#different strokes for different folks or whatever

[fearsomeandwretched]

Honestly there's probably Conheads out there who think I'm a weirdo for babygirlifying Kendall lmao

[thekidsarentalright]

one of my old friends (who im not friends w anymore) has a baby and it's so weird to me like. ppl my age have babies already. i can barely take care of myself and some of my peers have entire children. life is weird man

[13eyond13]

Hello! A question for one of the best DN historians in the platform 😛 so, for all of us who like L/OC romances there's just such a cute dating sim from spiraling trap, and although I don't consider it as necessarily canon (more like part of the extended universe, headcanon as you will) I think it's an interesting start towards a more "realistic" romance with him, if you want to write fanfiction. I don't know if you played it, but L goes from neutral polite/blunt, to interested to feeling the MC gives him peace. I found that phrasing particularly curious because it not only further humanises L but also speaks of how burdened he is, even beyond what we see in canon. How do you think a relationship with him would go, based on this premise? It's good food for thought, at least 🙂 thank you!

Hi, thanks for the sweet and polite ask!

I've never played that game myself, but it does sound like a cute scenario for L. I think it does make sense that in order for L to end up romantically interested and involved with someone he might need to first realize that maybe he would indeed prefer having a partner and someone to share his everyday life with on that level in the first place. Because I'm not sure it's something he would normally be prioritizing or believing that he wants or needs...

My own interpretation of L is almost entirely based on his manga self. I think that manga!L is aloof from others not just for his own protection, but also somewhat because he's secretly fairly arrogant about finding most other people quite boring and not relatable, and would also think it's too difficult to maintain an intimate relationship with most people. I think he's very stubborn, very driven, and also has been a bit spoiled and sheltered, and is not accustomed to navigating typical everyday social situations because of how unusual and often isolated and secretive his life has probably been. And I think he'd likely be a fairly difficult personality for many people to date, either because he's not willing to make the compromises and sacrifices and do the usual expected gestures that might be required for it, or because he logically can't see the point in himself dating people most of the time – I think he would be the type to think or to tell himself that he was not like other people who constantly need companionship in this way, almost looking down on anybody else who does. He definitely defaults to feeling superior about his differences from most people rather than inferior to them most times, I think. Though I'm not sure exactly how explicitly self-aware about that all or vocal about it he would be? I think generally L usually is content just to focus on what interests and entertains him the most, which is being a detective, and that to some degree this is just because it's the only thing he's genuinely actually cared a lot about focusing on before. But also maybe because he's never known anything different and might not feel as cocky about his abilities to navigate something like a romance or a longterm relationship very effortlessly, either (and he probably only really likes doing things he already knows he's good at).

I don't know if he'd actually consider himself terribly "burdened" by his position as L ordinarily, since in canon he says he is doing it because he wants to (whether or not maybe Watari sort of molded him into that role when he was a child as well). So I think the only time he'd start feeling really burdened is if he was getting way in over his head and feeling like he was losing control and losing face and failing, like during some of his darker moments of the Kira case (which I am sure was definitely by far the hardest case he ever had, and also the furthest he ever pushed himself to solve one). In that case I can certainly see him maybe finding someone who managed to comfort and help him in some way during that hard time attractive or enjoyable to have around, and to start thinking about things more like whether or not he would actually enjoy having an everyday partner in that specific way.

I don't really know how to extrapolate on it much further than that, because I don't know what the specific scenario is, and I am not normally an LxOC shipper or LxReader shipper myself. I have never actually read any fics like that before or anything. But hopefully some of this rambling was helpful a bit maybe, haha!

[in-tua-deep]

Do people really see genderbends as black and white or am I seeing some bad takes today rip

I genderbend characters all the time oop I’m constantly taking characters and saying “you have non-binary energy” and running with that new headcanon

[reiverreturns]

sometimes god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers (rdr fans who don't enjoy x reader fics)

[rowesam]

i actually fucking love scantily clad heroines i love characters who give cunt in their silly little outfit and i dont care about realism in armor much (unless it really clashes with the overeal tonne i just think men shouldnt be allowed to do it especially if theyre bad artists

im talking abt the difference between shit like this

and nikaido my beautiful wife nikaido who often has her tits out and it NEVER FEELS TASTELESS

[finalgrrrls]

i have a major bone to pick with the dude in the d/ark sh/adows tag who captions every photo post dissing da/vid ly/nch….

[lucyandthepen]

get you alone | ljn ( m )

ideally, jeno should have his hands full with teaching. (un)fortunately, he only seems to have his head full of you.

pairing: tutor!jeno x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings & tags: jeno is a college algebra math tutor & reader is failing, written in lapslock, not beta’d in any shape or form so please excuse mistakes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), piv, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (kitten, angel, sweetheart), praise, reader calls jeno ‘sunbae’ until she doesn’t, size kink i guess if u squint! word count: 8.5k

a/n : actually this was written for a different fandom but i’ve decided to make it a jeno fic bc idk why not! first time writing in a different perspective so it’s a bit odd for me & i can't say i fw with this style nor am i particularly proud of this fic but she is ... sumn! also i fear i have a thing for the math tutor trope but that’s neither here nor there AHA enjoy !! 

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

there wasn’t anything special about your case; at least, that’s what jeno had thought when he picked up your request before he met you. before he met you, you were just another student trying to demystify the painfully enigmatic art of getting through college algebra. before he met you, he had already tagged this case as another charity stint — a good way to get brownie points with the dean’s office and the mathematics and natural sciences department. in fact, thinking of all his tutoring cases as community service made them somewhat palatable, if not a little forgettable. he was quite sure, at the time, that you’d be in and out — both of the tutoring center and his memory. such was the case with most of his other tutees, anyway. 

he hadn’t expected you to be… well, you — a pretty little thing, with your sweet smile and your wide doe eyes. on the first day, you’d stood out; you’d arrived at the tutoring center’s lobby in a short dress, knit cardigan, and coquettish makeup, as if every fiber of your being were bidding the spring a solid farewell. multiple heads had turned, including his, as you came up to the front desk and asked for one lee jeno for college algebra. you were eager for summer, jeno had learned as you broke the ice little by little, in part because you looked forward to visiting okinawa with your family, but also because you were eager to get your first semester out of the way. that much, you had in common with most of his other students — almost all of the ones seeking help in college algebra only took it as a depressing core requirement of whatever degree they were doing. you, specifically, were focusing on fashion design; that very vividly explained your attention to your looks. this mathematics class was a thorn in your side, a mandatory thing that was simply supposed to get you through later business-oriented classes in your degree program. for jeno, however, college algebra had become the perfect excuse from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. 

the more time he spends with you, the more he thinks you’re exactly his taste. it starts off with little things he finds attractive, things he picks up while he’s watching you fill out the practice sheets he’s prepared for you on quadratic equations or while trying to get you to understand logarithms — your neat, tiny handwriting, almost like print; your habit of boxing your final answers in firm strokes, even if they’re hopelessly wrong; your colored tabs, cascading down the page side of your textbook. but as the weeks wear on, he sees all the little things in between — the way your long eyelashes quiver when you stop and close your eyes as you think for the answer, the upturn of your plush lips when you have the same answer on the practice sheet as he does, the deepening of your artificial blush with a natural hue when you realize you don’t know the answers to his gentle questions. he notices that you refuse to wear anything longer than a knee-length skirt despite the still-strong winds, notices that your tiny palms are always smooth and pink, that your hair always smells of coconut milk. these are things he can’t help but jot down in his memory — that was exactly what you were, after all: memorable. 

and the more he remembers about you, the more jeno wants you. yet he’s never made a move, never given so much as a hint of his interest, not only because there are prying eyes all around the building but also because you have never so much as shown a smidge of desire back. in fact, he has to wonder if you’ve ever thought of him in a different capacity — not as a tutor, but as a man. if you have, you’ve never made that obvious; you always talk to him respectfully, the little wall you’ve erected between the both of you remaining steady, and you never let your eyes linger on his face for longer than it takes for him to explain what you don’t know. jeno has had his fair share of female students, and in all of them, he’s seen the same kind of hunger — to few, he’s catered to their whims, if only to pass the time, if only for his own benefit. but you, with your ribbons in your hair and your sweet, sweet mouth, have never once shown that same kind of desire. 

he doesn’t know if it frustrates him, but he does know one thing — it makes him want you all the more. 

he wants you even now, as you sit across from him, dolled up as usual. even now, as your eyes take on a glassy sheen of defeat, your cheeks puffing out in the way that tells him you’re admonishing yourself once again, he craves you — maddeningly so. and he realizes that it doesn’t really matter if you're not the one to fall first, as long as he can still have you. 

“time out,” you beg, your fingers meeting the palm of your hand to signal a break. “my brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“you just had a break ten minutes ago,” jeno reminds you, though there’s a lighthearted amusement to his voice that makes you smile sheepishly. “at this rate, you’ll be on more breaks than you’ll be taking the time to actually learn.”

“i’m trying,” you groan, your fingers curling against your forehead as you bump your head against your fist. “i just don’t think i’m cut out for this polynomial whatever — trial and error bullshit.” 

“you’ll hate me for saying this — but you’ll never know unless you keep trying.” 

“funny.” your sigh rustles the papers in front of you gently. “how do you do it, sunbae?”

“hm?” 

“you’re not only good at this stuff, but you’re so good you’re able to take the time to teach people like me.” 

“strengths and weaknesses — it’s the natural way of the world.” jeno smiles gently at you, and he notes how his chest feels tighter when you return the sentiment shyly. “i could never do what you’re doing in your own degree, try as i might. anyway, you’ll get there. i won’t let you become my first ever failed project, you know.”

“i wouldn’t want to let you down either, sunbae, but—” the back end of your pencil taps lightly against the surface of the table. “it just feels hopeless. i can’t focus on anything. it’s so… so abstract, and everyone here is talking all at once, and i don’t even know what i’m ever going to get out of this class in the long run.” 

even when you’re dejected, you look pretty; your bottom lip juts out naturally when you whine like this, and for a moment, jeno can’t say anything in response. he’s too busy wondering what your mouth would feel like on his — on him. when he snaps himself out of his brief reverie, he notices you’re looking around at everyone else — and he has to agree that with the noise level in this whole building, it isn’t the most conducive site for learning, especially when the learner is already so averse to the subject matter.

“i can’t help much in the way of it being too abstract,” he says kindly. “but it’s not a requirement for us to have our sessions here. i know it can be quite distracting, all these voices flying around, so why don’t you look for a place that better suits you, and we can start meeting there instead? the more comfortable you are in your environment, the better you’ll be able to absorb the material, i’m sure.” 

“you think?” your pencil comes to a slow halt as you refocus on him, a thoughtful light glimmering behind your gaze. “yeah — yeah, i actually wouldn’t mind that. then, i’ll look for a different place for us to meet, and we can start there next week. how does that sound?”

“whatever suits you suits me,” he responds easily. 

he lowers his gaze immediately after you flash him a blinding grin; there are far too many people here, as you both very well know, and if he keeps looking at you and your pretty little expressions any longer, he might just give them something to actually look at. 

it had been your idea, not his, so why did jeno feel like he’d dragged you into a compromising situation?

you’d texted him over the weekend that your search for a new venue had been absolutely fruitless; every cafe and study space you’d been to was either too expensive or equally as packed with people, if not both. jeno had seen the preview to your message, but he hadn’t been prepared for what it read out in full when he’d actually opened it. 

sunbae, would it be too difficult to just meet at my apartment? i attached a map, so let me know!

it wouldn’t be too difficult; logistics-wise, it was walking distance from campus and almost directly across the train station he takes home. it also definitely promised an environment you were comfortable in, and you wouldn’t have to worry about excess noise from any other tutoring groups. no, the difficulty really only lied in himself — you two, all alone, would certainly mean his mind would be up to no good for the two hours every monday, wednesday, and thursday you would be together. 

but for your sake, he’d try to rein it in, with the operative word being try. 

your place is as neat and as pretty as you are; he doesn’t know if you’ve cleaned up for him, or if you’re naturally this organized, but he likes it all the same. it smells of toasted marshmallow and expensive perfume, and all your furniture matches. jeno supposes he likes that in a woman — someone able to care for herself, someone who cares about herself. and you’re always just as neat and pretty to match, with your hair always styled sweetly, your makeup always enhancing your features. 

the problem is that now that he’s in here, where you live, and where you spend most of your time, jeno’s mind seems to wander too much towards thoughts about what you do in private. he rejects studying on the couch, not just because it’s bad for posture and concentration but also because he can’t help but imagine you pressed into the cushions by his hand. he suggests the small dining table you have, but on the second meeting at your place, he starts thinking about what you might look like seated on the table, your ass hanging over the edge and his face buried between your thighs. whenever you look up to ask him something, he drinks in your lovely, made-up face again, and starts wondering what your makeup would look like ruined before he interrupts that trainwreck of a thought with the answer to your question. 

by the end of the week, jeno’s defenses are all but shot, and he realizes that this situation might be optimal for you, but it definitely isn’t doing him and his now constantly straining cock any great favors. 

he supposes that your performance has somewhat improved; you’re less likely to trail off when you’re thinking and can actually do practice sets for a lot longer without all the noise and hubbub around you. your only real hindrance is yourself and your frustration; you have a habit of giving into your carelessness that sends you spiraling into despair, and it doesn’t help that when you press your cheek against the surface of your dining table and whine, the comfort jeno offers is noticeably delayed because he’s too busy thinking about his cock between your lips. 

“my dad’s going to kill me if i fail this midterm,” you grumble, stabbing the practice sheet with your pencil; it skids sideways, and jeno robotically fixes it back into proper alignment for you, careful not to brush against the arm that’s folded inwards, supporting your chin. “he only agreed to let me take this degree because of the business aspect of it. as if i’ll need to know about—” you check the header of the worksheet. “domain and range when i’m doing actual design work.”

“you’ll never know what might be useful later on in life. i definitely thought this was nonsense back in high school — and then i got this job.” 

“and now you’re rolling in dough?” you smile slightly. jeno chuckles. 

“i’m a long way away from having myself a scrooge mcduck golden pool, but i make enough to get by very comfortably, thanks to this.” 

“thanks to me, you mean.”

“you’re not my only student,” he snorts, pinching your elbow; you cry out exaggeratedly. “focus up. the hour’s almost over, and you should have finished with this much earlier.”

“can you leave it as homework?”

“not a chance.”

you blow out a sharp puff of air. “my mom used to do this thing where she’d give me rewards if i did well with my homework. i wish i’d still get something out of this.” 

“what kind of rewards did she give you?” 

“chocolates — candy, or sometimes we’d go out for milk tea together, if i did a particularly good job.”

“this is math tutoring, not a trip to the dentist,” jeno says, amused. 

“a trip to the dentist would be more enjoyable,” you mutter under your breath, picking up your pencil and doodling an angry face next to the number you’re only halfway through solving. “this totally blows.” 

“try to finish this before the hour’s up, and i’ll see if i can get you something nice. out of my own paycheck,” he stresses, prodding at your cheek to shift your attention back to the paper. he doesn’t miss the fact that your eyes light up, childish as the promise is. 

he doesn’t know if that’s really what motivates you, but you do manage to finish the worksheet with a few minutes to spare before the clock hits seven, and that earns you some light, solo applause. it isn’t much by way of true praise, but you flush with pride all the same. jeno packs his things in silence as you get yourself a glass of water, and you see him to the door. only there does he notice your eager eyes, your expectant smile. 

“what’s going through that pretty little head of yours?”

“are you really going to give me a reward? i did great today, you know,” you respond bluntly. 

“you were serious about that?” he laughs. 

“absolutely. i earned it.” you raise a slim finger, wagging it in his face. he trails it with his gaze, no shortage of amusement in his eyes. “next monday, i want something sweet.”

jeno takes in the sight of you, keeping your door open with your hip; he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him, what you’re asking of him — if you even know there’s nothing that could possibly be sweeter than you at this very moment. he drinks in the sight of your feigned haughty expression on your pretty features, the unnervingly low dip of your tank top, the tempting hemline of your shorts, and feels like you must be aware of what he’s going to do next. 

“if it’s something sweet you want, you don’t have to wait until next week.” 

he does it before he can think it through — surely, there’s nothing too harmful about a quick kiss? he angles your chin upward with his thumb and forefinger before you can even react to his words, and he tastes you like that for the first time. you’re just as soft and as sweet as he’d imagined, if not more so. 

when jeno pulls away, you step back; there’s shock written all over your face, your mouth still hanging open slightly. your voice is gentle, shaky when you start speaking. 

“sunbae, wha—”

“see you next week. rest up over the weekend, or there’ll be consequences.” 

he finds it easy to joke with you now, even after what he’s done — finds it easy to wave goodbye with nonchalance as he walks to the elevator, now that he’s gotten one thing out of his system. the look on your face, the growing blush across the bridge of your nose and your temples is indication enough for jeno to feel confident — if you hadn’t thought about him that way before, you were sure to spend the next few days doing exactly that. 

it’s exactly a week before your midterm exam, and jeno notices you’re less than focused. 

he’d let you stew over the weekend, not expecting much by way of communication; indeed, his phone hadn’t once been jostled by your texts. he’d taken that silence to assume that you’d been wrapped up in thoughts of the kiss he’d left you with, and you did not disappoint on that front; the next monday saw you fidgety, flushed, and constantly faltering in your words. you asked less questions, which normally indicated a problem, but today, he’d let it slide; you definitely had a little too much on that pretty little brain of yours. 

he notices you’re still dolled up — your eyelids are shimmery, and your lips are glossy; you’re wearing a tennis skirt that hits all the right buttons for him, too. it’s true that you’re always pretty well-dressed and put together, but today somehow feels different. if before, jeno had always seen you dressed up simply to look good, today it feels a little more like you’re dressed up to look good for him. he knows it’s a little bit egotistical to assume as much, but he also doesn’t miss the side glances you throw at him when you think he’s not looking at you answering your textbook or the way your cheeks glow when you make the slightest bit of eye contact. 

still, you try to focus as much as you can; it’s adorable, in fact, to see all your valiant efforts to appear unperturbed. he figures he’ll play along for as long as you will — what matters to him, after all, is that you’re in the game to begin with. you complain less today, focus on your worksheets, and jeno even manages to witness the sight of your forehead creasing up as you concentrate on a particularly difficult item. you’re adorable, in the kind of way that makes him want to pin you down and have his way with you. 

you finish your work without a fuss today; you only actually asked for his help twice, which was a feat in and of itself. and again, when the session is over, you walk him to the door.

this time, when you linger, he waits; you’re clearly not good at hiding your true intentions, as it’s become clear you have something you want to say. as you try to piece your thoughts together, jeno reaches into his backpack’s front pocket and extracts today’s gift — an actual chocolate bar, albeit a rather run of the mill one. 

“what’s this?” you ask, your thought process clearly derailed as confusion takes over your features. 

“your reward. for a good job last week and today — you said you wanted one, didn’t you?” 

“but i thought—” you stop yourself, your mouth opening and closing, suddenly wordless. jeno grins. 

“not good enough? i picked that up from a convenience store on my way here, so it definitely isn’t anything special, but i thought it would at least be a good motivator.”

you’re turning red, and there’s turmoil in your eyes — he enjoys this, he realizes, the way he flusters you. if he had known this would be the result, he would have made a move much sooner. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, obviously weighing out your options too. finally, you say, “alright.”

“you seem disappointed.”

“i’m not.”

“i’ll get you a better brand next time, if you really don’t like it.” 

“it’s not that.”

“so what is it?” he doesn’t expect you to say it, and you don’t defy expectations; your bottom lip just quivers, and jeno chuckles low under his breath, stepping forward just past your doorway, just a little bit closer to you. “don’t tell me you wanted something completely different?”

you don’t say so, but he knows; he can tell by the way you tilt your head back, the way your lips part slightly, the gloss still trailing along the seam. he can tell by the way your torso arches just a little bit closer, almost like an accident. he can tell by the way your eyes bore into his, almost pleading. 

“what you did last week…” you start, but your voice trails off into nothing soon after. he chuckles again.

“ah, that. i might have gotten ahead of myself.” 

“was that all?” you press.

“and what would you do, if it wasn’t?”

“well — do you always like to play games?”

“i have a penchant for playing with my food before i eat it, if that answers your question.” he smiles down at your still-reddening face. “i was giving you a reward, as you wanted. i came up short on options then and there. you’ll let it slide this once, won’t you?”

“you did that just because i did well last week?”

“of course.”

“well, i did well today, too.” 

“you did, and that’s why you have this.” he gestures to the chocolate bar in your hand. 

“i don’t want this.” your voice is stubborn now, heated and frustrated, and you stuff the chocolate back into his hand. you must not like having to ask for something so blatantly — it’s too bad jeno wants to hear it in those exact words. 

“tell me what you really want, then.” 

you’re still unable to find the words, but your hands do the talking for you; they press into his shoulders and give you leverage to tiptoe until you’re just close enough to his lips. but you don’t close that gap, your mouth quivering only inches away from his, and oh, jeno wants to toy with you, but you’re just too irresistible this close to him. his warm palms press against your jaw, keeping your face steady as he closes the gap, and this time, he doesn’t just get a brief taste of you — jeno claims your lips with the thirst of a man who’s stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. 

you must have thought about this moment long and hard over the weekend, because the nonchalant side of you that’s turned a blind eye to him is completely gone; he drinks in your soft noises and short, breathless gasps — all signs of your eagerness — until he’s drunk on the taste of you. the deeper the kiss gets, the less you can keep up, but you try, and jeno always likes rewarding your efforts, his wide tongue taut and flush against your tiny one in the sweet, warm cavern of your mouth. he licks every inch of it, leaves the mild nicotine taste of himself there, before he pulls away slowly. your eyes are still closed when he creates distance, fluttering open in a happy haze a few seconds later. 

“good enough for you?” he murmurs, tucking a soft lock of hair behind your ear. you hum in assent through your dazed smile, and jeno knows he won’t be the only one looking forward to this coming wednesday.

you’d done really well today.

jeno’s proud of you — prouder than he’s been of most of his students in his career here at the university, actually. you’d finally answered a worksheet almost perfectly, save for a couple of numbers where you’d forgotten to round up, and those things are absolutely negligible at this point (by his books, anyway). you’ve been on your best behavior yet, avoiding all forms of complaint, and he knows fully well why, but he won’t criticize you for your hard work all the same, no matter the motivation behind it. 

in fact, you’ve done so good that he doesn’t wait until he’s about to leave to give you your sweet reward — which is why, twenty minutes before he’s meant to go, he’s got you on your couch, your legs spread, each one hooked over his shoulders. 

truth be told, you’d been good way before the lesson had started; you’d answered the door in a crop top and the tiniest pair of shorts you’ve dared to wear yet — all clothes that you couldn’t yet wear outside yet, given the weather. selfishly, jeno is thankful for this fact, and if he had to list down other things he’s thankful for, just off the top of his head, it’s that you no longer meet in the tutoring center and that your apartment’s walls seem thick and well-reinforced. 

“sunbae, don’t tease me.” your silly little whining voice makes its first appearance of the day, but all jeno does is smile — it’s an almost wicked expression, set firmly between your thighs. “you said i did really well today. don’t tell me you’re backing out on rewarding me?”

“not at all, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing a small kiss to your inner thigh. he likes seeing you shiver at the contact, likes the way you’re chewing on your lip in what appears to be slight agitation. “just thinking of how much of a reward you deserve.” 

in all honesty, jeno would like to take every bit of you now; you’re already so ready for him, anyway. he can smell the faint perfume of your arousal, can see the way you’re anticipating the most from him, and a part of him doesn’t want to deny you of that. the larger part of him has dreamed of burying his cock into you, anyway, and why wouldn’t he do that? but something also tells him to wait — or, rather, to make you wait, to make you want him just a little more. 

and so, he decides.

his mouth finds your skin again, pressing kisses up your thigh; they get wetter, hotter as his mouth moves up, until his nose and lips are buried against your clothed core. you squirm in response, but his grip on your thighs keeps you relatively steady, even as his tongue presses against thin fabric. the wet muscle pushes sharp against your tiny entrance, the tip meeting slight resistance against your shorts and panties, but he finds a way, burying half his tongue in alongside damp cloth. 

you’re already wet like this, and so needy that it might be possible for jeno to get you off just like this, still clothed, but the hunger in him spikes once you call out to him. 

“sunbae, please…”

with a groan, his fingers yank the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the warmth of his breathing. it’s as pink, as pretty, as tiny as the rest of you, as fuckable as he’d imagined it would be, and he wastes no time in pressing his tongue flat against your folds, dragging it up in a wide, messy stripe; the muscle only tenses when it bumps against your clit, his tongue flicking upwards to tease it. 

you’re so reactive, even at the slightest things — you whimper, you squeeze your eyes shut, you squirm. you’re begging to be fucked, and jeno’s cock is strained tight against his jeans, but your taste is so addicting that he can’t help but dive back in. his tongue eases between your folds now, spreading them apart until they’re lewd and sticky with his saliva, and the nub of your clit has grown so pronounced now — so pert and lovely that he can’t help but purse his lips around it and suck with excess force. 

“sunbae — f—fuck,” you mewl; you almost sound tearful. “f—feels so good…”

jeno wants to tell you how fucking good you taste, how beautiful the sounds you’re making are, but his mouth is too busy; his teeth rake down your cunt lightly, earning him a jerk of your hips, and he has to place pressure down on your thighs again to make sure you’re still enough for him to slip his tongue into your cunt. 

he can tell even just by that how tight you’d be around him; your walls are warm around his tongue, and there’s a pressure against the muscle that tells him how good it’d feel for his cock to take its place. as if to simulate his desires, he presses his tongue deeper in, fucks you shallowly with its wetness until your whimpers become little sobs, broken and choked back. his thumb drags across your slit then settles against your clit, and he can feel the thrum of your pulse against the pad of his finger, beckoning him. he complies, easily, thumb tracing circles around the nub that start off slow, only for him to ramp up the pace alongside his tongue. 

you’re easily at fault for that; the way you whine for him, call him sunbae, tell him how good it feels over and over — why wouldn’t he want more of you? 

he’s not sure which of you really earns the sweet reward today; you cum on his tongue, your cunt trembling against his mouth and your fingers threaded into his hair, but he’s the one who comes out licking his lips like he’s had the best treat of his damn life.

come the middle of next week, jeno finds himself face to face with a test paper — one already clearly marked, with a number circled on the top-right corner. ninety. a stellar grade for anyone, and especially for you. 

you know it, and you look absolutely triumphant; you’re practically shining as you perch on your little dining table, your perfectly manicured finger jabbing at the score in emphasis. 

“flying colors, wouldn’t you say?” 

“color me impressed,” jeno replies smoothly, a genuine smile of pride tugging at his lips; he turns the page over, scanning your responses. you still draw your parabolas a little on the small side, making them a bit difficult to discern, and you’ve still got the habit of not rounding your answers up, but this is tremendous work, and he’ll be the first to praise you for it. “your dad must be filled to the brim with joy now, right?”

“i haven’t told him yet. you were the first.”

“well, i’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

“proud enough to give me a reward?” 

he looks down at you in feigned thoughtfulness. here you sit, back in your little tennis skirt, looking up at him with hopeful eyes under those long, curled lashes. for someone who spent the first half of this semester acting ostensibly nonchalant, you’d very easily shown your true colors soon after — not that he really minds. in fact, he’s taken a decided kind of liking to how eager and willing you’ve come to be. 

“we’ve only just started our session, though,” he hums out, an idle thumb grazing his chin as he watches your expression turn from bright to cloudy, the beginnings of strategy darkening your gaze. it’s not like he wants to say no; he has no real intention to. but seeing you squirm in want makes him feel good about his decision to hold out a little longer — never mind the ache in his cock even then. “don’t we usually leave the rewards for a later time?” 

“i was thinking — since it’s the start of a new lesson —” 

“we wouldn’t want you falling behind from the start, would we?”

“i promise i won’t,” you pout. “i promise i’ll put in my best effort next time.” 

“next time? sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re thinking to get off scot-free today…” jeno trails off, his hand falling to the nearest surface it can reach — which, logic seems to dictate, is your soft, milky thigh. he feels you tense under his palm, and he bites back a smile, keeping his expression level. “i just don’t know.”

your small hands grip at the front of his shirt, and he hears you, for the first time, doing something he’s always wanted to hear you do. 

“please, sunbae?”

how could he say no to you? he hadn’t really planned on it, had only wanted to see you do this, but it’s still too much and beyond his expectation — your misty gaze, your quivering lip. it’s almost laughable that you don’t think he’d notice the way you shift yourself so that his hand, still warm against your thigh, slides up your skin, the hem of your skirt bunched up in the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

jeno chuckles — isn’t this exactly where and how he’s always wanted you? “how could you ask me like that and expect me to refuse, angel? in that case, i have no real choice but to dedicate all our time today to your reward.” 

your breathing hitches — in anticipation, in desire, in excitement — as his hand continues its trail upward, deliberately now, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. his head dips down, rests into the crook of your neck, and he inhales the thick, sweet scent of your perfume, your shampoo, of you and all that he’ll take from you. 

“just remember, you asked for this,” he murmurs against your skin. “so i’m going to take every bit of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else.” 

you’re so willing, so ready even before he can get his full bearings; your hips are rising slightly off the table, and jeno feels like it’s you that’s telling him to move faster. he tugs down your panties, letting gravity take its course until they’re a tiny puddle of fabric on the floor, and he slots himself between your legs. like this, you have no choice but to spread, and you do so without hesitation, your knees locking against his sides as he pulls you in for a tight, hungry kiss. there’s that taste of you he loves, that clean, sweet buzz that draws him in, and his hands are bruisingly tight on your waist as he reclaims your lips. 

you already look dazed when he pulls away, which is always cute, but a little unfair — jeno wants you to be aware still when he takes you, and damn, if he doesn’t want to take you right fucking now. he kisses you again, harder and more demanding, as if willing your attention back to him, while his hands explore you — run up your thighs, fingers brushing against the plush curve of your ass. it’s not enough, not by a long shot, and he’s pushing the waistline of your skirt up your stomach with his hands, letting his warmth transfer onto your skin; he chuckles as your stomach sucks inward at his touch, just as you let out a gasp against his lips.

and he wants desperately to hear that noise again; in fact, he wants to know what you sound like in every capacity. his mouth works down your neck, pleased to find that suckling wet and languid on a spot just above your collarbone has you writhing and whimpering. are you sensitive or touch-starved? whatever the reason, he wants to draw all of that out of you, his hands drawing back down to hook under your thighs. jeno drags you to the edge of the table, until your bare cunt is flush against the front of his jeans, and he lets you feel him — a brief tease of what’s to come. 

“i’m s—so wet already,” you whisper, as if he doesn’t know — as if you know it’s exactly what he wants to hear anyway. “sunbae, please, i need you.”

“not that,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your collarbone as he speaks. “not sunbae. jeno. call me jeno, angel.”

“jeno,” you exhale shakily, and it’s music to his ears — as if the last thing holding him back from you had shattered. 

“that’s it — what a good girl,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward against your pussy before they retract, leaving just enough space for his hand to slip between. slender fingers trail down your folds, sticky and slick. “you are all wet for me, aren’t you? ready to take me deep inside?” 

even the way you nod, a tiny movement of assent, drives him wild, yet a part of him still wants to test the limit of your patience, his middle finger stretching to circle your entrance. 

“wouldn’t want to shock your tiny little pussy, though, would i? will you let me stretch you out first, kitten?”

“yes,” you mewl, sounding almost tearful. “anything— anything, please.”

jeno drinks in the long, drawn-out keen you set free when his digit sinks into you; he’s already felt your walls against his tongue, but a small part of him is still surprised at just how tight you are. that same part nags that he might not fit easily into you, but whatever that voice is is easily drowned out by a more assertive promise — he’ll make it fit. 

“can’t tell you how much i’ve wanted to feel your pretty little hole around my cock,” he presses on, his finger pushing deeper in; he feels you tense a delicious kind of tightness, as if it’s almost too much for you. is it? “ever since that first day you came into the tutoring center, dressed up all cute — did you do that on purpose, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you admit, breathless; the syllable is lengthened into a weak moan as jeno pumps his finger into you, slow, deep strokes that tease your tacky walls open. “wanted — wanted to make a good impression…”

“and you did, didn’t you? kept looking so sweet for me, so pretty every single time — got me thinking about all the ways i wanted to have you. got me so fucking hard every time we’d meet — is that what you wanted?”

jeno doesn’t give you much room to respond, but he can make his own answers to appease himself anyway; he reclaims your lips, already eager for another taste of you, and you comply with the same amount of desire, your soft whimpers melting against his teeth. in the space of pseudo silence, wet, messy noises, he manages to tease another digit into you, and you cry out against his lips as it pushes in, joining the first in how deep it reaches. he absorbs that too, takes in every minute sound you make, relishes the way you pulse around his fingers. even without the noises, he can tell your pleasure’s heightening, with the way you clench around him, your hips rocking pitifully as you’re eager to rut against his palm. 

“look at you now.” he’s selfish, but he doesn’t care — he wants to ruin you, and if the telltale squelch of your cunt as he fucks his fingers into it isn’t indication enough, then the way your mouth hangs open as he pulls away, letting his name fall freely from your lips, definitely is. “legs spread, all desperate to feel good for me. what a needy little kitten you are. this good enough for you, angel?”

you shake your head, only to squeal as he pulls you closer, his fingers shoving deeper into you; your hips are re-angled, allowing him to brush the pads of his digits against the rough, sweet spot, and he feels triumph bloom in his chest as you throw your head back, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“no, no, no,” you babble, and he can see the bob of your throat as you swallow hard, clutching at sense to make words. “want — need your cock, want to cum on your cock so badly, jeno — want you to fuck me, stretch me open, please —”

“greedy, aren’t you?” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at the spot he’d left reddened above your collarbone. “go on then — show me how much you want it. show me what a good girl you are, and cum on my fingers.” 

“but—” 

“come on, angel,” he urges above the squelching noises, increasing surely in volume. his fingers meet resistance when they spread apart inside you, but all it does is create a delicious friction that has you squirming in his hold. “don’t hold back. let me see you fall apart.” 

and you do, so prettily, your eyes rolling back and your voice unrestrained. jeno’s fingers ride you through your orgasm, pumping deep and steady despite how slick you’ve gotten, your juices coating his hand and wrist. he watches the flush rise to your neck, stopping at your cheeks, watches the heaving of your chest, the shine of your skin from a thin sheen of sweat, and he doesn’t want to let you come down from this high, but his cock is aching — practically bursting from his jeans — and all he can do is make the silent vow that the next time you look like this, he’ll be balls deep in you. 

“that’s my girl,” he coos gently, watching the tension slip from your shoulders; his free hand is at the small of your back quickly, easing you down as your torso falls back, and you’re laying on the table. “pretty little thing, aren’t you? cumming so sweetly for me.” 

“jeno,” you groan out weakly, your tiny hand clasping around his wrist. “cock — i want your cock, please—” 

“can’t wait?” he’s indecent for sounding amused, but even that does nothing to stay his arousal; how eager you are simply makes him want you all the more. “okay, angel — since you asked so nicely.” 

a slight twinge of disappointment runs through him as he pulls his fingers out, but it’s quickly buried by the feeling he gets once he gives you a clear sweep of a once-over; how slutty you look, still half-dressed but already half-ruined, your thighs shaking in an effort to keep them open for him, the remnants of your last climax still leaking out of your hole. the sight of you has him so distracted that unbuttoning and unzipping his pants feels like a fever dream of an act; he barely notices what he’s doing until he’s already bare in front of you, and alertness has crawled halfway back into your consciousness as you push yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“it’s so—” you have the decency to blush, though there’s a pleased look on your face that tells him you’re not really embarrassed. “i didn’t think you’d be this big.” 

“does that worry you?”

“i’ve never had anyone… this big.” pride blooms in his chest — good, he thinks, because if he can’t be as memorable as your first, then he’ll take being the most in something as a prize. “i don’t think — will it fit?”

“does it matter?” he chuckles, and your blush deepens. “no matter what — you’ll take all of me in, won’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, as if considering your options, but to jeno, there’s really only one choice — the correct one, and you make it when you nod your head. 

“it’ll feel good, though, you know,” he muses. his hand wrapped around his base, he lines himself up with you, the tip grazing against your folds. “even better than just now.”

with just a little more pressure, he has his shaft flush against you; his girth sits against your slit, the tip pressed against your clit, and he starts to rock his hips — into his fist, against your cunt. your hips quiver, and a shiver runs through you as your pleasure spikes again, but he can tell it isn’t enough. your bottom lip is back between your teeth, and your eyes are flitting between his face and his cock. jeno reaches out, eases your lip out from between your teeth, strokes it gently, almost tenderly. 

“say it,” he commands in a soft, silky voice. 

“fuck me, jeno,” you breathe out, barely missing a beat. “fuck me, fuck my pussy, please.”

and if you ask that desperately, he’ll waste no time; he draws his hips back, dragging his cock down until he’s aligned with your entrance. his eyes are trained on your face, even when he pushes in, so that he can take in your expression — the widening of your eyes as his tip breaches the first wave of resistance, the way your mouth falls agape as his fingers dig hard into your flesh. he’s never seen a prettier sight in his life.

“stretched you out already, but you’re still so fucking tight,” his voice is a soft, melodious croon, a stark contrast to the way he’s forcing past your tightness. “tight and wet, like a good girl.” 

“so big,” you whimper, your fingers stretched far enough to tickle the front of his shirt. “can’t — can’t take it.” 

“of course you can, angel.” jeno doesn’t give you the time to brace yourself fully before he’s rocking his hips in a little more sharply, his cock now halfway into you. your fingers curl into a little fist, immediately flying back to block the noise from your mouth. “ah ah. don’t get shy on me now; you’ve been so noisy for me all this time.”

but he doesn’t really mind the way you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your high-pitched squeal as he thrusts in fully, the adjustment period after the last movement close to nothing; he’s too busy focusing on how good you feel around him, how warm and wet your insides are. this is heaven, easily, and jeno wants to stay here for as long as he can. 

“god, you’re fucking tight,” he repeats, an appreciatory gaze running over where you’re joined. his thumb stretches over your folds, rubbing them — something of an apology, perhaps, although all it does is stimulate you more, and you shiver at the extra contact. “how deep is it, baby?”

“can feel you here,” you mumble out, your small hand pressing just above your pelvis. he feels the tightness multiply as you place pressure, even just for a moment. “your cock’s so much deeper than anyone else.” 

your hand falls away, limp, as he draws his hips back; you inhale, long and deep, before letting it out as a broken moan when he pushes back in. it drives him crazy, to start off this slow, when all he wants is to find a pace that has you sobbing, but the resistance of your pussy against his length isn’t easy to ignore. jeno works you open, his jaw set and his grip tight against your frame, and it isn’t long before he’s picking up speed, the slap of his flesh against yours fueling him exponentially, mingling with your cries, steadily increasing in volume. 

“that’s it. let everyone hear you,” he eggs on, his thumb now circling tight around your clit; your legs are quivering, threatening to close, but he keeps you steady, one arm wrapped around your thigh. his thrusts grow rougher, more deliberate, and when he looks up from where you’re joined back to your face, he sees your expression as a mixture of incredulity and ecstasy. a thin line of drool hangs from the corner of your mouth, your pretty pink lip gloss smeared, and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure you look like this every single time he comes over. “let them know who’s fucking you good, angel.”

“j— jeno!” your voice hitches, lilts up as he presses in at a different, deeper angle, and he almost cums right then and there from the way your walls pulse around him. “your cock feels so good, fucking me just right— more, god, more—” 

he complies without hesitation, gathering both your thighs and pushing them closer to your chest; you look even lewder like this, folded in half with your sopping cunt presented to him like it’s all his to take, and it is, isn’t it? there’s an increase in the intensity, the vigor in which he pumps his cock into you, and he knows he’s brushing repeatedly against your spot by the way you’re blubbering his name out in a way that suggests you sincerely think no one else in this building can hear you. 

“that’s my girl,” he hums approvingly, though there’s a thickness in his voice that has him sounding a little more strained. “such a good girl, with your cunt all nice and sloppy for me. do you like it when i go this deep? does it feel good when i fuck you where no one else can?” 

“yes!” you sob out, your hands crumpling the end of your skirt up into tight fists. “jeno, i— cum, i need to cum again, please—”

“i’ve got you, kitten,” his tone is reassuring, a stark contrast to the rigor of his hips. “don’t have to hang on for me, you know; always love seeing you fall apart.” 

“m’close, so close —” 

“let go, then,” he urges, his blunt nails digging into your flesh. “let me feel that sweet cunt cum on my cock.” 

you comply without hesitation, though if you’d done it willingly, he can’t really tell; he has to pin your hips down to stop you from bucking up and causing him to slip out, and you writhe against him as you sob in ecstasy, your walls fluttering before they clench. stray tears leak from your eyes, squeezed shut, and jeno wants nothing more than to eat you up like this — broken, fucked out. 

you’re not even fully down from your high when he feels it — that sudden wrenching in his gut that tells him he’s about to follow suit. with a low groan, he peels your thighs apart again, lets you watch him as he bullies straight into your leaking hole. your voice is a staccato, punctuating every deep, sharp thrust into you, and it’s exactly to that melody that he wants to get off. 

“tell me where you want it, angel.” he doesn’t trust his voice, sharp and short as it is now. “should i mark your pretty face? your stomach?”

“want it against my pussy,” you whisper out, and jeno almost loses his mind as he watches you spread your folds apart with your forefinger and middle finger, inviting him. “make a mess of it, sunbae.”

he’s barely able to pull out before he’s spilling against you; he ruts against your slit, coating your folds and the insides of your thighs in thick, creamy white. you hold your legs apart for as long as you can until they start to tremble, and he catches them and gently eases them down. 

when you sit up to kiss him, you’re still demanding; he feels your hips rock closer, your sticky cunt pressing against the underside of his cock.

“not enough,” you murmur against his lips, and jeno chuckles as you bind your hands around his neck. 

“don’t worry, kitten,” he hums back. “we’ve got all afternoon.”

[ikinremu]

what about a tommy fic where he punishes you for teasing him in public.. please and thank you in advance <3

Hi anon! Thank you sm for requesting, hope you enjoy! <3

What you’re told

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Teasing, Public, Pussy Spanking, Light Spanking, P in V, Riding, Cream Pie, Degrading

"Cheers!” A messy, drunken uproar rattled through the Garrison's walls, a faint smirk playing upon Tommy's pinkish lips as he watched the celebration radiate between his men, his arm slung lazily round your shoulder.

The two of you were easily to be deemed the least intoxicated there, though the others made that a rather easy accomplishment considering the amount of empty glasses strewn across the table top. Truthfully, you weren't exactly sure what they were celebrating, though whatever it was seemed to have grown adults grinning like giddy little boys.

Raising your own drink to the brink of your lips, you smiled as the folk conversed in sloppy, practically unintelligible sentences. Your opposing hand rested gently upon Tommy's leg beneath the table. It only then occurred to you that nobody's eyeline was within actually seeing under the surface - given the cramped atmosphere, and an idea sprung into your whirring brain, banishing all other thoughts. Besides, yourself and Tommy were at the very edge of the table, Tommy to your right and a blank space to your left.

With a slight, well-concealed smile, you snaked your hand slowly over the broad of Tommy's thighs, finding the bulge of his crotch as your palm gently brushed over it. His eye twitched a little, though he upheld his unbothered facade as well as ever; if there was one thing to note about Thomas Shelby it was that it was incredibly rare to see him break.

He lifted his tall, half-empty glass to his lips, tilting it backward as it masked his mouth. Softly, you began stroking the length of him through his dark, costly trousers, feeling him harden beneath your teasing touch. He spluttered into the very brink of his beverage less than subtly, caught off guard by the way your pace quickened, applying ever so slightly more pressure.

Briefly glanced at by a few men, Tommy offered a dismissive signal - assuring that he was alright despite the cough.

You made a successful effort to defy attention, just mildly arching your hand as you stroked his stiffening cock through the lavish fabric. He shuffled atop his seat, a light hitch of breath catching in his throat as he shot you a clear, sharp warning glare. You tossed him a kind, innocent furrow of your brows in response, presenting as though you were oblivious to whatever he was implying. This only irritated him further, you could tell.

Finally, you trailed your eager grasp from the harsh strain of his crotch, and you could see the momentary relief paint his face, though you knew it wouldn't last long. Instead, your palm took ahold of his own, slowly guiding it between the warmth of your legs. His jaw ticked. You hadn't worn any underwear, and you wanted him to know it, to feel it. You slid his large, callous hand to the part of your thighs, brushing his fingertips against your bare, slickened cunt. His Adams apple bobbed in this throat, and he quickly wet his lips with his tongue.

Tommy inhaled sharply through his nose, turning only slightly, breath angled hot and quiet against your neck.

"Drop it now, or the fucking second we're alone, you'll regret it." He whispered, "Understand?"

He granted himself another short sip of his drink with with his unoccupied hand.

His words were understood, of course they were, though understood and cared for were two entirely different things.

You sported a sweet smile as the chatter continued around the table, and you lead his familiar touch to the direct, sodden heat of your bare pussy, feeling the rough skin of his fingertips brush against you.

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, frustration playing on his falsely calm features.

"Fine." He mumbled in a low tone, "Have it your way."

And you planned to.

--------

The dark, obnoxiously sleek wood of the door slammed behind you as Tommy's strength hauled you into the bedroom.

"What did I fuckin' say to you, eh?" He spat, pale hand rubbing harshly over his jaw as he stared at you with shamelessly pointed frustration.

Refusing to shake your own pride, you shrugged, "Uhm.. I can't quite remember, can't have been that important."

His jaw twitched once again, and he utilised his grip to position you atop the bed, your clothed back pushed to the well-polished headboard as he joined you on the mattress, roughly parting your legs.

"No panties, hm?" He raised one thick, tame brow, "What kind of fuckin' game are you playing, eh?"

Butterflies danced around in your stomach, swarming with anticipation for whatever was to follow.

"Tommy, I-" You began, although judging by the vexation on his features, his question was rhetorical.

With a teasing pace, his fingertips brushed against the slickened arousal of your cunt, toying softly with your clit. "This what you wanted? You wanted my fingers fucking your desperate little cunt, hm?"

A sweet, broken moan slipped your mouth as you nodded frantically, "Y-Yes, please.."

With zero trace of warning, the rough palm of his hand met your bare pussy, a light slap tingling against the sensitivity as a harsh gasp rolled from your tongue.

"Think you deserve my fingers?" He mock frowned, "This is what you fuckin' deserve, love."

You stared directly at Tommy's satisfied face, your own eyes far wider than his.

Once more, you felt the very same smack of his hand against your sopping cunt, this time more intense than the last.

"Fuck," You couldn't help but curse, breath pouring shakily out, your tormented cunt twitching beneath the sting of his hand.

His other hand snaked quickly up your torso, resting quite gently around your throat, offering it a small squeeze.

Each slap felt slightly harsher than the previous, useless pleas filling the air as your drenched arousal pulsed against Tommy's hand.

After each smack, he brought the graze of his thick fingertips to the swell of your clit, granting you mere moments of sweet pleasure before tearing it away.

Despite the punishment, yourself nor your body could deny the spark of enjoyment.

"You're drenched." Tommy chuckled, feeling the heat of your slickness on his pads of his fingers, "You want more, that it?"

"Mhm." You offered a gentle, willing nod.

"Tell me what you fuckin' want, love." He encouraged, a low gravel to his tone.

Breath hitching in your throat, your soft lips parted,

"I..I want you to fuck me."

"You want my cock filling you up like a pretty fucking whore, hm?" A smirk tainted his pert lips.

His hands eagerly seized at your hips, altering your relaxed position, bringing you to straddle him as he leant backward atop the mattress.

Tommy offered the thick of your ass a rather harsh spank, freeing his hard cock with the opposing hand, "You're gonna take what I fuckin' give you, understand me?"

Fist surrounding his twitching shaft, he lined himself with your begging entrance.

"My fuckin whore, isn't that right?" A low, hoarse chuckle escaped his lips, your heavy eyelids fluttering together as his thick, pre-cum coated tip brushed with your cunt. Once more, his familiarly large hand came down on your behind, scolding you. "Look at me."

Stomach flitting, you did as he asked, met with his satisfied features.

"Better." He praised, "So you can do what your told, eh?"

One loud, breathy moan fled your throat as you revelled in the sensation of his length filling you, ridges of your teeth planting themselves down on your bottom lip. A groan vibrated on his tongue as your soaked folds wrapped his cock, squeezing his shaft as you took him in.

At the absence of his hips snapping up, you peered at him, painted in puzzle.

"I'm not going to fuck you, you're going to do it yourself." Tommy stated, and it certainly wasn't up for debate, "This is a punishment, remember."

Having brought the instruction upon yourself, you began slowly grinding your hips upon his, the pair of you swarming the air with both humidity and eager, sultry sounds as you moved. His greedy grip met your ass once more, kneading the flesh, bringing you impossibly closer.

You whined helplessly as the throbbing head of his cock caressed your g-spot, reaching deeper and deeper, his eyes fixated on the motions in which your breasts moved beneath your shirt.

"That's it.." He practically grumbled, chest rising and falling, "Take it."

Your empty palms sought out a rest atop Tommy's well-concealed torso, utilising the hold to stabilise your motions, beginning to bounce so very softly at your own pace.

"You're fucking killing me.." He groaned roughly, landing yet another - far lighter - spank to the rocking of your pelvis, pace quickening rather drastically as you yearned for a new-found sense of depth.

"Fuck.." You whimpered, only further intoxicating Tommy as your chain of broken, breathy noises floated by. The apple of your cheeks flushed with raw heat as your warm skin hit against him, "P-Please, Tommy.."

"Work for it." He instructed, no lenience present whatsoever.

Rather deeply, he grunted as his gratified length twitched between your walls, taunted mercilessly by your hot, dripping pussy. Grasping your behind with a depraved force, Tommy trailed one hand up your spine, swathing the back of your neck with his touch, craning it so your eyes met directly with his own as you moved.

"Fuck," He uttered, "There you go.."

Clenching eagerly, your cunt quivered, stomach fluttering with the intimacy of his hand cradling your neck, helpless moans escaping your throat, skin burning with each intensifying bounce.

You picked up the pace, overworked legs trembling, chest practically heaving beneath the thin cotton of your shirt.

Tommy's plump, pinkish lips curved upward, forming a familiarly smug smirk as his cock twitched, reaching deeper. Abruptly, his loose grasp upon your neck faltered, instead sliding its way over your body, halting between the warmth of your thighs.

His gaze flitted directly up to yours from below, his callous, skilled fingertips merely ghosting over the swell of your clit.

Your teeth punctured down on the pillow of your lower lip, further weakened by the teasing manner in which he brushed over your heightened sensitivity, "Please.."

He chuckled, "Right there, hm?"

Nodding mindlessly, you whimpered gingerly as his digits applied pressure to your clit once more, toying flawlessly with his touch.

The sensations combined with the perfect angle of his tip to your g-spot, you revelled in the build of a familiar, long-awaited sensation brewing in your abdomen.

"I'm so close.." You whispered out.

"Cum on my fuckin' cock.." Tommy encouraged, planting yet another - perhaps more gentle - slap to your ass as he worked his fingertips faster, his words blatantly breathy. He was close too.

Accompanied by the likes of a loud, pent-up moan, the lustful coil in your stomach snapped so suddenly, waves of insurmountable pleasure submerging your body as your orgasm hit, "Oh, F-Fuck.."

His fingers only continued, assisting to ride your orgasm out. As your sodden, spasming walls squeezed him with your release, Tommy groaned similarly loud. Seemingly beyond his control, his hips bucked upward, smacking messily against yours, a warm burst pooling throughout your cunt.

The pair of you breathed in synchronised, heavy breaths, Tommy’s plush lips parting to speak once more, "You going to do what you're told next time?"

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

[thesirencult]

PICK A GROUP : ESOTERIC MESSAGES MEANT TO FIND YOU

-the above images are from pinterest, the cards depicted in them are random and not directly involved in your reading, pick the deck you feel most comfortable with-

GROUP 1

Sit back and think: "What's the most positive thought I can have about my situation?' Life can bring us down but when we are strictly focusing on the details we make things worse.

See life as a big adventure, ready for you to jump on board and explore. You don't have to be certain where you are going, you just have to believe in yourself, have courage and take action. Sailing into uncharted territory feels scary but it's the only way we can find new lands.

If you believe you can do it, then you can. Commit to your dreams and carry yourself through the storms. Have strong conviction that you'll make it to the other side and nothing can stop you. When we have higher ideas, we tend to withstand more. Stones thrown your way can beused are steps that will take you higher. So, make the best out of every situation, because you can and you deserve to reach the last chapter of this beautiful book, not as the reader, but as the writer.

The secret is you can have whatever you want, but the catch is that you have to believe in yourself.

Prosperity and abundance will find you along the way but be reminded that abundance=wealth=worth=value YOU have assigned to yourself.

GROUP 2

Let me ask you a question, how bad do you want it?

If the answer is really fucking bad then now it's not the time to be a wallflower. Be relentless. Whatever your goal is be bold. Don't be afraid to forge your own path. Self starters are some bad motherfuckers and you are one too, even if you don't feel that you fit the bill.

Strength and leadership are found deep in the heart. You are good hearted and that means you have a strong, visceral, heart force-energy. Reconsider what tha means. Kindness is not weakness but strength we choose to use for good.

Connect with your sacral chakra and the energy of the creator. Something new is starting for you and you need to take the lead.

Speak up, roar, take charge of your destiny. The obstacles will be removed from your path as soon as you realize you have the ability to overcome them. Take care !

GROUP 3

Your issue is your inner voice, a voice that has been created by fears and insecurities and its only goal is to scare you away from your dreams. Don't listen to that voice. It's not yours, but a mirror image to the negative projections others have placed on you. Silence it by holding your vision.

For a moment, reconsider : have your goals changed, even if you never accomplished them. Different strokes for different folks and different goals for each part of our path. Let go of old expectations you or others have placed upon yourself.

You are safe now, because you are strong, stronger than you think.

You need to put an end to something that's been hindering your journey.

GROUP 4

Trust. A word that I bet makes you emotional. You can not trust many, but don't extend taht to yourself.

You can trust yourself. Repeat that over and over again until you believe it. You can trust the divine. You can trust that nature operates on cycles and luck will find you as soon as you step out of your comfortable negativity.

I want you to believe in the impossibe because in the near future a RARE chance will come your way. Luck will smile at you and you have to be ready to take that leap of faith.

What's happened up until now can not be reversed. Sit down and write on a piece of paper what you don't like about your situation. Regroup. You fought long and hard and now it's the time to count your losses and start preparing for the next chapter, victory.

[figsnpassionfruits]

Paint Away, My Little Dove - Chapter 1

A/N: welcome to my very first fic. This takes place right away the gang arrives at Horseshoe Overlook. It is somewhat canon but you will figure that out as you read. English is not my first language, so in case there is anything you notice, please message me! I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing this <3 word count: 2k tags: arthur morgan x fem!reader, fluff, age gap dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Oh yes, the fields of Big Valley. What a sight they were. Each careful brush stroke you were making was an attempt to recreate the unforgettable beauty of the scenery in front of you. The love-songs of the birds around you filled the silence in the air as you dipped your brush into one color, then into another, to create the shade you needed for the details of the Bluebonnets. All day you’ve been sitting on your small wooden stool, your glutes and back slightly sore, but the will to finish this piece before the sun went down was stronger than the pain.  

Your two horses were to your side, roaming around the violet flower field. In order to make them comfortable you had removed them from your wagon and their reigns. Every once in a while, you would hear their hooves stomp on the ground as they were snacking on the fresh grass. Spring was just starting to come in. ‘The grass must be tasting sweet for them’, you thought to yourself.

Most of your days were spent like this. It included finding a pretty spot with different elements of nature, such as mountains, trees, riverbanks and forests. Then you would proceed to paint it on your canvases. Some paintings were small enough to fit into a saddlebag, others big enough to compliment homes. Your wagon was able to stash all your supplies and works. At the end of each day, you would pack up everything, set up a camp, and sleep, excited to see where the next day and trail would bring you to. After the soreness in your wrists starts to settle in, building up too much discomfort to ignore, you would go into the nearby town to sell your art. Earning a living with art is not necessarily easy, but it is most definitely amusing, especially when you encounter folks who do not really know about the value of it. Therefore you knew your target group: People with too much money in their pockets who do not question the overly-expensive prices. Sure, sometimes it would work, other times it would not. But it was enough to get you food to fill your belly and the supplies you needed to get by.

Scrunching your eyebrows, you swat away the bees buzzing near your ear, annoyed at them pulling you out of your focus.

“What’cha painting there?”

“Whatever is in front of me…” You mumbled. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny sigh, followed by small eyeroll, before turning around swiftly, facing the stranger who asked. “Could you please leave?”

“Excuse me?” He chuckled.

Placing your brush on the small wooden plate of the stand in front of you, you rubbed your temple. “I apologize-“ You giggled. “I just get so caught up in my work. Can’t afford no distractions.”

“Aghhh” The stranger groaned, getting down from his horse, “I get it. No apology needed.” He said, putting his hands up in a light-hearted way, as he kept walking towards you. By closing the distance between both of you, you allowed yourself to take a better look at him, analyzing his clothes, trying to understand who or what he was. Maybe a potential customer? What price range could you offer him, which would be enough to profit you, but not too much to the point of scaring him away. Or maybe, he was perhaps just a curious man, intrigued by people. In that case, offering him a price was maybe not a necessary thing to do. Weighing out your options, you decided to be blunt and tell him right away.

“Seventy-five for this one.”

The stranger took a step back, looking back and forth between you and the unfished painting. “Seventy-five?!” He exclaimed. “The yellow in that better be liquid gold.”

A small shrug with a self-satisfied smile is what he got in return.

He was indeed very handsome. Broad shoulder that stretched his shirt, beautiful light eyes that could reflect objects in his vision like a mirror and a mustache slightly longer than his stubble. He seemed like a well-groomed man. Well-groomed usually equivalents to a decent amount of money. Unless he was a con-artist.

“Beautiful horses ya got there” He nodded over to the direction of where your wagon was placed.

Following his point of direction, you turned around. Those horses really were beautiful, such as the bond you had with them. “Thank you.” You replied softly.

A small moment of silence occurred as you both individually took in the scenery and everything nature had to offer for you. It truly was beautiful. The way the snowy mountains up north were looking over the river, which was flowing through the flower field, seemed unreal. The combined sounds of the birds, bears, coyotes, deer and bees further blocked out your other senses. It was peace.

“How come you haven’t painted ‘em?”

“Hm?” You hummed.

A small giggle left his lips as he smiled, his eyes glued to his slightly dirt-covered boots for a split second. “Ya horses. How come you haven’t painted ‘em?” He repeated, kicking a few small stones around.

“Oh- I guess… I just like sticking to landscapes. Haven’t really figured out how to make the animals look good.” You admitted.

He nodded understandingly, his gaze roaming around the fields again. Unexpectedly, he took another step towards you, offering you his wide and strong looking hand. “Arthur Morgan”

You waited for a second yet flashed him a small smile right before you bit your lip. “Y/N L/N” The corners of your lips quirked up as you shook the hand in front of you with your own.

Arthur stepped away, tilting his hat down as a polite gesture. “See ya around, Miss.”

“See you, Mr. Morgan.”

..................................................

Valentine… What a lively little town. It had everything you’d need to make a home. A butcher, a store, livestock, a stable and even a saloon. Yet, this was not something you could think about. Having no one to lean on to was not the most uncomplicated thing in the world. But it does allow you to harden your shell and intuitively create different paths of survival. Travelling around was yours.

You had set up a small stand near the theatre, your paintings displayed for every passing person to see. Your horses were in the stable, getting treatments you could never afford for yourself. After all, they were the ones doing all the pulling and walking. If anyone deserves a day off like that, it was them. Strangers would pass by, some only glancing at your creations, others stopping for a few only to admire them. And then they were people who bought. The local folks here had already gotten used to you. This was a great spot to sell, especially during the tourist seasons. The hotel was never empty during this time of the year. The fancy and rich from up north loved the sun. So, to take advantage of those, you would come here twice a year. Anytime they would show up, you were here as well. Waiting for potential customers could get a tad bit boring but sitting on a nice cushion helped.

You were picking out the dirt from under your nails when precipitously the Sheriffs frame came into your sight.

“Miss L/N! How are you this fine afternoon?” He cheered as he walked past.

“Thank you, Sheriff, I am fine.” You smiled back at him, finally leaving your nails alone. Your eyes followed his strut, trying to block out your envy. He was a man after all. Being a woman in these times was not easy. A home was something you could only dream of if you belonged to a man, whether that is being a daughter or a wife. Legally owning property? That was not anything that women should even be thinking of.

The sound of wooden wheels rolling and cheery singing of female voices made you glance towards the direction it came from. It was a wagon, its back filled with women, each more gorgeous than the other, while the front had two men seated on it. Once the movement and tunes came to a halt, everyone on it got off, splitting ways on where to go. Yet one of the men came right towards you.

“Miss L/N.” Arthur greeted, trailing to you and your tiny gallery.

Attempting to block out the sun with your hand, you smiled up at him from your cushion. “Hello, Mr. Morgan. Changed your mind on the seventy-five dollars?”

“God, no.” He snickered, bending down to take a better look at one of the smaller paintings. The lake portrayed in it seemed familiar to him. ‘Of course’ Arthur thought. ‘How could I forget this place.’. It was the small cabin at O’Creagh’s Run, which belonged to the veteran he occasionally hunted with.

“You seem to like that one, though.” You pointed out.

“Ya didn’t say this was seventy-five. Scared me off with the one from Big Valley.”

‘Yeah, maybe that was a bit too much.’ You pondered as you clicked your tongue. Before allowing silence to settle in, you asked him what he was doing here.

“Could ask you the same thing.” He said amused.

Even though you only had two conversations with this man, it was fun. The back-and-forth banter was not something everyone could keep up with you, let alone a man who would not get offended by a sassy woman.

“I get by here usually twice a year. The tourists love the landscapes. Makes their homes look nice. You should try.” You suggested.

Arthur let out a small chuckle, this time thoroughly taking his time looking through your art. His gaze was fixated on the smaller canvases. One of those could fit nicely into his saddlebag. Not that he had the space for a bigger piece. Roaming his eyes between two, one that looked similar to the Dakota River, the other a smaller version of the floral area around O’Creagh’s Run. The positive association of his friendship with the veteran Hamish made him point at the second one. “I like that one.”

You turned, picking up the named piece. “This one I would give out for fifty, since it is obviously smaller. But for you, since we are now associates,” You giggled “I will hand it out for… thirty-five.”

Even though this offer was better than the other, Arthur could not help but shake his head, a smile not going unnoticed. “Alright, alright.” He pulled out the money from his pocket. “Only because it’s near a friends house.”

You took his money, whispering the numbers while counting. “Hamish?” You asked.

“Yeah.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. “Ya know the old fella?” Arthur questioned, while taking the painting into his hand.

You hummed, putting the money into your small leather purse. “He took me in one night while I was freezing up there. Sometimes a tiny camp is just not enough. Ever since then I see him as my pa. He’s the sweetest.” You explained, keeping eye contact with Arthur. This was the longest you have had continuously looked at him. His good looks you already have noticed the first day you met. But today, it seemed to sink in. The question of what he was- you still could not answer. “I will head back to him soon. Been out here for weeks now. He must be really worried, too.”

‘That makes sense.’ He thought. No wonder he has not seen you with Hamish before.

“Well, thank you for buying something, Mr. Morgan.” You smiled.

“Please, call me Arthur.”

- 🍯

[lassieposting]

Screaming incoherently at the new epilogue hug for Astarion bc body language tells us so much here

The first time you hug him, he goes rigid - he hasn't been hugged in at least 200 years, so he's surprised, and that's definitely part of it, but he also still very much associates being touched with being hurt, either physically or mentally. It takes him a moment to really realise what's happening, and then he gradually relaxes into Tav's hold and when he hugs back, it's hesitant. Emotional. This is a massively love-starved man being given genuine affection for the first time in centuries; he buries his face in Tav's shoulder, if they're tall enough, and when they step back, his face makes it obvious that he didn't want them to let go.

The epilogue hug is completely different. Tav still has to initiate, but he holds his arms out for them to step into as soon as they move to hug him. He closes his eyes - relaxed, comfortable, a completely different vibe to the first hug's I-am-trying-so-hard-not-to-cry energy. He's smiling when they separate. You can tell that like? He has been cuddled so many times between the first hug and this one, and he's realised that he likes it. There's no fear in it anymore, no wariness. Just love.

Also interesting: that little movement he does, the swaying back and forth. Maybe this is a 'different strokes for different folks' thing but in my experience, that swaying motion is a comfort thing - it's how you'd soothe someone who's upset. For a lot of people, it's likely one of the earliest forms of comfort we ever experience - mothers sway like that with crying babies in their arms - and we learn to comfort others the same way as we get older. Which? This is probably something he's learned from Tav. That would imply that by this point, they've done A Lot of holding him through distress - nightmares, breakdowns, panic attacks, whatever. They've done the comforting sway enough that he's actually internalised that not just as something you do as comfort, but something you do when you hug someone, full-stop. He's learning how to express love by paying attention to Tav's behaviours and mirroring them. I'm ugly sobbing.

[yuurivoice]

Have you ever had to deal with someone plagiarizing/stealing your work or overall making something suspiciously too similar to one of your works/Oc's?

I don't focus nearly enough on what other people are doing to give a shit, really. 😂 I'm sure there's been some liberties taken by someone at some point, whether it was just "hey that worked let me try my take on it", which is nothing really, or something more nefarious.

I make a conscious effort to not dig into other people's work because I want whatever comes outta me to be as far removed from conscious or subconscious thoughts about what I've seen before and how it reflects on what I'm doing. I don't wanna know. Don't want to impede my own creativity. Some folks can do that at will, but my brain is a potato and sometimes I end up forgetting my OWN shit and reusing it in ways that at least can be handwavy OH ITS A THEME stuff lmao. And that's how I am with a lot of the media I consume, not just things in my own niche.

Taking inspiration as a creative should feel like watching a painter work and wanting to understand how their strokes, paint, and brush choices led to what ended up on the canvas. It's about the tools and philosophies that led to the end result. Not the end result itself. Because if you're any kind of self respecting artist and human, your greatest wish is that you have lived a life where even if you followed the same steps, used the same tools, and even the same paint...what ends up on the canvas is unique and different because it came out of YOU. Your taste, direction, and eye for a story in any form should be so transformative that even if things might be similar, they're very very different because it passed through your lens.

I think the big thing is staying focused on what you're doing. If there was blatant plagiarism, or suspiciously similar shit going on, two things would happen. Anyone with a brain would connect the dots and be turned off, and I'd be fueled by spite to make bigger, better shit and outshine them in every single possible way imaginable creatively.

It's the risk we run posting stuff online. I'd rather share my work with the world and just let the rest sort itself out. But I don't go looking, and I've never been smacked in the face with a situation like that.

[lopsicle]

Writing is hard when your so full of tired sleepy

I got creative with the prompt and I’m not sure if this qualifies as a chase but oh well, I really like this one anyway

Flyer Derby

Tickletober Day 6: Chase

Fandom: The Owl House

Characters: Lee! Hunter, Ler! Emerald Entrails

Summary: Willow makes a bet with Hunter to see if he could beat the rest of his team. Shenanigans and hijinks ensue. (I love those words :3)

Warnings: Tickle Fic, light restraints at the end, not proofread.

——

It was becoming increasingly rare that the Emerald Entrails would have the chance to ever practice or play together, which was surprising. Their teammate, Hunter was literally living in the school now but most of them seemed nervous, like they were in the calm before the storm. The Day of Unity hung over them all, their worries about it only becoming worse as Hunter revealed it’s true nature to the rest of Hexside.

That was exactly why it was so important for them to just let loose even if it was just for a little while. Just one evening where everything would be okay, so they could actually experience the calm they’d been so desperate to receive.

This game would be a little different then all their other causal matches of Flyer Derby however. Willow had made a bet with Hunter, the reason unknown to him, maybe she just wanted to see how good of a player he was or just wanted to see him get tickled silly. The idea was Hunter would play against all four of his teammates, the catch being they were only allowed to touch him by tickling him so it was a little more fair, or unfair depending on how you view it.

Hunter, terribly flustered by the idea since he knew his own sensitivity, still accepted for whatever reason. Maybe he wanted to get tickled by Willow, or maybe he just wanted to show up his team in anyway he could. He was probably just too flustered to reject the idea entirely, barely able to word his agreement to her.

And now here he was, standing on the opposite side of the lengthy, trap filled pitch to all his friends, seeming pretty eager to wreck the poor blonde. Anticipation was threatening to plunge deep into his heart as he readied himself, not able to shake that light nervous feeling that buzzed in his mind. The Grimwalker had a tight grip on his staff, his cardinal Palisman sat motionless at the end. It was a bit reassuring to know at least one of his friends was on his side for this game.

‘Don’t you lot have a plan for this?’ Viney asked, leaning back on Puddles as she stroked the Griffin’s neck. ‘That guy is..well was the Golden Guard, do you really think we can just swoop it and steal a victory from him?’ She fretted, but wasn’t met with much worry.

‘Well, maybe we wouldn’t win against any other Golden Guard, but our one happens to be real ticklish, there’s no way he’ll be able to resist this!’ Willow smiled at Viney, placing a hand on her shoulder casually.

‘Oh, and go for his ribs, that’s a killer spot!’ Gus said loudly, making sure Hunter heard, making his cheeks already to a dark shade of red. He squeaked a little under his breath, already thrown off guard and just anticipated would what happen next. Flyer Derby was nerve wracking enough but mixing it with something as silly as tickling…he was just glad he didn’t have an audience, something he’d been fairly insistent on since he wasn’t fond of being tickled out in the open.

Gus then cast an illusion of himself, to act as a makeshift announcer to the centre of the field as the two teams stepped forward closer to the centre of the pitch.

‘The rules for this one are a little switched up to how we usually do it, folks,’ Gus’ illusion smiled widely, keeping his hands behind his back. ‘Hunter will be trying to steal our teams flags, and if he manages that, he wins the bet! Our team, the better team, can only interact with him by tickling him until he surrenders, which is when Willow will win the bet.’

‘If,’ Hunter said, ‘If Willow wins!’ He smirked, trying to alleviate some of his tension by getting competitive.

‘Good luck with that, blondie!’ Skara shouted from across the field, not wanting the opposing team to get the last word in. Hunter just made a ‘hmp’ sound, readying his staff to his side, while his eyes narrowed on the prizes in front of him. Four flags dangling on his friend’s staffs, all he had to do was grab them quickly and he’d be spared from the merciless tickling he was sure to be forced through in this game. I mean, he could handle that, right?

‘Three,’ Hunter hopped on his staff.

‘Two,’ He watched the other side do the same.

‘One!’ In a split second, all four of his friends had managed to split up in other directions, with Gus summoning a cloud of smoke just to make it even harder for him to keep track on who was who. Hunter gritted his teeth a little, feeling a little better now that the game had actually started, but still had the ever looming threat of tickling hanging over him.

The boy quickly took up in the air, his eyes were first set on Skara who seemed like the easiest to take out. Hunter quickly found himself following behind d the bard student, gaining on her at high speed. The girl squeaked as she realised she was a target, sourly regretting trying to get in the last word now.

Hunter waited until just the right moment, keeping all his focus on the flag in front of him, before blipping through the air with the help of his Palisman, grabbing Skara’s flag before she could even process what happened. Once she did though, she immediately plunged towards Hunter, not to regain her stolen item, no, she decided to be petty and tickle him for the Hell of it.

Skara’s nails scratched down from the back of Hunter’s knees down to his calves, making the poor blonde squeal as he kept his legs as still as possible, not wanting to let go of his staff. He sped up, just causing her nails to trail further down his leg, ending up at the top of his left boot which she managed to pry out, letting it fall to the ground.

Hunter huffed as he managed to get away, looking a little flustered now that he was more exposed but at least he was far away enough from Skara now. All he had to do was find the others and-

‘Gotcha!’ Viney yelled triumphantly, wrapping one arm around Hunter’s waist securely. The boy fell back on his staff a bit, having to lean against Viney’s side for support; a parasitic way of pinning someone.

‘Viney, no fair!’ Hunter whined, still trying to wriggle about in her grip but he was quickly shut up by a couple fingers scribbling against his tummy.

‘Oh hush, Hunter, we both know your loving this, you wouldn’t of agreed otherwise!’ The brunette smirked, snaking her hand around his back to squeeze at his sides, forcing him to crash into her even more.

‘N-nahahahaah, I dihihihhidn’t!!’ Hunter tried to protest but it was hard to take him seriously through all his cackling and the fact that his face was just getting redder and redder. Getting teased really threw Hunter off his game, it was like he couldn’t fit clearly when being tickled.

‘Coochie coochie coo, gigglebug!’

Unluckily for him, Viney caught onto this pretty quickly. The babyish teasing was almost too much for Hunter to bear as he felt his ears start to heaten from all the teasing. He curled his arms to his sides and wriggled about in her grip as much as he could but he just couldn’t get away from her.

‘Eheheheheheheh!’

Gasping, Hunter reached out to his Palisman, Flapjack, and let him return to his normal form, causing his staff to disintegrate right from under him. Hunter swiftly grabbed Viney’s flag as he began free falling, sticking his tongue out at her as Flapjack flew right back down to him, turning back into a staff as Hunter caught him.

‘Ha! I had no idea that would work!’ He smiled, repositioning himself on his staff as he quickly got back into flying around, not wanting Skara or Viney to catch up to him.

Now came the part he was dreading the most. Willow and Gus. Gus’ illusions could cause a real problem for him, he had to be checking just to make sure the flags he had caught so far were real and he was sure the boy was planning something. And Willow…was Willow. The boy had a crush on her for crying out loud, he’d shut down if she even got the chance to tickle him.

Luckily he wouldn’t have to find her, as Willow would find him first.

‘Oh, Hunter! Behind you!’ The girl sang, causing Hunter’s blush to immediately return as he shot around, though he saw Willow just standing there. Standing on her staff.

‘You should be more careful with your illusions, Gus.’ Hunter pointed out casually, immediately darting for ‘Willow’, feeling more confident now that he knew it was just a disguise. But, as he drew near, he failed to realise how well his friend’s mirages has developed as he had not only created an illusion of Willow to throw Hunter off but was concealed just a couple feet to the left of it. And when Hunter drew near, he pounced on him.

The boy jumped from his own staff to Hunter’s, letting his chameleon Palisman nestle up on his shoulders. With a crash landing, he immediately clung onto Hunter, a little scared he would fall.

‘Oh, come on, you totally stole my- mahahahahave!’ Hunter barked with laughter as his friend began squeezing his hips, making him yelp and jump all about. He did consider doing his staff disappearing trick that he used with Viney, but he didn’t want to hurt Gus, probably something the boy planned by jumping onto his staff. The only thing Hunter could really do was sit there and take it.

‘Come on man, just give in, you know you can’t beat me and Willow!’ Gus cooed from behind him, finally beginning to prod at those sensitive ribs of his, making Hunter Damm near shriek and madly thrash about on his staff.

‘EEEK!! WAIHAHAAHT, NAHAHAHA GUHAHAHAHAAHS!!’ Hunter nearly screamed in laughter, barely able to keep a hold of his staff. Gus gripped onto him a little tighter, not wanting either of them to get tipped off. Gus would keep at it, scribbling and scraping at Hunter’s ribs with no mercy and just when the blonde thought things couldn’t get worse, it did.

‘Your really doing a number on him, aren’t you, Gus?’ Willow giggled, flying down next to the sight of the two boys. She casually reached over and took back Hunter’s stolen flags.

‘NAHAHAHA FAIHAHAHAR!!’ Hunter bellowed with laughter, leaning hunched over on his staff to try and get his ribs away from his friend. In return, Willow wriggled her nails against the back of his neck, making him arch right back upwards.

‘Poor boy, I almost forgot you were THIS ticklish,’ Willow chuckled, prodding along one set of his ribs while Gus scratched at the other. Hunter, who had just lost all his progress and was now having his worst spot tagged team by two skilled lers, caved in almost immediately.

‘I SUHAHAHAHRRENDER!!’

With that, Gus hopped back on his own staff while Willow gently helped Hunter back down to the ground, it being a bit hard for the tickled out boy to fly.

‘You know, you handled all that really well! I mean, you managed to best two of our team members and looked good doing it! I’m proud of what you did today, Hunter!’

She smiled at him as the boy blushed more, his smile practically beaming.

‘T-thsnk you, Captain, that, uh, means a lot!’ Hunter cooed as he hopped off his staff, Willow next to him as the rest of the Emerald Entrails stood around them.

Though almost immediately as Hunter stood on the ground, two vines wrapped around his wrists and pulled them behind his back, beneath his shoulder blades. A couple more gently pulled him down onto his knees, all while Willow smirked at his confusion.

‘Don’t tell me you forgot our bet? I’m pretty sure we agreed that if you lost, I get to tickle you for ten minutes!’

Hunter’s whole face went beet red as Willow kneeled down across from him, his eyes wide with anticipation.

‘CAHAHAHPTAIN, NAHAHAHAHAHA!!’

—-

I am so shleepy

[ddarker-dreams]

Can you write Yan Phantom troupe + reader hwr Sleeping Arrangements

I liked your post so much💓

ohhh sure thing, i’m glad you enjoyed the genshin variation!! i think it’d make for an easier read if i refer to HWR reader as her ‘canon’ name (aka what i call her in my head), so i’ll start doing that henceforth for posts like this . do i start an anastasia x reader tag... omg... what a blessed development .

Anastasia (aka HWR Reader)

Due to the physical demands of her work, Anastasia highly prioritizes keeping her body in the best condition. This causes her to go to bed and wake up early. While she has no problem with you sleeping in, she'd prefer you don't stay up too late, since she believes it’d be detrimental to your health. She never knows when she might need to go days without a wink of sleep so she tries to be prepared. You're welcome to scuttle about your shared bedroom if you feel especially fidgety, but the moment your hand grazes the doorknob, she's awake and gently asking if everything's alright. Should you say you want water or whatever, she'll go and get it for you. Anastasia tends to keep to her side of the bed when you do finally lay down — she wants to give you space so that your sleep isn't disturbed. In rare moments of indulgence, she'll let her hand ghost over yours, smiling softly to herself upon reaffirming that you're still here with her.

Chrollo

You'll start weighing the merits of becoming an insomniac when faced with the trials sleeping next to Chrollo entails. It's like a switch inside him flips from annoying to extra annoying come nightfall. The bastard knows your poor amygdala is extra vulnerable to emotional exploits when tired, so right when you tuck yourself in and get cozy, he’ll start asking about your greatest regrets in life or whatever. He won’t leave you alone until you give him a satisfactory answer too. He could make do on next to no sleep just fine, but ever since he’s brought you into his life, he’s felt the urge to lay down at night whenever you do. There’s this intimacy to the simple act that he finds addicting. This paired with the fact your emotional walls are lowered at night makes him quite the happy camper. If you’ve been extra difficult lately, he won’t let you even get close to the bed until you give him a ‘goodnight kiss’. He finds the bastardization of such an innocent gesture delightful. In essence, nighttime when you’re involved becomes his favorite, whereas you view it with existential dread. 

Feitan

It’s a bit of a coin toss if you’ll see Feitan any night. When the moon is high in the sky, he likes to get to ‘work’, aka inflicting unspeakable horrors on whatever poor soul he needs something out of. Those nights where the screams extend for hours until their vocal cords are too scratchy to cry out anymore are the worst. If you’ve really been behaving lately, he’ll consider giving you noise-canceling headphones. So long as you ask sweetly. His sleep schedule is pretty erratic due to growing up in an environment where it was necessary to sleep in shifts for survival’s sake, something that’s carried over to his adulthood. Most of the time, you can expect to go to bed alone. While you’re snoozing soundly, he might creep into your room. He’ll run his bloodied knuckles over your cheek and muse to himself how vulnerable a position you’re in before a depraved man like himself. Watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest is an excellent way to come down from the high he receives from inflicting pain on others. For some, it’s bird watching or listening to the rain, for him, it’s staring unblinkingly at his beloved who wants nothing to do with him. Different strokes for different folks.

Machi

Machi isn’t thrilled with the thought of falling asleep around you. In her mind, the likelihood of you pulling something stupid increases tenfold. Despite her harsh outer demeanor, she doesn’t actually derive pleasure from punishing you. Her goal here is to make you like her (though she’d rather die than admit this), so any scenarios counterproductive to that are actively avoided. She’ll tell you point-blank not to try anything if she senses even the slightest shift in your attitude. As for cuddling, she secretly longs for it, but will never act on the desire. You’ll have to be the one to initiate. And even then, her body goes so tense that you worry you’ve done something wrong. She won’t verbally confirm or deny should you voice this question aloud. However, the fact she doesn’t shove you away is all the evidence you need. Her heart, which doesn’t even skip a beat when faced with imminent death, races madly whenever you do this. For your own safety, it’s recommended you don’t point the detail out.

Pakunoda

Pakunoda makes going to sleep an event. She runs you both a bath infused with essential oils, gives you a facial, and shares other elements of her specialized skincare routine. The cocoa butter lotion she insists you put on your legs after your nightly bath smells like the most heavenly concoction. You wear matching satin nightclothes to a bed that she purchased with you specifically in mind. Pakunoda enjoys it when you lay your head against her chest, but when you both start to doze off, she’ll gently move you into a more comfortable position so you don’t get a kink in your neck. It’d be in your best interest to never protest against her insistence on following this routine — there’s no faster route to earning her admonition. She would’ve done anything for this luxury that she’s sharing with you growing up, and if she feels you’re being ungrateful, she won’t hesitate to humble you. Expressing your gratitude is the best way to avoid this, even if said gratitude isn’t genuine. She’ll smile and pat you on the head for the wise choice.

Phinks

The decibel level of this man’s snores... god rest your soul. He’s handsy and all up in your personal space almost every single night. Phinks doesn’t even bother trying to be sly about it too, he just pulls you right up against him the second you lay down. His favorite spot to put his hands is in between your thighs. He will find a way to make this happen no matter the position. If you thought you might luck out by having his grip on you relax when he falls asleep, you’d be dead wrong. A straightjacket would allow for more wiggle room than him. You can choose to sleep whenever, but getting up for the day is another beast entirely. He just adores the sensation of skin-to-skin contact so much that he doesn’t want to give you up until he has to. It might be a good idea to keep some snacks within arm’s reach for this reason. 

Shalnark

Shalnark thinks you’re the cutest thing ever when you’re asleep! That’s why he has hundreds of pictures and videos of you dozing off, some dated way before you were even kidnapped. It’s an instant boost to his mood whenever he scrolls through this particular gallery. He insists that you must wear fluffy pajamas if you want to go to bed because he finds it adorable. He tends to stay up way later than you, either using his phone on max brightness or typing away on his laptop. You have zero idea how he always has so much energy when you guess he gets anywhere from three to four hours of sleep a night. It’s a mystery. And yes, if he finds a particularly funny image or video, he will wake you up for the sole purpose of sharing it with you. He has drawn on your face at night a few times too for fun. Normally cringey stuff like ‘if lost, return to Shalnark’ or a couple of hearts. He’s beyond annoying. 

[oflights]

Happy pride! For the drarry slice-of-life prompts, might I suggest: Harry in [whatever the first job you ever wanted to have when you grew up was] and a meetcute-at-work?

hi!! thank you!

so my mind immediately went to "marine biologist harry" because like, i was a 90s kid! of course i wanted to be a marine biologist! which then got me thinking of interesting ways to make draco meet marine biologist harry, which got me thinking of beluga whale animagus draco???? (because i was all about whales as a kid, that was the whole point of it for me.)

anyway. that's what this is? why is it 1.1k words again? who can say, i sure can't. happy pride 🌈🐳

Draco doesn’t expect to see Harry Potter while swimming in the chilly, salty depths of the St. Lawrence River.

Work had taken Draco to Montreal, and he’d booked the extra Portkeys to Quebec City and then Tadoussac without a second thought. Draco so rarely gets a chance to change into his Animagus form in an actually suitable environment, and he’s changed here before; this particular pod of beluga whales is incredibly friendly and welcoming even for his short visits, and so he’s been looking forward to this for months.

Until now, it had been all about getting into the water: making sure local friends have his coordinates in case something goes wrong; casting the proper Disillusionment Charms so no one notices a random blond nutter jumping into the river alone; letting the cold wash over his magic-warmed body for a few suspended moments, until he relaxes into the transformation and lets that magic overtake everything else.

That first moment of transformation—so freeing, so unique, nothing like Draco ever feels on land—always goes a long way to soothing the disappointment he’d felt when he’d first managed to become an Animagus.

He’d known it would be something aquatic; he’d felt drawn to the sea throughout the whole process. Even so, transforming into a beluga whale had not been expected, and after the initial sense of accomplishment, basking a little in all his friends’ delight and amusement, it had struck how difficult it would be to find opportunities to transform.

Draco had adjusted his travel plans and work trips to become colder and more Arctic, but he’d quickly learned how social whales are, and how intolerable they find it to be alone. So it became more about finding other belugas to swim with, to communicate with. Chancing upon this pod had been a stroke of luck, and Draco has missed them.

He could hear them as a human on the shore, high-pitched and soft and wailing, but it’s different as a whale. Hefeelstheir call within him like this, loses himself in it, revels in the sensation of immersive belonging he’s rarely felt before.

In moments like these, Draco loves being a beluga Animagus. It’s all worth it.

And then he sees Harry Potter.

It’s not so strange to see a team of marine biologists on the St. Lawrence. There’s a good amount of marine life here, not to mention the colony of merpeople that lives around the Saguenay Fjord that could explain the presence of magic folk. What’s really strange is that this team includes Harry Potter, not someone Draco would ever have expected to find halfway around the world from home.

Potter is dressed like he might be a marine biologist, which is ridiculous—Draco is certain he’d read that Potter had gone to work with dragons. He’s leaning over the railing of the small observation deck of his boat, dark hair blown wild and glittering with salt spray, radiating Warming Charms, grinning broadly at the friendly belugas streaming through the waters around them.

As Draco watches, still dumbfounded, Potter raises his wand and Conjures large, shiny bubbles, setting them to float over the water and delighting the belugas, who pop them with excited squeals, splashing happily as he Conjures more.

A few of the other members of the pod seem to sense Draco’s frozen disbelief and translate it as distress, swimming over to nudge him gently with their rounded heads, bonking him carefully on his flank. The movement draws the attention of Potter, who smiles at him in a way that Harry Potter has certainly never, not once, smiled at him before.

Draco has a rush of feelings that don’t entirely fit in the water. There’s old resentment, annoyance, a break of his peace—in his whale form, in the perfect, embracing cold, that all seems silly, wasteful. It’s easy to translate to a playful sort of mischief instead.

He starts swimming again, giving grateful return bumps to his concerned pod members on the way right up to the boat, Potter’s eyes trained on him the whole time.

“Hi,” Potter says brightly, giving him a wave as Draco pops out of the water. In answer, Draco gives an enormous spray of water, glittering bright in the sunlight and dripping all over Potter and a few other crew members, making them laugh. “Nice to meet you too,” Potter says. He laughs again as a few belugas follow Draco’s lead, a shower of water dropping down all around them.

Potter Conjures bubbles directly over Draco, smile widening as he pops them before they’re even fully formed. Draco leaps up higher and spots the strap of a messenger bag by Potter’s feet, and on the next bubble, he misses on purpose and takes a swipe at the strap.

The bag splashes into the water in an instant, the sound loud over Potter’s startled, “Hey, that’s mine!” as the rest of the team laughs again. It’s quick, easy swim work to duck down in the water and hook the floating strap around one fin, making sure to spin onto his side to show Potter he’s got it.

Draco takes off, squeaking happily when he hears a flat splat sound behind him, a bodyboard hitting the water. It’s followed by another splash, Potter calling out, “Give that back!” as he starts to swim after Draco.

Even with magic—infused in his wetsuit, driving the bodyboard, clear and unmistakable and disconcertingly familiar—Potter can’t exactly keep pace with a grown beluga whale. Draco revels in that for a few viciously satisfying moments before he slows only long enough for Potter to catch up, to reach out between Draco and the bodyboard, and to catch hold of Draco’s fin—before speeding up again and taking Potter with him.

He tows Potter back to shore, spurred by his laughter and exhilaration, the way he’s ignoring the alarmed shouts of his colleagues from behind them, delighting in the clicks and squeaks and lovely, encouraging calls of Draco’s pod.

Draco bumps up against the rocks where he’d jumped in, knocking Potter against them until he takes the hint and climbs up, eyes wide and amazed. There’s another moment where Draco hesitates—it’s always hard to change back after feeling like this, to want human feeling again, worse still to take away some of the magic of what Potter has just experienced.

But he wants to change back, wants to see the look on Potter’s face. He recasts the requisite Warming Charms and pulls himself back into his human form, landing on the rocks next to Potter, gasping unfamiliar human breaths for a few seconds before he gets his bearings and braves a look at Potter.

Potter, who still looks just as amazed, still exhilarated, and somehow not at all disappointed. His eyes sparkle familiarly, and Draco blinks and feels nothing of the old resentment, like he’d left it all in the water in that first, tall spray.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Draco says, holding up Potter’s stolen bag.