#I’m like poking my own brain

[sourkitsch]

waiting patiently to fall back in love with my ch*rik regency/gothic romance au I can’t have written nearly 40k words for nothing come on

[fennel-tea]

That Awful OTP Meme, or: my Binah/Hod manifesto

I originally posted this on twitter but while this is mostly tongue-in-cheek I actually have a lot of thoughts on these two that are generally summarized by [god DAMN I love the interplay of two people who are varying degrees of Terrible]

or just, like, a Hannigram meme.

[latenightsleeper]

I think my favorite thing about Tank, as a character that I’ve made, is how many contradictory characters traits they have. Anyone who has gotten me into DMs to talk about Tank knows it’s one of my favorite things to talk about with Tank.

How Tank, even at the core of their being, is NEVER truly honest with himself. Is almost constantly passively lying but so desperately wants the truth.

Tank hates fighting but is so damn good at it, good enough for a while they had a profitable business with it.

Tank reacts to affection and attention like he’d break out in a rash from even a touch but we all know how much Tank craves it like a starving dog.

Tank bites, makes other people bleed and fall to the floor, no easy fight. Sharp tongue and even sharper teeth, violence a well cared for and crafted blade in Tanks hands but still..

Still Tank is so afraid, all the time. Of everything, of everyone truly.

Tank is a hunter, a predator, a dog tugging at his leash but they have prey fear AND prey rage. That abstract mix of horror and desperation of a cornered animal about to be skinned. The desperation of not wanting to be the next lump of cooking flesh on the floor, even if they had to be the one skinning someone else to make sure of it.

It’s almost funny, how much blood Tank has on their hands to make people forget the sound of their scared heart.

They can never stop hearing the quickening beating in their ears, even if their heart feels stone still.

No matter how many times people point and yell wolf, Tank will always feel like prey

[swordsandspectacles]

Every week it seems I discover a playbook for a new superhero ttrpg

… and every week I feel rustier and less capable of stringing together enough of a plot to make something to pitch

[sunforgrace]

I know it’s heavily disputed about the extent and canon veracity of cas “picking up on dean’s longing” and what exactly that even means or entails. but thinking about that period after jack offscreen raised cas from the empty and before dean died.

[no1ryomafan]

Thought about how given I’ve written so much for getter and rotate enough in my brain I could make hypothetical “how to write this characters” post if those even exists until I remember the factors of:

<the status of the tags doesn’t warrant a lot of writers as is and the only person to ask me this was a irl <I don’t wanna be gatekeepy even if I wouldn’t put my bias into it <who the fuck would it really be about besides ryoma and maybe hayato bc honest to god just grasping the team dynamic of the getter will make you be able to understand each individual pilot <I doubt myself I even write 100% in character despite what I’m told 💀

[starbuck]

so. I watched Better Call Saul.

[chlorinecake]

THEY CALL HER NASTY | five sentence smut scenarios with enha!hyung line ft. overstimulated reader

⚠︎ contains: fingering, use of sex toys, DADDY KINK, pet names, creampie, implied multiple rounds, squirting, kind of dubcon (?), and degrading/praise kink … !?

“You’ve been a bad girl tonight, love,” Heeseung grinned, pressing the vibrator harder against your trembling clit.

“I’m s-sorry, Hee, I’ll listen next t-time… promise,” you muttered shakily, tears sitting in the dips of your collar bone likes pools of bittersweetness.

“I’ll believe you after I make you cum three more times,” he said, tantalizing your g-spot with the pads of his thick fingers.

You felt a band tighten in your stomach before finally popping, your luscious release decorating Heeseung’s greedy features as your body jerked from the overstimulation.

“So fucking precious, baby,” he smirked, locking his lips with yours as he continued to finger your aching hole, “only for me…”

“Did I say we were done?,” Jay poked as he observed your exhausted frame, drifting in and out of sleep from what felt like his fourth round inside you.

“Use your words, love,” he said as you nodded lazily, trying to find the words that only kept getting lost in your brain fog.

“F-fill me up and then n-no more, S-seongie,” you whined, tits bouncing from the force at which he fucked into you.

“You want me to finish inside you, princess?,” he groaned, gripping your sweaty waist as his thrusts turned into smooth grinds, pelvis rubbing up against your clit.

“Mhm… please baby,” you shook beneath him, feeling your own orgasm overtake you as he whispered against your neck: “That’s it, my love. Cum with daddy…”

“F-fuckk,” you practically wailed, feeling as Jake’s fingers slid in and out of you at a rough pace, fucking you open so you could soon take his dick.

“That’s my good girl, you’re almost there, pretty,” he huffed, breath a bit jagged from his own excitement, “wanna see you squirt so badly… can you do that for me, angel?”

You couldn’t even form a coherent sentence before you started clenching around his digits, screwing your eyes shut as weak moans broke from your lips.

“Jakey,” you whined out, squirting on his forearm first before he dove down with his mouth to lap at your juices, humming at the taste of you coating his senses.

“So good for me,” he whispered, tongue running up and down your sensitive folds before swirling around your sensitive clit, “love it when you fall apart like this…”

“It’s t-too much, Hoon,” you babbled incoherently around your boyfriends fingers, his slender digits only shoving their way further into your mouth as streaks of black eyeliner trailed down the sides of your fucked out face.

“Oh, c’mon princess… cum sluts like you aren’t supposed to wear out this fast, are they?,” he pouted in a facetious manner, just as his fingers retreated from your mouth, only to land a wet smack against your cheek.

You cried out at the sudden force, nodding and inaudible ‘no’ as his thrusts became even rougher, his own moans escalating as your nails dug into the muscular portion of his shoulders.

“Sh-shit,” you cursed under your breath, facial expressions contorting with bliss as your orgasm approached at full-speed.

You gasped out loud, feeling his warmth coat your walls as his thrusts finally slowed down, gentle lips peppering kisses down your neck while he whispered against your skin, “always so well for me, princess…”

⚠︎ author’s note: I’ve had this fic marinating in my drafts since August 2023 and randomly came across it just yesterday…

⚠︎ tag list: @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @addictedtohobi @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @ot7sevenlvr

⚠︎ path to my enhypen bookshelf if you’re interested !!

[sarahreesbrennan]

Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. I prefer to leave my anons open since not everyone has a tumblr, as @neil-gaiman says it’s an internet backwater, but a lovely one for those like myself who enjoy an essay about fictional characters! Still I will close my inbox to anons if I must. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

[headkiss]

hellooo, hope everything's okay with you:) i was thinking of a hotch request, of bau!reader being "his favourite" in the team (in a way that the team can see he has a soft spot for her). maybe the members of the team seeing little interactions between them two and noticing it <33 i just *loved* the one you wrote about hotch helping her in a bau party, and would love to see more of hotch protecting her and being soft with her, during the jobs as well!! thank you so muchhhh, hope you have a good day x

hiii thank u so much baby!!! this has been in my drafts since september i’m so sorry for the delay!! i hope this is okay <3 | 0.6k of fluff

Aaron Hotchner was never one to play favorites. He’s always loved his team, has always felt fond towards its members in one way or another, but none ever seemed to outrank the other.

Until you.

You’d joined the BAU as a temporary replacement, and then, you just stayed. You fit right in, which wasn’t hard to do considering how welcoming everyone had been, but it still felt like the kind of luck that isn’t easy to come by.

Hotch has felt a sort of pull towards you ever since you stepped into the bureau, your shirt a little wrinkled, smile nervous and beautiful. He’s grown to feel for you in a way that doesn’t compare to how he feels towards the others. It’s completely different; incomparable.

Even now, over a year since you’ve joined the team, Hotch can’t help but feel like he has to protect you, has to make sure you’re okay.

The others know it, too.

Derek has taken to doing his very own Hotch impression, a lovestruck version of him, that is. Spencer tells Aaron daily that he should just tell you how he feels. Emily likes to say, ‘you’re going soft, Hotchner.’ And all he can do is fight a smile and shake his head.

Even now, in some town in Indiana, Aaron can’t help but look for you in the busy station. It’s early in the morning, he’s got two cups of coffee in hand. One for him, the other for you.

“Aw, thanks, you shouldn’t have,” Derek says, reaching for one of the coffees.

“You know that’s not for you, Morgan.”

Pretending to be hurt, Derek walks off towards Spencer, a ‘can you believe him?’ look on his face. Hotch vaguely registers Spencer’s voice saying something like, “I believe that’s what they call favoritism.”

Then, the conversation goes quiet for Aaron’s ears, because he sees you. You’ve got a sweater on today, the sleeves long enough that only your fingertips poke out. His feet are walking towards you before his brain processes it.

Before he reaches you, an officer from the station does. “Hey, miss, reporters aren’t allowed inside.”

You take a step back, eyebrows furrowing at the man questioning your presence, “I’m not a reporter. They cleared me at the door.”

“Nice try, sweetheart, I’ve heard it all before-“

“Agent,” Hotch steps in, trying not to squeeze the coffee cups too hard. “Good morning, coffee for you.”

Your gaze softens as soon as it flicks from the officer and over to Hotch. Your fingers brush when you grab the drink from him, sparks shooting up your arm.

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“Is there a problem here, officer?” Aaron asks, tilting his head.

“No, no, sir. Thank you for coming down and helping out.”

“It’s what we do,” Hotch emphasizes the ‘we,’ like he’s making sure the officer knows that you’re as much a part of this as he is.

The officer nods and walks off, leaving the two of you as alone as you can be in the station.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you say, nudging your elbow against his arm gently. “I totally could’ve handled it, though.”

He smiles because you’re the only one on the team who calls him Aaron. He likes it that way.

“I know, honey.” And he’s the only one who calls you honey. “But I didn’t really feel like explaining why one of my agents punched an officer today.”

“I was not going to punch him!” You laugh, your morning getting better by the second. “Maybe berate him a little. That’s all.”

“Sure it is.”

When you and Aaron walk into the conference room where the rest of the team is waiting, you’re met with the same type of stare from all of them. Knowing, expecting, secretly admiring.

You duck your head and take a sip of your coffee, forever grateful that you joined this team, that you found these people, that Aaron is beside you where you always seem to want him to be.

“They’re hopeless,” Emily whispers to Spencer.

Aaron’s too busy looking at your face to hear.

[the-californicationist]

i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.  

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well. 

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled. 

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname. 

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.” 

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door. 

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation. 

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen. 

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate. 

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis. 

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages. 

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare? 

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound. 

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand. 

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt. 

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised. 

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand. 

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load. 

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened. 

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission. 

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking. 

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into. 

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

 He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually. 

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing, 

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!” 

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed, 

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing. 

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy, 

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes. 

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated. 

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time. 

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

[theemporium]

technically the first proper introduction into the charles and blitz world despite how much we talk about them!!

series masterlist

.

“If you die, can I get your Pista?”

Charles lifted his head, shooting you an unimpressed look. 

“What? I just thought we should cover all bases,” you defended, knocking your shoulder against his. 

You knew exactly what was going through his head. You knew he was overthinking the whole thing, making up the worst assumptions and how it could affect the time he would have to take off training. You knew he was working himself up like he tended to do, falling silent and allowing his only company to be himself.

It was the exact reason you insisted on coming with him.

“And out of everything I own, you want my car?” Charles questioned, his eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah well, you treat that thing like your baby—minus the parking skills,” you said with an innocent smile spread across your face. “Surely that makes me a step-mother or some sort of parental figure.”

“The way your brain works amazes me every day,” he murmured with a shake of his head.

“You love me,” you sang, nudging his shoulder once again and, this time, he lifted his arm to wrap it around your shoulder. 

“Unfortunately, I do. Even when you’ve started planning for my death before I go into surgery,” he mused, but you could hear the underlying hint of fear. The one he didn’t really want to admit, but the one that you saw as clear as day anyways.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” you reassured him and lightly squeezed his knee. “Who else am I gonna look down on the top step of the podium if not you?” 

He rolled his eyes. “It is truly a miracle I love you.”

“I’m the best thing in your life and you know it, Leclerc,” you countered, poking his side. 

Charles’ face softened. “Yeah, you are.” 

“Charles Leclerc!” 

He turned to look at the nurse who was waiting for him by the doors, a kind and welcoming smile on her face. You watched the way his face dropped a little, the way his body tensed against yours and you squeezed his knee again. 

“You’re coming back to me, Charlie. It’ll be fine.”

…

“Tu es si jolie, mon amour.”

*You are so pretty, my love.

“English, Charlie. My French is lacklustre at best.”

“Tu es l’amour de ma vie!” 

*You are the love of my life!

You sighed deeply, taking a glance at the boy in the passenger seat of the car. He had a lovesick smile on his face, his cheeks flushed pink and a little bit of drool on the edge of his mouth. He looked adorable—and fucking hilarious if the pictures you sent to his brothers were anything.

However, since the second he had woken up from the procedure, Charles seemed adamant on only rambling your ear off in French. No Italian or English to be heard. Just French. Just the one damn language that you were hopeless in, despite the many years you knew the Monegasque.

“J’ai hâte de t’épouser,” he sighed dreamily as he stared at you with an expression that made your chest tighten.

*I can’t wait to marry you

“I don’t know what you said but me too, buddy,” you said as you reached over to softly pat his thigh. 

However, the boy was one step ahead of you and quickly grabbed your hand to intertwine with his own.

“Regarder!” He giggled, holding your joined hands up proudly. “Nous sommes connectés pour toujours maintenant!” 

*Look! We are connected forever now!

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you commented, fighting the odd urge to bite back a smile even when you had no understanding of what he said. “I might need to call your mother if you keep up this whole French act.”

“Oui, appelle-la! C’est aussi ta famille, mon amour!” Charles nodded.

*Yes, call her! She is your family too, my love!

“You know, these embarrassing videos don’t work if even I don’t understand them,” you added, shooting him a look but he just smiled back at you, and you couldn’t really be mad at that.

.

[delirious-donna]

an: I had this thought and it wouldn’t leave me so please enjoy the filth of my brain 😌 short but sweet…

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: suggestive, dirty talk, public setting, reader is very embarrassed by their situation

Frozen in place in the midst of the grocery store, you dared not to move. A slow trickle escaped your body and you firmly clenched your thighs together in the hopes of preventing anything further from leaking out. This was mortifying, this would be the thing that turned you into dust to blow across the wind for the rest of time.

A large hand found the small of your back, warm and familiar, followed by a concerned voice by your ear. “Something wrong, honey?”

You whipped around to him, face growing impossibly warm and sweaty at the immediate imagery of honey dripping from its pot. The slow sensual pour of sticky nectar prickled down your spine, and you wondered if he already knew of your current plight. Kento’s eyebrows rose towards his neat hairline, completely oblivious, despite your worries to the contrary, but he did sense your discomfort.

“Don’t you honey me,” you whisper yelled, poking a sharp finger into the centre of his chest. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Talk you into… grocery shopping? We both need to eat, sweetheart,” he answered with a poorly disguised chuckle.

Kento turned to examine the fresh produce, squeezing mangoes to find one nearing ripeness, and you damn near dropped to the floor at the sight. His impossibly large hand encased the whole fruit, fingers flexed around the fleshy skin and all you could think of was how that was exactly how he would squeeze and grope at your breasts.

You took a step closer—drip.

“Kento…” you whined pathetically, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt and doing your damnedest not to dance on the spot like a child in need of the nearest bathroom.

With a sigh, he placed the basket hooked over his other hand on the floor and brought you into the shelter of his body. His chin rested on your head whilst your arms encircled his waist, holding him gently and only for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m leaking.”

Kento paused, perplexed. “You’re what?”

This was so embarrassing and he was going to make you spell it out for him. “What did we do before grocery shopping?”

“We showered, you cooked breakfast and I—oh.”

The penny finally dropped and you could kick him for the shit eating grin that spread across his face. You weren’t accustomed to such obvious delight etched over his features and at your expense too!

Before you could think to follow through with kicking his shin or huffing and puffing, he pulled you into his side and lowered his mouth to your ear. The warm fan of his breath sent goosebumps rippling up and down your arms and your pulse quickened.

“Am I right in saying that my seed is leaking out of you?” He asked coolly, as if he was asking you an everyday question like what type of cheese should we buy this week.

You nodded, afraid of your own voice right now.

Kento hummed. “Then I clearly didn’t fuck it deep enough. We’ll have to remedy that. How does it feel? I’ll bet it’s all warm from your hot little pussy.”

“Kento!”

“That’s right, my love. That’s how you screamed my name when I had your ankles by your ears. Mm, my sweet honeypot.”

If you weren’t melting already, you certainly were now. Your body betrayed you wilfully, the walls of your cunt pulsing to push more of the creamy cum into the seat of your underwear. Kento laced his fingers with yours and began to guide you down the aisle, but you walked on stiff legs, so afraid of what might leak down your thigh if you moved normally.

“I’m stuck! What if I make a mess? I can’t stand here all day,” you squeaked much to Kento’s amusement. He was enjoying your predicament far too much, the wicked man that he was.

“Shall I find you a cart to sit inside?”

“You’re not funny mister…”

“Oh, but I’m not laughing, darling. You’ve let my gift escape, which I find rather rude. I intend to finish this shop fast and replace what you’ve lost.”

You blinked, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. The weight of molten heat dropped into the pit of your stomach. He couldn’t be serious.

Gently, he hooked your arm through his and patted your hand. His face was unreadable once more, eyes scanning the produce and placing items into his retrieved basket. So handsome, so calm, yet beneath the mask lay a man capable of ruining you with words alone.

“Come along, dear. I’ve just remembered we’re all out of honey… not that we don’t have ample supply of our own,” he whispered the last part beneath his breath.

“You’ll always be sweeter than honey to me.”

[astroph1les]

coffee & stumbles | e.e

summary: your first date with emily turns very tense when you run into your ex. luckily, you’re able to minimize your time with her when emily gets the hint that you weren’t comfortable.

here’s part one of this!

pairing: emily engstler x fem!reader

contains: fluff, mentions of past toxic relationship — manipulation, gaslighting, etc, readers ex is AWFUL, emily being protective and just the best </3

word count: 4.6K

a/n: ok so i’m obsessed with writing this. thank you guys for the support! inbox is open for more suggestions or ideas for future parts because tbh my mind is BLANK!

“You’re kidding! Ugh, I wish I would’ve been there to see you all flustered around her,” your best friend, Delilah, exclaimed as she laid her feet on your lap, prodding at your thigh with her sock-covered toes.

You shook your head at her words, covering your face with one palm. As soon as you got off of your work, you headed straight to your shared apartment with Dahlia. Her strawberry hair was in a messy low bun, a few strands falling to frame her freckled face as she held a pint of mint chip ice cream. She had your cat, Luna, curled up in a ball in her lap.

“Shut up. I was not that flustered.” You lie, digging into your own pint of cookies and cream ice cream.

“You’re a shit liar, dude,” she shakes her head, sighing softly.

You were about to snip back when you saw a message pop up on your phone screen that was just resting on the coffee table. You lean forward with a grunt to snatch it and hold up your phone to your face.

from: unknown | Hey, it’s Emily! I’m so so sorry I didn’t text you sooner.

Being the nosy person she was, Delilah sat upright and rested her head on your shoulder. With her wooden spoon dangling from her lips, she gasped dramatically.

“Is that hot, tall tattooed girl?” She grinned cheekily.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to say, Del,” you whine as you rest your head on hers.

“Just be yourself. She clearly liked what she was lookin’ at and hearing so,” Delilah pokes at your cheek with her pointer finger. “Come on. Get in that.”

You shush her comments as you type out a small message. You beam as Luna had creepily crawled over to your own lap, running a hand over her soft fur.

to: emily | hey! how are you?

“How are you? Say something else. More flirty.” Delilah demanded with another poke to your cheek.

“Shut up!” You sneer. “I’m getting to it.”

from: emily | I’m doing good. I’m sorry if this is weird but can I call you?

You both gasp at the message, turning to each other with wide eyes.

“Should I say ‘yeah?’” You question, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

“Hello? Yeah! I wanna hear this sexy raspy voice of hers.” Delilah grins as she creepily leans over your shoulder.

You blush as you regret telling her in detail everything you could retain about Emily. You shouldn't, right?

No, you needed to. Her voice was lingering in her brain from the moment she opened her mouth. Like who sounds like that?

But you wanted to save the conversation for when you saw her.

to: emily | im kind of with my bestfriend rn im sorry :/

“What the fuck?” Delilah frowned as you sent the message.

“Del, I love you but I really do not want to have my first phone call with her with you around. I’ll act even more nervous and weird.” You hold her hand with a tight squeeze.

Delilah reluctantly agrees because she knows your right. As much comfort she gave you, this was new and you wanted to do this on your own. You were 22 with minimal dating experience — all your own fault you felt. Something as exciting as this — a charming woman approaching you of all people — is something you wanted to keep for yourself.

“Well, I know I’ll be able to hear her soon,” she winked playfully at you but her eyes showed her understanding of your wanting for this to be more private.

from: emily | No, don’t apologize. But I really can’t wait to hear and see you again. Let me know when you’re free to grab that coffee :)

You beamed at your phone and hurriedly typed a response.

to: emily | im free thursday morning if that’s good for you too!

from: emily | Sounds good to me. I’ve seen Mia’s on 56th and always wanted to go. I could pick you up or we could meet there. Whatever makes you more comfortable lol

How adorable is she?

“Uh oh. I think someone’s getting a little nervous, dude,” Delilah teases with a shit-eating grin.

“She’s being sweet,” you defend, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I know but that last ‘lol’ really gives her away.”

Maybe it was a bit of an ego boost to know you made someone like her nervous to see you again. Delilah was sure she was bursting with nerves.

to: emily | i’m fine with either. whichever is easiest for you:)

“Okay you two are the cutest. I already sense good things with her,” Delilah announced.

“Enough with your psychic predictions. It freaks me out, Del, you know that.”

Delilah came from a long line of women who were perceived to be ‘witches’ and ‘hippies’. She eerily enough was able to predict a lot of things that have gone either right or wrong since your friendship began in high school.

from: emily | I have no problem picking you up

That’s settled then. She was coming to pick you up on Thursday.

Oh, damn it. What the hell were you going to wear?

Thursday morning came faster than you expected.

The texts had been nonstop between the two of you. Emily had sent you a few pics of her outfits or meals that she was having. You hoped you didn’t seem as eager as you were in person over texts to get selfies from her. You showed Delilah one she took and she muttered ‘damn’ before nodding in approval.

It had been two days since you first met Emily but the time flew by. It even took you a second to realize that today was the day until Delilah bursted through your shared bathroom door, giddy and ready to help you get ready for the date. You groaned as she shook you slightly, nearly knocking your toothbrush out of your hand.

“Are you ready for your hot coffee date?” Delilah pressed a peck to your head, bouncing with joy.

“Del, I am on the verge of throwing up please.”

You rub at your forehead, feeling your anxiety-induced headache creeping its way to your temples.

“Oh. shit, sorry. Let me know when you’re ready to get dressed and I’ll help.”

You silently thank her as you brush your teeth, tilting your head as you examine your bare face. Internally, it was a battle between calling her and saying that you couldn’t make it due to a stomach bug.

Delilah was testing her psychic abilities and randomly blurted out, nearly shoulder checking you: “You are not canceling. Don’t even try it.”

You gasped and rubbed your shoulder, frowning as you spit out the foamy toothpaste.

“I wasn’t!” Your voice pitched higher.

God, you were awful at lying.

“Sure. I’m not letting you flake out. You need this. Plus, Luna needs another mommy,” Delilah teased, glancing down at the bathroom floor where Luna was brushing past your feet.

“What? We’re not enough for her?” You respond with an exasperated sigh.

“Uh, of course. But she knows her mom is a single mother and secretly wishes that she had another mom to take care of her when me, her aunt, isn’t here.”

You blink at her as you rinse off your toothbrush.

“Did she tell you this?” You snort.

“Duh. I’m a psychic and that includes being an animal one too.” Delilah states, shrugging her shoulders as she finishes up her morning face routine.

“I can’t believe you, Loonie. Shaming me for being a single mother?” You look down at her gray tail curling around your ankles.

Luna meows softly, tilting her head as her big green eyes stare up at you. She sits herself on the top of your bare foot, snuggling into your pajama pant leg.

“Alright, I forgive you but only because you’re so cute.” You preen, leaning down to scratch at the top of her head.

“Traitor.” Delilah scoffs as she applies her daily moisturizer and sunscreen. “But anyways, are you ready now?”

You lean down to pick up Luna who purrs a little as you move her into your arms. You place a few kisses on her head, feeling all the more relaxed.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Delilah sucked in a deep breath, nodding curtly.

“Let’s get you lookin’ getting-coffee sexy.”

You shake your head at her words, thinking about how annoying she was but how much you loved her.

You and Delilah landed on a black and gray striped sweater with a pair of blue jean shorts and your favorite pair of docs with comfy socks so that the docs wouldn’t tear up your heels. Delilah beamed at the sight of you, pretending to wipe her eyes.

“God, you look beautiful. She’s going to fall in love,” she sighed dramatically as she brushed a few of your baby hairs out of your face.

You shake your head as your face heats up at her words. You sent Emily a text that you were ready when she was ready to which she responded with that she was on her way to go and pick you up.

“Should I, like, greet her at the door and ask her intentions with you?” Delilah hummed in thought as she picked up Luna and cradled her in her arms.

“Absolutely not. I’ll kick you in the back of your knee if you do that.”

Delilah frowned and shook her head. “Jesus, okay. I won’t.”

“Love you, though,” you scrunch your nose at her before scratching underneath Luna’s chin, watching her eyes shut slowly.

“Yeah, yeah, love you.”

The minutes passed steadily as you waited for a knock at the apartment door. You tried to distract yourself by checking to make sure you had everything you might need for the date: your wallet, keys, lip gloss, lip liner, oil blotting sheets, hand sanitizer, etc. Delilah put on Love Island as she ate her own breakfast and hot hazelnut coffee.

Next thing you knew, a few soft knocks came from your front door. You and Delilah’s necks snapped to each other before you both stood up from the couch. You shove her back a little as she holds her hands up in defense. You pointed a knowing finger at her before sucking in a deep breath, unlocking the three locks on the door.

You twist the knob and tug the door open to reveal Emily standin there with a kind smile on her face. She looked even better than what you remembered. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she had on a light gray hoodie with a pair of blue jeans. She looked so cozy and warm, you felt immediately at ease.

“Hi,” you sighed out, leaning against the door.

“Hi,” she grinned, tilting her head a bit at her. “You look beautiful.”

You try not to curl into yourself at the sound of her voice, feeling more than overwhelmed.

“Thank you. You look beautiful, too.” You reply and try not to sound like you were in love with her already.

Her eyes soften at your words and you swear her cheeks turn a light pink as she mutters a ‘thank you’.

“Well, uh, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to go,” you grin, turning to shut your door to give Delilah one more panicked look.

She gives you two thumbs up and blows you a kiss with Luna’s paw. You turned to Emily as you shut the door completely, adjusting the strap of your purse.

“Is everything okay?” She wonders as she hesitantly turns towards the stairs of your complex.

“No, yeah. I’m okay. I think I’m just nervous,” you admit, brushing a flyway behind your ear.

Nervous was an understatement, if you were going to be completely honest. Your heart was beating rapidly against your sternum, your fingers twisting your fidget ring around.

“Oh, trust me. I am too,” she eases your worries and motions to the stairs, holding her tattooed hand out for you. “I mean, going on a date with a pretty girl is always nerve-wracking.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at how annoyingly charming she was but you hated (loved) how reassured you felt once she said that. You took her larger hand in yours, giving her a shy smile.

“You’re a little bit of a flirt, huh?”

Emily merely shrugged her shoulders as she led you to where she parked in front of your apartment complex.

“Trying to make you feel comfortable. I promise you have nothing to worry about,” her kind raspy voice soothes your nerves.

You nod as you follow her to her truck. She was right. There really was nothing to worry about. It’s a coffee date: a coffee date with probably one of the hottest women you’ve ever encountered. She opened the passenger's side door and helped you up and into it.

The second you sat down into the seat, you felt a wave of nausea flow over your senses. You repeatedly twist your ring, sucking in a deep breath as you examine the interior of her car. It was pretty clean if you were going to be honest. Yours looked like a garage sale in the backseat as you constantly forgot to go and donate stuff you didn’t want anymore.

Emily got into her driver's seat, pushing back her flyaways and shutting the door. She put her key into the slot and turned over her car to start. The screen popped up with the most recent song, the volume at a low.

“Shit, sorry.” She tapped on the screen with her middle finger, her pale cheeks turning a soft pink.

“No, I respect it. Our Song is a cult classic,” you purse your lips to hold back your chuckle.

She opens her mouth as she puts her truck in reverse, not knowing what else to say.

“Okay, honestly, I’m trying to learn it on guitar and listening to it a lot helps,” Emily admits as she turns to get out of your complex.

Your eyes widened as you couldn’t believe how endearing she is. You lean back comfortably into the leather seats, smiling to yourself.

“Well, I definitely need to hear it now. You can’t just tell me that.” You raise your brows, watching her palm flatten against the wheel to make a turn.

And she made driving attractive. Fuck, you were so screwed.

The whole drive was actually a lot more comfortable than you expected. Emily repeatedly glanced at you to make sure you were still okay. She even let you be in charge of the music which put you on the spot but you were successful on playing songs that she liked.

Or even pretended to like for your sake.

Now the two of you were now sitting down after placing your order with the person at the front. It was a bit packed but not too much to where you felt suffocated. You were sharing embarrassing stories and it felt so easy to talk to her. Her soft brown eyes invited you in to spill every secret that you had within you.

“I kid you not, he claimed to not have given me mono,” you said through soft giggles, shaking your head. “I told him I got it and he basically said that it wasn’t possible because he didn’t have it.”

“Is he a dumbass? That’s exactly how spreading mono works.” Emily questioned as she covered her mouth with her fingers, letting her own little laugh escape.

“I think so, honestly. Thankfully, that was, like, 5 years ago and it was my first and last date with a man.” You sighed out, brushing your hair behind your ear.

As your giggles died down, a waitress brought over your coffees and breakfast. You thank her as does Emily, looking at your plate of avocado toast with a side of eggs. She had gotten the same thing but with an extra side of eggs.

“Does everything look good?” She asked as she picked up her fork, about to dig into her eggs.

“Oh, yeah. I am starving.” You immediately pick up the toast to take a hefty bite.

Emily’s eyes stared at you from across the table as she grabbed the tobasco to drizzle over her medium eggs. You pause your movements as you stare back at her, suddenly aware of how fast you were eating.

“What?” You reply, setting the toast down and covering your mouth so that she couldn’t see the chewed-up mess in your mouth.

“Nothing. You’re cute is all,” she shrugged her shoulders and poked at broken eggs before shoving a piece into her mouth.

You froze and felt the blood rush into your cheeks. You had gotten another glance at her tongue piercing, now knowing that you didn’t just imagine that the first time the two of you met.

“Shut up,” you murmur, digging into your own eggs. “When did you get that tongue piercing?”

Her eyebrows raised like your question wasn’t one she received often.

“I’ve had it for about two years now, I think. Why?”

“I like it,” you dig back into your food, hoping your flushed face wasn’t giving away your own dirty thoughts.

Emily squinted her eyes for a second at you before shaking her head with a soft laugh. Before you could ask her another question, you catch a glimpse of a familiar face. Your expression falters for a moment but you shake your head, telling yourself that it couldn’t be.

“So, where do you work at? You obviously know where I work,” you chuckle, staring at her intently.

Emily’s figure tenses a bit but she straightens her back, clearing her throat.

“Well, I’m a professional basketball player. I play for the Washington Mystics.” She sounded hesitant to tell you but more relaxed once you simply smiled back at her.

“What the hell? That’s so cool,” you stare at her, tilting your head. “Have you always wanted to be a basketball player?”

“Actually, no. I used to get told I’d make a great lawyer because I like to argue so I was set on that for a bit.” She chuckled.

“My dad used to tell me the same thing. We just but heads a lot.” You shrug, twisting around the straw of your empty iced coffee.

“Did you want a refill?” Emily questioned, noticing your fiddling.

Now that she had mentioned it , you did want more. You knew it was pushing your caffeine intake but you were craving it.

“Yeah but I’ll get it. You already paid,” you pointed at her.

The two of you had shuffled to get your cards out but Emily was quicker than you were. You had sighed out when she handed the person at the register her card, watching her grinning charmingly.

Yeah, you weren’t complaining.

She held up both of her inked hands in defense.

“Okay, not gonna say it won’t again though so,” she smacked her plush lips against her teeth.

Again? She was already talking about seeing you again. You would be lying to yourself if that didn’t lift your spirits a bit.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll be right back. Did you want anything to go?” You question as you stand up from your seat.

Emily glanced down at her empty plates and shook her head, looking at you with gentle eyes.

“No, thank you. I’m okay, pretty girl.” She threw a very subtle wink in your direction, taking a sip of her own nearly finished coffee.

You nod and mutter a ‘no problem’, turning away before she could see how flustered you were over her sweet words. You walk up to the counter and ask for an iced vanilla latte to-go. The cashier tells you it’ll be a few minutes because of the low supply of grounds right now. You tell them it's fine and you’ll wait a little.

The cashier leaves towards the back room as you stand and examine the pastries they had on display. You were about to walk away too until you saw out of the corner of your eye a figure appear right next to you.

Oh, God.

No.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. You just needed to get a to-go coffee and she came up to the counter as well.

Okay, you can just ignore her. You don’t have to say a thing. Maybe she doesn’t even realize you’re standing right next to her. You didn’t even know you were holding in a deep breath until you heard the voice that almost ruined your entire view on relationships.

“Hey,” you hear from next to you.

You shut your eyes with a soft sigh, turning to your ex with a fake grin.

“Hey Andi.”

“That’s it? Just ‘hey’? I mean, come on. You’re not,” she paused and pointed at you, a cheeky grin on her face, “you’re not still pissed over us breaking up right?”

Your face drops as you clear your throat, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Not really, no. I’m just asking what do you want because I have to get back to—”

“Oh, what? Your little date? Yeah, I noticed.” She snorted, looking at you with obvious judgment.

You just stare back at her in disbelief. Something in you wanted to snap and yell at her but Emily was only a few feet away at your table, probably wondering what was taking you so long.

“God, you still have that weird ass fidget ring, huh?” She motioned to your antsy fingers, which caused you to stop entirely.

She always tried to claim your anxiety was an excuse not to do certain things or talk to her. You could feel your eyes watering at the memories of her accusing you of cheating, not wanting her, etc because you tended to not talk to her about everything. Funny how she was the one who felt that way.

“Hey, baby, is everything okay?” A familiar voice comes up from behind you.

You relax at the sound of Emily’s voice, sucking in a deep breath and blinking away the burning tears in your eyes.

Wait, baby? It took you a second to realize she was pretending to be your girlfriend in order to give Andi the hint to back up. Could she tell how uncomfortable you were? Has she been watching you from your table?

“No, yeah. Sorry,” you glance at Andi who’s now looking Emily up and down with a hint of distaste.

“It’s okay,” her gentle voice told you, her soft hand resetting right on your lower back. “Who’s your friend?”

Her tone sharply changed when addressing Andi’s presence. Like she was trying to figure out who she was in relation to you. You open your mouth to reply ‘no one’ but Andi beat you to it.

“Andi.”

You felt so embarrassed by your ex’s behavior, you turned into Emily’s body. There was no way you were going to explain the backstory of this on your first date.

“It’s okay. Let’s just go, please,” you try to whisper as lowly as possible.

Emily nods at your words, taking down her tense, brooding attitude for a moment. She sends Andi probably the bitchiest smile you could ever imagine and you had to hold back your snort.

“Have a good one,” she replies once more, nodding curtly.

You turn away as you and Emily walk back over to your table, almost missing your ex’s bitter expression. You knew at this point that you were more than flushed; due to both embarrassment and Emily’s actions.

You grab your purse off of the back of the chair, turning to Emily with a long sigh and shake your head.

“I am so so sorry about that. That was so immature of her. I was trying to hurry too so hopefully you wouldn't see her or have to interact with her but she was just so—“

Emily reached forward to place her palm on your shoulder, brows furrowed in worry:“Hey, woah. It’s okay. It’s seriously not that big of a deal.”

“Really?”

Was that not as humiliating as you thought it was? Were you probably blowing the situation out of proportion?

“Yeah. It’s not like you wanted that to happen. I could see how… uncomfortable she made you. I’m sorry about that.”

Emily sounded so genuine with her apology. She did nothing wrong.

“It’s okay,” you wave her off, scoffing. “Do you mind if we leave now though?”

Emily grabbed her keys from the counter, nodding slowly: “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re sure?” You check once more as the two of you make your way to the entrance/exit doors.

“Yes. I promise, alright?” Emily was chuckling now.

You nod, pursing your lips so that you wouldn’t say anything else stupid. You stand side-by-side with the tall woman, your hands grazing against each other. Emily takes your hand in hers within seconds of leaving the place, her slightly rough yet warm palms engulfing your own. You glance at her with your peripheral, noticing her little grin.

The whole drive back to your place was quiet but content. This caused your own equally cheeky grin to spread on your face. When the two of you arrived at her truck, you turned to her with heart eyes.

“I wanted to say thank you for kind of jumping in. I thought I had it but clearly, I didn’t.” You sigh, covering your forehead with your free hand.

“You don’t have to thank me. It was nothing,” she gave your hand a squeeze, her eyes drifting to your lips.

You subconsciously do the same, blinking slowly.

“Well, I’m thanking you regardless,” you scrunched up your nose at her. “I did like you calling me ‘baby’ though. That was a nice surprise.”

Emily leaned against her truck to copy your own stance, rubbing her thumb over the length of your pointer finger.

“Yeah?” She smirked attractively.

You nod, looking up at her with anticipation. Was she getting your hint that you wanted her to kiss you? She must have as she began to lean into you more, tilting her body and head down.

You tilt your chin up to meet her in the middle, giving her hand a slight squeeze. You locked lips tenderly, the passing by sounds of cars and people making this all the more romantic to you. Her lips were even softer than you had imagined. Her free hand lifted up to cup your cheek to guide you a bit.

You were out of practice with kissing but it’s never been like this for you. You wanted more of her lips if that was even possible. You almost pulled away to tug in her closer but she beat you to it.

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t nothing,” she cheekily replied.

You squint your eyes at her before shoving her shoulder with a gasp. She laughs softly as you realize what she was referencing.

“Shut up. I regret kissing you now,” you lie straight through your teeth.

“Really? So you would hate it if I kissed you again?” Emily tilted her head at you.

“Now you’re twisting my words,” you point at her, feeling her palms rest on your waist.

“How about you think about it on the way back to your place?” Emily completely ignores you, teasing you still.

You huff as if you were pissed before sighing dramatically. You almost lost your train of thought when you felt her thumbs caressing at your clothed lips.

“Fine. I will.” You raise your brows at her, jerking your head towards her truck. “Come on so I can sit with my thoughts.”

You ended up doing a lot more thinking the whole drive to your place. And maybe once you were dropped off, a few more kisses and promises of many more dates after that.

You couldn’t wait for it.

tag-list: @uraesthete (i love u nell) COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!

here’s part one! if you haven’t read it :)

[mediumgayitalian]

Plink.

“Psst, hey! Nico!”

Plink. Plink.

“Nico! You up?”

Plink.

Plink plink plink. Plink —

“What in the world,” Nico hisses, yanking open his window, “is going — oh.” He blinks. “Will?”

Will grins. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says, voice not nearly quiet enough for someone who is at direct risk of being devoured. “Thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?”

If Nico were smart, he would say no, actually, it’s like four in the godsdamn morning, go the hell back to your cabin. What is wrong with you.

Instead, he says, “We live in the same neighbourhood, dweeb-face, this is a camp,” and opens his window all the way. Will grins at him, wide and glinting in the dark, and yanks himself in head-first, somersaulting onto the floor and staying there, sprawled on the polished marble floors.

“Hi,” he says again, grin shifting into something more crooked.

Nico breaks away, hiding a smile with rolled eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s ridiculous to want to see you?”

“Before dawn? Yes!”

“Aw.” He settles against the ground, tucking his hands behind his head and letting half lidded eyes trace over Nico’s form, over the sleepy shape of him. Nico shivers. “I was awake, you know. I dreamt of you.”

Cool the fresh hell down, Nico screams at his brain. Out loud, he says, “Shut the fuck up,” and ignores Will’s snickering. How dare he, honestly. For someone who gets clowned as often as he does he is not nearly humble enough. Apollonian genes, indeed.

“What, you don’t dream of me?”

When Will lies, his throat swells up and he breaks out in hives. Nico is at the top of the leaderboard for getting the reaction out of him, with Cecil at a close second and Kayla no slouch in third place. Will is highly manipulable. It’s a good time for everyone around (even Chiron, who is, to his own irritation, lumbering behind at spot #42).

Nico, however, has no such holdups. Nor is he inclined, at any point in time, to fluff up Will’s ego, no matter how he looks when he’s cocky. Nico has self control. Mostly. (Well, at times.)

“Of course not. My subconscious would never do that to me.”

“You’re mean to me, di Angelo.”

“You like it.”

Nico watches, fascinated, as Will’s loudmouth snaps right shut; as his face burns sacred cow right in the low light of the cabin, as he squirms.

“Oh,” he says, gleefully.

“Can it, di Angelo —”

“Oh ho ho ho —”

“I’m gonna curse your ass with haiku disorder, do you know what that is, ‘cause I’ll show you, dickhead —”

Nico crouches down and pokes Will hard in the cheek, and he doesn’t even flinch — he just goes redder. Nico guffaws.

“Dude! Have some — dignity, oh my —”

“Shut up! Shut up! You’re so horrible, gods, I am leaving —”

“Oh, come here.” Will is dragged easily from the windowsill, because he is a big fat faker. There are actual claw marks on the infirmary door from the last time Austin brought Nyssa to drag him out.

“I don’t wanna stay where I’m unwanted,” he laments, bouncing on the bed when Nico shoves him. He takes the inch Nico gives him and burrows deeply under the blankets, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Nico rolls his own eyes, hoping if he rolls then hard enough Will can tell regardless of whether or not he’s looking, and crawls in after him. He makes sure to kick him at least thrice. “I can take a hint, you know.”

“Medical arts were the wrong career path for you. It’s not too late, you know. I’m sure you could shadow Nicholas Cage or something —”

“I am going to kill you with hammers —”

Nico evades gus clumsy attacks with ease, snickering as he pins him to the bed, smirking when he gives up fighting with a huff.

“I’m glad you came when you couldn’t sleep,” Nico says, after a moment for them to catch their breath. “But the point of that agreement is for you to then shut the fuck up and sleep. Here. So.”

“I’m trying,” Will grumbles. “But you’re being mean and it’s crushing my soul. How am I supposed to sleep with a crushed soul?”

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay! Put the pillow away, jeez, I’m sorry. Meanie.”

Nico rolls his eyes again, settling down next to him. Will takes longer to settle, because he’s annoying, but right before Nico is ready to smack the shit out of him again, he calms down, burrowing stilling once he’s turned on his side.

“…Thank you.”

“Whatever, goober. Go to sleep.”

The smile is obvious in his voice. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“In the morning can we —”

“Goodnight, William.”

“Okay, okay. Night.” He pauses. “Love you.”

Nico shoved his grinning face into his pillow. “Love you too.”

[kisses4kaia]

— in love with him so. (18+ mdni. nsfw content below the cut.) also such a fun way to make my comeback hehe hope u love ♥️

not many could have predicted luke castellan was a virgin.

in all his grandeur and glory and valor, the greatest swordsman at camp has only ever felt that carnal pleasure derived from his own fist. it’s not like it’s a priority of his or anything, what with planning for a war between gods taking dramatic precedent over mere lust.

however you, on the other hand, weren’t necessarily the ‘opposite’ per se, but you still liked to let loose every once in a while—with sneaking away at bonfires and parties kept clandestine from chiron, you found worthwhile hook-ups here and there amidst the chaos of demigod life.

so when you find yourself straddling luke with lips and teeth and tongues in a heated clash, surprise settles over you when the whispered confession slips past his lips. “i—i haven’t done anything like… this before. is that… is that okay?”

to see the pure symbol of confidence and surety stumble over his words because of you and what was to come at your hands was a gratifying feat, but you didn’t want to drive him away by poking fun.

“that’s okay, we can go slow,” your words were meant to be reassuring, but luke’s eyes widen as he shakes his head vigorously. “no, no. i want you—all of you. don’t hold back. please.” his eyes are so piercingly sincere and it almost breaks your heart as you press a ginger, yet still passionate, kiss on the scar etched on his cheek, and then his lipstick-stained mouth.

you’re wordless as you move off of his lap and onto your knees in front of him. “is this okay?” you look up at him through your eyelashes as you play with the hem of his gray sweats to be met with a heavy-breathing luke, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “yes, please.”

“so polite,” you tease before pulling his sweatpants and boxers down in one go. his achingly hard cock springs out from the restrictive confines and rests insatiably on his lower abs.

he was so pretty: a veiny girth with a leaky, red, tip. pre-cum seeped from his slit and you wrapped your hand around the base before kitten-licking it all off, earning an impatient groan from luke. “fuck,” he breathes, and you notice how his hands are balled into fists on the chair’s arms. “you can touch me, luke. i won’t bite.” you press a lust-filled kiss to the side of the length before dragging your tongue along a prominent vein. he curses under his breath at the sight.

luke’s large hands timidly moved to rake through the hair on your scalp, before growing more confident and gathering most of it into a make-shift ponytail. “good boy,” your voice is sickeningly sweet as you continue peppering teasing kisses along his cock, determined to savour this positively transcendent view you’re pleased to know only you have had the pleasure of beholding.

it seemed the both of you have grown tired of your teasing when luke tried to push your head down onto his cock desperately. “ah, ah, ah. patience, angel. i know, baby. i’ll get there soon, hm?” you nod, and luke nods with you, before you finally lower your warm mouth onto his painfully hard cock. “sh-shit!” his voice accelerates in volume as your head begins bobbing up and down his dick, making chaste stops at his tips to swirl your tongue around it greedily. the sounds are disgusting: your saliva mixed in with his pre, slurping his alacritous cock like you can’t get enough, like you’re starved (you can’t, and you are)—his whimpers and moans and whines urge you further, the way your name spills out from him like an incantation between cries of pleasure sends jolts through you every time you hear it.

and you don’t neglect indulging in the sight before you. his head is thrown back as he loses himself in the brain-numbing pleasure, sweat glistening on his defined collarbones. you aren’t sure you’ve ever viewed a more perfectly erotic scene.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. wait, wait, i think i’m gonna—!“ quite selfishly, he holds your head down onto his cock as his abs flex through his orgasm, tip prodding at your throat, causing a sore to begin to dwell. luke’s cum is warm as it slides down your throat and it’s easy to swallow with its delicious balance of saltiness and saccharinity.

“sorry—i’m sorry,” luke breathes effortfully as his climax subdues and you regretfully take your head off of luke for the last time. “it’s okay, luke. how was it?” your voice was raspy from the abuse on your throat and luke could’ve sworn he felt his cock hardening once again.

“so fucking good. thank you. will you… let me make it up to you?”