#SATURATE YOUR ATMOSPHERE

[dailyprayerarrmor]

Stop Letting Negative Energy Control Your Life with This Technique

[soapyblubbles]

⋆｡˙ runaway pets ˙｡⋆

pairings: dark regulus + dark poly marauders

warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, implied kidnapping, threesome, implied fivesome, voyeurism, overstimulation, (light) slapping, choking, stockholm syndrome, smoking, shotgunning, pet names, etc.

a/n: please enjoy the much more comprehensive version of one of my very first works. there were a lot of inconsistencies and issues with the first version. I added a lot more detail to this and it honestly feels more like a one-shot than a drabble now. i'll add the unedited version at the bottom just incase anyone wants to take a peak. anyways, happy reading <3

“I told you it’d be worse if you went to get help.” Regulus sits on one end of the bed, a small indulgent smile flitting across his lips. As if nothing was wrong. 

As if you weren’t being fucked within an inch of your life.

You turn your head to him, breathless pants leaving your mouth as Remus continues to rock into you. His hips slap into your own at a steady pace. How long had he been sitting there?

The air is stifling, sweat beading along your forehead and the small of your back. The arm around your waist only adds to the oppressive feeling, Remus’ strong grip keeping you upright and in place.

Your arms shake from exertion, and you have to force your hands to unclench from where they’re fisting the damp sheets.

With a whimper, you reach for Regulus, trying to find the comfort you once found in him before it all. Before he had selfishly stole you away. Before you knew of the darkness lingering just beneath the surface.

You weakly try to pry off the arm wrapped around you, but it doesn’t budge. It only tightens, pulling you up until your back hits Remus’ firm chest.

“Want sir now. Please- Remmy-” The lanky brunette ignores you, muttering something unintelligible into your neck as his thrusts speed up. Your attention was stolen from him. He doesn’t like that- not one bit.

Your face crumples at the silent dismissal, the tears you’d been holding in falling just as you reach another trembling high.

“Please, m’sorry sir- c-can we please go home now?” You gasp out. Your limbs burn, they have been for a while you suppose, but still you try to ignore it, concentrating on just Regulus for now.

But he only hums noncommittally, standing as he makes his way to the makeshift bar in the corner of the room. Regulus rubs his jaw in mock thought, scrutinizing the scene before him while he pours himself a glass of firewhiskey. The smell of cinnamon saturates the air, adding to the heavy atmosphere.

“Thought you wanted to come here-“ He gestures around the room, lazily draping himself on the nearby armchair. “For help.” The last word is said with a sneer and laced with so much venom that you balk.

Even though you can tell he’s done arguing about it, you still sob out: “I’ll be good- promise.”

You hear Sirius let out a scoff. He’s leaning against the headboard, his shirt unbuttoned and a lit cigarette in hand, doing nothing but watching as his friends ruin you.

He’d been the one to call Regulus when you came running to their house, barefoot and in nothing but a frail, white nightgown. “You’re already being good here, pup- s’no use in leaving.” He makes his way towards you, squishing your cheeks together, your lips forming an o-shape.

He blows smoke into your mouth, smirking when you cough at the burn. “Y’already gonna be punished anyway, might as well do that here- ain’t that right Reggie?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, breaking his normally composed demeanor. “Don’t call me-”

“Hush, I can’t focus when you lot keep talkin.” James' speech is slurred as he speaks up, moving his head slightly from between your legs. He pays no mind to the way Remus pumps in and out of you. His mouth is so close to where the two of you meet that you can feel his cool breath against your clit as he talks.

“S’annoying.”  

You clench around Remus at the feeling, and the man in question groans, giving you a particularly rough thrust.

James goes back to work at that, humming softly as he drinks in yours and Remus’ juices. You let out a another strangled moan, instinctively trying to tilt your hips away.

Instantly Sirius’ face darkens with anger, “Uh-uh, I don’t think so puppy.” A hand shoots out to grab the base of your neck as James’ hands grip the front of your thighs tightly.

“Don’t fuckin’ run away from him- you understand?” 

You nod shakily, chest rising and falling quickly as you watch him with unseeing eyes.

“Just take it like a good girl, princess.” James cooes, lightly nibbling on the inside of your thigh. You let out a startled yelp.

“What d’you say bunny?” Remus asks from behind you, hips slowing as he tries to find that spot. Trying to coax the words out of you. You whine, unable to answer until Sirius gingerly slaps your cheek, raising a sharp brow at you.

“M’sorry- m’so sorry Jamie.” Your head is spinning, an ache growing until it becomes practically mind numbing.

At this point it’s all you can focus on.

“Thought I taught you better than that pet.” Regulus chides, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He looks only slightly more disheveled than before. His hair is not neatly combed back like it was earlier, and his tie considerably loosened. His fingers dig into the cushioned arms of the chair, the veins in his forearms flexing in a way that makes your mouth water.

You lick your lips. “Sir-”

Remus shushes you. “S’ okay bunny- y’just have to make it up to him.” You cry out as he brushes against your g-spot, finally finding what he’s been looking for this whole time.

Each hit of his hips is aimed perfectly, giving you no room to breathe until you’re a gasping mess.

James’ mouth certainly doesn’t help. His warm tongue suckles at your clit, unrelenting as he brings you to that exhilarating peak over and over again.

Eventually he breaks away, wiping the wetness around his mouth with the back of his hand. A feral grin forms as he pushes the hair away from your face, cupping your teary cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad now was it? You can take a little more, right?”

Sirius answers before you can even think to open your mouth, a mocking frown on his face. “I don’t know about that Prongs- she seems a right mess already, huh? Don’t think she can go on.” He slaps between your legs, and a panicked moan startles its way out of you. 

You quickly come undone, so worked up from before, but the torment doesn’t end there.

“I think you're right, Pads.” James murmurs, as he slips his fingers through the mess of your cunt, the tips of his fingers grazing the base of Remus’ cock.

It’s enough to startle a groan out of him.

Sirius grabs onto your hips, reaching around James to take control of the even pace Remus set. “C’mon pup, make a mess on Moony’s cock- be a good little cockslut for us.”

He bounces you viscously atop Remus, everyone watching intently as you become a drooling mess.

Your set your lidded gaze on Regulus, whose self-control looks like it’s seconds away from snapping. 

Yet he makes no move to stop the situation.

“Come on princess- fuckin’ come for us. Make a fucking mess.” James growls into your ear, pinching your clit roughly. Tears well in your eyes, body tensing as you are, yet again, pushed off the edge.

“Fuck- such a good bunny.” Remus curses. 

Sirius and James mock your high pitched cries, taking a sadistic pleasure in watching you sob at the overstimulation.

Your limbs go slack, Remus panting heavily as he fucks you through it all, his breath fanning against your neck. He kisses your temple softly and you whine, barely able to move, even as the aftershocks flow through you. 

The three continue to overstimulate you, and Remus lets out a breathy chuckle when Sirius lets go of your hips, letting you fall face first into James’ chest.

“S’your turn princess. We’re not doing all the work for you- besides you still have three more cocks to go.”

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

UNEDITED VERSION

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You and Eddie spend some ‘quality time’ together in his van on a stormy afternoon 😘 Includes oral sex (f receiving) face-sitting, masturbation, squirting, unprotected p in v sex

It’s a gorgeous, stormy afternoon in Hawkins. Heavy rainfall drums against the roof of Eddie’s van, trickling down its fogged-up windows. The two of you are wrapped together under a blanket in the back, stripped to your underwear. Eddie’s hands run along your back as you lay over him, his fingers working your bra undone. He succeeds at unhooking it and the bra slides down, the fat of your breasts now pressed against his bare skin. Your breath hitches when your peaked nipples meet the coarse hair on Eddie’s chest. Every part of you seems on fire, sensitive and filled with need. Eddie can feel your arousal, one of his thighs situated between yours, the warmth of your soaked panties wetting his leg…

His breath is warm and moist on your neck, raising goosebumps across your skin. Eddie’s lips suck gently along the base of your throat, traveling down your chest till he’s massaging your breast in his mouth. You keen into his tongue, gliding your nipple against the soft, wet pad. Lightning strikes close by, the rumble of thunder vibrating the backseat under your bodies. Eddie slides his lips off your breast, his eyes wide with mischief. “That was a big one, huh?” he murmurs up at you. Adjusting yourself on top of Eddie, you’re now straddling his bulge instead of his thigh. He groans as you bear down on his stiff cock, the fat outline prominently tenting his boxers. “Yeah, it is a big one,” you respond, using Eddie’s previous words.

He holds you at the waist, rolling his hips upward, grinding you over his bulge. The rain grows stronger along with the wind, whipping against the sides of Eddie’s van. He gently eases you off of him for a second, gazing between your bodies at the soaking mess you’ve made on his boxers. “Jesus Christ,” he marvels, sounding awestruck. “I don’t know if it’s wetter out there, or in here…Fuck I need to taste you…” Eddie guides your hips as you crawl up his body, till your thighs are framing his face. “Atta girl,” he mumbles into your cunt, but his words are obviously muffled by your pussy in his mouth. Eddie’s left hand squeezes at your hip, while his right hand moves to touch himself.

His eyes drift closed, his tongue lapping your cunt through your slippery panties. You sink deeper over Eddie’s face, humping his lips and chin, marking him in your scent. He’s tugging at his cock now, grunting into your wet heat as he fucks himself and you at the same time. Your fingers are locked in Eddie’s hair, his ebony curls damp with sweat. The atmosphere inside the van is extremely warm, prompting you to toss the blanket off your bodies and onto the floor. Eddie’s hand is working himself closer and closer to climax, his mouth sucking your clit through your panties with the same goal. The underwear is completely saturated by this point, a useless barrier between your cunt and Eddie’s mouth. When you come, your orgasm fucking drenches Eddie, the slippery liquid running down his cheeks and neck.

Eddie flips you over, pulling his cock from his boxers and tugging the sopping crotch of your panties aside. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, begging him to fill you up, and he readily obliges. Eddie enters you easily in one thrust, his hands clutching your ankles for leverage as he pumps your cunt full of his release. He lays over you, panting and chuckling into your hair, “fuck sweetheart, m’sorry I came so quick. Y’just squeezed me so good, couldn’t help myself…”

Eddie slides a hand between your bodies to pull his dick out of you, his fingers grazing your clit in the process. A little gasp leaves your body at the contact; Eddie smiles up at you wickedly, that mischievous look in his eyes again. “Aww,” he coos. “Looks like you’ve got one more in there for me, huh princess?”

Before you can respond, Eddie’s already moved backward in the seat, nuzzling your belly on the way down to your pussy. He peels the ruined panties off of you, slathering your legs in your juices as he pulls them off and tosses the soaked fabric to the floor. Eddie rests on his elbows in front of your ass, and burrows his face between your legs.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in Eddie’s wet mass of curls as he eats you. Heavy rain pummels the roof of Eddie’s van as his tongue bullies its way inside your pussy. It’s almost too much, the way he forces his tongue in and out of you. Eddie isn’t content with licking your clit; he literally has to fuck you with his mouth before he’s satisfied with his work. He knows from experience that you have the strongest orgasms when he pumps his tongue in and out of you like this, rubbing the tip against your g-spot, licking you from the inside out. Your hold tightens in Eddie’s hair, your cunt gripping his tongue as its thrusts continue.

Rutting yourself against his face, your clit bumps Eddie’s nose just as his tongue reaches the deepest place inside you yet. Your climax streaks through you like a bolt of lightning painting the sky, your creamy walls twisting and clenching around Eddie’s tongue. He grins into your cunt as you soak his face again, getting off on the vibrations of your orgasm he can feel through his tongue.

Eddie licks soft stripes up and down your pussy as your orgasm fades, pressing feather-light kisses onto your clit. “Good job, baby,” he says, lifting his head from between your legs. “I knew y’had another one in you…”💋

[jmliebert]

♡ halsin teaching you how to kiss ♡

little scenario (but you're shy and unexperienced)

 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were inexperienced and incredibly shy, but the intensity of Halsin’s attention was intoxicating. It sent shivers of anticipation through your body. His gaze, unwavering and bold, left you breathless. His fascination with you, all the probing questions and sincere compliments, made you feel not just noticed but deeply desired.

Halsin yearned for you, for your presence, and the high walls you had built around yourself started to crumble. Despite the fear rooted in your shyness and your painfully limited experience, you wanted Halsin to discover more of you. Over time, his hand would accidentally brush against yours as you walked side by side. Sparks seemed to ignite through your body, and you were almost certain that Halsin felt it too. You could see it in his eyes, but in a moment of panic, you’d look away.

One night, as you sat together on the soft grass under the crescent moon, his thigh touched yours, and you lost your breath. Even though you longed for his attention and touch, you were terrified. Halsin was a legendary lover, his exploits well-known, and you found yourself blushing, unsure of how to react when he took your hand in his, gently stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

With his face dangerously close to yours, your heart pounded, threatening to burst from your chest, your face aflame with heat. His gaze held yours, searching, and you found yourself speechless, unable to move, despite your longing to do so.

Those few seconds stretched into an eternity, each moment filled with tension and expectation, your own personal ordeal, until a gentle movement from Halsin towards you became your salvation. His lips met yours in a soft, innocent (or perhaps not so innocent) peck. Had your eyes been open, Halsin would have seen your pupils widen in surprise.

Every lingering glance, every small smile, every warm word, and every gentle touch saturated with hopeful anticipation culminated in this simple, tender, yet deeply affectionate, little kiss. It relaxed your body, filled your heart with a warm, pleasant sensation, and brought an involuntary smile to your lips. There was no possessive grasp on your hips, no intrusive tongue seeking entry into your mouth. Perhaps Halsin understood you more than you gave him credit for?

You quickly grew to cherish your little pecks. Halsin never denied them to you, which was both reassuring and... thrilling. You started to feel more confident in the druid’s presence, surprising even yourself. Halsin was patient, open, and charming, and you began to bloom. 

The rainy night when Halsin slipped unnoticed into your tent marked a turning point in what was between you. Raindrops trickled down Halsin’s shoulders and hair, and you could swear his skin steamed, a light mist hovering over the imposing man, so awkwardly large within your modest tent, yet so perfectly fitting, so eagerly anticipated. As always, the druid greeted you with one of his most endearing smiles.

“It’s good to see you again, my heart,” he said. 

As the night unfolded, you found yourself in his arms. Your head rested on his chest, and your hand roamed hesitantly over his torso, tracing the curves of his beautiful body, while his own hand lay on your back, caressing it leisurely. The rain continued to drum against the tent’s walls, the night enveloping everything in darkness, with only a few solitary candles on the tent’s floor casting a soft glow around you. 

Was it the atmosphere and the sudden clenching of your heart that emboldened you? Perhaps it was the calmness radiating from Halsin, the warmth of his body? Maybe you just felt it was the right moment to take the next step, to express your feelings more openly than your shyness usually allowed? You weren’t sure, but you couldn’t help but lift yourself slightly on your elbows to look at his face, partially hidden in the candlelight’s shadow. His eyes gleamed; he looked mesmerising, seductive even. Before you knew it, you began to pepper his face with sweet little kisses. From his forehead to his nose, cheeks to his chin, and Halsin allowed you to do so with a smile on his lips and an occasional chuckle.

“What have I done to deserve this?”

“I don’t know,” you lied, “but I really wanted to do it,” you added (this time) honestly, and gifted him a few more pecks on the lips, which he gladly accepted.

You had been thinking for the longest time, feverishly contemplating how to approach this, how to articulate this embarrassing truth. What words to use to make this truth bearable? You considered writing it down, but you were too afraid it might fall into the wrong hands (like Astarion’s), so you planned everything meticulously in your head. But life isn’t linear. And when you began to speak, the words came out differently than you had intended. You decided Halsin deserved honesty; the words flowed out of you naturally, not at all according to the plan. 

“You know... I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Silence. And then his voice. 

“Do you want me to teach you?”

Oh.

Your heart swelled. That was so undeniably Halsin. 

You nodded, your eyes shining brightly. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain pattering against the tent.

Halsin’s smile was warm and reassuring. He cupped your face gently with his hand, his thumb softly stroking your cheek. “The key to a good kiss,” he began, his voice a soothing murmur, “is to let it flow naturally, to follow the rhythm of your own heart.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Just relax and follow my lead.”

He pressed his lips against yours, tenderly, patiently. There was no rush, no urgency, just the gentle exploration of a shared moment. His lips moved softly, encouraging you to respond. You felt his hand move from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer in a slow, deliberate motion. His kiss was a revelation of how intimacy could be both powerful and gentle. And then he smiled, the expression of someone who had just tasted the sweetest honey.

 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The other night Halsin got more possessive towards you. 

“Let me show you more,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and resonant. He tilted your head slightly to deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking out to tease your lips apart. The sensation was thrilling, and you parted your lips willingly, inviting him in.

His tongue explored your mouth, gentle yet insistent, as if savouring every moment. You could feel the heat building between you, and you responded in kind, meeting his movements with growing boldness. Halsin’s hand slipped into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he held you close, his lips moving against yours with a hunger. 

“You’re doing beautifully,” he murmured a praise, his words a soft caress that ignited a spark of confidence within you. Encouraged, you allowed yourself to lean into the kiss, matching his passion with your own.

Halsin broke the kiss momentarily, only to press a series of soft, teasing bites along your lower lip. The gentle nips sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp. His lips curled into a smile at your reaction, and he gazed into your eyes, his own filled with a fiery intensity.

“I love the sounds you make,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. The words and the way he looked at you, so full of desire and affection, made your heart race. You felt his lips trail down your neck, planting tender kisses that gradually grew more fervent.

Unable to contain the pleasure building within you, a moan escaped your lips, soft but unmistakable. Halsin froze for a moment, his lips still against your skin. You felt the slight tension in his body as he processed the sound, and when he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes had darkened, his pupils wide with unrestrained desire.

“Do that again,” he growled softly, his voice thick with a feral edge. There was a possessiveness in his tone that made your pulse quicken. You moaned again, more deliberately this time, and it was as if you had unleashed something within him.

Halsin’s hands cupped your face, his grip firm but tender, as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. This time, his tongue delved deeper, more demanding, coaxing out every ounce of pleasure from you. You could feel the shift in his demeanour, the primal urge to claim you, to make you his. His kisses were no longer gentle; they were fervent, leaving you breathless and yearning for more…

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about halsin ♡here♡

[blackdollette]

₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ "𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡." | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: female!reader x spencer

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 777

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut, unprotected p in v, doggystyle, creampie, overstimulation, slightly implied aftercare, not proofread

when spencer reid fucks, he fucks.

it was nearly impossible to comprehend. the BAU’s genius, the one who beamed like a ray of sunshine and wouldn’t hurt a fly, turning you into a sobbing mess with the rapid thrust of his hips into your cervix? you would’ve laughed at the thought a few hours ago. now here you were, your face shoved into his pillow as he slammed himself into you, taking slight pleasure in the sounds of your muffled whimpers.

his veined hands dug into your bruised hips, the chestnut hairs on his head falling in tufts over his flushed face. he had seven and a half inches stirring within the gummy walls of your hole, his balls slapping against your puffy clit over and over again.

spencer’s lips glistened with juices of arousal as his groans echoed through the room. “m-my god, y-you’re losing it, aren’t you baby..?” he taunted, managing a breathy little laugh as you whimpered in response. he pulled out his cock, mainly to get a reaction out of you. your cunt fluttered around the absence of his rod, your hips rocking back desperately to feel him in your again.

he hissed, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he dragged the tip of his dick along your sticky entrance, coating it in your cum. you let out a laboured, shaky breath as he gave you a few wet slaps, pushing himself back into you inch by inch at a time.

you were a mess, your tears and spit saturating the pillow underneath you. not to mention how swollen you were getting from the relentless abuse on your hole, but you couldn’t complain. he had shoved his fingers into your mouth, anyway.

you could feel his neatly-trimmed v-line slam against the sore flesh of your ass each time he buried himself inside of you. a string of curses slurred from his lips, his grip on your hips only getting tighter with each passing second. your vision had gone hazy hours ago, your body completely submitting to his newfound dominance.

“i-i… i can’t, s-spence..!” you stammered out just as he began to rub sloppy circles on your clit with his long fingers. you rolled your hips against him, chasing an orgasm that seemed just within your reach. your pussy convulsed around his girth, making him toss his head back as a deep groan erupted from his gut. the lewd noises of skin slapping together quickly drowned out the groans, whimpers, and pleas. “c’mon, baby. j-just like that… use me…”

and you did. you ground against him, wanting to feel him in every way possible. sweat cascaded down the valleys and crevices of both of your bodies, adding additional heat to the steamy atmosphere. his cock twitched and throbbed as his balls swelled with the overwhelming presence of cum.

you were so, so close that it almost hurt. the sensations buzzing in your body were reaching an all-time high, bubbling over like a pot of boiling water. you buried your face into the pillow to hide your sobs, but spencer took a handful of your hair to pull you back up. “i wanna hear all the pretty sounds you make when you cum… c-can you do that for me, baby..?” you were helpless to denying his request. the line between reality and whatever heaven felt like were becoming blurrier as he finally found that bundle of muscles deep inside of you.

your body jerked, and there it was. you let out a moan so pornographic as cum gushed out of you that spencer couldn’t help but blow his load while he was shoved inside of you. he bit his lip so hard that he drew blood as he hastily began fucking you again, his thrusts lacking all their usual composure.

he wanted to drag out this orgasm. to make it better than you could ever fathom. even through this time of weakness for him, his motions were perfect and precise. the speed of his fingers, the rhythm of his thrusts, it was all hypnotic and you quickly found yourself reaching a stage of overstimulation. 

your body quaked and trembled as he milked every last drop of cum out of you, giving your pussy a few more flicks before finally pulling out, a thick white string of cum connecting your bodies before snapping. you collapsed onto the moistened bedsheets, spencer joining you and wrapping an arm around your waist as you panted like starved animals.

you were lying in a puddle of cum, your body still spasming as shaky breaths slipped from your mouth. and all this was because of the BAU’s genius, spencer reid.

[cepheustarot]

Who will appear in your life soon and why?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: An optimistic and cheerful person will soon appear in your life, who is looking for the pros and positives in everything. By themself this person is calm, reacts calmly to difficulties and problems in life because he believes that everything can be overcome. This person is able to adapt to sudden changes but prefers a stable life without impulsive changes. They can also be called moderately emotional, they do not dramatize and do not react sharply to anything but they are not stingy with feelings. By the way, they are very good friends, loyal, always ready to support and help, ready to help with solving any problem. They can also be generous, constantly give gifts, can pay the bill at the store / cafe for you, can get tickets and invite you to an event, to a movie, etc. Next to this person, there is a feeling as like a stone wall, you can always rely on them, you feel calmer with them. But this person can be very picky and categorical at times as they may have a peculiar taste and therefore it is difficult to make a choice. This person can also fall into melancholy, apathy at times and at such moments becomes uncommunicative, talks little, shares something, generally closes themself in. During such a period it is important to support them the same way they do and then they will be able to return to their former state soon.  This person will appear in your life as support and help in order to fulfill your goal. They can either directly participate in achieving the goal (for example, motivate, work with you on, be in the role of your coach, etc.), or morally support. To a greater extent I see that this person will play a role in realizing your desires but this does not mean that they will do everything for you, they will inspire you to take action.

Pile 2: A very emotional and sensitive person will soon appear in your life, to some extent i can say that they like to romanticize a lot around them, like to create aesthetics and a certain atmosphere, look beautiful, dress up, decorate a room or something like this. I see that they like to create something with their own hands and their activities have creative features, for example, they can draw, write, create something from clay, they can create compositions from flowers, do scrapbooking and everything like that. As I said earlier, they are very sensitive, they may have developed high emotional intelligence, their facial expressions are very emotional, they may have competent speech in which it is very rare to hear word-parasites. They deeply appreciate the connection with loved ones and if you can get closer and trust each other, then such a person will remain in your life for a long time. They also work a lot of time, they are purposeful but they need to see the result, otherwise their work will come to naught without it. They can become very attached to things because for them it is something memorable and associated with significant events in their lives.  This person will come into your life as an employee, a work partner, you can work on a project with him, make a deal, you can come up with ideas for creating something (here you can also include the creative sphere, for example, you will write a song together, you will work on creating a book, a series of short stories, you will do the feat). Cooperation with him will be painstaking, very saturated, sometimes difficult, as it is difficult to get along with them or you may not agree on some nuances but the result of the work done will definitely please you two and your efforts will pay off, bear fruit.

Pile 3: A somewhat mysterious, cold, detached and introverted person will soon appear in your life. They do not really like to talk about themselves, show their intentions and attitudes to a person not through words but through actions and deeds, through their behavior. This person likes to spend time with himself, they generally may not consciously make many friends, acquaintances, like to be alone, they value their personal space very much. They are also anxious individuals, constantly immersed in their thoughts, they may have low self-esteem which they hide very much behind their behavior. It is difficult for them to make a choice, they are very indecisive and very easily give in to pressure from the outside. They probably have as many complexes and fears. But at the same time, they are very smart, hardworking and diligent, erudite, they like to act according to a plan, they have everything clearly thought out and calculated. They are also passionate about a lot of things and have a lot of knowledge, know a lot of facts, can support almost any topic with this knowledge. They are curious, inquisitive, like to learn new things, explore something.  Speaking of why such a person will appear in your life... To be honest, I don't see any positive aspects here. They play the role of a person here, a third person who spoils relationships with people and they can negatively affect your relationships with friends, family or acquaintances in the company which will cause a strong quarrel between you. So for the most part, this is a warning, be careful! Perhaps these people will want to "take revenge" on you in this way or frame you because they dislike or have a personal dislike for you. They could also be offended by you because of some trifle but for them this trifle looks like a whole tragedy.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[mononijikayu]

i wanna be your slave — ryomen sukuna.

In this intimate cocoon, where every sensation was heightened and every touch was electric, you and Sukuna were locked in a world of your own making. The heat and arousal created an environment of pure, unfiltered mess and desire, the outside world nothing more than a distant memory. Sukuna's breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a deep, commanding murmur. “Forget what they told you, hm?” he said, his tone laced with a dark, seductive edge. “All those warnings, all those fears—they mean nothing here.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Canon Convergence

Warning/s: Alternate Universe, NSFW, Concubine! Reader, Heian! Trueform Sukuna, R-18, Pure Smut, Explicit Sex, Roughness, Unprotected Sex, P on V Sex, Double Penetration, Pet Names, Praising, Patronizing Insults, Teasing, Breeding, Size Differences, Overstimulation, Creampie, Possessiveness, Profanity, Mentions of Body Parts, Mention of Explicit Sexual Acts, Mention of Breeding, Mention of Rough Acts, Reader Is Trying to Survive Sukuna, Sukuna's Obssessed As Hell;

Words: 3.2k words.

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 800;

note: i don't know if i wrote this very well but this was really something that i took a time to write this because i kept imagining how the positions would work in my head. also sukuna really is hot guys like heian sukuna does things to me??? ashes of love really should have been this too ngl??? anyway, i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all!! see you on the satoru reincarnation series <3

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YOU ALWAYS SURRENDERED TO SUKUNA FAST. The room was saturated with a heady blend of heat and arousal, the atmosphere almost palpable in its intensity. The air was dense, carrying the weight of your shared desire as it mingled with the primal, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin. Each slap of Sukuna’s hips against yours echoed with a visceral, urgent rhythm that seemed to reverberate through every corner of the room.

The walls themselves felt like they were closing in, drawn tighter by the charged energy of the moment. The temperature seemed to rise with every movement, the warmth of your bodies pressed together creating a cocoon of intimacy and passion. This charged environment only intensified the connection between you and Sukuna, making every touch and thrust feel magnified.

Every motion between you two seemed to magnify the electric tension that hung in the air. As Sukuna’s body moved against yours, each shift and thrust was a testament to the raw, unfiltered power he exerted. His control over the situation was palpable, a tangible force that heightened the pleasure and surrender coursing through you. 

The rhythmic clash of your bodies was both relentless and hypnotic, a primal dance of domination and submission. The sound of your breaths mingling with the rhythmic pounding was music to your lord’s ear, that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. Each stroke and shift in position was like a perfect note in a symphony of desire, amplifying the intensity and pushing deeper.

The heat in the room grew almost unbearable, not just from the physical exertion but from the charged atmosphere created by your shared passion. It was a space where every subtle movement, every whispered breath, and every touch was amplified, magnifying the depth of your connection. The air was thick with anticipation, each moment stretching out as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable crescendo.

In this intimate cocoon, where every sensation was heightened and every touch was electric, you and Sukuna were locked in a world of your own making. The heat and arousal created an environment of pure, unfiltered mess and desire, the outside world nothing more than a distant memory.

Sukuna's breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a deep, commanding murmur. “Forget what they told you, hm?” he said, his tone laced with a dark, seductive edge. “All those warnings, all those fears—they mean nothing here.”

You gasped, the sound swallowed by the intensity of his thrusts. Your body responded to him with a desperate need, and you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I don’t care about them, my lord.” you breathed out, your voice trembling with both pleasure and conviction. “I want it to be good. I want it hard. Only you can give it to me.”

A satisfied smirk curled on Sukuna’s lips, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of pride and desire. “You know that’s right, hm?” he growled, his voice rough with arousal. “No one else can touch you like this, no one else can make you feel what I do.”

His words were a taunt and a promise, each thrust a reminder of the exclusive, raw connection between you. “You need this, don’t you?” he continued, his voice low and seductive. “You need me to push you, to make you feel every inch of me.”

You moaned in response, your body arching to meet his forceful movements. “Yes, my lord!” you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sound of your shared passion. “I need you. Only you can—”

“Only I can do what? Huh, little one?” Sukuna interrupted, his tone sharp and commanding. “My lord, huh? I am your only one. The only lord that can make you come undone, make you beg for more?”

“Uh—uh, yes!” you cried out, your voice a mix of desperation and ecstasy. “Only you can make me lose control, make me feel this way.”

His grin widened, a dark satisfaction reflected in his eyes. “Good little girl..” he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Because I plan to make sure you never forget just how right it feels with me. I’ll push you, make you crave every moment of this.”

You could feel the way Sukuna’s hips moved with a relentless, rhythmic pounding, each thrust a masterful display of control and power. His smirk, a wicked and triumphant curve of his lips, spoke volumes about his dominance and satisfaction. It was clear that he reveled in the way he made you shiver and quake beneath him, finding pleasure in both the physical and emotional control he wielded. He liked power. You’ve always known that. You always knew that he was too good at it. And he liked it.

He alternated between the two with a deliberate precision, his cocks switching in and out of you with a calculated force. You could feel tears piercing through your eyes, one after another. He was hitting hard, he always has. Each motion was both punishing and exhilarating, a dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless and yearning for more. The friction between you was electric, building with every thrust until your body could no longer contain the overwhelming surge of pleasure.

As your lord Sukuna fucked you hard and fast, his movements were driven by a primal need to own you, to punish you, to pleasure you. You could feel everything. It’s the way one cock after the other pressed and stretched you with every thrust made your body quiver uncontrollably. You could feel your nerves, like they were on fire, each touch and penetration igniting a chain reaction of pleasure that coursed through you with relentless intensity.

You were reduced to nothing when it comes to him. And you liked it. When he picks you in the room, out of all those witless lines of girls, you always feel like you were the chosen one. Each night felt like you were being cleansed. He was your devil, giving your redemption. Looking to be cleaned by the mess he gives you. And you never complained like all those girls did. You took it. You loved it. You worshiped it, his pleasure. 

Every inch of your body can only come alive with the sensation of your lord Sukuna’s cocks inside of you, overtaking you whole. Your eyes rolled back intensely as the sound of his hips meeting yours was a relentless thunderstrike, driving you closer and closer to the brink of completion. The more it hurt, the more it raged inside of you, the more your moans and gasps filled the room. Sukuna thinks that you create such a beautiful symphony of pleasure for him. With each surrender too, it can only ever become even sweeter. 

The sensation of his cocks bullying deeper and deeper one after another into you was a blend of pain and pleasure, each thrust pushing you further into a state of complete submission. If anyone were to watch it, they would be sickened by it. To see such a lady be ravaged like she was a prey of some monster. But you didn’t care. You would think anyone watching would be too dead to give any opinion either. 

His large hands gripped onto you tighter. You could feel the way your skin was slick with sweat, your body trembling under the sheer force of his dominance. You were exhausted to be sure, but you would never say that. Nor would you say that the  friction was almost too much to bear. You wanted to make your lord feel good. You wanted to make yourself feel good too. This was exactly what you craved, this animalistic raw, unfiltered desire that surged between you cannot be stopped. Not when he has awakened it in you.

The more time went on and continued, the more the world outside ceased to exist. All that was left was reduced to the intimate space between you two, where his dominance and your submission were the only things that mattered. Your lips parted, loud mewls and cries escaping as he bullied his thick cocks impossibly deeper inside you. You wondered at times if there was even space for his cocks to go deeper into you. But you don’t think nothingness will stop him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, the intensity overwhelming your senses.

“My poor little thing.” he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I thought you liked this sort of thing? I thought you liked being my beauty, hm? Thought you liked how I could be a monster to you, with these cocks?”

“I–I…I do!” you moaned shakily, drool falling off your lips as your legs trembled as he switched fully to the other cock, the one you swore was even larger, stretching you to your limits. “‘I–I do! M–my lord….please….”

“Feeling me good down there, huh?” he teased, his voice a low growl that reverberated through you. “You could feel it well, how it swells inside you, hm?”

Sukuna hammered into you with an unrelenting rhythm, his movements taking on a relentless and demanding pace that left no room for respite. Each thrust hurt, it was a reminder. A powerful assertion of no one else but him could have shown. He was a force that drove deep into you with a precision that made your entire body quiver. The intensity of his movements was almost blinding, the world outside fading into insignificance as the sensation of him inside you became the only reality.

His cocks, thick and veined, always pushed against your walls with an almost brutal insistence. Your pussy struggled to accommodate his girth, the friction building with every deep, forceful thrust. His cock’s relentless pounding created a delicious stretch that had your walls clenching and tightening around him, trying desperately to adjust to his size. The sensation of being so fully and thoroughly filled was dizzying, sending waves of pleasure and overstimulation that pushed you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

Sukuna’s hands were firm and unyielding as they gripped your hips, the pressure of his fingers bruising against your flesh. The way he held you, forcing you to remain in place, accentuated the feeling of being completely at his mercy. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours with an almost predatory gaze. There was a challenge in his look, daring you to endure, to keep up with the relentless pace he set. He wanted you to take everything he had to give, and the sheer force of his gaze made it clear that he expected nothing less.

Your body responded instinctively to his relentless assault, meeting his movements with a desperate fervor that bordered on madness. Every thrust seemed to ignite a new level of pleasure within you, pushing you further toward the brink of ecstasy. The rhythm of his pounding was relentless, a ceaseless drive that had you gasping and moaning in time with each forceful push.

Your mind was a haze of pleasure, every sensation magnified to an almost unbearable intensity. The way Sukuna’s cocks moved inside you one after another, the way his hands held you in place, and the look of determination in his eyes combined to create a torrent of feelings that left you teetering on the edge of release. You clung to him, your body arching and writhing beneath him, driven by a primal need to meet his dominance with an equally fierce submission.

The four walls of this room seemed to spin around you over and over, and you surrendered completely to the overwhelming tide of pleasure, lost in the sensation of lord Sukuna’s dominance and the exquisite pain and pleasure he brought with every thrust. In his arms, you were both undone and complete, your world reduced to the here and now, to the heat and power of Ryomen Sukuna’s touch.

Sukuna’s pace never faltered as he drove into you with relentless intensity, your body arching under his expert touch. His dark red eyes were dark with desire, a mix of possession and something deeper that flickered within their depths. He knows he owns you, and yet somehow — he still wants more of you. He still craves to own you. Over and over, each night he asks for your presence, to take you over and over. He still wants more. He still has the greed, the hunger to want more.

“You are my precious little one, hm? I cannot let anyone find you like this. Your lord is too jealous.” Sukuna growled, his voice rough with emotion as he watched you writhe beneath him. Each word was punctuated by a powerful thrust, sending a shiver of pleasure through you. “He does not like his little one getting looked at, hm? Only he can do that, don’t you agree?”

If a servant was out there, you knew that all they'd hear was your gasps and the sound of Sukuna’s hips slamming against you. But you doubt they would be allowed to live. No one was allowed to even be near this room when Sukuna took his rights with you. He wants it to only be him. He has always made it clear — you belonged to him. No one else. 

You groaned as you pulled at his massive arms, trying to catch some levity. But as he changed the position slightly, to get deeper into you — you lose any relief.  His massive hands moved to your thighs, pulling you closer, deeper, as if he could never get enough. You could feel it, your eyes were closing soon. You were passing out from exhaustion. He snickers.

“Make good on your promise, little one.” he continued, his breath hot against your ear. “Take it all. You cannot fail your lord now, my little willing cock slave.”

As though by sheer force of will, your body responded instinctively to his words. Tired as you were, you were eager to please and be blessed. You do all you could to keep your hips rising to meet his own, chasing the pleasure that only he could give. You were going to come, you were certain of that. You must last. You must make sure of it. You let out another round of groans and moans, your face falling deeper into the futon as his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with every passing moment.

Lord Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from yours, his expression fierce and unyielding. His eyes bore into you with an intensity that seemed to challenge you, daring you to look away or deny the deep, primal connection that bound you together. There was a dark satisfaction in his gaze, a silent promise of dominance and fulfillment that was both thrilling and overwhelming.

As his rhythm quickened, the pace of his thrusts became even more relentless. His hips snapped against you with a force that was both commanding and punishing, each movement driving you closer and closer to the brink of complete ecstasy. The intensity of his thrusts was almost brutal, each powerful push sending waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for release.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk as he snickered, a sound that was both dark and triumphant. He could feel the way your body responded to him, the way you were on the edge of surrendering completely to the pleasure he provided. His eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction, knowing that you were ripe for the taking, ready to receive the full extent of his dominance and desire.

He could sense that you were prepared to take his cocks, that you were attuned to the pleasure they brought. His confident smirk widened as he considered the implications of your submission, his thoughts turning to more than just the immediate gratification. He thought about the possibility of his heir, a thought that only intensified his desire and determination. The idea of you carrying his legacy, of your body being marked by him in such a profound way, added a new layer to the already intense connection between you. Because there is no one more worthy. More perfect in his eyes. His little one, his favorite.

One after another, lord Sukuna drove home the feeling of his dominance, making it clear that you were his in every sense. The powerful rhythm of his hips, the unrelenting pressure of his touch, and the fierce intensity of his gaze combined to create a moment that was both exhilarating and all-consuming. The pleasure was overwhelming, and as you spiraled closer to the edge, you knew that this was not just about physical release but about something deeper, a connection that bound you both in ways beyond mere words.

As your lord Sukuna’s thrusts grew more erratic and intense, even more brutal than before —  his control over the rhythm of his movements began to waver. The pressure building within him reached a fever pitch, and his gaze remained locked on yours with an unwavering intensity. Each thrust became more forceful, his hips snapping against you with a powerful urgency that drove you both closer to the edge.

The sensation of his cocks moving inside you, the sheer force of his dominance, and the pleasure coursing through your body reached a crescendo. Your moans and gasps were almost lost amidst the sound of his relentless pounding, your entire being consumed by the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

With a low, guttural growl, Ryomen Sukuna’s control finally shattered. He released inside you with a forceful, shuddering climax. His cocks pulsed and throbbed, sending thick, hot streams of his essence deep within you. The sensation of his release was both exhilarating and overwhelming, a powerful wave of warmth and satisfaction that filled you completely.

As he came, his grip on your hips tightened even further, the pressure a reminder of his dominance. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his expression a mixture of intense pleasure and fierce satisfaction. He could feel every spasm of your body around him, every tremor of pleasure that accompanied his release. His snickers of triumph were now replaced by a deep, primal satisfaction, knowing he had pushed you to the brink and beyond.

You, too, felt the impact of his climax, your body reacting instinctively to the warmth spreading inside you. The pleasure was a heady mix of relief and fulfillment, leaving you feeling both exhausted and deeply satisfied. Sukuna’s presence was a constant, heavy weight, a reminder of the intense connection that had just reached its peak.

He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in heavy, uneven gasps. His gaze softened, though the intensity of his satisfaction remained. His smirk returned, though it now carried a note of smug satisfaction, as if he knew he had pushed you both to the limits and beyond.

“See how perfect this is?” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety growl. “You were made for this, for me. No one else could ever satisfy you like this.”

As your eyes close slowly, you can only know you were.

You were made for this, you were made by the devil for him.

As slumber takes hold of you, you can only let out a silent prayer.

You prayed that your lord Sukuna will never tire of his little one.

Because you knew, if he did, then he would have no more use for you.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Slight Voyeurism , Possessive Behaviours, Masochism, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Begging, Handjob, Fingering, Kissing, Gun!Play, Angst.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Forty minutes.

Forty whole fucking minutes. Could you survive that? Could you withstand the intensity of locking eyes with Theodore while out on the dance floor--fully aware that in a mere forty minutes, you'd be ditching him for his best friend, who would undoubtedly have his tongue halfway down your fucking throat within seconds? Amongst other parts of him?

Surely, you thought, initially. Surely, you could navigate this without a damn hitch.

And yet, as the seconds ticked away, the problems seemingly multiplied, each one more intricate than the last. Did your strategic dance around the room, weaving between curtains and moving with the rhythm of the crowd, make you a coward? Or were you simply just a troubled girl, trying to avoid an explosive drama?

Cursing Emily and her carefree advice, you acknowledged that her fearless disposition most likely wouldn't have flinched at such a predicament. However, you, caught in a tumult of conflicting emotions and uncertainties, found the prospect far more overwhelming than you thought you would.

And as thirty-five minutes finally fucking ticked away, urgency propelled you across the room, each step hastening toward the bathroom as if evading a blazing fire.

The door swung open, revealing a sanctuary of stark white tiles and dimmed lighting. Your breaths resonated in the confined space, a palpable blend of anticipation and trepidation saturating the air. In the mirror, you appraised yourself, eyes reflecting the tempest swirling within. The bathroom, a cocoon of silence, seemed to pulse with your internal turmoil.

Every moment lingered like a suspended breath, the minutes stretching thin as you awaited Mattheo's arrival. Each heartbeat echoed in the quiet space, the air electrified with the promise of an electric encounter, a typical mix of ecstasy and chaos that Mattheo was known to cause.

And then, before you could even process it, the bathroom door creaked open, prompting you to look up. Despite having only been in there for about 30 seconds, Mattheo smoothly glided into the room. You caught his dark eyes in the mirror, wasting no time before his intense gaze locked onto you, and with a practiced motion, he secured the door shut and locked it behind him.

"Matt-"

He shook his head, his voice cutting through the air, low and deep. "Quiet, Raven."

Mattheo closed the distance with deliberate steps, his predatory focus narrowing onto you. Hunger radiated from his eyes, an intensity that filled the room. As his gaze swept over you from head to toe, the air thickened, and the sound of your heart pounding echoed in the confined space, a rhythmic accompaniment to the charged atmosphere.

"Turn around," Mattheo commanded, his voice authoritative and husky, laced with a potent blend of desire. "Face me."

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as you slowly spun around, obedient to his directive. His eyes, now intensified with lust, burned into the exposed curves of your form, claiming every inch with an intensity that left no doubt about the restrained fervor filling the room. Mattheo circled around you, his predatory nature manifesting in every calculated step. The fabric of his black suit jacket strained against the contours of his strong shoulders, emphasizing the raw power that simmered beneath the surface.

His eyes, dark pools of desire, moved with precision, taking in the sight of your body adorned in the tight red dress. The sharp lines of his jaw tightened as he absorbed the visual feast before him, a hunger burning in his gaze that echoed the primal instincts of a predator closing in on its prey.

And then, he stopped behind you, his hand coming up to graze your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips, softly tugging down your bottom one before releasing it.

And with his mouth grazing your ear, he whispered, "I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Your lungs stalled, and you turned your head slightly, trying to glimpse him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you try."

Without another word, Mattheo snatched your hips, spinning you over and shoving you onto the counter as his lips smothered yours. The flame that had ignited in the ballroom instantly roared to life, drenched in the fuel of your connection, setting your skin ablaze with need. Your fingers instantly dove into his hair, wringing around his luscious curls, and he groaned, slipping his tongue into your mouth, a large hand coming to cup your head, to trap you there, the other coasting up and down your side.

Your legs spread for him, welcoming him, cunt already throbbing in anticipation. For a brief second, you pushed away, running your hands over his sophisticated chest, taking a moment to admire him, to soak in how absolutely fucking beautiful he looked. Mattheo did the same, seeming new, somehow, a reverent awe in his gaze--not just feral, but tormented, needing to have you in his arms.

"Fuck, Raven..." he breathed, his voice a low, husky cadence. "I don't even know where to fucking touch you first because I want all of you...I need all of you at once..."

"Gods...you look so fucking good, Mattheo..." you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips as you let your gaze travel up his body, meeting his intoxicating brown eyes. "You clean up deliciously well for a man with such a reckless reputation."

"Hm," Mattheo huffed, fingers moving with a delicate precision over the fabric of your dress, gliding sensuously along the curves of your hips. "You're cute when you're nice to me, Raven..."

Playfully, you inquired, your fingers tracing a teasing path across his chest, "And what am I when I'm mean to you?"

His devilish smirk grew. "Hot as fuck."

"You're a bloody masochist..." you whispered through a smirk of your own, your voice merely a breath as your hands found his shoulders. "Kiss me, you piece of shit."

His lip twitched, and without any hesitation he kissed you again, jerking you closer, sucking in air through his nose while his tongue swirled over yours. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair once more, fingers teasing the warm shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, nearly shoving you into the sink as he trembled.

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard. Your hips rolled forward, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem.

Mattheo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a finger through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "So fucking wet for me," he murmured. "And all mine..." He dragged a slickened digit over your clit, the sensation new and delicious--you quivered, biting your lip. "Only for me..."

You nodded, inching forward, the only articulate words escaping as please, please, please.

"Isn't that right, princess?" He said, free hand gripping your jaw as he stared directly into your soul, his chest heaving and pupils blown wide with lust. "This tight little pussy belongs to me, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you mewled, lids fluttering. "All yours...it's all yours, Matty..."

"Fuck...I'm going to make you cum now, then I'm going to make you cum on my fucking cock..." he leaned close, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "And by the end of the night, the only thing this pretty mouth will be able to say is my name."

"Oh--" you began, but then he plunged into you. "God!"

He snickered. "Wrong name."

Riddle crooked his fingers in your cunt, focused on your flushing face, the tempo of your intermittent gasps, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, his pace merciless, and you snuffed a whimper in your chest, staring at him. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you noticed the outline of his impressive erection straining at his pants. Your hand burned to stroke it, to feel it.

"I missed you so fucking much, Matty," you whimpered, your voice a desire filled plea. "I think I missed that pretty cock more, though...I can't lie..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the depth of it reverberating almost as a growl, increasing the heat in your lungs. "It missed you too, Raven...my fucking hand could never compare to this tight little cunt..."

"Fuck, Mattheo..." you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as you clung to his strong, muscular frame. "Did you think of me?"

"Never stopped," he murmured, catching your lips in a brief kiss, increasing the pressure of his thumb on your clit--forcing you to cry out in delight. "Fuck. How does a cunt this little take me so well, hm?" Another kiss, lingering. "Just thinking about how tight you are makes my cock hard."

You whinged, lava boiling in your blood--you weren't sure what was going to make you cum first, his words or his fingers. "Oh...Mattheo..."

"That's right," he said. "I make myself cum every morning thinking about fucking you. And it's never enough." He was panting, kissing a path down toward your neck. "I could fuck this pretty pussy every night for the rest of my fucking life and it still wouldn't be enough..."

Your brain swarmed with that distant feeling again, dizzying you, robbing you of language, weakening your joints. You clung to him, a raft in the sea of your lust, choking back your moans as his palm rocked against you, thumb circling your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt--you let your lids close, let pleasure encompass you, let yourself submerge to his will, trusting him to give you exactly what you needed.

"Shit..." you whimpered, digging your nails into him as he nipped at your pulse, teeth grazing over it softly. "I fucking need you, Matty..."

"Have me, Raven...It's yours." He said, his voice cracking with lust, throat shredded with emotion. "I'm yours."

Heat flooded your face, and while chewing your cheek, you reached for him, grasping at his trousers. Mattheo's hand left your jaw, reaching behind him and pulling the familiar black gun from under his waist band, tossing it down onto the counter before allowing you to unzip his fly. You hardly even flinched at the sound, too lost within your own primal fervour, fingers moving swiftly as you tugged everything down his thighs, his thick length springing free, smacking his clothed stomach. He barely seemed to notice, seemingly lost in the heat of your cunt in his hand.

You scooted closer and wrapped your fingers around his warm, heavy cock--and he choked, jabbing you deep, forcing a quaky breath from your lungs. Swallowing, you tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes as his jaw tensed, and his lips parted in pleasure.

He throbbed, twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, and his breath was uneven, tattered from the weight of lust--but so was yours. Mattheo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse like perfect poison--a feeling you should never have wanted, but would now die without.

"Yeah...stroke my fucking cock, little slut..." he purred, tilting his head as he glimpsed your lips, something devilish and dark and amused in his gaze. "...make your owner feel good."

Before you had the chance to respond, he kissed you again, shoving his tongue past your teeth, canting his hips in pace with your hand. He was smooth and silky and so big--in the back of your head, you couldn't believe you'd managed to take all of him--the memories had you clench and groan into him, and his cock throbbed in your palm. The air was humid, thick with sex, dizzying you, shooting static through your skin.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, "you're so tight..."

You hummed in delight, walls clenching around his fingers. "And you're so hard..."

"That's right...that's what you fucking do to me, Raven..." he purred, and with each thrust of his fingers, pleasure built inside of you, intense and all-consuming as it threatened to overrun your senses. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the brink, your body pulsing with electrical sparks of delight. "Fuck...I feel you squeezing me, princess...cum for me..."

Mattheo held you tightly against him, his words sending shock waves of their own straight to your fucking core, his fingers working in their relentless rhythm that had you seeing stars. And then, with a sudden burst of ecstasy, you came hard, your entire body convulsing as pleasure ripped through you like a tidal wave. You moaned loudly, your muscles clenching and spasming as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smirk, his fingers still working inside of you until he was certain you were past your high. And then, he eased back, meeting your eyes, both of you slowing to stop as something slammed you in succession, a chasm of greed opening between your bodies. A snap, an ignition--and in one smooth movement, you'd released him while his fingers left your core and yanked your underwear to the side, cock thrusting into you with a sweet sting.

"Fucking hell..." Mattheo hissed in bliss, sheathing himself in your heat. He grappled your hips, grip tight enough to bruise, slowly fucking into you, watching his dick disappear into your pussy. "Tell me how that feels, Raven..."

"Fuck-so good..." you mewled, mouth dropped in ecstasy, head fighting not to fall back onto your shoulders. "So fucking good..."

"Mhm...yeah..." shuddering at his own words, he groaned, shifting closer, murmuring into your ear as he increased his pace, hips snapping, cock fucking deep into your cunt. "Tell me how fucking bad you missed me...how fucking bad you missed this cock..."

"Oh, Gods..." desire had consumed you both, his pace embodying complete desperation, a frenzied, urgent need to bring you both to orgasm. "I missed you so fucking much...I missed your cock-oh! Fuck-"

Mattheo's strokes were rough, painful, incredible, your breath catching up with your brain, the euphoric fullness of his cock ready to fling you to another plane. And then his thumb grazed over your clit, beating it in time with his thrusts--you cracked, crying out, your words cut short.

"That's right," Mattheo growled, "that's right--you're mine, you're mine..." he pressed his lips to yours, short and sharp. "This pussy is mine, that perfect little body is mine...your heart and your fucking soul is mine..." he was slamming you deep, panting with every snap of his hips, your pussy hot and slick and pulsing with your oncoming climax. "No one could ever fuck you like I do...understand me?"

"Yes. Yes!" Rapture numbed you, at the edge of your skin, a typhoon ready to wreck you witless.

"Say it." He hissed, kissing you again, mouth millimeters from yours. "Say no one else could ever make you feel like this. Fucking no one."

"Oh-oh...fuck..." you could barely respond, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through your body. Waves upon waves of pleasure charged through your veins, every inch of your skin tingling with delight as Mattheo took you higher and higher. "No one, Matty...only you-fuck! Only you..."

He growled, a primal shredded sound, his pace of your clit increasing. "Fucking cum for me, whore."

"Yes! Fuck!"

A sudden, explosive burst of bliss slammed into you, making your back arch in ecstasy while moaning a string of indecipherable curses. Your walls clamped around his cock, milking him for all he was worth as you rode out the second wave of pleasure that rocked your body. Mattheo growled hungrily, his lips crashing down to capture yours in a fiercely passionate kiss as he continued to drive into you without consideration. He thrust harder and deeper, his body slamming against yours as you both reached new heights of pleasure together.

Mattheo's eyes were hardly open, his breath leaving his throat in mere growls as he fucked you deep, both hands shifting to your hips now. "Mhm...that's my good girl...so fucking tight..."

Every nerve in your body felt alive, thrumming with the raw power of your shared desire. You were consumed by the heat of the moment, lost in a world completely separate from reality, when a loud, sudden knock at the door abruptly interrupted everything--both of you stopped, fear creeping into your eyes, ears straining to decipher the voice behind the door.

"Hello?" It was deep, male, and recognizable. Mattheo kept his cock inside you, each of your heads turned, staring at the door, brains buffering as you tried to put the voice to a face. "Anyone in there? C'è qualcuno?"

Your jaw dropped, terror clutching your chest, watching as Mattheo simply smirked--something so fucking dark creeping into his eyes it'd put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame. With a quick, aggressive motion, he pulled out of you, ripping you off the counter and spinning the both of you around, making you face the door as he pulled up the back of your dress and aligned himself with your cunt, one hand on your stomach and the other clamped over your mouth.

He released a deep groan in your ear as he plunged his cock deep inside you once more, the muscles in his chest tensing against your back, your heart pounding in your fucking throat. You were sure this man had completely fucking lost it.

"You think I should let him in here, hm? Let him see what I fucking do to you...who you fucking belong to..." each word from his lips was barely spoken, his voice so low and gravelly in your ear that you involuntarily moaned into his palm, hoping to Godric himself that it was muffled well enough. "Maybe I should make you scream for me...make you show him who the fuck you call daddy..."

He slammed into you with abandon, his hips grinding against your ass as he took you from behind, his hands gripping you hard.

“Tell him it’s occupied,” he muttered, his voice so deep and dark it involuntarily made you clench around him. “Tell him you’ll be right out.”

You shook your head, panic gripping you, but Mattheo wasn’t interested in your protests. In a swift motion, he reached behind him, grasping the gun off the counter, pressing the cold metal of the barrel tight to your temple.

“I’m going to release your mouth, and you’re going to do it, understand me?” You felt the overwhelming power of his need radiating through every inch of your body. “Do it, or I’ll unlock that door and let him in.”

You clenched again, body trembling as he continued fucking deep into you, his hand slowly leaving your mouth as you reluctantly nodded. You knew this gun couldn’t hurt you, even if Mattheo wanted it to, but the mere prospect of it being held against your temple did something to you, enough to make you want to submit to him without hesitation.

When his fingers slipped to your jaw, you inhaled, gathering your strength to speak. “O-occupied! I’ll only be a f-few…”

Mattheo huffed, slowly descending the gun from your head before tossing it back onto the counter. He slowed his pace for a few seconds, as though he was waiting for Theo to leave, before his fervour took over and his palm clamped over your mouth again.

"Mm, fuck..." he moaned, seemingly unable to help himself. You could feel his breath hot on your neck, his muscles flexing and tensing with every powerful thrust. "I'm going to cum so deep in this pussy...you're going to be so full of my fucking cum, Raven, fuck..."

Mattheo growled hungrily, driving into you even harder as he chased his own release. You felt his body tense, you knew he was close. "You're going to feel it, baby...for the rest of the night you're going to feel my cum dripping from your tight little cunt...running down your thighs..." he groaned, lips pressed against your ear. "As you walk out of here...as you look my best friend in the fucking eyes...fuck-"

Before he could finish the sentence, his breath sputtered, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he spilled his release deep inside of your pussy. You could feel the warmth spreading through you as his cock continued to pulse and twitch, each ministration sending new waves of pleasure crashing over your body.

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, gasping for air, your bodies trembling with the aftershocks of your shared passion. It was as if time stood still, the world outside the bathroom door ceasing to exist as you remained locked in your embrace, lost in the aftermath of your all-encompassing ecstasy. And as the intensity between you and Mattheo finally subsided, leaving both of you exhausted and sated, a comfortable silence enveloped the room. Amidst the quiet, you subtly moved to fix yourselves, the air still charged with the remnants of passion.

Once you were settled, you noticed a moment when Mattheo's attention waned, and curiosity got the better of you. Deciding to seize the moment, you reached for his gun.

"What's the purpose of this?...especially tonight?" you inquired, your fingers tracing over the barrel. The cool, unyielding metal pressed against your skin, raising questions in the hushed aftermath. "Why do you carry it with you?"

Mattheo's gaze lifted, his fingers diligently working to fasten his belt, yet his jaw tensed in response to the proposed questions. You could tell his brain was already formulating ways to deflect, his guarded expression betraying the reluctance to divulge.

"Don't worry about it, Raven," he retorted, the words coldly dismissing you with a mere glance. “It can’t hurt anyone.”

“Still,” your brow furrowed with concern. "You could get expelled, Mattheo, or even worse-"

"Could, but I won't," he interjected, the statement delivered with a stark flatness. Stepping toward you, he extended a hand, a slow and deliberate gesture. "Give it to me."

A firm "no" escaped your lips as you instinctively backed away. "Not until you tell me what it's for."

Mattheo's smirk emerged, a slow and calculated advance accompanying an amused glint in his eyes. "Don't play with me, Raven. You know you won't win."

Your measured retreat brought you ever closer to the approaching wall, the only thing that you knew would put a for-certain end to your defiance. The intensity in your voice reflected your internal struggle, demanding answers.

"Why won't you tell me?" The question hung in the charged air, a challenge he couldn't sidestep. "I can't think of one good reason why-“

"You said you trusted me," he countered, his jaw clenching with a mix of frustration and determination.

"I'm trying," you hissed, your teeth barred with emotion. "You're not making it very easy for me."

Amusement danced in his eyes as your back met the unyielding wall, a soft gasp betraying your resolve. He tilted his head, closing the remaining distance until he stood right before you. Two strong arms encaged you against the wall beneath him, asserting dominance in the charged silence, the unspoken standoff between you escalating with every passing heartbeat.

"Now what, hm?" Mattheo mused, a twinkle of sadistic amusement dancing in his eyes. He wet his lips, his gaze flickering to yours, the gun in your hand tucked securely behind your back. "I've got you trapped, princess..."

"Mattheo, please," your voice held a desperate plea, refusing to entertain his games. "This is me begging..."

"For what?" he demanded, a challenging edge in his tone.

"For even the smallest glimpse into your life..." you whispered, your voice quivering, as if fearing the vulnerability of your admission. "I want you, Mattheo, but I can't keep doing this if you won't open up to me...you know everything about me, and all I know about you is that you hate the colour yellow..."

Mattheo huffed, smirking. "It's a wretched c-"

"Please," you interrupted, lifting your free hand to his face. Your thumb brushed gently over his cheekbone, the gesture laden with a tender plea. "I'm on your side…no matter what."

The intensity in your gaze drilled into him, each word you spoke carrying a profound weight that you hoped he could decipher. The silence that lingered between you was thick, fraught with unspoken tension that hung in the air like a dense fog. Then, he inhaled sharply, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifted his wrist to check the time on his watch.

"Fine," he uttered, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion, a stoic façade masking the complexities beneath. "But we have to leave right now."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, lips parting to voice your inquiry. "What?"

"Right now, Raven," he reiterated, urgency punctuating his words. "You want to know what the gun is for, I'll bloody well show you."

As you blinked in response, still partially stunned, he extended his hand once again, gesturing for you to surrender the weighty weapon. Swallowing your confusion, you carefully placed the firearm in his calloused palm, searching his eyes for any clue about the impending journey.

"Where?" you finally questioned, your gaze unwavering as he tucked the gun back into his pants. "Where are we going?"

Mattheo sighed, a complex mixture of emotions crossing his features as he ran a hand through his hair. Each step he took toward the door seemed laden with the gravity of a decision yet to unfold.

"The Forbidden Forest."

——————————

Here’s chapter 27->

[inkykeiji]

sukuna is the walking definition of a complete terror to everyone but a touch softer for his baby. like he can deny it all he wants but he would do anything for his weak pretty princess

no truly he would, but he’d always be able to frame it in a way where he’s doing YOU a favour, acting as if he’s doing everything wholly and solely for your sake and not because his heart feels like it’s being wound with a fucking noose at the mere thought of you being unhappy, unwell, unsafe. he pretends as if it doesn’t send thorns of unfamiliar, unsettling anxiety tearing through his veins, as if it doesn’t overwhelm his mind and override his receptors and make every nerve in his body feel overexposed, hypersensitive to the slight change in the air as your aura shifts. it’s as though your mood saturates the atmosphere and he can see it, sense it, smell it—and he can’t fucking stand it. 

the room becomes heavy with your sadness, weighing down on his chest with such force he’s sure it’ll splinter his ribs, send jagged cracks like lightning through the bones and snap them into sharp shards. the room becomes scorching with your fury, flames that lick at his skin and fill his lungs with a seething rage, bubbling as it eats away at his oxygen and pours out his mouth in roars. the room becomes stifling with your disappointment, something that wraps delicate hands around his neck and crushes his windpipe beneath it’s deceptively dainty grasp, choking his sentiments. 

they’re all horrifically irritating feelings—he hates experiencing them and, what’s more, he hates you experiencing them—and so he must eradicate it immediately; destroy the source, devour the seed, dig it out by its roots with his bare hands and pull it apart vein by vein, tendon by tendon, with his claws until it’s dead and can no longer bother you (meaning it can no longer bother him, either). 

in other words, sukuna lives for hedonism, meaning he really doesn’t like feeling bad, so he wants to get rid of those bitter, aching, caustic emotions as soon as physically possible. what he fails to realize in his primal thinking is that he feels all these icky, awful feelings because he loves you, he can’t handle them because he can hardly bear the thought of you being even the tiniest bit upset, at anything, for any reason, he wants to eradicate them not only to make himself feel better, but to make you feel better, too—though it’s all subconscious.

[souperluminal]

Hello!! I'm a huge fan of your art and I thought I would ask about your colorwork, because it's genuinely super impressive to me how all your pieces have amazing palettes and they add so so so much to the general atmosphere. Do you have any process to pick colors for pieces? Like using picture references, gradient maps, etc or do you genuinely just eyeball them? I'm super curious :]

But yea I really love what you do and love seeing every new piece!! Have a nice day! Ty for reading <3

Thanks! I very much use references, though I don't use the color picker on them, gotta train the eye. I have an ever-expanding reference folder of photos and paintings with colors that I like so that when I start a new painting and I have an idea of the color scheme I want in mind, I'll already have some reference on hand. Good reference really makes a world of difference!

I also like to bias colors a little bit away from their standard versions:

The more blue green and the more yellow green are both more interesting to me than the "just green" green. Nothing wrong with that average green though, sometimes that's exactly what you need. It's always situational.

Lastly, a fantastic color tip for digital art specifically that I got from Mike Hernandez: Use the RGB sliders instead of the HSB color selection!

By default, Photoshop gives you the HSB (Hue, Saturation, Brightness) color picking setup which looks like this:

It's perfectly functional and has its uses, but it doesn't really feel like mixing color. On the other hand, if you use the RGB sliders:

Now you can add a little more blue if you think that's what the color needs, or you can take away red, add some green, etc. It gets you actually mixing color and thinking more about how the colors relate to each other. It can take some getting used to if you've only used the HSB setup before, but it's worth it!

[inlovewithfootballplayers]

Shared study- Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary: Jude demonstrates his unconditional support by helping the reader, a biochemistry student, prepare for an important exam, offering not only his time and patience, but also invaluable emotional support at home. A/N: English is not my first language, sorry if there are some grammar mistakes!

The day had been long for you, a biochemistry student, with endless hours in the lab and your mind saturated with formulas and experiments. In the late afternoon, you decided to go to Jude's house, looking for a respite and a change of atmosphere to continue your studies.

Upon arrival, you found Jude in the living room, his face lighting up as he saw you enter. "Hello, love," he greeted you warmly, rising to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

You sighed, setting your heavy bag on the floor. "Exhausting," you admitted truthfully, "but I have to study some more before tomorrow's exam."

Jude looked at you with concern as he led you over to the couch. "Can I help you with anything?" he offered gently, knowing how important this exam was to you.

You sat down next to him, grateful for his support. "Could you go over metabolic reactions with me? They're my weak point," you asked, opening your book and reaching for the notes you had taken.

Jude nodded with determination, sitting down next to you and looking at the book curiously. Even though football was his passion and his profession, he was determined to support you in any way he could. "Let's get to it," he replied with an encouraging smile.

They spent the next few hours immersed in study. Jude listened intently as you explained each concept and asked questions about biochemical processes. Although he didn't always understand all the technical details, his patience and willingness to help you were evident in him every gesture and expression.

"What happens if we increase the substrate concentration?" you asked, pointing to a diagram in your book.

Jude frowned slightly, thinking about the answer. "That would increase the rate of the reaction, right? Because more substrate means more effective collisions between the molecules," he replied, hoping he had got it right.

You smiled, impressed by his understanding. "Exactly," you confirmed, nodding approvingly. "You're learning fast!"

As the evening progressed, Jude encouraged you with words of encouragement and small comforting gestures. He would bring you water when you needed refreshment and prepare snacks to keep your energy up. Every break became an opportunity to share laughter and light conversation, easing the tension of studying with his loving presence.

Finally, as the clock struck midnight, you closed your book with a sigh of relief. "I think I'm ready for tomorrow," you announced with a beaming smile, feeling the weight of stress ease thanks to Jude's unconditional help and support.

Jude hugged you tenderly, feeling a deep satisfaction at seeing you so determined and confident. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured against your hair, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

"And I'm proud of you," you replied sincerely, your hands clinging to his shirt with gratitude and love.

At that moment, in the comforting silence of his home, you had found not only academic support, but also a reminder of how much it meant to have someone like Jude by your side, willing to do anything for your well-being and success.

[yeyinde]

BARKING DOG | Jealousy + Price x GN!Reader

Jealousy comes easy for Price, but it's rare he ever acts on it. Until, of course, he does.

》 WORD COUNT: 4,9k 》 WARNINGS: None (don't look at me, i'm just as surprised as you are). 》 TAGS: Fluff. Angst. Coarse language. 》 NOTES: I've gotten a few asks (read: two) about my take on Jealous!Price, so this is that. —Jealousy would be rare in an established relationship. He sees jealousy as distrust, and since trust itself is the foremost foundation he'd want before even pursuing a relationship, it would be extremely out of character for him to give into it. —That being said, before you get together? When feelings are not yet Actualised? Ooof. 

The heavy bass pulses through the unusually packed pub. The rhythm of it seems to reverberate through your body, harsh enough to rattle your bones like a second heartbeat in your marrow. 

You can feel the re-echo of it through the worn herringbone floorboards, bleached in some parts by the repeated spills of ethanol, and the scuff of countless soles dragging across the wood. It pulses beneath you, alive with the leaden stomps of the pub-goers matching the rhythm of the band on stage—the very thing that drew the dense crowd into the ramshackle pub off the corner of Pilgrim and Rice Street. 

It's nestled between Knowledge and Georgian Quarter, a place he'd said was quiet, but good. 

Quiet, you think as cheers erupt when the band trails off their latest rock version of a Sea Shanty from somewhere in Atlantic Canada. If only. 

It was clear when you arrived that Price hadn't anticipated the crowd. The placid look on his face crumbled into something sour, and surly, and you'd taken to jabbing your elbow into his side when he tried to turn around and flee. 

"Who cares," you yelled, shrugging. "We're already here." 

Who cares, indeed. You'd come to regret those words within a half hour of sitting in a booth in the farthest corner away from the makeshift stage you could find. The writhing mass of bodies heated the balmy room until the windows fogged over with a layer of thick condensation, and the air became humid, permeating the scent of people—sweat, the heavy admixing of perfume and cologne, rotten, waterlogged cigarettes and the lingering staleness of tobacco-saturated smoke, and rich ethanol from the abundance of alcohol sloshing against the raw floorboards. 

It clots in your lungs until you're dizzy with its potency. 

This was meant to be a way to unwind and relax. The mission had been a disaster—weeks of stress that you could only grieve about from your safe perch behind a desk—and you could tell when you met Price at the base in Hereford, the duffle bag, that was more his home than the flat he owned by the docks in Liverpool, slung loosely over his broad shoulder, that it was bad. 

Terrible, even. 

No lives were lost, but he carries the near-misses in the deep canyon between his brows and drapes each failure over his shoulder as if he was Atlas, cursed to carry it all. 

There was a moment when he seemed to stagger, knees folding in under the neverending pressure that loomed over him, and it hardened something inside of you. The filaments of your tender joints were fitted with concrete, and as you hurried to his side, fingers looping around the strap of the duffle bag to try and alleviate some of his stress, it slipped out. 

"Lemme buy you a drink."

Relax, you silently implored him. Let me help. 

(Let me in.)

The unvoiced words lingered in the tense atmosphere that always seemed to bloom like a dense thundercloud around the two of you. It's one that starts when his eyes lift, meeting yours. It feels like a spark—like a rubber band being pulled tighter and tighter until the middle burned hot from the crystallising polymer molecules. Heat, white hot, settled in the thick space between your bodies, in the uncrossable impasse of your matched stare. 

Sometimes, you almost convince yourself that he might shatter the opaque haze that clouds in the distance, that he might say something that will disperse the looming plume of separation. The uncrossable, crossed. 

You're not oblivious to how he looks at you—listing across your flesh with nothing short of raw want in the pelagic gaze that brands you from afar. It's an aching sense of want that is so palpable you can feel the weight of his greed on your skin like a physical touch, like the steady hand he keeps notched into the space of your back, leading you steadily through the pandemonium of the battleground that is downtown Liverpool, or a crowded bar filled with rowdy adults. 

An anchor. A guide. The solid ground beneath your feet amid the ever-changing plates that threaten to compromise your balance, sending you off the edge of a precipice. 

Almost unconsciously, you lean forward, as if trying to meet him in the middle, to carve a perfect equilibrium between the asymmetrical chasm that sits, oppressive and unchartable, between the two of you. 

It's then, always, when he seems to shake the reverie that overtakes him. 

But he always takes a step forward before he steps back. 

You consider that single moment of weakness more of a victory than anything else—pyrrhic as it might be, because when he notices he's now closer to you by his own design, carried by the slippage of his staunch control, the distance he pitches between you lasts longer than the winter months in the apex of a polar vortex. 

He clears his throat, but his voice is still thick when he speaks. A rasping noise sticks, reluctantly, to the side of his throat. 

"Right, mmm."

And then he'll say something that isn't quite goodbye but sounds like it all the same. 

In a world of defensive pessimists, you've always tried to be an offensive optimist. Pushing, pushing, pushing until the bricks wobble and the walls crumble. Until you can see through the gaps to the other side. 

But, in spite of it all, you get it. 

If he wanted to, he would have. Simple. You know this. Echo is sharply like a mantra whenever he takes that single step closer, and the air in your lungs catches fire as you wait for the second—the one that never comes. 

You push because you know you'll be good for him. It isn't the egotist in you refusing rejection, the optimist who refuses to yield, but before there was measured distance, purposeful silence, and accidental steps, there was friendship. 

You were his friend first. 

His confidant. The one he called after missions just to talk to someone who was firmly fixed on the ground of reality, but still tangled up in the world he spent most of his time in. You knew, then, that you'd be good for him. 

And then Al Mazrah. Banter over the airwaves. An explosion. Radio silence for three days. 

Everyone thought his group to be beyond saving—pieces scattered amongst the dunes, being picked at by the vultures and vermin; nothing to bring home, not even partially melted dog tags. 

It was something greater than fear in those excruciating hours of nothing but the static in the airwaves. Nothing. Nothing—

And then—

"Lost my last fuckin' cigar—"

You had a job to do first. A role. You radioed in and pretended as if your lungs were collapsing in on themselves as if your heart hadn't torn out of your chest, and led to Al Mazrah to rot beside him in the scorching sun. 

You managed (somehow, somehow) to forge some facsimile of normalcy into your voice even your fingers spasmed from being compressed into tight balls by your side, aching now as you tried to unfurl them. If your inflection gave anything away as you barked out coordinates to the rescue team, demanding a safe—and swift—extraction, it was only Price could ever pick it up.

Later, when the darkness around the edges of your splintering world started to recede, he called you. Nine hours on a jet to get to where you were. Two days in the scorching desert. And he still called. 

It was the moment of fiction when the hero reached out to the sidelined love interest, that picturesque moment in film when the music rose to a deafening crescendo, and words of curated adoration slipped from the lips of the leading man. When the audience cheered with a sense of relief—fucking finally. 

But it isn't fiction. 

"Need a goddamn bottle of scotch after this one, love. Fuckin' hell, what a shitshow—"

It's reality. And Price. 

It was in the aching nothingness when it clicked. 

You might have been good for him, but that was in another life—when he wasn't already entangled in a sordid affair with his work, when even a brush with death and all its glory wasn't enough to change his mind. When the shakiness in your voice couldn't sway him. 

And—

Sure. Okay. 

You forced another wan smile that he couldn't see and offered to buy him a whole distillery as long as he came home. 

"Might take you up on that." 

And so, it was with the crushing absolution of rejection, and the firm friends-only label you slapped across the gaping hole in your chest to stem the bleeding, that you invited Atlas, with his sagging shoulders and trembling knees, out for a drink. 

Eventually, of course, because he'd spent two days in the wilderness, in the unrepentant grip of the elements, and then another nine hours on a jet being fussed over by the medical team and getting only a blink of rest, and—

"Alrigh', but you're buying."

Eventually, of course, because he needed his rest. 

But you've yet to meet another man nearly as stubborn as he is, and it didn't surprise you as much as you thought it would when he simply nodded, let you take his duffle bag, and followed you to his parked car. He drove, too, despite the fatigue around his eyes because you told him how much you despised the idiots on the Motorway near Heathrow, and he listened, of course, and said nothing at all when he pushed into the driver's seat, offering nothing more than a glance that said well? What are you waitin' for?

You didn't mean right now but maybe the brush with death softened him to your presence. Maybe, just maybe, he needs your company now just as much as you need his.

(Maybe, maybe—everything with Price has always been filled with maybes—)

Exhaustion clots in the corner of his eyes, deepening when he saw how crowded the pub was, but he still followed. Still went along with nothing more than a soft grunt. 

So, here you are. Toasting to yourself about the quiet rejection he gave, and weaving through the throng of bodies, two glasses clenched in your sweat-slicked palms, as you try to get his promised drink back to him. 

It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. 

(And other lies you tell yourself—)

That might have more to do with the absence of anything living inside the rotting hole where your heart once beat. A gap, now, as that pesky little nuisance has fled the confines of its fleshy prison for the scorching heat in the desert to remain, forever, beside whatever it was that Price left behind when they found him. 

(—at least they're together—)

The amber in the glass sloshes when someone backs up, clipping your shoulder. Droplets spill over the rim, running down your fingers clutching the drink. It's cold despite the heat that permeates the crowded pub. A sharp contrast that makes you shiver. 

The nameless, faceless entity whirls around when you stop, stabilising the drinks in your hand, and you catch wide eyes in your periphery, a mouth moving but the words are swallowed by the vacuum of noise booming from the patrons, the speakers. 

"...shit," you vaguely make out. "I'm so—shit—I'm so sorry, did I spill your—ah, fuck, let me get you a napkin—" 

He's cute, you note. Boyishly handsome with his thick, dark curls and soft almond eyes. The warm glow of the strung lanterns overhead cast a halo of pale orange and muted yellows on his flushed skin, making him look like a bronze-dusted cherub in hazy, ethereal gold. 

Handsome, like the men on the covers of Vogue. 

His eyes are dark—bewitching—and when they crease with shame, and contrition, you find yourself conjuring the image of a guilty golden retriever, head bowed in consternation but tail still sweeping low. 

The comparison makes you huff. 

"I'm alright," you say, more for his benefit than your own. 

He turns at the sound—startling as if you, too, were a nameless, faceless stranger in the middle of everything— and you catch the sharpness in his features when he looks back at you. Beneath the boyish veneer are chiselled cheekbones, full lips, and a divot in his chin. Perfectly symmetrical in his beauty. His eyebrows are groomed, but thick. Black against raw topaz. 

(You've always loved uncut gems.)

"Hi," he murmurs, eyes darkening as he takes you in. "I, uh—sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

But he's paying attention now. There's a cut of appreciation, intrigue, in his eyes when they trail over the features of your face. Differentiating you as an individual person amid a sea of so many. 

"You, uh—" he blinks, and then his mouth peels open in a grin that's just as charming as his boyish features. It's soft, if a little windswept. "Hey."

It isn't the smoothest transition from nervous fretting to something that seems like it's meant to be suave, but it's endearing in an inelegant way. it feels unpolished. Authentic. Like the word slipped out of its own accord. 

Stunned. You stunned him.

"Hey," you echo, offering a small smile of your own. 

And it's a bad idea. One that dips in an almost tangible glimmer of hindsight, like some portent proclaiming an inevitable regret when your senses clear, and the ache in your stomach fades into a sore knot that you can ignore on a good day. 

But he's cute. Charming in his clumsy attempts to make sure you're okay. He isn't something that can fix the ache in your chest, but he's certainly a balm to it. A temporal crutch. One you think you can live with. 

"Are you from around here?" He has a soft voice—low, dulcet. Plummy, but not gratingly so. Refined, you think. There's a soft elegance to him, and in the way he moves, speaks. 

The balm spreads as his head tips to the side when you tell him where you're from, curls bouncing freely against his cheek. 

"Oh," he notes, his lips falling together to make a pretty, pink circle. Adorable. "That's far. Come to see the show? My mates and I came out to see them. They're kind of a big deal where we're from, and—"

Someone pushes through the gap behind him, pushing him forward. You reach out, but the glass in your hands stops you from doing much when he stumbles, losing his footing from the sudden shove, soles of his oxfords (of course, of course, he's wearing oxfords) catching on the spilled drink from earlier. 

Blearily, you have a moment to admire witnessing the sequence of events come full circle before his hands reach out, scrambling for purchase, and fit across your shoulders like he's searching for a climbing hold to catch himself from the fall. You tetter back from the brunt force of him stumbling into you, before catching yourself on the pillar cutting through the room. 

He's muttering apologies as he straightens himself out, but your eyes are drawn to the rivulets of scotch dripping down the back of your hand. Three fingers dwindling quickly down to one. 

"I'm—shit—I'm so sorry—!"

He looks cute frazzled like this. His coiffed curls tangle across his sweat-slicked forehead, dangling over his dark eyes. There's a flush growing across the bridge of his nose, colouring him in a distinct palette of rose, bronze, and gold.

You've always been partial to blues and browns, but this wedges inside of you—different, but not overly so. 

"What a jerk—" you lift your chin, glaring over the top of his tousled curls. 

"Yeah," he breathes, the word nearly eclipsed by the pounding in the background. 

His hands are still on you. When you turn back to him, you're almost a little surprised by how close he is. A short step, and suddenly you realise that it wouldn't take much for you to lean up, and kiss him. 

It's an odd, aching contrast to the one step forward, nine steps back with Price. 

You think about it. About kissing him. About going back to the booth in the back where Price is waiting, and demanding he rejects you already so you can pull yourself out of the limbo you've fallen into, run your fingers through this man's hair, and feel nothing at all except satisfaction. 

(Instead of guilt. The stifling sense of betrayal.)

You tilt forward as if trying to meet him somewhere in the middle. As if a kiss would break this skein web where you can still, somehow somehow, feel Price's presence around you like a nebulous cloud. A magnetic pull that keeps some facet of your attention on him, always. 

Still. Still.

The tether is short. You stop before you close the minuscule gap, and let your body fall back on your heels. 

"You know—" You start, but the words—one with no real objective outside of salvaging something from this mess—are swallowed by a call. 

He startles a little at the noise, craning his chin over his neck to see what is vying for his attention. You follow the breadcrumbs of his gaze, locking onto a man waving his hand over his head. 

"Ah," he says. He knows him. Obviously. He turns back to you, something sheepish flickering across his keen expression. Reluctance settles in the crease of his eyes. He huffs. "I, uh, guess I should get back to them."

You nod. "Sure. Enjoying the riveting show, right?"

"What can I say?" He grins, wide and bright. "I'm a sea shanty kinda guy, and they've been gearing up toward Stan Rogers all night." 

"Wouldn't want to miss that." 

"No," he shakes his head. "You really wouldn't. But, uh—"

You know what he's going to ask for before the words are out, and you give it to him. 

Your name. Your number. His hands fly to his pocket, hastily pulling out his phone, and tapping the numbers into his contact screen. 

"I do owe you a drink," he jokes, eyes skirting to the lonely swallow in a glass meant for another man. "So, uh, if you ever want to cash in on it tonight, um. Text me?"

It tapers off into a question, and the vulnerability, the softness of him, blooms something warm in your chest. He won't just be a balm, you think, but a bandage. 

Your smile is loose, even. It's the first one in weeks since the radio was cut and your world was thrown into a staticky silence. A communications blackout. 

"I could buy it for you now if you'd like…"

It's sweet. He's sweet. Different from the men you're surrounded by—ones with hard edges, and brittle trauma. 

"I think you should get back to your friends," you say instead. "But I'm sure I'll see you around."

You want to feel selfish, but you don't. There is nothing between you and Price but a tenuous thread he tries to pull as taut as he can, and the chiaroscuro that paints him and this man are like night and day; normalcy and—

Well. Price. 

He gives you a slow nod and then slips his phone back in his pocket. He doesn't even try to call the number you gave him, so trusting that everything you said was the truth. Your phone is back on the table where you left it, but you're sure it buzzed with his text. 

"I'll see you around." 

He waves you off with a two-fingered salute against his temple and turns back to his friends when the moment passes. Without soft brown pinning you against the pillar, and spilling comfort into the aether, the world around you snaps like a rubber band to your skin. 

Something shakes loose inside of you, and you turn on your heel, balancing unequal glasses of scotch in your hand. When you lift your head, seeking out the booth, you meet noctilucent eyes boring into yours. 

The tether wobbles. The noise fades into a whisper drifting through the pews in an empty church. 

Right. 

You forgot what it felt like to truly be pinned in place by blue. 

The noise floods in a strange, distorted echo the closer you get to the table. 

"New friend of yours?" He asks, expression clouded with impassivity honed before you even knew what the threads of apathy felt like beneath your fingers. 

His eyes drop to the glasses, curving along the knob of your wrist when you push the fuller glass toward him. Derision blooms, splicing through cerulean-tinged disinterest. 

You wonder how much he saw, and—with a bitter touch of trepidation—if he kept watching. 

It's answered when he scoffs. "Couldn't even buy you a new one, eh?"

"It's only a little off the top."

"A little, hmm?" Bruised knuckles, split and cracked at the crease of his bone, curl around the glass leaving a smear of tobacco stains behind. "Your phone rang earlier."

It sounds testy. Cross. It makes you bristle like a cornered cat.

"I know. He texted me his number so I can find him later."

"That so?"

Your nod is short. Clipped. 

Price leans back in his seat as you slide into the bench across from him. His gaze never wavers. It never does. You feel it like a warm hand against your throat, and the thought alone makes you swallow hard, and breathe harder. 

"If that's what you want—a clumsy fuck next in an alley with a man who doesn't know how to really please you, then by all means, love. Go for it." 

His words are scraped out of his throat by the fine edge of a scalpel; grizzled and raw, and drenched in the heavy ethanol of his scotch. 

He normally sounds like this after a mission, after he stood in the middle of a bloodsoaked battlefield, and bellowed out harsh commands until his vocal cords swelled up, and split apart at the seams. 

When he speaks, you scent the coagulated blood of the pulsing wound, ripped open by the scotch and irritated by the cigar clenched tight between his thumb and forefinger.

"But when you get tired of quick fumbles with an idiot who only cares about himself, I'll be waiting. Just don't keep me too long, love. Ain't gettin' any younger."

His words are meant to cut. To slice through flesh, and saw into bone.

"Neither am I—" Those icy eyes meet yours. You shiver. "You—I mean, honestly, Price; I've been putting out pretty clear signals since the beginning, and—"

"I know."

And—

Oh. 

"Great." You say. "Good." But it isn't. It hurts like a knife to the gut, serrated edge tearing through soft tissue. A blunt pressure against your sternum until it bruises, and then cracks. 

(You always knew he'd be brutal in his rejection.)

You're a distraction, is the underlying accusation to everything. Unneeded. Unwanted. 

But something splinters in his glacial gaze; a frisson that splits into a crevasse, a chasm. Darker than midnight, and endlessly wanting. Harsh winds billow from the moonlit depths, howling against the icy walls. 

"Good?" He echoes, tone gritty and unrefined. A jagged gem with sides sharp enough to cut. "Don't think you understand what you're startin', love." 

It's not anger that clots between his teeth, that colours the divots in his brow harshly turbid, but you feel the blistering heat leaking from his skin all the time. 

"And what am I starting, Price?" 

There's picking at wounds sealed over with a scab, and then there's reaching into the pyre with both hands just to cauterise a paper cut. 

This, you think, when he shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing at you, is that. The latter.

You smell burning flesh and feel the heat scorching your palms when he moves forward. There is nowhere for him to go, but he wouldn't be Price—indomitable Captain John Price who still threatens his superiors after almost dying in the desert because they want him to take a mandatory leave—if he didn't make room, didn't force his way through. 

He leans over the small, three-plank table that divides you, and roughly grounds your name out between nicotine-stained teeth. It's a warning, of course. A rotting barbed wire fence that says keep out, no trespassing. But beneath it, you hear a plea. 

Please don't come any closer. 

It occurs to you, then, when his eyes grow lidded and heavy, weary. When they clove with uncertainty, and a brittle vulnerability that seems out of place across the staunch, hardened veneer of a man who finds screaming through a fusillade easier than taking a step forward. 

You get it. It isn't mocking scorn or brutal, vindictive words. It isn't him mercilessly picking apart the soft, gentle exchange of a man you'd willingly given your number to. It's—

"Too much," he says, and the tether sways.

—basal. Naked jealousy. 

He seems to gaze inward for a moment after his confessional fades, and the sounds of pulsing bass, jaunty music, and rhythm thuds against the floorboards flood the space eked out with his voice. It's a brief flicker. And then the mask is pulled back on. 

One step forward. One done almost unconsciously. 

But it tugs on the line connecting you both, and so: 

You take that step instead. 

Meet him in the middle. Connected by one end of a short line. It drops loose against the table, tangling in the spilled drinks that have come before you. Top sticky, scoured raw with ethanol, but still attached. A tether, a red string of fate. You're locked, somehow, in his pull. An orbital eccentricity: forever circling a sun that threatens to burn you whole when your alignment gets too close. 

There's hesitancy in the angles of his face, casting shadows of uncertainty in the murk. Always pulling back. Always only one step in. 

You might have, too, if you didn't see the brief flicker of midnight blue dropping to your mouth. The flash of greed—dark want; covetous florentine—as he gazed at you. 

You know John. A man who gives, gives, gives, but seldom ever takes. Content, you think, with just this unignorable strand arching between the chasm of your hearts. 

(But you've always taken more than your hands can carry.)

So, you chisel a space in that glorious want, shape in until it fits you perfectly, and press your lips to kiss in a truculent kiss, braced for the recoil. 

But he doesn't. 

It feels natural when he rasps your name out between lax teeth. 

Feels, you find, even better when you slot your mouth against his, gently this time. Peppering a litany of devotion across bristly lips that feel more comfortable spitting vitriol than sweet nothings. 

"Been waiting a long time, John."

Against your lips, he groans. "Guess I better start makin' it up to you."

"Guess so."

His eyes flash, then, aposematic; burning bright in a pretty circle. The rich colour reminds you of a blue-ringed octopus.

Captivating, vibrant, electric.

His chin tilts toward the stage, hypnotic, iridescent blue pulling away from you to follow the list of his head. You know when his brows furrow, a deep canyon of displeasure and sullen irritation, that he's staring at the man who gave you his number. His lids fall, eyes narrowing into a tight slit.

Deadly, dangerous.

Tetrodotoxin taints pretty cerulean in a shade of inky black.

You reach out, eyes never straying from Price, and curl your fingers around the thick bulk of his tensed wrist.

"Wanna get out of here?"

He doesn't look away from the man. You don't look away from him.

"Yeah," he grumbles, but the gloss in his gaze reeks of victory. "Let's go."

"Thought you'd make me wait forever."

He hums, considering your words. The streets are lively despite the late hour, reeking of ozone and malt. A kaleidoscope of colours spills out from the cluster of shops, drenching the gunmetal cobblestone in a varicoloured smear. 

"Might'a," he agrees, tone light and cooler than the breeze. 

"I guess it's a good thing I got bumped into. Without your jealousy, this might've gone nowhere."

He stills suddenly, body tensing like a coiled cobra. 

"John—?"

You get a glimpse of prowess when his hand snakes out, snagging your shoulder, and before you can even pry apart your teeth, he moves you in three quick steps, pushing your back against the dewy wall. 

His hands are hot on your collar, your waist, and he holds you firm to the brick. But the heat of his palm is a mere ember compared to the blaze in his eyes—lavascapes in midnight blue. 

It leaks down, molten puddles, before it congeals around the soles of your feet, keeping against brick, and under the weight of his stare. 

His gaze sharpens when you settle in his hold. "And that guy?"

You smile in a facsimile of placating condescension as his hands tighten around you. "Which one?" 

He lifts his hand from your shoulder, dragging his bare knuckles over your dewy skin, letting himself feel the flutter of your pulse under burning flesh. They're rough, split and scared, and you want to take them into your mouth. To taste the ichor rushing through his veins. 

They're dragged up, away from your parting lips, and you nearly pout from the loss before his fingers brush over your nape, where they curl around your neck, holding you close as he growls out your name, breath ghosting over your lips. 

"None, love. Won't want any by the time I'm done with you."

"And when are you gonna be done with me?"

"Never," he murmurs, fingers tightening over your nape. "Kept thinkin' 'bout you the whole time I was in the desert. Dyin', and my only thought was fuckin' hell. I've been a goddamn idiot."

Price takes a step closer to you, and your blood burns. One forward, and—

He takes another. Another. 

He kisses you, then, like he's trying to devour you whole; trying to carve a place inside of you just for him. A space inside each other where nothing else can fit. 

A rogue planet, a stellar collision.

Every atom inside of you burns bright blue, and you find purchase on his broad shoulders—Atlas carrying the world, and you. 

[jobean12-blog]

Tortured Love

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 1,577

Summary: You and Javi have had a complicated relationship and the last time you saw each other you thought it was just that...the last. But now he's back and like always you find him almost impossible to resist...

Author's Note: So @ilovejavierpena posted the photo below and @lizette50 shared it with me and I nearly lost my mind (thank you both bunches). Why? you ask...just look at! The neck, the hair, the hands and thighs and the spread and what's between, well, it did me in so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension and some teasing, you're kind of mad at Javi but he makes it easy to forgive him, softness, p in v, happy ending, use of the pet name angel (just love this one for him)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Don’t turn around.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

You stop with the drink midway to your lips and give your friend a wide-eyed look.

She opens her mouth to tell you why but you whisper, “he’s back,” before she can.

You can feel his presence. His eyes are boring into your skin and with a deep exhale you finish off your drink and set it on the bar before squaring back your shoulders.

“Maybe he’s just here for a drink,” your friend muses with feigned hope.

Javi weaves through the crowd, his attention focused solely on you and his hands already twitching at his sides.

You turn and meet his eyes, watching his lips part with something unheard over the bar chatter as his gaze trails down your body.

Your friend gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and you tear your eyes away from Javi to silently let her know it’s ok.

Silence surrounds you as soon as you and Javi are alone even though the atmosphere of the bar is loud.

He breaks it with a simple yet powerful sentence. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, forcing a smile. “Why are you here Javi?”

He briefly turns his face away, your name passing his lips in a pained whisper.

Someone sweeps by you and nudges you closer to him, your chest so close now that he can feel it brush his with every breath.

His eyes roam over your features and he starts to lift a hand. “I missed you.”

You wet your lips and his eyes track the movement.

“You can’t miss something you don’t want.”

“Angel,” he murmurs. “You know that’s not…”

“Don’t!” you shout and place a hand on his chest.

At the feel of his warm skin under your palm your brain floods with images, sounds and thoughts. All of them saturated with his touch.

“Please,” he begs. “Just let me explain.”

He steps even closer, bridging the smallest gap that was between your bodies and settles his hand on the curve of your hip.

His thumb traces over a slight strip of fabric hidden under your dress and he looks down, sucking in a breath.

“What panties are these?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything!”

“I remember these,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a curse.

When he opens them again they drop to your mouth, soft and kissable. “Let me fix this.”

You lean toward him, unable to stop the way your body craves his. He lowers his head as he slides his free hand up your arm and cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing your upper lip before his fingers tighten and drag you closer.

The bell starts ringing behind the bar and the bartender yells, “LAST CALL!!! PAY UP!”

You startle and tug out of his arms, stepping back as your eyes dart to the door.

He growls out your name and moves back into your space.

“I’m going home,” you tell him and slip from his arms and toward the exit.

He watches you until you reach the door then takes off in pursuit, staying a few steps behind you as he follows you home.

“Why are you following me?” you ask without turning around.

“I have to make sure you get home safely,” he answers.

You don’t reply and keep walking, wanting to run but thinking better of it in your heels.

When you reach the door you unlock it and go inside, not bothering to shut it since you know he’s right there.

“I’ll leave,” he starts even as he shuts the door with a click. “But only if you tell me to.”

You don’t say a word and head toward your bedroom.

He follows.

You cross the room and grab pajamas from the dresser, laying them out on the bed before moving to shut the door.

You draw up short when you find him standing in the doorway, with a forearm propped high on the jam and his expression tortured.

“I need to change.”

He doesn’t move.

Frustration with him, with everything, takes over and you shove him in the chest and try to get him out of the room.

“Tell me to leave,” he says again.

“I want to change.”

He stays put and grinds his jaw.

“Fine Javi. Have it your way. You always do.”

You turn away from him and on your way back to the bed you strip your dress over your head. His shaky hiss of breath makes you smile to yourself and you bend over to grab the hanger from the floor.

“Fuck angel. You’re perfect.”

Every last nerve ending on your skin pops with warmth when you feel him behind you. When you straighten, your bare back lands flush against his heaving chest and you’re suddenly breathless.

You turn, the smooth movement of your hands climbing his chest derailed when you see the tormented expression on his face.

With a quick recovery, you grab hold of the open collar of his shirt and spin him around, urging him down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

His eager brown eyes land everywhere and his hands follow, the muscles of his throat working roughly when he swallows hard with a plea of your name.

“How much did you miss me Javi?” you ask as you slowly straddle his lap and meet the proof.

Your mouth ghosts over his, the hairs of his mustache grazing your soft lips and his hands close around your ass cheeks to draw you closer.

You pull your mouth away, the both of you breathing erratically.

“Did you strip for me just to be a tease?” he asks, his hips shifting beneath you until his generous length is pressed between your legs.

The action makes you whimper loudly and he drags you over him again.

“Whatever game you’re playing with me, stop angel. Just…be mine.”

Your fingers delicately trace his sharp jaw and you sweep the pad of your thumb over his plush lips.

“I’m not yours Javi…you don’t want…”

A possessive light brightens his eyes and he surges forward, catching your mouth in a kiss that silences you.

Your fingers rake through his hair as the kiss grows more desperate and you only break apart briefly to allow him to tug at the buttons on his shirt, sending most of them flying until you can push the fabric off his broad shoulders.

One long finger travels down your stomach and rubs against your dampening panties.

You’re no longer in control and your mind and body are begging for the full sensation of him, the stretch of him inside you…and you fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.

His lips hover just over yours when he breathes out the words.

“I missed you. I…fuck. I missed you. So much angel. Please.”

You draw him out and stroke him up and down, guiding him between your legs.

He grunts and pushes your panties aside, allowing you to position the tip of him inside you before slowly, slowly, taking him deep, both of you watching it happen.

You moan in his lap and buck involuntarily.

“Yes,” you whine. “More.”

He heaves a curse and digs his fingers into your skin making a slow groan deep in his throat.

His body flexes with tension and you rock your hips again.

“Don’t,” he gasps. “I can’t.”  

“You can’t what Javi? Stop?”  

He nods before clenching his eyes shut. “You feel so fucking good. I’ve needed you for so long. I can’t get enough.”

And with the last bit of his control his hips roll back and forth fluidly, filling you slowly.

His open mouth dips to your throat, exhaling heat against your skin and with smooth strokes he pumps into you, holding your ass to bring you up and down. His teeth catch the lobe of your ear and he brings a hand down to slap your ass.

You moan at the rough impact and the press of his body against yours.

“Touch yourself angel.”

He spanks you again. Harder.

“Javi…”

His mouth drops and hovers just above yours, his intense gaze focused and filled with warning.

“Angel…”

With parted lips you drag your shaky hand down from his shoulder and find the sensitive bud, biting your lip as you rub in circles, your eyes involuntarily fluttering closed.

“Look at me while you do it,” he demands.

Your eyes pop open and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, the dark hair hanging down in front wet and sticky.

“You’re all I want. I need you angel.”

His words break you wide open and your walls squeeze him tightly, taking him over the edge with you. With rough and desperate kisses, he grinds out the pleasure, hips pushing and pressing and his teeth dragging across your skin.

He falls flat on his back and takes you with him, your head resting on his shoulder. Calloused fingertips stroke up and down the curve of your spine as your breathing evens out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I was so afraid of losing you…I pushed you away instead.”

You kiss his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere Javi.”

He turns you onto your sides so that you’re facing each other and studies your face with such intensity your next breath catches in your throat.

“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m never letting you go angel.”

@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lorilane33

[aquawhim]

Solar Eclipse — 5 reshade/gshade presets

download (sfs) ♡

more details and previews under the cut

phantasma — inspired by retro aesthetic.

[ hazy and vivid with a magenta hue; works well under different lightings ]

corsair — inspired by fuji film.

[ vibrant and saturated with a cyan undertone; best for day time shot especially sky and ocean]

mystic — inspired by vintage film.

[ muted and serene with a moody atmosphere; works well in most settings ]

solaris — bright and natural vibes.

[ light and radiant with gentle translucence; works well under different lightings ]

nova — a gameplay friendly preset.

[ slightly enhanced contrast and saturation, removes green tint; for gameplay ]

**hotkeys are provided to toggle adof & mxao off. This preset is not the best for pretty screenshots but for gameplay.**

more preview here

for reshade users, you need to grab the gshade shaders for them to look the same as my screenshots

i highly recommend you to use sunblind & better in-game lighting mod (dark saturated light rooms) for better results

do whatever you want as long as you don't claim them as your own

feel free to tag me if you use them! i'd like to see it

[its-time-to-write]

i think we could do it if we tried

So I misread a prompt, and didn’t realize until halfway through the fic. This was the result and it ended up being weirdly personal? If you hate it or think it’s unrealistic, I know, it’s just wishful thinking, ok?😭

i think we could do it if we tried

You’re sure Jamie’s expression will be burned into your mind forever. After all, you’re the one who put it there. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say, tears streaming down your face, “I’m the one who’s breaking up with you.”

Jamie just laughs wetly. “Not your fault, though, is it?”

That just makes you cry harder. 

You and Jamie had been friends for a long time, and he’d been in love with you forever. You didn’t return the feeling until you turned eighteen. It was on your birthday, actually. He had insisted on wearing a birthday hat all day, despite that fact that he was at training and you were at home, so you didn’t see each other until the end of the day. Something about seeing the sparkly cone on his head did something to your heart, and there it was; you loved him. 

You suppose the love was always there, lying dormant, but now it had arisen. It took you a week to muster up the courage to tell him, but you did and now it felt like the world made sense. 

Now, a month later, you’re breaking up with him. 

Jamie had been playing football for a while now, and he was really, really good. You were beginning your studies as an undergrad and had your life mapped out until grad school. He was moving away soon and you were leaving tomorrow, but that wasn’t the reason you were breaking up. 

It’s because your parents didn’t approve. 

“I can’t make them understand,” you tell Jamie, willing yourself not to cry. “And… I know I’m eighteen, but they’re paying for university. They said they’d pay all the way through grad school, and I can’t afford it on my own.”

Jamie nods and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“God, it’s fuckin’ shitty, ain’t it?” he says. “Me ‘n you, finally figuring it out too late.”

You can only nod and sniff. Your parents told you that Jamie was a good friend, but nothing more. 

“You’re only projecting feelings onto him because you know he likes you,” your mum had said. “And besides, he plays football. Can’t support a family on that, can you?”

Any protests you made fell on deaf ears. Your parents never explicitly said they’d pull their financial support, but it was hinted. It hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere in the house. Your mother’s displeasure saturated the building, affecting everyone inside. 

So here you are, standing in the dim light of Jamie’s mum’s porch, breaking up with him at 10pm. 

He knew it was coming, too. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, yeah?” he’d said two days earlier. 

You just nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting football,” he continued, “Get a real job, stay closer.”

You had protested vehemently. He loved football, and he was good, like really good, and how could you ask him to give it up?

So yeah, it wasn’t a total blindside. 

Still hurt, though. 

You stood there, a long time, without speaking. You were memorizing each other’s faces and the way it felt being together for the last time. 

There’s a light on in Georgie’s room, and you wonder if she’ll still love you despite the fact you broke her baby’s heart. 

Jamie finally breaks the silence. “You should go,” he says, “before your parents figure out you’re gone.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just reach out and squeeze his hand. He pulls you in for a hug, the tightest one you’ve ever received, and you never want to let go. But you do. 

You fight the urge to say I’ll wait for you. I’ll find you when I’m done with school. We’ll make it work. But you don’t want to give him false hope. You don’t want to hurt him more than you already have. 

So instead, you whisper “I love you, Jamie Tartt,” and force yourself to walk away. 

— 

That was six years ago. You pushed yourself through school, got out with your BA in three and a half years, and scraped through your MA in two. There were times it felt a little like hell, but you persevered. 

You’re pretty sure the worst moment was during your third year, when your roommate, a football aficionado, started talking about Man City’s hotshot new player.  

“Oh my god, he’s like, so fucking sexy. The things he does on the pitch… he’s like, revolutionized the game.”

“Hm,” you say noncommittally, lost in a textbook. 

“Yeah, heard he’s a bit of a prick though. Grew up in Manchester, and he’s about our age. D’you reckon you knew him?”

“What?” you say, finally lifting your eyes from the page. “I didn’t grow up in Manchester, just lived there when I was a teenager.”

Your roommate shrugs. “Did you know a ‘Jamie Tartt?’ Dating Keeley Jones?”

And there it was. The worst moment of your whole university career. 

You turn back to your book in order to hide your face. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” you say, and your roommate doesn’t push it. She’s too busy telling you how Jamie and Keeley are the hottest, most perfect couple she’s ever seen. 

You’re past that now. It still feels like a stabbing pain every time you hear his name or see his face on a screen, but for the most part, you’ve shut down that part of your brain. 

You might have shut it down a little too successfully. 

In the last six years, you’ve been in exactly two relationships. Both short-lived, both leaving you with a sense of apathy. 

But, your parents approved of both of them. Didn’t matter that they were shallow, self-absorbed dickheads; “He’s cute and has a good job!” your mum had said, oblivious to the fact that she was replaying the exact same pitch to you from before. 

You had felt a rush of relief when the news hit that Jamie and Keeley had broken up. You hated hearing about all his escapades, and how much he hurt her. It made your heart ache, knowing he was burying himself in his prickish attitude the same way you were burying yourself in yours. 

Well, maybe that’s too harsh. You aren’t a prick per se, you’re just… cold. Emotionless. You felt very little this days, because every time you felt the tiniest bit of anything, everything threatened to overwhelm you. 

After school, you just… kept moving. No sense in going home, you loved your family but they made you feel like you were drowning. And you couldn’t make yourself go back to Manchester. 

Georgie called you from time to time, checking up on you. Turns out she didn’t hate you. She was actually rather worried. She never, ever mentioned Jamie. 

“You can’t just stop living life, love,” she had said one time. “That’s all it is: love and loss. You just keep moving forward.”

You took her advice literally, securing a good job that allowed you to work remotely. You moved to the east side of London, West Ham, but were never at your flat longer than a week. After all, you were hot and had a good job. Why not travel? You had no strings keeping you anywhere. 

Now you’re back in West Ham for two weeks, getting ready to go to Barcelona. A friend has a timeshare that she can’t make it to, so you volunteered to go. After all, it’s better to be apathetic in Barcelona than it is in West Ham, right?

Whatever the case, you’re here for much longer than you’d like to be, but you’re going to make the best of it. You have a friend from uni who lives near you, so you’re going out tonight. She wants to go to some upscale restaurant a couple minutes from your flat with a few other girls, and you decide that you’d rather not be alone tonight.

You don’t mention that it’s your birthday. You stopped celebrating them at nineteen.

Your hair and makeup are done, you’ve put together an appropriate fancy-dinner outfit, and you’d say you’re looking classy. You grab your bag and head out the door.

It’s only a ten-minute walk, and there are all kinds of people out. You wonder why, then remember it’s Saturday. That explains it. 

There’s an especially rowdy bunch of guys up ahead, seemingly corralled by a middle-aged man with a mustache. As you draw closer, you hear his accent. American, specifically mid-Western. You breeze by them, catching snatches of their conversations and a mix of accents.

Your ear tunes into someone saying, “…not what really happened,” with an accent that reminds you so much of Jamie’s, you find yourself rooted to your spot in the sidewalk, turning around to confirm that it is not, in fact, him.

You make eye contact with the middle-aged mustached man, who smiles at you and shrugs. “Footballers. What a rowdy bunch,” he says, “Wonder where their coach’s at?”

You surmise by his jocular tone that he’s their coach.

You give him a small smile and he comes over to you. Your feet still won’t move, because you haven’t confirmed that the voice was not Jamie. Or maybe because this man is a gaffer, and you want him to say something, anything about possibly knowing Jamie Tartt.

“I’m Ted,” he says, sticking out his hand.

You shake it and give him your name. At this point, his team have noticed that their coach is talking to someone new, and they descend like a flock of curious children.

There’s a chorus of hellos and one hola, but it’s all a little lost because all you can hear is one soft, “hey.”

“Hi,” you breathe. 

One look into Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes and you’re a goner, even after six years.

Ted looks from you to Jamie. “Oh, do y’all know each other? Jamie, why didn’t you say something?”

“Dunno,” Jamie says, keeping his eyes on you.

Ted, great man that he is, assesses the situation with alarming perception.

“Alright boys, why don’t we let Jamie catch up with his lady-friend, and we’ll just text him where we end up, sound good?” 

It does not sound good to them, because they can tell something interesting is about to happen, but Ted and another bearded American herd them away and down the street, leaving you and Jamie alone on the sidewalk.

“How you been?” he asks, looking awkward as you feel.

“I’ve been…” what word is there to describe how you’ve been? You settle for a shrug.

He nods and huffs out a single chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up, don’t it?”

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to lightly tap his arm. “Heard you were some hotshot footballer.”

Jamie imitates your shrug. “Heard you were some hotshot something or the other.”

You crack a small smile at that. “Georgie tell you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, “Felt the need to keep me updated. Don’t fuckin’ know why though.”

That hurts a little bit. This is a mistake, you think. You begin to realize, perhaps for the first time, that your pining after him was pointless. And one-sided.

That is, until Jamie says so softly you almost miss it, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

There it is. 

You open your mouth to say, I love you, but what comes out instead is, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jamie asks in surprise.

“I’m just… sorry. For everything. For walking away. I don’t know, I feel like I should have fought it or something… I think about you all the time. I wish that I would’ve done something different, I guess. I know I can’t change it, but…” you shrug helplessly. 

Jamie just looks at you, head tilted. 

You huff out an awkward laugh. “Anyway. I should probably go. Meeting a bunch of girls for drinks and dinner.”

“You hate that shit,” Jamie says, and it comes out the exact same way he would have said it six years ago. Like he’s comfortable with you, like he knows every single tick in your brain.

“I do,” you agree ruefully. “Just couldn’t get out of it, I guess. Didn’t have a good excuse.”

“Go out with me,” Jamie suggests, impulsively. But then, he was never one for forethought. 

Your mouth opens to decline, then shuts.

“You’re done with school, yeah?” Jamie continues, “Mum said you haven’t been home in ages. Said she knows more about you than your parents. What if… what if we gave it another go? We’re fuckin’ adults, ain’t we? Let’s just fucking try.”

He’s looking at you, so full of anxious hope that it makes you want to cry. You can feel a few tears fighting their way forward.

“Jamie,” you say, “Jamie I don’t know. I mean- I hurt you. I knew what I was doing would hurt you and I did it anyway. I could hurt you again.”

Jamie replies, “Weren’t your fault though, was it?” and you’re taken back so vividly to that front porch.

You look at him, really look at him for the first time in six years. He’s older, you realize, and you think that he must think something similar about you. He’s calmer, almost- gentler? Still the same Jamie though, with the blonde highlights and the slit in his eyebrow. Outrageous sense of fashion, one that is no longer dulled by the ominous presence of his father. He’s more sure of himself, you think, and you realize you’re more sure too.

There isn’t anything hanging over your head threatening to take your livelihood away.

It’s poetic, really. You, him, in the dim streetlight. Deciding to begin again exactly six years after it ended.

“Jamie,” you say again, because you love the way his name feels on your lips, “I didn’t ever stop loving you. I don’t ever want to stop loving you.”

He’s taken a step closer, and there’s mere centimeters between you. 

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, right?” you whisper, “Been thinking about stopping traveling. Maybe settle down closer, focus on my job more.”

Jamie smiles. “Go out with me,” he says. “Skip your dinner. You’d have a shit time, anyway.”

You smile back and reach out for his hand. It still fits perfectly in yours. Maybe even better.

“I would love to.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any games that involve urban fantasy with less focus on fighting than something like Dresden or Shadowrun?

THEME: Urban Fantasy (Minimal Fighting)

Hello there! What I've got here is quite a mix, I wasn't sure how much violence you wanted (or didn't want) so I have a little bit of romance, a little bit of nostalgia, and a little bit of horror!

City of Mist, by Son of Oak Games.

City of Mist is a role-playing game of film-noir investigation and super-powered action. It is set in a modern metropolis rife with crime, conspiracies, and mysteries. The protagonists are Rifts, ordinary people who became the living embodiment of a legend, their Mythos. While your Rifts may seek to strike a balance between the mysterious nature of their Mythos and their mortal aspirations, the powers within them always threaten to tear their lives apart. They have unwittingly become a part of a secret world of clashing stories, and soon other legends will come looking for them with demands.

City of Mist is a combination of PbtA and FATE, giving your characters descriptive tags to use for both their benefit and their detriment as they go about solving mysteries in a supernaturally-saturated city. The primary theme of the game is mystery, and thus more than anything your characters will be primed for investigation. That’s not to say that there isn’t violence - but violence and fighting can be de-emphasized if the group is more interested in the mystery side of things.

Character Creation involves a combination of mundane and supernatural themes, as your character is endeavouring to strike a balance with the parts of themselves that they recognize (student, parent, office worker, ex-partner) and the parts of themselves that are hard to understand (mythical beast, deity, folktale, urban legend). What’s important to define is your daily routine, your personality, and what kind of supernatural powers you have.

This game isn’t explicitly anti-violent, but it absolutely provides you with ways to solve problems that aren’t violent, so I think City of Mist is worth checking out.

Scary Monsters & Nice Sprites, by Pammu.

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites is a narrative RPG about spending your night in one of the only clubs in your city that’s safe for creatures of the night like yourself. All you want to do is have some fun just like the humans do. Play a supernatural creature of choice, put some sick EDM on the speakers and get your game on!

This game works best for an even number of players, up to 6, and is GM-less. It combines urban monsters with flirting, dark clubs and hookups. Each of your characters will look for a partner by doing things that will appeal to the other players. If they like what you do, they’ll reward you with tokens, which you can spend to improve the atmosphere of the club. Fill another player’s intimacy meter, you’ve won them over, and the two of you decide how the night ends for both of your characters.

If you want a game about flirting and the magic of a nightclub, this is your game.

The Far Roofs, by Jenna Katerin Moran.

The Far Roofs is an original role playing system and bundled campaign using pens or pencils, paper, six-sided dice, ten-sided dice, playing cards, and a bag of letter tiles. It's complete in one volume: with this one book and the equipment above, you'll have everything you need to play. 

As the story progresses, your characters will gain access to over 150 unique, narrative-focused powers developed and refined over the course of a decade for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG before being simplified and adapted for use herein.

The Far Roofs is still being Kickstarted, but Moran’s work on Chuubo’s Wish-Granting Engine produced a game that emphasizes wonder and emotional experience. The Far Roofs looks to deliver along the same lines, and the examples of play point towards investigation, social interaction, and magic powers. Jenna Moran is also known for her unique and evocative storytelling in her work, so I think it’s definitely worth checking out.

Lighthearted, by Kurt & Kate Potts.

Welcome to the magical 80s dream world of Lighthearted. You are a Prep, Jock, Geek, Rebel, or Outcast, like those kids in The Breakfast Club, except you are just about to start magic community college. Through play, we'll explore how you grow out of your high school cliques all while dealing with magical mishaps, college parties, vampires, and worse—finals!

Lighthearted is a complete tabletop roleplaying game that uses the language of film and television to reimagine the coming of age stories popular in 80s teen movies like Weird Science and Sixteen Candles, but with a modern fantasy spin. It's set in an alternate 1980s with fantasy elements weaved into the most outlandish bits of 80’s pop culture. There are fantasy religions mixed in with mall culture, dark magic cold wars, and magical glamours instead of plastic surgery.

This is a game of magic and coming-of-age, as you play first-year students at a magical community college. You’re off to the big city, and the big world - will you survive your first college party? Your first vampire?

The whole game feels like the neon lights of a vibrant night-life combined with the nostalgia of an 80’s film. Your magic is attached to how you feel, so as your emotions change, so will your effectiveness at certain actions. If you want a game that’s as light as its name, and you are seeking out rosy-tinted nostalgia, this might be your game.

Changeling: the Lost, by Onyx Path.

Once upon a time, they took you from your home. They promised you a place at their side, and meaning in your life, and they surrounded you with beautiful things. But the beautiful things were oh so sharp, and they laughed when you bled.

Day by day, they changed you. But day by day, your will grew stronger. On the last day, you smashed your way through the beautiful things and ran, not noticing as you bled or feeling as you cried.

You fought with courage and cleverness and took yourself home. Now the beauty and the horror are yours, to have and to hold and to live.

Welcome to once upon right fucking now.

So I’m familiar only with the 1st edition of Changeling, but as far as I understand, the setting and core premise of the game is the same in the 2nd edition. Changeling: the Lost is a game of fairy trauma. Your characters are survivors of a fae horrorscape, a place both wondrous and terrifying all at once. This game is solidly in the horror genre, but it contains within it a taste of the magical, and it’s also the reason I got into roleplaying in the first place.

As in many Chronicles of Darkness games, fighting is an option in here, but it’s not a wise option. Getting into fights pulls at your characters’ ability to understand the difference between our world and the world of Fae, it’s very easy to sustain supernatural damage that is hard to heal, and, well, sometimes it’s hard to tell who your real enemies are in the first place.

I’d say that Changeling is more of a political game than anything else. Your characters will have to dance through the highly literal wording of faerie pledges, and untangle difficult relationships between Courts that are both safe havens and potential beds of sedition. This is a violent game, but much of the violence possible in Changeling isn’t physical - it's emotional.

This Night On The Rooftops, by C.M. Ruebsaat.

This is a game about gazing out over the smokestacks after dark, with the wind in your hair and a friend at your side and a thousand lights of progress on the streets below. 

This Night on the Rooftops is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about friendship, growing up, and revolution. You will play members of a gang of children in The City, a fantastic world of industry and dying magic, where witches labour alongside factory-workers to make ends meet.

This game looks slightly less modern, but it takes the fantasy aspect of witchcraft and places it inside an industrial city. The game uses a modified version of the No Dice No Masters rule set, which is excellent for stories that have an ebb and flow to them, managed through the use of token expenditure. This game is also GM-less, giving everyone at the table the same amount of control over what happens next.

Since the characters are a gang of teenage witches looking to make ends meet, this game doesn’t strike me as one that prioritizes fighting or violence. The city looks big enough to grind up the characters if they’re not careful, so they’ll likely have to find solutions to problems that don’t get them (or their dependants) in trouble. If the game is like other No Dice No Masters games that I’m familiar with, the group will also have a big say over which elements of the city are the most intriguing to them.

Partners: The Urban Fantasy File, by Tin Star Games.

Some murders are just elf defence…

Vampires are real, magic is real, elves are real - and murder is still very very real. This expansion takes you and your Partner down the moonlit streets of urban fantasy, where the dead sometimes get back up again but crime is still a mystery needing two heads to solve.

The base game for this, Partners, is a two-player mystery-solving game about a pair of detectives, a straight-shooter and a wildcard. You’ll need the base rules to play, but this supplement brings in dead elves, suspicious vampires, and other common characters in any urban fantasy genre. It can work as a one-shot, or as a series of episodes. If you want a game that's primarily about solving a mystery more than anything else, this is is for you.

Solacebound, by Sascha Moore.

Young monsters played at the boundary between the worlds. They slipped and stranded in a human city. Isolated and unwelcome, they search for each others help and a way back.

Solacebound is a GM-less Game for 3-5 people to play over a few hours. Search a sprawling, oppressive city for your friends, find out who is willing to give you a roof, bash back against authorities, cook together and console each other. Will you find a way back home before all passages close?

You are teenage monsters trying to find their way through an urban environment, in a place that is hostile to them. You survive by hiding out, finding each-other, and do things together to make sure you keep each-other healthy. Cards from a deck act as resources, but also as an oracle to help you describe the fallout of any given action, and the emotions that are attached to it. This is a game about metaphors, about what it is like to live in a place that fears you, so I definitely recommend making sure the entire table knows what this is about before starting a game.

You Might Also Want to Check Out

Subway Runners, by Gem Room Games.