engzlktbm

[chelseeebe]

happy coincidences

18+. smut. mdni. modern au.

day four of spooky week back with steve who meets reader at robin’s halloween party, only, you may have more than just costumes in common

a/n: in honour of joe saying he thinks that modern steve would have a swiftie girlfriend.. i had to make r a swiftie

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Louise had called it off. 

Again. 

“I think you just need to get the fuck over it and get the fuck over someone else,” Robin states plainly, continuing to decorate her scarily bright orange pumpkin cookies. 

“Rob,” he sighs, dipping his finger into the leftover batter, “it doesn’t work like that.” 

“But it does,” ignoring his pleas of despair, “I’ve seen you break up with hundreds of women and not once have you been so pathetic about it,” snatching the bowl from his reach, “we’re going to get you laid and if you’re still sad about it after then I’ll take pity on you.” 

Steve frowns, a deep set crease between his thick brows. Sex would’ve normally cheered him up, no doubt. But Louise was different. 

They’d been on-again, off-again for almost a year now, too far gone for some meaningless pussy to fix. 

-

“No fucking way,” Robin exclaims, grabbing his hand and tugging him off towards the other side of the kitchen, “this is perfect! Perfect!” muttering along to herself as Steve's heels dig into the floor in protest. 

“What’re you doing?” he spits, almost knocking her over when she stops abruptly in front of him.

A group of girls sit equally as confused on the couch, smiling up at Robin with a shared baffled look in their eye. 

That’s when he sees the hat, pink and sparkly, slowly trailing down to the matching costume. So that’s why she’d dragged him over here. You were unintentionally matching with him. The perfect Barbie and Ken duo, a fitting part in Robin’s master plan to get him over Louise. 

“Can you believe you’re matching?” she fusses, fingering the details of your jean jacket, “I don’t think you two have met before? How crazy is that?” pinching Steve's arm, nudging him to say something.. anything really. 

You hum, smiling up at him from underneath the brim of your cowboy hat, “you look great,” eyeing the tassels around his pecks, the vest that now felt a touch too much. 

He felt stupid before but now, he felt utterly idiotic. Realising quite how extravagant and completely unnecessary the costume was. 

“Thanks,” he nods, receiving another sharp pinch from his best friend, forcing him to cough up a real reply, “yeah.. you do too.”

Your eyes fall back to Robin as she backs slowly away, “I’ll let you two get to know each other, okay? i’ve gotta check on my.. cookies! Yeah! My cookies!” 

A bare-faced lie. Those fucking cookies had been out of the over for hours at this point. Steve had taxed a few for the inconvenience of her pestering him all night. 

You flash him a thin-lipped smile, clearly as interested in this as he was. “Your girlfriend make you dress up as Ken, huh?” your own friends shuffling to the other side of the couch, away from the awkward conversation. 

“Oh! No.. no, Rob made me,” unsure of whether you were implying the massive lesbian that had forced him over here was his girlfriend or if there was another lady in his life. 

Neither would be true.  

Robin hollers from across the room, “he’s a liar! He wanted to be Ken all on his own!” before disappearing into the kitchen to check on her cookies. 

Your smile grows, “hey.. I don’t judge,” taking a slow sip from your glass, totally undeserving of having Robin force Steve onto your night. 

God he needs a drink. Or five. 

Maybe after a couple beers he’d have the confidence to talk to you properly. 

“I really liked the movie, okay? it was fun,” deciding to lean into it, slowly but surely. “And you know, Barbie’s hot.” 

Oh. 

He doesn’t just mean Margot Robbie either. 

Your cleavage spills out of your shirt, only really visible from this angle he was leering from. 

“She is,” you laugh, “I’m sorry- what was your name again?”

“Steve,” offering his hand for you to shake. Why did he do that? You aren’t agreeing on a new marketing strategy for fuck sake. 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” rabbiting your name as if his brain would do anything other than call you Barbie all night. “You look like you need a drink.” 

He nods, chuckling under his breath, “I do.” 

“Well,” you stand, unexpectedly a lot closer than probably intended, “let’s get you a drink, Steve.” 

-

The party thumps on, you and Steve still reluctantly circle around one another, both too awkward or maybe just unwilling to take it further. 

Robin makes it known that Steve would be a colossal fucking idiot for not immediately trying to win you over, making it very obvious as she sidles up next to him at the makeshift beer-pong table. 

“What is your problem?” she hisses, shoving a cup of liquid courage into his chest, “make a move before someone else does, idiot.”

“I dunno,” exhaling pathetically, “I just don’t think I’m ready yet,” eyeing you from across the table, too engrossed in the game of beer-pong to care about his whining. 

Robin’s sharp elbow connects with his ribcage, “don’t be so fucking stupid,” snarling loud enough for him to hear over the music, “I think you should go for it. God knows I’m sick of hearing you cry over Louise.” 

He truly wants to be offended, even opening his mouth to offer a rebuttal, though nothing comes out. 

Regrettably, Robin was right. 

Louise had made it clear that she no longer wanted him, so why was he still so hung up over her? It was exhausting. Not only for Robin, but him too. 

The ping pong ball lands in Steve’s drink with a loud plunk, pulling him out of his head to find you already smiling back at him. 

“I think that means I win,” rocking on your heels, a syrupy sweet smile sticks to your lips. You deserved far better than the lacklustre night he was giving you, that’s for sure. 

Steve nods, downing the rest of his drink and attempting to hide his grimace as the liquid burns his throat. Robin had slipped him pure ethanol or something, her grin made her ill intentions very clear. 

You continue to beat his ass for a while, Steve was better at basketball than beer-pong that’s for certain. He didn’t care anyway, the new-found haze in his head was welcomed, sidling closer and closer to your side as his chest warms up. 

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” he whispers, lips practically touching your ear, this was the bravest he’d gotten all night, perhaps he wasn’t such a lost cause after all. 

He stumbles into the bathroom, finding his balance against the cold wall when his phone buzzes against his thigh. 

what r u doing tonight? 

The message reads, sending a sinking feeling through his chest. 

Louise, making sure than even though they’re not together anymore, he can’t move on. 

Why does she even care? 

Why does he care enough to respond? 

He stews on it, using the bathroom to buy himself some time to figure out what he should do. Slinking off into the hallway after a moment of consideration, finger hovering over the call button for an embarrassingly long amount of time until he just does it. 

It rings. And rings. And rings. 

“Hello?” Louise’s voice echoes into his ear. 

“Hey.” 

There’s an empty sigh down the line, “I didn’t mean.. that text wasn’t meant for you.” 

“Oh.” 

Another dagger to his chest, piercing through his thumping heart. The confirmation he needed that not only did she not care about him but that she had moved on. 

“Steve I’m-“ 

The tone beeps, not allowing her to take up any more of his time. She didn’t care, he shouldn’t care. That was the end of it.

He slinks down onto the stairs, eyeing the door. He could be out of here before you even remembered he existed, sulking in his room like he’d wanted to in the first place. 

The music gets louder, light creeping in as the door creaks open, your face soft as your eyes meet his hunched over frame, like a pathetic little weasel. 

“I thought I should find my Ken again,” chuckling awkwardly. 

Your Ken? That was a little presumptuous of you. 

He’s immediately sorry. 

Soured by the conversation with Louise. An unnecessary hindrance to his entire night. 

“You okay?” you pry, no doubt noticing his glum demeanour, coming to sit on the cramped step next to him.

Steve sighs, looking at the blank phone screen in front of him, deciding whether to impede all of his misery onto you or to not ruin this entire night. 

Remembering Robin’s, albeit harsh, words. 

He goes for the latter. 

“Yeah.. I’m good,” knee knocking into yours, “are you?”��

You nod, smiling softly, “I’m gonna head home now, I just wanted to let you know that it was really nice to meet you, Steve,” standing from the staircase, leaving a sudden, cold ache to his side, “I hope your.. girl problems get better soon.”

they would, almost immediately, get better if he just stopped acting like a pussy. 

You weren’t exactly being inconspicuous with your flirting either. This was on him and him alone. 

He’s not shocked Robin had divulged to you all about his lingering annoyance of a relationship, no doubt trying to sell him to you at the same time too. 

So Steve does something he never does. He thinks on his feet. 

“Let me walk you back,” jumping up, “it’s dark and i can’t let you walk home alone,” a contained smile, the previously empty confidence now coming back.

You pucker your lips, tilting your head to the side, all the while Steve prays to God that you’ll give him one last chance. 

“Sure,” shrugging coyly, as if you weren’t banking on him volunteering anyway. 

“Alright,” he grins, enthusiastically nodding his head, “I’ll just say goodbye to Rob and then we can.. go,” faltering now that he’d made the leap into uncharted territory. 

Steve had been a master at one night stands, only that was two years ago and Louise had served a harsh knock to his confidence. Besides all that, you were worth more than just one night. 

“I’m gonna walk this one home and then head home myself,” announcing your departure to the dwindling room, heads spinning to watch the door. 

Robin contains her grin, only just. Sipping on her drink to keep her blathering mouth occupied, she’d put in the work to even get him here in the first place, now all he needed to do was not fuck it up. 

A chorus of goodbyes ring out behind you, stepping into the cool October air, he suddenly wishes he was wearing a little more than just his rhinestone shirt. 

“This one?” you tease once out onto the street, wrapping 

your arms around yourself. 

Steve inhales, staring at the star filled sky, fully embracing his cringe, “don’t.. don’t talk about it.” 

“Why?” you laugh, stumbling into him as you traipse down the road, “you don’t remember my name, do you?” 

“Of course I do,” blowing the air out of his cheeks with full confidence, “your name… is Barbie,” so certain that that’d work on you. 

You scoff, stopping dead in your tracks, “you fucking forgot,” in complete disbelief that he’d even attempt to bullshit his answer, “you’re unbelievable Steve,” really making your point, only slightly pissed off. 

“Don’t do that,” unable to hold the smile from his face any longer, “I can’t help that you’re the best Barbie I’ve ever seen, you know?” 

Your eyes roll back, striding past him but not without reiterating your name again, perfectly clear and right into his ear. You’re not really annoyed, at least he doesn’t think so. Steve’s sure he’ll remember your name forever after tonight, one way or another. 

He expertly changes the conversation for the rest of the duration of the walk back, asking about your job and not-so-discreetly slipping your name into every other sentence. 

“Well, this is me,” you smile, stopping just before the house with the extravagantly decorated door, a plethora of pumpkins litter the steps all as badly carved as the other. 

He marvels at the display, the dedication to the holiday, Eddie would laugh in his face if he ever suggested carving pumpkins for their house. “Alright.. it was really nice to meet you tonight,” standing with his arms tucked neatly behind his back, “I’ve had a really nice time with you.” 

You nod, slowly ascending the steps to the door, “you too, Steve. Are you.. close to here or..?” weighing up whether inviting him inside was a sane idea. 

“Oh no,” shaking his head, once perfected hair now falling into his warm face, “I live like.. two miles that way,” pointing in the direction you’d walked from. 

“And you decided to walk me home? Why didn’t you say something?” falling into a fit of laughter. He didn’t blame you, really, it would be crazy to anyone else. 

“Because I’m a gentleman,” smiling sweetly, “it’s not a big deal,” he shrugs, though he really doesn’t anticipate having to actually walk home. 

“Well thanks a lot,” unsure of the sarcasm twinge to your tone, “I didn’t realise Ken was such a gentleman.” 

“Of course I am,” bowing down to tip his imaginary hat, a total performance all just to earn a sweet giggle from your mouth. 

You turn, just before opening the door, your eyes low and dark,  “you wouldn’t wanna.. come in, would you?” shivering under the moonlight. 

“Do you? Want me to come in, I mean,” Steve can’t really think straight at all, he’s been so preoccupied with Louise to even think about the possibility of anything more happening between you two. 

But now he’s here, he can’t stop his dick from twitching in his pants. You are pretty, gorgeous really. He’d be an idiot to say no. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to,” scoffing quietly. 

“Well I wouldn’t want to upset you now,” cocking his grin to the side as he makes his way up the steps. 

You shake your head, unmoving when he reaches the top, your bodies inches apart. The tension thick, as it had been all night. only now he was able to really feel it. Had you been looking at him like this all night? With your features pinched and your chest heaving.

Steve doesn’t think so, but then, he was so oblivious that it wouldn’t surprise him at all. 

Excitement and slight intoxication courses through his veins, an excitement he hadn’t felt in months. Louise was never this happy or eager to have sex with him, it felt something like a chore most times. 

You spin, breaking the tension abruptly, unlocking the door to your dark house and ushering him inside. 

“You live alone?” he asks, wondering if any nosy roommates would be interfering tonight. 

“Nope,” flicking the light on, “they’re all still at the party,” it’s obvious now, in the light. Pairs of shoes strewn across the floor and pictures of grinning girls line the walls, his gaze is drawn to the one of you in the summer, beaming from ear to ear as the sun beats down on your face. 

Not to mention the cherry red bikini peeking out of the bottom of the picture. 

“That’s.. good,” twisting his lips into a shrouded smirk. 

“Oh yeah?” kicking your shoes off, the tense atmosphere made slightly softer by your nonchalance, “why’s that?” you level with him, the space between you shrinking with every step.  

“I just meant.. it’s good that you don’t live all on.. your own,” struggling to make sense of his rambling with your eyes staring up at him like that, glittering while ever-so-slightly judging. 

You laugh, loud and sudden, “I think you should just stop talking and kiss me,” teetering on your tiptoes as you wet your lips, an entire night of dancing around one another had led to you barking instructions at him. 

He needed it, to be honest, completely fumbling around, his nerve shot and depleted. 

Soft skin meets his cheek, making the first move while he stands buffering, only snapping out of his trance when your thumb grazes his lip, pressing his lips to yours in a haste. Steve had wasted too much time overthinking every move, decidedly trying not to fuck this up all night. 

He can feel your smile grow against his lips, taking the control over the kiss back by finding your waist with his cold hands. Opening up an entirely new world, the metaphorical sparks fly from your skin, a passion unfelt for far too long. 

You pull back only just, still brushing against his lips with your eyes pressed shut, “should we go upstairs?” 

Steve thinks the answer is obvious, his grip on your waist gave that much away for sure. He nods anyway, for good measure, letting you take his hand to lead him up the cluttered stairway, almost sprinting as the urge to get you out of your clothes explodes. 

“Ignore the mess,” you warn but he’s not paying any attention to anything other than you, drinking in your hips and the way they sway. 

He knocks the hat from your head, hands finding solace on your back as he pulls you in again, this kiss more fiery than the last, grabby and hungry making you hum in shock. Eager to satisfy the ache in his cock, even if it were just by making out. 

Your fingers work at the buttons on his shirt, brushing against his chest as his tongue moves between your lips, a fervent battle with your own. There had been no this with Louise, that was certain, a vanilla love affair that often ended in disappointment for the both of them. 

The cloth leaves his shoulders, hitting the ground with a soft thump to welcome your hands around his neck, clammy as they grasp his skin. He’s a novice now, once filled with an overbearing confidence to now, a fumbling mess. 

His hands feel around for your bed, laying you back across the mattress tumbling on top clumsily. Unbuttoning your waistcoat with a trembling hand, you take the reins even from underneath, sliding your legs up against his waist, further closing the distance. 

Your lips unlock, allowing him time to take in a much needed breath. You’re braless underneath your costume, shimmying the fabric off and tossing it to the ground all the while actively ignoring Steve’s gawping. 

“It’s rude to stare,” you jest, though you don’t attempt to hide at all. 

Steve’s gaze flickers, once to your eyes and back down again, eyes wide and adoring, “I’m not sorry,” he quips back before resuming the kiss, focused on getting your pants down. 

Your panties already soaked, legs opening to welcome him inside perfectly, he sits up on his knees, mouth slack as he admires the view laid before him. There hadn’t been any thought in his mind that this was how you’d end up tonight, but he’s sure glad he’s here. 

His hands glide up the soft skin of your thighs, squeezing gently for good measure, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, taking his time to slide them down your legs. The tight feel of his pants suddenly becoming too much, his leaking tip pressed against the shoddy costume fabric. 

“I haven’t.. it’s been a while,” he warns, a subconscious effort to turn you off as if you weren’t glistening before his eyes, pupils blown and aching for him. 

“I don’t care,” you huff in response, tightening your calves around his waist. 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat, in awe of your vigour, struggling to get his own pants off with the newfound tent in his crotch. Clambering back over to hover above, his dick straining against his boxers. 

Your hands come to find his shoulders as his boxers come down, “you’re.. Jesus Christ,” you remark, looking down at the space between your bodies. 

It was no secret that his dick was on the bigger side, that was made clear very early on in his life.

“I’m not.. not quite,” laughing to himself, the pressure easing only the tiniest bit as he fists his cock, guiding his fat tip to your weeping hole, sliding between your slick folds before easing himself inside. 

Your breathing stutters in synchronicity, digging your fingernails into the sweaty skin of his neck. “Fucking.. shit,” Steve splutters, fisting the pillowcase with an almighty need to not cum right then and there. 

Quickly finding his rhythm, kept in time by your in heady moans and the slight rut of your hips against his. You were an entirely new experience, your pussy drinking him in immediately and with every stroke he loses brain cells. 

You whine, needily bucking your hips to meet his, sending shivers up his spine when your fingertips graze his scalp alongside the gentle tugging of his hair. 

He’s grateful you’re alone as the mattress creaks inconspicuously in time with his hips, one night stands had been his forte a few years ago and he’d been caught out by rusty bed springs more times than he’d like to admit. 

Your eyes struggle to stay open, jaw slack, allowing your sweet wails to escape. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” Steve gushes, a bumbling mess transfixed by your warmth. 

You breathe airly, cracking a smile at his blown out eyes and furrowed brow, “not while they were inside of me no,” sliding your calf up his side, allowing him deeper. 

“They should’ve,” he pants, unsure of where this was even coming from. He feels giddy, like this was always meant to happen. 

You brush back the loose strands of hair from in front of his eyes, clung to his sweaty forehead, “thank you, but I kinda need you to move,” his cock stilled while he babbles on. 

“Yeah.. yeah,” Steve nods, leaning down to lazily connect your lips, drawing a dulcet whimper from your throat when he sinks back into your cunt. 

Warmth arises from his stomach to his chest and almost back out of his mouth, his head turning to complete fuzz. You taste like sweet wine and peppermint, your tongue dancing between his lips to battle with his. If your plan was to make him fall in love, you might’ve just succeeded. 

“Shitshitshit,” you mumble, leaving the kiss to press your lips to the stubble on his jaw instead, vibrating the skin with every desperate curse and plea. 

His fingers grip the space around your head, moving over to gently stroke your cheek, slowly losing his stature as the knot tightens in his stomach. “I’m gonna.. shit, I’m gonna cum,” rushing the words out before they lose all meaning in his noisy brain. 

“Yeah?” lips twitching upward, “just.. just not inside,” making sure to get your very important point across before the line was blurred forever. 

Pulling out of your pussy in record time before he shudders, hot ropes of his seed paint your stomach, Steve’s brain collapses in on itself before he has time to move himself. Sputtering a half-assed apology before collapsing onto the mattress next to you, breathless as he reels. 

“Holy shit,” panting softly, reaching over for some discarded item of clothing to clean yourself up, letting him recover with his face pressed into your pillow, his deep, heaving breaths eventually slowing. 

“Sorry for uh.. that,” glancing downward, hoping you wouldn’t now make him walk home in his costume and acres of shame. 

Instead, you throw the blanket over him before snuggling in closer, a particular shine in your eye before delving into your barrage of thoughts about the night. 

-

The sun beats through your blinds, forcing him awake far too early. 

You don’t stir, still peacefully asleep on the pillow next to him. Steve couldn’t even remember falling asleep, one minute asking about your major to waking up with your legs intertwined. 

The sound of his phone vibrating against the bedside table shocks him fully awake. Robin probably thought he was dead. Five missed calls and the barrage of texts definitely solidified that. 

are you alive??? 

steve 

this is serious now can you reply to me before i call the cops

He reaches down, swooping the pink bejeweled hat off of the ground and lazily placing it on his own head. sticking his tongue out at his phone before snapping a quick picture, his thumb immediately sending the picture to his, no doubt, curious best friend. 

She replies almost immediately, making sure to heart react to the image before going on her tangent. 

i fucking knew it! 

i knew ot!!!!!!

how was it? 

do u like her?? 

His phone vibrates in his hand, afraid he’d wake you with the incessant sound. 

great

and 

yes 

Steve replies, leaving everything to her wild imagination. 

you bastard tell me more 

i knew you’d like her!

why don’t u ever trust me

He sighs, knowing that once again Robin was right.

shut up 

dinner later? 

She pings back instantaneously.

yes. 

He clicks his phone shut, placing it back on the nightstand, the bright pink hat still perched on his head. He wanted to wake you, hoping you’d still like him the same now that you were sober. 

Black streaks of your mascara are smeared across your under eye and cheeks, hell, Steve was definitely wearing it too. There’s glitter everywhere, scattered across your bedsheets and his tan skin and almost certainly his hair. His eyes slide around your cluttered room, the pictures and Taylor Swift posters that adorned the walls, piles of unfinished books on your desk. He’s particularly interested in the shelf of vinyl records, though he could fathom a guess as to what they probably were. 

You rouse from your slumber next to him, sighing softly as you awaken, “nice hat,” mumble from the pillow, squinting at the sight before you, he probably looked a mess. Sure as shit felt like one. 

“Oh shit,” Steve laughs, forgetting he even still had it on, “Robin was just making sure you weren’t a murderer,” tossing the hat back to the floor, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet red. 

“Not a murderer,” you chuckle, “but I might murder you for an aspirin and some fries though.”

“I think I could make that happen without you having to kill me,” he smiles, volunteering to venture into the depths of your scary house for an aspirin. 

“Please do, and quickly,” grumbling from your perch on the pillow, suffering worse than he was. 

“You just wait here and I’ll be back in no time,” he’s just about to clamber from the bed when the door swings open, hurriedly grabbing the blanket to keep his dignity intact as some girl he quickly identifies as your roommate bursts in. 

“Oh woah,” she exclaims, pretending to cover her eyes while she peeks through the middle two, “so that’s where you went! We weren’t sure if you were dead or not,” not so unfamiliar with his snooping friends. 

You groan, shuffling around your cocoon to face her, “I feel like I’m dying,” your voice gruff in comparison to the angelic tones ringing in his ears last night. He still absolutely loved it either way. 

“That’s a shame,” the girl sarcastically pouts, “I was just about to ask if you and your friend would like to join us at Flannery’s tonight but if you’re dying…”

Your head perks up ever so slightly, “oh really? I think I could get myself together enough to come..” turning back to ask Steve, “what about you?”

He nods in a rather overzealous manner, “yeah, yeah I’ll be there.” 

“You should invite your friend Robin I think, I mean- it’d be cool if she was there too,” shrugging her obvious pining off before flouncing out of the room in a cloud of curls and sickly perfume. 

He looks over to you, your eyes already staring back, glinting with a withheld laugh, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.. I’m sure you and Robin have something way better to do.”

“No!” far too enthusiastic a response for an invite to some college town bar, “I mean, I’m sure we could show our faces.. if we really had to,” Steve wasn’t blasé about anything ever, much less confirmation that you just might like him too. 

You beam, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, “okay.. good, because..  I’d really like you to be there.” 

[saltylemontears]

it will last longer || ln4

summary: you're a photographer. it would be a waste to not use that to your advantage.

warnings: SMUT (minors dni!), blowjob

a/n: my first ever smut? lol? criticism is welcomed!

"and...upload. there we go." you say, more to yourself than to anyone else. this set of pictures has turned out great, vibrant and outstanding. you're sure it's going to do great.

you're so focused on replying to the few comments left under your latest post, you don't even notice lando coming in until he wraps his arms around you.

his head leans against the top of yours. his skin is warm and a little sweaty. you assume he just came home from his workout.

"hi." you whisper, leaning back in your chair, turning your head to look at him. he smiles in response. "hey."

you move to turn bck to your work, but he doesn't let you go. you scoff.

"take a break," he requests, but you roll your eyes affectionately. "i can't, i need to finish this." you reply, but he doesn't budge. "please?"

and fuck it, maybe you can take a little break from editing.

you're not sure how, but you end up in lando's embrace, hands roaming over each other's bodies. how you ended up in bed, you aren't sure about either.

you trail kisses down his neck, hoodie already forgotten somewhere in a corner, the contact making you feel hot all over. his hand rests on your butt, lips pressed to your skin. work can wait.

somehow, your bed looks more inviting than ever when lando guides you there and straddles you, pulling off the rest of your clothes, running his hands on your body.

in a sudden rush of confidence and arousal, you change your position so you're on top. he makes a surprised sound that turns into a giggle.

you take off his pants, leaving a few kisses on his hipbone. looking up at him, he smiles and runs his fingers through your hair.

he extends his arm to reach for the camera on the nightstand. you left it there the other day to download something, but judging from his grin, he won't just be taking pictures.

running your tongue over his cock, you enjoy the little sigh leaving his mouth when you swirl your tongue around his head.

you kiss his shaft a few times, smiling up at him, into the camera, winking. he giggles in return. "beautiful."

your hand caresses his hip and you finally sink your mouth down on him, earning a loud moan.

the camera clicks again.

bobbing your head up and down, you can feel him slowly getting closer to release. you look up, seeing the familiar camera resting next to lando, now abandoned in favour of him reaching for your hand.

you spit on his cock to make the slide easier before wrapping your lips around him again, holding the base of his dick in your other hand.

his hips buck up into your mouth, making you let go and stop to get some air. you leave a few final licks on his cock, hand running over his stomach, before he comes with a heavy sigh, painting your face with his come.

you guide him through his orgasm, nuzzling his inner thigh with closed eyes while waiting for him to recover.

when you look up at him again, he's staring back at you in awe and you can't help but chuckle.

"take a picture, baby, it will last longer."

you don't have to tell him twice.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕

Pairing: Alexia x you

Words: 1203

Warnings: none I don’t think

Summary: When alexia tears her Acl, your once perfect relationship falls apart.

The moment Alexia went down on the field, clutching her knee, you felt a hollow dread settle in your chest. Her face twisted in pain, teammates rushed to her side, and you could barely breathe as medics swarmed around her, trying to assess the damage. As Alexia was helped off the field, her face pale and tight with pain, you knew, deep down, that this was bad. The way she winced, the way her hand hovered over her knee protectively—it all pointed to the injury you both dreaded: an ACL tear.

The days that followed were a whirlwind. An MRI confirmed what everyone feared—she’d torn her ACL, and recovery would be long, arduous, and mentally draining. Alexia had always been fiercely independent, and the idea of months without being able to play, to train, or even walk without crutches seemed like a punishment. You’d heard stories of ACL recoveries; you knew they could change a person, but you never imagined it would impact Alexia so profoundly.

At first, she tried to hide her pain, and you were patient, doing everything you could to support her. You stayed by her side through every doctor’s appointment, every painful physio session, and every frustratingly slow step forward. But soon, her frustration started spilling over, and it seeped into your relationship.

It started with small things—she’d pull her hand away when you tried to help her, or she’d give curt, dismissive responses when you asked how she was feeling. You thought maybe she needed time to process, so you backed off, giving her space and trying to be as gentle as possible. But over the next few weeks, she withdrew further, snapping at you for the smallest things, her patience evaporating whenever you tried to help.

The Alexia you knew—the Alexia who was soft and affectionate, who’d tease you with a playful glint in her eye and make you feel like the most important person in the world—was nowhere in sight. Instead, she was like a stranger, her walls up and her anger simmering just below the surface.

One evening, you gently suggested she try the exercises the physio had given her. “I know it’s hard, but you’re making progress, Alexia. You’re doing so well.”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t feel like I’m doing well, so maybe just… stop, okay?” Her tone was sharp, each word tinged with an anger she couldn’t seem to control.

You tried to stay calm. “I’m only trying to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Maybe I want to do it alone,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “I don’t need you constantly hovering over me. I’m not some child.”

Her words stung, but you held back, not wanting to escalate things. “I’m not trying to hover. I just love you, and I want to support you. This isn’t easy for either of us, but we can get through it together.”

But she looked away, clenching her jaw. “Maybe I didn’t ask for your help, did I?”

That night, she barely acknowledged you, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, her face set in a hard expression that you barely recognized. It was as though she’d built a wall around herself, one you couldn’t penetrate no matter how hard you tried.

The breaking point came a few nights later, during what started as a simple conversation. You were trying to coax her into doing her knee exercises, knowing how crucial they were to her recovery, but she dismissed you, saying she’d do them later. You gently reminded her that she’d been saying the same thing all week, and that was when the argument erupted.

“Why are you always on my back about this?” she snapped, her voice rising with frustration. “It’s my leg, my life. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

You clenched your fists, hurt bubbling up inside you. “Because I care about you, Alexia! You’re pushing everyone away, and you don’t see what it’s doing to us.”

“Oh, so now I’m a burden?” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

��Then what, Y/N?” she interrupted, her tone harsh. “Go on, say it. Say you don’t love me.”

You froze, her words cutting through you like a knife. Your heart pounded, anger and frustration mixing with the hurt that had been building up for weeks. “I don’t even recognize you anymore,” you said quietly, each word laced with pain. “You’re not the person I fell in love with.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, maybe? But it disappeared as quickly as it came, and she rolled her eyes, dismissing you with a scoff.

The casualness of it shattered you, and you felt tears welling up. You’d fought so hard to keep things together, but it was clear she didn’t want your help or your love right now. Without another word, you grabbed your things, the weight of her indifference pressing down on you as you left.

You didn’t know where else to go, so you went to Mapi and Ingrid’s place, tears streaming down your face as you tried to explain everything through sobs. Mapi’s face hardened, anger flashing in her eyes as she listened, while Ingrid wrapped you in a comforting hug, murmuring reassurances.

“Alexia’s hurting,” Ingrid said gently, rubbing your back as she held you. “This isn’t you she’s mad at—it’s the injury, the loss of control.”

Mapi nodded, though her jaw was clenched. “But that doesn’t mean she gets to treat you like this. You don’t deserve any of it, Y/N.”

They stayed with you through the night, Ingrid sitting beside you, holding your hand as you cried, and Mapi pacing the room, her frustration clear. Eventually, Mapi decided to go talk to Alexia herself, determined to set things straight.

Back at Alexia’s apartment, Mapi found her curled up on the couch, her face blotchy from crying. It was clear that Alexia hadn’t expected anyone to come by; she looked up, startled, as Mapi sat down across from her.

“Mapi…” Alexia started, her voice wavering.

But Mapi held up a hand, silencing her. “Do you realize what you’re doing, Alexia? Do you even realize what you said to Y/N?”

Alexia’s gaze dropped, guilt and shame flooding her expression. “I… I was just angry, Mapi. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Mapi’s voice softened, but her words were still firm. “I know it’s hard, Ale. I know better than anyone how an ACL injury can feel like the end of everything. But you don’t get to hurt the people who love you because of it.”

Alexia’s shoulders shook as she let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Mapi,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be… me anymore. It’s like this injury took everything.”

Mapi reached over, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re still you, Ale. You’re still loved. But you’re pushing away the one person who wants to help you through this. You need to apologize and make things right with her before it’s too late.”

Alexia nodded, tears streaming down her face as she realized the weight of her actions. She didn’t want to lose you, not over this, and yet, she’d been pushing you away.

Later that evening, Ingrid brought you back to Alexia’s apartment. As you stepped through the door, your heart felt heavy, unsure of what to expect. You could see Alexia waiting for you, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her expression one of remorse and vulnerability.

She took a shaky step toward you. “Y/N… I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness after everything I said, but I need you to know that I never meant it. I was just… I was so angry. At myself, at this injury… at everything.”

Your heart softened as you looked at her, seeing the regret in her eyes. “Alexia, I understand that you’re hurt and frustrated, but you didn’t have to push me away. I’m here to help you, to be with you, not to be shut out.”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I know. I know, and I’m so sorry. I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I didn’t see what I was doing to you… to us.”

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She melted against you, her shoulders shaking as she clung to you, whispering apology after apology, her voice filled with guilt and desperation.

“I’m going to be better,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I promise I’ll communicate, I’ll let you in. Please… just don’t give up on me.”

You ran a hand through her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not giving up on you, Ale. I never would. But we have to do this together, okay? No more shutting me out.”

She nodded, sniffling as she pulled back to look at you, her hands still clutching your arms as if you might disappear. “I swear,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m going to be better. For us.”

You gave her a small smile, wiping away her tears as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Alexia. We’ll get through this, together.”

Relief flooded her expression, and she pulled you close, her arms wrapped tightly around you as she pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, anywhere she could reach. “Thank you, mi amor,” she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. “I love you, more than anything.”

In that moment, as she held you close, you felt the warmth of the Alexia you’d fallen in love with, the one who was still there, despite the pain and anger. And together, you knew you’d find your way through, one step at a time.

**

Tags:

@goldenempyrean @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @ceesimz @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[blingblong55]

Sex is on fire- Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW

Kinktober Day 14

Based on a request: I recently saw my husband in the yard working and fuck did he look so sexy. So now I can't help but imagine Ghost as my husband, working in the yard and there's a spontaneous fuck. He's hot and so is this idea ---- F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, smut, P-in-V, oral!sex, unprotected!sex, husband!ghost, wife!reader, exhibition? ----

A/N: we won't talk about the first time I posted this, got it? great, thanks <3

The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the overgrown garden, highlighting the faded stones of the path winding through it. He looks at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hot, huh? Well, I aim to please," he says with a playful wink, trying to match your lighthearted tone.

He spots the sledgehammer leaning against the shed and picks it up, testing its weight in his hands. Then, with a growl of effort, he swings it at the nearest stone, cracking it neatly in half. Simon grunts with satisfaction, sweat already beading on his brow as he continues down the path, methodically demolishing each stone. His muscles flex with each swing, rippling beneath his shirt.

He pauses after a few minutes, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "This is actually... kind of fun," he admits with a grin. "Cathartic, like you said. Feels good to just let loose and destroy something." He looks at you, his eyes brighter than they were earlier. "Thanks for this. For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn't."

He steps closer, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before returning to the path, ready to continue his destructive work. You bite your lip as you keep your eyes on him, “Mm, fucking sexy… wow,” you smile and lean back, god, does he look so sexy. “You keep going until you’ve had enough, handsome face.”

Simon pauses mid-swing, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow. A slow, heated grin spreads across his face at your words.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave as he sets the sledgehammer aside and stalks towards you."Watching me work up a sweat gets you all hot and bothered, does it?"

He reaches you and leans close, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Maybe I should take a break and give you something else to bite those pretty lips of yours," he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe. His hands come to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his skin through his clothes, the hard planes of his body.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice a low rumble. "You want to join me? Help me work off some steam?" He rocks his hips against yours, letting you feel his growing arousal.

"I could put that tongue of yours to good use," he suggests with a wicked grin. "Keep me company while I finish tearing up this path." He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "What do you say, beautiful? Want to get your hands dirty with me?"

“I’m not picking up a sledgehammer, but I’ll happily get my mouth dirty." you wink. Simon's eyes darken with lust at your suggestive words. He grins wolfishly, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Mmm, now that's an offer I can't refuse," he purrs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Get on your knees for me, baby. Let's see how well you can use that pretty mouth of yours."

He guides you down to the ground, his strong hands supporting your back. Once you're kneeling before him, he steps back and starts to unbuckle his belt, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Remember, no biting unless I tell you to," he teases, his eyes locked with yours as he unzips his pants. "Unless you want to earn yourself a punishment later."

He tugs his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, his hard cock springing free. It juts out from his body, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, wrapping a hand around himself and giving a slow stroke. "On your knees for me, so eager to please. Such a good girl." He steps closer, his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. "Open wide, baby. Show me what that mouth can do."

“Fuck, you see… this is why I enjoy watching you,” you say before taking his cock into your mouth. You take his hand and place it on the back of your head. You look up and begin to bob your head, your eyes rolling back a bit, gagging but enjoying the thickness of his size.

Simon groans deeply as you take him into your mouth, his head falling back in pleasure. His hand comes to rest gently on the back of your head, holding you in place as you work. "Fuck, Y/N," he grunts, his hips rocking slightly to meet your bobbing motions. "Just like that, baby. Take it deep."

His cock pulses against your tongue, the taste of him filling your mouth. He's thick and hard, stretching your lips obscenely around his girth. You gag slightly as you force yourself down further, taking him into your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you don't pull away, determined to please him.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained with arousal. "Choke on it. Fuck, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me." He tightens his grip on your hair, guiding your movements. You relax your throat, letting him fuck your face, using your mouth for his pleasure. "Gonna... fuck... I'm gonna cum," he warns, his thrusts becoming erratic."Swallow it all, baby. Every fucking drop."

With a final, guttural moan, he releases, flooding your mouth with his hot seed. You swallow reflexively, milking him for all he's worth. "Fuck yes," he gasps, riding out the waves of his orgasm. "Such a good girl, taking it so well."

Finally, he pulls away, letting you catch your breath. You sit back on your heels, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, his cum glistening on your lips. Simon smirks down at you, his eyes hooded with satisfaction. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up, then reaches down to pull you to your feet.

"Mmm, you're insatiable today," he chuckles, brushing a thumb over your cum-slicked lips. "Not that I'm complaining. I love seeing you like this - so hungry for me." He leans in and captures your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, licking the taste of himself from your tongue. You moan into the kiss, your body pressing eagerly against his.

"Fuck, I need to finish this path," he pants when he finally breaks away. "But first, I think I need a little more motivation." His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly.

"How about you strip down and bend over one of these garden benches for me?" he suggests, his eyes glinting with wicked promise. "Let me fuck you right here in the yard, where anyone could see what a dirty slut you are for your husband." He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your rear, making you yelp.

"What do you say, baby? Want me to split you open on my cock while you watch me work? I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?" You nod eagerly, "Oh... fuck yes, I want that, I want that so bad," you say with need. What more can a wife say? No? Her husband looks so fucking sexy when he does manual labour and asks to fuck her in their backyard and she is meant to say no? Fuck that shit.

Simon grins wickedly at your eager response. He gives your ass another hard smack before stepping back.

"Strip," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And bend over that bench. I want to see that pretty pussy on display for me."

You waste no time obeying. Hastily shedding your clothes, you position yourself over the garden bench, your legs spread wide. The cool wood against your bare skin makes you shiver with anticipation.

Simon takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your exposed body appreciatively. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, palming himself through his pants. "So perfect, so ready for me. I'm gonna ruin you, Y/N. Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name."

He moves behind you, running his hands over your curves possessively. Then, without warning, he drives his cock into you with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

"Yes!" he hisses, gripping your hips tightly. "Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch." He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you relentlessly. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the yard, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"That's it, fucking take it," he growls, one hand coming up to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. "You love this, don't you? Love being used like a cheap whore by your husband." He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Gonna fill this cunt up, pump you full of my cum. Everyone's gonna know who you belong to after this."

You moan, your back arches, “Oh… fuck… ah… ngh~” It's too fucking much but it is so fucking good.

Simon pounds into you harder, spurred on by your desperate moans. His fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises in their wake. "That's it, baby," he pants, his voice strained with impending release. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock like the dirty little slut you are." He reaches around to rub your clit in rough circles, sending you careening over the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock as you come undone.

"Fuck, Y/N!" he roars, slamming into you one last time before stilling, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his seed. "Take it, fucking take it all." He collapses against your back, both of you panting heavily in the aftermath. After a moment, he pulls out, watching with satisfaction as his cum drips down your thighs. "Look at the mess I made," he chuckles, swiping some on his fingers and bringing it to your lips. "Clean up your mess, baby. Taste what I gave you."

As you lick his fingers clean, he tucks himself away and zips up. Then he turns back to the broken path, picking up the sledgehammer once more. "Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up?" he suggests his voice already back to its usual gruff tone. "I'll finish up here and join you in a bit. Maybe we can go for round two in the shower, hm?"

He winks at you over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the debris, swinging the hammer with renewed vigour, his earlier tension seemingly melted away.

Tags:

@liyanahelena @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @mychemichalimbalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycat @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[blckbrrybasket]

28. “Quit While Ahead”

Rafe Cameron x Afab!Reader

꒰Pussy Slapping꒱ - 651

• Mean!Rafe

kinktober m.list

You liked your routine with Rafe. Most nights you would come home to Tannyhill, have sex, shower in his way too large shower, lotion your body, and climb into his bed for a good night's sleep. Yet tonight you had been insatiable. He had drawn three orgasms from you before helping you shower and lotion yourself. Hours later you were lying in his bed, a nagging ache between your legs.

You didn’t mean to be so pent up, but you had barely texted him all day, busy until night had begun setting. Even after he had treated you so well you needed more to make up for the lack of Rafe earlier that day.

He wasn’t in the mood for anymore, swearing you would break his dick one day, but was more than happy to bend you over his lap and finger you till you were satisfied. Your slick was dripping down and soaking your thighs and rug underneath you. Rafe was amazed at how much slick your body could produce. He would be lying if he said it didn’t make him proud of himself for drawing it from your pussy.

Shoving his three fingers back deep into your stretched cunt he curled them up as you moaned. You just couldn’t sit still though, hips bucking, thighs quaking, back bending. Rafe had done what he usually did, pressing an arm over your back or holding your hips, but nothing helped to keep you still.

You weren’t trying to be a brat tonight, your body just wouldn’t listen to Rafe’s commands, needing him so desperately. Maybe you subconsciously wanted to be punished, or it was simply you being needy.

“I said stay still.” He warns again, fingers halting inside you. You sobbed at the unmoving fullness, hips trying to grind back. “Did you not hear me?” Rafe slipped his fingers out, slapping your pussy without a second thought to it. For a split second his heart dropped, temper shattering before you moaned loudly at the impact.

His eyes widened, blue irises hidden behind lust blown out pupils. “Holy shit.” Rafe pulled his hand back down, holding your hips over his lap by the hand on the small of your back. When your thighs parted he delivered another slap to your puffy lips resulting in another whorish moan.

Rafe laughed in surprise and a tad bit of sadistic satisfaction. He slapped up again, your wetness splattering up again your pubes and thighs. Some hit his legs, making him puff his chest out, certainly proud of himself. Your fingers dug into his thigh, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you let out muffled mewls, almost embarrassed by how much you liked him slapping your cunt. 

You tried to grind forward for any sort of friction but you only met air, his hand always retreating before you were able to get what you wished for most. Rafe didn’t leave you hanging though, giving a few slaps in quick succession. “Are you going to come from this?” He asked mockingly.

Though he was mocking you, he couldn’t help the stirring in his gut. The thought alone of slapping your pussy until you came was enough to make him hard, but it actually happening? Rafe firmly pressed his lips together, slapping again until you were shaking and cumming around nothing, the lasting sting of his slaps working you through it.

“Mmph fuck! Rafe!” You squealed, tears running over your warm cheeks as his large fingers massaged your cunt, working you down. One slipped between your folds, cradling your pussy as he gently kneaded your heated skin. “Shh…sh, I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Rafe leaned over to watch how his finger disappeared between your swollen lips, cum soaking his hand but he couldn’t care less as he saw the marks from slapping your pussy. It was addictive. He wasn’t going to let go of that anytime soon.

tags: @babybatlover, @starrgurl46, @wowzers-07, @nenukkjhj, @morgan0lw21, @kinokomoonshine, @slut4ddn, @marirxse, @adventures-of-impala, @dreamerjj

[jezabelle9299]

Fashion Show S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- You try on a new dress for a night out, and Spencer is continuously surprised by how beautiful you are

CWs- Reader wears a dress and heels, Spencer walks in before she's zipped the dress up all the way (But he doesn't really see anything-- just the back of her bra), Penelope is one pushy matchmaker and we love her for it

A/N- Day 19, I did not in fact fall off the face of the Earth (Yet), and I will hopefully get caught up with everything by Thursday! But I can't make any promises. If you like it, let me know-- and if you hate it, then maybe don't tell me, please, thank you.

Finally having your first fancy professional job came with something you were not all that familiar with, disposable income. So when Penelope invited you for a shopping trip on your lunch break, you obliged. You walked around the mall with her, and ended the trip with three new outfits, and a new pair of shoes. Two were for work, since you spent most of your time there anyway; and the third, along with the shoes were for the occasional night out. Whether a date (Which were few and far between), or the rare occasion of the government paying for a nice hotel with a bar you felt the need to dress up for. 

The fitting rooms were closed for maintenance when you went, so Penelope convinced you to do a quick fashion show when you got back, just for her in her office. The bathroom was right next to her office, so no one would even see you on the walk while you tried to decide if you liked the things you got. 

You tried on the work outfits first, working your way up to the piece you were most nervous to try on. It was a somewhat short purple dress, with a lace trim to complete it. But of course, this was the one thing you could not zip yourself. You threw on a jacket for the ten foot walk, and made it into Penelope’s office without seeing anyone. But as soon as she ran over to you in her very high heels to help you zip up, someone knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ on her office door, before promptly walking in. 

You knew from the knock that it was Spencer, unfortunately Spencer had no idea you were in there, let alone what you were doing. 

“Hey Garcia—“ as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, right as Penelope started zipping you up, he froze. No recollection of why he came over here, barely even registering Penelope’s presence when you looked like that. 

As if his life was one cruel joke, his favorite person in the world was wearing his favorite color, in a dress that could have been engineered specifically to render him speechless. And in the workplace no less. And in one final twist of the knife, he wasn’t supposed to see you. And he knew it. As soon as his brain could get him to move even an inch, he was covering his eyes. Like a child during a scary movie, he fully covered his eyes with one hand placed sideways, only to double the other one over top of it. 

You couldn’t not laugh at him. Just a little bit. He was just so scandalized at seeing a little bit of your bra. 

He was just trying to figure out how to excuse himself without opening his eyes when he felt your hands over his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s ok. I promise I’m fully dressed now.” 

“What did you need, boy wonder?” After shooting you a look declaring, once again, her support of you and Spencer becoming a couple– Penelope sat herself back in her desk chair, ready to do whatever Spencer needed. 

“I—uh.” He quickly readjusted his glasses, but it didn’t help. Functionally, he was a brick in a sportcoat. 

“The incomparable Dr.Reid speechless? This dress is better than I thought.” You made the joke to undercut the tension you were feeling, but it only made it worse for both of you. 

“Sorry, I—I’ve just never seen you this dressed up.”

“She bought it to go out, you should take her for a night out tonight!” Both of you looked at Penelope, you couldn’t believe she would do that to you. Setting you up for that kind of rejection? Even if he did say yes— would it be for the sole factor of you dressing in a form fitting outfit? Spencer had a similar line of thinking– Penelope knew he liked you, and he was deeply upset that she would force him to actually hear your rejection. 

“Oh–um. I’m sure you have plans, I mean– you look really nice, I’m sure you have someone in mind or somewhere specific you wanted to go.”

“She doesn’t have any plans tonight! You don’t either, so you two are hitting the town.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s a good thing we’re getting off work soon, and the chinese place down the street is open late anyway.”

You looked at each other, or in the general direction anyway. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact, and then when Spencer shot Penelope a betrayed look at her meddling, she just tilted her head to the side in a ‘go on’ motion.   

“Would you maybe like to go to the Chinese place with me after work? As a– I mean as a date?”

“You want to go out with me?” He was so surprised by your reaction, he ended up taking a full step back– his brow furrowing as he did. 

“Well yes– of course, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” By the end of his sentence his cheeks were starting to turn pink again. 

“I thought that you knew I liked you, is all. Of course I want to go out with you.”

“Oh– ok, can I pick you up at your desk after we’re done with paperwork?”

“That sounds nice, thank you Spencer.”

“Of course, and could you– maybe– keep the dress on? You just look really, really, great.”

“Sure Spencer, I’m glad you like it.” The teasing you endured from the rest of the team was worth it, because every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you– tossing you a shy smile that could only increase your excitement for tonight.  

[mangostarjam]

breakfast options — haikyuu, miya osamu x f!reader, neighbors au, set a little before the timeskip, just some soft fluffy fluff, 1.4k words

Miya Osamu wakes up to the early dawn light knowing two things.

One: That was the best sleep he's had in months.

Two: This is not his bed.

The sheets are softer — the bed is narrower and pushed up against a wall — and it smells like fresh laundry detergent when Osamu knows for a fact that he hasn't lugged his laundry to the machines downstairs in weeks.

This is not his bed. This isn't even his room or his apartment. The biggest, most obvious clue nuzzles into his chest and sighs.

Osamu's arm tightens around you automatically.

He's so fucked.

Your bare legs are pressed up against his own and you're so soft and warm and relaxed, breathing deeply in sleep, utterly unconcerned about the fact that your neighbor somehow got into your apartment and into your bed with you. Osamu can feel the barest sliver of skin beneath his fingers as your shirt rises and wonders how much his ma will yell at him for messing up this badly with you.

"Mm… 'Samu…?"

He's so fucked.

"Yeah?"

"Why're you awake?"

Osamu can't help the fond huff that escapes his lips and you bury your face further into his chest. He wonders if you can feel the taiko drum beat of his heart in your dreams.

You sniff and your fingers curl into his shirt. "Now I'm awake," you complain quietly, voice muffled in his chest. "Did you need to go to work or something? You seemed so tired last night. Sleep a lil' longer."

"Hey… did I… did I get the wrong door? Last night?" His voice is scratchy, but you don't seem to mind. You shiver a little in his hold and he automatically tugs you closer.

"Hmm…?" It takes a moment as you think through the sleep fog of your mind. Osamu can hear the distant click of your refrigerator humming and the chirp of birds waking up outside.

"You used your spare key and scared the heck out of me," you mumble, shoulders shaking as you snicker at the memory. Osamu wishes he could see your face — well, maybe not. His own cheeks are burning with mortification. "You were like a zombie, Miya-kun."

Something in his stomach swoops with disappointment at the return of honorifics. But — you still haven't untangled yourself from him, and you seem perfectly content to lay here with his arms around you, so maybe — ?

"Sorry 'bout that," he murmurs. "I musta been more wiped than I thought."

"You need to take care of yourself," you scold lightly, finally peeking up at his face. Your eyes widen when they meet his, and for some strange reason you immediately reach up to cover your mouth. Osamu's stomach clenches with hurt. It's not like he was planning on kissing you right now — not after practically breaking into your apartment and commandeering your bed.

And especially not if you don't want him to. Not if you're hiding from him like this.

"Sorry," you mumble. Your gaze feels intentional. Osamu wonders vaguely if he has drool on his cheek. "I don't want you to smell my morning breath."

It's silent for a moment. The two of you breathe in unison as Osamu stares down at you, incredulous, until you break the connection and bury your face in his chest again. "Oy."

"I'm going back to sleep."

That makes him laugh. His body jostles yours and you twist around defensively, nearly dislodging his hold as he clamps his arm back around your waist. "Miya-kun," you mumble. He can hear the pout in your voice, even if he can't see it. "Let's go back to sleep."

"There's no way I'm fallin' back asleep like this," Osamu says.

"What's wrong?"

Nothing's wrong. This is everything he's wanted with you for the past few years, ever since he first saw you go wide eyed over the neighborly bento he held out to you, the delight in your huge grin only growing when you looked up and met his eye.

It's been days and months and years since then, time filled with fond teasing over textbooks, quiet secrets whispered over cups of coffee way too late at night, grocery shopping together and trying out gimmicky snacks that stained your lips blue. You're his neighbor, his friend, his staunch supporter.

His classmate, a few times, when your schedules aligned in university. His coworker, sometimes, when you volunteer yourself to help him with his stall at various events around the city.

But that's it. Or — that was it, until you started getting touchier and clingier and Osamu's hopes spiraled higher and higher.

"'Samu? Did you fall back asleep?"

Osamu presses his face into your hair. He can be weak just this once, right? It's still too early to confess — his business doesn't even have a storefront yet, he hasn't made a name for himself yet — and you deserve someone with all that and more.

"Nah," he says quietly, "I'm up."

"Don't get any ideas," you mumble sleepily. "I haven't had a man in my bed in years, so if I punch you later it's 'cause I forgot about last night."

This shouldn't make him so happy. He hides his smile in your hair. He's been so busy lately it's been hard trying to figure out if you've had anyone over, though your apartment has always only shown signs of one occupant. He didn't want to assume.

"Why didn't ya kick me out?"

"That'd be cruel and unusual," you scoff. Your fingers curl over his forearm before sliding to his hand. Osamu's breath catches for just a second as you begin playing with his fingers, seemingly oblivious to how the temperature beneath the blankets has ratcheted up several degrees.

"You can kick me out now, ya know," Osamu offers half heartedly. At least he can safely tell his ma that he tried.

You bring his hand up to your lips and his heart just about stops. Softly — so softly — you press a kiss to his palm and then his wrist, featherlight touches that have every nerve ending standing at attention. Osamu shifts his hips away guiltily, resisting the urge to press up into you, heart slamming back into rhythm at full force.

"You'd leave without having breakfast first?"

"You'd let me make ya breakfast?"

You bite the tip of his finger and he bites back a groan. "Do you always make your girls breakfast the morning after?"

Osamu frowns. He wants to see your face. "There's never been a girl or a morning after."

"Oh." You hum thoughtfully, pressing his fingertip to your lips, entirely unaware of the silent battle Osamu is waging against his own body behind you. "So I'll be the first?"

"You're the only one it's ever gonna be."

Stupid. Osamu can practically hear his twin yelling at him to just confess already.

He can feel the curve of your smile against his palm as you press another featherlight kiss there. "I'll keep waiting, then," you say quietly, voice muffled against his skin.

You shift and turn back to face him, putting a few precious inches between your bodies as you blink up at him in the slowly brightening light. Osamu can't help staring, memorizing the gentle curve of your smile and the softness in your sleepy gaze. His heart feels like it's threatening to burst out of his chest, joy expanding like bubbles in his ribcage.

"What d'ya want for breakfast?"

Your smile grows crooked.

"I want an omelet this time."

Osamu can feel his own lips tugging up in the corners. "And next time?"

"Hmm. How about a breakfast onigiri?"

A laugh escapes his lips and his grin only grows wider with your answering giggle. "I can do that for ya."

"What about a kiss?"

Your eyes are sparkling in the light and he — he wants to say "yes" — but then your expression falls and you hold up a hand suddenly. "Wait, I take that back," you explain quickly, "I need to brush my teeth first."

Osamu laughs. He tugs you closer, an arm heavy around your waist, anchoring you back into him even as you whine. "You're gonna hafta get used to this," he points out smugly.

You slap your hands over your mouth and glare halfheartedly at him. "No way."

"It's alright, darlin'," he says. You blink as his gaze steadies on yours. Osamu wonders if you have any idea that you look at him like this — like he's special, and deserving, and like you trust him with everything. He's tried for months now to pretend he doesn't see it, scared to get his hopes up too high, but now?

Now he hopes you'll always look at him like this. "I won't make you wait much longer."

[revelboo]

It was a happy day when I found this treasure trove of reader insert transformers fics <3 Thank you for writing these.

You mentioned that the idw/g1 wheeljack fic is currently your favourite, what a coincidence it also happens to be my current favourite :D I swear that mech is criminally under appreciated. If you still have the enthusiasm to write that one I would love to see more. I need to see the human reassure wheeljack that they are not going to just abandon him. Please he deserves the world :')

Oooh drama. Yes, please

Circuits and Wires Pt 4

IDW Wheeljack x Reader

• Bent over a project, he’s aware of you watching him. Also very aware that you’re sitting crosslegged much closer to what he’s working on than he’d like and the little clinking as you toy with the pin to the fire extinguisher in your lap is distracting him. It’s not because you don’t trust him, but because his latest doohickey just keeps overheating and catching on fire. And he almost suspects that you’re enjoying putting the fire out and then walking over to drag a new extinguisher closer from the pile.

• Honestly, you’d have given up after whatever that thing is had caught on fire the first three times, but that’s one of the things you like best about Wheeljack. No matter how many times he fails, he doesn’t get discouraged or give up. He just laughs it off, that low, rumbling sound warm as it spreads through you and he starts over. You like watching him work, hearing him try to explain stuff to you, talking like he’s certain you can understand even if you rarely do. And this experiment isn’t the explosive kind at least. “You’ve got it this time,” you say, smiling up at him when he glances your way. Those vocal indicator fins on his helmet flicker mauve before shifting back to their normal cheery blue.

• No matter how many times he fails, you just keep encouraging him and that spreads warm through him, twines about his spark as he pauses to reach and run the tip of a servo over your cheek and you rest your palm against him. Smiling and that little thing reminds him that this can’t last no matter how much he wants it to. But he can’t keep delaying, sooner or later you’re going to get hurt. “Been talking to a few bots,” he says, reluctantly breaking that contact when he just wants to pick you up, hold on to this. “I think Ratch might take you on. You could help out with little stuff he can’t easily get to.”

• Your breath catches as you stare up at him, trying to figure out what you did wrong. Why he doesn’t want you with him anymore. Probably because he has to worry about you getting hurt all the time, divide his time between his work and you. Maybe he’s grown to resent that. Shoulders slumping, you nod and twist your back on him, because you’re not about to start bawling about this even if his rejection hurts. “If I did something wrong, just tell me,” you say, hating how your voice hitches. “I’ll stop doing it.”

• The hurt in your voice surprises him. That you think he’s just annoyed with you and trying to pawn you off. “It’s not anything you did.” It’s him. How can you not understand that everyone else is right and he’s a walking disaster area? You can’t be just more collateral damage. “The lab isn’t safe for humans. Ratch can-“

• “I don’t want to stay with Ratchet,” you mutter, shoulders hunching and still refusing to look at him. Because you are crying now and you scrub at your face with the back of a hand, mortified and angry. “I like being with you.” You big, sweet idiot. Hiding your face in your hands when he walks around and resisting when he uses a servo to try and move your hands away. Giving up hiding the crying, you swat his servo and glare up at him, aware of how red and splotchy your face must be. The way he freezes, his vocal indicators an edgy yellow-green. “I want to stay.” Don’t make me leave, please.

• Oh. Your chin lifts even as tears roll down your cheeks, because he’s seriously misjudged how attached you are to him and it’s a surprise that warms him. Because you’re this upset about being separated from him and it does things to his spark. You really care this much about him? He’s reaching for you, servos closing around you to lift you and cradle you against the warm mesh of his neck. Shivering as you press your wet cheek against him, making that little, broken sound that hurts his spark. “I want you to stay, too,” he admits, even as worry eats at him. He can protect you, even from himself. He has to, because he can’t lose this.

Previous

My workplace’s theme for Halloween is 80s and one of my coworkers asked if I had any toys from that era or inspired by it. And I think I worried her when I just grinned like a crazy person and asked how much she needed, because I have TRANSFORMERS- and she accidentally gave me an excuse to share my nerdy stuff. Poor kid had that vaguely uncomfortable look people get when they realize they’ve just made a critical, possibly catastrophic error.

Maybe I made the error- a coworker just put on the Megatron helmet and went through the building loudly declaring that they’re Optimus Prime… I just don’t have the heart to correct them…

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Tips: A Book in 30 Days

Should I Try It? Take the “why not?” approach. You may just like it. The pros far outweigh the cons. The most compelling reason to go for it is that you’ll finally put your thoughts on paper. You’ll have something tangible to polish and make shine.

Schedule a time to write.

Maybe you can only carve out two hours on the weekdays and then write all day on the weekends. Be realistic with your time.

Outline your novel ahead of time.

Writing from an outline is so much easier. You’ll be able to depend on the structure of an outline to keep you on track.

Here are some Writing Templates & Worksheets that may guide you. Choose which one is most appropriate for you. You may also consider editing your chosen template—add or remove parts to create your own personalised outline.

Give yourself a daily word allowance.

How many words can you realistically write in one day? For some, that’s around 2,000, while others can write up to 10,000 words in one day. But remember, it's okay if you don't hit your daily target. Simply continue the next day.

Set an ultimate word count goal.

Most novels are between 50,000 to 100,000 words. If you write 2,000 words every day, you’ll have 60,000 by the end of the month. If you’d like to hit the industry standard of 80,000 words, go for around 2,700 words a day. Again, remember, it's okay if you don't hit your target. But setting your own writing goal at the beginning of the month can serve as motivation.

Don’t edit as you go.

Turn off that nagging internal editing that will only slow you down.

Take a break at the end of your writing.

You’re going to be stressed out from writing so much, so give yourself a much needed and deserved break. For instance, return to your novel after a few days, or a week, then start editing.

Go easy on yourself.

When you read what you’ve written, a lot of it may not be salvageable. But hopefully, you have the beginnings of an amazing novel. Try not to be too critical, and look for the diamonds in the rough.

Source ⚜ Resources to Help you Write your 30-day Book: Notes & References Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ Writing Basics ⚜ Tips & Advice

[billyharris]

Inspired by @captain-flint's post.

“It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” Having a crew like this behind you – even when things go wrong.” Tommy reflects, watching the 118’s relief over the text in the group chat. The group chat Tommy isn’t in. Understandably. He’s only been with Evan for five months. It was nice enough for Evan to invite him to come to the hospital and wait for Denny to get out of surgery with everyone.

“Especially when things go wrong.” Evan replies, letting his gaze linger like he really wants Tommy to take it in. It works, because Tommy feels his insides become just that much squishier and his grip on his coffee cup tightens enough to crush the styrofoam if he isn’t careful. “Oh my god, that’s it.”

“What?”

“I know how to break the curse.” Great. More curse talk. A part of Tommy was hoping with the more pressing matters of Denny being in the hospital, maybe Evan could go a few hours without mentioning Billy Boils. But as he looks at the clock on the wall, he sees it’s only been forty-five minutes since his last ‘not so fun’ fact about the outlaw.

Tommy shakes his head and takes a sip from his cup as Evan starts typing up a plan in his notes app. A plan that no doubt involves Tommy. Which he’s more than okay with. No matter what they’re doing, as long as Tommy is with his boyfriend, he’s satisfied. He’d be a little more satisfied if he could kiss Evan without risking getting an infection – but at least it hasn’t got in the way of other activities, like the blowjob he gave him this morning.

***

Thirty or so minutes later, Karen gathers everyone so they can sign Denny’s cast. Tommy is the only one who doesn’t stand up. Evan grabs his hand and pulls him. “C’mon babe, you too.” He shoots his boyfriend a look that reads ‘are you sure?’ and Evan doubles down, pulling him up with both hands now.

Tommy agrees, but when they get to the room, he stays back in the doorway. He’s not part of the 118 extended family. There wasn’t one when he was at the station, and he hasn’t been back in their lives long enough to warrant an invitation to join just yet. Maybe when he and Evan get more serious. Maybe when he finally asks him to move in will he feel part of the posse he’s always craved.

Everyone lines up and starts signing Denny’s cast – drawing or writing inside jokes and messages Tommy knows nothing about. He’s never even met Denny formally. Maybe back in the day, Karen brought him to the station when she occasionally picked Hen up. But he would have been a child then. Fuck, he’s old – he’s reminded looking at the kid who’s taller than his moms now.

Denny’s cast, withstanding the signatures, looks the same as the one Tommy had the summer he moved to LA. He broke it falling down the stairs during his worse and final fight with his father. He discharged himself from the hospital, hopped on a bus to California, and crashed on his cousin’s couch until he was healed. Once he was cleared, he was immediately deployed, needing to get as far away from his father as possible. Not like the bastard was looking for him.

No one signed his cast that summer. Not even his cousin. Which he’s thankful for. The only thing more pathetic than a blank cast is a cast with one measly, pity signature on it.

Tommy understood loneliness. It had been suffused into his bones for as long as he could remember. He learned feeling alone the majority of the time was just part of life. He had friends, made himself useful so he could occasionally be invited over to help out with a task and maybe get offered a beer or to hang around after. It was a temporary band-aid on the perpetually alone feeling he’s accustomed to.

It worked fine for him. For forty (plus) years, Tommy had to find a way to be content with being the loneliness he was stuck with. He nursed his injuries by himself, learned to cook meals for one, found enjoyment in being the only one in the theater at an afternoon movie.

Then Evan Buckley came into his life. His wonderful, bright eyed, golden retriever of a boyfriend who’s happiest when he’s surrounded by loved ones. Over the past five months, Evan has shown Tommy how incredible it is to have someone constantly by your side. To have a ‘Morning babe!!’ text with a dozen emojis waiting for him when he woke up and another wishing him a good night before bed. Evan will stop at nothing to remind Tommy he’s welcome in his life – all of it.

Eddie too. It took two hang outs before he was inviting Tommy over to show Christopher flight sim. He’s never had a boyfriend like Evan or a best friend like Eddie. He feels almost spoiled about it. His heart doesn’t know what to do with all this affection. For so long, being on his own was he all he’s known. And now he can’t remember the last time his calendar wasn’t stacked with outings and hang outs. He hasn’t had a lonely night in, feeling miserable and self-loathing since the night he saved Bobby and Athena. Since the 118 returned to his life.

Tommy’s brought back from his thoughts when Eddie shoves him. Evan is staring at him – wait – everyone is staring at him. Then he sees Denny holding out the sharpie towards him. “Aren’t you gonna sign too …” He looks over to Hen and she mouths his name. “… Tommy, right. I knew that.” Everyone laughs, Tommy included.

Maybe he does belong.

[pix-writes]

outside sex w/ Ford 🫣

Ford & outside sex, tried to make it as gender neutral as possible for this one, hope you enjoy!

(18+ MDNI under cut!) NSFW with lots of fluff on the side 😉

I feel like Ford would actually be really into having sex outside, though I don't think he's the kind of person into voyeurism at all! He wouldn't like to have anyone else looking at you in that way and he certainly wouldn't want to be at high risk of getting caught - it's a turn off!

But he does love nature, he loves being in the woods around the falls and knows lots of beautiful and quiet, largely secluded spots as well as all the magical and dangerous sections of the area to avoid. He would like to take you to such pretty locations as a date activity. He's a romantic deep down 🥰 having a picnic by a smaller lake that was formed off of the bigger lake within gravity falls, not a well known spot, watching as the day grows towards sunset? Hearing people far off on the main lake packing up after a full day of activities, tourism and fishing? Sharing some wine and dessert together should you be so inclined? Wonderful! The perfect place to have both a view and not be interrupted.

It starts off as just cuddling and making out on the grass, as the date progresses, but the intimacy builds to more than that, getting a little heated. Something about it sparks something in Ford, he imagines taking you out to more private places, just you and him alone in tranquil nature, where you won't be seen or have to worry about volume (at least maybe, not as much as when you're in the shack). Maybe you could even go camping.

Ford takes you hiking over the falls and ends up getting himself hot and bothered by the vision of you in front of him 😅 when you're walking in front of him, he gets the best view of your ass 😉

And when you need to break for a few minutes, dewy with sweat and out of breath from exertion, his mind is going to other activities in which he's seen you like that.

When the path becomes steep and treacherous he feels a certain sense of fulfilment/pride (?) that you need his help to traverse it, giving you a hand to pull you up or catch you, that you put your trust in him and his reassurances that you'll be fine and you can cross without falling, is something that helps him to feel useful and more secure. I guess it also feeds a certain masculine role (trope?) in him too (mostly in a pure way rather than a negative/toxic way), in being useful and capable to you in such a physical way. In fact he might even be a bit handsy when he helps you, if he's feeling playful enough or if the trip is tiring you out to try and lift your spirits:

Ford places a hand over your ass as you stumble when he helps you up a high step, drawing you into pressing up against him. "Careful, my dear." 😏

"Stanford Pines, you are a tease!" 😑

"I don't know what you're talking about." 🫠

There's a limit to Ford's patience and you can figure it out, most likely, in this scenario! If he can get you somewhere he considers safe and far away enough from any others who could possibly stumble across you, he'll take you as soon as possible.

Or, I kind of imagine a scenario where you're in the woods adventuring, helping Ford with his research of the anomalies, when things inevitably go wrong and you end up in some moderate dangers in fighting and escaping the latest monster of the week, when you end up coming to a stop to catch your breath, the danger now behind you - the tension is palpable!

Both of your heightened states of emotion mean that one of you runs hands over the other looking to see if they're hurt, almost getting into an argument over the details of how things went wrong or how you managed to come so close to getting hurt, maybe Ford ends up frustrated at you not listening to his instruction and taking a risk, either way that underlying tension snaps. There's tears in his eyes -

"You're so stubborn! How could you put yourself in that position?!"

"I saved you from being hurt! I thought I could've lost you back there!"

You end up being pressed up against a tree as Ford roughly kisses you, feeling under your clothes, squeezing and pinching at your sensitive areas as you moan into his mouth. You know what both of your actions are saying; you care about each other, you felt like you might not have gotten out of this alive, but here you both are.

You don't mind being rough in fact, you want it, you want to feel each other, you want to feel alive. You don't care if you get scratched up by the uncomfortable surfaces, and you are almost certainly going to be scratched up.

No matter who is the instigator here, Ford ends up the one to flip you around and push you up against the tree so he can take you from behind. Neither of you even bothered to undress, clothes pushed up or aside or pulled down just enough to access what you wanted.

And god forbid any forest gnome stumbles across you now, as Ford would probably turn them into ashes if they interrupted you! 🤭😳

Don't worry though, more TLC is applied after, once you manage to get back home, Ford being more gentle and tending to any cuts and bruises.

[inkedinshadows]

Never Hold Back

Day 31: Squirting — Lucien x f!reader

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, insecure reader

Word count: 1.099

A/N: we've finally got to the end of Kinktober! This was so much fun, but it was also exhausting ngl. I'm working on new fics and I'm so glad it's not smut bc I seriously need a break from it. I didn't think I'd be able to write a fic for each day when I decided to do this and I have to say I'm quite of myself for making it. Thank you so much to everyone who read/commented/reblogged my silly smutty blurbs and if you've stuck around to read them all, I love you pls let's get married.

based on this suggestion

You didn’t have much experience with sex. Or rather, you did, but the people you had been with could be counted on one hand. And if there was one thing you learned after your first time, it was how to fake an orgasm just before the real one hit you. That way, your partner would relent, sparing you the embarrassment.

But Lucien wasn’t like your previous lovers. He was your mate.

When you arched off the bed and moaned louder than before, he pulled his mouth away from you and watched you with a furrowed brow.

“Why do you do that?”

At first, you didn’t understand what he was talking about, and your insecurities took over. What had you done? Did you have an actual orgasm? No, you would have felt that, and Lucien would have looked more grossed out than concerned.

“Do what?” you asked, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Lucien sat up straight and you immediately felt the absence of his head between your thighs. His eyes found yours and the uneasiness etched on his face made you brace yourself for what might be coming.

He was silent for a moment before he said quietly, “If you don’t enjoy what I’m doing, please just tell me.”

Eyes wide, you sat up too. “Why would you think that? Of course I enjoy it, Lu!”

“Then why did you just fake an orgasm?”

“I didn’t—”

“You did it last time too.”

Your breath caught, heat rising to your cheeks until you were sure you looked like a tomato. Unsure how to respond, you looked down at your fidgeting hands.

You always thought you were good at faking, that it looked real enough to not raise suspicions. None of the males you’d been with before had ever noticed. And now that your mate had realized it, you wished the ground would open and swallow you whole.

“Sunshine,” he called softly.

A slender finger hooked under your chin, and then you were looking into his eyes. He didn’t seem upset, which spurred you to finally say something.

“I’m sorry,” you stuttered, and words began pouring out in an incoherent stream. “It’s just… my body. When I come, it does— it’s really gross, so I just… I thought you—”

You stopped abruptly when his thumb moved to cover your lips. He searched your face, his brows still furrowed, before he asked, “What do you mean ‘gross’?”

You shook your head, resisting the urge to look away again, but his gaze was piercing, and his golden eye seemed to see right through you, so eventually you answered, voice just above a whisper.

“I… I tend to squirt.”

You expected disgust, judgment, maybe even rejection—the same reactions you had gotten the few times it happened, the reasons you had started faking.

Instead, Lucien smiled broadly. “You do?”

He sounded so excited that you frowned as you gave him a single nod. His hands traveled down your body, caressing your sides until they rested on your waist. You were still waiting for a rejection, and he probably read it on your face because he gently squeezed you.

“Y/N… did someone tell you it’s gross?” he questioned. “Is that why you say that?”

You blinked. “You don’t think it is?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Lucien’s posture changed. His back went a bit rigid, and his jaw clenched as he let you go. “Lay back down,” he said, or rather ordered. No soft tone was left in his voice, in his expression.

“Lucien…” you tried, but he cut you off.

“Lay down. I’m going to make you come.”

You did as he asked, though with a touch of hesitation. Lucien was quick to settle between your legs again. When you opened your mouth to try and talk him out of it one last time, he beat you to it.

“I am going to make you come,” he repeated, even more firmly than the first time. And then he was licking a stripe up your folds, his hands holding you open for him to feast on.

You decided to just enjoy it, then. What else were you supposed to do when he flicked his tongue over your clit and gently rolled it between his lips? Your hand shot out to tangle in his fiery hair, and you sucked in a breath, feeling his low chuckle reverberate against your cunt.

He probed your entrance with a finger, and when you squirmed, he pushed it in and curled it, hitting that sweet spot that drew a groan from deep in your throat. And then you lost all sense of time and space as the fingers became two and his mouth latched onto your clit.

The pleasure was rising fast—faster than ever, now that you weren’t worrying about waiting for the perfect moment to fake your orgasm. Yet as you felt it approaching, the thought that maybe you should stop before it was too late lingered at the back of your mind.

“Lucien, I’m… I’m close,” you warned, your voice a breathless murmur.

“Then come for me, sunshine.” He looked up at you through his lashes, and his next words were a low, commanding growl. “Don’t you dare hold it back.”

When he thrust his fingers in deeper and curled them once more, you didn’t hold it back, and after so long without such an intense feeling, you were utterly overwhelmed by it. A loud cry broke free from you as your whole body shook while you squirted all over Lucien’s fingers and chin. He held you firm, still working you until you went limp, spent and panting. Only then did he pull back, and you blushed at the sight of his face covered in your release.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Lucien only smiled. “Don’t be. Don’t ever apologize for it.”

He climbed up your body, and you wrapped your arms around his neck out of instinct. As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You weren’t sure how you felt about it.

“It was amazing, sunshine,” he murmured against your lips. “Hot, even.”

His words warmed your heart and a bit of the shame you had grown accustomed to began to melt away. If Lucien, your mate, found it hot… then maybe it wasn’t actually that bad after all.

“And to think that you've denied yourself so many orgasms because of it…” he went on. A smirk blossomed on his lips and a mischievous glint sparked in his russet eye. “Let me remedy that.”

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Kinktober taglist: @thyellablackk @p1nkfluffysocks @maddieboo8 @a-courtof-azriel @whataenginerd @loviseamms @chaconnelatte @okaytrashpanda @scarsandallaz @velarisdusk @olive-main @krispypotato @scorpioriesling @fourthwing4ever @asaucecoveredsomething

[planetpedri]

HI! I saw you write for Criminal Minds and I was wondering if you could write for Emily Prentiss where she and reader work alongside one another like majority of the times, and maybe one of them (doesn’t matter who) is particularly irritable where it makes the other want nothing more than to just comfort them and it’s slight angst to comfort? (They’re each others work crush!) 💚

Please be rude — Emily Prentiss.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Summary: This case was getting to Emily. You could see it throughout the day, she was growing more and more agitated. So you take her aside and try to get her to relax.

Word count: 500

Disclaimer/s: Mentions of potential murder , abduction , all the average criminal minds stuff , light angst , comfort !

A/N: clearing out my drafts before my trip yipee !

Emily paced back and forth across the white tiles that lined the mall. A young girl had gone missing, potentially an abduction, and for some reason it was really getting to her. You stood a few feet away, leaning against one of the miscellaneous tables as you watched her with concern.

“Em..” You sigh out, pushing off the table. “Do you need a break?”

“No. No, i’m fine.” She snaps, her eyes widening as she realizes. “Sorry. That was rude. Something just feels off.” The raven haired woman shakes her head, running a hand over the back of her hair until she grasps the back of her neck to rub it lightly.

You nod in understanding, chewing on your bottom lip. “How about we go make coffee and you tell me about it? Hmm?”

Emily reluctantly agrees, dropping her hands to her side. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

Leading the way, you find the cafeteria. One of the workers agrees to make you two a coffee free of charge. While you wait, the two of you stand back. “So, what’s bugging you?”

“I just…” She glances up at you, “I just have this gut feeling, and it won’t go away.” She shrugs it off, shaking her head. “It could be nothing.”

Frowning, you reach out to the woman, squeezing her shoulder. “Hey, if you feel something, there’s a reason why. Don’t ignore it.”

Emily smiles at the small act of affection. She lifts her hand to cover yours, “okay, okay. Once we get our coffee, i’ll find Hotch.”

You give her a quick smile, trying to ignore the lurch in your stomach at her touch. “Perfect. How are you adjusting to the team, by the way?” You ask as you reach for the coffee’s the barista handed you. “Thank you.” You nod at her before turning back to Emily and hand her one.

Emily blows at the hole in the lid to cool it down. “Good, this is very different from my last job, but still, i’m adjusting well.” She smiles up at you for a moment, “you’ve been a major help, of course.”

Chuckling, you take a small sip. “Glad to be of service.” You’d been watching her intently since she had started talking, noticing what made her relax. “Okay, let’s go find Hotch, and you tell me about this hunch of yours, yeah?”

Emily swallows, “yeah.”

“Come on newbie.” You grin, nudging your shoulder against hers as the two of you make your way to where you knew your boss would be.

“Oh, before we go in,” Emily stops you with a hand on your arm. You turn to her with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “Thank you, for that. I know you were trying to calm me down. I appreciate that, I appreciate you.”

A warm feeling grows in your chest. “Of course, Em. Any time, any place, i’m here to help.”

Emily’s eyes flickered across your face, a small smile on her lips. “Right back at you.”

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[joelsrose]

Polaroids

just fluff - maybe this will distract u guys from the ending of last chapter hehehe

You leaned back into the worn-out car seat, the low hum of the engine mingling with the crackle of the old radio. The old country music drifted over the airwaves, soft and faint, nearly swallowed by static. The radio itself was a relic, knobs worn and dials stubborn, the plastic casing chipped and yellowed with age. Sometimes it cut out completely, leaving only a soft crackling, but today it clung to the melody, filling the cab with the warmth of old tunes and distant memories.

Sunlight filtered through the cracked window, spilling across your face and hands in fractured beams. Outside, the landscape stretched on, an endless expanse of dust and decay, each mile marked by the skeletons of a world long gone—a place suspended in ruin, holding its breath.

Joel’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, low and steady. “Not much longer now. We’ll get what we need and move on.”

You met his words with a nod, too tired to reply. You’d been traveling for days now, driven by the promise of Jackson and the slim hope of civilization. Supplies were running low, as always; every stop felt like a roll of the dice, hoping to find something, anything, left behind.

It had only been a few months since he’d found you, though time had blurred into a haze, each day bleeding into the next. Exhaustion hung between you both, heavy and constant, like a second skin you couldn’t shake, worn thin from days on the road and nights too quiet to let you sleep.

Joel had saved you when you’d been cornered, trapped in an old, crumbling building with nowhere to go. You’d been running from a small group of infected, adrenaline pumping as you turned down a dark hallway only to find it a dead end. Your options had narrowed to one: wait for them to close in or make your last stand. Just when it seemed there’d be no way out, Joel appeared—silent and swift, moving with a brutal efficiency that left you stunned. In a matter of seconds, he’d cleared the path, his hand gripping yours as he pulled you to safety, his strength as grounding as his presence.

Since then, you’d stayed by his side, even though he’d made it clear he didn’t want company. He worked alone, he’d insisted, in that blunt, no-nonsense way of his. But you hadn’t given him much choice, and over time, it seemed he’d stopped minding. Now, you were the thorn in his side—a place you gladly occupied. With Joel, you felt a kind of safety you hadn’t known in ages. He’d pulled you out of more tight spots than you could count, watching your back like an instinct.

And though his gruff persona suggested otherwise, you liked to think you offered him something in return, even if it was only the company he didn’t know he needed. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten used to the rhythm you’d found together, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you with each mile.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine dying into silence. You reached for the door, and as always, Joel shot you a quick, expectant look. You knew the routine by now—he wanted you to lead.

He’d insisted on it from the start, claiming it was safer, though you’d never been entirely convinced. A few times, you’d tried to switch places, hanging back to keep an eye on his back. But each time, he’d glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, his unease written in quick, silent looks that said, Get up here.

Eventually, you’d stopped fighting it, falling into the rhythm he’d set. It was easier than watching him practically break his neck to check on you every few steps.

There was something almost sweet about it, a kind of silent protectiveness you’d caught yourself thinking about more than once. But you’d always shaken it off just as quickly—this was about survival, after all.

Nothing more.

As you stepped out first, the wind stirred a broken sign on an old gas station up ahead, its faded letters barely readable. Moving quietly, you swept your gaze over the cracked concrete, dark windows, and twisted metal—every shadow a potential hiding place. Raiders, infected—it didn’t matter. You’d learned to stay vigilant, to read your surroundings like second nature.

The gas station loomed closer, dark and silent, and the air felt thick, weighted. You tightened your grip on your knife, every nerve alert. And even now, without turning, you could feel Joel’s gaze on you, fixed and ready, trusting you to lead but always prepared to step in if needed.

You eased open the door, and the little shop bell above jingled sharply, shattering the silence. You winced, instinctively glancing back at Joel, who fixed you with one of those stern looks that seemed to say everything without a single word. You mouthed, What? as if you had any say in the bell hanging there. He just shook his head, giving a quick gesture for you to keep moving.

The gas station was a relic from another world, frozen in time. The air hung thick with dust and stale, long-forgotten scents. Every shelf wore a layer of grime, and faded signs advertised snacks and drinks that hadn’t been stocked in years. You and Joel swept through the space in silence, checking for any lurking danger before easing up slightly, letting yourselves relax just enough to take in the scene.

You moved slowly, scanning each shelf with eyes trained to spot anything useful. Most of it had been picked clean long ago—torn-open packaging and discarded wrappers marking the hurried visits of those who’d come before you. Still, you continued your search, hoping some overlooked scrap might still be hiding among the debris.

You found yourself wandering into the magazine aisle, eyes catching on a rack filled with faded covers, each magazine a window to a lost world. The glossy pages once held glimpses of celebrity gossip, fashion, sports, news—details from lives people used to care about. It was strange to think of a time when you could pick up a magazine, sink into a chair, and read, unbothered by the weight of survival.

Shaking the thoughts away, you made your way toward the back room, pushing open the door. Inside, it was chaos. Torn sleeping bags, empty food cans, and scattered belongings littered the floor. It was clear that people had stayed here, leaving pieces of their lives behind in a hurry. You stepped over the debris, wondering about them—the strangers who had once huddled in this cramped room, just as desperate as you. Each item felt like a clue, a fragment of someone else’s survival, each as temporary as the lives that had passed through here.

You sifted through the mess, nudging aside tattered blankets and empty cans, until something caught your eye. Your breath hitched. No way.

Nestled under a pile of discarded clothes was an old Polaroid camera, scratched and battered, but unmistakable. You picked it up, heart thumping as you opened the film compartment—still a few shots left.

A smile tugged at your lips as your thumb traced the camera’s worn edges, the feel of it strangely comforting. You used to have one of these—your walls once covered with Polaroids of friends, family, frozen moments from a world that felt like a distant dream.

The thought of taking a picture, capturing even one still moment in this endless chaos, felt like a luxury you couldn’t resist. Carefully, you slipped the camera into your bag, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Joel’s rules on “essentials only” echoed in your mind; you could almost hear that familiar, gruff tone reminding you of what mattered. But this felt worth the risk.

“Find anything?” Joel’s voice cut through the quiet, jolting you as you straightened up. You turned, giving a casual shake of your head. “No,” you murmured, but the way his gaze lingered told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d grown attuned to your every tell over the past few months, as if he could read the slightest shift in your expression. He knew when you were lying, just like he’d picked up on the way you got a bit snappy when you were hungry or the way you got quiet and withdrawn when you were tired.

You could see his eyes narrow slightly, that small tic he had when he sensed something was off. He didn’t push, though, just let out a sigh and gave a slight nod, the silent acknowledgment that he knew you were keeping something back, even if he wasn’t going to press you on it.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, his tone steady as he turned to lead the way back. You followed him out of the gas station, stepping carefully over broken glass and crumbling concrete, the weight of the camera tucked away in your bag a secret thrill you couldn’t quite shake.

A few days later you and Joel had stopped by an old, abandoned farmhouse. The building stood crooked and half-collapsed, but it provided some shelter and, thankfully, a well you’d managed to draw fresh water from. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting everything in a golden wash, you found Joel outside, seated on a weathered tree stump, quietly cleaning his rifle.

He looked up as you approached, his face softened by the fading light. You felt that familiar pull, the itch to capture this version of him—the one without his guard so firmly up, the rare glimpse of the man beneath the gruff exterior. Without overthinking it, you brought the Polaroid up, snapping the photo with a quick click and a whirl.

The sound broke through the quiet, and Joel looked up sharply, his brow furrowing. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was a mix of surprise and irritation, but you only grinned, holding the photo as it developed.

“Just… keeping a memory,” you replied, lifting it slightly to see the faint outline of his figure slowly come to life on the film. The fading light, the rugged set of his face, the rifle in his hands—it was a glimpse of this strange, fractured world you’d both managed to carve out for yourselves.

Joel shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he returned his focus to his rifle, muttering, “Where’d you get that thing?” You tensed, expecting a lecture, but he didn’t sound as mad as you’d thought he’d be. Instead, he glanced up, one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. “Wasting film on me, huh? Thought I told you to stick to the essentials.”

His tone was more resigned than scolding, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of softness behind that familiar gruffness.

“This is essential,” you shot back, tucking the photo carefully into your bag. He huffed but didn’t push it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he refocused on his task. And as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon, you felt the weight of that small photo, the tiny moment frozen forever in your pocket.

A few days later, you stopped by the edge of a forest, setting up a small camp as the sky turned dusky and violet. Joel had wandered off to gather more kindling, and you settled in by the fire, lost in thought as you stared at the flickering flames, letting the rare quietness sink into your bones.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel had returned, lingering a few paces away. He paused, watching as you sat by the fire, its glow casting soft shadows over your face and deepening the worry etched in your brow. There was something about the way you looked, as if you were carrying the weight of the world in silence—a moment he suddenly found himself wanting to keep, just like you had done with him.

Moving quietly, he crouched down, rifling through your bag with a muffled groan as he pulled out the Polaroid camera. He raised it, aimed, and snapped a photo before you even noticed he was there. The click was softened by the crackle of the fire, and as the image slid out, he quickly tucked it into his pocket, a quiet secret meant only for him.

He found himself drawn to the Polaroid more often than he’d like to admit. Most nights, after you’d fallen asleep, he’d sit alone by the dim light of the fire, turning the photo over in his hands. His thumb would trace the worn edges, lingering on the image, on the softness in your expression that he rarely saw during the daylight hours. There was something about it—a quiet reminder of who you were beneath the survival instincts and guarded walls, something gentle that you rarely let anyone else glimpse.

He couldn’t say why he held onto it so tightly, why he’d tucked it away like a small, fragile piece of something he didn’t quite deserve. But each time he looked at it, he felt an odd sense of peace, a warmth he hadn’t known in years, and a growing hope he barely understood.

It wasn’t until later, one day while packing up camp, that you noticed something unusual in Joel’s belongings—a corner of the Polaroid peeking out from his jacket pocket. Curiosity got the best of you, and you carefully tugged it free, turning it over. The image was slightly faded, but there you were, captured in that rare, quiet moment by the fire. Seeing yourself through Joel’s eyes was strange and unexpectedly tender—a side of you that looked softer, contemplative, even a little vulnerable.

It felt like a secret glimpse into what he saw when he looked at you, something he’d wanted to hold onto. And suddenly, you understood just how much he’d come to care, even if he’d never say it out loud.

When he caught you holding the photo, he stiffened, eyes narrowing as though ready to snatch it back, maybe grumble something about “minding your own business.” Instead, you raised an eyebrow, holding it up for him to see. “What’s this?” you asked, feigning casual curiosity.

He shifted his gaze, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, that?” he muttered, attempting nonchalance. “Just thought… you looked nice. Pretty, I guess.”

The words hung in the air, simple but disarming, unraveling you in a way you hadn’t expected. Pretty. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be seen like that—to be noticed in a way that was more than survival, more than function. In his gruff, awkward way, Joel had reminded you that there was still a part of you worth noticing, worth remembering.

You felt your cheeks warm, a flicker of something both comforting and terrifying sparking in your chest. You held the photo close to your chest, feeling a warmth spread beneath the morning chill. Carefully, you slipped it into your bag alongside the picture you’d taken of him, keeping them together.

Neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding settled between you, a small truce in a world that rarely left room for moments like these.

[fiddles-ifs]

BLOG UPDATE 10-30-24

[ID: A photoset of three images. The first two images are a parchment texture on a black background. The first image is white text, and a navigation sidebar to the left of the main body of text. The sidebar reads: 'THE KING'S PHYSICIAN, written by Elliot Z. Chapter 00: Asclepius. NEW GAME, LOAD GAME, SETTINGS, GLOSSARY, MAP, CHARACTERS, ACHIEVEMENTS.' NEW GAME is highlighted with a distressed scroll image. At the bottom of the sidebar are links leading to Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.

To the right of the sidebar, the main text reads: 'PROLOGUE: ASCLEPIUS.

The ground stinks. It meets your hands in a shower of wet mud, an explosion of sick and blood, soaking the spaces between your fingers. When your vision focuses again, finally stops wobbling around and making double of itself, you find your palms soaked red. You crawl on your hands and knees to the body in front of you. You turn them over on their back. A man, not one of yours, and you slap his face a few times before you realize his eyes are milky and staring ahead, unblinking. There’s nothing you could do for him now. You look at his legs and find them still facing downwards. They didn’t move with the rest of him.

All the information comes to you backwards — his bisected waist, the guts spilling across the dirt, red, red and so much red. You stand up numbly. Your horse lies dead several feet away, and you remember in your haze that’s the reason why you were bucked off. You try and look at something — anything — else.

There is nothing else. All around you are limbs and blood and battle. Everything moving so slowly, mosquitoes caught in cooling amber, a slurry of death. You feel lost, a scarecrow in a burning field. Your ears ring. It all feels distant. Too distant. You need to move.

You turn to see a flash of white steel against the burning sun, and weakly raise your arms to try and block the blow with what little padding you have on. You move so slow.'

The other images feature the same text. The second image features a black background and red links. The third image is yellow parchment paper with red links and black text. /end ID]

happy update day!! i have to be up in. checks watch. six hours. so the update is coming at exactly midnight, and then i'll queue appropriately. but steady progress is being made on tkp!! im taking a small break from greenwarden to focus on making tkp and erinys look nice as a side project to querying agents for my book. it's a process. yk how it is.

what you see right now are mockups, the actual product looks uh. well. it looks like this

far cry from how i want it to look, but im working on it.

after finishing the css, all i have to do is write and edit chapter 1 and it'll be ready for demo release!

also, happy spooky season! im working on something for greenwarden that most certainly will not be done by Halloween, but i think you'll like it. it involves costumes and maybe stickers. watch this space