#The irony was too tempting

[eiilese]

what if the strawhats had different roles on the ship⁉️ i swapped everyone’s roles except for luffy because i can’t imagine him being anything but the captain

these are loose redesigns since their canon designs don’t really read as their roles all that much to begin with. some extra doodles and ideas for this in the cut !!

nami, vice captain: i took a lot of inspiration from her beta design!! canon nami already bosses everyone around so she fits right into the role. she wields an extendable staff (usopp still makes it for her); she lost her arm over the time-skip like how zoro lost his eye. i LOVE drawing cargo pants and boots, so she ended up with a sorta bottom-heavy design. frankly it’s probably not her style but i like how she looks

zoro, the cook: my foolproof logic is zoro uses swords = good with knives. he does not use katanas to cut produce however, just normal knives. i was trying to go for “sweaty ramen guy” with the towel around his neck. the majority of the shit he cooks would probably be drowned in alcohol. he also wears his bandana the majority of the time now!! it completes the ramen guy look

sanji, the sniper: i also took inspiration from his beta design for this!!! he has guns!! and perfect aim of course. i was going for more of a mafioso look so germa 66 would be like, a mafia organization on top of all the other villain shit they already do. he has two guns but i didn’t draw a holster bc that’s annoying🤞 he lights his cigarettes with his guns. how would that even work? don’t ask me

usopp, the navigator: his artistic talent lends itself to creating perfect maps! he also still tinkers, making nami’s staff as well as having a specialty for compasses. he uses a slingshot still (no perfect aim we gotta nerf him) and shoots weather-related projectiles. his goggles serve as binoculars, they can zoom to several different distances. i drew him in his zou outfit purely bc it’s my favorite one

chopper, the helmsman: he would predominately use heavy point while maneuvering the wheel. i changed his hat up to look more like a sailor’s cap, with an anchor symbol instead of an X. to be honest i don’t have much else bc helmsman doesn’t bring much to my mind :(

franky, the musician: ROCK N ROLL BABY YEEAHHH come on his stage presence is unmatched. he’s still a cyborg, he has instruments all over his body like apoo does but they were installed manually. his personality changes depending on what genre he’s playing but rock n roll is his default B) (ex. classical calls for a refined gentleman)

robin, the shipwright: her devil fruit gives her as many helpful hands as she needs! she developed nami’s arm (definitely installed some random shit she did Not ask for). she has a robot mecha that she’s able to pilot all by herself using clones. i changed her orange sunglasses to goggle eyewear

brook, the doctor: the irony of being nursed back to health by a literal skeleton 💀the irony of being the doctor of the rumbar pirates yet being the only survivor, saving no one from the poison 💀 i went for a plague doctor look! IM VERY HAPPY WITH HOW HE TURNED OUT i was really tempted to give him the plague mask too, but i feel that would’ve changed his appearance too much compared to the others

jinbei, the archaeologist: the shape of this man demands a little pair of round glasses on his face. he’s an intellectual i tell you!!! plus still a fishman karate master. the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined is how he developed an interest in history

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[eupheme]

— good rocking tonight

cooper howard | the ghoul x f!reader

rated e | 1.5k

tags: teasing, sorta sub!cooper vibes (aka you think you're in control but you're not), clothed male/naked female, panties-as-restraints, riding, vaginal sex

request: "i can see you enjoy having the upper hand for once." (loved this!)💖

“Can,” You breathe, as his fingers bite into your hips, “Can see why you like it.”

The Ghoul's teeth grit. A rough laugh that comes out ragged.

“You don’t know nothin’, sweetheart.” His eyes burn into yours, “But you can try. Go on, let’s see what you got.”

(Or - the Ghoul lets you take the reigns.)

You’ve never had him quite like this before.

The Ghoul’s hands pinch into your waist, his back pressed flat against the bedroll.

Tonight, you had gone to him. Stirring him from sleep with your thighs straddling his hips. Bared skin against worn, stained fabric.

He had awoken silently. Maybe he was never was - an old habit, as the world spun by. Easier to pass the time with your eyes shut, then watch the all of the stars fade into another grey morning.

Hazel eyes glitter in the dying light of the fire, beneath the low brim of his hat. Slow to move - a sense of safety in the boarded up house. Would’ve knocked you off him, otherwise.

Watching, as your hands plant against his chest. Feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath them, pulled-tight skin and muscle beneath the cotton and leather.

“You gonna take what you want?” He rasps, when you’re slow to slip him from his trousers.

A shallow upwards flex of his hips into yours. Near-hard by now, velvet skin beneath your fingertips as you draw him out.

Leaving his cock to arc towards the curve of his belly, as you settle back on your heels. Letting your pussy press against his base, skin growing slick with each rutting roll of your hips.

Keeping a steady pressure against your clit, as your head dips between your shoulders. Your own breath shallow, needy.

Biting back a grin - lifting, whenever he bucks against you. Letting him chase the warm heat of your cunt, never giving him the full satisfaction of feeling you.

“Can see you’re enjoyin’ havin’ the upper hand,” He growls. There’s a 'for once’ tacked on silently. Too used to calling the shots. To taking.

“Keep teasin’, and I’ll flip you over and fuck you myself.”

It has you clenching down around nothing. Knees pressing into his ribs, hands flattening against his chest - as if that could keep him from doing so, if he really wanted.

Unable to help the soft, bitten-back moan at the thought. Tempting, though not nearly as satisfying as the fact he letting you do this.

It’s not lost on you. The irony. The threat that slid between his teeth so quickly, when there’s memories that still spike warm in your belly. The flick of his tongue against your slit, only to pull away when you’re close. Edging you until there’s tears in your eyes.

But, you’ve always been merciful.

A rough groan is pulled from him when you seat yourself properly on his cock. The slide of your cunt against his hard length. Feeling the rough skin and the flushed tip nudge against you as your hips move. Until he’s slick with you, shining.

“Can,” You breathe, as his fingers bite into your hips, “Can see why you like it.”

The Ghoul's teeth grit. A rough laugh that comes out ragged.

“You don’t know nothin’, sweetheart.” His eyes burn into yours, “But you can try. Go on, let’s see what you got.”

Thoughts that are no more than fantasies, coming to you just on the cusp of sleep. Your panties, plucked where they still hook around your ankle.

Coaxing his hands away from where they dent into your skin, until you can twist the fabric around his wrists. Pushing them above and behind his head, stretching him out long and lean beneath you.

It’s no lasso - bound tight around your wrists or throat - but it will do.

His arms flex as he tests his bindings. You’re surprised he lets you, but then again there’s no allusion that this is exactly what he’s doing.

Letting you. Curious - knowing that the fabric would shed with the jerk of his wrists. That if you pulled anything funny, it would not save you for a second.

But you don’t really care about that.

You just want to watch, as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Catching every detail of his face as your hips lift, lining him up.

The part of his lips, the jut of his jaw and the clench of teeth when you slowly sink down.

Something rough, bitten back.

Your own eyes threaten to flutter shut with the stretch - a whimper with the way he fills you, inch by inch. Slowly sinking down, until your hips sit flush with his. Unable to help clenching around him, when he finally fills you.

It has your back arching. A hand scraping across his leather vest, needing to ground yourself on something. The other drifting across your belly, as if you could feel against your skin the way he spears deep inside you.

“Fuck.” You groan, and he grunts - a twitch of his cock inside you. A shift of his arms, when you rock forward, a languid roll of your hips.

Getting used to the feeling. Knees pressing into the bedding as you rise up, a shallow drop down. Sighing at the way his cock drags inside you, as you find your rhythm.

Hands bracing on his chest again as you bounce. A shot of pleasure coursing through you each time you seat him deep inside you.

His eyes only leave yours to track down your body. Watching the sway of your breasts. Fingers curling, nails pressing into palms when they dip to where you take him.

The peek of his shaft before it’s buried in you again.

“That’s it,” He rasps, voice even lower in the late night hours, “Come on and take a ride, sweetheart.”

Encouraging you to use him, just like he uses you.

Growing more confident as your knees down press harder. Each thrust sharper, punching deep. Your breath ragged as you lean, finding an angle that has you bent over him. Sending the head of his cock against a soft spot inside you - ripping a needy moan from your lungs.

His legs shift, a boot planting against the floor. Using the leverage to thrust up into you - unused to staying idle. Warmth floods through you at the thought of him being unable to stay still, the sounds he makes - sticky and pooling low between your thighs.

Your clit grinds against his base but it’s not enough - your fingers trace against his chest, dragging against the exposed peek of skin.

Nudging against his lips and teeth until they part, until you’re pressing down against his tongue.

“Suck,” You coo, and he does - those eyes darkening as his tongue swirls around your knuckles.

Teeth pinching against your skin, showing his still-rough edges. A rumble against the tips with his low growl.

Lips glossy when you pull them free, spit stringing between two fingers when you slip them between your thighs.

You do moan then - a ragged, low thing. Soft and slick circles that soon press harder, as you ride him. Something swiftly building, as the angle of your body tilts lower, the slap of your hips coming more quickly. Louder, in the small room.

The Ghoul looses a groan that sounds close to desperate, as his chin tips up. His hips still meeting yours as his teeth nip against your breasts. Tongue soothing the skin after, then teasing the tight peaks of your nipples.

Your hand sliding from his chest to beneath his head. Curving where his neck meets his skull. The cradle of your hand cupped in his bound ones as his cock fills you again and again.

It had your thighs trembling. His name - something you use so rarely, sonething precious - huffed out on a soft whine. Your rhythm growing sloppy, off-balance as your nails scrape against his skin. Circling harder, as everything inside you strings tight.

Fraying, and then snapping. Messy, as you use him to bring yourself to the edge, and then toppling over.

There’s the faint sound of something ripping, as your blood rushes in your ears, pleasure coursing up your spine. A flutter blooming in your core, just as the world suddenly tilts on its axis.

Arms wrap around you, as the Ghoul uses his weight to roll you beneath him. Pinning you down in the bedroll - wringing your release from you as his hips snap.

Still grinding against that spot as his fingers swirl - making you see stars, in this covered room. Unable to help taking matters into his own hands, when he saw you slowing.

Tired of waiting to feel the way your thighs hook around his hips, ankles crossing to keep him inside you until the pleasure fades.

“Not bad, sweetheart.” He rasps - the hint of a smirk at the dazed way you glare at him, “But you’ve had your fun.”

Returning the favor, as he slips his fingers between your lips. His own mouth following, sharing you. Tongue slipping against yours - a groan as he tastes the sweet tang of your slick, as you suck his fingers clean.

The curl of his lips, bared teeth as he starts to pound into you. At the sound of your whine - the way you tighten around him again, already breathless.

“Now it’s my turn.”

thank you so much for this awesome request and for reading! I hope you liked it, would love to know what you thought! 💖

[haselovesriki]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 there’s nothing like doing nothing with you

bf!ni-ki x gn!reader

wc : 2165 (oops)

synopsis: after a week of stress following your exams, you can finally unwind and relax at home with your boyfriend.

warnings: kissing, skinship, swearing, fake argument, pet names (babe/baby), riki can carry reader, reader goes to school (college/highschool)

★ continue reading ↓

In all true honesty, the past week had fucking sucked.

Like, a lot.

Coming back from school absolutely and utterly drained was not an uncommon occurrence for you, being the overachiever and determined person you were.

Unfortunately, your despair had only amplified, especially after an entire week overflowing with exams after exams and endless studying.

The week had been anything but pleasant. Not a single day was left for you to rest; time overly consumed by either excess studying—consequently led by your perfectionism—, doing the fuckass exams themselves, or simply contemplating your horrible past decisions that landed you in a situation like this. All while being incredibly snappy and pissed at anyone that even dared to speak, look, or be in your presence…. including your horribly sweet and loving boyfriend.

So yeah, the past week had fucking sucked.

Thankfully, Friday eventually came around (despite having felt like a decade of suffering and unbearable psychological pain) accompanied by the sweet and warm promise of finally obtaining a sense of peace and tranquility with no more reasons to worry.

Preferably, by the side of your boyfriend who, unfortunately, had been the main victim of your impulsive and irritable attitude.

Now, finally being here in his presence cuddling in your warm comfortable bed after what felt like a lifetime of anguish, despair, sorrow and utter misery...

Well, you feel pretty damn good.

“I swear to god Riki, don’t leave me alone. It’s cold!” You exclaim dramatically as the boy decides to peel himself away from your clingy touch. He rolls his eyes playfully at your irony.

“Cold? You gotta be kidding me,” He lets out an incredulous scoff as he steps on the bedroom floor, though his mouth doesn’t hesitate to immediately form into an endeared grin as he watches you begin to sulk, before he continues;

“Baby, I’m sorry, but if I didn’t escape your death grip within the next 10 minutes I would’ve died from a heat stroke.” He sneers, but you don’t miss the gentle glint in his eyes and soft tone of voice.

To your over dramatic silent and sullen expression, he sighs defeatedly and turns around, facing his back to you.

“Fine, I’ll carry you on my back if you’re that adamant on me not leaving you alone.” As soon as the tempting offer leaves his mouth, your face immediately breaks into a bright beam and you waste no time to stand on the bed and piggyback onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around his figure.

You place a disgustingly wet smooch onto his cheek, snorting at his immediate recoil to the unexpected wet mark left.

“You’re so cute,” You mutter to him, happily placing your head above his shoulder and watching as he navigates his way to the kitchen while holding you.

“You’re cuter.” You hear him mutter, almost too quietly, nearly going unnoticed by you, but you catch it anyways and can’t help but break into a gentle smile at his shy compliment and kiss him once again on the cheek; this time softer, flowing with adoration.

Eventually, you both make it to the kitchen as he places you on the counter despite your initial objection. He pulls down the hood of your hoodie, placing an aggressive peck onto your forehead while holding your cheeks in his hands before opening the utensil drawer and pulling out two spoons.

You grin as you watch Riki navigate through your kitchen that he’s become all too familiar with, flailing your legs back and forth happily. As he grabs 2 bowls for you both, you think of how glad you are that no one in your family was home tonight to see you stare at him so lovingly, all too mushy and gushy, as they would probably call it. Of course they loved him, a lot, but it was still embarrassing when they could see how utterly down bad you were for the boy.

The boy takes out 2 ice cream flavours from the freezer and walks back to where you sit, scooping a delectable amount of vanilla ice cream into one bowl and cookie dough ice-cream into the other. Placing your bowl of ice cream between your legs propped up on the counter, he grabs his own bowl and shoves a spoonful of the cold, sweet treat into his mouth.

Out of impulse, instead of eating your ice cream, you pat his head, brushing your fingers through his soft yet messy strands of hair. He hums and subconsciously leans into your touch, not noticing your teasing yet warm smile.

The soft moment lasts for a few seconds, before you break the silent shell and ask quizzically, “Why are you having vanilla ice cream?”

“Huh?” He mumbles, snapping back into reality and raising an eyebrow at your question.

“No offense babe, but why the actual fuck would you choose vanilla ice cream over cookie dough.” You answer back, finally taking your own bowl and eating a spoonful before sighing with satisfaction at the taste.

“Well, no offence babe,” He mocks, “But vanilla is literally the best flavour. Why wouldn’t I?” He bites back, before adding;

“Full offence, by the way.”

“Vanilla is fine, at best, but it’s too bland compared to cookie dough.” You respond, rolling your eyes playfully and suppressing a smile that threatens to spill.

“Don’t yuck my yum, jackass,” He says, lips quivering as he holds in a cackle begging to escape. “Vanilla could never be bland. It’s a classic that could never go wrong.. wayyyy better than raw fucking cookie dough!” He exclaims.

“It tastes so much better than you say it does, I promise. Give it a chance, your whole world will transform. Promise!” You answer and place another spoon into your mouth, laughing at his unimpressed expression.

“Fine, let me taste some of yours then—“ Riki says, reaching for the bowl in your hands before you immediately pull away.

“Nuh uh! Get your own!” You exclaim as he lets out airy giggles, your voice muffled by the spoon still in your mouth and holding the bowl high above you so that he can’t reach.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t really thought about his height playing a factor. Which was, albeit, a really dumb move, because he is an absolute giant. Obviously, he would be able to reach the bowl in your grasp. Which is why, before you can even attempt to object, he has absolutely no problem grabbing the bowl from above you.

“Hey! Tha’s unfai—“ You exclaim once again with a voice muffled from the spoon in your mouth. Expecting him to eat from the bowl, you attempt to reach it from him, but to your surprise he places the bowl on the table. Suddenly, your face is barely half an inch away from his when he pulls the spoon out of your mouth and his lips touch yours.

You don’t react for the first few seconds, your lips completely still against his as you try to process what he was doing.

When it finally dawns on you, you can’t help but pull away from him, only to crash your lips back onto him harder. Shyly smiling into the kiss, Riki’s hands that were otherwise holding the bowl come to hold your head in his palm as he deepens the kiss.

His hands, as well as his lips, were cold against your own, due to him (luckily) having more time to indulge in the ice cream. You don’t really mind the numbing cold nonetheless, because a cozy warmth washes over you when you feel his lips on yours.

Your boyfriend detaches himself from the kiss momentarily to nestle himself between your legs and places his hands over your waist, laughing loudly when your lips chase his, wasting no time to crash back.

A content sigh leaves his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grazing at his nape gently and holding him close to you.

A moment like this felt like it couldn’t be broken; time cocooned in the warmth of your shared affection, each kiss a promise.

You gasp when you feel him slightly nibble on your lower lip, a cascade of tingles shooting down your spine when his tongue immediately comes after to ease and swipe against your lip.

Your grip around his shoulders tighten, legs wrapping around him tightly and trapping him as you feel his smile against yours at your clinginess.

Relaxing your shoulders, you tilt your head slightly and start feeling like your body is melting. Your mouths are still somewhat cold from the ice cream, but the warmth of the kiss is scalding from within, warming up to each other’s touch. Suddenly, interrupting the warm silence you both had been able to build, a cold and wet feeling of what seemed to be his tongue shoots way too far into your mouth, almost making you choke as you pull away quickly.

“‘Ki! What the hell was that?” You exclaim, watching as he hunches over in a fit of laughter at your reaction.

“What, don’t you like a little tongue?” He asks between huffs of laughter, holding himself up on the counter edge.

“Not if you shoot that far down my fucking throat! Seriously, were you trying to kill me?” You ask, struggling to contain your own laughter starting to bubble from your throat as you watch him struggle to catch his own breath.

“In my defence, I was just trying to taste your ice cream!” He admits, holding up his two hands and palms outstretched by his head as a sign of self defence.

Dramatically gasping, you gently kick him in the hip, huffing when he yells out an ‘ow!’.

“You kissed me to taste my ice-cream?!” You ask exasperated, before continuing; “Wow, I see how it is, you’re so cold-hearted Riki. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

You let out a huff, looking away and crossing your arms and exaggeratedly rolling your eyes but not hiding your amused smile.

He coos at this, breaking out into a smile before pinching both your cheeks, peppering your face with brutal kisses all over while muttering small apologies.

“Sorry—“ kiss. “Baby—“ kiss. “Just wanted to—“ kiss. “See what the hype was about.” Finishing his sentence with a final kiss on the tip of your nose, you can’t help but let out an amused exhale.

When he leans in to kiss you on the lips once more, you lean away. He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouth pursing into an unamused expression.

“Not letting you kiss me again after that stunt you pulled.” You state, avoiding his disappointed gaze that you’re sure would make you give in.

“But—“ He tries to object, but you’re quick to shut it down.

“Absolutely not. It’s what you get for using me for ice-cream, and for attempting tongue slaughter.”

You expect him to silently grudge at that, or at least try to argue in his defence. What you don’t expect however, is for him to sweep you off the counter and hold you in his arms, spinning you around in bridal style.

“Wait— let me go!” You exclaim in surprise, flailing your limbs in an attempt to escape his hold.

“Nope! Not until you kiss me,” He yells, eyes crinkling as his mouth forms into his wide boxy smile. Boisterous laughter fills the kitchen as you try to liberate yourself, him running around the house with you in his arms.

Finally escaping from his grasp, you make a run for it, running to the living room.

Jumping on the couches, you try to avoid him as he tries to catch you. The moment is childish, but fond nonetheless as he chases you around.

“C’mon, leave me be!” You beg as you navigate the room while standing on furniture, but he simply shrugs his shoulders with a beam ear to ear, finally reaching you and tackling you down on the couch.

Laughter continues to fill the room as you both attempt to catch your breaths from the house chase. His arms are wrapped around you so as to not let you escape once again, but you don’t really try to leave his touch this time. Finally, after a few minutes of calming down, he smiles at you and you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

You decide to take matters in your own hands and you reach to kiss him gently on the lips, cradling his jaw in your palm as you do so. As you pull away, you watch his face morph into a sheepish grin and a light crimson dusts at his cheeks.

“See? That's better,” You hear him mutter before he decides to nestle his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, relaxing his limbs over yours.

By now, the ice-cream is long forgotten, but neither of you really mind, now finally in each other’s presence.

So yeah, the week had fucking sucked. But today wasn’t too bad.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚



a/n : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGGGGGGGGEBDJDNFKSNFKENF

this is my first time writing a fic (also just my first time writing something for the fun of it in general) so it’s like… really messy 😭😭😭 wasn’t really sure what i was doing but i promise i’ll try to improve in the near future!

also i barely proofread,,, just slightly skimmed through to make sure it was alright. sorry if there’s typos or anything that doesn’t make sense!

i really really hope you enjoyed :) comments would be appreciated! and i accept any sort of feedback or constructive criticism that could help me improve my writing.

again thank you!!! 💓💓 have a nice day

[simplyholl]

Be A Good Girl For Daddy

Summary: When Loki’s son breaks up with you, his father has a tempting plan for revenge.

Pairing: Dilf Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship. Mentions of you getting cheated on. Daddy Kink. Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI.

W/C: 1.4k

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Your relationship with Narfi had been rocky from the start. He was mercurial. You had to walk on eggshells just to keep him happy. Every time there was an argument, he mentioned how there was no shortage of women waiting to be with him. You were replaceable. He never let you forget it. Despite everything, you loved him.

On his best days, he was sweet, loving, Prince Charming come to life. You loved everything about him, including his family. His brother, Vali was the exact opposite. He was the perfect partner to his wife, Olivia. You couldn’t help your jealousy. He never fought with her or raised his voice, especially not in public. You weren’t sure he was even capable of losing his temper.

But where Narfi lacked manners, his father, Loki made up for it. He would always open doors for you, pull your chair out, refill your drinks, get you flowers on special occasions. He was always scolding Narfi for his treatment of you.

One night after a particularly heated argument, Loki told you that you deserved better than his son. Still you stayed in a relationship, you should have left years ago.

Tonight was the end of that, though. You had caught Narfi texting with another girl and from the conversation, you could tell he had been sleeping with her. When you confronted him, he broke up with you. He said that you were insecure and he he didn’t know why he kept you around so long. You had wore your sexiest dress for him tonight, and you still weren’t enough.

To make a bad situation worse, he did it in front of his family. Vali and Olivia tried to comfort you, but you were too shocked, too hurt. You couldn’t move. You just sat on the steps, your face in your hands, sobbing. They finally gave up and left for their apartment.

Loki let you cry in peace, busying himself by cleaning his house. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, but you knew it was too long when Narfi came in with the woman he was cheating with. They both stared at you for a moment before walking passed you.

“You’re still here? She’s so pathetic.” He says making the girl laugh as they walk by. You rolled your eyes at the irony. He was calling you pathetic when he was so terrible with money that he couldn’t keep a steady job. He couldn’t afford rent or pay his bills so he had to live with his father.

Loki saw the whole interaction and came to check on you. He reaches his hand out to you. You take it, letting him lead you to the kitchen. “Dry your tears, sweet girl. I’ve told you, you deserve better.” You sniff wiping the tears from your eyes. “I know, I should have listened to you. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Your gaze lingers on Loki’s handsome features. You thought it was crazy that he had been single for so long. Part of Narfi’s appeal had been that he was almost as gorgeous as his father. You had hoped he would age like him too.

Dwelling in your heartbreak gave you time to think. You wished you had met Loki first. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t made yourself come to the thought of him more than once. His bedroom was beside Narfi’s. After having less than satisfying sex with Narfi, you would touch yourself thinking of him.

Narfi would take a shower right after, leaving you to take care of yourself. It wouldn’t take long for you to get yourself off when you thought of Loki next door. You always tried to be silent just in case he could hear you, but a few months ago his name slipped passed your lips. If he heard you, he hasn’t said anything or acted differently around you.

“You were too good for him. I raised him to be a gentleman, but obviously I failed there.” Loki’s voice clears your thoughts. You take his hand in yours to comfort him. “It’s not your fault he’s such an asshole. It’s silly, but I always wished he was more like you.”

Loki’s eyebrow quirks at your words. He cups your face, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. “I know the perfect way to get back at him.” Your eyes light up. You would love to get revenge for everything he had put you through. You knew Loki to be quite the trickster, so this should be good.

“We could sleep together.” He suggests as serious as a heart attack. “I don’t know. That’s a little inappropriate, isn’t it?” Loki leans against the table. He’s acting if what he’s just said isn’t ridiculous. “Darling, I can fuck you better than he ever could. You think I don’t hear you on the other side of the wall? I know he doesn’t fuck you right. And don’t pretend like you’re not attracted to me. I’ve heard you moaning my name while you touch yourself. What better way to get revenge than to fuck his father?”

He smiles at you in that way that makes him impossible to resist. He makes it very hard to argue with him. You clear your throat. “If I agree, would we tell Narfi?” Loki considers for a moment. “If you want to tell him, we will.” He smirks. “Or it could be our little secret.” You jump on the counter, beckoning him closer with your finger.

Loki takes his place between your legs, his eyes full of lust. “We will just keep it between us. I love that he won’t know. It makes this so much hotter. The knowledge that his dad made me cum, and he never could is the best revenge.”

Loki’s large hand rests on the back of your neck, bringing your face to his. His lips collide with yours. You feel his muscled back through his button up. Your fingers fumble trying to undo each button. You become frustrated, settling for pulling the material between your hands as hard as you can.

A few buttons spring free. Loki chuckles darkly. “Impatient, are we?” He removes his shirt for you. He brings his hands down to your thighs, eventually landing on your stomach. He pushes you gently laying you down on the cool marble of the high top.

“A delicious meal spread out for me on the counter. I have no choice, but to eat.” He lowers his head between your thighs, swift fingers pull your panties down your legs. He wastes no time. His warm tongue rolling in waves against your clit. You clutch his shoulders, moans falling from your lips.

He places his arms underneath you, tilting your hips upward. He sucks and nips at you until you’re an incoherent mess. He seals his mouth to your clit, the pressure causing you to come undone. He unbuttons his pants, his hard cock jutting outward. He lifts you off the high top, pulling your dress up for better access. He lines you up with his throbbing length. Loki sinks into you, backing you up against the stove.

His rough fingers dig into your hips as he lowers you back onto himself. He rocks into you harder now, basically using you as a fuck toy. Your back roughly hits the knobs on the stove. It hurts, but you don’t mind. All you can focus on is this force of a man, slamming into you.

He moves you toward the table, switching positions, so now he’s behind you. He spreads your legs wider, sinking into you from this new angle. His thumb finds your clit, strumming with expertise. You arch your back for him, throwing your ass back to meet every thrust.

He takes your hair in his hands, pulling harder with every lunge. “My precious little slut. Such a good girl for me. Tell me who you belong to.” He commands, circling your clit. The fire in your belly rising, bringing you closer to the edge.

“I’m yours, Daddy.” His movements are rougher now. He grips your hips harder pulling you back against him. His cock plunges deeper, hitting your sweet spot. You cry out. Your knuckles grip the edge of the table.

“That’s it, come for Daddy.” His finger swirls your slick bud with perfection in tandem with his large hand slapping against your ass. You shatter as he continues bringing his hand down against your soft flesh. He talks you through it like you always fantasized he would. “So perfect. You take me so well.”

You feel his thrusts grow sloppy and know he is close too. He stills, spilling inside you. His ragged breath tickling your neck. You lay there for a minute against the table with Loki still buried deep inside you.

You hear footsteps so you glance up. “You fucked my dad?!” Narfi exclaims, looking from you to his father, still buried inside you. “I always knew you were a dirty slut. This just proves it.” Narfi spits the insult at you, usually his words would sting. Now they don’t bother you at all. Loki looks at his son, smirking as he slaps you on the ass in front of him. “She was a good girl for Daddy.”

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @potter-puff007 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @gigglingtiggerv2

[semischarmed]

Thread

Don’t blame me for this one, you guys voted for something diabolical.

= = = = =

The references were esoteric. In fact, I had to hide my true research from the university, under the guise of reclassifying “ritualistic” items. The irony did not escape me. I was actually looking to access a “ritualistic” item that was classified as mundane. 

Legends spoke of a god of flesh. One that manipulates the body as one would manipulate clay. Its name has long since been lost to time, but there are echoes of his work in the myths of old. We often hear of a creator god shaping man from the earth, of half-human hybrids and giants and other such peculiarities. Glimpses of this god of flesh. I had only read into such a figure from a blog by happenstance. A miracle of probability. 

I eyed the needle, now in my hand. It was unassuming but carried a supernatural weight to it, like the weight of time immemorial. I grinned, practically moaned as I pricked my finger with the needle. 

I expected some sort of magical fanfare, maybe a gust of wind but found none. I stared at my hands and then I noticed it. My hands. My flesh. I could feel all of it. I stared intently as I pinched the skin above my finger, I willed the pleat to hold its shape and smiled. I was ready.

- - - - 

I thought through the myths, now partial realities in my head. Though I felt myself brim with power, I knew the drawbacks- there had to be a reason the myths had not made it to present day. The answer appeared in my head. There is only so much one man can do, and being giftedoften made one a target. A word echoed in my head. “Protection”. That did seem to match my records. Humans of old would change their flesh to be stronger, more resilient, adapting to every circumstance thrown at them. But the weakness persisted. One prick to channel the same power as the god of flesh, and another prick locks you from that power again. I smiled to myself. I just needed to get… creative. 

Joey Cooper was well-known around the college. A fifth year senior majoring in Sport Science. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he always meant well. He had an air of confidence to him that often aided his statuesque form. Despite this, something else drew my interest even further. His unattainability. The man was often called by his nickname “old faithful,” having been in a relationship with his girlfriend Britney for as long as any can remember. Guys and girls from all walks of life have tried to tempt “Juicy Joe” (A nickname he wasn’t aware of). None of have succeeded. 

And then there was Charlie Cooper, his younger brother, a freshman with the face of an angel. He had unattainability in a different sense. Kind eyes and gentle curly locks framed a face that often wore a worried expression. Unlike his brother, he was timid, and a bit reserved. He had a lack of confidence that seemed to be a hindrance to his social life. Charlie would often shied away from conversation, despite others regularly visiting his dorm. Charlie roomed with Joey in the school dorms, a rarity for this campus. I overheard a conversation with Charlie once on this oddity. Beneath his unintelligible mumbling he mentioned something about being “faithful to Brit” and getting Charlie “out of his shell”.

I bit my lip thinking about the prospects.

— - - - - -

“Oh hey Joey!” I waved casually as I approached a Joey returning to his dorm room, face flush and covered in a sheen. He must have just come from the gym. He was consistent with his workouts, so it was no surprise he would still be in campus after finals to get one last pump in.

“Hey dude! Uh, sorry I don’t remember names to well”. He replied back in a friendly manner. I shook my head at that.

“No need to apologize. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.” He looked back at me expectantly, hand outstretched to greet. I shook it as I continued. “My name’s gonna be Joey too”. He nodded and smiled politely but the man’s face couldn’t hide his visible confusion.

I clung onto the lack of rejection on Joey’s part as an invitation for myself. As he continued into his room, I followed, allowing the door to close behind us. The silence from the near empty dorm was deafening. He turned around, again making a polite smile. “Uh hey again… Joey… can I help you?”

I dropped all pretense, rushing to his bed and taking a whiff. “Fuck dude, you smell so hot”. Everything in the room carried a small sample of his scent. Like a gentle sweaty musk overlaid with his detergent. I looked to the sweaty Joey, inching closer and taking a whiff of his fresh personal scent. Divine. I felt my jaw unlock in a small moan. His post workout scent was like a concentrate of the pleasant musk I smelled before. Like raw testosterone and shallow breaths, and a hint of earthiness that exuded power. Juicy Joe. I was drunk on the scent, mind transfixed, until I caught him staring. He was starting to get upset.

“Hey bro, you should probably lea-“ He froze as he saw me extend a nerve out of my hand, like a red root outstretched into the air. “The fuck?”

He began stepping back but as soon as my nerve landed on his arm, he struggled back into stillness. I smiled in euphoria as I felt every individual root of my vein burrow into his skin and connect with his. Checkmate. He watched as more and more of my nerve rooted into his flesh, screaming as he felt the violation to his sense of touch. 

“No one can hear you bro, it’s after finals, remember?” I twirled the needle in front of him before setting it on the table. “Can’t have you taking a shower and removing your natural cologne”. Joey was still frozen as he saw me begin to undress. Juicy Joe had a body brimming with power, and I knew it would burst at any moment. I took care as I undressed, rooting and unrooting my nerves, and making sure to always keep at least one red thread of control on him at all times. 

Joey glared as he saw me finish placing my clothes in a neat pile on the floor. “Your turn”.

“What the fuck dude!? What makes you think-“ He was cut off as the red strings bridging our flesh began to writhe. In turn, he felt his meaty arms begin to move, and pull down his compression shorts. The feeling was altogether unfamiliar, as he felt his own flesh betray him and move to my will. I willed him to hand me the soaked shorts. Even with the power of the god of flesh on my side, I could feel Joey struggling for control through sheer willpower alone. I laughed a little in my head. There are other ways to break a man. 

I brought his heavenly scented shorts up to my face, gorging myself on the potent raw musk of man. Like a pungent blast of earth and humidity and testosterone. A Joey-concentrate. I could practically feel the potency of it clawing at my nostrils. A sweat-laden Joey reeked in the best way. I must have been lost in pleasure, because my eyes refocused to his pleading face. “P-please man, just stop whatever this is. What do you want?”

I laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s you. I want you. Every part of you.”

A few more nerves shot from my legs, and directly into his. With some new tethers in place, I pulled the threads connecting my arms to his, and quickly slipped under his sweaty workout shirt. I clung to his muscled chest for dear life. ‘Bless these stretchy workout shirts,’ I thought to myself. I felt along the ridges of his spine, across his shoulders which screamed power, and with my hands, I greedily caressed the flesh previously only touched by Britney. I gripped our embrace tighter. Joey was screaming and writhing, soaking the shirt further and my body in his struggle. I moaned as he screamed, as every turn and twist his body made also pushed my chest closer to his, confined by his own workout shirt. I sighed dreamily as his struggle compressed us closer together.

With the power of the needle, I made myself much more malleable and began to slip my arms to into the arm sleeves of his shirt. I spiraled them across his meaty biceps, possessively claiming every square inch of his flesh as my own. I did the same with my legs, wanting to bind us further.

The sight must have been bizarre- two men, naked from the waist down, both in the same sweaty workout shirt. And the smaller man, stretching and wrapping his arms and legs over the other.

“Now for some real fun” I stated, as I shot out as many of my nerves into him as I could. He screamed at the sensory assault as he fell unconscious. I merely continued rooting into him, relishing in being able to feel every inch of Mr. Unattainable. I slowly stumbled our bodies toward his mirror, making sure to have him grab his own phone.

= = = = =

When Joey came to, he saw my head hanging to the side in front of his, and his body enveloped by mine. He panicked when he saw more threads from my face rooted into his neck and mouth. “Fuck Joey, I can feel how strong your lungs are. Even your breaths feel like a top jock” I moaned. 

Like raindrops, I felt his tears stream down his cheek and onto my face. “L-Let me go man. Look I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I swear I don’t remember doing anything.”

I laughed callously. “No need to apologize, bro. You haven’t done anything to me. I just want you all to my own.” I brought his phone up to his face so he could see the name on the call screen. Britney.

“Babe?” She answered. “What’s up?”

“H-HEL-“ He tried to holler. Instead, his neck swelled and throat strained as he my red thread began to writhe. 

“Joey? Is everything all right?” She asked in a worried tone.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Joey’s mouth laughed, while his eyes showed fear. I continued to use him as my mouth piece. “You’re so boring, Brit. Just called to tell you it’s over.” Tears began to well in his eyes. I could practically hear the tears in Brit’s eyes over the phone.

“Joey… I. Is something wrong? You never call me Brit. I told you how my dad used to…” She trailed, trying to rationalize the situation.

I continued the puppet show as Joey’s eyes continued pleading with me. “Nothing’s wrong, Babe. In fact, it’s finally all right over here.” He stated with a smile. Joey’s eyes winced at the venom spewing from his mouth.

Joey grunted as he tried to stop his free hand from fondling my ass. “Do you know how many girls and guys wanted in these pants, Brit? Do you know how hard is to always turn someone down. They all want a piece of Juicy Joe.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess you mentioned it once…” She sniffled. “But I thought we were fine” said a choked up Britney.

“Fuck no this isn’t fine. Look at me. I’m a fucking bull.” Joey was forced to say, while sticking his tongue out. I briefly stopped his hand from groping my cheek to force it into a biceps flex. He tried to squirm his head away but was ultimately forced to lick it and moan. I huffed and whispered in his ear. “I bet you taste fucking salty, Joey.” 

“Babe, what’s wrong? You never talk about your body that-“

“Brit, just shut the fuck up”. That seemed to shut her up. “Always fucking whining too…” I made Joey huff. The upper half of his head was sobbing now. I forced his free hand back over my ass, and used his other hand to set the call to speaker. “It’s over”.

Joey dropped the phone on the table- still mid call, as I willed his other hand to cup my other cheek. Squeeze. “Fffuuuuck” I moaned. “You’re fucking mine, Joe.” Like his musculature, I commanded my cock into a malleable state, snaking over his, encircling it like a fleshy sleeve. Then, all at once, my red threads of control stirred, as Joey fucked his thick jock dick into my makeshift cocksleeve. “I’m fucking yours”. I made him say. My eyes fluttered in drunken bliss.

“Joey- who is that?”

I felt his head struggle as he tried to stop his body from growing hard. At this, I made sure he had full control of his cock. His plump ass cheeks tightened as his body was forced to thrust into me. I saw him wince, but we both felt the change. Even without me controlling it, his cock stirred to life.

I willed my flesh puppet to answer. “Oh, him? I’ve been fucking him during this call, Brit. That’s how boring you are. Stupid too- we’ve been fucking for months and you never noticed” I make him say it to his reflection as well, topping it with a sleazy grin he never wore. I also made a point to moan, to force him to thrust his hardening dick into me in loud, boisterous grunts. “Fuck. Brit. You. Never. Felt. This. Good”. I make him gasp in between breaths. 

“So you’re fucking him, right now?” She asked, now turning to anger.

“Mmph… YES” I let him shout, as I tightened my fleshy trap around his engorged dick and milk his seed dry. To add to the injury, I released control of his mouth at the same time, so in that moment, he felt himself scream bloody pleasure and coat my flesh in his juices.

“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME,” Britney shouts, before hanging up.

Perhaps it was due to the pleasure, or the bombardment of his senses, or the sheer perversion of the situation, but Joey’s eyes rolled back to its whites and his head slumped into my shoulder. 

I basked in the moment, coated in the sweat and baby batter of Mr. Unattainable. Breathing in sync with his unconscious form. With his head still slung forward, I willed his upright form to give my ass another squeeze. “Take me, bro. I’m your fucking meat puppet. Feel me. Use me. These muscles, this body. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” I make Joey say. Mr. Unattainable wholly mine.

I kept him upright, facing the mirror without a care for how sore his post-workout body already was. I made sure he stirred awake, to still see himself playing and groping my fleshy form, bonded together supernaturally by the god of meat. He sobbed silently at our union.

With Joey whimpering and broken, I began to retreat into my original form, letting his arms and legs and chest free. All that connected our two naked bodies now was just a single thread of red. But just one thread was all I seemed to need. I no longer felt resistance from his body, as his sullen face just looked to me with defeat. 

I made him reiterate my will. “I’m all yours,” Joey mumbles. I puppetted him to close the distance, and pull my back towards his abs. Joey did not resist as body grinded into mine. He clumsily grabbed my head for a sloppy kiss. And once again, I tasted and experienced something only Brit previously had. His tears smeared into my cheek as I started making him kiss me. My eyes fluttered closed as I was in ecstasy. True pleasure. His lips slowly pried mine open, then the tip of his tongue touching mine. In our deranged intimacy, I savored the taste of Joey’s mouth and of his tongue now forced mine. I didn’t want this to end. Joey’s body pulled back from the kiss and began groping itself, repeating his new mantra. “I’m all yours.”

Still repeating his mantra, my eyes locked with his, before he grabbed the needle from the desk and pricked his hand with it. In that instant, I heard the door unlock. 

What were the chances? Another miracle of probability. There was a single late final on campus, for an upper div class that freshmen rarely took. And yet, it seemed there was one freshman that did happen to take such a class.

Just my luck. 

Charlie.

= = = = =

A two-parter. Could not for the life of me get usable photos of “Joey” in a compression shirt, so you’re gonna have to use a little imagination for that one haha.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Errors, “Errors,” and Sci Fi

@strawberry-crocodile

tvtropes calls stuff like the wolf example "science matches on" which I think is a pretty fair shake

This.  This is what’s got me thinking so much about errors.  There’s a certain danger, here.  A certain way that this particular effect — delicious dramatic irony — tempts the mind when reading old stories, even true ones.

What do you know about R.M.S. Titanic? I ask my class every year, and the first hand rises.  “It was unsinkable,” the student inevitably says, and everyone is nodding, “or so they thought.”  I write the word UNSINKABLE on the board, underneath my crude drawing of a ship with four smokestacks.  It will be crossed out before the end of the hour, but not for the reason they expect.

“I find no evidence,” Walter Lord, preeminent biographer of the ship’s survivors, wrote, “that Titanic was ever advertised as unsinkable. This detail seems to have entered the collective mind so as to create a more perfect irony.”  Indeed, historians’ examinations of White Star Line documents show the shipbuilders themselves worried it would be so large as to risk collision; they stocked several more lifeboats than 1910s regulations required.

The War to End All Wars (deep breath, satisfied exhale), also known as World War ONE. Chuckle.  Shake of the head.  What if I told you that this phrase, used primarily in American newspapers after the fact, wasn’t meant to be literal? Nowadays we’d say The Mother of All Wars, or One Hell of a Fucking War, but we wouldn’t mean literal motherhood, literal intercourse.  What if I said the armistice and the Lost Generation and the Roaring 20s were all braced for another outbreak of European conflict, and yet we still failed to prevent it?

Did you know they were so confident in the safety of the S.S. Challenger that they put a civilian schoolteacher onboard? I do, because I’ve heard that one repeated many times.  Only, see, it’s got the cause and effect reversed.  Challenger launched on a day the shuttle’s engineers knew to be dangerously cold, because the first civilian in space was on board. And NASA knew its shuttle project would be cancelled entirely, if they couldn’t get that civilian’s much-delayed entry into space in the next two weeks.  So they launched on a cold day, and killed her instead.

These are all what cognitive science calls Hindsight Bias on the personal level, what sociology calls Presentism on the cultural level.  Social psychology’s a little of both, is primarily interested in why you’re sitting on your couch in a Colonize Mars shirt watching PBS and chuckling at the fools who believed in El Dorado.  It wants to know why the mind flees straight from “marijuana will kill you” to “marijuana will cure cancer” without so much as a pause on the middle ground of its real benefits and drawbacks, its real (mild) risks and rewards.

And they can paralyze the sci-fi writer, if you think too much about them. Jetsons is futurist one decade, retro the next.  “There are no bathrooms on the Enterprise,” the creators of Serenity say smugly, as if Gene Roddenberry should’ve simply known that decades later it’d be acceptable to show a man peeing in full view of the camera, nothing but the curve of the actor’s hand to protect his modesty.  “No sound in space,” the Fandom Menace says, “No explosions in space,” and “A space station can’t collapse in zero-G.”  Only then NASA burns a paper napkin outside of atmosphere, transmits music using only the ghost of nearby planets’ gravities, and logs onto Reddit long enough to point out the Death Star would implode in its own gravity field.  And now we’re the ones pointing, the ones laughing, at those earlier point-and-laughers.  Self-satisfied, smug in superiority.  As if we did the work to find out ourselves, instead of just happening to be born a little later than George Lucas.

[glassrowboat]

Selfess. Kim Dokja.

Summary: The irony, to be a reader's reader. To view his story in between breaks at work, between sick days and vacations, as words flickered before you the same way they did for him on the subway. Digital words trying to break down every little aspect of a man you know hurts inside with a raw passion. Like scraped skin meeting air for the first time. It made you want to hold him, to listen to him, to comfort him, but Dokja always held you at arms length in some way, even if it was so subtle no one but you could sense it.

Author's Note: This has no spoilers for the manhwa readers but was written for those who have gone through the entire novel

Word Count: 3500+

Written for 'Help Me, Hold Me' a collab by @tomuras

Selfishness. A human trait. One bled into society to the point it has been ingrained in every sidewalk; every ruined shop with shelves toppled over from those searching desperately for food, only to find nothing; every hand held out waiting to be held; and every moment that passes by while you're selfish enough to dare to take another breath. Possibly robbing another of their own air to fill their lungs.

Should you stop and risk apologizing?

No, there was never the time to spare.

Too selfish to stop and give those few precious seconds to another person as they cry for aid or in pure, unbridled wrath as you kill the person next to them. Throat squeezed between your bare hands even after their pulse faded away. Only letting go because you were pushed off. Having, at the time, been shoved to the ground as a murderer just like you rose a pipe so high you couldn't imagine it doing anything other than crashing into your skull as it fell.

Whenever that memory comes up, it somehow always leaves a dull ache in your head, like you're remembering the times that metal became one with your bones and brain. Shattering on impact with a sickening thud that left you feeling sick before it all went black.

That would make sense, after all, wouldn’t it? That man having been the one to end it all for you time and time again, so you never end up making it past that first scenario. (Much like a certain someone.)

The first challenge that faced everyone in this dome.

The one that made everyone in it a murderer.

Self-serving.

Self-centered.

Self-regarding.

That's what you all were.

Even him, having dared to make a request of you.

Even as Dokja rested in your lap, black hair tickling your thighs that had you wondering if shorts really were a good idea for sleepwear even if it was the dead of summer and it's annoyingly high temps that left you sweating even when a sword wasn't grasped in hand. Calluses you never thought you'd have carding through the sleeping man's tresses. Absent-minded as you kept your blurred gaze on him.

It was decided the lot of you would hole up here for the night even with the cracks in the foundation that had you second-guessing the structural integrity, but you had been assured it's fine. Like an office worker had any right to assure you of that, but you still shut your mouth at that and nodded along.

“Sure, Ugly,” on your lips. A teasing smile meeting his grimace at the moniker Dokja never failed to show his hatred for.

Good for him. He can be pissy all he wants. If anything, it just makes you tempted to take your phone out and snatch a picture. That is, if it wasn't shattered to a thousand pieces by now and tossed into the waters below. Fish food now, much like Dokja was after Yoo Joonghyuk dropped him off the bridge.

He doesn't appreciate that joke either.

You had insisted on being the one to stay up, to keep watch even as he fought you the entire way as you and the kids wrangled him into laying down. Gilyoung had kicked your shin for pointing out Dokja's eye bags as he finally laid down. White coat folded up in a bundle, far from neatly at that, and tucked under his head in place of a pillow.

This time, you chose to hold your tongue from joking about his mother never teaching him how to do laundry.

So you sat and waited, brushing off the dirt from the assault the evil little creature (or as you liked to call the kid as you pinched his cheeks) left on you. Footprint easily blending in with all the other layers of dirt you have accrued over the past few days without a proper bath. Wet wipes only proved to be a decent substitution for so long. The sun slowly dipped behind concrete towers until being swallowed away by the waters to come back tomorrow, the moon rising in its stead.

Glowing brighter than you could ever recall it doing before this world turned to shit. The lack of street lamps probably helped. Even if the stars were out, almost so close you could reach out and touch them. Card your fingers through the Milky Way like it was a pot of glitter from an arts and crafts project.

“I know you're still awake.” You finally said after you were one hundred percent certain the kids were passed out. Blankets no longer stirred from trying to get comfortable on the hard floor, and Yoosung's mutterings flowed into her habit of talking into her sleep.

Oftentimes, she would cry for someone to come hold her; even in the dead of night.

“I'm sore from that fight earlier today. And it's taking longer to get used to the concrete than I thought it would.”

“Liar. You just need to make sure for yourself that we'll all be okay.”

You waved off the messages appearing beside you at his reply. Notifications came so often that you had learned to tune them out.

“I'll take over from here. You should get some rest yourself.”

It was surprising he didn't punctuate the sentence with your sponsor's title, or worse, your name. He had a habit of doing that at the worst of times, making himself all cozy by disregarding your last name entirely and simply calling you by ... .Well, by the word that makes you turn your head on instinct the second it's called out.

By now, it was far too fuzzy in your brain to remember that first time you truly met him to recall if you gave it to him or he simply knew it.

Were you, too, a character in his eyes?

The thought had struck you many times, what Dokja saw when he looked at you. Especially now as he turned over in his spot, head propped up on his hand to look at you. Scrutinizing. Like he was reading a blue box perched right under your profile that read out:

Your name.

Your age.

Supporting constellation: Arrow-shooting cherub.

And all that other drabble that came with it.

Or were you a selfish person that he chooses to see as an ally despite having no place in his heart before the world fell?

Honestly, you had no clue which was better. At least with the latter he wouldn't know the times you cried late at night in your room, of the times you blearily made it through the day only to let the worlds between pages be your comfort as soon as the front door locked behind you, of how you would see a character so broken, so damaged and-

“No.” You huffed.

Both to his words and your own mind's ramblings. If you could bury that away the same way the Ugly King was atop that hill as wails filled your ears, you would.

“You're human like the rest of us, whether you like it or not. Got that, bubba?”

Such a different way of calling him ahjussi. Definitely a lot less respectful, but something tells you he doesn't mind as much as some other stubborn men in this world would.

“Here I thought I was a Supernatural character. That's what you like to call me with the others, right?”

At least not enough to roll his eyes at, anyway.

“I think the name suits you well. You're just missing some plaid. We can get you a shirt…or a kilt?”

“Not happening.”

A huff of a laugh escaped him, somewhere between breath of air pushing out of his lungs and the chuckles you can get from him after telling a particularly bad pun.

You two stayed like that for a minute, Dokja laying down with his eyes on you. Somehow, even with the intrusive feeling of him staring through you rather than at you, it was comforting.

Dark eyes shone in the light of the fire keeping the four of you warm. Crackling firewood as it tumbled into a new shape, a new little tent of sticks a better background noise to listen to than the mutterings as they finally slowed down for the time being.

“They care about you.”

To the point Yoosung and Gilyoung were nearly attached to him at the hip. If someone had told you those two were stuck to him on those backpacks with leashes parents used before the fall, you wouldn't have even batted an eye. Maybe even believed it for a moment there.

“Which is why you need to get some rest. The first step in letting someone care about you is letting them force you to sleep, to eat, to sit back and let them…”

Hug you.

“Help you.”

‘Don't think about yourself here’ is a great reminder as to why you pressed your lips together in a thin, impossibly straight line. Refusing to say the words lurking in your mind.

“You mean to tell me I'm not supposed to do everything myself?”

The sarcasm in his voice made you want to snatch that makeshift pillow out from under him. So, of course, that's what you do. A call of your name filling the air as he tried to wrangle it back. Something about how it's too cool to end up ruined and how he went through a lot of effort to get that.

“Last I checked, you wanted it in black!”

He was still tugging it from your hands when you heard a murmured call of Dokja's name over the ruckus you were both causing when you froze. He did, too, looking back at the kids for a moment before sighing in relief.

Just Yoosung. As normal.

“I can't rest if I don't have something to sleep on,” he whispered to you. Tone harsh, but never filled with as much contempt as when speaking to a certain regressor. That, and every other emotion he held for the man.

“But I'm cold.” You dared to say, like it wasn't sweltering hot only hours before.

Well, some did say that the summer nights are the ones that make you truly feel like you're freezing.

“Are you?”

Before you could even nod he had pulled the jacket from your hands, with enough force you couldn't help but wonder if his petty ass stacked a few coins up and pushed them into the starstreams vaults, or however that worked, to up his strength stat. Not even your grippy little fingers helped at all. Your attempts to hold onto it a forgotten cause.

Or not.

Not as he wrapped it around your shoulders with a boyish grin. Something so nice to see, his ability to smile, even if it is only to comfort you.

It would be so easy to let your head fall to the clouds and pretend he's not forcing it. But after what happened recently, another scenario passed you by like a bullet train that whooshed up your scarf and had it flying up and away to follow it even as you desperately reached out to grasp onto it with all you had, you knew that simply wasn't the case.

“It smells like male B.O.”

“Well, I do happen to be a man.” Before you could even protest, Dokja said: “despite what you may say.”

“You got laundry soap in that fancy Dokkaebi Shop of yours?”

“Actually, I might.”

You could see his hand twitching to pull up the menu to check, something you're not even sure of if Dokja is allowed to do in front of you despite the many times he has. Little to no shame about it now that he had become a constellation.

“Later. Or I'll make fun of the fact that your eyebags are so big you can carry all my trauma in there.”

“You literally just did.”

Your hand was on his face before you could even think about it, thumb brushing along the bluish skin as it became more and more tinted the longer this world stayed like this. He would stay up most nights insisting to keep watch even if he was the one to suggest everyone stopped to rest, biting at his thumb as endless possibilities swirled in that stubborn mind of his.

Does he not know it's rude to make others see him wearing himself down like that every day?

“Don't know what you're talking about, bubba.”

And this position is extremely awkward now that you think about it. Hand snapping back to your side to grab at that stupid coat to pull it tighter around you despite not truly needing its warmth. However, it did smell nice. Like him. Despite, well, the gross layer to it.

“Right…”

“You could use some eye cream. Too bad your ugly self never heard of makeup before the dome came up. Otherwise, you might have actually had a social life.”

Beyond just pretending the one he admired with all his heart was real in those moments of weakness when the feeling of being alone truly etched itself into his heart. Was a solid human being who could pat him on the shoulder as they did that awkward man hug.

“Why are you like this?” Dokja asked in the flattest tone he could manage.

“You see, it all started when my parents had sex-”

Dokja shook his head at that. His stupid bowl cut waving back and forth in just the right way that had it slightly tousled up when he stopped.

And we all had problems in this world that made us what we are now.

That's what you didn't say.

“Rest. Please.” Not a request, not a demand, but a plea. One that had your voice cracking in protest at opening up that tiniest bit without the doors to your heart being pried open with a crowbar. Of course, they'd have to get through the chains and boards nailed to the frame first.

Selfishly, you wanted him to be the one to pull those nails from the rotting wood.

In a way, he already has. (The same you know he will never fully free you of them).

And you wanted to be the one to hold the lock over his own, to cradle it, and open it not with a pick or some other cheap tool meant to get to the treasure within so easily, but with a key he willingly gives you.

To know what it's like for him, for once, to be honest with you. Even if that means to stop lying to himself in the process.

“Or I'll get a marker and really draw attention to those bags of yours. Maybe I'll even start calling you an old man and insisting they're a sign of aging. Those stories catching up with you, oldy?

“I never thought I would have missed being called ‘Ugly King.’” He groaned.

But for now, all you can do is watch it dangle before you as it shines in the light of another's hands. Dangling from a black cord. Yoo Joonghyuk. How Dokja looks at the regressor the same way you did him.

“Then I'll be nice for once and keep that nickname to myself if you lay down, shut your eyes, and fall the fuck to sleep.” Before he could ask with what pillow, because, yes, you were already expecting that question, you pat your lap. Far too used to his sarcasm to not see it coming a mile away. “Sleep.”

There was no fight, no bite back as Dokja just sighed and let himself fall down even as he was clearly embarrassed over this. Refusing to look at you like that would do anything to stop the tiniest flush you could see in his skin if you simply stopped to look. Just like you always have. But still, no fight was a good thing. Hopefully, that meant he was too exhausted to even bother because then he would have no choice but to slip away into dream land as your fingers slid through his hair. Easing him into the wakeless world.

“I'll keep watch. I promise.”

You soaked in his time, in him, as you watched those eyes drift shut.

“Last time I heard you singing Gilyoung a song.” The words were particularly muffled by your thigh, the skin growing goosebumps as you felt his breath fanning over you. Somehow, you're too hot and too cold all at the same time as you replied back with a confirmation.

“Are you asking me to sing for you, too? Does little Dokja need a lullaby?”

“Nevermind.”

“Hey, hey, no.” Your hand stopped in his hair for a moment, the dirt under your nails from earlier today so easily spotted as your eyes flicked between him and the calloused hand that has dared to take lives, but still treat him so softly. “I just don't really remember all the words. I can't look them up without wifi and all that so…”

“What do you remember?” He dared to ask.

So, for him, you answered: “enough.”

Enough for you to hum to the parts you're missing and sing the rest as that moon that had risen up into the sky slowly started to drop again. It's much like a video game where you're messing with the time settings just to continue on your quest. Your next adventure. Your next task.

But selfishly, you wanted this moment to last forever as you sang about a little baby moon shining in the sky with his funny little toes in the air.

“And he's all alone in that big blue sky.”

The lyrics had you aching to stop and to bite at your lip as Dokja drifted off to sleep, but still you continued on, because for him, It didn't matter if your throat burned or you legs went numb. Not even when you'd surely have trouble walking the next day as they struggled to pump blood back through them properly, not if it meant he got a moment of reprieve from what you knew was going to happen next.

Is this what it felt like for him watching Yoo Joonghyuk during their encounters? Each passing day went by like a sweet song that you wished to play in your head again and again until you remembered every lyric, every pitch, every note, until the ability to play it through memory alone graced you.

The same way you did the pages of his book. Quote after quote of his assurances to others that he never dared give himself still so fresh even after reading through them for the nth time.

How you wanted to be the one to tell Dokja he'd be able to get through it all.

If he only allowed it.

Only allowed you in to give him more than a moment of reprieve to sleep. To hold him, to listen to him, to comfort him. To cradle Dokja the same way you did your phone after reading translations of the novel in the dead of the night.

It's complicated to hold someone this dear, to look at them and only wish for them to have the best yet know they have been robbed of that. Know they will be robbed of even more.

But this is the choice he wanted.

And who are you to disrespect that?

Even as it has tears falling from your cheeks as you sang that stupid song again, words coming out broken between sobs you hoped wouldn't wake the children and the man you loved in a way that went beyond mere friendship, beyond mere passion for another, beyond mere familial ties.

No, it went beyond that.

That's why you couldn't be selfish, not with him, not even after all those fix it fics you relished in because at least then you'd see him happy. See that boyish grin full of pure joy and nothing else.

So you would stand on the side lines, let him view you as another character to save if he must, and hold your sword tight as it's raised to protect him.

Because, and the words came out like a croak as you whispered them to yourself, a confession between only you and the constellations above. “I love you.”

‘In lieu of loving myself.’

The fate of a reader's reader. Your precious main character.

For your selfishness, for your own broken and guarded heart, for him, this can only be said knowing he can't hear your deepest secret. No, Dokja had other things he needed to do, better, more important things than to worry about you. So you would give it all to him, no matter if it meant shattering yourself too.

[blu-ish]

Ok so how do you think Shadow reacted when Sonic wasn’t in his arms when he arrived back in green hill

(Sonic prime)

... (Here's my idea as a sample mini-fic cuz I have no self-control.)

He couldn't help the panic that sunk deep within his broken heart. He failed. After everything, and he was still unable to save one of the only people who genuinely cared about him. That was Shadows most rational thought at the moment anyways. Almost tempted to let out a pitiful laugh at the irony of it all.

The hedgehog felt stupid, naive, and absolutely pathetic. Just like before.

What did he think would happen?

His grip loosened after he feels the almost ghostly appearance of the chaos emerald in his quills, the one he'd spent hours scouring for in the past. He doesn't even remember why...

The emerald looked way to much like his eyes, eye's he'd never get to see again.

As much as Shadow was willing to give into the pain, the urge to scream his lunges out, he remembered the mountain-- the prism.

What if...?

Hope burns like a small uncertain ember in his heart, one where the slightest breeze would extinguish it forever. Shadow races up the mountain, emerald in hand, unsure of what he might see--or what he wanted to see. Who he wished to see.

Ruby meets emerald green, and Shadow can breathe again.

...

Shadow tries to ignore the emotional whiplash he had just experienced. He really does. But, he can't help but occasionally stare- no, examine the cobalt hedgehog who sat next to him.

He's here.

He's alive.

His gloved hand twitches, unbeknownst to its owner, it slowly inches its way closer to the hero. Stopping at an invisible barrier, Shadow clears his throat.

"I hope you've at least tried to learn something from all of this."

Sonic's laughter almost makes the agent jump, almost.

"Yeah, yeah. No more smashing super colorful rocks for me, that's for sure!" Sonic played the events they both just endured like another adventure, just another day for Sonic T. Hedgehog. Or so he assumed the blue hedgehog was trying to do.

"I think that would be for the best. For everyone." Shadow concluded, gripping the grass below him a little harder then he meant too. An action that didn't go unnoticed by the hedgehog next to him.

"I'm really gonna miss everyone though, seems kinda silly after everything but..." Sonic sighed, "I'm really glad the guy I ended up getting stuck with was you, Shads."

Turning to face the hedgehog fully. Shadow scanned Sonics face for any indication of sarcasm, only to be met by the most brightest smile he'd ever seen. The warm hues of the sunset didn't help either.

He'd seen Sonic smile, the guy seemed to do it whenever he could. But now, this... felt different, personal. It didn't feel unpleasant either. That scared him, not like he'd ever admit that though.

"And what exactly does that mean?" The darker hedgehog ignored the flush that was most likely on his face right now. Narrowing his brow at the other. He could unpack what he was feeling, later.

"Does grumpy want a list?" Sonic replied playfully. Since when did he start to lean on his side? The blue hero continued, listing his reasons on his fingers.

"Not to mention you've saved my life, more than once, all in practically the same day."

"You saved mine as well, that makes us even." Shadow reminded. It was getting harder and harder to keep eye contact with Sonic. He crossed his arms in mild frustration at himself more than anything.

"We had a bonding moment! You cradled me in your arms, dude!" Sonic exclaimed, moving in even closer somehow to wrap an arm around the flustered hybird.

His mind going blank to find a proper response, he resorted to grumbling. Sonics laughter filled the air again, taking another breath out of Shadows in the process.

"Anyone would've done the same, your life was in immediate danger, I was simply the fastest mode of transportation, simple."

"But it wasn't just anyone Shads... it was you." Shadow had rarely heard the hedgehog sound so serious, but gentle at the same time. As if he was talking to a frightened woodland creature, one that was only mere moments away from fleeing.

He didn't know when they started looking at each others eyes, he also came to the conclusion that Sonics eyes--while similar, shined way brighter than his emerald.

It was Sonics turn to clear his throat, accompanied by a chuckle. "So, yeah... thanks."

What Sonic wasn't expecting was dark arms wrapping themselves around his back. Bringing him close to his rival. Or the soft patch of white fur to tickle so much.

"Don't get used to it.." Was all Shadow said, burying his face unapologetically into his peach shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sonic smiled, hugging Shadow tight. The pair stayed like that until the night covered them in a blanket of stars.

It was good to be home.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello cat, may i request a hero who's had a string of bad relationships and a villain who's absolutely in disbelief that that could happen. Like they're absolutely flabbergasted that multiple someones didn't like the hero.

Have a good day! Drink water and rest :>

With the villain's knife nearly digging into the hero's shoulder, they looked up at their enemy, panting and exhausted. They knew the villain loved the thrill, the damn sparring.

It was all a game to the villain, a funny and meaningless game when they toyed with the hero. They liked to watch them fight, loved to challenge them.

The villain seemed way more relaxed than the hero did, after all the hero had a bunch of responsibilities on their shoulders that had an actual weight. The hero was 90% sure the villain was some millionaire with too much time on their hands.

"Quite the intimate position, dear," the villain whispered. They winked and leaned down, making their knife press a little harder against the hero's shoulder. "You look lovely today, by the way."

"Your pick-up lines get worse, do you know that?" the hero asked. They tried to wiggle and somehow get away from their nemesis but it was to no use. The villain sat down on their hips and pressed them into the ground. Their smirk never faltered.

"Oh, come on. You love it."

"Just a little," the hero said. They were pretty sure all of this was a big joke. And even though that was true, even though the villain pretended to like them, the hero welcomed the effort.

It made them feel special. Especially when the villain got jealous.

"Don't tempt me," the villain said. However, their smirk fell when they saw the hero's sad smile. "What is it?"

"What? Nothing, nothing. Where were we? You wanted to stab me?" The pressure faded and the villain looked quite puzzled.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're the only interesting hero in this boring city. Would hate it if you actually fought me."

"I am actually fighting you."

"You're holding back, don't think I am that dumb, please."

The hero sighed. They supposed it wasn't a good idea to tell the villain what kind of troubles they got into when they weren't in costume. It wasn't smart to reveal that much of themselves, was it?

They took in another breath.

But wasn't that why they kept their identity a secret?

"...it's kind of pathetic," they said.

"I commit crimes to get your attention. That is pathetic," the villain joked and somewhere deep down, the hero felt more secure. It was strange how the villain could be such a stranger yet the person the hero was closest to.

"I'm just enjoying this more than I should. I'm not very good when it comes to personal relationships, so your efforts are really refreshing."

"You are not good with personal relationships? You with all your conflict-resolving talk and your words of encouragement and your helpful nature? You?"

"Yeah...can't seem to keep a partner."

"You're kidding. You've kept me for three years." The hero smiled. Whether it was intentional or not, the villain managed to calm their anxiousness.

"I guess I am too needy. Or too distant. Too pushy, I don't know. Maybe I am one of those people who doesn't end up with anyone." They shrugged and the irony of saying that while the villain was sitting on their hips only occurred to them later.

"Oh please, people must be throwing themselves at you. I mean, hello!?" The villain looked down the hero's entire body, suggesting that the hero was some kind of royal everyone drooled over. This time, the hero felt their cheeks burn.

"Ugh, stop it. You're so annoying." They pushed the villain's face away, partly because they wanted to touch them, partly because they didn't want the villain to see their glowing face. But the villain only looked amused.

"You're totally lovable," they said. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

With that they winked at the hero and disappeared into the night.

And the hero realised they had a terrible crush on their enemy.

[toxicanonymity]

Cargo. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 4)

3.1k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader 18+ / pt 1 / master list

His arms loosen and you turn around to face him.  Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him.   You try to kiss him and he dodges you again, going for your neck instead. . . He starts giving you a light hickey.  "You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.  He smiles wickedly, then it fades.  | next: part 5

Thank you @dark-scape for the mood board (and sounding board).

CONTENT WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ Noncon somnophilia just the tip (don't get too excited) dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral (M receiving), alcohol, reader wears his shirt, excessive dialogue, elvis reference, sex work references, NO HOG BBQ YET SORRY- It took on a life of its own, needed its own part (next Sunday) and I think you'll see why the pacing is better that way.

Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

-

The hotel shampoo and body wash smell like Joel after his shower, which makes you want to take the bottles with you.  After your bath, you lounge on your bed in a towel, air-drying, finishing the movie, and replaying the night in your mind.  Mainly how hot Joel looked between your legs.  You also dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t really kiss you.  Apparently, he won't sleep in the same bed with you either.  It hurts.  Like, it's physically painful.  

You go across the suite to Joel's room for a shirt to sleep in.  His door is cracked open and there's a green flannel folded on top of his luggage.  It’s not weather-appropriate and you wonder if he brought it for you.   He's tucked in, already asleep on his stomach with his shirt off, a massive arm sticking out over the white comforter and another under his pillow.   You drop your towel to put the shirt on – leisurely, hoping he wakes up to the tempting sight – but he's already sleeping soundly.   You've never seen his face so relaxed, but his brow is still somewhat furrowed.  

You sit down on his bed to fasten a couple of buttons.  He doesn't  wake up.  The irony doesn't escape you that you're watching him sleep when he's supposed to be the creep.  Why doesn't he try to fuck you, you wonder.  His words to Chad echo in your mind: If she told her father, you wouldn't be breathing.  But that's obviously different, you think. That was about someone breaking your heart and physically intimidating you.   

-

The hotel bed is tightly made, with the comforter tucked under the mattress on the side Joel isn't using.  You wonder if you could slip inside without waking him up.  You move the pillows out of the way, then slowly, inch by inch, wedge yourself under the sheets. When you're almost settled, he stirs.  He blinks a few times, squints at you, then sighs, "Trouble . . ."  He moves one of his pillows and hugs it, effectively putting something between you.  It stings.  You try to sleep but you end up sniffling.  

He hears you and wakes up again.  "C'mere, damnit," he half-whispers, half-asleep.  His gruff bedroom whisper makes you wet.  He lifts up his arm but doesn't turn on his side or move the pillow.  You rotate the pillow slightly and rest your head on it with his arm over your chest.  You drift off sooner than you expect.  

-

At some point in your sleep, you roll over facing away from him.  You wake up in the fetal position with Joel’s arm draped over you.  Joel has turned onto his side, too.  Your upper back is just barely against his chest.  You scoot your lower body backwards to spoon with him, and your naked ass meets the tip of his cock.  Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning.  It's the first time you've actually had contact with it.  You didn't even realize he was naked. 

At the first contact, his hips instinctively press his cock up against you, sending all the blood in your body to your core.  You stifle a moan, not stopping to wonder why you don't want to wake him up.  You carefully maneuver your ass to nestle his cock between your thighs.  He thrusts in his sleep, gliding firm and wet against your folds, reaching your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

You unbutton your shirt then nudge his hand into it. His hand twitches and so does his cock. It pulls back a little and the tip is right at your entrance. Your hips tilt, nestling it there, the top curve of the head resting just inside without truly breaching you.  You could sink onto him right now.  It would be so easy.  But you want him to do it himself.  

You're absolutely throbbing, aching for him.  He pulls back again with a sigh, then his hard tip bypasses your tight, dripping hole and glides to your clit again and you softly moan.  You adjust your chest, wanting the movement of your breast to prompt his hand to cup around it.  But instead of cupping your breast, his hand drifts up your chest.  Then, it wraps loosely around your throat.

His voice is quiet but stern as his cock retreats then slides firmly against your clit with an aggressive thrust.  His hand applies light pressure around your throat.  “What’d I tell ya last night?”  

You remember it well, how you foolishly claimed you weren't gonna fuck him and he replied, oh, I'm not gonna let ya, sugar.  Blood drains from your face and your heart races. You scoff but don't say anything.  Having made his point, his hand goes slack again.  Humiliation drowns out your arousal and you begin to scoot away, but he follows you, effortlessly restraining you with one enormous arm.  

“Calm down," he says into your hair, then half-whispers under your ear, "I’m still gonna take care of ya,” as he palms your breast.  His hard cock nestles against your crack. 

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically and begin to squirm away, but both his arms wrap around you.  In a mocking tone, you parrot, "Take care of me," and add, "you're an actual whore, aren't you?"  A veiny hand slowly works your breast then trails down your torso and digs between your legs.  That’s all it takes for your arousal to return.  

He gathers your ample wetness and uses his middle and ring fingers in a way he must have been perfecting since before you were born.   You gasp and your back arches with tension building rapidly in your core.  His bicep flexes under your neck as his other hand slowly gropes your breasts.  His stiff cock slowly ruts against your ass while he touches you like you've never been touched before.  

He grunts and you gasp on the edge of your climax.  He softly bites your neck, and it sends you.  He sucks your neck as you come.   When your body finishes convulsing into his, his arms loosen and you turn around to face him. 

-

Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him.   You can't resist. You try to kiss him.  

He fucking dodges you again, going for your neck instead.   "Haven't you seen Pretty woman?" Yeah, the one where a sex worker won’t kiss johns on the mouth because it’s too emotional . . .Joel starts giving you a light hickey.  

"You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.  

He smiles wickedly, then it fades.  He opens his mouth to say something but stops short when you reach down and grab his cock.  Your mouth falls open at its hardness and the fact that his hand is already around it. 

He winces at your icy fingers. 

You get up on your knees and straddle his legs, pushing the plush luxury comforter behind you.  You fold at the hips and take a moment to admire his cock in your fist and breathe in his musk.  Your thumb lightly traces a vein, and he exhales with a soft grunt.  You look up and are greeted with a twinkle in his eye and a barely perceptible smirk.  You want to wipe that smirk off his face.  

You quickly succeed by holding eye contact while you wrap your lips around his swollen tip and tongue the slit.  It’s already salty with pre-cum.  He takes a deep breath and his lips part just barely.   He puts another pillow behind his head for a better view. His face falls into a trance.  When you begin to suck, he swallows and his jaw clenches.    His eyes darken. You bob your head on his cock, taking as much of his shaft as you can without gagging, stroking the rest with your hand. 

“Fuck,” he pants.  His quads tense under you and his breathing changes. His hips rock gently into your mouth.  Your eyes water as you keep blowing him.  Then, his hand joins yours.  

“Where ya want it?” he asks somewhat urgently.  What a gentleman. 

You don’t answer, you simply take his hand off his cock and place it on his stomach.  You slow your sucking and relax your tongue.  His hips thrust gently into your mouth and his  hand floats to your head, but you send it back to his stomach again  

“God almighty,” he groans.  “Fuck me.”  It’s a turn-on seeing him so desperate.  

You edge him until you’re ready to see him come. Then, you suck with your whole mouth, your cheeks caving in as you firmly tongue the underside.  Within seconds, his hips lift and stay lifted as he erupts in your mouth with a groan.  His warm load hits the roof of your mouth first, and it’s so many ropes you lose count.  You swallow, then return to the head of the bed. 

-

You put your head on his chest and he strokes your shoulder.  

“You’re the evil one,” he says, and you bask in self-satisfaction for a minute.  “Nah, you’re right.  You don’t wanna believe it, but you’re right.” 

“About what?” 

He sits up and your eyes glue to his inner bicep flexing as he reaches for his phone.  His brow furrows as he reads something then dismisses it.  Then he puts on the song Trouble by Elvis.  He meant you’re right that he’s evil.  

You hold out your arm and say, “I’m cringing so hard I have goosebumps.”  

“Just for that, I’m gonna play DJ allll mornin’,” he says.  He sings along as he walks to the shower, “well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me. . .” 

. . .

Before Joel takes you back to your apartment, you have brunch at a restaurant overlooking the riverwalk.  In the absence of other options, you wear your leather pants with the lacy top.  You both get bloody marys. He wears his Ray-Bans and a white t-shirt, jeans as tight as always, and sits back lazily with one elbow over the back of his chair and his knees spread wide.  

Your phone dings with a text from another family friend, Frank, asking if you’re coming home for the Independence Day barbecue, and it gets you thinking.

“Dad’s back this week,” you say to Joel.  You instantly regret it for killing the mood, but it’s the elephant in the room.  “Y’all still gonna barbecue?” 

He takes a sip of his drink, then puts it back down.  He looks at the river and furrows his brow, then his eyes return to you.  “Why wouldn’t we?  You gonna talk to him?”

“I dunno,” you say, not wanting to show your hand, but you’re leaning against snitching any time soon.  

Joel tenses and his nose twitches. “What are you gonna tell’m?”  He rubs one side of his beard.  A waiter approaches from behind, but Joel doesn’t see him.  “Gonna tell’m you climbed into my bed?  Tried to fuck yourself on my cock?"  There’s a bite to his words.  The waiter stops in his tracks and awkwardly tries to pretend he wasn’t coming to your table.  You look at the waiter and shrug and he gulps before nodding at you in acknowledgement.  Joel looks over his shoulder then shakes his head at you and smirks as the waiter walks away. 

Climbed into his bed. . . tried to fuck yourself on his cock. . . It sounds so bad when he puts it that way.  Maybe it was.  Your cheeks burn.

You sigh.  "I wasn't -” 

Joel raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Just the tip," you protest. 

Joel nods thoughtfully. 

“I dunno what I was thinking,” you admit.  You cross your arms and slouch down in your seat. 

"It's never just the tip,"  Joel says. 

"Why didn't you want it?" You ask pathetically 

He sighs.  "Nothin' to do with want.”  He takes a deep breath and leans back.  He looks at the river, exhales, then adds, "Trust me. . .Fuck."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary and looks back at you. 

"What then?”

The way he looks like he’s racking his brain, you wonder if he’s holding back just to drive you crazy.  It certainly has your attention. In fact, you didn’t know how badly you needed to fuck him until last night . . .just minutes after he said he wasn’t going to let you. 

Finally, he says, "It's bad for you, sugar."

“What is? Your evil cock?”

He smirks then shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks at the river again.  “I dunno what to tell ya. I've seen a lot.  Don't wanna put ya through it.  Shoot, look at your stepmom, she's damn near lost her mind.”

“You're just that good,” you roll your eyes.  You have every reason to believe he is. 

Joel sighs.  “Nothin' to do with good. Shit, I’m not good, I'm just grown."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary.  "Don't you know any hot professors? Take 'em for a spin, you'll see."

You brush it off as his crude way of being modest.  He could probably make bank as an actual gigolo from what you’ve seen. 

"Then what is it?" you wonder.  He gives it some thought.  

"Reckon it’s ‘cause ya can't have me.  No one can. I'm un-have-able."  

“Why don’t you ever settle down?” 

“Shoot, I dunno.  When I was your age, I was already a father.  Maybe I went backwards.”

You nod, appreciative of his effort to give a real answer. 

He continues, “But ya know, monogamy just ain’t right for some people.  Hell, even in a marriage.  You’d be surprised how many are open.” 

“How many what? Marriages?” You suspect his sample is skewed. 

“Yeah. Relationships, marriages.”  He crosses his legs.  “Alright, my turn to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart rate spikes, hoping he won’t revisit the just-the-tip incident.  

“Why'd you stand there and watch that night, hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow.  It’s the first time either of you bring up the moment that started all of this.  Sometimes, when you’re with him, you forget about it entirely. 

You laugh at his audacity, then counter with, "Why'd you stand there and finish?"

"Easy. So I could nut.”  He flashes his eyebrows with a casual smirk, then downs the rest of his drink. 

"You did not just say nut.  God, you're such a boomer."

"Alright, let's get outta here ‘fore we traumatize another waiter."  He throws more than enough cash on the table then stands up and pulls up his jeans.  He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a leg out, looking out over the river while you chug the rest of your drink.

-

When you get in the truck, Joel puts his phone on bluetooth and “Call Me,” the theme to American Gigolo, blasts on.  He’s so lame.  You shake your head at him and he has that subtle Dad joke smirk.  His bicep stretches that t-shirt so nicely. 

Halfway to your apartment, some kind of restricted call pops up and his phone automatically answers it.  You swear it’s your father’s voice on the line that says, “You’re offline.  What’s your 20?”  Joel’s face changes entirely, and something tightens in your chest.  

He scrambles to turn off bluetooth and puts the phone to his ear.  You can still somewhat hear the other end of the line.  

Joel glances at you and says, “Uhhh-”

“We’ve gotta move,” your dad says. 

“It’s broad daylight,” Joel counters. 

“The Bureau tracked down his number two and he’s on the move.” 

Joel seems frustrated.  “Why don’t you get Jesse?”

Your dad says, “He’s comin’ but they’re rollin’ deep.  We need our best shot or it’s gonna be a shitshow.”  Your heart is a mile a minute.

“Dad?” you ask meekly, too nervous to fully commit to asking.

“What was that?” your Dad asks. “Who was that?” You don't say anything else. You feel weak.

Joel glances at you regretfully.  “Damnit, gimme ten and I’ll call you.”

“We gotta move, Miller. I need you back online.”

Joel sighs  “Working on it.  I’ve got cargo, k?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.  "What kind of cargo?”

Joel looks at you again and answers, "precious.”  He hangs up.

Joel hits the steering wheel angrily.  He speeds back toward your apartment, clenching his jaw as his driving intensifies.   You’re shaking.  That was almost certainly your father, and it didn’t sound anything like a military training exercise, or a construction project of Joel’s, for that matter.  

Joel silently fumes.  

“Was that my dad?” you ask with watery eyes.   He takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out as he exhales.  Before he can answer, you foolishly let him off the hook with another question.  “Did you just call me cargo?"

“Sorry sugar, no time right now.”  You ride in silence, bracing yourself as he careens around a corner. 

The tears in your eyes threaten to overflow, then one does.  

-

Joel pulls up to your apartment.  He waits with one hand still on the steering wheel for you to get out, but when he looks at you, he sees that big fat tear run down your cheek and his face softens. 

“Aw, shoot,” he says, and unbuckles. “I’m an asshole.”  He gets out and jogs over to the passenger side.  He opens the door for you and you slide out of the chair lazily, numbly, not quite wanting to meet his eyes.  

“Hey,” he says, and tilts your chin up.  Suddenly, it seems like he’s in no hurry at all.  He takes off his Ray-Bans and looks at you like he’s trying to heal you with his eyes.  You finally make eye contact and take a shaky breath, trying not to full-on sob.  His thumb brushes away your tears, then the same hand cradles the back of your head.   You stand there reading each other’s eyes.  Slowly, your head begins to pull like a magnet toward his lips.  You almost feel like his hand is ever so subtly pulling you that way.  You steel yourself for rejection anyway.  But then, Joel’s head drifts toward yours.   

His beard lightly prickles your skin as your lips lock and his free arm wraps around you.  You’re caught off guard, but in less than a second, you don’t care about anything else in the world.  Joel’s tongue parts your lips and you accept it hungrily.  His lips are soft but strong as they suck you into him.  Your mouths are needy for each other.  His hand behind your head pulls you further into him.  You kiss like you’re sharing a last breath of air.  Then, he seals the moment on your upper lip and pulls away.  The whole kiss can’t be more than ten seconds, tops. 

“Gotta go, Trouble.” he whispers, then swallows solemnly, looking down.   “I’m sorry.”  

He jumps in his truck and peels off.  

-

next: part 5

-

thank you all so much for reading and engaging. y'all are the best ILY!!!

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 8

Synopsis: Val is a secretary to the Prime Minister. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

Part one here

Part seven here

Val could tell now Rook’s knocks from those of the servants. He rapped at the door in exactly three staccato beats — almost as a warning rather than an announcement because he would open the door anyway if she didn’t answer it within a few seconds. Thus, she didn’t bother rising from the edge of the bed where she sat.

The door swung open moments later and he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

“My king has had breakfast sent for. You’re invited to join but he stresses that it’s optional,” he announced, sounding almost bored.

She snorted. “Is it now? That’s a first.”

Yesterday she spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in her room. The invitation to explore no longer tempted her. She wanted to hide instead. The irony of this was not lost on her. Rook had delivered her dinner, citing that the king was too busy to actually have a sit down meal.

Whether that was true or the king simply didn’t want to deal with her theatrics, Val would never know. Rook stayed long enough to ensure she ate a healthy portion before leaving. He didn’t bother her with small talk, which she was grateful for.

“If you decline, I’m to have it sent to your rooms and babysit your eating habits,” Rook added unhappily.

She almost wanted to make him do it out of sheer spite.

“I’ll come,” she said instead.

She couldn’t hide forever, as tempting as that could be sometimes. And she was tired of feeling afraid.

Rook raised his eyebrows at her, clearly surprised at her answer.

“After you,” he said with a little bow, gesturing past him.

 “Such a gentleman,” she said as she walked past.

“It’s so I can shoot you in the back if you try anything.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered.

By the time they returned to the king’s study, breakfast was already spread out on the table.  What mess she made on the carpet yesterday had disappeared, as if it had never happened. But judging from the cautious smile on Aris’s face, he hadn’t forgotten either.

“Good morning, Val,” he said, pulling her chair out for her. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” she replied with a side eye glance at him. As if she wouldn’t recognize his Politician Voice a mile away.

“I slept like shit,” Rook piped up. “Thanks for asking.”

Val choked on a laugh and covered it up in a bite of toast.

“You always sleep poorly,” said Aris. “It’s because you don’t shut both eyes.”

“The last time I slept with both eyes closed, someone nearly shot my hand off.”

“Well that’s what happens when you don’t shut your mouth before going to sleep,” Val added, taking an innocent sip of coffee.

“You’re fucking hilarious,” he snapped.

She smirked. “Thank you.”

“Is this going to be a pattern?” Aris asked, somewhat exasperated.

Val and Rook shrugged in unison and then shot each other wary looks. It was eerie how different they both were and yet could act in unison without a second thought.

Aris gave them both a speculative look. “I see,” he said, before settling his attention back on her.

For the rest of breakfast, they made painfully awkward small talk. Val refused to engage fully, giving Aris terse answers and not contributing anything in between digs at Rook. If he wasn’t such a bastard, she suspected he sniped at her for the distraction. She could almost muster up some gratitude for him.

“And what are your plans today, Val?” Aris asked.

By then they had eaten most of the spread. Rather than answer, she turned to Rook instead.

“Can I talk to him?” she asked.

He gestured to Aris. “Nothing is stopping you.”

“Alone,” she added.

He went still at that, his gaze sharpening, eyes roaming over her features. It felt like getting scanned with a laser.

“My king?” he asked, looking over her head.

“It’s fine, Rook. Meet us in the hallway, if you would.”

Rook slowly stood from his chair, the languid posture disappearing for something dangerous and predatory.

“Only because her right hook sucks,” he added, the joke at odds with a warning look in his eye. Almost like a professional courtesy.

The door shut with a soft click and just like that Val was alone with Aris for the first time since her kidnapping. The last time it happened, he had just been Eugene, her good-hearted, intelligent, disorganized and vaguely infuriating boss. The last time it happened she was chasing him out of his pajamas as he languished at the breakfast table.

That moment felt like years ago.

“Val,” he prompted softly.

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and held up her wrist, the tracker humming every so faintly against her pulse.

“Is this my life now, Eugene?”

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. “Is that what had you so angry yesterday? It’s only temporary.”

“Yeah, I know. I can earn my way off of it if I act like a good little girl and follow the rules. Because if I don’t you put me in time out until I learn my place to be more obedient.”

Bitterness oozed from her tone like venom. She couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

All night those words looped around her head. The fucking audacity of him.

To his credit, he winced in response. “I — I didn’t mean it to sound so —“

“Condescending?” she offered. “Disrespectful? Infantalizing?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table.  “I had to pick out your socks for you so they would match. I had to remind you of your own birthday. I organized every fund-raising event you ever had and I made sure you didn’t mix up the donors’ names. You were a fucking mess without me and you think you can talk to me like that? After everything you have put me through in the last several days?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even look at her. She knew prolonged eye contact made him uncomfortable sometimes and so she did not let up her laser focus on him until he could meet her gaze again.

“You’re right,” he said simply. “I have no defense, not really.”

“I’m not going to buy your lip service,” she warned. “I know when you’re bullshitting. You say that now, but I have to wonder if you really think so little of me when I’m not calling you out for it. I thought I had your respect.”

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, biting her cheek down to stop an errant tear. She would not cry in front of him.

A flash of pain crossed his face. “You do have my respect. . . . And my terror. I need to know if I can trust you or not and no way to get an honest answer.”

Her mouth fell open. “You are worried about trusting me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His fingers tugged at a thick lock of hair — a compulsion driven by sudden discomfort or anxiety.

“I may have lied to you about where I came from, what my goals were, my past lives. But you know things about me no one else does,” he admitted softly. “Not even Rook. You have seen me when I had no mask on. You know my quirks, my mannerisms, my fears, my faults. You can read me like a book. I could be glamored to look like someone else and I bet my entire treasury you would still be able to clock it was me in minutes or less.”

Val had to roll her eyes. “You make me sound like I can read your mind. I was just your assistant, Eugene. I’m not that important in the grand scheme of things, especially since you have literally hundreds of servants at your disposal for the kind of stuff I did for you.”

He let out a bark of harsh laughter. “You have no idea. I was a mess without you. I’m disorganized with a horribly unreliable memory. I can’t focus my full attention on something for more than five seconds at a time. I get overwhelmed at tasks with more than two steps and you have to put a gun to my head to start my own laundry. And yes, I have servants that can take care of some of those things, but no assistant has ever compared to what you could do.”

“Now you’re just kissing my ass,” she said, leaning back with her arms crossed.

And gods help her, it was working, if only a little. Eugene had never been ungrateful when she worked for him, but never had he acknowledged her skills to such a degree.

“I’m being honest,” he countered. “I am in the most crucial and potentially vulnerable part of my plans. And you are the one person who could bring about its downfall. You know the most important leaders in every category. You have their personal contact information, for Gods’ sake. You know exactly who to go first to warn of an invasion, you know exactly how to organize against it, and you have enough information about me and how I think to give them everything they needed to stop me. If you were to escape it would ruin everything.”

He dragged a hand over his face, another tick that showed his worries. Maybe he was on to something.

“You’re so dangerous, in fact, Rook had been nagging at me to execute you since you dove into the car,” he continued. “And in all honesty, it’s the smartest choice to make. But I can’t do it. Not to you.”

“So this is your solution?” She shook the tracker at him. “Imprisonment for crimes that I could do instead of anything I have done?”

He pinned her with his gaze. “Would you stay if I took it off? Or would you leave for home at the first opportunity?”

Of course she would run. She would give anything to be far far away from him and this whole mess. Not that she could.

“You’ve made it impossible for me to go home,” she spat.

This time he leaned over the table, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t force you into that car, Val. You can blame me for a great many things, but not for that. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a choice that you made.”

Val chewed at her lip, unable to argue this and hating it. Her choice was based on her feelings and he wasn’t responsible for either. That was on here alone.

Godsdamnit.

“What would you do if our roles were reversed?” he asked, head tilted. “What other solution is there?”

She snorted. “Have you thought about moving on? It’s been a century. This is the way things are now.”

Aris stood from the table so suddenly it shuddered, the vase of flowers nearly tipping over. She jerked back reflexively as he slammed his hands on the table. Fury sparked in his eyes, more than she had ever seen, running hot enough to make her gaze flinch away.

“They murdered me, Val!” he shouted. “They murdered me and stole my home from me and then they’ve systematically destroyed it for their own gain.”

She had never seen him raise his voice before. His fingers dug into the table cloth, his gaze a brand upon her, as he continued in a softer voice that shook.

“The Coalition is in shambles. You saw it when we worked together. The bribes from lobbyists are what drives laws. Family ties rule the senate and parliaments just as iron clad as a dynasty. The wealth disparity is a chasm while trade stagnates in Three and roads are impassable in Two and we’ve sat through three drinking crises alone in One in my first term alone. You can accept it because you have no conception of what things were like before. But I cannot stand by and accept that this is the way things are now.”

His words finished in a growl, his breaths heavy. Val swallowed, trying to calm her own racing heartbeat. He had never shown any signs of violence in the time she’s known him, but neither did she ever witness a loss of temper like this.

Could she have taken him on in a fight? Maybe. If he didn’t have a gun on him. But not Rook, who waited just outside and undoubtedly heard all of this.

“And you think you can fix all that?” she finally dared to ask.

Because he wasn’t wrong. Which she also hated.

He stood up  and took a few deep, calming breaths, fingers combing his hair back. Putting himself back together as if he had never lost his temper.

“I know that I can,” he said as he sat back down, his voice even again. “Those sorts of problems don’t exist here.”

“That’s because your political infrastructure never really changed,” she pointed out and if he threw another fit, oh fucking well. “You have to change a hundred years of laws and politics to model it after here.”

He nodded. “I am aware. I’m under no delusion that it would be fast or easy. But it can be done. And I will do it. Even if it takes me ten lifetimes.”

“You know, there’s a certain kind of word for someone who starts running a country and then never steps down.”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“I’m going to give you grace for the conclusions you’re drawing out of ignorance and youth. But if you are so concerned about what I’m going to do to our home, then why don’t you help me?”

From prisoner back to assistant? Her suspicions rose like hackles.

“Help you how? Match your socks again?”

“I’m the king. If I were mismatched socks no one would dare comment on it save for Rook. And now you. I’m more interested in your mind. Your organizational skills. Your guidance. Your knowledge and experience.”

“I thought I was young and ignorant.”

She would not be tempted by this, she would not.

“I am going to unite the Coalition back under my rule, Val. It is not a hope but a certainty. You have the choice to watch helplessly from the sidelines or help me create an end result we can all live with.”

“I . . .” A cocktail of complicated feelings twisted and writhed in her gut.

He was right about so many things. But he also knew how to twist the truth with his own ideas. She’d seen him do it countless times, to run circles around lobbyists and constituents and other politicians. It was impossible to know what she could trust.

“I would have to think about it,” she said finally.

He smiled then, a small quirk of his mouth. “You have some time. Now, is there anything else you would like to rightfully scold me for or can I call back in Rook before he has a stroke?”

“I’m done for now.”

“Excellent. And — one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“What?”

He gave her that crooked smile again. “Call me Aris.”

Let me know in a comment if you want added to the taglist!

Taglist:

@rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog @clover-sage @astr0-mj @littleduckies @adenafolly @ladyathenawisdom @ughhhhhsstuff @urmyhopeeee

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Good day to you.

Can you write a top reader w/ bottom G!P Donna. Where Donna actually has a high sex drive, so the reader would drink some sort of aphrodisiac and accidentally put in a high dosage, which makes Donna unable to keep up; despite the high sex drive and comes up with a solution(I'll leave that up to you)

I really love your works & thank you for keeping the fandom alive in my eyes. 🫀

Yesss!!!!! Thank you for your words of appretiation and for your request, it was so funny to write!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Overwhelming desire

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff,

Word count: 7,596

Summary: You maybe need some help...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

You closed your eyes to deepen the pleasure you were feeling. A wet, warm and, as always, overwhelming pleasure.

Her thrusts were soft, but determined, not wasting time but enjoying that improvised passion surrounded by wooden limbs, by the dim and almost sinister lighting of the old workshop.

“Donna…” you moaned, clinging to her as your body rose and fell slowly, guided by her hands, by the slow and hot rhythm of her moans.

Your body enjoyed it. It shuddered every time your walls clung to the lady in black, every time you gave her that obscene and hot hug. The only thing you could say was her name. The only thing you could think about was her. Donna was everything to you, and you were to her too.

Her hands caressed your back, guiding your hips to dance to the music of her passion. You were in heaven, but, somehow, you couldn't reach it. It was a curious irony; pleasure dominated you, your movements were smooth and sure, as if there was nothing different about that old chair.

In part, you weren't wrong. It wasn't the first time that one of your visits to the doll maker ended that way, melting your bodies into one, making love in a wild but tender way. You couldn't get tired of that expression of the brunette about her feelings, that lustful and hot way she had to say with her body, and with her soul, everything you meant to her.

“Amore mio…” she sighed, handling your body effortlessly, sliding into your wet walls without having to ask permission to do so.

Your body always welcomed her, always offered her that warm and comfortable refuge.

“Honey…” you murmured, noticing how her erection moved erratically, how the rhythm of her hips fought against yours, how little by little she lost control and the soft caresses on your back became strong grips on the fabric of your dress.

Lady Beneviento always had that problem, the fear that you would abandon her when she needed you the most, when the heat of your body became irresistibly tempting, even addictive, when hers asked to be released among messy moans.

You would never do it. You would never separate from her. It didn't matter under what circumstances. It didn't matter if you were making love, cooking, simply reading or sleeping. Donna was everything to you, you would never abandon her. You would always please her. Your body would always receive hers as a divine gift.

Your body stopped moving, letting Donna finish what she started, letting her to move at will, to do with you what she wanted. It wasn't a whim, or a desire for the lady in black to dominate your improvised passions.

No, not at all. You were always the one on top, the one who guided her movements, the one who enjoyed listening to her moans, the one who played with her body inside yours the way you wanted.

But that afternoon in the workshop, that sexual dance of clothed, sweaty, passionate bodies, was a bit different from the rest, and you knew why.

“(Y/N)… I’m… Sto per…” Donna stammered, squeezing your hips, holding you in her favorite position when, with a final moan, she released herself inside of you, caressing your body with the heat of her seed, filling you with it, claiming you, tensing with the pleasure of that unmatched sensation.

Panting replaced moans. She pulled away so she could smile at you, so she could tell you with her kisses she loved you while the moisture struggled to stay between your legs.

“Donna…” you sighed, hugging her in a much more comfortable position, leaning on her shoulder.

Your face sketched a tender smile and your eyes closed again. The sweet sound of her shy laugh reached your ears as she held you against her, gently rocking you, coming out of you with an obscene sound.

She sighed, relaxing even more, kissing everything she could reach: your face, your hair, your mouth…

Her bright eye looked at you lovingly, tenderly, far from that aura of lust she had minutes before. But there was something different, something in her gaze, in her slightly furrowed brow that told you there was something wrong.

“What's wrong, darling?” you asked when you saw that spark of concern in her eye, when, after a last kiss on her lips, you got off her lap, uncomfortable with the humidity, wanting to get rid of it under the hot water of a shower. “Didn't you enjoy it?”

“Mm?” she murmured with a distracted look, as if she was focused on your face, on your movements. “Oh, of course, of course I enjoyed it, tesoro... You always make me enjoy it so much...”

Her voice calmed you, as did the hand that reached out to caress yours gently, pulling your body so you would come closer.

“What's the problem?” you asked, with a softer tone, enjoying the softness of her skin.

Donna looked away embarrassed, shaking her head, moving her lips as she always did when she tried to say something and she couldn't.

“Um, I… I haven't noticed that you…” she stammered, avoiding your gaze, squeezing your hand a bit tighter. “You haven't… You haven't… You haven't had an orgasm.”

You smiled falsely, moving closer to caress her cheek, to erase from her gaze any hint of doubt or insecurity.

“Of course I have, my love,” you said with a broken voice, nodding, with your radiant smile ceasing to shine little by little.

“Why are you lying to me?” Donna asked, with a darker look, with seriousness in her features. You should stop trying to deceive her. You couldn't do it, not anymore. “Don't take me for a fool, I know when you have it, and you haven't had it, your body hasn't tensed up.”

“Oh…” you sighed, closing your eyes, blushing due to your lie, searching in your mind for the best possible explanation to that reality you could no longer deny. “I'm sorry, Donna, I didn't mean to lie to you.”

Your apologies were heard with an attentive, almost angry look. You knew it wasn't your fault, you knew that anger, that frustration for not having been able to please you, was directed at herself.

“It was my fault, right?” the brunette said, changing anger for sadness, with her cheeks red from shame, for what she believed, had been a failure.

“Oh, no, no, honey,” you said quickly, removing the shadow of her demons that was already beginning to hover over her head and bending down to be at her height, playing with both of her hands.

“Haven't I lasted long enough?” she asked again, with a calmer voice, surely distracted by your caresses.

“It's not that, honey...” you murmured with a confident voice, willing to find the best way to explain the problem sincerely. “It's just that... Well, I already had two orgasms this morning...”

She watched you, probably looking for the lie again.

“Usually that's not an impediment for you to have more,” the lady commented distrustfully, sighing, keeping her shame back in her underwear. “If I've done something wrong, just...”

“Donna,” you said with a more severe voice, putting your hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at your face. “You haven't done anything wrong. You've been great, as always, understood?”

She nodded, scared by the abruptness of your behavior. At least you had made it clear...

“O-okay,” she stammered, nodding slowly. You sighed in relief, kissing her quickly and slowly getting up. “But... Hey, come, come here,” she said, pulling you again, sitting you on her lap.

You couldn't help but smile tenderly, as always when you received those affectionate gestures, those soft kisses on your neck.

“Mm... Donna,” you laughed, feeling the tickling of her lips on your skin, giving you shivers.

“I'm not going to let you go, tesoro...” she murmured, caressing your legs under your dress, getting closer to your soaked underwear. “Shh, let me take care of this...”

You opened your eyes wide, automatically shaking your head. No, you'd had enough.

“Umm, no, no, it's not necessary,” you said, getting off of her again, leaving her with the same surprised and confused expression. “I'm fine...”

“But I want to please you,” she protested, trying to pull you back. “I can do it without my penis, really, trust me...”

You laughed nervously. Well, she didn't have to lie. She was like you a while back. Even though that offer was tempting, truly interesting, your body although always willing, that day was exhausted, tired.

“Donna, no...” you said nervously, gesturing with your hand. “I prefer, I prefer to relax.”

The lady looked at you curiously, tilting her head in a funny way, but finally, she nodded, with a frustrated gesture on her face.

“As you wish, (Y/N),” Donna finally whispered.

You nodded with a smile, approaching to rub her back affectionately, stealing a kiss on her cheek.

“I'm going to take a shower and then, if you want, I'll prepare (Y/N)'s famous meatballs for you,” you commented, whispering in her ear and earning another shy laugh, another dazzling smile. “No, no, no, no, don't even try to deny it... I know you love them...”

“Mm, maybe it's because I told you the recipe,” she murmured, with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, maybe it's, but you haven't named them, honey,” you joked, moving away from her with a sigh.

“W-Wait,” Donna interrupted, just when you were already walking towards the exit. “I, I need a shower too, can I join you?”

“Oh, um...” you said, with a confused look. You knew how that shower was going to end, how your body would be taken by her desire again. Shyly, you shook your head. “Mm, no, I... I need some... Peace,” you said in a low voice, transmitting sincerity with your gaze, not cowardice.

“Oh, well, va bene,” she said, apparently without giving it any importance, getting up from the table and grabbing you by the waist, kissing you slowly before separating your paths in that dark basement.

The hot water ran down your body slowly, relaxing the unfinished tension in your muscles. Although you didn't give importance to the fact that you couldn't release yourself, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

Normally your body was always versatile, adapting to all the situations that appeared in front of it, to all those outbursts of passion. Lately, it seemed to be having a hard time, and you had no doubt why.

You, a simple villager, born into a humble, hard-working family, loyal to the Black Gods and Mother Miranda, had changed your life completely. You wouldn’t longer be the boring and unhappy wife of an idiot, and your life would not be boring and flat, meaningless, irrelevant.

You never saw those options as valid for someone like you and, as if fate agreed with you, it offered you a way out of the tedious routine.

Donna Beneviento, Lord, servant of the Black Gods, seemed like that sign you were waiting for all your life, the sign that told you that your life would never be the same again.

Sick, disturbed, dangerous woman… Adjectives that always accompanied the dark lady in black, that shadow walking like a ghost, who rarely let herself be seen. Curiosity had always been one of your greatest virtues, or one of your greatest defects, you couldn't say exactly what.

That curiosity coming from the boredom to which your life was condemned, made you want to know something about that strange woman, the darkest, youngest, and most dangerous of the Lords.

Everything you believed in blurred like a sigh, with a hoarse and soft voice, with a melodic accent coming out of that black veil.

You, believing that true love was a divinity far removed from the Black Gods, that those true feelings were not programmed for you, you saw yourself completely lost in those soft hands, in that tone of voice, in that shyness, that sweetness that you, only you, were able to see in Lady Beneviento.

Nothing, nothing could make those feelings fade away, not even the deformity of her face, not even that stupid scar that Donna hid under the black veil was able to hide her beauty.

She was a sick woman, yes, self-conscious, ashamed of her appearance, of her body. Luckily, you came into her life like the light that was missing in hers, like the voice that repeated over and over again how perfect she was for you.

Everything was going well, it was perfect. You loved her, she loved you. You lived with her in that beautiful, dark mansion. Everything seemed idyllic, until your flaws came to light again.

You weren't interested in love until you met Donna, but you had shared moments of meaningless passion with some of the girls in the village. Sex was something natural, necessary, and for you, it was nothing but an entertainment.

That thought was distorted by the desire to love Donna, by the desire to complete the piece of the puzzle your relationship was. She didn't care about making love, for her it was something shameful, something she didn't think she was capable of doing.

Her eternal loneliness, her unusual body… It loomed over the lady in black, forcing her to reject all your advances.

But that, obviously, didn't last forever. When finally, one random night, after a random romantic dinner, you managed to get rid of her fears, put aside her insecurities and make love to her for the first time.

It was an amazing experience, even for you, a more experienced girl. Donna was gentle, soft, kind, romantic. Yes, of course, that was what it meant to make love to someone you loved.

But it all soon came back to haunt you. Your insistence, the arguments you had with Donna before she let herself get carried away by passion, had the opposite effect to what they had intended.

The carnal pleasure of entering your body was something new for her, something she hadn’t been lucky enough to enjoy. Tasting you, touching the pleasure with her own hands, experiencing it in her own body instead of imagining it, was a turning point for the doll maker.

It was like an addictive drug, once you try it, you can't stop. Something similar happened to Donna.

Morning, noon, afternoon, night, dawn... Any time of day was good for her, any time was ideal to let herself be carried away by desire, to love you. It was an almost excessive, obsessive passion, but one that you welcomed.

Her sexual desire seemed to have no limits. She had stopped being the prudish, chaste and shameful Donna, to become a love machine, a bundle of nerves wanting to make love to you whenever her body asked for it.

You got what you wanted, but also, more than you asked for. That radical change in the brunette could be a simple phase, an unleashing, a release of that passion contained by all those years of loneliness.

It was not a phase, she continued wanting more, and more…

It was not something bad for you. You enjoyed each one of those moments, but your body… Your body had been crying out for rest for a long time. All your muscles were tense. Sleep dominated your daily routine. You began to feel overwhelmed.

Talking to her might seem like the best option, but it wasn't possible. You knew her. You knew her mental problems, her insecurities. You couldn't just say "no", that would make poor Donna think you didn't love her anymore.

On the other hand, you wanted your body to relax, to stop being that weak. Donna wasn't a selfish woman. She liked to hear you moan in pleasure, to see how your body writhed on hers. Her release didn't make sense to her if she couldn't get yours.

You liked her the way she was. You loved that passion, but... You would have to start looking for a solution.

It was a quiet meal. Neither of you made any comment about what had happened. Donna was not exactly the most talkative woman in the world, which made you take advantage of that quiet lunch to mull over the worries in your mind.

Really, what your body needed was a break, and you knew that. But the dark part of your mind, the lust that was indulged day after day, didn’t want to lose the pleasure of those moments.

Possible solutions flew through your head, through your thoughts. No, talking was not among the options, asking Donna for a truce could lead to a crisis, or an argument. You would have to do something, before the lady in black realized that your body could no longer bear her sexual impulse.

“Delicious, huh?” you asked amused, breaking that relaxing silence.

Donna smiled at you, nodding pleased, as always when you did something, anything for her. She was wonderful, you couldn’t fail her.

“Everything you do is delicious,” she murmured with that melodic voice that drove you crazy, that made you bite your lip involuntarily.

“How flattering...” you sighed with a tender voice, arching your eyebrows. She looked at you again, shaking her head.

“I like to flatter you,” the lady said with a serious voice, stating an unshakable truth for her.

“Mmm, I know...” you sighed, looking down, uncomfortable with the pain your body felt, feeling that little by little, that desire was disappearing from it, that her sweet words no longer had the same effect.

You needed that solution.

“The Duke will come tomorrow,” Donna said, changing the subject erratically, as always. “If you want to ask him for something specific, you still have time.”

“Oh, yes…” you said, disinterested, frowning. “I think I'll refrain from asking for contraband this time…”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Donna asked, with a more distrustful look. Naturally, it was impossible for her to forget her “failure” that easily. She was probably still worried about it.

A few loose words began to repeat themselves over and over in your mind…

Solution, Duke, contraband…

“Yes, yes,” you said, outside the dining room, outside that conversation, trying to connect the dots of the encrypted messages that your subconscious was sending. “I don't like giving you problems.”

“Schiocchezze… You know you are safe with me. You can do whatever you want,” she murmured, proud that her position as a Lord gave you possibilities unthinkable for any other villager. “Don't you want another game for that weird machine?”

“That weird machine, Donna, is called Game Boy, and it’s very funny, you should try it,” you joked, still focused on your thoughts.

“No, grazie, I prefer to enjoy the tranquility of a book, or my dolls. I don't think that thing is good for you…” she murmured amused, worried that weird machine, as she said, would steal your attention from her.

You thought it was adorable, even a machine could make her jealous.

“Tell that to the Duke,” you said amused, with the words becoming clearer in your mind. “If he didn't sell it…”

“What he doesn't sell?” Donna joked, causing a gust of cold air to hit your face, a revelation to illuminate the sentence that was floating around in your head.

The Duke might have a solution.

Yes, it seemed unlikely, and there was certainly no other way to get what you wanted naturally. A little help, maybe some herbs, a special tea, or something… Aphrodisiac, could push your body to feel that desire again, to not disappoint the lady in black, and, above all, to not make her think she had disappointed you.

For now, that was your only option.

The next day, the merchant appeared at the estate.

“I’m coming, darling,” you whispered to Donna while you read next to her, preventing her from getting up to attend to the merchant. No, she couldn't find out.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, returning her gaze to that boring book of plants.

You walked towards the door, mentally rehearsing the most discreet way to ask for what you needed.

“Miss (Y/N)… I'm glad to see that you're still in perfect condition… Or almost,” the merchant commented, with a sinister smile.

“What? What do you mean by almost?” you asked, closing the door behind you and going down the stairs, looking at yourself in case there was something strange.

“You don't look well…” he said, pointing at your face. “Aren't you sleeping well lately?”

You groaned, crossing your arms impatiently.

“What do you care?” you said with an annoyed tone, going over to grab the bags that were there for you, checking their contents. You were quite nervous, you weren't even sure if asking that extravagant man for help was a good idea.

“I care about the well-being of special clients like you, (Y/N), I wouldn't like the ghosts of my past to come and torment me,” he commented, catching the bag of coins you threw at him, pointing with his gaze at the Beneviento mansion.

“Ghosts from your past?” you asked amused, taking the objects out of the bags, examining the quality of the vegetables. “Do you have a past?”

“Oh, of course…” he whispered, counting coins.

“Ha, I doubt it,” you whispered, arching your eyebrows. “You are like any of those trees, you have always been here.”

“What does the word always mean to you?” he asked with a sinister voice.

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, no, I don't have time for philosophical conversations,” you said with a tired voice, putting your hands on your temples.

“Don't you have time?” he asked amused, putting the coins in his carriage. “In that case… I'll leave…”

You opened your eyes wide, deciding at the last moment whether to ask that vermin for help or not.

“Wait, wait,” you said in a discreet voice, checking that there were no Donnas, or sinister dolls behind the half-open door.

The Duke stopped his act of leaving, turning slowly with a curious look.

“What do you need?” he asked in an equally discreet, almost mocking tone, imitating you. You made a gesture with your hands for him to lower his voice, getting closer to the carriage.

“Shh, don't speak loud,” you protested angrily, looking everywhere, except at those greedy eyes. “I need to ask you for something.”

“Go ahead, (Y/N), if I have it, it's yours,” he said studying your confused look.

“Hey, lower your voice…” you said nervously, playing with your hands, which were starting to sweat. “It's something… Complicated.”

“There's nothing complicated in business, Miss,” he said, laughing amused. “You ask, I'll sell it to you.”

“Okay, cut the crap,” you said with an impatient gesture. “It's not a common request, besides, I don't even know why I'm asking you.”

“I'm afraid divination isn't among my skills… You'll have to be more specific,” the man sighed, also starting to get impatient.

“Ugh,” you groaned, your cheeks red from embarrassment. “Okay. You sell all kinds of medicinal teas, right?”

“See how you didn't look good?” the merchant asked, satisfied by your question, picking up a small box full of bags and jars. “Tell me what symptoms you have… Maybe a cold? Fever? Upset stomach?”

“No, no,” you shook your head, making him shut up and stop moving that box, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Migraines?” he asked curiously, as if he suspected something. “Nausea?”

“No, damn it,” you hissed nervously, looking all the time at the crack in the door.

“Oh, okay… Maybe this is what you’re looking for…” the Duke murmured, taking out another object and throwing it at you in an unpleasant manner.

“What? A pregnancy test? Really?” you asked annoyed, feeling a shiver with that object in your hand. “No, it's not that. I hope so…”

“Be more specific, I beg you,” the Duke whispered, with that same amused tone.

“Okay, okay,” you said, running a hand over your forehead. “Aphrodisiac, I need an aphrodisiac, have I been specific enough?”

“Oh…” he hummed amused, going back to that small box and rummaging through the bottles. “Why didn't you say it before?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking,” you murmured, crossing your arms again, looking away.

“Is it for you?” he asked, taking out two bottles from the box.

“What do you care?” you whispered embarrassed.

“I don't care, Miss (Y/N), but if it's not for you... Well, I have more specific remedies...” he commented amused, shaking one of the bottles. “Does Lady Beneviento have erection problems?”

“Oh, Gods, no!” you said abruptly, with your face completely red. “Why does everyone know that Donna...?”

The man shrugged, laughing amused.

“It's a small village, Miss,” he said, unable to stop laughing. “Well?”

“No, it's not for Donna, she's... Well, too well, in fact...” you explained, tired of that conversation. “Very well, do you understand?”

“Oh, so the problem is yours...” he commented, taking out another bottle.

“Shut up and give me that, oh, and don't say a word of this or I'll cut your balls off, got it?” you threatened, snatching the bottle from his hand.

“Oh, how rude,” he sighed amused, coughing in agony. “But you know that silence...”

“Yeah, yeah, it has a price,” you said furiously, squeezing the bottle tightly in your hands and throwing him another bag of coins. Donna had so much money that she would never notice. “Will this be enough to shut you up?”

“Of course... It's a pleasure doing business with you...” he sighed, putting the bag away in a satisfactory manner. “Oh, a piece of warning...”

“Fine, okay, speak,” you said, focused on the clear liquid that didn't inspire any confidence in you.

“Put just a few drops if you don't want to... Get into trouble...” the Duke commented, something you barely paid attention to.

When you realized it, the merchant had disappeared, but the blush on your cheeks was still present on your face.

“Damn it, you stupid gossip…” you whispered, picking up the bags, putting the bottle away, and entering the mansion again.

“Tesoro…” Donna said, approaching the entrance. “Why took you so long?”

You faked one of your best smiles, along with a tired sigh.

“Ugh, he felt like negotiating today…” you lied, carrying the bags.

“Did he bother you?” the lady asked, worried, putting a hand on your shoulder, with a dangerous look. You shook your head, stealing a reassuring kiss from her lips.

“No, my love…” you whispered tenderly. “Why don't you keep reading? I'll take care of this.”

“Do you need help?” Donna asked kindly, pinching your nose playfully. You shook your head again.

“No, no… Um… Would you like to have some tea?” you asked, finding in that infusion the perfect cover for your plans.

“Some tea?” she asked, nodding with a pleasant, grateful smile. “Of course, tesoro.”

“No,” you said playfully, kissing her again before walking towards the elevator. “Thank you, Donna…”

When you finally finished putting everything away, you sighed, looking around and discreetly taking the bottle out of your pocket while you boiled water.

“Just a few drops…” you repeated the Duke's words unsurely, uncapping the bottle and smelling it distrustfully. It had a sweet and appealing aroma… It didn't seem dangerous.

You finished pouring the tea, looking at the two cups after a nervous sigh. Little by little, you picked up the jar from the counter, tilting it slightly over one of the cups.

“Idiota!” An irritating squeal made you jump in place, accidentally spilling more than half of the contents into your cup. Of course, Angie's absence couldn't last long.

“Shit… Angie!” you shouted furiously, looking at the puppet, who laughed amused by her victory, for bringing you to the brink of a heart attack. “How… How did you get here?”

“How did I get here? By elevator, you idiot, how else?” the puppet said, climbing onto the counter. “What are you doing?”

“Making some tea,” you hissed, hiding the jar back in your pocket. Luckily, she didn't seem to have noticed. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No, no,” she said amused, exaggerating. “I just like to see your terrified eyes…”

“That's nice,” you said ironically, putting the cups on a tray. “You know that Donna doesn't like it.”

“But Donna isn't here,” the doll answered, leaning in an impossible way. “Foolish villager… Coward…” she sang mockingly.

You ignored her, rolling your eyes and picking up the tray, trying not to look away from the contaminated cup, taking out the half-empty bottle again as you went up the elevator.

“I guess nothing will happen…” you murmured, putting the bottle away again, and walking back to the brunette, who continued reading peacefully. “Your tea, Lady Beneviento,” you said amused, leaving the tray on the table.

She laughed amusedly, caressing your cheek in gratitude, granting your eyes the privilege of seeing her tender smile.

“Grazie…”she sighed, reaching out her hand to grab the wrong cup, something you prevented by grabbing her wrist.

“Oh, no, no, that's mine,” you said nervously, grabbing the cup roughly. “It's just that…” you murmured when you saw her confused face. “It has too much sugar.”

“Mm,” she whispered, nodding slightly, grabbing the other cup. “Don't eat so much sugar, tesoro… It will ruin your smile.”

“Do you know what will ruin my smile? Not seeing you wake up next to me every day,” you said romantically, causing her lips to launch themselves against yours.

“Che romantica sei…” she whispered in a sensual voice, seductive as always. You laughed, moving away to sit on the couch, bringing the cup to your lips. “You drive me crazy, (Y/N)…”

“I was born this way,” you joked, winking at her and drinking more and more from your cup.

The taste was sweet, like a fruit cake. The burning aromas of the tea mixed with that strange product. Well, at least the taste was good.

Time passed in silence. You and Donna exchanged glances from time to time, like every afternoon, while each one enjoyed her own reading. It was a pleasant moment, but you started to get nervous.

That strange liquid seemed to have no effect, and, anxious, you drank the rest of the contents of the cup with a strange gesture.

You sighed once, twice, you didn't feel anything. Nothing seemed to have changed. Nothing until you got more comfortable, until you put your legs up on the sofa. It was a strange sensation, a sensation multiplied by 10, that sensation of your own skin touching you.

You frowned at that sudden, unexpected pleasure, the pleasure of feeling something, your own leg rubbing against the other, sending a shiver down your spine. The heat that seemed to have left that room began to enter your body. Your breathing became labored and, with your hands, you rubbed your thighs.

You knew that the heat, that those sensations were not natural, you knew that the intensity of your caresses increased on their own, that your body was asking for that touch, that something was happening to you. You shouldn't have mistrusted that fat swindler. It seemed that the aphrodisiac was beginning to take effect.

Automatically, you looked at the lady in black and she returned your gaze, one that penetrated your chest like a flame, which increased the already existing trembling in your increasingly hot body.

Your hand went alone between your legs, feeling a moisture that was forming in that place, one that could only be explained by Donna's beauty, by having her perfect body so close to yours.

The need to increase the subtle touch of your hands became unbearable. Almost without wanting to, your caresses became much more lustful, much more, until, feeling your fingers brushing your covered clit and your mouth spoke for itself making you emit a strange moan.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Donna asked, looking at you, looking at that hot mess in front of her. Your mouth smiled, your eyes became dangerous as you nodded.

“Better than okay, Donna,” you purred, increasing the intensity of your own caresses, with your mind blocked, imagining Donna inside of you, imagining that they were not your hands, but hers.

She smiled confusedly, closing her book and getting up from the couch, her gaze fixed on your playful hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting down next to you, caressing your leg curiously. “Are you…?”

“Do you want to watch or are you going to join, darling?” you asked in a velvety voice, moving to open your legs in front of her as your lustful touch grew ever more intense.

“Join?” Donna asked, with a nervous smile, joining her hands to your trembling legs, gasping as she watched your entire body writhe at her timid, exploratory touch.

“Mm,” you moaned, grabbing her hand, bringing it to your mouth. Your body was no longer yours, you were no longer its owner, that aphrodisiac had taken control and you… liked it.

Slowly, with your mouth burning, you put her fingers in your mouth, savoring the sweetness of her skin, the sensation of a part of her body being devoured by the heat of your tongue.

“(Y/N)…” Donna sighed, amazed by the eroticism of that movement, of the soft suction of your mouth on her fingers, making her travel to the darkest thoughts of her mind, perhaps imagining that it was not her fingers.

“Are you going to just stand there watching?” you asked defiantly, leaning towards her, putting your legs on either side of her hips as you laid her down on the couch.

Your hot body moved over hers as your mouth changed targets, devouring her lips mercilessly as your hips danced over hers, moaning at the subtle brush of your wetness against the bulge that had already formed in the black fabric of her dress.

“Mm,” you moaned again, with a dangerous look, devouring every inch of her skin, her lips, her neck. Your body needed her, it claimed hers with an anxiety you didn't remember having, much greater than that of your first time.

“Cosa c’è, (Y/N)?” the lady asked, unable to stop your kisses from getting wilder, your hands from traveling down her dress, undoing her buttons, groping her breasts and finally, going down to free her imprisoned erection. “You're so…”

“I'm crazy about you, Donna,” you whispered, massaging her shaft slowly while, with the other hand, you struggled to take off your underwear so your eager body could get closer to her desire. “I want to fuck you.”

“Hey, no… No… Don't be that…” she protested, silenced by another furious, wet kiss, which you used to distract her from the movements of your hips, which were positioned on the tip, slowly going down. “Oh, amore mio!” she exclaimed when she saw herself surrounded by your copious moisture, surprised by the ease with which she moved inside of you.

“Donna!” you moaned, moving erratically, with her completely inside of you, with your body sending intense, almost unbearable signals of pleasure. “Gods!”

With a sinister growl, your hips began to move, with your hands on her chest, being the complete owner of the movements of that improvised act of passion, wanting to be the only owner, feeling selfish, desperate for that exaggerated pleasure not to disappear.

The moans were not calm, slow, romantic, no… They were wild, intense, indiscreet. Your body moved furiously on hers, her erection dancing on your tight, sensitive walls, while Donna, closing her eye, tried to withstand the intense embrace of your body.

“Yes!” you screamed, tilting your head when, after a few movements, the sensation of your release devastated all your senses. Your body shook abruptly, your muscles tensed without difficulty, but… Still, you didn't think it was the end.

The desire in your body didn't relax, not even when poor Donna, trapped between your legs, unable to move under your hips, also released amidst your exaggerated cries of pleasure.

Your movements decreased in intensity, but your gaze was still dangerous. You were stimulating your wetness yourself, even with the brunette inside you. You didn't want that sensation to leave you, it was your priority.

“(Y/N)… W-Wait a moment,” the doll maker stammered, breathing heavily, putting her hands on your hips to control your erratic movements, eager to obtain more and more pleasure.

“No,” you said abruptly, biting your lip, without stopping moving, controlling your wet and hot dances, the mixture of your release and hers going down your leg. “I don’t want to, keep gping, Donna, please…”

“Um… I…” she murmured, shaking her head, but unable to protest your insatiable desire. Her shaft hardened again thanks to your insistence, something that made you moan in pleasure, returning that anxious madness to your hips.

“You're so big, Donna… Do you see how my body wants you? How tight I am?” you whispered in a dangerous, almost disturbing voice, biting her earlobe. “How big you become for me…”

“Yes… Sì…” she stammered, nodding, controlling her moans, moving her body again to slide further inside you so her shaft covered by her own seed was pleased by the embraces of your walls.

“Keep going, keep going! I'm going to…!” you screamed, moving roughly, finding it difficult to satisfy your body's desire, releasing again, and again, and again…

“Gods… (Y/N)…” Donna said, caressing your hot cheek, moaning when she filled you again without intending to, completely surrendered to your excessive passion. “Tesoro…”

“Donna…” you whispered, with a tender voice, catching your breath, feeling you had finally release, that the effect of that aphrodisiac had worn off. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“You are very… Fiery…” she commented amused, getting out of your and resting your head on her chest. “You… You have left me exhausted…”

“Mm,” you said, laughing tenderly, twisting around in her body, opening your eyes horrified by what you felt.

No, your body hadn't gotten tired. Your body wanted more, much more. You tried to ignore that feeling, probably caused by the excess of liquid you poured into the tea. You thought that would pass sooner or later.

“Shall we take a shower, (Y/N)?” Donna asked, playing with your hair, also trying to catch her breath.

Yes, a shower seemed like a good idea.

Spoiler: It wasn't.

The hot water stimulated your desire even more. The sight of her perfect naked body clouded your reasoning, your logical thinking. The wetness of your legs mixed with the water, the heat of the water seeming to cool down in contact with your body… You wanted more, you needed more.

With a mischievous laugh, you hugged the brunette from behind. It might have seemed like an innocent hug, but it wasn't. Your hand traveled over her bare skin, caressing her belly, running your fingers over her breasts while your lips subtly attacked her neck.

Donna didn't protest until those caresses went lower, until they reached her already exhausted penis, caressing it gently, hugging it with your hand under the hot water.

“Tesoro... What are you...?” she whispered, surprised by your unusual insistence, by that ability of your hand slowly stimulating her body, preparing it again for you. “W-Wait, wait...”

“Shhh,” you whined sharply, not stopping moving your hand, not stopping playing with it, causing her body to betray her, to make one last effort to please you.

The tiredness was evident, but, even so, her body reacted again, hardening in a softer way but it was more than enough for your inexhaustible desire.

With a nervous gasp, you turned the doll maker around, hanging from her neck, devouring her with kisses again while your hips moved anxiously on her timid erection.

Donna could protest, but she didn't. With a tired moan, she lifted one of your legs, passing it around her waist, taking you again under the shower, standing, roughly and clumsily, but enough for the pleasure to overwhelm you again. Your satisfied body released itself several times, but it didn't seem to be satiated.

Donna did her best, timidly releasing herself inside of you again. She must have been exhausted, in fact, you were surprised that she was still able to please you.

Unfortunately, the Duke's warning crossed your mind. Just a few drops. You did it wrong and that was your doom. The burning in your body didn't go away.

But Donna couldn't take it anymore, she wasn't able to please you, she even started looking at you with some fear when she came out of the shower, noticing that the lust didn't disappear from your gaze.

As if she wanted to run away from you, she disappeared from the bathroom, just when you indiscreetly knelt in front of her, ready to enjoy another round of exhausting passion.

“Hey! Come here!” you shouted at the brunette's sudden escape, pointing at the floor and kicking it furiously. “Donna! Bring your little big thing here, now!”

“N-No...” You heard murmuring in the basement.

You groaned. It wasn't really you. That horrible liquid was running through your veins, speaking for you. Without even bothering to cover yourself with a towel, you left the bathroom to chase her.

“What are you doing running around naked?!” Angie protested, covering her eyes when you passed by her. “You're going to cause me a trauma!”

You ignored the doll and followed the wet footprints of her footsteps to the bedroom.

“Donna...” you hummed, sensually sticking your leg out the door. “Come on, get out...”

“No,” you heard someone say inside the room, where the brunette was taking refuge, covering herself with both hands between her legs. “D-don't come closer, (Y/N)...”

“Hey, come on, will you stop fooling around and come here?” you said, letting yourself fall on the bed, opening your legs again. “I need you, Donna…”

“No, no, I… What's wrong with you?” she said, shaking her head, trying not to look directly at you.

“I'm playful…” you hummed again, running a hand through that constant moisture. “Come on, come… Just a little…”

“Just a little? (Y/N), I can't take it anymore,” Donna said, with a painful grimace, with her hands still covering her shame. “I can't, I couldn't even if I wanted to…”

“Don't be that weak, I know you can,” you said, frowning.

“Weak? Don't you understand? No… I can't… I'm, I'm… Empty,” she whispered embarrassed, covering herself with a robe. “Let me rest, per-per favore…”

“Of course, of course, you can ask for a break, right?” you said angrily, sitting on the bed and crossing your arms.

Poor Donna blinked confused, nervous.

“I don't know what you're talking about, tesoro…”

“What, what am I talking about? Donna, you are… You are insatiable, do you know what it is to have… That, pointing at me all day long?” you said, pointing between her legs. She looked at herself and then at you, with the same surprised look.

“But, but…” she stammered, moving nervously.

“Donna, I'm a human being, do you understand? I need some rest,” you said seriously, fighting against the heat of your body, talking nonsense, reproaching those things that you should have talked to her about a long time ago.

“I, I understand, amore mio but… What is this about? You are, you are the one who…”

“Oh, yes it’s me… Do you know why? Because I don't dare tell you to keep your cock in your dress for at least one day, just one day, Donna, is that too much to ask?”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who insisted on making love,” the lady in black hissed, with a darker look, annoyed by your vulgar language. “Does it make you upset now?”

“Do you think I’m upset?” you asked back, looking away arrogantly. “Do you know why I'm like this?”

“No…” she sighed, approaching cautiously, placing a hand on your forehead. “Mamma mia… You're burning.”

“Yes… I… Oh, I'm stupid, this is because of that damn aphrodisiac,” you lamented, venting your frustration on the sheets.

“If you don't want me to love you so many times… You just had to tell me,” Donna whispered, sitting next to you.

“I know but… Donna, I know you, I know you'd take it wrongly…” you said, just as she moved nervously, getting up from the bed.

“Wait, did you say aphrodisiac? What aphrodisiac?” Donna asked confused, with a furious look.

You didn't answer. You simply got up and ran to the bathroom, to search your dress for the remains of that cursed liquid, letting her see it.

“Wow...” Donna whispered, observing the cause of your constant burning. “I think you've put too much…”

“Don't tell me...” you said, with irony. “Now I can't stop... I'm... Oh...”

“Tesoro... Don't do these things for me... I prefer you to be honest with me, please... Don't lie to me anymore...” she said in a soft voice, taking your hands and caressing your cheeks.

You nodded, kissing her lips, repressing the pleasure that simple contact gave you.

“What do I do now?” you asked, sighing nervously.

Donna shrugged, comforting you with her caresses.

“I'm sorry, tesoro... I didn't think I was so... insistent... I really enjoy loving you, you know?” she said. “Tell me what I can do to help you,” she offered, making your smile grow wider

You opened your eyes wide, snatching the bottle from her.

“Don't apologize,” you said. “If you want me to forgive you, do me a favor and... Drink it, let's see if you come back to life...”

“But, but...”

“Donna, do it.”

[niamh-writes-things]

dbd pjo ideas!!!

so, first of all i think it's pretty obvious that edwin is a son of athena, but i think it could also be cool to make him a son of a minor god/goddess like Oizys (goddess of despair) because it would be ironic, but i still think that athena works best

charles i'm not too sure about because he definately could be a few of them, if we want to go for irony then make him be percy and be a son of Poseidon (him and percy feel very similar both backstory and personality-wise so i'm tempted to go for poseidon)

for crystal i thought maybe psyche (goddess of the soul) or again, apollo because of her visions which could be changed into being prophecies, or she can be the rachel elizabeth dare of the series and have no godly parent and just be the human,mortal oracle who hangs around during summer hbut also i think she should be a half blood because then she gets to come on more adventures, she also could be hecate (godess of magic)

Niko was the trickiest for me to come up with but i think she could be a child of Aphrodite because of how much she loves love in the series. either that or iris (rainbow) becasue of all the bright colours she wears

charles can keep his bag - a nice Hephaestus camper made it for him and he loves it

will either update this when i've had more ideas or make a poart two so keep an eye out

[lesbiansforboromir]

Alright, I saw too many posts about DA4 and the pressure valve on dragon age opinions burst so I'm breaking my silence about mage discourse.

One day someone at bioware, can't remember who, made the worst possible PR decision and openly declared mages as an allegory for mental illness. It has all been downhill from there. Quite literally I could not be less interested in treating mages and mental illness as even tangentally related. Within the canon of DA, mages are people who literally have demons speaking to them, can literally become possessed by demons, and who are literally dangerous in extremely real and unavoidable ways even without the demon stuff. Lobotomies not only exist, but also work, the 'tranquil' are no longer plagued by the demons, nor do they have the powers of fireball anymore. It's like they called the 1300's and asked a witch hunter to write this.

And I am absolutely certain this framing is extremely cathartic for some people to relate too. Themactically speaking, turning all the dials up on a social issue for a fantasy world will always resonate with many of the victims of that issue. There is something impactful about taking all the insane stereotypes society has created around your lived experience, deciding they're real in an imaginary world and then playing out scenarios where you deal with them. God only knows gay people love vampires and werewolves.

But in that case it also has to be understood that others will not like it, or find it cathartic at all. The sticking point for me is probably the fact that mages are immensely powerful, something I find so egregiously unrelatable that any possible power fantasy it might be tempting me into just evaporates. And then of course there is Tevinter, which if we're following the allegorical logic is a state ruled by the mentally ill whom have 'embraced their demons' and so are now ruling an empire built on the enslavement of the 'pure' and 'untainted undemonic' population. Which I feel like, if we're weighing the mage narrative on the merit of it's being a cathartic themactic framing, is stretching the concept quite thin.

So I've always experienced mage based narratives as entirely seperate from their irl allegories at least emotionally, even if cognitively I do understand the parallels. And when you look at it like that, so sorry, it actually is a grey moral issue. If there were people in real life who could, without any additional equipment or technology, just create a fire/lightning storm from thin air, that on it's own would be a problem society would have to grapple with solving. You could not just let people with such power live under the same rules as everyone else. Like Wynne as a child nearly burned a barn down and scarred another child. These are not hypothetical issues within the canon.

And somewhat unrelated side tangent but I've seen people say, without an ounce of irony, 'magic doesn't kill people, people kill people' as an argument against the need for magic control. Which is just a fascinating framing all by itself, given the only difference between guns and DA magic is that one is an external tool and the other is built into select people. AND given that witholding gun licenses from the so called 'mentally disturbed' is an often advocated for policy... it's just kind of ironic is all!

Anyway the POINT is this is kind of frustrating to me because technically the mages COULD be a fun little play pretend thought morality experiment. This IS a difficult problem to solve, DA rightly engages with the fact that any institution created to control a subsection of people will create an environment of horrific abuse and dehumanisation. And that is only doubled with the introduction of religious control. When presented neutrally this is a 'do you sacrifice the few for the sake of the many' quandary with a lot of interesting caviates. IS it for the sake of the many? Would the actual number of people harmed by mages really exceed the number of mages themselves? Are we not just sacrificing the peace and freedom of many people for a hypothetical? But IS it a hypothetical since the slaver empire ruled by mages exists? But the hypothetical in the other direction isn't a hypothetical either, since the mage rebellion also exists and arguably did greater harm than free mages might have otherwise! But is that true? What about all the years worth of people in history hypothetically saved from harm by the strict control over mages? Isn't pushing for a more ethical circle a better plan than total abolishion? But is an ethical circle even possible given the cultural position mages hold? But in that case are free mages really going to be able to lead peaceful lives anyway? Doesn't the circle also protect them? But that is a situation the circle created and enforced right? Or is it? Since, once again, Demons definitely exist and mages have become possessed by them for centuries, and other mages have used their powers to dominate and abuse others in the past!

Theoretically, two people with exactly the same humanitarian purposes could argue the opposite ends of this debate in good faith, which is a fantasy. Because in the real world no one is born with a body inherrently able to cause more harm than the majority of other bodies. In fact, the opposite is true, people are born with more vulnerable bodies than the majority and are oppressed for it, their vulnerability taken advantage of by the dominant states in order to further those state's agendas in some way or other. Oppression does not have a 'good reason' to exist that originates from the oppressed class, those supposed reasons are fabricated after the fact to justify oppression in the minds of the general populace whom hold themselves to moral standards that a State does not. So, inherrently, the mages in DA are a fantasy idea and should be thought of as such.

But, amongst many DA fans, this is not the case. We've all seen people argue without irony that NOT taking a moral stance on the side of the mages and against the circles reflects badly upon your actual IRL moral compass. And it's not just that you cannot be pro-templar, even being neutral about it or finding the pro-mage characters or the mage narrative uninteresting is treated as an immoral action. People will ask things like 'who would even side with Meredith?' or 'does anyone even save the templars in DAI?' as if the choices you make narratively in a game have to be a moral judgement! Which we all know is nothing new in terms of fandom discourse, but within the mage/templar discussion it is so pervasive and so volatile that it makes it worth noting.

And like, obviously 'people get too serious about fiction on the internet' is such a non-issue that it's barely worth talking about. But I do find it interesting nonetheless as it's been a major part of my experience of being in the DA fandom, which now spans longer than a decade of my life (screams).

People have told me that I shouldn't treat this narrative theme as debatable because they relate to mage struggles as an autistic. And at the time I was pretty young and didn't really have a response to that other than a vague but powerful sense of discomfort. Nowadays, when I'm pretty sure I'm also autistic, I realise I was made deeply uncomfortable by the idea that there was anything relatable for me within the mage narrative. I do not have magic powers and I can't blow people up with my mind, I can't even get out of bed most days. Most people feel like mages to me just for being able to work a job or take care of themselves without help. And narratives of oppression that surround people with inherrent powers that far exceed anyone else just do not resonate! Which ultimately is just a reinforcement of the concept that the way people engage with fiction is not equivalent to actual real social issues, and really should not be treated as such.