your skin exposed. Tartaglia holds you to him, attempting to hide you from his gaze.

“I–I’m sorry!”

“Nothing to see here, old man,” Tartaglia says testily. “Keep moving.”

After he leaves, he turns to you. “Now, where were we–”

“Where were we? What do you mean? The mood is ruined!”

Now not only did everyone at Liyue Harbor know you were a harlot, but so did a poor, unsuspecting elderly man from the countryside.

–

It’s not that you consider yourself a prude, per se. It’s that you’re trying to build up your reputation in Liyue, and these risque debacles really are making you look bad. Who can blame you though—you need to unlock those merchant discounts! Groceries nowadays are so expensive.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways, as you make your way back to your teapot, the sun having set in the horizon.

Tartaglia moaned and griped about getting blue-balled, but you told him he could wait until you two had a proper room and bed before getting frisky. You can’t risk any more rumors flying around. You sent him away on so you could finish doing your quests around Liyue.

The sight that you find at your teapot though, is not expected at all.

“Mngh, fuck, comrade. Fuck. So tight.”

“Are you… are you humping my pillows?” you ask, incredulous.

Tartaglia stutters your name out, voice pitching higher at the end. He’s kneeling on your bed, pants and shirt off, rutting into what seems like a pile of your pillows.

Your jaw drops. You take a minute to admire the sight afforded to you; it’s a rare opportunity for you to bask in the view: the hard muscles of his back tensing, the constellation of scars rippling with every thrust of his hips forward.

He’s still fucking your bed.

“Are you humping my pillows while I’m talking to you?” you repeat.

Tartaglia lets out something close to a whine.

“Mmh–yes? N-No? Y-Yes!”

You make your way closer. Sweat beads on his forehead, drips down his chest. Tartaglia’s biting down on his lip, his cheeks flushed. He jerks his hips into the pillows, driving his cock in and out in stilted motions, almost as if he can’t help himself. As if he can’t control his body.

Suddenly, you remember his words from earlier.

“Comrade, please… Are you really going to leave me blue-balled like this?”

An ounce of guilt registers in you.

“Are you okay? You seem kind of out of it.”

He gasps out an unconvincing yes. The closer you look, the more you can see the sheen of something sticky dripping down his abdomen, all over your sheets. With a start you realize it’s coming from him.

You swallow roughly, suddenly aware of just how packed the room is with the smell of his musk.

“How long have you been uh, doing this?” You gesture to him.

He grunts. “Since our last encounter.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? That was hours ago.”

Tartaglia gives you a shaky smile. “S-Seems I can’t help myself. S-Sorry…”

You stare uncomprehendingly.

Has Childe been jerking it in your room for hours? Is this… was this normal?

“You look like you could use a hand. Or… two.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think twice.

“Yes.” Tartaglia nearly jumps at the suggestion, freeing his cock from the makeshift pillow fucktoy he made.  His cock points stiffly towards his stomach, the tip near purple, twitching and drooling with his spend.

You blink several times. You can’t say for certain, but it seems bigger than last time you remember it. And Tartaglia’s cock was already menacing enough for a human’s.

Your eyes glance upwards at his ears.

Correction. His cock was menacing enough to be a werewolf’s.

Your hand circles his cock tentatively. Tartaglia hisses, bucks into your fist.  To your surprise, you can barely wrap your hand around the width of him. Definitely bigger.

Your hand thumbs the tip, and he gasps, hand fucking into your fist. And more sensitive.

You continue to stroke him, although it would be a stretch to say you’re doing most of the work—Tartaglia seems bent on fucking into anything that he can, thrusting into your fist with intention. It takes only a few pumps for him to hiss loudly, his cum coating your hand. He mutters out an apology, his hips still jerking into your hand.

Certainly, you think, he should be satiated by now. The amount he came not insignificant.

But to your surprise, his cock still throbs in your grasp, as hard as it was when you started.

“Does this–is this like a wolf thing?” you ask him.

“Ngh, comrade, I may have neglected to mention something important.”

You nod, urging him to continue.

“My transformation usually occurs only under the night of a full moon. But this time… it’s not.” He scratches the back of his head. “And the reason why is…”

“Because of my rut.”

You blink uncomprehendingly.

“Uh, like a creative rut?”

Tartaglia’s hand falls. He points at his cock, still hard in your grasp.

“Like a… a horny rut, comrade,” he says drily.

“...Oh.”

“I get an insatiable urge to fuck. Nothing else can make up for it. My hand, your hand, this pillow…”

“Fighting doesn’t help?” you ask, remembering his earlier words.

He chuckles lowly, expression grim. “Fighting, for once, doesn’t help.”

You hum, nodding thoughtfully. A thought occurs to you at the feel of your hand covered in his seed, and you release his cock. Maintaining eye contact with him, you bring your hand to your mouth, before licking his spend on your finger. Tartaglia inhales deeply, his gaze darkening as it hones in on your tongue disappearing back into your mouth.

“What can I do to help?” you ask, looking up at him from your lashes. Knowing full well the answer.

“I need to…” His brows furrow, hesitating on his next words. “I need to breed something, comrade.”

“Something? Or someone?”

Tartaglia arches a brow. “Come now. Don’t be silly, comrade. There’s a chance–a real chance-that I might hurt you this time,” he says, flexing a clawed hand.

He looks away, rubs a hand over his mouth.  “I just–ngh. When it comes to you, I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold back.”

“Then don’t. I’m not made of glass, you know. I’m not going to break every time you reveal some weird secret of yours. Or try to… put some primal, wolfy claim on me.”

He blinks slowly.

“Primal, wolfy claim, huh,” he repeats. A roguish grin stretches across his face, highlighting his canines.

Then before you know it, he’s grasped you by the waist, and thrown you onto the bed. You have barely a chance to catch your breath before Tartaglia’s form looms over you, caging you to the bed.

“And what if I were to claim you, comrade, hm? What then?” he asks, all toothy-smiled. He grasps your hand, brings it up to his lips. A sharp canine pokes through his lip, nicking your wrist. You flinch. Tartaglia makes sure your eyes are on him as his tongue traces over the cut, lapping up the drops of blood.

“Soulmates and bonds for life are a thing of fiction,” he says once he’s finished. “Real wolves though…” He licks his lips, his voice dropping an octave. “We see something we like, we stake our claim.”

“It’s… it’s like peeing on me,” you mutter despondently, glancing away. Trying in vain to ignore how the action had your heart racing, heat collecting between your thighs.

He laughs, a full-chested, booming sound. Clearly seeing through your act. “Oh, no no. Nothing at all like that. It’s more like claiming you fully. Spirit, mind…”

“And body,” he says, flipping you onto your stomach. You yelp. Tartaglia positions his cock at your back entrance.

“Woah woah… we’re not even gonna take off my clothes here?”

He snorts, before yanking at your pants. The buttons go flying, and you squeak. He pulls it down to your knees, not even completely off. Too impatient to be inside you. Then his claws rip through your second pair of panties for the day.

His cock nudges the cleft of your ass cheeks.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod.

His teeth graze your shoulder, and you flinch. You didn’t think he meant ready for the mark. He bites down and you steel yourself. Only to relax. It feels like nothing more than a regular hickey.

“Wha–”

“Ha! Jokes on you. That’s for earlier.”

“What the hell, Childe–”

He enters you in one thrust. The stretch is instant, an intense burn. Tartaglia is big, he always has been. You haven’t been prepped nearly enough. Your nails dig into the bedsheets, threatening to rip the material. His precome helps ease the burn a tad, but you’re still wincing, shifting to adjust to his intrusion.

Tartaglia on the other hand lets out a broken moan. He throbs inside you, his hands falling to either side of your head to brace himself. His claws do in fact dig into the material of your sheets, tearing holes into it.  

“Say when,” he grits out.

You call out his name, and it’s like something snaps inside him. He drags his cock out of you, and you sigh in momentary relief. But then he’s slamming back into you, and you gasp, the breath knocked out of you. Then he’s pummeling into you. Each rough thrust has his balls smacking against the curve of your ass, his hips digging deeper into yours, as if to carve out a space inside you, suited just for his cock. He props himself up on one hand, the other grasping the curve of your hip, anchoring himself to thrust even deeper.

It’s not making love. It’s a claiming.

Tartaglia is loud, more vocal than he’s ever been. He’s gasping and grunting, moaning brokenly about how fucking good you feel, so tight, so warm, so wet, the perfect sleeve for his cock. His hips snapsnapsnapping against yours.

You feel like little more than his cock sleeve, truthfully. A means for him to get off. Yet the thought has you arching your back for him more, clenching around him. You wanna be his personal sex toy, waiting pretty and supple at home for him.

You reach for his free hand digging into the sheets, untangling his hand. Then you bring it to your stomach, where he gets the hint, clutching possessively.

“You want a full litter of my pups?” he grunts. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you. Want you nice and swollen for me, want you—ngh—all round and plump for me.”

You mewl, and Tartaglia’s hand curls around your abdomen, his thrusts increasing in their power. He slams into you, deep enough that you’re sure the sheer force of his hips will leave bruises on your ass, and you moan.

“Gonna fill you up over and over again, right? That’s what you want?”

His hand on your hip squeezes appreciatively, as if imagining his own fantasy come to fruition. Your belly, full with his child. Your hips, filled out.

“You’ll be waiting at home for me.” He chuckles. “With all our kids.”

“Oh, I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he says, noticing your trembling.

“You said you wanted a treat, right?” His breathing is harsher now, his breath coming in pants. He lifts you onto his lap, dropping you onto his cock.  “Then take—this,”  he says, thrusting up into you. His cum pours into you, and you gasp at the feel. Strangely hot, much warmer than it typically is.

He’s still inside you, rutting against you, still not completely soft.

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re not done?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

Tartaglia grinds his hip against yours purposefully. His cock feels even bigger now, like this. Almost as if it’s engorged. With a start you realizing that isn’this balls slapping against you, but something else. Something–

“Is that–” Your eyes widen. “Is that a knot?”

“Mmf, yes.”

Anxiety creeps into you. “N-No way.” He was already gifted down there. Add in the thick bulbous knot you felt brushing against your asshole? Archons above.

“You better at least use lube, Childe!”

“Now why would I do that, comrade? When I—ngh, have this instead?” he says. His hand steadies your hip as he begins fucking into you again. His cum makes a thick slapping sound every time he thrusts into you, some of it even sloshing out.

“W-Wait–”

He surges forward, burying his cock inside you, knot and all. You gasp, grasping onto his forearms. The stretch is even more intense. You feel as if you might burst apart at the seams. Tartaglia at least is content to grind against you, his breathy moans a clear sign of his enjoyment.  It’s too much though. You need some space, to not feel so hopelessly full. You gasp as you try to move away and find yourself stuck. His knot fully inflated, it catches onto your walls.

He groans. “Mm, not a wise choice, babe”

“You–you jerk. Did I say you could knot me?”

“Come now, comrade,” he laughs, starting up his thrusts again. You squirm as you feel the movement sloshing his  cum around inside you. “I thought you said you wanted it? A litter of my pups. A family of twelve, me and you.”

The idea has you shivering. The image of Tartaglia cradling your swollen belly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, filling you over and over again. You do want it. You want to be nothing more than his.

He’s pumping his hips now, the wet squelch of your combined fluids a symphony to his lewd words. “Gonna fill you up over and over again. Heh. Use you as my own breeding grounds. I bet you’d like that. I’ll have to leave for Fatui missions,” he says, his pause punctuated by his hips digging into yours cruelly. You mewl out his name, and he smirks, digging his teeth into your shoulder as warning. “But you know I’d rather be buried inside you.”

You yelp in pain and he soothes the bite with his tongue. His gaze is trained on the stringy residue of your lovemaking sticking to his thighs.

“Every time you empty out, I  gotta keep filling you back up over and over again.”

He positions you forwards, onto your hands and knees, as he mounts you from behind. He gasps at the new angle, one leg propped up as he jackhammers into you. One hand on your breast, the other clutching the give of your stomach.

“Ngh, you’d really be perfect to carry my kids. So soft, so round. I’ll give you a nice litter of pups to take care of.”

“You and your damn talk about kids…” you gasp out, tightening around him.

“Ngh… c-cumming,” he says. And then he bites down on you, his canines digging into you. Hard. You feel the sting of pain. Blood pools down your shoulder.

“Ouch!”

“S-Sowwy,” he says, teeth muffled against you. “Hab to make sure it’s deep enouph.”

You’re not sure what to focus on more–the pain of the bite, soothed mildly by his tongue, or the feel of his cum oozing out between you two. The latter eventually wins out. You grimace, smacking him.  

“If I get knocked up after this, you’re paying for all the child support.”

He releases your shoulder, laughs. “You know I would!”

“Besides,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. Resting his forehead against yours and sending you a a smile. “We’ll be together forever. And can you imagine a worse fate?”

[inkblot22]

Can You Keep A Little Secret?

JFC this took me longer than usual I'm so sorry anon. I sort of explained it before, but I didn't exactly use your prompt, based on ineptitude on my part. After I finish reading Oshi no Ko, I might try again! Line divider by @/cafekitsune.

This fic is aimed towards sort of everyone, but the reader possesses afab features (they don't come into play until later, this chapter has no mention of them.) You'll understand what I mean by it being for everyone if you read the first paragraph or so. It has to do with suspending your belief/ employing your imagination.

TW for: lots of confusion, semi-shy reader, creep behavior, mention of death, mention of lobotomy/grippy sock jail, reincarnation. These warnings will get worse, and this takes place when all characters are 18+.

Waking up was never your favorite part of the day, but that feeling increases tenfold when you wake up in someone else’s body. You know for sure you didn’t look like this last week, and the name on your ID is similar to your own, but you don’t recognize the face in the mirror. Whoever you’re inhabiting has a few similar features to your own, but your skin was never this dewy, your eyes never so… hollow and strange. 

When you looked up your name, you found out that you, or your body, at least, had died in your sleep. When you looked up the name on that ID, you found out that you’re the child of some big business man and a prolific model, and you apparently dabble in acting. Your dad isn’t your dad, but he calls you every night to make sure you’re settling into your “new” apartment. Your mom isn’t your mom, but she has popped by once or twice to ask you how you’ve been and make you really good food. She mentioned last night that your acting instructor was worried, since you hadn’t attended your Thursday classes, and also that your agent has been trying to contact you. You didn’t know you had an agent.

When you called your agent, who was literally just titled “Agent” in your new phone, she sounded relieved then irritated, chiding you for living the high life too fast. She said you weren’t popular or loved enough to go on week-long benders, and then she mentioned that she had a job for you and she’d see you on Thursday. According to this phone that isn’t yours, Thursday was tomorrow. 

You made a night of getting prepared- slathering on the fancy face masks, trying on various outfits, scrolling through the pictures on the phone of your new body in the past, painting your really gorgeous nails- and then you went to sleep and woke up to a phone call from your new dad. 

“Hi, sweetheart!”

“Uh… hi, Dad…” You mumbled. You didn’t know him from Adam, but there was no point in being rude to him.

He pauses, and then he speaks slowly, “Did you hear from your agent, honey?”

“Yeah- yeah I did, uh, I have acting class in a little, and she said she has a job for me.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it! You know you can always visit me if something is wrong, okay? Just call me or Devin and he’ll come get you as soon as possible.”

You don’t know who Devin is, but you don’t point it out, “Of course. Thank you, dad.”

There was another pause. This one stretches out for a while and then he mumbles, “Okay… love you, sweetpea.”

“Uh… love you too. I’ll call you when I get back home?”

“Sure thing. Bye bye.”

The call ends with a click and you hop in the shower, trying to scrub away the confusion. You pair the lotion with a body spray that makes you smell like a summer afternoon in an apple orchard, and then you dress yourself in a soft off the shoulder sweater dress with a pair of tights with little sequins and gems sewn onto the sheer black material. You pull your hair back, tied at the nape of your neck, and roll on some lip gloss. You grab your bag, which isn’t your bag, and stroll out, walking down the street to get to the talent agency.

The receptionist looks at you in some measure of shock and greets you kindly. You smile and wave. He looks even more confused as you clomp into the stairwell. Once you get to the third floor, mildly out of breath, you hurry to room 3-5 and silently slide into the back.

You’re not sure why you’re acting so covert, as the class hasn’t even started. A woman with dark hair strolls in and flinches when she sees you sitting there, your new name tumbling from her lips with confusion.

“Hello.” You hope that she’s the instructor, “How are you?”

She looks at you like you grew two heads and forces a smile, “Oh, I’m well, dear. Give me a moment to look outside.”

She clicks to the window in her heels and opens the blinds looking around wildly before she turns back to you.

“Well, nothing’s on fire and there’s a distinct lack of flying pigs, so I guess you’re finally serious about getting better at acting?” 

“Uh… I…?” You don’t know how to respond, “I didn’t realize I’d been late so often.”

“Late? Half the time you didn’t even show up. The only person worse than you is-”

The door behind you opens. You clench your hands to stop the shaking you just realized you were struggling with, and turn slightly in your seat to see a willowy young man, tousled lavender hair being haphazardly smoothed by his slender hands.

The instructor snorts, “Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Felmier.”

He smiles, but it’s a bit too calculated. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost artificial, “Ah ha… Good morning, Angie.”

Angie, evidently, rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the front of the room, crossing her long legs, and tilts her head skeptically, “Sure. If a satellite doesn’t crash in this room and kill us all in the middle of class, I’ll be shocked.”

“Mr. Felmier” walks over and smiles at you. It seems even more strained than before, and keeps eye contact with you as he points to the chair next to you, his voice high and sweet, “Mind if I sit here?”

“Oh, of course not. I don’t own that chair, haha!” You joke. 

His face twitches, some micro expression that you’re just observant enough to notice, but not to see, and he takes a seat. Angie gets up and leaves and you look out the window. You can feel eyes on you, and when you turn to look at him, his face is impassive save for a slight narrowing of his eyes. You look down at yourself and pat your cheeks, suddenly nervous.

“Oh, no, is there something on me?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, his eyes blinking so fast that if he hadn’t done it twice you would have never seen the movement, and then he gives you that sweet, plastic smile, “Oh, no. Your makeup is different than usual. It looks nice. Pretty.”

“I- I’m only wearing lipgloss, so I guess that’s why. Thank you.”

He nods slowly, and tilts his head, still smiling as though he’s trained to do so, “After we’re done here, did you want to go get brunch together?”

You’re about to say no. You don’t remember him, because this is not your life you’re living, but if you did know him, you’d decline anyway. Something feels funny about him. You don’t really have to decline, though, since you have to go down to floor 2 and see your agent afterwards anyway, “Oh, uh, I’m so sorry. I have to do something after.”

“I can wait.”

“I don’t want to put you out. Maybe another time?”

His eyebrows pinch together ever so slightly and his smile doesn’t strain, but it feels wrong as he leans his elbow on the back of his chair to better face you, “Did you hear the news from Mirelle?”

“What news?” You don’t know who Mirelle is.

“Oh, you’re meeting with her afterwards, aren’t you?” He smooths the hair along your temple so it is slicked behind your ear, “Are you wearing that perfume I got you? You said you hated it.”

Okay, so whoevers body this was definitely knew this man, and now you don’t even know his full name. Judging from the way he’s speaking to you, you were friends at least. Your lashes flutter and you look away from him.

“I- I’m sorry. It smells very nice.” You don’t know how you’re supposed to be acting. The irony of waiting for an acting class while not knowing what your role here happens to be is not lost on you.

Felmier sits up like you insulted him and his voice is quiet, so quiet and tense that you don’t think you’re supposed to hear him, “Interesting.” 

You glance at him again, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything. You like that bagel place down the street, don’t you? After you see Mirelle, meet me in the lobby. I think we should have a chat.” Although he is smiling, his voice doesn’t leave any room for argument as he turns back to the front. 

You stand up, leaving your purse in your seat, and walk to the window, looking out of it for a moment until Angie strolls back in. She clicks her tongue and you walk back to your seat.

“It’s just you two? Now I’m really expecting a freak accident. Well, let’s get started.”

Acting class was… interesting. Since it was just the three of you, Angie had you read lines from a script and act out some kind of argument. She seemed pleased with your performance, but Felmier kept stumbling over his lines and making the wrong expression. He seemed tense by the time the two hour long session was over. You didn’t want to follow that thread, and besides, you had somewhere to be. You went down the stairs again and bumped into a woman with silver hair, who looked at you just as confused as everyone else had been, and smiled sweetly, genuinely.

“Hey, you. You’re a bit early.” She says.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so? I don’t know.” You guessed this was supposed to be Mirelle, your agent, maybe. 

“It’s a good change, babe. Why don’t you come into my office?” She doesn’t really ask, since she’s already leading you over.

She takes a seat behind her desk and you take a seat in front of her, and she taps away at her computer for a moment before she says something.

“You remember Epel? Epel Felmier?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh? You ‘guess so’? Not that the two of you are constantly arguing, or anything.” She smirks, glancing away from her monitor to look at you, “Regardless, I’ve got something that will help with your little PR nightmare last month. What were you thinking?”

“Uh, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, but whatever she was thinking is ignored, “You and Epel are gonna be collaborating on an upcoming short film. Hopefully the two of you don’t get into another screaming match.”

“Um. Yeah. Hopefully.” All this new information and these new people are making your head spin. You don’t want to start panicking- you did enough of that last week- but you’re already exhausted. You wonder if there’s a back entrance to this building so you can just sneak out and don’t have to talk to Epel again. You don’t think you can mentally handle him talking to you over a cup of coffee.

Your agent, Mirelle, is looking at you expectantly, like she just said something. Your heart jumps into your throat, then sinks to your gut and you clear your throat quietly, shifting in your chair.

She laughs airily, “Oh, you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You shake your head, and she laughs again.

“I just said that production starts Monday. Try not to do anything crazy. This project is monumentally important for your public image.”

“Okay. Sorry for causing so much trouble in the past.” You mutter, standing up.

She shrugs with a happy little grin, “Oh, you’re young. Maybe you’ll grow out of it.”

You just nod. How are you supposed to even respond to that? If you get mad, you’ll probably get hysterical, and if you get hysterical, that is a one way ticket to a stay in grippy sock jail or a lobotomy. Rich people are different, and even though you’re living in some rich person’s body, you did not live this life for longer than a week. 

You purposely walk to the other staircase. Most buildings have two for fire safety. Your eyes water as you pause on the stairs and you sigh before you start descending them. 

Just as you get to the exit, your hand on the door, you hear a voice behind you, “Hey.”

It scares you out of your skin. You jump and spin and squawk, only to meet the wicked smile of Epel. It doesn’t reach his round blue eyes. He tilts his head from side to side, slowly, as if appraising you, and then he starts walking towards you and you push back against the door, opening it ever so slightly. He stops his motion and looks a tad surprised.

Then his eyes narrow, “Come back in.”

His voice sounds different, rougher. You don’t really want to, but it’s hot outside and you figure from all the odd looks and reactions you’ve gotten, running would be too erratic for this poor person’s life you’ve taken over. 

When you close the door and remain leaned against it, Epel’s face relaxes. You didn’t even realize he was making any sort of tense expression. He glances at the spandrel, the area beneath the stairs, and sighs.

“You hit your head last week? That why you were missin’?” Yeah, he’s speaking entirely differently. He has a sort of charming country twang to his voice, an underlying roughness that makes him seem even more boyish than before.

“Huh?”

“‘Huh?’” He mocks, looking back at you. He looks like he might cry, but his eyes are angry, “That all you got to say? For years you’ve told me that I don’t mean shit, and now you’re actin’ like you don’t even know me.”

He is right. You don’t know him at all. Even though you’re still in the cool building, you begin to sweat. You don’t know what to say to this without going through the experiences you’ve had in the past week, so you decide you don’t have to, especially since it seems like he may get aggressive if you say the wrong thing.

You lean hard against the aptly named panic bar, turn on your heel once outside, and take off running. It dawns on you a little late that he might be following, or, seven forbid, that he knows where you live, so you take a different route as dictated by your GPS and call your new father as soon as you get in the building.

It’s the middle of the work day, so he obviously doesn’t pick up. You unlock the apartment door and pant breathlessly, leaving a hasty voicemail, “O-oh, great seven- ugh- okay, hi, Dad. I told you I’d call you when I get home, so that’s what I’m doing. Hope I didn’t disrupt a meeting or whatever. Call me back, bye.”

You flop face down on the bed and groan, rolling onto your back as the ringtone that you would never choose goes off. In bold white letters on the screen, it says “Bumpkin Boy” with no other indication of who it might be. You pick up.

The voice on the other end sounds heated, a quiet mocking lilt to it, “Bet you went home, huh?”

Your blood runs cold and your very ability to speak is ripped from your lips.

“S’okay. You don’t have to talk. I could pay you a little visit, see what it’s like to live like a nepo baby for a day, but I think…” He pauses, and when he next speaks you hear the smile in his voice, “I think I’ll just wait for Monday, since you owe me a coffee date, don’t you?”

He hangs up after that. You stand up and double-check that you’ve locked the door before you hide in your closet and try not to start hyperventilating. You can’t even beat yourself up for this one. These circumstances are entirely out of your control.

[viburnt]

Takami K. (Hawks) || Public

Type: Reading bites

Genre: NSFW/Suggestive

Notes: Oh, God. Oh, fuck. I still don't know how to write sex, jfc. I'm practicing.

Characters involved: Takami Keigo (Hawks)

Prompt: “You smell so sweet”/ Public indecency

It would be a scandal if the number two pro-hero, Hawks, dated someone in public. It'd backlash, that's for sure; the media is known for its vicious bite once they manage to catch a prey.

Perhaps that's why Keigo is tangled up between your legs this morning, his hips erratically moving as he shoots one last load before getting ready for work.

—Fuck, baby, you have me shooting blanks!— The dirty blond hollers with a slight grunt, allowing himself to rest next to you.

You purr in content, feeling him cuddle against your naked torso in search of warmth.

—I guess it's true that birds are a very horny kind.— Keigo hears you tease as your hand gently moves away the hair from his sweaty forehead. —Now if only you took the boring part of your job as seriously as this.

—I don't wanna go to that fucking meeting.— The hero pouts, throwing a small fit.

—Can't do that, you have an interview. A deal's a deal, remember?

Yes, pro-hero Hawks doesn't date anyone in public, but he certainly plows his personal assistant in secret.

—Now, now, hop in the shower. I have to pick my suit for today.— You instruct, allowing Keigo a couple more seconds of laziness between the cotton sheets of your bed.

Stretching, Takami curses underneath his breath. He hated public interviews, and even though he was a sucker for the camera lenses, he hated having to leave the comfort of your body to go pose for the fans.

—Can you at least wear the blue one? The one that makes your chest pop out more.— He begs, finally leaving the bed to run the shower. —I like it, it's sexy as hell.

You rise a brow, but indulge into his petition.

—Alright, I guess. Anything else?

The blond's golden eyes scan the way your naked body waltzes from one corner of the room to the other, picking up all the necessary items to dress up.

—Say, is underwear really necessary?— Keigo's lips trail, testing the waters. It was common for him to slip a sly comment like that to gauge a reaction from you. —You know, we could always play a little while working.

And for the very first time, you decide to follow the flow.

—Oh, yeah? What kind of game, hmm? Gonna sneak a hand on my pocket?— Takami hears you say with a ribbing tone, his lips curling into a smirk as you continue. —Or perhaps you want to open that little new gadget I saw you buy a few nights before?

The blond raises his hands, much like a thief caught red-handed.

—Guilty as charged but, it's cheating if you peek at my Amazon account.— He blurts with a lazy side smile.

—Not really, specially not if you leave your account open on my laptop.— You laugh.

—Want to shower together? You know, save the planet, be eco-friendly.— Takami says, inviting you.

—We just had sex, though.

—Doesn't mean I can't grope your butt while I get clean.

…

—So, see this little remote here?— The hero says, shaking a black device between his fingertips. —If I feel like it, it'll vibrate just enough for you to cum.— He whispers into your ear.

You feel your heart beating hard inside your chest, biting your lip for a second as your eyes wandered to the many people in the studio.

—Alright, then I must be quiet while you play, huh? Wouldn't want anyone knowing your out here playing with me.

A grin splashed Keigo's face.

—Exactly! You catch on pretty fast, baby. Just sit nearby where my eyes can see you squirm.— He commands, sending a shiver down your spine.

The interview begins normally. You sit next to the cameras in a chair the staff provided. Keigo eye's you, waving his hand briefly.

—I also want to thank my lovely assistant for making this meeting happen, they work real hard every day!—

A camera lens quickly lands on you. The shocking sensation of the toy was, more or less, expected, but it still made you wriggle once it started. You just nodded your head, not wanting to draw much attention.

As the hero starts answering more questions, his fingers quickly shifted between speeds and patterns, edging your body up and down. He could see the way your hand tried to- unsuccessfully -hide the embarrassment on your face.

—Thank you so much for allowing us to interview you, Hawks! That's all for tonight's show, everyone, wonderful night!

The show wraps up.

Keigo waltzes up to you, helping you stand as your knees weaken. He leans closer for a second, taking a deep breath of your perfume.

—You smell so sweet… I wanna push my cock inside you again.— He mutters, earning a needy whimper from you.

—Please, just - take this off, I can't hold it any longer.— Takami hears you whine.

—Walk with me for a second, there must be a bathroom nearby.

Finding a private spot, Keigo leans your body against a wall and allows his hand to cross the limits of your clothing.

—Fuck, look at this, you are a mess.

In a swift movement, he lowered your pants enough to have access to your hole. He rubbed his clothed election against you, making you hiss.

—Say you want it.

—Please, please give it to me. Keigo, I need to cum...— You cry, feeling the toy still going on. —I feel like I'm going crazy, just put - fuck- put it in.

Plunging two fingers inside your drooly mouth and unbuckling his pants with the other, you feel his cock slowly pushing into you.

—Oh my fucking God.— The blond hissed, feeling you clamp around him as your climax was just next door. —You're so tight, Jesus Christ!

His pace is fast, messy, trying to give you as much as he can as quickly as possible. Besides the very slight buzz the toy produced, only his grunts and your heavy breathing could be heard.

—Want me to cum inside you? Just look at you, you're practically swallowing my cock effortlessly.

You roll your eyes behind your back as his free hand grabs your throat. The numbing sensation of your climax soon reaches you, milking the hero on the process.

Keigo likes this part of the job a bit more now.

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[acotarfrustrations]

An ongoing list of acowar grievances I'm keeping track of while I read (because there's too many to make a post about all of them)

1) Feyre's constant edginess. It's such a bizarre and ham-fisted shift in the voice of the character from the previous book. Too much tell, not enough show

2) "that they thought Rhysand could ever force someone . . . I added that to the long list of things to repay them for.".........lol OK girl

3) Feyre all of a sudden knowing how to use every power she has despite her very limited "training"

4) constant mention of Lucien and Elain's mating bond. Not only do I not give a damn, I REALLY wish it wasn't a thing all together

5) CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE IMPORTANCE OF THE MORTAL QUEENS TO ME? WHO TF EVEN ARE THEY?? It's so stupid that they don't get brought up until feyre is a fae like we have no clue the humans even have an overarching government until she's not human anymore. Why are they turning them Fae? What possible advantages can they grant the fae that they don't have already? How tf are there so many queens when the human territory is so small? For that matter, why tf is Hybern going to war over a tiny handful of humans? Why involve this convoluted plot with turning the mortal queens into Fae when it seems like the humans don't even know of their existence so they wouldn't listen to or follow them in the first place

6) this should be dual pov. I would LOVE tamlin's perspective or even lucien's

7) I need WAY more information about the cauldron because it makes no sense

8) this isn't a gripe but I just have to mention how bad I feel for lucien

9) somehow ianthe became 10x MORE boring as a villain. Like you could replace her woth Regina George and the book would be more interesting

10) WHY IS THERE SO MUCH SEXUAL ASSAULT, OH MY FUCKING GOD

11) this whole spying on the spring court thing is stupid, inefficient, and childish. The NC is risking the lives of all the courts doing this shit when they could easily just ACTUALLY TELL THE OTHER COURTS WHATS GOING ON TO GIVE THEM A CHANCE TO RALLY TOGEYHER AND DEFEND THEMSELVES, form an alliance, and reason with tamlin or attack him if he refuses to listen to reason. Most information they stand to gain from what they're doing is useless in light of how many fae and human lives stand to be lost or displaced

12) WE FUCKING GET IT FEYRE! THERE ARE TWO WOLVES INSIDE YOU! BENEATH YOUR SKIN YOU ARE A WOLF, A MOUNTAIN LION, A PANTHER, A COBRA, A TARANTULA, A BALD EAGLE, AND EVERY OTHER KIND OF PREDATOR UNDER THE SUN!!!!! JFC I GET SYMBOLISM BUT ITS GETTING CRINGE IN HERE

13) that entire ridiculous summer solstice scene in chapter 4

14) FEYRE COMPARING TAMLIN TO ARAMANTHA?! HELLO???????

15) the whole situation with using Lucien to make tamlin jealous is just....icky, idk

16) I almost regret wanting more political intrigue In these novels as it is by far Sarah Janet's weakest suit

17) framing jurian a villain is one of the dumbest decisions ever. Wish he had more screen time though

18) feyre's badass scene w/ the children of the blessed makes me wish that after she became fae, she returned to the human lands, killed/overthrew the mortal queens, said fuck you to tamlin and rhys, and just became queen of the mortal realms, having to earn her people's trust as a fae, protect and defend them, and come to terms w/ her loss of humanity. That would have been so EPIC

19) the entirety of chapter 8

20) the fact that acotar was written. If the series started w/ acomaf I would have a lot less problems. All the constant retconning and inconsistencies in canon and worldbuilding just keep pissing me off, idk I can't look past it

21) I'm losing count and I'm only on chapter 9 so I'm just going to keep reading for now. Might make a part 2 idk

[diamondcitydarlin]

i think probably the worst part of the whole thing is that I just don't really care anymore, the investment I had at the end of season 1 just straight up no longer exists. no, it's not just bc a blorbo got killed off (and there's a lot of reasons to be angry about that), it's mainly bc most of the characters at this point feel like hollow shells of who they were a season ago, including the stede x ed pairing as a whole (which I really just don't care about anymore at all, sorry). and no it's not bc 'Izzy got all the development and there was no time for anyone else' like of course there was time for everyone else, provided that they hadn't opened the season on all those characters making 180 character changes with no real explanation, provided they hadn't overloaded the damn season with nonsense that goes nowhere. JimxOlu was my OTP after StedexEd in season one, both of them were some of my faves, and not only did neither of them even really resemble who they were in s1, their relationship which was of such great importance in the former just suddenly...is something else now. Not people in love, but 'friends who have fucked once lol' and are wingmen for each other now because...??? Oh but Jim's dating Archie who...*checks notes* was in a Snake Cult? I think? That's about all we get on her, apart from the fact that she likes making out with Jim I guess. And I guess Zheng can't just be a powerful woman character that exists in this narrative without a romance of her own, so let's just toss her together with Olu and never explore or explain that with any kind of depth. Jim has neither trust issues anymore nor do they have ANY interest or investment in their revenge scheme or the Siete Gallos (REMEMBER THAT PLOTLINE?? REMEMBER?? APPARENTLY THE WRITERS DON'T) they're just kind of goofy all the time now for no reason. Olu's leadership arc? His being a confidant to Stede? Where the fuck did any of that go? Are they all a polycule or are they all just separate couple friends? IDK WHO CARES THIS IS HOW IT IS NOW I GUESS. Like, why am I supposed to care about any of that? It doesn't even feel like the characters I watched before.

And StedexEd. Jfc there's so much to say that other people have said better but the constant bringing up of conflicts, breakups, and then immediately resolving those issues with heartfelt reunions/kissing as if that's supposed to be sufficient got really old for me after awhile. The lack of explaining how their 'whim-prone' romance to this point was bad, the lack of explaining how they reconcile their different goals was also bad, but oh they can just go RUN AN INN NOW! Yay happily ever after! ????? "Ed, you've got family" which he immediately leaves to go try another life path he's probably going to suck at and hate WOW so romance. Like either figure it out or break up for good, it just makes them an obnoxious toxic couple who never seem to communicate or bother to try but are supposed to be the one we love the most and are rooting for. And that sucks, because I loved them once! GARBAGE!

There's only so much blame one can put on external factors for this. I worked in production once, I edited scripts and was a go-between for notes and writers, and this is the exact kind of thing I would've felt compelled to point out; we only have x amount of time and x amount of episodes to properly tell these stories, we know this, so maybe lets be realistic about what we can fit in here and do justice and what we can't. Maybe let's not just throw every fucking thing we think of at the wall to see what sticks while completely ignoring/retconning character traits and stories we set up in season 1. But nah, that's what happened!

Like, what is there to watch for at this point if s3 gets greenlit? I fail to find anything that I'd care about seeing continued, even the peripheral characters like Frenchie and Wee John and Roach, whom I also loved before and still do but barely did anything, so I guess I can tune in to watch them do more of nothing? Idk man it sucks when it's not just 'wow that was bad I hope next season is better' but instead 'wow that was so boring and incohesive I have no more interest or emotional investment in this to continue'